Monday, February 9, 2026
GetUrBook | Bestselling Book Reviews & Recommendations for Every Genre : Ride With Me Meghraj — The Vow Rewritten Launch A...
GetUrBook | Bestselling Book Reviews & Recommendations for Every Genre : Ride With Me Meghraj — The Vow Rewritten Launch
A...: Ride With Me Meghraj — The Vow Rewritten Launch Across lifetimes, vows wait to be rewritten. A riderless horse gallops through dreams, ca...
Wednesday, January 28, 2026
Tuesday, November 25, 2025
THE VOW REWRITTEN: Prologue
Prologue: Echoes and Invitations
From a forthcoming reincarnation novel by Sachin Karnik
✨ **Soul Verse**
Ek gungun hoti.
Ek shwas hota.
Ek janma hota.
Ek punarjanma jhala.
(One hum. One breath. One birth. One rebirth.)
Rudra was five when the dreams began. He lay on the cool, red clay floor, his fingers tracing patterns he couldn't quite remember. The faint creak of the ceiling fan and the distant calls of street vendors mixed into the background as early sunlight filtered through the window, warming his face. In that blend of reality, his dreams slipped in unnoticed.
Not stories.
Not nightmares.
Echoes.
They came like waves, gentle at first, then growing louder.
By fifteen, the dreams returned with force.
A battlefield shrouded in mist. The air smelled of ash and wet earth. A black horse stood still, muscles taut, breath steaming in the cold. On its back, a warrior—bare-chested, dusk-eyed, with a spiral glowing faintly on his shoulder. Not a tattoo. A memory. A प्राणचक्र (Prānchakra)—a soul spiral.
He didn’t raise a sword. He raised a folded leaf. From the fort wall, a girl watched—her eyes sharp, her smile quiet, like she knew something the world didn’t. The wind carried a vow. Not shouted. Whispered.
“I’ll return. Not as a conqueror. As a memory.”
Rudra woke with a gasp.
His shirt was damp. His heart raced. The room was silent, but his mind roared. He didn’t know if he was waking up—or remembering.
He had been having these dreams since he was five.
He sat up, blinking into the dark. The dream clung to him—not like a story, but like a memory. He reached for his sketchbook. His fingers moved without thought—drawing a spiral, a flame, a folded leaf. He didn’t remember learning these shapes. But they felt familiar. Old. Like echoes.
He stared at the page.
“What is this?” he whispered.
He tiptoed to the balcony, where the neem tree swayed gently. His grandfather sat there, half-asleep, wrapped in a shawl.
“Dada?”
The old man opened one eye.
“You’re awake early.”
“I saw something.” Rudra sat beside him, sketchbook trembling in his hands. “A horse. A fort. A warrior. I think… I think it was me.”
His grandfather didn’t laugh. Didn’t dismiss. He looked at the sketch, then at Rudra.
“Some dreams are echoes,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of forgotten forests.
“They are fragments of vows already spoken, ripples from lives already lived. They remind us of what we once promised, even if we no longer remember the words.”
He paused, his gaze drifting toward the spiral etched faintly in stone. “And some dreams are invitations. They are not memories, but doors—openings into paths yet to be walked. They call us forward, urging us to choose again, to step into what destiny has prepared but not yet revealed.”
The grandfather’s words lingered in the air like incense smoke, curling into Rudra’s thoughts. Echoes and invitations—two sides of the same mystery. One pulled him backward into the silence of vows forgotten, the other beckoned him forward into the mist of choices yet to be made. In that moment, Rudra felt the jungle listening, as if even the trees understood the difference between remembering and becoming.
Rudra swallowed.
“I’m scared.”
“Good,” his grandfather said. “That means you’re listening.”
They sat in silence. The wind stirred the pages of the sketchbook. And somewhere in the distance, a conch echoed.
Rudra didn’t know it yet, but the spiral he’d drawn would return in stone, in memory, and in choices that would shape not just his life, but the lives of those he had yet to meet. A trek to the mountains was being planned, and he had a strong feeling he was taking his first step toward discovery. The dream wasn’t done. It was just waiting. Like a प्राणगाथा (Prāṇagāthā)—a soul verse—unfinished.
“But which were his dreams—echoes of a vow already broken, or invitations to a vow yet to come?”
Soul Verse
प्राणगाथा (Prāṇgatha)—a soul verse—unfinished.
“But which
were his dreams—echoes of a vow already broken, or invitations to a vow yet to
come?”
Author’s Note
This is the prologue of my forthcoming reincarnation novel. Shared here first to ripple resonance before D2D/KDP.
Monday, November 24, 2025
THE VOW REWRITTEN: An introduction to a Forthcoming Reincarnathion Novel
An Invitation to Echoes
Ek Shabd hota,
Ek Gungun hoti,
Ek athavan hoti.
(One word, One hum,One Memory)
Every story begins with a threshold. Mine begins with echoes—dreams that feel like invitations, motifs that return like companions, and verses that ripple across lifetimes.
This is not yet the Prologue. It is a doorway. A quiet step into the spiral of vows, flames, leaves, and horses that will carry us forward. Tomorrow, the Prologue will open fully. Today, I invite you to pause at the threshold and listen.
Saturday, November 1, 2025
My Thoughts
Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?
If I could re-live a year, it wouldn’t be for correction—it would be for immersion.
I’d return to the year I first met silence. Not the absence of sound, but the hush that follows a story well told. The year I walked barefoot on moss, Heard my grandfather whisper to the jungle, And watched a horse named Meghraj blink at me like he knew.
That year didn’t roar. It rippled.
And if I could re-live it, I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d just listen more deeply.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
-
We're now less than 24 hours away from Doomsday 2011: Get Judged Or Get Out ! Everybody has heard the prophecy of Family Radio preach...
-
Blogging After Retirement – Free Kindle Book! Description : Retired but not done yet! 💪 I turned my post-retirement passion into a bl...
