Chapter 2: The Dream of Cards and Dice

The bus station materialized around him at dusk, though he could not remember the journey there. The familiar kilometer walk home stretched ahead—a path he had chosen to walk countless times, refusing the convenience of auto-rickshaws and the newer electric ones that buzzed through the narrow streets like mechanical insects.

But something was wrong with the world. The people he encountered along the way greeted him with the customary nods and smiles, yet where their heads should have been, playing cards flickered in the lamplight. A woman with the seven of spades where her face belonged nodded respectfully. A man bearing the queen of hearts touched his hand to his forehead in greeting. Others displayed the jack, the ace, the king—an entire deck of Twenty-nine cards walking through the evening streets of his neighborhood.

Kaurav found himself staring, but no one seemed to notice his amazement. The card-headed people went about their business with the same casual familiarity as always, their emblematic faces catching the light from the streetlamps like religious icons.

When he reached home, the evening had somehow transformed into late afternoon. From the front yard came the familiar sound of neighborhood women finishing their daily gossip, their voices weaving together in the pattern he had known since childhood. He passed through the front entrance into the heart of the house, where he found only his grandmother sitting alone in the courtyard.

He approached her with the reverence that had been trained into him since boyhood, bowing before asking, "How are you?"

Her face lit up with the particular joy reserved for unexpected visits. "You didn't tell me you were coming home. I would have arranged for sweets." But even as she spoke, something felt wrong. Her familiar features seemed to belong to a stranger, as if someone had painted a portrait of his grandmother from memory, getting the details almost right.

"Go wash your hands and face," she said, settling back into her position. "Take a bath if you want. I'll finish my turn."

"Turn?"

The courtyard beneath his feet shifted and transformed, revealing itself as an enormous Ludo board. On the opposite wall, a relief of Shiva materialized—the same three-faced deity he had seen in cave twenty-one at Ellora during a college trip years ago. The stone figure moved with divine authority, taking its turn, rolling dice that clattered across the cosmic board. His grandmother reached for her own piece, making her move with the concentration of someone playing for stakes higher than mere entertainment.

The world dissolved into mist. Someone was pulling him backward by the waist, away from the game, away from his grandmother's focused attention. A horn blared through the dissolving dream, and bright light pierced his eyes.

Kaurav jerked awake in seat twenty-one, the taste of the dream still vivid in his mouth. Sweat had gathered on his forehead and around his nose. The air inside his hoodie had turned cold and clammy. He unzipped the jacket, letting the February night air touch his neck. The departing winter was treacherous this year, striking when least expected. His carelessness with such things had earned him more than his share of colds and fevers.

His phone showed 1:30 AM. They had departed just past one, so the dream had lasted no more than thirty minutes. WhatsApp notifications crowded his screen—messages from cast members, friends, family—but he felt no desire to engage with any of them. He yawned, turned off the phone, and reached for his water bottle, taking careful sips.

The window beside him had fogged with condensation. He took out his phone again, opened the notes app, and began recording the dream while its details remained sharp. The card-headed people, his grandmother's unfamiliar familiarity, the cosmic Ludo game with Shiva as an active player—all of it went into the digital notebook where he kept fragments that might someday become stories.

In the seats ahead, the five musicians continued their animated conversation, their voices rising and falling like a musical composition itself, sometimes excited, sometimes conspiratorial. Their energy belonged to the waking world, while Kaurav remained suspended between the dream he had just left and the reality of this night journey to Mysore.

Disclaimer:   This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The views and opinions expressed in this novel are those of the characters and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any agency, organization, or entity. Reader discretion is advised.