Chapter 4: The Heart of Civilization — Part 4: The Dream of Divine

Paradise Empire: The Land of Ten Rivers

Chapter 4: The Heart of Civilization — Part 4: The Dream of Divine

(Scene opens: Evening in the Lower City of Maniyanūru. The golden glow of the day was fading into a bruised purple twilight.)

The fervor of the Temple Street was behind them now. Vīra and Tim’mayya navigated the chariot away from the spiritual center and toward the western district of the Lower City. Here, the streets were narrower, the buildings less ornate, but the energy was just as palpable. It was the energy of rest, of food, and of travelers settling in for the night.

The white bulls, sensing the end of the day’s labor, picked up their pace. Their hooves clattered rhythmically against the stone pavement, moving with a renewed vigor that surprised Vīra.

Vīra adjusted his grip on the reins, looking at the passing rows of boarding houses and stables.

Vīra: "Where exactly are we going, Tim’ma? We have passed the main inns."

Tim’mayya sat back, chewing on a piece of sugarcane he had bought earlier. He pointed ahead with the stalk.

Tim’mayya: "To take a room to stay, of course! But not in the expensive zones. We need a place that smells like hay and honest trade, not perfume and robbery."

He scanned the street, his eyes narrowing until they lit up with recognition.

Tim’mayya: "There! Stop here!"

Vīra pulled the reins. "Hah!"

The chariot slowed to a halt in front of a sturdy, three-story building made of red brick and timber. It was a "Satram" (Traveler's Lodge), and the courtyard was already bustling. Dozens of bullock carts, some loaded with grain, others with pottery, were parked in neat rows. The air smelled of straw, cow dung, and woodsmoke.

They guided their chariot into an open slot between a cart full of onions and a wagon of copper pots. As they hopped down, a man walked out from the building's entrance.

He was a short, balding man with a towel wrapped around his head and a ledger tucked under his arm. He squinted at them, wiping his hands on his dhoti.

Owner: "Full! We are full! Go to the next stre—"

He stopped. He peered closer at Tim’mayya. A grin split his face, revealing teeth stained red with betel nut.

Owner: "Ha! Tim’ma! Is that you?"

Tim’mayya grinned back, spreading his arms. "Kondayya! You are still alive and looting people, I see!"

Kondayya laughed, slapping Tim’mayya on the shoulder. "Come, come! You arrived late this year. I thought the floods taken you."

Tim’mayya shook his head. "The rivers are kind to us, Kondayya." He gestured to Vīra. "This is my cousin, Vīra. I brought him too this time.

Kondayya looked at Vīra, then at the sleek red sandalwood chariot. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his impression, returning to business mode.

Kondayya: "Good, good. Now, you want a room?"

Tim’mayya: "We do. A room on the top floor, like always. How are the cost of the rooms nowadays? Still reasonable, I hope?"

Kondayya sighed theatrically, looking up at the sky as if asking the gods for patience.

Kondayya: "Ah, Tim’ma. The times are hard. The festival crowd is huge this year. The King’s taxes... the water maintenance... everything has gone up."

He looked at them sharply.

Kondayya: "It’s 20 bronze coins a night."

Vīra’s jaw dropped. "What?!"

Tim’mayya choked on his own spit. "20 bronze coins?! Kondayya, are you mad? That’s too much! Last year it was almost 13 or something!"

Kondayya shrugged, unbothered. "Yes, but the cost of living in Maniyanūru increased this year! Supply and demand, Tim’ma. You know how it works."

Tim’mayya stepped closer, putting a hand on Kondayya’s shoulder, his voice dropping to a persuasive, smooth tone.

Tim’mayya: "Look, sir. We know each other for a long time. I’m not some stranger from the coast. I’m Tim’ma from Manūru. Can we have a discount here? Please?"

Kondayya looked at Tim’mayya, then at the ledger. He softened slightly.

Kondayya: "Yes, I know you since you were a child. I remember you used to come here with your father, sitting on his shoulders, eating jaggery. Fine. For old times' sake."

He tapped the ledger.

Kondayya: "Alright. 15 Bronze coins?"

Tim’mayya made a pained face. "10. Please? For your favorite customer?"

