While a familiar emptiness after a major writing project consumed my mindspace, another familiar unease before the surfacing of a new idea was creeping up my nerves. And between this still emptiness and fidgeting unease, my blank stare peered out of the window into the mysterious darkness of infinity.

And then it happened. This was surreal.

My adrenaline went into overdrive. Sparks flew up my spinal cord. The deep dark woods outside grew darker into nothingness. My consciousness merged into that of my protagonist’s. I was ready to write.

As I started typing, my protagonist slowly rose from my imagination and started shaping up on my screen.

***
Soumik Bhattacharya was a professor of modern physics at IIT Bombay. His rotund frame, curly black hair, endearing smile and generally playful demeanor made him immensely popular. And though his subject was modern physics, he had a knack of making it as interesting as a fairy tale to a 3 year old!

As usual, he waddled through the labyrinth of shelves balancing a pile of books rather clumsily when his elbow hit a corner of a book precariously perched and sticking out from the otherwise orderly shelf. The book hit his funny bone sending a tingling sensation right through his arm. The pile fell from his hands and spread itself all over the floor.

He cursed and warily looked at the nasty book. It was an old leatherbound hard cover. The faded title on the rib read “Vedas, Upanishads and Time Travel”. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Who even reads this stuff”, he muttered.

He picked up the scattered books and approached the librarian for checking out.

“Next course on quantum physics coming up, eh?” The portly elderly lady behind the counter quipped. She was quite happy to see Professor Soumik Bhattacharya. While the world had long gone digital, and hardly anyone read hard copy books, here was a 30 something professor who stuck to paper and print.

“No Bela ji. These titles are only to impress you enough to come on a date with me.” he winked.

“Oh! So much suffering for me? I am moved, Professor.” She laughed.

“By the way, what is a book on Vedas and Upanishads doing in the physics section, Bela ji?” He asked casually.

“Vedas? In Physics shelves? Strange. Very strange...” She was apparently hurt that something was out of order in her library. “Can you show me?”, she asked.

The duo walked up the maze of shelves again. Professor Soumik suddenly stopped in his tracks and stared at the rack. The book wasn't there.

Bela looked at him quizzically. She shrugged her shoulders, turned around and walked to the Sanskrit treatises section. Professor Soumik followed her, wondering. He distinctly remembered the tingling. He subconsciously touched his elbow.

Bela scanned through the shelves. And there it was, neatly stowed in its logical location. “Vedas, Upanishads and Time Travel - from mythology to sci-fi.”

“But I swear, I never came here Bela ji. I saw this book on the other shelf.”, he said, rather sheepishly.

“Professor!” She said in a rather patronizing way, “You need some rest!”

She walked away, muttering under her breath, “These intellectuals!”

***
I stopped. “It’s shaping up,” I thought.

Now the Professor would carry home haunting thoughts about the book. Tomorrow, he will formally ask for the specific book and then he will discover a cryptic message in a specific mantra and go on to build a time machine. He would demonstrate time travel, but the machine would break down and he would be stuck in the other realm of time. Nice, simple plot. Readers would love it!

I swivelled my chair. My funny bone hit something on my side desk. Rubbing my ulnar nerve to calm the tingling, I looked warily over my shoulder.

It was the same old hardbound book. “Vedas, Upanishads and Time Travel - from mythology to sci-fi - by Swami Vedananda.”

My heart raced. I shook my head, blinked vigorously and looked again. There was nothing.

“Too much involvement, I guess!.” I muttered.

But the tingling of my funny bone - my ulnar nerve - was real. There was still a mild tingling.

I glanced outside the window into the frozen silent darkness again. For a while my mind ruminated on the ideas of quantum tunnelling, superpositioning, and entanglement that I had casually watched on youtube. It was too complicated. I shook my head as though the thoughts would be shaken out and turned towards my laptop again.

I couldn’t write. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a moment.

***
Professor Soumik Bhattacharya was relaxing in his easy chair, head tilted back, eyes closed, perfectly still. A pen dangled from the limp fingers of his left hand while in his right hand he clutched a book, a finger inserted between the pages like a marker.

Long after the shock the book had given his ulnar nerve, the tingling had continued in his mind. The image of the book consumed his consciousness. The next morning, almost apologetically, he had requested Bela to issue that book to him. Librarian Bela had made fun of him.

No one who knew the Professor would believe that he would get interested in science fiction leave alone ancient mythology. He was a man of science. And yet here he was pondering deeply over this book “Vedas, Upanishads and Time Travel - from mythology to sci-fi”.

Half way through the book, he was now reasonably sure of building the time machine. He already knew the multiple proofs of time dilation, a concept that could be used to jump into the future. But he had no idea till now of hopping back into the present. Swami Vedananda had shown him the way.

