Year: 1606 CE | Location: Dwarka, Later That Night
---
The chamber where the Rawat family gathered was softly illuminated by bioluminescent lanterns—futuristic algae encased in glass, glowing with a gentle teal hue. Outside, the waves sang the lullaby of the ages. But inside, tension filled the air like the gathering of a storm.
Deepak sat at the center of the circular stone table. Beside him were his father Rakesh, mother Sanno, Neha and Sonu, Khushboo, and the children—Aditya, Kshitiza, and Diksha—all old enough now to be part of these high councils. The scroll from King Venkatapati Raya lay open before them, its gold-inked plea almost too heavy for paper.
Neha crossed her arms. "I know what you're all thinking—but we have to be cautious."
"The king asks for education, medicine, trade, and military help," Sonu said, reading the scroll again. "That's everything. If we deliver all of that at once, it could disrupt the power balance of the entire subcontinent."
Neha nodded. "We introduce medicine? Their population booms. Introduce modern weapons? We create civil wars. Introduce industry? The traditional artisan guilds collapse. Even knowledge… could tear their dharma apart."
"But if we do nothing," Sanno whispered, "millions will suffer. The empire is already on its knees."
Rakesh's voice was deep and steady. "Then we do what our ancestors did—teach slowly. Like drops filling a pot."
Deepak exhaled. "We begin with the soul of the land—agriculture. If they can feed their people, they can resist dependency. If we give them clean water, they will survive. That is where we begin."
---
The Next Morning
Location: Dwarka's Inner Garden
Achyuta Bhatta, still marveling at the perfection of the gardens—where mango trees bore fruit in two months, where tulsi and turmeric grew side by side with foreign herbs—was invited to a meeting under a flowering neem tree.
Deepak welcomed him with fruits, milk, and a strange sweet bread (a subtle protein bar disguised in ancient flavors). As they sat, Deepak offered the philosopher a choice: "You may stay here and learn… or take our message back. We will follow."
Achyuta Bhatta's eyes glowed with a mix of reverence and sorrow. "The Mughal raids have reached as far south as Kurnool. In Madurai, the temples burn. Portuguese traders now act like kings in Goa. Their missionaries promise salvation in one hand and muskets in the other."
Neha leaned forward. "What of your court? Why reach out to strangers?"
Achyuta lowered his eyes. "Our own Brahmins fight among themselves. The nayakas war over taxes. The King's ministers are old, scared, or corrupt. His Highness, Venkatapati Raya, is devout… but weary."
Khushboo, dressed in a simple healer's robe, said gently, "Then we must begin at the roots. Soil before sword."
---
That evening, Sonu took the emissary on a walk through one of Dwarka's disguised training fields. Dozens of robots—masked as monks—practiced yoga beside human volunteers. Each movement synced with perfect rhythm. Meditation pods whispered Vedic mantras over neural calibration fields. Yet to an outsider, it all looked like an ashram of mystics.
"Let the world believe we are sages," Sonu said. "We will sow knowledge like seeds. Quietly."
Achyuta turned to him. "You could bring fire to the sky. You could end all our wars. Yet you choose to walk softly."
Sonu smiled. "A river does not shout. Yet it shapes mountains."
---
Later That Night: Emissary's Reflections
In his quarters, Achyuta Bhatta unrolled a second scroll, this one addressed to his king. By candlelight, he wrote in fine Telugu script:
> *To His Excellency, King Venkatapati Raya,
I have seen the edge of Yuga-dharma.
The ones we sought are not gods, yet they move with grace only gods possess.
Their city is veiled in ocean and silence. Their people do not age, their words feel like thunder wrapped in honey.
They will come.
They will not rule us—but teach us how to rule ourselves again.*
— Your servant, Achyuta Bhatta
He sealed the letter with tears in his eyes. "Let Bharat awaken."
---
Elsewhere in Dwarka: Deepak's Meditation Room
Deepak sat alone, staring at the holographic projection of the Indian subcontinent. Markers showed Mughal troop movements, Portuguese trade routes, Dutch outposts forming in Pulicat, and internal revolts within Vijayanagar.
He whispered to himself: "Lord Krishna… You sent this ship for a reason. Now guide me as we begin the most delicate of dances—the rebirth of Bharat."
Just then, a faint chime echoed. It was from the Temple of Time—a message from the AI Core.
The voice spoke in ancient Sanskrit:
"The wheels of destiny turn. The ship of fate has arrived. Prepare for the pilgrimage."
Deepak rose.
Tomorrow, they would begin their journey to Chandragiri.
---