The sandstone path beneath their feet turned from rough earth to carved stone as the ship finally docked. Ahead of them, built upon a rising slope and surrounded by groves of peepal and sal trees, stood the sprawling expanse of Nalanda University—its ancient towers piercing the morning mist like spires of enlightenment.
Pralay stepped off the vessel, eyes drawn upward as the grand gates loomed into view—tall, intricately sculpted doors framed by twin guardian statues of seated lions. Bells chimed in the wind. Saffron and white flags fluttered from the parapets.
Satya Suryavanshi walked a step ahead, his cloak rippling lightly in the breeze. He turned toward Pralay with a faint smile.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "Welcome, Pralay. This is Nalanda—the crown jewel of Aryavarta's spirit. What you see beyond these gates is more than a university. It is a living legacy."
They stepped inside.
Beyond the threshold, Nalanda unfolded like a miniature city. Stone pathways branched into shaded courtyards. Red brick buildings stretched in every direction—some three stories high—covered in ancient carvings of chakra patterns, celestial constellations, and yogic postures. Monks in orange, white, and dark maroon robes walked in quiet pairs or sat beneath trees in meditation. The scent of sandalwood and parchment hung in the air.
A wide plaza opened before them, centered around a massive Dharmachakra-shaped platform, where a bronze statue of an ancient yogi sat cross-legged with his eyes closed—his fingers forming the jnana mudra (a hand gesture in yoga and meditation that signifies wisdom and knowledge). Students bowed their heads in passing. Others performed sun salutations in synchrony across the marble floors under the rising sun.
Pralay blinked at the vastness.
Even amidst the ruins and fire of his recent past, there was something deeply calming about this place.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "Nalanda only prospers because of what it gives—not just to Aryavarta, but to the world. Those who come here do so not to serve kings or seek war… but to find their path."
They walked past stone towers lined with circular lecture halls, many modeled after the ancient Buddhist viharas from Nalanda's forgotten past in Bhoolok-Mool (Upper Earth). Murals on their walls depicted scenes of yoga battles, spiritual journeys, and scholarly debates. Open archways led into libraries that smelled of old ink and burning incense, filled with scrolls bound in silk and palm-leaf manuscripts arranged by region, language, and school of thought.
Outside the campus walls, Pralay could see the small outer market village—a crescent of modest homes, herb shops, ink-makers, and food stalls. The common folk lived in simple quarters but had easy access to the university, many of them working as cooks, cleaners, scribes, and herbalists.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "See that tower?"
He pointed to a square building adorned with chakra motifs and lion statues.
"That is the Pathashala of Yogic Discipline—where breath, posture, and prana are honed. Most start there."
They continued walking.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "The dome behind it? That is the Shastra Kosha. Philosophy, logic, Sanskrit, metaphysics, even astronomy are studied there. To question is not forbidden here—it is necessary."
He pointed to a sunken courtyard surrounded by stone columns. Students sparred with wooden staffs, some wielding short blades as instructors barked orders.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "That is Martial Pathyam. For those who choose to walk the warrior's way—without forgetting wisdom."
"And beyond it," he said, gesturing toward a large circular structure with a reflective pool in front, "lies Tattva Bhawan—the School of Elemental Sciences. Here, chakra practitioners focus on the interplay between spirit and nature. Fire, water, wind… and deeper forces."
Pralay said nothing. But inside him, the pull toward something—or some path—began to stir.
They passed under an arched hallway, open to the sky above, where colored sand mandalas were being created by students using brushes of peacock feather and deer hair. Each pattern pulsed faintly with residual chakra energy.
All of this—the silence, the rhythm, the breadth of disciplines—it was unlike anything he had seen or imagined.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "You don't have to choose now. Nalanda does not rush the soul."
He paused, then looked at Pralay with quiet gravity.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "But understand this: every great fire began as a single spark. And somewhere inside you, Pralay... there is a flame."
A pair of disciples passing by bowed slightly with folded hands.
Disciple One: "Namaskaram, Yogi Satya."
Disciple Two: "May your inner flame stay ever kindled."
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi responded with a gentle nod, his eyes scanning the shifting rhythms of the campus life around them. Just then, as Pralay adjusted his satchel and turned to follow, a soft, deliberate voice rose behind them.
???: "Yogi Satya. I hoped I'd catch you before morning sessions."
They turned.
A girl stood at the edge of a shaded archway, her ochre robes pressed, posture serene. Her eyes were sharp, but not unkind—hazel flecked with gold. A copper-threaded sash bound her waist, and her hands were clasped in the disciple's greeting. The sunlight caught the edges of her earrings—small, circular, and etched with lotus petals.
