The young man, half-naked, his garments torn and tattered, his hair matted, his feet calloused, was dragged into the palace in chains. His condition contrasted with the room around him. The throne room was palatial. Each square centimeter was decorated with either a precious metal, a precious stone, or an ornate carving. The two soldiers bringing him in were decorated in a similar matter. The man could only guess, then, what the Emperor wore; he kept his eyes on the red silken carpet, not even daring to make eye contact with the most powerful man on the planet.
"Who do we have here?" Samrat Mallakarni asked as the prisoner was brought to him. Mallakarni looked down at the prisoner, then at his soldiers. "Surely, you could've dressed him. You could've combed his hair and repaired his wounds. But no, you decided me to bring this stranger in the most unclean form possible! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"
The man, his neck straining from having to look down, was worried. A little comfort could be found in that the Emperor's harsh, frigid words were not directed towards him. But at any moment, they could.
Mallakarni readjusted himself in his throne. He clapped twice. At once, from two rear doors came two people, one from each door. One was one of the most distinguished scholars on the history of Bharat, known in his foreign tongue as William Sayer. The other was one of the most trusted spies of Bharat, Nicholas Bionat. Both took positions at the side of the Emperor, and stood, at ease, until further instructions.
"But I digress," the Emperor said to the soldiers. "Where did you find this man?"
"He was wandering in a village on the banks of the River Vitasta," the soldier to the Emperor's left said. "The villagers said that he appeared out of nowhere; there was just air where he was, then he materialized."
"He speaks a very strange form of the local language," the other soldier continued. "It is, save for some words, utterly unintelligible with what the locals speak."
"Interesting," the Emperor said. "Nikōlasa!" the Emperor said as he turned around, referring to the spy in Sanskrit. "I wish for you to translate whatever I say and whatever the stranger says. If you can, please inform me of the dialect he speaks."
"Your request is my command, my liege," Nicholas said.
The Emperor looked back at the man. "Tell me, what is your name, and what language do you speak?" Realizing that not even Nicholas knew what language the man spoke, he hastily pantomimed speaking by pointing to his mouth and letting it open and close.
The man was unsure of what to say. He knew that the Emperor wanted to say something, but he did not want to anger him by something inadvertently inappropiate.
"
Cagī savēra nū, mērē samarāṭa," he stammered, after a good minute of thinking and sweating.
"He means 'Good morning, my emperor," Nicholas said.
"Well, that was a response," the Emperor said. "Tell me, Nikōlasa, what tongue does this man converse in?"
"He converses in a language called Punjabi," Nicholas replied. "It is a modern language, spoken in the area known tautologically as Punjab."
"Never heard of it," Mallakarni said. "But you do understand this 'Punjabi,' right?"
"Yes, as I do all Indo-Aryan language of all times."
"And the man is from the future, right?"
"Yes, apparently," Nicholas replied.
"Ah, so this is the third visitor from the times untouched. I wish to ask him his name. I also wish to inform him that he may look at me."
"Okay," Nicholas said. He turned to the man, and switched from Sanskrit to modern Punjabi. "
Tuhānū samarāṭa'tē vēkha sakadē hō. You may look at the Emperor."
The man looked up, and saw the Emperor's face. It was as decorated as he predicted. It appeared that the Emperor was not about to slay him at any moment; he had a look of genuine curiosity. That, and the fact that his neck muscles were in a more comfortable position, relieved him a bit.
"
Tuhāḍā nāma kī hai?" Nicholas continued. "What is your name?"
"
Mērā nāma sāhiba kapūra hai, para mainū taka am, jithē, mainū sēbāsiyana dē taura tē jāṇi'ā hai. My name is Sahib Kapoor, but where I am from, I am known as Sebastian."
"Sebastian, hmm," Nicholas mused to himself. "
Ākhō, tuhānū agarēzī gala karadē hō? Say, do you speak English?"
Sebastian was genuinely surprised. Here he was, in ancient or medieval India, speaking a form of Sanskrit equally as old - dang, now I lament neglecting my study of Sanskrit - and there was this guy speaking English.
Then again, he thought,
perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. Since when did Indians have blond hair and blue eyes? And this guy speaks modern Punjabi perfectly! Why should English get special treatment?"
"Yes, I do speak English," Sebastian replied in the language.
"I see," Nicholas said, in English as well. He turned back to the Emperor and returned to using Sanskrit. "As you see, he is definitely a person from my time period. From the accent alone, he comes from the state known as America, a state that will not exist until around seventeen centuries into the future. I would not be surprised if he was immortal as well."
"Very well then," Mallakarni said. "I hope that he would, as you and your friend are, be a productive and important part of Bharat. Since you three are from the future, perhaps it would be good to have a conversation just among you three?"
* * *
The three men occupied a round table in a windowless room. It was lit by a couple candles, but due to the gold foil being such a prominent part of the ornamentation, the room was surprisingly bright.Two guards, both trained by Nicholas to understand English, were posted at the door, mostly to make sure that nobody was plotting anything. William and Nicholas were in the same fancy clothes as before, while Sebastian got a new set of clothes to match that of the others. He also got his hair untangled and his uncleanness removed.
