Just as the all-consuming cosmic light surged toward him—a convergence of every star in every galaxy, collapsing into a single, searing point of divine energy—Rohan felt something ancient stir within him.
Fear.
But not the fear of death. That door had already closed behind him.
This was something deeper—the raw, soul-clenching terror of ceasing to exist, of being unravelled by a force so immense, so absolute, that the very idea of "self" could not survive in its presence.
This light was not illumination.
It was obliteration.
The kind that could swallow galaxies whole and still hunger for more.
Suddenly, Rohan's mind was flooded.
Not with thoughts—but with truths, infinite and indivisible.
He saw galaxies spinning in reverse, unravelling like threads pulled from a cosmic loom.
He witnessed the birth of atoms, raw energy coalescing into matter with a whisper that echoed across eternity.
Civilizations bloomed and burned across the multiverse—rising with songs and falling in silence.
He watched as the lives of mortals, beasts, and gods intertwined—moments folding into each other like a breathing, shifting tapestry stitched by time itself.
He saw a child's first cry and a dying man's final breath happening not before or after, but together—two ends of a sacred loop.
Worlds collided. Stars consumed themselves. Time folded in on itself. Space screamed as it broke.
And then—he saw himself.
Across timelines. Across species. Across entire realities.
He was the tyrant and the saviour.
The beggar and the king.
The prey and the predator.
The silenced and the speaker.
He lived a thousand lifetimes in the space of a single breath. Each version of him, wildly different—yet unmistakably him.
Every moment he had ever lived, and could ever live, existed all at once.
And for one impossible instant, he understood.
Not in thought. Not in logic. But in being.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying
His thoughts—or whatever fragmented echoes remained of them in this formless void—cried out, raw and instinctual, like the final roar of a dying animal. A primal, desperate sound from the depths of something that once clung to life. He could feel his very soul beginning to rupture, unravelling thread by thread, as if about to be scattered across the infinite
"No! No, please! I believe you! You are the real deal!" he cried out, his consciousness trembling within the fragile shield that barely kept him intact. "But… what are you? A god? One of the Trimurti?"
The vast emptiness shuddered.
The very void trembled—not in sound, but in resonance. The answer came not through ears, but as thoughts pressed directly into his soul, each word layered with infinite echoes, each idea heavier than time itself.
"I am far beyond that."
The vibration deepened, and the pressure of it pushed through Rohan's being like a tidal wave of existence. The voice—no, the presence—continued, its meaning unfolding like a scroll across the fabric of reality.
"I am not bound by names or forms. I am more than a god. I am the Supreme Being—of every universe born and unborn. I am the source from which even the Trimurti draw breath. I am beyond time, where eternity is but a breath, and a single breath can become eternity."
"I am the Creator who births existence, the Progenitor who sustains its rhythm, and the Destroyer who reclaims all when the song ends."
"I am the origin and the conclusion, the silence before the first word, and the echo after the last."
The vast presence paused. Rohan felt like an insect staring into the soul of the cosmos.
"I have many names. I am all and none. I am ambiguity incarnate. But if a name you must have—if your mortal mind demands form and title—then call me…"
The void shone gold for a fraction of a second, as if a divine sun had smiled upon it.
"MahaVishnu."
The name didn't just echo—it rippled across the stars unseen, through every layer of Rohan's soul. With that single utterance, Rohan felt as though he had glimpsed a thousand lifetimes in the span of a heartbeat.
And in that moment, for the first time in his short, mortal life…
Rohan believed.
The shimmering void pulsed in silence as Rohan stood, or floated—he couldn't tell—in the protective prism gifted by the Aide of the Supreme. Around him, space and time ceased to exist. All that remained was an unfathomable awareness. Of presence. Of divinity. Of something so immense, so ancient, that to even look directly at it would disintegrate the soul.
And yet… here he was.
His voice, frail yet unwavering, echoed against the crystalline shield.
"Why me?" Rohan asked, his words breaking through the hush like ripples in a cosmic sea.
"Why am I here? What does the Supreme Being of all existence want from me?"
A low vibration answered. Not words, but meaning. And then, through The Divine Attendant once more—whose voice rang like layered harmonies of thunder, wind, and time—the answer came.
