In the Dawn
The gentle hum of the water mill filled the crisp morning air, blending with the song of the river. The mill's massive wheel turned steadily, its rhythmic splashes creating a soothing cadence. Prince Harsha stood at a short distance, his arms folded, his gaze thoughtful. The structure was a marvel of engineering, a testament to his ambition and the craftsmanship of the brothers Laxmikant and Ravikant, who stood by his side.
The brothers—broad-shouldered and clad in simple yet sturdy tunics—surveyed their creation with quiet pride. Laxmikant, the elder of the two, was the first to break the silence. "Your Highness, the water mill is functioning perfectly. The wheel is smooth, and the mechanism we installed inside has no flaws. It will grind grain more efficiently than any manual process."
Harsha nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Excellent work, Laxmikant. But this mill will serve a far greater purpose than grinding grain."
Ravikant, whose curious nature often outpaced his elder brother's pragmatism, tilted his head. "What purpose, Your Highness?"
"The creation of paper," Harsha replied, turning toward the wooden workshop nearby. The modest building stood nestled under a canopy of trees, its open windows inviting the cool breeze. Inside, bundles of old fabrics were neatly stacked, along with large wooden mallets, wide vats of water, and frames with fine mesh screens.
The brothers exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement. Laxmikant hesitated before speaking. "Paper, my lord? I've heard of bark and cloth used for writing, but this … this is something new."
Harsha gestured for them to follow him into the workshop. As they stepped inside, he picked up one of the wooden frames, holding it out for them to see. "This mold and deckle will shape thin sheets of paper from a slurry of fibers. Observe, and I will explain."
He placed the frame back down and turned to the piles of old rags stacked in a corner. "The first step is gathering materials. Linen, hemp, old clothes—anything with strong fibers can be used. Once we have these, we soak them to soften the threads."
Ravikant stepped closer, inspecting the bundles. "And after soaking? What happens next?"
Harsha's eyes gleamed with purpose. "We beat the soaked rags into pulp. This can be done manually with wooden mallets or with a mechanism powered by the water mill. The result is a slurry of fine fibers suspended in water. From this slurry, we will form sheets."
He walked over to the vats filled with water and motioned for the brothers to begin. "Laxmikant, Ravikant, begin soaking the rags. Make sure they are fully submerged."
The brothers immediately set to work, their hands expertly maneuvering the bundles into the water. Harsha observed them for a moment before continuing. "Once the rags have softened, we will use the mold to scoop the fibers, spreading them evenly. This thin, wet sheet will eventually dry into paper."
Laxmikant, now elbow-deep in the vat, paused. "Your Highness, this process seems intricate. Will the paper be strong enough to withstand ink?"
"That is where sizing comes in," Harsha explained, stepping to another corner of the workshop where a pot of gelatin , which he made from boiling bones , sat over a low flame. "Once the sheets dry, we dip them into a gelatin solution. This reduces their absorbency, ensuring that ink doesn't blot or bleed. After a second drying, the paper is pressed and burnished to make it smooth and ready for writing."
Ravikant straightened, his hands dripping with water. "It sounds like a lot of effort, Your Highness. But if it works, it could replace leaves and cloth as writing surfaces. This could…" His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. "This could change everything."
Harsha smiled, pleased with Ravikant's understanding. "Precisely. Imagine a world where every household can afford books. Knowledge will no longer be confined to the wealthy or the learned. It will flow freely, empowering everyone from scholars to farmers."
The brothers nodded, their skepticism replaced with enthusiasm. As they returned to their task, Harsha moved to a small table where a half-finished scroll lay. On it, he had drafted a plan for the next phase of his vision—the introduction of a printing press.
Laxmikant approached, curiosity etched on his face. "Your Highness, this process… it is remarkable. But how will you spread this knowledge so quickly? Scribes can only write so much by hand."
Harsha looked up from the scroll, his gaze steady. "With a machine that can replicate texts in days instead of years. A printing press."
