The massive doors began to open.
Slowly.
A deep, resonating sound echoed through the corridor as the enormous wooden panels, reinforced with intricate golden carvings, swung inward. The guards standing on either side remained perfectly still, their spears held upright as the sight beyond the entrance gradually revealed itself.
And Anand—
Anand forgot to move.
Beyond those doors lay the royal court of Ayodhya.
The grandeur of the place was beyond anything he had imagined.
Massive pillars rose toward a high ceiling, their surfaces adorned with elaborate carvings depicting flowers, celestial beings, and scenes of ancient legends. Golden lamps hung from carefully crafted fixtures, casting a warm glow across the polished floor. Richly decorated curtains framed the tall windows, through which sunlight streamed into the chamber in long, radiant beams.
Courtiers occupied their designated places on either side of the hall. Ministers, scholars, nobles, and royal attendants stood or sat in orderly arrangements, their conversations quieting as the newcomers entered.
But Anand's eyes were drawn toward the center.
There, upon an elevated platform, sat King Dasharatha.
The monarch of Ayodhya occupied a magnificent throne, its craftsmanship reflecting the wealth and artistry of his kingdom. His posture was upright, his expression composed, and his presence carried the unmistakable authority of a man accustomed to ruling a prosperous realm.
He wore royal garments adorned with gold ornaments, but it was not the richness of his attire that commanded attention. It was the quiet dignity with which he carried himself.
And seated to the king's right was a venerable sage.
His countenance was serene, his bearing dignified, and his eyes possessed the penetrating quality of someone who had spent a lifetime studying the deepest truths of existence.
Anand recognized him immediately.
Sage Vashistha.
The royal preceptor of Ayodhya.
One of the most revered sages in the Ramayana.
Anand's throat suddenly felt dry.
Okay. That's Vashistha.
And that's King Dasharatha.
I'm actually standing in front of them.
He had spent years reading stories about these figures. He had imagined what they might look like, how they might speak, and what it would feel like to encounter them.
Yet none of those imaginings had prepared him for the reality.
These were not illustrations in a book.
They were not characters appearing on a television screen.
They were living people, sitting before him in a world that had once existed only in the stories he knew.
Please, Anand, he reminded himself. For the love of everything, don't do anything stupid.
Beside him, Narada walked with the effortless composure of someone who had entered countless royal courts throughout his travels.
He seemed entirely unaffected by the grandeur surrounding them.
If anything, he looked as though he had simply arrived at another pleasant destination on an otherwise ordinary journey.
Minister Sumanth stepped forward.
The conversations in the court ceased completely.
He bowed respectfully before the throne.
"Your Majesty, I have brought the two travelers I mentioned earlier."
King Dasharatha regarded them with interest.
"Ah, yes. The wandering musicians."
He looked toward Narada first, his gaze settling briefly upon the veena in the sage's hands.
"And this is the musician whose talent you spoke so highly of?"
"Indeed, Maharaja," Sumanth replied. "His musical ability is extraordinary. I believe his performance would bring great pleasure to Your Majesty and the assembled court."
Dasharatha's expression brightened.
"Then we must not keep such talent waiting."
He gestured toward Narada.
"Revered sir, Ayodhya welcomes you. If you would be willing to share your music with us, I would be delighted to hear it myself."
Narada inclined his head.
"It would be my pleasure, Maharaja."
Dasharatha leaned forward slightly.
"And I should make one thing clear before you begin. Should your performance satisfy me, you shall receive a reward worthy of your talent. Gold, precious ornaments, land, or whatever wealth would allow you to live comfortably for the remainder of your days. You need only ask."
A few courtiers nodded approvingly.
Such generosity was not unusual for a king who took pride in the prosperity of his kingdom and the patronage of artists.
Narada, however, merely smiled.
"Your generosity is most gracious, Maharaja. I shall accept your invitation to perform."
He did not ask about the reward.
He did not inquire about the amount of gold.
