CH 7 The Dreams Of Past Part 1

 "Where the hell am I?!" Ayushmann shouted, his voice echoing across the vast, empty fields. His heart pounded as he took in his surroundings. Endless plains stretched before him, interrupted only by the silhouette of walls faintly visible on the horizon, about two kilometers away. Squinting at the sun, he instinctively determined the direction to be east.

"How the hell did I get here?" he muttered, the confusion sinking deeper as he started walking toward the distant city.

The field was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of grass underfoot. A few minutes into his walk, Ayushmann froze mid-step. He felt it before he heard it-deep, rhythmic vibrations resonating through the ground. A primal chill crawled up his spine. Slowly, he turned around, his breath hitching in his throat.

What he saw made his legs buckle.

Stretching endlessly before him was the largest army he had ever seen. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers stood in perfectly disciplined formations, their shields gleaming under the sun, spears and swords held high. Towering war elephants adorned with elaborate armor loomed over the ranks, each of their steps sending tremors into the earth. Thousands of chariots glided into position, their wheels groaning like harbingers of death. 

Ayushmann took a shaky step back, nearly collapsing to the ground. Sweat dripped down his temple as he struggled to comprehend the sheer scale of it. Then he heard it-the unmistakable sound of projectiles cutting through the air.

Massive boulders flew overhead, hurtling toward the distant walls. Ayushmann's gaze followed their trajectory as they struck the city's defenses, shattering stone and splintering wood. The air erupted with the sound of destruction. "Catapults," he whispered, realizing the devastating force the army had brought to bear.

Screams echoed faintly from the city, carried by the wind. His stomach churned as he watched more boulders soar through the sky, each strike splintering the gates further. And then it happened-the final blow. A boulder smashed into the city gate, obliterating it into a spray of wooden fragments. A deafening horn sounded from behind the army, and like a beast unleashed, the soldiers began their charge.

The ground shook violently as war elephants led the onslaught, their trumpeting cries filling the air. Ayushmann froze in terror, his body refusing to move. The sheer magnitude of the charging army overwhelmed him. He fell to the ground, bracing himself for the inevitable-the trampling hooves and wheels that would end him.

But nothing came.

Cautiously, Ayushmann opened his eyes. To his astonishment, the army was charging straight through him as if he didn't exist. Soldiers, elephants, chariots-all passed through his body as though he were nothing more than a ghost. His breath came in ragged gasps as he scrambled to his feet, staring at the spectacle with wide eyes.

Is this... a dream?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

The scene around him began to distort. The soldiers, the elephants, the destruction -it all sped up unnaturally, their movements blurring into streaks of color. It reminded Ayushmann of hyperspace scenes from sci-fi movies, a whirlwind of motion he couldn't comprehend. And then, just as abruptly, everything stopped.

He was standing closer to the destroyed city now, the walls broken and crumbling, fires raging in the twilight. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson. Smoke curled into the air, blotting out the heavens. The distant screams of the dying filled his ears, and the sharp, metallic stench of blood assaulted his senses.

Ayushmann hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to turn back. But something drew him forward, an invisible force compelling him toward the chaos. As he stepped into the city, his surroundings struck him like a physical blow.

The streets were painted red. Blood flowed in rivulets, pooling around the bodies that littered the ground-men, women, children, young and old alike. The dead were strewn across the city like broken dolls, their lifeless eyes staring into the void.

Ayushmann's stomach churned, and he fought the urge to retch. His legs trembled as he took a step forward, then another. His eyes caught a heart-wrenching sight-a small child, no more than two years old, sitting between the bloodied corpses of what were likely his parents. The child shook their lifeless bodies, crying out in desperation. Nearby, a mother cradled her dead child in her arms, her wails piercing the air.

Tears blurred Ayushmann's vision. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow. Is this the price of war? he thought bitterly. Memories of the hundreds of thousands of men he had sent to Bengal flooded his mind. How many of them will return? How many families have I condemned to this same fate?

Lost in his thoughts, Ayushmann continued walking toward the heart of the city. Looming above the destruction was a palace, its walls scorched but still standing. The old flag of the Mauryan Empire fluttered atop the structure, defiant against the ruin below.

"Kalinga," Ayushmann whispered, his voice barely audible. Realization struck him like a thunderbolt. "This... this is Kalinga."

His feet moved of their own accord, carrying him toward the palace gates. The closer he got, the heavier the air seemed to become. The sounds of battle faded into a muffled hum, his focus narrowing on the flag waving proudly above.

As he reached the royal palace, he saw a man standing outside a large door-a high- ranking general, judging by his ornate armor and the air of authority he exuded. The man appeared to be waiting for someone, his expression tense.

Ayushmann stopped, curiosity rooting him in place. Moments later, the door opened, and a figure emerged.

The man was over six feet tall, his presence commanding yet serene. He had a lean, muscular build and light brown skin that glowed faintly in the dying light. His gaze was piercing, his expression unreadable.

Ayushmann's breath caught in his throat as recognition dawned.

"Ashoka..." he whispered in awe.

It was him-the greatest emperor in the history of India. The man whose legacy had shaped the subcontinent for centuries. And more than that, Ayushmann realized, Ashoka was his direct ancestor.

Excitement and disbelief warred within him as he stood frozen in the presence of such an iconic figure. But as he looked into Ashoka's eyes, he saw something unexpected-pain. Deep, unyielding pain.

Ayushmann's heart clenched. This was not the Ashoka he had read about in history books. This was a man haunted by the atrocities he had witnessed, burdened by the weight of his own decisions.

"What is this place?" Ayushmann asked, though he knew no one could hear him. The words hung in the air, unanswered.

And yet, as he stood there, watching Ashoka, Ayushmann began to understand.