The road had changed.
Or perhaps—
Anand had.
The same winding paths stretched before them, the same trees whispered in the wind, and the same sun climbed steadily across the sky. Yet, something felt… lighter. The monotony that once dragged on his mind had faded, replaced by something far more engaging.
Conversation.
For the first time since leaving the ashram, Anand wasn't walking in silence.
Beside him, moving with an effortless grace that seemed untouched by fatigue, was Narada.
And unlike Satyaka—
Narada talked.
A lot.
"…So you see," Narada continued, plucking lightly at the strings of his veena as they walked, producing a soft, resonant hum, "I travel not merely to see the world, but to feel it. To understand it. To witness the essence that resides in all things."
Anand glanced sideways.
"Essence?"
Narada smiled faintly, his gaze drifting upward toward the canopy of trees.
"That which exists in everything," he said. "In the wind, in the trees, in the rivers… in you, in me."
There was a pause.
Narada's fingers brushed across the strings again.
"…In Him."
He didn't say the name.
He didn't need to.
Something about the way he said it—the quiet reverence, the absolute certainty—made it clear.
Anand raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Sounds like you're pretty devoted."
Narada chuckled softly.
"Devotion is not something I practice," he said. "It is something I am."
Anand blinked.
"…That's… one way to put it."
Narada continued, undeterred.
"Music," he said, lifting the veena slightly, "is merely the most beautiful way to express that devotion. When words fail, when thoughts scatter—music remains. It reaches where logic cannot."
Anand didn't reply immediately.
Instead, he listened.
Really listened.
There was no exaggeration in Narada's tone. No pride. No performance.
Just truth.
"…You really love this stuff, huh," Anand muttered.
Narada smiled.
"I love everything," he replied simply.
Anand let out a small breath.
"Yeah… that checks out."
They walked in silence for a few steps.
Then Narada spoke again.
"I have traveled far," he said. "Across the heavens, across the earth… even through the depths below."
Anand tilted his head.
"…Depths below?"
"The realms beneath," Narada said casually. "The worlds that lie beyond the reach of ordinary beings."
Anand blinked.
"…Right."
He nodded slowly.
"…Sure."
He wasn't even going to question that.
Patallok, huh… yeah, sure, why not…
At this point, nothing surprised him anymore.
Narada continued as if speaking of ordinary roads.
"I had intended to travel westward," he said. "There were lands I had not seen in some time. But…"
He glanced at Anand.
"…fate had other plans."
Anand frowned slightly.
"Meaning?"
Narada's smile deepened.
"Had I not met you, I would not have turned toward the north again so soon."
Anand's steps faltered for a fraction of a second.
…Wait.
His mind stirred.
Because of me…?
A strange thought surfaced.
Am I… affecting things?
He thought about it.
The world.
The story.
The Ramayana.
If this really is that world… then even small changes could…
He glanced at Narada.
A traveling musician… shouldn't matter much, right?
He exhaled.
"…Yeah. I'm probably overthinking."
Narada raised an eyebrow.
"You speak to yourself often."
"Helps me stay sane," Anand replied.
Narada laughed.
"So," Narada said after a while, "what of you?"
Anand looked at him.
"What about me?"
"Your journey," Narada said. "Your purpose. Your future."
Then—
Almost casually—
"And when will you play that music again?"
Anand's eye twitched.
There it was.
Again.
"…Soon," he replied, forcing a neutral tone. "Very soon."
Narada nodded, seemingly satisfied.
For now.
Anand sighed internally.
He's not letting that go, is he…
He adjusted his bag slightly.
"I'm heading to Ayodhya," he said. "Just… traveling. Seeing the world."
Narada hummed.
"A noble pursuit."
"I want to see how things really are," Anand continued. "Kingdoms, people… everything. I've been stuck in one place for too long."
Narada nodded.
"To travel," he said, "is to expand the mind. To remain still is to see only one part of truth."
Anand smirked.
"Guess I made the right call then."
"You did."
Days passed.
And the journey—
Changed.
With Narada beside him, Anand no longer felt the crushing monotony of the road.
They talked.
About everything.
About music.
About people.
About places.
Narada spoke of distant lands, strange encounters, and moments of beauty Anand could barely imagine.
And Anand—
He listened.
Sometimes he spoke.
Sometimes he explained.
And sometimes—
He shared music.
Sparingly.
Very sparingly.
But enough.
He played songs from Arijit Singh, watching Narada's eyes light up with each note.
Then came Sonu Nigam.
Then the timeless voice of Lata Mangeshkar.
Even songs from the golden era—old, rich, layered with emotion.
Narada absorbed it all.
Every note.
Every word.
Every nuance.
"…This…" Narada whispered once, eyes closed, "this is divine."
Anand smiled faintly.
"Yeah… it kinda is."
But with each song—
Narada wanted more.
And more.
And more.
"…What creates these sounds?" Narada asked one day.
Anand hesitated.
Then decided—
Why not?
"Well," he began, "there are instruments. Different ones. Like…"
He started listing them.
"Guitar. Bass. Drum set. Trumpet. Keyboard…"
Narada's eyes widened slightly with each word.
"…And all these combine?" he asked.
"Yeah," Anand nodded. "Each one adds something different."
Narada looked almost… enchanted.
"…Can I see them?"
Anand froze.
There it was.
The question he had been dreading.
"…No," he said quietly.
Narada blinked.
"…No?"
"I can't get them here," Anand explained. "They… don't exist in this time."
Narada's expression fell.
Just slightly.
But enough.
And Anand felt it.
A small pang of guilt.
Damn…
He had shown him something incredible—
Something he couldn't give.
"…Sorry," Anand muttered.
Narada nodded slowly.
"I understand."
But the disappointment lingered.
Anand noticed.
And something in his mind clicked.
…Wait.
An idea.
Small.
Rough.
Incomplete.
But possible.
He didn't say anything.
Not yet.
The journey continued.
And sometimes—
When Narada wandered ahead, or stopped to observe something, or drifted into his own melodies—
Anand would step aside.
Take out his notebook.
And write.
Sketches.
Rough shapes.
Strings.
Bodies of instruments.
Notes about sound.
Mechanisms.
As much as he could remember.
"…If I can't show him…" Anand muttered quietly, scribbling, "maybe I can… recreate something…"
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't complete.
But it was a start.
He closed the notebook.
Looked ahead.
Narada stood there, veena resting lightly on his shoulder, humming a tune that didn't belong to this world.
Anand smiled faintly.
"…Yeah," he murmured.
"This might actually work."
Then he stepped forward—
And continued walking toward Ayodhya.