Kondayya shook his head firmly. "No! Can't do! I have to feed my staff. 10 is robbery."

Tim’mayya didn't blink. He looked Kondayya dead in the eye.

Tim’mayya: "Not 10, not 15. How about 12? That is fair. That is just."

Kondayya stared at him. Tim’mayya held his gaze. The silence stretched for a few seconds, filled only by the chewing of the bulls.

Finally, Kondayya let out a heavy breath, defeated.

Kondayya: "Alright! 12 it is. But don't tell anyone else!"

Tim’mayya beamed, clasping his hands together.

Tim’mayya: "ధన్యవాదములు!"

Dhan'yavādamulu!

(Thank you!)

Kondayya waved his hand. "Ok, ok. Get your things. Your room is on the top floor, third door on the right. I’ll send some water and hay for the bulls."

(Scene shifts: Inside the Room, Top Floor.)

The room was simple—four lime-plastered walls, a small window looking out over the rooftops, and two woven cots. An oil lamp flickered in the corner, casting long, dancing shadows.

Vīra dropped his bundle of clothes on the floor and sat heavily on the cot. He looked at Tim’mayya with admiration.

Vīra: "You have skills, Tim’ma. I would have paid the 20 and thanked him for robbing me."

Tim’mayya chuckled, lying down on the bed beside Vīra’s. He stared up at the wooden ceiling beams.

Tim’mayya: "It’s not about skills, Vīra. Just using the mind and trying luck. That man, Kondayya, he expects us to haggle. If I paid 20, he would have lost respect for me."

He turned his head to look at Vīra.

Tim’mayya: "We have to do the same thing at the Market tomorrow. Rangayya will try to undercut us. The buyers will try to cheat us. We must be sharp."

Vīra: "How to sell them? I know how to make the tools, but I don't know how to sell words."

Tim’mayya yawned, his eyes already drooping. The exhaustion of the journey and the emotional rollercoaster of the temple visit were catching up to him.

Tim’mayya: "I can't train you on all that now. Tomorrow, just follow my instructions. Do what I say, mirror my movements, and we will have profits. For now... sleep. Let me sleep. We have a lot of things to do tomorrow."

Within moments, Tim’mayya’s breathing evened out into a deep, rhythmic snore.

Vīra smiled, blowing out the oil lamp. He lay back, pulling his cotton sheet up. He stared into the darkness for a moment, the image of the Princess’s blue eyes floating in his mind, until sleep finally pulled him under.

(Scene shifts: The Dream State. Midnight.)

Silence.

Vīra opened his eyes. The room was pitch black, but there was something wrong. The silence was absolute. No snoring from Tim’mayya. No street noise. No wind.

He sat up, reaching for the clay water pot by his bed. His hand grasped nothing but air.

Vīra: "Tim’ma?"

He looked at the other bed. It was empty. The sheet was undisturbed, as if no one had slept there.

Vīra stood up, his heart beginning to pound.

Vīra: "Tim’ma! Tim’ma? Where are you!"

His voice didn't echo. It just vanished into the void.

Then, he heard it. A sound from outside. Not a human voice, but a low, resonant lowing.

Mooooo...

It was his bulls.

Vīra rushed to the small window and looked down. The street below was unrecognizable. The other carts were gone. The street lamps were out. There was not a single living being in sight—no guards, no stray dogs.

Only his two white bulls, standing in the middle of the street, looking up at his window.

They made the sound again, a calling sound, urgent and deep.

Vīra turned and ran for the door. He sprinted down the stairs, the building feeling hollow and abandoned. He burst out of the front door into the cool night air.

Vīra: "What is this? My brothers, what's happening here?"

He reached out to stroke the bulls, but they pulled away, turning their heads to point down the empty avenue.

Vīra looked.

At first, he thought it was a trick of the moonlight. A shimmering heat haze in the middle of the road.

But then, the haze coalesced. Golden sparks swirled, knitting together to form a shape.

It stood tall, majestic, and terrifyingly beautiful.

The Horned White Horse.

It was not flesh and blood, yet it was more real than anything Vīra had ever seen. Its coat was the color of starlight. A single, spiraled horn protruded from its forehead, glowing with a soft, pulsating light. A golden divine power radiated from it, illuminating the dark street like a second moon.

