Every night, Kushal’s world was a canvas painted with stories. His grandmother’s tales were more than bedtime rituals—they were spells that drew curtains between reality and dreams. Tonight, as rain danced gently on the tiled roof of their ancestral home, she sat beside him, her voice soft but steady.
“Have I ever told you about the seven underworlds beneath our feet?” she asked.
Kushal shook his head eagerly. The warm glow of the lantern beside them flickered as if in anticipation.
“They are called the Patalas,” she began, her eyes gleaming with mystery. “Not dark and dreadful, as most think—but wondrous, strange, and filled with beings and beauty you cannot imagine. Atala, Vitala, Sutala, Talatala, Mahatala, Rasatala, and Patala. Each ruled by forces ancient and powerful.”
As she spoke of floating cities, fire-forging demons, and serpent kings, Kushal’s eyes began to flutter. The last thing he remembered was her whisper:
“Some say those who truly believe… can find their way there.”
Kushal woke with a start.
But this was no ordinary morning. The walls of his room were gone. He lay beneath a vast canopy of glowing fungi and twisted tree roots. Above him, a sky of amber clouds drifted lazily. The air pulsed—not with wind, but with energy.
He sat up, confused. Where was his bed? The room? His grandmother?
“Kushal...” a soft voice echoed through the cavern.
He turned. A woman stood at the edge of a glowing lake, dressed in robes that shimmered like starlight.
“Welcome to Atala, land of illusion,” she said.
Atala – Land of Illusion
Atala was beautiful. Cities floated like bubbles in the sky. People here were tall and flawless, with voices like music. But something felt... off.
Kushal soon noticed the illusions. Buildings shifted when not observed. Smiles were too perfect. Time slowed unnaturally.
“You must resist the pull of dreams,” said the woman, who called herself Leya. “Atala will try to trap you in fantasy. Only those who see through it may pass.”
With Leya’s help, Kushal saw the truth: the floating cities were built on the backs of slumbering giants; the food he ate was mere light. The people vanished when questioned.
He faced a mirror and saw himself turn into a glowing silhouette.
“I am real,” he whispered. And the illusion shattered.
The ground beneath opened. Kushal fell.
Vitala – The City of Flame and Metal
He landed in a bustling forge-city, where the sky was crimson and rivers flowed with lava. Demons hammered swords from stardust. Machines moved without touch.
A squat demon approached, holding a hammer.
“New soul? Earn your passage. Build.”
Kushal labored beside the demons, forging tools and weapons. His hands blistered, but he learned quickly. He discovered that every tool he shaped responded to his thoughts.
“Your will shapes this world,” the demon grunted. “Here, creation is strength.”
But not all was well. A rogue flame-beast broke from the forge and threatened the city. Kushal used a spear he had crafted—light as air but sharp as truth—to strike its core.
The demon-chief clapped. “You’ve forged your path. Go.”
A portal of molten silver opened.
Sutala – The Peaceful Kingdom
Kushal stepped into a world of balance. Green fields stretched to the horizon. In the center stood a grand palace where King Bali, the famed demon ruler, awaited.
Bali welcomed him as an honored guest.
“In Sutala, peace is power,” Bali said. “But even peace has its trials.”
Kushal spent days among sages, farmers, and warriors who fought not with weapons but with words and wisdom. He learned to debate, to understand balance.
A drought struck the land, and Bali asked Kushal to seek the River of Remembrance. Along the way, Kushal faced illusions from his past: moments of fear, shame, and loss. He acknowledged them—not with regret, but with understanding.
The river flowed again.
“You have balanced your heart,” Bali said. “You are ready for more.”
Talatala – The Realm of Knowledge and Shadows
Dark libraries stretched endlessly. Books floated in air, and shadows whispered secrets.
Here, Kushal met Mayasura, master architect of worlds and illusion.
“To pass Talatala,” Mayasura said, “you must unlearn what you know.”
Kushal studied forgotten histories, maps of emotions, and equations that described dreams. He saw how every realm was connected—not separate, but layers of the same cosmic truth.
One day, he found a book with no title. Inside: his own story.
It ended with the words: You choose where this ends.
A staircase of ink rose from the pages. He climbed.
Mahatala – The Serpent’s Domain
Coils of colossal serpents created the very land. Jewel-encrusted scales formed cities. The air was thick with hissing wisdom.
Here, Kushal met Vasuki, the serpent king.
“In Mahatala, we guard secrets. To stay, you must offer one of your own.”
Kushal thought long. Then he shared a truth: “I’ve always feared I’m not enough. That these realms are dreams I don’t deserve.”
Vasuki’s eyes softened. “To speak fear is to weaken it. You may pass.”
A serpent coiled around Kushal, lifted him gently, and carried him deeper.
Rasatala – The Realm of the Exiled
This realm was silent. Dark mountains loomed, and shadows moved with anger. Here lived the exiled demons—neither evil nor good, just forgotten.
Kushal was attacked, but he did not fight back. “I’m not your enemy.”
He sat among them, listened to their stories—of betrayal, loss, and longing. Slowly, they stopped hiding.
One demon, scarred and silent, gave him a shard of obsidian.
“Truth hurts. Take it anyway.”
With the shard in hand, a chasm split the land, revealing a stairway.
Patala – The Heart Below
The deepest realm was serene. Silver waters reflected stars that didn’t belong to this world. Nagaraja, the serpent king of kings, awaited.
“Why have you come so far?” he asked.
Kushal paused. “I didn’t choose to. I just… followed.”
The king nodded. “Then you are ready to choose.”
Nagaraja offered two paths: one led home; the other, deeper still, into the roots of creation.
Kushal looked into the waters and saw his grandmother, asleep. Her lips moved: “Some say those who truly believe…”
He smiled. “I want to return. But not to forget. I want to remember this.”
Nagaraja dipped a scale into the water, placed it in Kushal’s hand. “Carry the realms within you.”
RETURN
Kushal awoke in his bed. Morning light spilled across the floor. His grandmother sat beside him, smiling gently.
“You slept deeply,” she said.
“I dreamt deeply,” he replied.
But in his hand, beneath the blanket, he felt something cool and smooth.
A serpent’s scale, shimmering faintly.
And he knew: belief had taken him beyond the veil.
The stories were never just stories.
They were doors.
And he had walked through.
React