She stepped forward with poise and confidence that suggested she knew exactly how many eyes were watching her.
Girl: "My name is Naimisha. I arrived early this morning—transferred from the Patliputra branch. My records were submitted to the central archive. They said I could join your instruction track."
Satya raised a brow—not with suspicion, but mild curiosity.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "You must be talented. Patliputra rarely releases students mid-term."
Naimisha: "It was an expedited arrangement. I'm especially interested in your studies on chakra harmonics and inner breath cadence."
Then, as if only now noticing him, she turned to Pralay.
Her expression softened—not with flirtation, but with a faint, mysterious familiarity, as though she already knew his name.
Naimisha: "You must be the new entrant from the Eastern quarter. Pralay, is it?"
Pralay nodded, surprised.
Pralay: "How did you—?"
Naimisha: "News travels quickly here. Especially when the admissions clerics whisper about a 'special entry' to the Inner Paths."
She extended her hand in the Nalanda greeting—two fingers forward, palm half-open.
Naimisha: "I'm Naimisha. Perhaps we'll be studying side by side."
Pralay returned the gesture, albeit awkwardly.
Pralay: "Nice to meet you."
She smiled, then glanced at Satya.
Naimisha: "If there's an orientation walk, I'd like to join. Assuming I'm not interrupting anything."
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "Not at all. Come."
As the trio walked on, Naimisha moved quietly beside them, absorbing her surroundings. Her gaze flicked now and then to the central tower of Nalanda, to the older monks in red and gold robes, to the incoming caravan of scroll bearers from Takshshila. But her mind remained locked on one point:
The boy beside her.
Pralay.
The report said he survived a black-stone encounter and bore traces of resonance with the Kalki imprint. The Pandits wanted observation—subtle, continuous. She wasn't here to interfere. She was here to witness his awakening.
Even if it meant hiding her true nature for now.
As they crossed beneath the stone arch flanked by prayer wheels, the noise of the outer courts faded. The stone pathway ahead curved toward a sanctum where incense smoke rose in slow spirals, and bells chimed faintly from a meditation cloister nearby.
Naimisha walked a step closer to Pralay now, her tone casual, but her eyes measuring.
Naimisha: "You know, most students entering the Inner Paths have a lineage file, or at least a spiritual recommendation from a prior guru. But I didn't hear your name through any of those channels."
Pralay glanced sideways but said nothing.
Naimisha (lightly): "Were you trained somewhere remote? Or… are you part of a special order?"
Pralay: "I'm just here to learn. That's all."
She tilted her head, undeterred.
Naimisha: "Of course. But still, not every disciple arrives escorted by a Yogi as senior as Satya Suryavanshi. That's rare. Even Nalanda prodigies don't—"
Pralay (cutting in): "Why are you so interested in me?"
His voice was firm—not hostile, but drawing a boundary.
Naimisha paused for just a breath, not expecting the question so directly. Then, she smiled—softly, disarmingly.
Naimisha: "Curiosity is the nature of a seeker. Isn't that what they teach here?"
But before the moment could stretch, Yogi Satya stopped in front of a tall wooden gateway—its doors carved with ancient sutras, the Yogi Hall.
He turned to Naimisha with a calm but clear tone.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "Excuse us, Naimisha. This is where Pralay's formal admission begins. Students are not allowed past this point without summons."
Naimisha offered a respectful nod, stepping back with grace, palms joined.
Naimisha: "Of course, Yogi. I'll catch up with you later, Pralay—from where we left off."
She held his gaze just a second longer before turning and vanishing into the passing crowd of initiates and senior disciples.
Pralay frowned faintly, but said nothing.As they neared the end of the orientation walk, Satya stopped before a banyan grove where four saffron-robed yogis stood waiting—each older than the last, their hands folded, their presence immense.
Satya turned to Pralay.
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi: "Before we proceed further, there are customs to honor. The Yogic Guides of Nalanda must know what stirs your spirit. Speak with honesty."
Satya opened the doors, and a wave of sandalwood-scented air drifted out from the hall.
The grand teak doors of the Yogi Hall swung open with a deep, solemn groan.
Satya Suryavanshi stepped in first, his robes flowing like slow-burning incense. Behind him walked Pralay, nervous yet composed, eyes drinking in the circular stone hall. Sunlight filtered through a chakra-carved dome above, casting radiant patterns on the floor of polished granite. Four thrones—each crafted from different sacred woods—faced inward, representing the four paths of Nalanda's wisdom.
The heads of the four Pathashalas were already present, awaiting them.
