Nikāma stared at himself.
Older-Nikāma stared back.
Both pointed at each other.
"You're me?" young Nikāma asked.
"I was you," the elder version replied, "until you did something profoundly stupid. Like eat a sentient mango and step into a forbidden dimension."
"It was glowing! What else was I supposed to do?"
"Not eat it!"
In the Vault of Forgotten Threads…
Time didn't quite flow here.
It trickled, hiccupped, sometimes ran in reverse while giggling.
The Vault, long buried beneath layers of forgotten rituals and bureaucratic ignorance, housed threads of alternate possibilities—futures never chosen, battles never fought, romances that never got past awkward flirting.
Nikāma's older self circled him.
"You're here too early. You haven't even reached your first Nāḍi Awakening. You're basically a karmic toddler."
"Excuse you," Nikāma said, puffing up. "I have a goat, a bird-person, a glowing mango, and the worst luck in three universes. I think I'm qualified."
The goat cleared his throat. "I resent being second in that list."
The mirror behind them began to ripple.
Older-Nikāma frowned. "Look, since you're here… I need you to know something."
The mirror pulsed. Light bent.
"Someone is watching all of this. Recording it. Using it for… narrative development."
Nikāma blinked. "What?"
But before Older-Nikāma could explain, the mirror exploded.
In a dimension called the Scriptorium Obscura…
A quill snapped.
An ancient being named Nārrativikāra howled into the void. "Who is tampering with my outline?! The mango arc isn't until Chapter 22!"
A junior demigod ran past, clutching half a script and screaming, "The goat just rewrote his backstory again!"
Chaos was spreading.
Back in the Vault…
Dust settled. Older-Nikāma was gone.
In his place hovered a translucent glyph: §3.11 – Causality Violation Penalty: One Side Quest Mandatory.
It seared itself into Nikāma's wrist like a magical tattoo.
"Ow."
Kaśyapī peered at it. "You've been marked by the Story-Keeper Protocol."
The goat raised an eyebrow. "He's being punished with a side quest?"
Kaśyapī nodded. "It's ancient. Sacred. And very annoying. He can't progress his main destiny until the side quest is completed."
Nikāma groaned. "What is the quest?"
The glyph flared and spoke:
"Retrieve the Ladle of Limitless Laughter from the Temple of Overcooked Irony.Deliver it to the Hermit of Forgotten Punchlines.Do not get distracted by singing turnips."
There was a long pause.
Then the goat said, "This is going to be hilarious."
Meanwhile, in the skies of Bhūtaloka…
Far above, where air thins and deities sigh, a council convened in secret.
The Pancha-Raśmika, five beings of immeasurable power (and very questionable fashion sense), looked down through the Vākya-Vision Crystal.
One of them adjusted his jewel-encrusted monocle. "The mango has chosen."
Another, wearing ten scarves and zero sense of personal space, muttered, "The thread bends around him."
The third, a woman with stars braided into her hair, whispered, "He will awaken the forgotten path… or blow up an entire narrative construct trying."
All five turned toward the center of the table, where a small clay cup floated.
It was full of pickles.
And it was vibrating.
"This hasn't happened since the Great Farce of Yuga 19."
On a hilltop later that day…
Nikāma stood staring at the road ahead.
"Well," he sighed, "guess we're off to find a mystical ladle."
Kaśyapī smiled. "Could be worse."
The goat spat out a scroll. "I read the appendix. The ladle is guarded by Chrono-Clowns."
"Chrono-what?"
"Time-traveling jesters," the goat explained. "They rewrite your jokes mid-delivery. Very aggressive."
Nikāma nodded, resigned. "Okay. Deep breath. One quest at a time."
And with that, the three set off toward the east, where the Temple of Overcooked Irony glimmered faintly like a mirage of bad decisions.