सूक्ष्मरूपे विभाज्यन्ते तरंगधर्म प्रवर्तते
द्विद्वारेभ्या: संक्रमणेन स्व:छंदन्मार्गकुर्वते ।।
Sookshmaroope Vibhajyante Tarangadharma Pravartate
Dwidwarebhyah Sankramanen Swachhandamaargakurvate ||

भूतोपि भविष्येवा वर्तमानेपि संस्थिता
नैकक्षणेन बद्धस्ते स्थलकालपाशे विमुक्त: ।।
Bhootopi Bhavishyewa Wartamaanepi Sansthitah
Naikshanen baddhaste Sthalkaalpaashe Vimuktah ||

अनुसंधानेन स्पंदन: निर्देशस्य विकल्प:
अनुसारमस्य कालान्तरं लंघयेत् धीर:।।
Anusandhaanen Spandanah Nirdeshasya Vikalpah
Anusaaramasya Kaalaantam Langhayet Dheerah ||

यः भ्रमती तस्मिनमार्गे चेतस्य:
यत्रकुत्रापि नेतुशक्नोति त्वां लीलया।।
Yah Bhramanti Tasmeenmaarge Chetasyah
Yatrakutropi Netushaknoti Twam Leelaya ||

Was it a solution to the problem or was it a warning? He couldn’t decipher.

***
I stopped typing.

And then it dawned on me.

How did I write the Sanskrit shloka? It was in the book that my protagonist was reading. While the book also was just a figment of my imagination, I had no knowledge of Sanskrit. Yes, learning Sanskrit was somewhere in my wish list. But as of now, I had an absolutely clean slate.

I read the shloka on the screen again. Since most Indian languages originate from Sanskrit, some words seemed familiar. But the exact meaning was beyond my comprehension.

And yet there it was. Pure Sanskrit. Typed by me. On my screen. Staring right in my face.

I decided to find a Sanskrit teacher. The desire for knowing the language had risen sharply to the top of my bucket list. I resolved to do this the first thing the next day. It was already past midnight. I went to bed.

***
The sun shone in my face through the shades.

I woke up, irritated with the light. I turned over and burrowed my head under the sheets. And then I remembered the rather weird dream.

I was sleeping when the knocker on the door banged. I was not expecting anyone at this hour. Hardly anyone visited me in this secluded place. I had built this log cabin well hidden in the thick cluster of trees that grew within this sprawling estate that I had inherited. When I wrote, I retreated in this cabin leaving behind the main mansion. No one came here without specific purpose or unless called upon. And now there was someone standing at the door at around 3 am in the wee hours.

I opened the door, wondering who it might be. Right under the lamp in the doorway, stood a middle aged man.

“Well, do I know you? ”.

“You do and you do not. But that’s not important. Stop writing the book. And don't bother with Sanskrit”

He thrust a piece of paper in my hand, turned and walked away.

“Hey, wait!” I called out behind him. “Who are you? And how do you know …”

“I tried.” He shouted back and disappeared swiftly among the trees. I stood speechless at the door.

Who is this guy? How did he find me? How does he know me? And how does he know about the book? And about Sanskrit?

What a strange dream!, I thought. I must be growing older. And then I noticed it on my desk.

The crumpled piece of paper lay there under a paper weight.

My heart beat rapidly with mixed emotions of excitement, intrigue, fear of the unknown and dilemma. With trembling hands, I picked up the sheet of paper.

“The smallest indivisible particles assume the form of waves
On passing through twin gates, they choose their own paths

Situated in the past, future as well as the present
They are no longer bound by the bonds of time

In a deep meditative state, mere observation determines the choice
In such a manner, the astute can transcend time

Those who take this path, beware,
(It) Can take you anywhere anytime easily

Since you don’t understand Sanskrit - Yet.”

Who was this guy? Why did he give me that paper? Or did he? Why did the handwriting look exactly like my own? Had I been sleep-writing? Was it really a dream? Or is my mind conjuring up these images?

Perhaps I am getting so immersed in the story that I have started seeing myself as a part of the plot yet unravelled. Maybe that’s why the guy also looked like my own older self.

***
Their coffee had long gone cold. But neither of them seemed to be bothered about it.

The last few weeks had been heady. Professor Bhattacharya had read and re-read the book umpteen number of times and also the multitudes of other references that Bela had gladly provided him with. She was perplexed with the Professor's sudden interest in ancient scriptures, but was used to the whims of this breed called professors.

Nevertheless, reading books on Indian mysticism has been her favourite pastime for many years now and she really liked Soumik. So she helped him enthusiastically and chipped in with her own knowledge from her readings. It had almost become a ritual to sit at Saumik’s place in the evenings for a casual chat.

“This book, Bela ji, I noticed was published in 2039. Just a little less than fifty years ago. What must be Swamiji’s age when he wrote it?”

“No idea. But I tried to find some references about him. There is nothing concrete, only a few rumours. The available hard data says that he simply appeared out of nowhere in 2027 when he gave his first public sermon. That time it seems he must have been in his mid forties.”

“Oh! So, maybe in his late fifties or early sixties when he wrote it. That makes him more than a century old if he were to be alive. When was he last on record?” He asked.

“Nothing is known after 2039. He wrote this book and then apparently never made any public appearance.”

“What may have happened? Why would he disappear?” Soumik wondered.

“Nobody knows for sure. But there are rumours that he went away to the Himalayas. And there is one more weird theory that I came across. It seems he had acquired mystical powers to transcend time. And he used those powers to switch realms so as to attain immortality.”

