Echoes of Dvaraka (Part 1)

The year was 12491 AD.

Humanity’s descendants, part-organic, part-synthetic, no longer called Earth home. Their bloodlines flowered among the stars — from fragile colonies on ice moons to sprawling cities orbiting crimson suns.

The proudest cradle was K2-18b, a wet, green world beneath a cool red star, hundreds of light-years away. It was there the children of Earth learned to breathe new air, to speak new tongues, and to forget.

Yet for all their advancements, memory tugged like a gravity that could not be escaped.

And so they returned, a handful at a time, to the dead planet that had once breathed them into existence.

Three of those descendants in their ship, a small exploration vessel, coasted towards Earth's orbit. The recycled air carried a faint metallic scent — sterile, familiar.

From the observation window, Earth appeared hollowed — its oceans shriveled, its continents bruised in colors of rust and bone. Vast glaciers crawled over once-great cities, pinning the ruins beneath sheets of ice.

In the cabin, the three travelers and one machine floated in silence, watching history's tomb roll beneath them.

The travelers, like all their kind, wore inorganic enhancements like second skins. Beneath their suits, filaments of bio-alloy and memory polymers laced through organic muscle. Neural interfaces — discreet ports behind the ear — allowed them to connect to external systems or to one another directly, sharing thoughts in silence.

Speech had become almost ceremonial, a ritual preserved from a more primitive humanity.

PIX's soft blue eye brightened with a cheerful hum. His spherical body bobbed lazily midair as he cleared his synthetic throat.

"Dear travelers," he began, voice tinged with wry amusement.

"A brief history lesson: Our beloved Earth met its unfortunate decline circa 2300 AD.

Following mass ecosystem collapse, runaway atmospheric decay, and nuclear skirmishes, humanity undertook Project Arc.

Full planetary evacuation was completed by 2319. By then, Earth had been rendered inhospitable for carbon-dominant life."

He rotated slowly, theatrically.

"And thus concluded humanity’s first grand experiment with planetary stewardship.

But don’t worry! Records indicate it was considered a ‘learning experience.’"

Mira Sen sat closest to the viewport, her hand lightly resting against the cold metal rim. Her eyes, dark and steady, reflected the ghostly swirl of the planet.

She said nothing, but something in the way her body leaned forward — subtle, yearning — spoke volumes.

Across from her, Elias Vega chuckled under his breath.

"Since you’re feeling so nostalgic, PIX," Elias said, grinning, "maybe you should remind us why we're here before we all start crying."

PIX performed a quick, lazy spin.

"Mission parameters: Archaeological Survey E-312. Primary target: Site Omega-Dvaraka. Former coastal metropolis, western India sector. Submerged circa 1500 B.C., often known as 'the Atlantis of the East.' Largely unexplored as it was underwater during the industrial age on Earth. Recent glacial rise and sea level regression during Earth's latest Ice Age have re-exposed the ruins."

Elias whistled low.

"'Atlantis of the East.' Makes it sound more magical than tragic."

Mira shifted, looking over at Alex Mirek, who sat with arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable.

"You were there, weren't you?" she asked. "At the Atlantis expedition?"

Alex’s gaze flicked toward her. "I was part of the team," he said.

"And?" Elias prompted, eyebrows lifting. "You find anything interesting?"

Alex's lips barely moved.

"Classified."

For a moment, silence stretched thin between them.

PIX blinked, breaking the tension with exaggerated innocence.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to write our own thrilling discoveries then. Preferably ones we’re allowed to publish."

Elias glanced sideways at Mira, his expression softening.

"How weird it must be, for you?” Elias asked.

“I mean—" he waved towards the window, "—your ancestors actually walked down there."

Mira smiled faintly.

"Yes, my bloodline traces back to India. Before the exodus.

They were Hindus — followers of the old gods. Krishna, Rama, Shiva..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment, then steadied.

"To them, Dvaraka wasn't a myth. It was a city where the divine and mortal lived side by side."

"I grew up hearing stories," she said. "About Krishna’s city swallowed by the sea. About golden palaces and battles fought with weapons that could tear the sky open."

Through the viewports, the ragged scars of Gujarat’s ruined coast came into view — a shoreline of jagged teeth, gnawed by centuries of silence.

PIX’s voice softened, almost reverent:

"Preparing descent path.

