Title: "The Last Light of Kanauj"
Bengal, 9th century. The air hung heavy with incense and smoke as monks chanted in the great halls of Somapura Mahavihara — scholars from far Tibet, Kashmir, even Arabia gathered. The land under the reign of the Pala Empire basked in peace: rivers flowed wide, jungles whispered ancient secrets, universities rang with debates about the cosmos and the soul.
Young tile-maker's son Ardhu gazed out from his village by the river, eyes shining with dreams of scrolls, stars and wisdom — dreams only a few could chase. When the monsoon broke and wild elephants thundered through the forest beyond their fields, the village trembled. That night, a traveling monk knocked on their door: wounded, with a broken satchel. Holding ancient scripts, he whispered of dark rumours: rival warlords from the west gathering, hungry for power.
Ardhu's master, the village potter — simple hands but righteous heart — swore to shelter the monk. Word spread: war was coming, and the knowledge of monks, the scrolls and teachings, faced destruction. Until now, Bengal's golden age had meant peace and learning. But soon it would mean survival.
Ardhu, clutching a stolen parchment, fled under moonlight through rice fields and jungle paths, guided by the monk's harsh whisper: "Save the light, if not for us — for those yet unborn." As war drums thundered afar, the young boy realized his fate: not as a simple tile-maker's son, but as the unlikely guardian of Bengal's knowledge.
In the thick darkness, the first arrow flew — and with it, the last light of an age.