Karnak read the information board in front of the ticket booth. The paint was peeling off, but it was still readable. It cost five mudras to get in. Money was something Karnak was short on but he dug into his wallet for the precious little that he had.
The man at the ticket counter had his lips stained red with gutkha and had a look of a person who had the worst job in the world and thought people should be obliged for it. Karnak took the purple coloured piece of newsprint with barely readable markings on it and proceeded towards the entrance to the Atirath.
Surprise of surprises, they actually had a guide to show them around.
A small crowd had gathered around the man who seemed entirely too cheerful for the occasion. He was speaking in a pretentious sing song voice reciting well rehearsed lines to his disinterested audience. Karnak ignored him and followed the crowd into the ship.
The interior of the ship was decorated in sharp contrast to the outside. The corridors were plush, carpeted and spotlessly clean. The lighting looked expensive and state of the art.
“This Atirath,” said the guide in a high voice, “or may I call it the Atirath, was built about fifty years ago under the direction of King Charuvarman, the father of our esteemed Samraat Mahendravarman. But as you all would know Charuvarman was blessed by Indr himself. It would not have been possible to build a vimana such as this without divine help. Indr, in his avatar of Manojav, himself oversaw the construction of this might vessel. Therefore it was that the tradition of Atirathotsav – an annual festival honouring Indr and this vimana that he gave us – was started by Samraat Mahendravarman when he took over.
“What did he say the name of the avatar was?” Karnak asked the man standing next to him.
“Manojav,” the man muttered and hurried on to follow the crowd that had move forward.
Karnak took in the news, following hurriedly behind the crowd. So Manojav was Indr’s avatar. That explained a couple of things, including his fetish for beautiful, young women.
The guide toured them around the crew quarters all of which were luxuriously furnished and altogether too spacious for a regular space ship. Karnak wondered why that was. Interiors of a vimana were generally cramped and claustrophobic. The less the mass of the ship, the less the energy needed to pilot it. And in a battle, that could be the deciding factor between victory and defeat.
Walking at a pace too fast for anyone’s liking, the guide showed them around the weapon’s controls, astrogation rooms, medical facilities and finally brought them to the garbh-griha – the central command centre where the sarathi would sit and control the entire vessel.
The garbh-griha was really simple in design. In the very centre was a circular platform, which Karnak knew was for the sarathi to sit. Around the platform, there was many grooves in the floor expanding in concentric arcs around the central platform. These, Karnak assumed, were for the holoscreens that would feed the sarathi with every tiny bit of information from sensors hidden throughout the body of the ship. If the ship was a creature, this would be its brain, and the sarathi, its will.
“And this,” said the guide with a flourish, “ends our exciting tour of the Atirath. I will now leave you to take some photographs to take home. Once you’re done you can walk along that corridor and it will lead you straight outside. If you enjoyed your time, and liked my work, I would be honoured to accept whatever token of appreciation you will deem me worthy of.”
“Not bad for five mudras,” Karnak thought as the crowd broke off like an evaporating liquid around the room.
The man at the ticket counter had his lips stained red with gutkha and had a look of a person who had the worst job in the world and thought people should be obliged for it. Karnak took the purple coloured piece of newsprint with barely readable markings on it and proceeded towards the entrance to the Atirath.
Surprise of surprises, they actually had a guide to show them around.
A small crowd had gathered around the man who seemed entirely too cheerful for the occasion. He was speaking in a pretentious sing song voice reciting well rehearsed lines to his disinterested audience. Karnak ignored him and followed the crowd into the ship.
The interior of the ship was decorated in sharp contrast to the outside. The corridors were plush, carpeted and spotlessly clean. The lighting looked expensive and state of the art.
“This Atirath,” said the guide in a high voice, “or may I call it the Atirath, was built about fifty years ago under the direction of King Charuvarman, the father of our esteemed Samraat Mahendravarman. But as you all would know Charuvarman was blessed by Indr himself. It would not have been possible to build a vimana such as this without divine help. Indr, in his avatar of Manojav, himself oversaw the construction of this might vessel. Therefore it was that the tradition of Atirathotsav – an annual festival honouring Indr and this vimana that he gave us – was started by Samraat Mahendravarman when he took over.
“What did he say the name of the avatar was?” Karnak asked the man standing next to him.
“Manojav,” the man muttered and hurried on to follow the crowd that had move forward.
Karnak took in the news, following hurriedly behind the crowd. So Manojav was Indr’s avatar. That explained a couple of things, including his fetish for beautiful, young women.
The guide toured them around the crew quarters all of which were luxuriously furnished and altogether too spacious for a regular space ship. Karnak wondered why that was. Interiors of a vimana were generally cramped and claustrophobic. The less the mass of the ship, the less the energy needed to pilot it. And in a battle, that could be the deciding factor between victory and defeat.
Walking at a pace too fast for anyone’s liking, the guide showed them around the weapon’s controls, astrogation rooms, medical facilities and finally brought them to the garbh-griha – the central command centre where the sarathi would sit and control the entire vessel.
The garbh-griha was really simple in design. In the very centre was a circular platform, which Karnak knew was for the sarathi to sit. Around the platform, there was many grooves in the floor expanding in concentric arcs around the central platform. These, Karnak assumed, were for the holoscreens that would feed the sarathi with every tiny bit of information from sensors hidden throughout the body of the ship. If the ship was a creature, this would be its brain, and the sarathi, its will.
“And this,” said the guide with a flourish, “ends our exciting tour of the Atirath. I will now leave you to take some photographs to take home. Once you’re done you can walk along that corridor and it will lead you straight outside. If you enjoyed your time, and liked my work, I would be honoured to accept whatever token of appreciation you will deem me worthy of.”
“Not bad for five mudras,” Karnak thought as the crowd broke off like an evaporating liquid around the room.
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