"You seek the afterlife, child. To reunite with your family. But the story of your soul does not end here."
"Your life… was a hard one. But not an unjust one. Every soul is bound by the laws of karma, the sacred balance of actions. No deed, good or evil, goes unanswered."
Rohan furrowed his brow. Something stirred deep inside—familiarity. He had heard this before, hadn't he? Bedtime tales his mother used to tell him. Stories of rebirth, of karma, of divine justice, back when life was simpler, back when she believed he would be something great.
"You mean… I deserved all that pain?" he asked bitterly.
"No," the Aide of the Supreme said gently. "You earned it. From a debt not of this life, but the one before."
The void shifted. Vision—not of sight, but of understanding—unfolded before Rohan. He felt the weight of his past karma. Shadows of choices he hadn't made in this life but were bound to his soul. A betrayal. A lie. A path walked in arrogance. The karma of a past version of him that no longer existed but had to be paid for.
"You were born to repay. And repay you did. The suffering you endured… it cleansed you. And had it ended there, you would have gone on. Reborn anew into another life, as all souls are."
"But something… extraordinary happened."
And suddenly, the void parted slightly.
A warm glow pierced the darkness—a light not of stars or suns, but of love.
Rohan turned. His breath caught.
Beyond the veil of light, he saw them.
Not clearly. Like reflections through mist and memory. But they were there.
His father, arm draped across his mother's shoulders, both radiant with peace. Arya stood beside them, wearing that mischievous grin she always wore before stealing the last piece of dessert. Behind them, his grandfather, Ramchandra. His grandmother, Meenakshi, holding his hand. And beside his father…
"Abuela… Nina…"
Rohan's voice broke.
They were smiling. Calm. Content. Free.
"They were supposed to be reborn in a happy life," The Divine Attendant continued. "They were fated to live long lives filled with joy, love, and purpose. But they saw your suffering. They watched as you crumbled under the weight of a world that offered you nothing in return."
"And they gave it all up."
"Their karmic credit. Their future happiness. Their peace. They sacrificed it willingly, so that you could be given… a chance."
Tears welled up in Rohan's eyes, flowing like stardust through the barrier. His voice cracked, raw with anguish.
"How can I be happy… without them?"
"No matter what you offer me, they are my happiness. My world was them. That light—that's where I want to be!"
He stretched out his hand toward the silhouettes, longing and sorrow etched into every motion. But the light remained just out of reach.
Then came the Supreme's presence again—immense, eternal, absolute. And with it, words that thundered through the core of all that existed.
"To undo all loss would unravel the path meant for you. But I will return you, Rohan Ram Delgado—and in doing so, I shall restore all but one."
"Your father's death shall remain. It is the keystone of your fate, the spark that forged who you are to become. Some events, even the Divine cannot—should not—unmake."
Rohan lowered his hand. Grief mingled with silent gratitude. One pain he'd have to carry… for the sake of the many he wouldn't.
"Then what… happens to me now?"
The Divine Attendant stepped forward, lifting a hand. A great scroll of light unfurled in the air above.
"You will be given a gift, Rohan Ram Delgado," said the Aide, his voice resonant like the chime of temple bells at dusk. "Brahmāṇḍa Jñāna Kośa—the Library of the Cosmos."
"In it lies every breath, every heartbeat, every war and peace across all creation. But know this — the Library is no book of convenience. Its doors open only to the pure of intent, and close to those who stray from dharma*."
Rohan looked up as the scroll transformed into a fractal of knowledge—a kaleidoscope of flowing symbols, shifting numbers, living history, and stories not yet told.
"Within it lies all knowledge—past, present, and future. Of wars and peace. Of inventions yet to be built. Of companies not yet formed. Of people not yet born. You will know of politics, economics, innovation, medicine, psychology—everything. The threads that shape your world. It contains the knowledge of Cosmos itself, every universe, every being is recorded here."
Rohan's eyes widened, but The Divine Attendant raised a finger.
"But… knowledge comes at a cost. You will not be omniscient. Your access to the Library will depend on your karma. Every good deed will open new pathways, new pages. Every selfish act will close them."
"The Library will not serve greed or cruelty. It is alive, and it sees your intent. To unlock its greatest depths, you must live in a way that earns it."