“I am sure he had the power to transcend time!” He muttered.

“Come on Professor. You know that's not possible. You, from all men, subscribe to this?” Bela was amused.

“Bela ji, can I trust you?” Asked the Professor, rather seriously.

“What sort of question is that, professor?” It seemed she was hurt.

“I am sorry. I didn't mean that. But I really need you to keep this a top secret. Will you?”

“Of course, I will. But what’s so secret about a book?”

“ Well, Bela ji, This is not only about the book… I have built a time machine.” He watched her intently for her expressions. She stared at him with disbelief as if she wondered about his sanity.

“I haven't lost it, Bela ji. But this is real.This machine can help in moving to the past or to the future and I want to teach you how to operate it.”

“Ok, but why?” She was still in disbelief.

“I want to try it out myself. But once I leave this time realm, I won't be able to control the machine. As of now only an external operator can bring me back to the present. And
I don't want to trust anyone with this stuff right now. This is a groundbreaking invention.”

“I get what you are saying. But are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, It's the only way. I have to go back in time and meet Swami ji. I am sure he will be able to address all the remaining gaps and make this machine perfect. ”

“But how is Swami ji connected to this time machine?”

“It is based on the same concepts that Swami ji has written about. You may not know the science behind it. But trust me, Swami ji had a profound understanding of quantum physics.”

“Why am I not surprised?” quipped Bela.

“You already know this?” asked Soumik.

“Well, there is a backstory to this book. It was published in 2039. But Swami ji was writing it for 12 years.”

“Wow!” exclaimed the Professor.

“Yes, 12 years. During these 12 years he went around the country searching for old vedic texts and studying them whenever he could. In the meantime he gave sermons and spread awareness about ancient Indian wisdom. And before these 12 years, that is before he first appeared on the public scene as a Swami in 2027, he underwent deep meditation and learned Sanskrit for two years. An unknown disciple, it seems, cared for him for those two years. He stayed with Swami ji for the entire 12 years before he unfortunately died due to an illness.”

There was a momentary silence. Bela continued, “Before that, that is before 2025, Swamiji was a non-believer.”

“How did he become a Swami then? And who was he in 2025? A physicist?” asked Professor Soumik.

“Rumour says that he was actually a very rich bachelor with a huge inheritance. For some reason, one morning he went and dug under a huge banyan tree that grew right in the middle of his estate. It seems he found an inscription on a holy stone called Shaligram. The touch of the Shaligram changed him. And before that, no sir, he wasn't any physicist, he was a simple sci-fi writer.”

***
I woke up with a start. It was a little beyond midnight. Eerie silence loomed all over. Only the hiss of my air conditioner and my laptop were barely audible. The laptop was on and the story was on the screen. A cursor blinked at the end of the last line.

“... he was a simple sci-fi writer.”

I froze.

Had I written that? Is that my story? Am I to become Swami Vedananda?

I rushed outside towards the old banyan tree and started frantically scooping out the soil with bare hands. I dug for about a foot. Nothing. I changed the location. Still nothing. I stood up and calmed down a bit.

It could be just my imagination. I am simply writing a story. I am only too much involved in the plot. I am hallucinating. But I need to put all my spooky feelings to rest. I could dig up the place tomorrow morning and when I do not find anything, it will provide clear proof. But then I decided to not wait any longer. I got myself a spade and a battery powered lantern from the out house and resumed a systematic dig.

By the sixth attempt, I was exhausted, but feeling much better. It was already dawn and I hadn’t found anything yet. This was the last spot that could qualify as the “base of the banyan tree”. And to be double sure I had dug upto 3 feet on all sides. This last trench was almost a foot deep now.

I decided to go for two feet more, just to ensure that I did not leave any stone unturned.

That's when I heard a sharp sound. My shovel had struck something. My heart leapt to my throat. I dropped the spade, got down on my knees and started excavating with trembling hands.

My fingers touched something very smooth.I tentatively felt it. It was an ellipsoidal object, the size of my fist, and quite heavy for that size. I carefully scooped it up from the dirt. At that instant the first days of the sun gleamed on the object.

The ellipsoid was a deep black stone. The sun rays reflected from its unbelievably smooth and shiny surface. On the surface was an inscription in Sanskrit. It read the first two verses of the same shloka.

I was flabbergasted.

This was real. This was a warped time loop. I would become Swami Vedananda. I would comprehend, analyse, and reach an enlightened state. I would compose the next two shlokas. I would write the book Vedas, Upanishads and Time travel. Professor Soumik would read it and construct a time machine. He would travel back to find me to perfect it. And then the machine would break down. Soumik would be stuck here. He would become my disciple.

Oh my god! I have to destroy the script. I must delete the story. That is perhaps the only way to break the cycle.

I rushed to my den. I hastily nudged my laptop awake from its hibernation. I selected the whole text and was just about to hit the delete key. That would destroy the time machine. I relaxed and took a deep breath.

At that instant, there was a knock at the door.

And there he stood.

A plump man in his early thirties with black curly hair and a pleasant smile on his face.

Professor Soumik Bhattacharya.