"So, what are your occupations now?" Sebastian asked, twiddling his thumbs. "And what were your occupations in the future. Well, I meant what 'will' be your occupations. Gee-whiz, time travel makes tenses confusing."
"I'll start. Currently, I work for the government as a historian. I chronicle the achievements and failures of both the current Satavahana dynasty and the previous dynasties, going back as far as two thousand years ago. Hopefully, I'll be remembered as one of the founders of history, just as Herodotus and Thucydides were for the Greeks. It actually worked out well because I held a master's degree in history in my past - future? - life, though in American history, not Indian. But the methodology remains the same; I use evidence - mainly writings in this context, but in other subfields archaeology and oral histories count as well - and interpret them in order to construct a narrative."
"Cool," Sebastian said. "What aspect of American history did you major in?"
"The history of American race relations; I'm sorry that I left that out. Which brings me up another point. As I was completing my master's degree, I dabbled in writing. When I finished it, and found out that history was - er, will not - be the greatest field in terms of employment prospects, I decided to become a full-blown writer. Hate to admit it, but that didn't pan out very well."
"Sad to hear that," Sebastian said. "And what about you, Nick?"
"Ah, I went to the same school as Bill here, but we went on wildly diverging paths. While he cooped himself up into the ivory tower, I became an Olympic sport shooter. Won two gold medals. Also somewhat of a survivalist; after I retired from sport shooting, I went to Siberia and lived alone in a cabin."
"That's actually very cool! Are you a soldier here now?"
"Well, mostly I work in the bureaucracy with Bill, writing reports and copying stuff. But whenever I can, I go out and hone my shooting skills. And sometimes, I do go out and do soldier stuff."
"Like what?"
"That's a state secret," Nicholas said.
"So, what was, or will be, your occupation?" William asked.
"Editor of the New York Daily News," said Sebastian.
"
The New York Daily News? The tabloid?"
"Hey, that offends me!"
"Okay, okay, okay. Let's not get tensions too high right? *Nicole sucks.*"
"Oh, you can do better than that!" Nicholas said. "Back on topic. Did anyone else castigate you for being part of such a fine establishment?"
"Not really," Sebastian said. "Actually had a decent living before the apocalypse."
"Wait, the apocalypse?"
"Yeah, the nuclear apocalypse. I don't think that you lived far enough into the future to experience it?"
"Um," William stammered, "what year were you whisked away from?"
"Year? 1961."
"What, 1961?" William and Nicholas looked at each other nervously. "I'm pretty sure that the world didn't end in a nuclear fireball in 1961," Nicholas said.
"Yeah, are you from an alternate universe where you goaded Kennedy and Khrushchev into firing their missiles?"
"Um, I think we have a misunderstanding here?" Sebastian said, trying to defuse the tensions. "Okay, let me ask you guys, what year were you guys from?"
"2014," William said.
"No wonder," Sebastian said. "And I suppose that the world was all fine and cheesy for you all?"
"Yep," William said.
"I guess that settles it," Nicholas added. "You were from one universe; we're from another."
"Alternate universe," Sebastian said. "And I thought that time travel was confusing enough?"
"Well, the many worlds hypothesis is a popular 'theory' out there to explain the true nature of time travel these days," William said. "I guess that all this time travel messed up the space-time continuum and managed to make Kennedy and Khrushchev send missiles flying at each other."
"I'm actually somewhat lost," Sebastian said. He readjusted himself in his wooden chair. "Who's Kennedy and Khrushchev."
"Wait, so you're
not from 1961?" William asked.
"Well, I came from the year 1961; the nuclear war started in 1960. American society collapsed in 1959, or so they said. I presume that the guys you're talking about got killed in the nuking."
"Perhaps," William said. "Though you probably should know Khrushchev, if the Soviet Union existed in your universe. He became General Secretary in 1953."
"It's so sad that your world ended in 1960," added Nicholas. "Now you'll never see the glory that is Stanley Kubrick's
Dr. Strangelove."
"Did you mention Dr. Strangelove?" Sebastian asked. "He was the guy who brought me back to life - yeah, I died from drinking irradiated water, then I came back to life - and time-travelled me."
"Dr. Strangelove is
real in your universe?" William asked, shocked. "Man, this is just super-crazy!"
"Oh, shut up Bill," Nicholas said, his face red. "You never watched the damn movie!" He turned back towards Sebastian. "I'm sorry. It's just that this numbskull here doesn't know true art when he sees it."
"It's okay," William said. "It's one of those things between us. So Strangelove is to you as the blue-robed wizard was to us. Dunno how that would go but meh. Did he grant you a wish? My wish was for this massive pile of wealth the wizard promised, which he never gave me. Nicole's wish is to be able to speak every language out there. Considering that he can speak all the Indo-Aryan languages, and that he already knows English, Filipino, and Russian, I say that's a decent compromise."
"He did, actually," Sebastian said. "He promised to bring my wife - who killed herself as the apocalypse was going on - back to life, and for her to become young and whole again - she was disabled during a shooting during her teenage years. And- wait."
"Let me guess, your wife's not here," Nicholas said.
"
That bastard!"