The brothers stared at him in wonder. Ravikant, ever the dreamer, asked, "And what will you print first, my lord?"
Harsha's expression softened as he picked up the scroll. "The great texts of our land. The Bhagavad Gita, the Vedas, the Puranas, the Ramayana, and the Mahabharata. These works contain the wisdom of ages, yet they are inaccessible to many. By making them widely available, we can inspire generations to live by principles of dharma and karma."
Laxmikant's brow furrowed. "But these texts also reflect our societal divisions. Will you print them as they are?"
Harsha's jaw tightened, and his voice took on a resolute tone. "No. I will ensure they reflect the unity we aspire to, not the divisions that weaken us. The lessons of Lord Krishna will emphasize karma above caste. The struggles of Surya Putra Karna will show the futility of discrimination. These stories will inspire change."
The brothers stood silently, absorbing the weight of his words. Harsha turned back to the mill, his voice firm. "But first, we must perfect the paper. Only then can we think of the press."
The First Batch of Paper
By midday, the rags had softened sufficiently. Harsha and the brothers moved to the next step, beating the fibers with wooden mallets. The rhythmic pounding filled the workshop, a sound that seemed to echo the beating heart of progress.
"Spread the slurry evenly," Harsha instructed as they dipped the mold into the vat. Carefully, they lifted it, letting the excess water drain away. A thin layer of pulp clung to the screen, glistening in the sunlight.
The sheet was transferred onto a woolen cloth and pressed under heavy wooden boards. Harsha wiped sweat from his brow, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. "We'll let it dry, then size it. If all goes well, this will be the first true sheet of paper made in Bharatvarsha."
Ravikant grinned. "A day to remember, Your Highness."
Reflections by the River
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting golden hues over the river, Harsha stepped outside the workshop. The brothers followed, their faces glowing with the satisfaction of a day's hard work. They stood by the water's edge, the sound of the turning mill wheel filling the tranquil evening.
"Laxmikant, Ravikant," Harsha began, his voice contemplative, "this paper is only the beginning. With it, we will preserve knowledge, spread ideas, and uplift society. But there is much work ahead. We will need more mills, more hands, and more minds to realize this dream."
Laxmikant placed a hand over his heart. "We are with you, Your Highness. Whatever is needed, we will do."
Harsha turned to the younger brother. "Ravikant, you have a knack for envisioning possibilities. Help me design the printing press. Together, we will create a legacy that will stand the test of time."
The young man's eyes shone with determination. "It would be an honor, my lord."
Harsha's vision did not stop there. Beyond the creation of books, he saw an opportunity for trade. "With paper and books, we can establish a thriving business," he said. "The demand for raw paper and printed works will be immense. Schools, temples, and courts will all need them. This enterprise will enrich not just our treasury but the knowledge of our people."
The three stood in silence for a moment, gazing at the river. The water's flow mirrored the endless possibilities that lay ahead. Harsha's heart swelled with hope. This was not just a step toward progress; it was the foundation of a brighter, united Bharatvarsha.
In future generations, Harsha's efforts would bear fruit in ways no one could imagine. The Kant Printing Press, named in honor of the brothers, would become the largest and most renowned press in the world. Its innovations would spread across Bharatvarsha and beyond, making knowledge accessible to all. By the 15th century, Hinduism would experience a renaissance, spreading vast influence across regions. Revolts would shake the Middle East and Europe, driven in part by the ideas disseminated through books printed on paper born of Harsha's vision. But that, as they say, is a story for another time.
As the first stars appeared in the twilight sky, Harsha spoke once more, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "Today, we have sown the seeds of a revolution. Tomorrow, we will reap its rewards."
The brothers nodded, their hearts alight with purpose. Together, they turned back toward the workshop, ready to shape the future with their hands, their minds, and their unwavering dedication.
End of Chapter
to be continued ...