Welcome to Dvaraka —

if there are any old gods left hanging around down there, I propose we knock politely before digging up their front yard."

The ship tipped gently, aligning with the battered land below.

The cradle of humanity waited, broken and shivering, for its long-lost children to return.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

Their landing was gentle, the hum of the engines fading into a whisper before dying entirely. PIX drifted forward, bobbing beside Mira as she unstrapped herself from the harness.

"Atmospheric readings stable," PIX announced brightly, spinning once. "Temperature a comfortable -3 degrees Celsius. Oxygen minimal. Recommend helmets."

Mira pressed her fingertips to the small neural port behind her ear, activating the suit’s environmental systems. A transparent visor materialized fluidly over her face, clicking softly into place. Elias and Alex did the same.

They exited the craft onto the broken soil of Earth. Mira hesitated at the threshold, her breath fogging the visor as she stepped onto ground. The surface felt brittle beneath her boots—a thin crust of frost laid over stone and dust. The wind sighed, whispering through cracks in the ruins before them.

Dvaraka stretched outward in shades of bone and shadow. Once-submerged buildings rose awkwardly from the earth, walls bleached and etched by millennia of seawater. Shattered pillars stood crooked like broken teeth. Wide streets, now choked with salt-crusted debris, unfolded toward what once must have been the heart of the city—a cluster of structures looming dimly in the distance.

"First footsteps in thousands of years," Elias murmured, his voice soft through their shared neural channel. Mira felt the words resonate gently in her mind.

Alex walked ahead, scanning continuously. "Minimal radiation." he noted tersely.

PIX hummed along beside them, projecting a holographic overlay of the ancient city—a rudimentary blue map drifting just above the ruins.

Mira approached a half-collapsed wall, stepping carefully between toppled stones. She brushed her gloved hand over the surface, feeling the subtle texture of carved stories—figures dancing, battling, loving. Her fingers stopped at a particular scene: a man holding what appeared to be a wheel of fire, lifted defiantly above his head. Krishna, with the Sudarshana Chakra.

A subtle warmth pulsed beneath her fingertips—faint, almost imagined. Her breath caught. For a moment, the world felt hushed around her, as if something within the stone had stirred. It passed in an instant.

Elias, beside her, followed her gaze. "Striking image," he said. "I can see why these stories lasted."

Mira didn’t answer. Her hand lingered on the carving.

From somewhere deeper in the ruins, the wind rose suddenly, a hollow moan that faded almost as soon as it began. The three humans paused, listening. PIX rotated, scanning.

"Probably just the wind," PIX said after a moment, but his tone had lost its usual playfulness.

Alex tilted his head. "Let’s stay cautious," he said, moving forward again.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

The ruins thickened as they moved inland.

Stone fragments jutted from the frostbitten earth like fossilized bones, their edges worn smooth by time and salt. Shattered archways leaned inward, casting angled shadows.

Mira stepped over the remnants of what might once have been a ceremonial road. She paused at the threshold of a wide, sunken space ahead — a circular plaza, choked with debris, ringed by crumbling stumps of columns.

PIX drifted forward, scanning. “Preliminary match confirmed. Likely the heart of Dvaraka’s town hall — a convergence of trade, ritual, and public ceremony.”

He hovered higher. “Historical consensus places the city’s peak around 1500 BC. Submerged ruins off the Gujarat coast were first scanned in the 21st century. Stone anchors, urban grids, submerged walls. Its peak likely aligns with the decline of the Indus Valley Civilization”.

Mira said nothing, eyes scanning the plaza's worn edges. Elias turned slowly, taking in the silence.

"PIX," he said. "Show us what this place looked like."

“Gladly,” PIX replied. “Stand by. Initializing TEMRO”

A soft pulse resonated through their neural ports. The stone around them shimmered — not visually, but perceptually. The real world remained unchanged. But within their minds, another Dvaraka began to bloom.

Suddenly the cold was layered with warmth. Marble paths unbroke themselves. Arches formed from light and memory. The plaza was no longer ruined — it was whole, alive, radiant.

Color and motion filled the space: children running between stalls, a water-seller pouring from a tall clay vessel, priests standing beside carved pillars wrapped in marigold garlands. Faces were rendered now — not perfectly, but convincingly. This was data injected directly into their mind.

Elias marveled. “Incredible. This detail — even the stitching in the clothes.”