He simply settled himself comfortably, adjusted the veena against his body, and prepared to play.
Anand watched with growing anticipation.
Oh, this is going to be good.
I've heard Narada play before, but watching him perform in Dasharatha's court?
Yeah. This is definitely something I don't want to miss.
Narada's fingers rested lightly against the strings.
For a brief moment, his eyes closed.
The court fell silent.
Then—
The first note rang out.
Clear.
Gentle.
Immaculate.
It traveled through the chamber with an almost startling purity, as though the sound had emerged from the very stillness that preceded it.
A second note followed.
Then a third.
Soon, the individual notes began weaving together into a melody that seemed to possess a life of its own.
Narada's fingers moved with effortless precision. There was no visible struggle, no hesitation, no unnecessary flourish. Every movement served the music, and every note found its place as naturally as a river finding its course.
The melody gradually grew richer.
Its rhythm shifted, becoming more intricate without losing its grace. The sound of the veena filled the chamber, flowing between the pillars and rising toward the high ceiling.
Then Narada began to sing.
His voice blended seamlessly with the instrument, carrying a depth that transcended the beauty of the melody itself.
It was not merely a display of technical skill.
There was devotion in every note.
A quiet reverence that seemed to speak of something immeasurably greater than the musician himself.
Anand leaned back slightly, listening.
Yep.
That's Narada for you.
He had expected excellence.
Anything less would have been surprising.
Yet even knowing what Narada was capable of did little to diminish the effect of hearing him perform.
Around the court, the reactions were immediate.
The courtiers who had initially watched with polite curiosity now listened with complete attention. Some closed their eyes, allowing the melody to wash over them. Others sat perfectly still, their expressions softened by the music.
Even the guards stationed near the entrance seemed to forget their rigid posture.
King Dasharatha listened without interruption.
The faint curiosity that had initially occupied his expression gradually gave way to genuine appreciation.
Beside him, Sage Vashistha regarded Narada with a calm, knowing smile.
He understood that music, when performed with true mastery and devotion, could reach places that ordinary speech could not.
And Narada's performance was a testament to precisely that.
The melody rose toward a beautiful crescendo before slowly descending into a gentler rhythm.
The final notes lingered in the air.
Then—
Silence.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
And then the court erupted into applause.
Dasharatha himself rose slightly from his throne, his face bright with admiration.
"Wonderful!"
His voice carried throughout the chamber.
"Truly wonderful! Revered Narada, your talent is extraordinary. I have heard many accomplished musicians perform in this court, but your music possesses a quality that is difficult to describe."
He glanced toward Vashistha.
"Would you not agree, revered sage?"
Vashistha nodded.
"Certainly, Maharaja. His mastery is remarkable. Yet what makes his performance especially beautiful is not merely his command of the instrument. There is sincerity in his music, and devotion behind every note."
His gaze settled upon Narada.
"Such music cannot be produced through skill alone."
Narada bowed his head modestly.
"You honor me with your words."
Anand silently nodded to himself.
Well, that's an understatement.
The guy travels between worlds and spends his time singing about the divine. I doubt he needs a music instructor.
Dasharatha gestured toward Sumanth.
"As promised, arrange a generous reward for our guest. Provide him with sufficient gold, precious ornaments, and other wealth so that he may live comfortably for the rest of his life."
Sumanth bowed.
"As Your Majesty commands. I shall ensure that the reward reflects the extraordinary quality of his performance."
Narada raised one hand gently.
"If I may speak, Maharaja."
Dasharatha turned toward him.
"Of course, revered sir. Speak freely."
Narada's expression remained warm.
"I am grateful for your generosity and for the honor of performing before you. However, I must respectfully decline such an enormous reward."
The court grew quiet again.
Dasharatha appeared surprised.
"You would decline the wealth offered to you?"
"Yes, Maharaja."
"But why? You have demonstrated a talent worthy of great recognition. There is no shame in accepting wealth for your work."
