Sharath returned moments later, circling the courtyard to thunderous gasps. But he wasn't done.
He motioned to Kesrin, who wheeled out the tricycle. Wide base. Smaller frame. Gentle pedals. A child could ride it. So Sharath asked the youngest servant's son—a boy of three—to try it.
With tentative feet, the boy climbed aboard. Sharath steadied him.
"Now push," he said softly.
The child squealed in delight as the machine rolled forward, smooth as silk.
Next came Ona, who brought out the pickup cycle—a cart with a mounted drive chain. A sack of wheat was loaded. Sharath demonstrated how even an older servant, weary and weak of back, could now haul it without straining.
"What is the price of motion?" he asked the crowd. "Until now: beasts, coin, or sorcery. But today—just effort."
It was no longer spectacle.
It was revolution.