PIX replied. “You're seeing the fusion of two systems. The Temporal Echo Mapping provides the structural backbone — it reads echoes of spacetime disturbances caused by repeated human activity, permanent construction, and significant events.”

“And the rest?”

“The Reconstruction Overlay adds narrative color. Based on archaeological and mythological texts, and architectural inference. It fills in the faces, the garments, the rituals — drawing from centuries of cultural memory. The echo tells us where things happened. The overlay guesses how they might have looked.”

Mira added. “I like to think of it as a duet between fact and stories.”

She stepped through the projection. A woman brushed past her — or the memory of one. Her face was turned away as she slipped into the crowd.

Alex, farther ahead, hadn’t paused. He walked through the flickering city like it didn’t exist.

Elias watched him go. “He’s not even looking.”

“I don’t really buy that he’s an archaeologist. State shoved him down our throats to allow this mission.” Mira said softly.

PIX rotated in place, then continued the lesson.

“According to multiple Purāṇic texts,” he said, “Dvaraka was swallowed by the sea in a single night — which marked the end of the Dvapara Yuga. No record of mass death or exodus. Some suggest a tsunami. Others, tectonic collapse. Exact dates are also debated”.

“What’s the debate?” Elias asked.

Mira answered. “Some traditions — place the city’s founding far earlier. As far back as 9000 BC.”

Elias blinked. “That would predate every major civilization on Earth.”

“It would also align suspiciously well with certain flood myths found globally,” PIX noted. “There is currently no evidence to support them.”

Mira’s gaze drifted back to the woman— now vanished into the reconstruction. Her hand came to rest on a projected column, perfectly straight in the overlay but cracked and jagged in reality.

As she touched it, something surged through her neural link — a flicker.

A feeling. A shift.

The world stilled.

She wasn’t looking at the past anymore.

She was in it.

Firelight. Cloth. Bells ringing nearby. She saw the woman again —but with her own face — standing barefoot near a basin, head bowed, hands folded in prayer.

The moment burst and was gone. The plaza returned. Cold again.

She gasped quietly, pulling her hand back.

Elias turned. “You alright?”

“Yes,” she said. “Feedback spike.” She didn’t look at Elias. Her hand fell to her side, fingers slightly trembling.

PIX floated in. “No overlay anomalies detected.”

“I’m okay,” Mira said, already walking ahead.

The projection shimmered, unchanged. But something inside her had shifted — as if a story she didn’t know had just remembered her.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

The light from the projection faded behind them as they left the plaza. The spectral Dvaraka faded, but the silence it left behind felt heavier — like something had been peeled back.

The team descended through a narrow corridor flanked by fractured columns. The stone underfoot turned darker, less uniform — a weathered blend of basalt and something Mira couldn’t immediately place. Fewer carvings here.

PIX drifted ahead, scanning. “We are approaching what may have been a processional causeway — likely leading to a temple near the former shoreline.”

Elias frowned, glancing around. “Doesn’t look like Harappan layout anymore.”

“No,” PIX admitted.

Alex, walking several meters ahead, didn’t break stride. “Keep moving. Sun’s dropping.”

“We’ll just use night vision, what’s the rush,” Elias shot back, tone sharper than usual.

Alex didn’t answer.

They emerged into a wider space — half-collapsed, littered with large stone blocks, many of them split open or fused into strange forms.

PIX paused midair. His eye brightened again. “Temporal Echo Mapping initiated.”

A low hum pulsed through their suits as the system activated — scanning for long-term spacetime distortions.

Mira stood still, eyes tracking the fragments. She had felt off since the last projection anomaly — not dizzy, not sick, just misaligned.

After a moment, PIX spoke.

“Mapping complete... but inconsistent.”

Elias looked over. “Inconsistent how?”

PIX’s light shifted — flickering faint outlines into their shared visual layer. Traces appeared in the space around them: wide shapes, broad paths, clusters of figures caught in semi-permanent stasis.

“The dominant echo is weak but predates the upper structure. Estimate: 9000 to 10,000 BC”

Elias blinked. “That’s not possible.”

PIX rotated. “Agreed. There is no recorded human architecture from this period. And these aren’t Harappan.”

Alex had stopped. “Let’s not get distracted. We don’t have time to chase phantoms.”