"Indeed, Your Majesty. Nor do I consider your offer improper. However, my journey is not undertaken for the sake of accumulating possessions."
Narada glanced down at his veena.
"I wander from place to place, sharing my music wherever I am welcomed. The greatest reward I could ask for is the opportunity to continue doing so."
He paused before adding, "If Your Majesty truly wishes to bestow such wealth, I humbly request that it be given to those who are in need. Let it provide food to the hungry, shelter to the destitute, and assistance to those who have no means of supporting themselves. May the wealth be used in the name of the One whom I worship."
For several moments, Dasharatha simply regarded him.
Then his expression softened.
"Remarkable."
He shook his head with a faint smile.
"You possess extraordinary talent, yet you ask for nothing for yourself. Instead, you wish for the wealth to benefit those who are less fortunate."
He glanced toward his ministers.
"Let it be done. The wealth shall be distributed among those in need, as our guest has requested."
Sumanth bowed.
"It shall be arranged, Maharaja."
Dasharatha looked back at Narada.
"Your humility does you great credit, revered sir. And your concern for those who suffer is a virtue that even the wealthiest among us would do well to cultivate."
Narada bowed.
"I am grateful for your understanding."
The king considered him for another moment before speaking again.
"Then allow me to make another offer."
Narada waited patiently.
"I would be honored if you agreed to remain in Ayodhya as my personal court musician. You would receive a place of honor within the palace, every comfort that could be provided, and wealth befitting your position. You would never need to worry about your livelihood again."
A murmur of interest passed through the assembled courtiers.
It was an excellent offer.
To become the personal musician of King Dasharatha would be an opportunity most performers could only dream of.
Yet Narada's answer came without hesitation.
"I am deeply honored, Maharaja. However, I must respectfully decline."
Dasharatha raised his eyebrows.
"Again?"
Narada smiled apologetically.
"I am but a wandering musician, Your Majesty. My travels are a part of who I am. It is through this freedom that I continue to discover new experiences, meet different people, and offer my music wherever I go."
He adjusted his veena slightly.
"If I were to remain confined to one place, even one as magnificent as your palace, I fear that my music might lose something of its present character. And should that happen, I would be unable to give Your Majesty the very thing you wish to receive from me."
Dasharatha listened thoughtfully.
"So you believe that remaining here would diminish your talent?"
"Not necessarily my talent, Maharaja. But perhaps the spirit with which I perform. I would not wish for Your Majesty to discover that the musician you admired today had become dull tomorrow."
For a moment, Dasharatha seemed to consider persuading him further.
Then he laughed softly.
"Very well. I shall not attempt to imprison a bird merely because I admire its song."
He inclined his head.
"It is a shame that I cannot persuade you to remain, but I respect your reasoning. Ayodhya's doors shall always remain open to you."
Narada bowed.
"Your kindness is more than sufficient, Maharaja."
Anand watched the exchange with quiet admiration.
Honestly, that was probably the best possible way to reject a king's offer.
No greed. No unnecessary excuses. Just a perfectly reasonable explanation.
And he somehow managed to make Dasharatha thank him for refusing.
He shook his head inwardly.
I have a lot to learn.
Once the conversation with Narada had concluded, Sumanth stepped forward again.
"Your Majesty, there is another matter concerning Anand."
Dasharatha turned toward the young traveler.
"Ah, yes. Our other guest."
His gaze moved to Anand's bag.
"Sumanth mentioned that you possess several unusual objects. I would hear about them as well."
Anand straightened.
"Of course, Maharaja."
"First, I am told that you possess a small object capable of producing a brilliant light without the use of a flame."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And that you possess an instrument capable of reproducing music."
"That is correct."
Sumanth added, "There is also the matter of his notebook, Maharaja. The paper is unlike anything I have encountered in the kingdom. It is extraordinarily smooth and refined, with a consistency and finish that surpasses even the finest paper available to our craftsmen."
That caught Dasharatha's attention.
He turned toward Anand again.
"Is this true?"