Chapter 7 - Epoch's Progress
The first light of dawn painted the sky with vibrant hues of orange and pink as Rama stood in a secluded clearing deep within the forest. This spot had become a sacred ground, the site of his daily rituals—a fusion of herb gathering, medicinal preparations, and moments of profound meditation.
Rama had grasped that to wield the power of the Samantak Mani, he must fortify his mind. Parshurama had bestowed guidance, a technique to forge a connection with the Mani's boundless energy. "When you hold the stone," Parshurama had counseled, "envision its energy coursing through your body. Imagine a radiant light mirroring the Mani's hue, and allow it to fill every fiber of your being."
Rama meticulously adhered to this counsel, assuming a cross-legged position with unwavering posture and closed eyes. His breath flowed in a rhythmic pattern, a cadence fine-tuned over time. Yet, serenity remained elusive as a ceaseless tempest of thoughts raged within him. Contemplations of Keralaputam, his subjects, and the ever-looming Chola Empire swirled in his mind. Memories of cherished moments with his comrades emerged, a life left behind, and an unspoken commitment to return. These thoughts weighed on him as he embarked on his daily ritual.
With each passing day, Rama delved deeper into this meditation technique. It was an unyielding battle against his inner turmoil, marked by furrowed brows, sporadic frustration leading to clenched fists, and moments of faltering determination. He grappled not only with the tumult within but also with the profound uncertainty of his exile. His internal discourse echoed his steadfastness, even in the face of his thoughts' tempestuous onslaught.
"Focus, Rama," he whispered to himself, his voice barely a breath amid the rustling leaves. "Discover that radiant light within. Connect with the Samantak's energy."
During moments of frustration, Rama sensed it—the warmth. It commenced as a faint spark, scarcely discernible, but with relentless dedication, the spark burgeoned into a radiant glow within his consciousness. This transformation spurred an internal dialogue of hope, urging him onward.
One day, as Rama plunged into his meditation, the glow surged. Deep within his psyche, he perceived it—a colossal sun, radiating brilliance that eclipsed all he had ever known. He felt infinitesimal, a mere speck before this blazing star, a cosmic entity transcending human comprehension.
"By the gods!" Rama exclaimed, his voice quivering. "It's... it's colossal! Greater than anything I've ever envisioned. Parshurama was correct; this surpasses my understanding."
With unwavering determination, Rama grappled with the enigmatic power. He pictured himself suspended in a cosmic void, gazing upon the sun from afar, perceiving its immense gravitational pull, its searing heat, and its blinding radiance. For a person of his era, it was a power beyond grasp. His exclamations swelled in tandem with his awe.
Rama contended with this boundless energy, an overwhelming humility washing over him. He came to realize that the Samantak was more than a mere tool; it embodied the essence of existence itself. He envisioned the vastness of the power he endeavored to harness.
Amid Rama's contemplations, Chetak, his loyal companion, watched with astute eyes. The horse discerned the changes within his friend, his fortified determination, and the burgeoning power. Occasionally, Chetak nuzzled Rama, conveying silent encouragement driven by instincts attuned to Rama's inner struggles. The bond between them deepened with every passing day, an unspoken dialogue of support and camaraderie.
As days evolved into weeks, Chetak also underwent a transformation. His coat gleamed with newfound vitality, and his eyes sparkled with life. It was as if the energy Rama sought to harness had begun subtly affecting the world around them. Wounds that had once scarred their bodies vanished, leaving no trace behind.
The once-quiet and serene forest began to stir. Nearby flora grew taller, their leaves lusher and greener. The air felt purer, more invigorating. A subtle vitality permeated the land, as if nature itself responded to Rama's endeavors. This was not solely Rama's journey; it was a dialogue between him and the world around him.
From a distance, Parshurama observed it all. He had witnessed Rama's daily routines, his struggles, and the glimpses of brilliance. Initially skeptical of accepting Rama as a disciple, for the task was anything but simple, Parshurama silently nodded, acknowledging Rama's character and the monumental quest he had undertaken. It was a silent dialogue, sage to sage, devoid of the need for words.
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows over the forest, Parshurama sensed an unusual energy in the air. It was as though the very fabric of reality quivered, responding to Rama's communion with the Samantak Mani. The ongoing dialogue between student and teacher persisted as days transformed into weeks, and the voyage toward unlocking the Samantak's power unfolded.