Another figure stepped forward—tall, slender, dressed in luminous robes that shimmered with shifting ink.
"This," said The Divine Attendant, "is Prajwal, your guide and manager. A student of Chitragupta himself. He will interpret the scrolls, guide your access, and ensure you do not lose yourself to temptation."
Prajwal nodded with a warm, mysterious smile.
"And one more gift," the Supreme said, the vibrations like a universe humming in unison.
"The Dream Space."
A sphere appeared beside Rohan—a mirror of galaxies encased in crystal.
"Time flows thirty times slower within. Study, learn, explore. Here, you may absorb a month's knowledge in a single day. Or… if you so choose, absorb entire bodies of knowledge instantly—at the cost of karma."
"These are your tools, Rohan Ram. Use them well. Your path is not just to survive, but to shape the world that broke you. Be worthy of the love that saved you."
Rohan floated in silence, mind reeling. The library. The Dream Space. Karma. It all sounded impossible. But his hands still trembled from the vision of his family—their sacrifices, their smiles.
He clenched his fist, a spark of determination flickering to life in the vast dark.
"Then let the world remember me. Not for the pain I endured… but for what I'll create from it."
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Author's Note: Understanding the Spiritual Foundation of the Story
In this story, you will encounter several deeply rooted spiritual and philosophical ideas—drawn from the timeless wisdom of Hindu cosmology, Vedanta, and karma-yoga—but told in a modern narrative format.
For readers who may not be familiar with these ideas or who may find certain elements confusing, here's a personal guide to the underlying spiritual themes.
Karma – The Sacred Balance of Action
Karma is not a cosmic "punishment" or "reward" system as many assume.
In Sanskrit, karma means "action"—and more importantly, every action has a consequence.
It's not divine judgment. It's cause and effect.
If you sow kindness, you reap trust.If you sow cruelty, you inherit its echoes in pain.
Karma is cumulative—not just across this life, but across all lives your soul has ever lived. What Rohan suffers is not retribution, but the consequence of debts he may have incurred in a life he no longer remembers.
Just like you don't remember the loan your past-self took out—but you still pay the interest.
Dharma – The Cosmic Duty
Dharma is hard to translate in English. It means duty, righteousness, the natural order, and moral compass—all at once.
It is not about being "good" by someone else's standards.
It's about living in alignment with your role in the universe, your truth.
For a soldier, dharma may mean courage in battle.For a healer, it may mean compassion even to the undeserving.For Rohan, it means choosing to rise, even when the world gave him every excuse to collapse.
Dharma isn't enforced by fear—it's chosen with responsibility.
MahaVishnu – The Supreme Beyond All Forms
In Hindu cosmology, Vishnu is known as the Preserver in the Trimurti—Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, Shiva the destroyer.
But what Rohan encounters is not just Vishnu.
He meets MahaVishnu—the formless source, the cosmic intelligence from which even gods like Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva emerge.
This is inspired by the concept of ParaBrahman in Vedanta:
"That which cannot be seen, touched, named, or imagined—but which is the source of all names and forms."
He is not a bearded man on a throne, but the vibration before time began. When MahaVishnu speaks, the cosmos listens.
Chitragupta – The Divine Scribe of Karma
In traditional Hindu lore, Chitragupta is the cosmic accountant.
He records every action of every soul across every lifetime.He decides your next birth, your suffering, your blessings.
He's not a judge in robes, but a mirror—your karma reflects your choices.
In this story, Prajwal is a disciple of Chitragupta, tasked with guiding Rohan through his spiritual evolution, and ensuring he doesn't misuse the knowledge gifted to him.
Why Spiritual Themes Matter in This Story
This is not just a tale of grief or a science-fiction epic.
It is a story about:
How pain can refine the soul.How even the forgotten can shape the world.What ancient truths still echo in our modern chaos.
Rohan is not a chosen one because of fate or lineage.
He's chosen because of sacrifice—the karmic credit his family gave up for him, the life he lost, and the one he is being offered.
Every cosmic gift he receives is not free.
It must be earned.
Final Thought
If you take one idea away from this story, let it be this:
Pain is not always punishment. Sometimes, it's purification.
And those who rise after being broken are the ones who carry light into the world.