Chapter 1
The Restless Question of Being
Rana, 35, lived in a city that seemed ordinary but felt strangely hollow to him.
The streets were lined with crowded markets, the aroma of fresh bread mixing
with the pungent scent of wet stone after rain. The city hummed with routine,
yet in Rana's chest, a restless question throbbed, echoing louder than the
chatter of the streets: "Who is God, really?"
It had begun in childhood, when the priests' chants in the temple corridors
seemed hollow, as if they were speaking words meant for others, not him.
Books were no better; their neat lines of text whispered truths, but only through
the eyes and minds of those who had written them. Nothing satisfied him.
That evening, as rain lashed against his apartment window, Rana sat by a
flickering candle, staring into his own reflection. The shadows of his room seemed to move unnaturally, stretching across walls and ceiling. He felt the
weight of something unseen pressing against him, as though the world
contained layers he had not yet learned to see.
His thoughts turned inward. He wondered how many questions remained
buried in human history—questions of life, mortality, morality, and the divine.
Each generation had sought God through fear, devotion, or ambition. Yet, none
had asked the right question: not "Is God real?" but "Where does God truly
reside?"
That night, Rana had a dream that unsettled him profoundly. He found himself in
a vast desert, the sands glowing faintly under a moon that seemed impossibly
large. Ahead, a shadowy figure stood, neither man nor god, pointing toward a
distant horizon where the sand met the sky. In a voice that was both
everywhere and nowhere, the figure whispered:
"Seek where time sleeps, and words vanish. Seek the path no eye has seen."
Rana awoke with a start. His heart raced. The words lingered in his mind as
though inscribed there by some invisible hand. Something inside him had
shifted. The journey would not be merely of travel or study—it would be a quest
across history, across civilizations, and perhaps across the very essence of
human consciousness.
The Restlessness of Days
For weeks, Rana wandered his city, watching people move through lives of
routine. He observed priests chanting, merchants bargaining, children playing
in puddles, and lovers meeting in the dim light of streets. All seemed ordinary,
yet each action carried traces of the divine—if only one knew how to see.
At a local library, he discovered an old manuscript, half-eaten by time. The
words were faded, but symbols stood out: spirals, circles, and lines that formed
patterns reminiscent of constellations. He traced them with his fingers, feeling
a strange vibration run through his hand, as though the ancient scribe's
intention was reaching across centuries to him.
Late at night, the dreams returned, growing more vivid. He walked along
ancient streets in visions, surrounded by ruins of civilizations he had not yet
studied, hearing faint voices chanting in unknown tongues. One recurring
figure appeared—a child holding a tablet with a spiral carved into its surface.
The child's eyes were empty, yet somehow full of knowing.
Rana realized something unsettling: these visions were not merely dreams.
They were warnings, guides, or perhaps messages. He did not yet know. But
one truth became clear: the path to understanding God would demand courage,
patience, and the willingness to confront questions that had no immediate
answers.
The First Decision
Rana packed his bag with essentials: notebooks, maps, tools for writing and
observation. He left the city at dawn, the streets still wet from rain, mist rising
from the stones like ephemeral spirits. He did not yet know where the journey
would take him, only that it had begun, and that his life would never be the
same.
As he walked, he felt a presence beside him—not visible, yet undeniable. A
whisper of wind, a shadow stretching slightly differently than the sun's angle, a
faint symbol forming on a stone in the distance. He paused, knelt, and traced it
with his fingers: a spiral, the same one that had appeared in his dreams and in
the ancient manuscript.
Perhaps, he thought, this is the first clue. Perhaps the universe leaves signs for
those who truly seek.