Satya guided Pralay forward into the center of the four thrones.
Satya (addressing the council): "Honored Yogis, I bring to Nalanda a boy without pedigree, yet not without purpose.
His past is sealed, but his future… it concerns us all.
I ask for your blessing that he be admitted to our disciplines."
On the right sat a vision of grace—Yogini Maitri Kashyapi, head of the Shastra Kosha. Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight braided into strands, her presence delicate yet profound. Her features evoked awe, like the apsara Menaka reborn in mortal form.
She smiled as she rose.
Yogini Maitri (gently): "Welcome, Satya. And welcome to you, child."
Pralay bowed respectfully.
Opposite her sat Yogi Arjun Devendra, head of the Martial Pathyam. His lean frame sat rigid, arms folded, long dark hair tied at the nape like a seasoned warrior. His presence exuded steel discipline.
Yogi Arjun Devendra (sternly): "Let's not waste breath on pleasantries.
Boy—have you held a weapon before? Ever faced a blade drawn in anger?"
Pralay glanced at him.
Pralay (firmly): "Yes."
Yogi Arjun Devendra (leaning forward): "And did you bleed? Did you hesitate before the strike?"
Pralay (after a pause): "I bled. I did not hesitate."
From the far left throne, a bright voice rang out—Yogi Agnivesh Singh, head of Tattva Bhawan. Dressed in saffron with sun-motifs on his chest, his grin blazed with warmth. His energy filled the room like a festival flame.
Yogi Agnivesh Singh (grinning): "Hah! Now that is something I like to hear! But Arjun, must you always poke the flame before it's even lit?"
Yogi Arjun Devendra: (coldly): "Discipline must precede flame. Otherwise, you get a wildfire."
Yogi Maitri Kashyapi (stepping forward, voice calm but with steel): "Discipline without compassion breeds rigidity. We are not training soldiers—we're nurturing seers of truth."
Arjun (sharply): "You've always been too forgiving, Maitri. This is not some temple choir. The boy's silence doesn't prove wisdom—it could be ignorance."
Agnivesh Singh (to Pralay, in a gentler tone): "Tell me, child—what do you seek here? Truth? Power? Or just refuge?"
Pralay (gaze steady): "I don't know. Maybe all of it. But I want to learn. And I won't waste what I've been given."
Satya placed a hand on Pralay's shoulder and responded calmly.
Arjun: "As mentioned in your report by Yogi Satya, You've crossed worlds to be here. But why? What do you truly seek, You just can't 'I don't know!' Pralay of the Bhoolok-Mool?" (**Outer Earth referred to as Bhoolok-Mool by people of Bhoolok-Antar)
Pralay: "I don't have a grand reason. I didn't come because I wanted enlightenment. Or even peace. I came because I've lost everything I knew. And I don't want to lose myself next. There's something I got… a power I never asked for. People have died because of it. Others want to take it. And before I can understand it—before I can protect anyone else—I need to understand myself.
My grandfather told me I would find answers here. I trusted him. I still do."
Yogi Arjun Devendra cloaked in stillness, tilted his head slightly.
Arjun: "You do not yet know the question. But you search, still."
Pralay (quietly): "If learning yoga—truly learning it—can help me make sense of what's coming, then I will learn. I don't know the destination, but I can't stay lost."
Yogi Agnivesh Singh smiled, his face warm with understanding.
Agnivesh: "Good. A man without answers is not empty—he is open."
Maitri Kashyapi (softly, with insight): "You've lost someone. Recently."
(Pralay's eyes flicker, but he says nothing.)
Yogi Satya Suryavanshi (interjecting): "He has faced more than most students here. And he still stands."
Arjun (snorting): "Trauma doesn't make a yogi. It makes a liability. I won't have him collapsing during sparring rounds."
Agnivesh Singh: "Then train. Endure. Fall, and rise again. Only through fire will the sword within you be forged."
Maitri Kashyapi stood and approached Pralay. With a gentle gesture, she touched his forehead with turmeric and palcing vibhuti on Pralay's forehead.
Maitri (softly): "Let Nalanda not judge by bloodlines, but by karma.
Welcome, Pralay. May your journey illuminate your dharma."
Arjun gave a sharp nod—reluctant, but not dismissive.
Arjun (gruffly): "If he fails to keep up, don't expect leniency."
Agnivesh laughed aloud.
Agnivesh Singh: "Failure is just fire refusing to rise. Let's see how high this one burns!"
Satya (solemnly):"Then it is agreed. By voice and vow—Nalanda opens her path to him."
The bell rings again. Outside, the incense coils spin. A wind picks up.
[End of Chapter]