Vīra fell to his knees, trembling. "The Symbol..."

The divine beast slowly started walking toward him. Its hooves made no sound on the pavement. The bulls bowed their heads in reverence, nudging Vīra forward with their noses.

The Horse stopped right in front of Vīra. It lowered its magnificent head, its large, liquid eyes looking deep into Vīra’s soul. It nudged his shoulder—the very spot where the birthmark lay burning.

It moved its head upward, signaling him to climb.

Vīra, moving as if in a trance, reached out. His hand touched the creature's neck, and he felt a jolt of pure energy, like lightning without the pain. He pulled himself up.

The moment he was seated, the Horse reared up.

Vīra screamed, gripping the mane. "Haaa!"

The Horse didn't run on the ground. It leaped.

It galloped into the air.

They soared past the rooftops of the Lower City. The wind roared in Vīra’s ears, but it wasn't cold; it was exhilarating. They flew higher, over the Middle City, over the sleeping capital, until they reached the massive, silver ribbon of the Pedda Nadī (The Great River).

The Horse dove.

Vīra gasped as they plunged—not into water, but into a veil of mist above the river.

When they emerged on the other side, the world had changed.

(Scene shifts: The Divine Realm.)

This was not Maniyanūru. This was a garden of impossible beauty. Trees made of coral and emerald grew from soil that looked like gold dust. The river here flowed with nectar, not water.

And in the center of it all stood the Temple.

It was the Main Temple of Maniyanūru, but infinitely grander. The Gopuram (tower) was made of solid light, stretching up into a sky that had no sun, yet was bright.

The Horse landed softly at the entrance of the Maha mandapam. It knelt, allowing Vīra to slide off. It looked at the temple entrance and nodded.

Vīra understood.

He heard them again. The voices from the morning.

Voices: "Come... Come inside, Vīra..."

Vīra ran. He crossed the golden mandapam, his bare feet slapping against the warm, living stone. He rushed past pillars carved with the history of the universe.

He reached the Garbhālayaṁ (Sanctum Sanctorum).

He stopped, breathless.

There they were.

God of Glory, Vīrayya. Standing tall, holding a golden spear, his face radiant with power.

Goddess of Peace, Śāntam'ma. Standing beside him, her hand raised in blessing.

And behind them, the massive relief of the Horned White Horse.

They were stone idols, in the Abhaya Mudra.

Vīra collapsed. He joined his hands, tears streaming down his face, his body shaking with an emotion too big for a human heart to hold.

Vīra: “Lord! Great Mother! I don't understand what is happening! Please… protect me! Bless me! Save me!”

He crawled forward on his knees. He reached out and rested his head on the stone feet of the Lord Vīrayya. He wrapped his arms around the idol's legs, holding on as if he were drowning and this was the only driftwood in the ocean.

Voice: "Vīra..."

Vīra opened his eyes.

He felt a hand on his head. A warm, heavy, living hand.

He looked up.

"Haaa!"

He screamed, scrambling back.

The stone was gone.

Standing right in front of him was God of Glory, Vīrayya—in flesh and golden light. His skin shone like molten copper. His spear hummed with energy.

Beside him stood Goddess Śāntam'ma, her presence cool and soothing like moonlight, her sari woven from the clouds themselves.

Vīrayya smiled, a smile that contained the warmth of a thousand suns. He stepped forward and placed his divine hand upon Vīra’s head once more.

Lord Vīrayya: “Vīra… this morning, you were unable to do our darśanam, right?”

Goddess Śāntam'ma spoke, her voice like a melody.

Goddess Śāntam'ma: "That is why we brought you here, my child.”

Vīra, shaking in shock and awe, slowly came back to his senses. But the awe broke him. He threw himself at their feet again, clutching their ankles tightly.

Vīra: "Lord! Great Lord! You granted me the greatest thing! Your దర్శనం (Darśanam)—Your Divine Vision! You appeared yourself in front of this poor soul!"

He sobbed, burying his face in the flowers at their feet.

Vīra: "Many sages took multiple lives! They did Tapasya (Penance) for eons to attain this Grace! And you granted me that today! My life is completed!

He looked up, desperation in his eyes.

