As Sumendu stepped into the attic, a wave of damp air mixed with a pungent odor struck him. Anyone older might have immediately turned back down the creaky staircase, preferring the comfort of the kitchen below. But not Sumendu. His fifteen-year-old heart thrilled with curiosity as his eyes roamed over the clutter of artifacts scattered about—some crafted from wood, others gleaming faintly in brass.
To him, it felt like stumbling upon a hidden treasure trove. Among the jumble, one particular object caught his eye: a small cabinet, or rather, an old-fashioned writing desk. The kind people once used to pen letters while seated cross-legged on the floor. It was secured with a strange, antique lock—its unusual design only fueling his curiosity.
He searched for a key, rifling through shelves and corners, but found none. A thought flashed across his mind: perhaps the lock could simply be forced open. The temptation was too strong to resist. Placing his hands firmly on the lid, he pressed and lifted with all his strength.
The aged lock, having long outlived its purpose, gave way with a snap. The lid swung back and fell with a heavy thud, revealing the desk's hidden contents. To his astonishment, inside lay a small quiver holding six darts, alongside a dartboard that looked as ancient as the weapons themselves.
Intrigued, Sumendu reached for the first dart. As he drew it from the quiver, a tiny piece of metal slipped out and clinked onto the floor. Picking it up, he noticed an inscription etched in Sanskrit:
"प्रत्येकं बाणं कालयन्त्रम् अस्ति"
(Each dart is a time machine.)