Among the four great ancient civilizations, ancient India was one of the most significant.
Around 2300 BCE, civilization emerged in the Indus Valley, known as the Harappan culture—an ancient Bronze Age society.
By approximately 2000 BCE, the Aryans appeared in northwestern India, gradually expanding southward. After roughly 1,400 years, by 600 BCE, sixteen kingdoms had formed in India. Following prolonged wars of annexation, by 400 BCE, a unified state centered around Magadha was established in the Ganges River basin of southern India, marking the beginning of ancient India's flourishing era.
Now, around 300 BCE, ancient Indian civilization had reached its zenith—the Maurya Empire!
The founding of this dynasty was also linked to Alexander the Great of Macedon. This conqueror, who dominated vast territories, led his invincible army to subdue the Persian Empire before invading northwestern India. Though Alexander eventually withdrew, he left behind a garrison.
A young man from the Kshatriya nobility of Magadha rose in rebellion, defeating Alexander's remaining forces before marching into Magadha's capital, overthrowing the Nanda Dynasty, and thus establishing the Maurya Empire.
Now, during the reign of the empire's third king, Ashoka, this monarch stood unparalleled in fame among ancient Indian rulers. Legends claimed he had slain ninety-nine of his siblings before ascending the throne.
In his early years, Ashoka was a warmonger, unifying the entire Indian subcontinent and parts of Afghanistan. But now, in his twilight years, he had abandoned his youthful bloodlust, embracing Buddhism instead. With the sword laid down, the Maurya Empire entered its most prosperous age, and ancient Indian civilization reached its pinnacle.
During Ashoka's reign, an elderly man walked along the banks of the Ganges. Kneeling on the ground, his withered, trembling hands scooped up a handful of the sacred river's water, bringing it to his lips.
The old man was emaciated, his bones visible beneath his skin, his hair unkempt, and his body draped in tattered sack-like clothing. At first glance, one might mistake him for a beggar, but those who knew him understood—he was a revered ascetic.
The old man's name was Valmiki. Born into a Brahmin family of the highest caste, he had been abandoned and once survived by stealing. In his later years, like Ashoka, he attained enlightenment, practiced profound teachings, and became an ascetic.
He had once sat motionless for years, so still that ants built nests upon his body, turning him into a living anthill. The origin of his name, in fact, meant "anthill."
Although this form of ascetic practice was perplexing to many, it was highly revered in India precisely because it was something ordinary people could not endure. Only those with immense perseverance and unwavering determination could achieve success in such cultivation.
Now, Valmiki could feel his life nearing its end. Stirred from his prolonged meditation, he left his secluded spot and journeyed to the sacred waters of the Ganges to undertake his final spiritual practice.
After drinking from the river, the emaciated sage slowly rose to his feet. Around him, small animals that had shared the holy water showed no fear, allowing the revered elder to pass by undisturbed.
With great effort, Valmiki made his way to a spot near the riverbank where numerous palm leaves from the Talipot palm lay spread out.
This tree, native to India and Southeast Asia, bore large crescent-shaped leaves that could grow up to two meters long—the very material ancient Indians used for writing.
Selecting some fresh leaves, Valmiki set up a pot, boiling the palm fronds with lemons. Once processed, he dried the leaves in the sun—the very ones now spread across the ground.
Trembling with age, the ascetic produced a crude metal stylus. With this simple tool, he began carving ancient Sanskrit characters into the dried leaves. After engraving, he brushed ink over the markings, ensuring the text would endure.
Piles of completed palm leaves surrounded the sage, each densely covered with Sanskrit verses recounting the heroic tale of 'Veeraj'.
Having traveled extensively across India, Valmiki had collected and refined these stories from oral traditions, weaving them into an epic poetic narrative of Veeraj and Janaki's trials and tribulations.
He didn't know why he'd devoted so much time to this endeavor—only that it felt like divine providence, a task he must complete before death.
In this era before paper, creating a work exceeding ten thousand characters required years of labor. Each painstakingly carved character demanded careful consideration, eliminating all superfluous words. Any such lengthy composition was considered a monumental achievement.
Today, Valmiki finally completed his magnum opus—five detailed chapters chronicling Veeraj's kingship, his monkey-army's battle against the rākshasas, and the intertwined love story with Janaki.
The sage left his poetic work untitled, leaving future generations to name it. This book would become one of ancient India's two great epics—the Rāmāyaṇa.
"At last... it is finished," Valmiki murmured as he carved the final character, allowing himself a rare smile. With the last word completed, he felt his vital energy reaching its limit. Only his iron will to finish this masterpiece had kept death at bay until now.
Now that his work was complete and he had no further pursuits, life was rapidly draining from his body. Valmiki knew he had only a few days left, and he intended to spend them ensuring his writings were preserved intact so they could be passed down through the ages.
Just as Valmiki began gathering the palm leaves, a sudden intuition stirred within him. The powerful spirit of an ascetic allowed him to sense something unusual in the nearby woods.
For a man who could sit motionless for years through sheer willpower, fear was nonexistent. Curiosity drove his frail, aged body forward as he pushed aside branches and leaves, moving toward the strange presence.
"Hmm? What is this...?"
A blinding golden light suddenly flared ahead of him in the forest. Parting the undergrowth, Valmiki found before him a golden cup as tall as a child.
The cup gleamed with a rich golden hue, its surface etched with faint, intricate inscriptions that seemed to shift and shimmer. It was clearly no artifact of this era—its craftsmanship was impossibly refined, especially for an object seemingly cast entirely of gold. It bore the unmistakable mark of divine origin, as if bestowed by the gods themselves.
While others might have been seized by greed at the sight, Valmiki felt nothing of the sort. For a man on death's doorstep, what worldly possession could stir desire? Yet encountering such a miraculous object in the woods along the Ganges struck him as nothing short of divine providence.
Kneeling, he murmured a brief prayer before cautiously approaching the golden cup. His withered hand slowly reached out and touched its surface.
BOOM—
A brilliant golden radiance erupted from the cup, unleashing a torrent of dense, otherworldly mana so tangible even an ordinary person could feel its viscous weight. As the Holy Grail's power surged forth, the surrounding jungle and its creatures underwent bizarre transformations, imbued with supernatural qualities.
The golden light gradually faded, though the thick mana lingered. When Valmiki lowered his arm and his vision adjusted, he gasped in shock—the golden cup had vanished. Then, lifting his gaze to the sky, his eyes widened in disbelief as he cried out, "...By the gods, what is that?!"
Above ancient India's Mauryan Empire, a luminous band pierced the heavens and earth, spanning the cosmos, bridging past and future!
***
Hey readers!
Want to read ahead? 📖 Join my Patreon for early access to 30+ advance chapters! Your support helps me write more and bring the story to you faster.
🔹patreon.com/aarvan🔹