Vīra: "I don't want to leave! I do not want to return. I will abandon every tie. I want nothing of that world! Please, Great Lord and Divine Mother... grant me Mōkṣaṁ (Liberation)! Merge my soul into you, Lord! Take me now!"

He didn't want to go back to the bronze coins, the selling, the King, or the Princess. He wanted this. Only this.

Lord Vīrayya looked down at Vīra with infinite compassion, but shook his head gently.

Lord Vīrayya: "Vīra. We brought you here not to take you, but to remind you."

The God’s voice grew stern, echoing like thunder.

Lord Vīrayya: "It is your duty to save the Land of Ten Rivers. It is your duty to protect the civilization, the culture, and our city Maniyanūru. A great darkness approaches, Vīra. You are our Chosen One. Our blessings will always be with you."

Vīra shook his head violently, tightening his grip on their legs like a stubborn child holding his parents.

Vīra: "No! No! I have nothing to do with that world anymore! I don't care about the city! Please Lord, please Great Mother, don't let go of me! I want to stay just here, right at your feet!"

Goddess Śāntam'ma and Lord Vīrayya looked at each other. They smiled, a knowing look passed between them.

They spoke in unison, their voices merging into a single, powerful command that vibrated through Vīra’s very atoms.

Gods: "Be Victorious! Be Victorious!"

A blinding divine light erupted from them, consuming Vīra's vision.

(Scene shifts:Satram . Reality.)

" Lord! Mother!"

Vīra sat up, screaming, his hands grasping at the empty air.

He was drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.

Tim’mayya was sitting on his own bed, looking terrified. He rushed over and grabbed Vīra by the shoulders.

Tim’mayya: "What happened, Vīra?! Why are you screaming in your sleep? Why are you keeping saying those words again and again? What's wrong?"

Vīra looked at Tim’mayya, his eyes wild, his pupils dilated. He grabbed Tim’mayya’s arms.

Vīra: "I saw them, Tim’ma! I saw them! The Divine Lord of Glory Vīrayya and Divine Mother Śāntam'ma! It was so real... no, it WAS real! I held their feet! I touched them!"

Tim’mayya felt the heat coming off Vīra’s skin. He rubbed Vīra’s back soothingly.

Tim’mayya: Calm down, Vīra. Calm down. Think... think that you are lucky. It is a good omen. We will offer coconuts to the Lord and Goddess tomorrow at the temple. But don't scare me like this! Sleep now. Drink some water."

Vīra took the water pot Tim’mayya offered, his hands shaking. He drank deeply.

Slowly, his breathing slowed. He looked out the small window. From this height, across the sleeping city, he could just see the silhouette of the huge Golden Gopuram of the main temple, glowing faintly under the moonlight.

Vīra: "They called me..."

He lay back down, exhausted, and closed his eyes.

Tim’mayya watched him. He waited until Vīra’s breathing settled.

Then, Tim’mayya sat back on his own bed. He didn't sleep. He stared at Vīra’s sleeping form.

Tim’mayya (thinking to himself): "I can say that it was just a dream to comfort him... but how can I ignore what I saw moments ago?"

Tim’mayya replayed the image in his mind.

Just seconds before Vīra woke up screaming, Tim’mayya had been woken by a strange humming sound. He had opened his eyes to see something impossible.

Vīra was levitating.

He had been floating three inches off the bed. And the Horned White Horse symbol on his right shoulder was not just glowing—it had been burning with a deep, rhythmic red light that illuminated the entire room.

Tim’mayya looked at his cousin—the "simple farmer" from Manūru—with a mixture of fear and reverence.

Tim’mayya (whispering): "Who is my cousin Vīra? He is becoming more mysterious by the hour. How can I ignore the divine symbols? And when they shine... is Vīra a Chosen One by the Gods?"

He paused, a chill running down his spine.

Tim’mayya: "Or is he Divine itself?"

Tim’mayya looked out the window one last time.

The camera pans past Tim’mayya, through the window, drifting over the sleeping rooftops of the Lower City, moving closer and closer to the majestic silhouette in the distance.

It focuses on the Golden Gopuram, standing silent and eternal, guarding the secrets of the Gods.

(End of Chapter 4)