Elias glanced at him. “No one's chasing anything. We're observing data. That's why we’re here, remember?”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “We don’t need to study every noise in the mapping.”

“No,” PIX said, still drifting in a slow scan. “This isn’t noise.”

He paused, then made a faint pinging sound. “Analyzing surface composition.”

Alex moved on without a word, boots crunching as he disappeared into the ruin’s curve.

Rest of the group watched in silence as PIX extended a narrow blue beam toward a nearby shattered column. His tone changed.

“Sampling complete. Initial composition analysis... unusual. The stone shows evidence of reinforcement. Trace elements include boron-infused carbon matrices, sub-layered silicate weaves... and nanoalloys.”

Silence.

Mira’s voice was quiet now. “Nanoalloys?”

PIX confirmed. “Yes. Fabricated composite structures. These materials should not exist in this era.”

Elias stepped closer. “Contamination?”

PIX blinked. “No signs of modern interference. The elements are integrated into the original stone structure. Formed as part of the construction.”

Mira turned slowly to look at the column.

PIX’s lens narrowed. “These materials aren’t ancient. They’re... contemporary. Similar to the structural alloys used on our planet K2’s orbital platforms.”

Elias looked stunned. “You’re saying someone built with future materials ten thousand years ago?”

“I’m saying,” PIX replied, “either we misdated this structure by nine thousand years... or time itself has been interfered with.”

The wind picked up again, whistling softly between the broken stones. None of them spoke.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

They kept walking, now quieter. Since PIX’s discovery, the ruins felt less like remnants and more like a puzzle being slowly unboxed — pieces reappearing in the wrong places, at the wrong times.

Dust trailed behind their boots as they moved past half-collapsed archways and into what remained of a wide corridor.

Mira spoke into the shared neural channel. “The Mahabharata describes flying chariots, weapons that could melt stone, and cities constructed in a single day by divine architects.”

Elias glanced over. “You think they were describing our tech?”

“I think,” she said, “they were describing something they couldn’t understand. Like how they talked about gods when they couldn't understand thunder or floods.”

PIX chimed in. “To be fair, several modern cities on K2-18b were erected in a day using rearranging nanoalloy swarms.”

They all stopped.

The corridor opened onto a clearing — a space half-swallowed by rock, but unmistakable in its grandeur.

Before them stood a temple.

Not ruined. Not broken. Entire.

Its surface shimmered in what looked like muted gold, laced with fine veins of darker metal. The structure had been partially buried under centuries of sediment and ash — but what peeked through gleamed with unnatural clarity.

Mira stepped forward and brushed a gloved hand across one of the temple’s outer panels. The dust slid away, revealing the wall beneath.

It was not merely gold. It shined, subtly — refracting light as if alive beneath the surface.

PIX floated beside her, scanning.

“Composition: gold matrix blended with programmable nanoalloys. Architecture appears self-assembled. Structural stability: intact.”

Elias stared up at the gilded arch above the doorway. “It’s... beautiful.”

“The gate is open,” Mira said, nodding toward the wide, shadowed entrance. “Alex must’ve gone in.”

They entered the temple.

The air was colder here — not from the outside, but something inside.

The corridor led them downward, the walls narrowing, then opening again into a vast inner chamber.

As they crossed the threshold, PIX froze midair.

“I’m detecting a radiation signature,” he said. “Extremely faint. Thermonuclear. Estimated decay places it around 9000 BCE.”

Elias turned slowly. “A nuclear trace. In a temple made of living gold.”

“I am... just reporting.”

The space ahead widened again — a grand central hall. The ceilings arched high, every surface carved in meticulous, unfaded detail. Every inch of the walls was carved — figures, symbols, scenes looping in sequence.

They walked in silence, passing carvings of cities being born, figures with luminous orbs in their hands, vimanas flying through the sky.

Mira slowed.

Something pulled at her — not sound, not light. Just presence. She drifted towards a wall at the far end of the hall.

She stopped.

Her breath caught. One hand rose instinctively to her mouth.

“Mira?” Elias called, moving closer. “What is it—?”

PIX followed behind him, lenses adjusting.

And then they saw it.

Carved into the wall, with impossible precision, were three figures. Not idealized, not symbolic — but detailed. Specific.

Elias. PIX. Mira.

The three of them. Smiling.

Not as they were now — stunned — but as if they had known. As if they had been waiting to return.

-------------

To be continued………