There are universes within universes, layers within layers. For everything that we humans see – what we believe in – there are many parallel and perplexing alternate truths. Alternate universes, alternate realities. It is in these ‘other’ places – places that exist along with ours – that we have mythical beasts and creatures. Fairies, witches and wizards. Gods and demons, heroes and saints. Magical objects and powerful spells, tremendous good and deplorable evil.
There are places in our known universe which have portals and gateways between other universes. Places which are really leaks – places through which denizens of other universes can come to and fro. There are parts of our universe where these gateways are many. Thousands and thousands, intertwined and convoluted. Many of the elders believe that these gateways flock together of their own free will, attracted to these centres like iron filings to a magnet. The elders do not know the reason behind this, but know that usually, these centres are cities of our world which have a rich history. Cities that have stayed while many empires have come and gone. The elders do not want to know too much more than this, beyond a point. They do not really want to get to the bottom of things. They prefer to stroke their long flowy beards and gaze mystically into eternity, keeping their pens clacking away. After all, these elders of the known and unknown universes are only historians. Their job is to record and preserve facts – not answer difficult questions that begin with a why.
London, Athens, Rome, Cairo. These are some of the cities of our known universe which are crossroads of the meeting, leaking universes. Delhi is another such city.
Human adults do not really notice the passers by from the other universes. They are grown up – worried about taxes and death. They do not have the eyes to see unicorns jay walk through traffic, or mighty kshatriya warriors in full battle regalia standing in queues to catch trains. Or, for that matter, the occasional flying saucer parked among cars – or bee cavalry waging their incessant assaults on myrmidon infantry. Adults have unseeing eyes. They glance the other way, turn the other cheek. When a Manganese battle frigate blows up in the middle of the evening sky, attacked by Nitrate torpedoes, it goes down in adult memory as thunder and lightning. A passing troupe of galloping centaurs thundering down the street on their way to the next portal becomes a traffic jam. A wedding dance of the Nagas and Garudas goes down as just another Punjabi wedding.
Children, however are a different matter. Children have the eyes that can see. Sometimes. Very briefly – until adults take them away, replacing them with the so called mature eyes – moulding the poor children in their own image.
It is in Delhi – crossroad and melting pot of the many universes – Delhi with the seven histories known and nine histories unknown – Delhi which does not have any real children anymore to witness these going on – that our adventure begins.