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Perfect for fans of Harry Potter and Immortals of Meluha, Samsara by Penguin editor-turned-author Saksham Garg is a mythological fantasy novel with a powerful twist ending.What if you came face to face with the gods?Phones stop working. Smartwatches die. And arms start glowing with blue scars. This is what happens to Aman Chandra and ten other Souls of Samsara when they are kidnapped from modern-day India and transported to a hidden valley in the Himalayas. In this realm of magic, home to Hindu gods, immortal yogis and mythical beasts, the mission is clear for the Souls of Samsara: to learn the ancient art of yogic sorcery and prepare for a treacherous journey not many can survive.But why must they go on this journey? And how are the gods connected to it all?Before they get any answers, the Souls of Samsara realize that there is a larger scheme at play. The king of the gods has passed a controversial order. And Aman must make a tough decision that will change not just his life but the fate of an entire nation . . .
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Date de parution

19 septembre 2022

Nombre de lectures

0

EAN13

9789354924385

Langue

English

Poids de l'ouvrage

2 Mo

SAKSHAM GARG


SAMSARA
Enter the Valley of the Gods
PENGUIN BOOKS

PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
Prologue
PART I
1. Aman
2. Upasna
3. Idhika
4. Aditya
5. Nandana
6. Prithvi, Ujal and Fayza
7. Adwaita
8. Maidaan
PART II
9. Bazaar
10. Suryast
11. Sangram
12. Kamandalu
13. Varunasmati
14. Kirtimukha
15. Sanaka
16. Angithi
17. Airavata
18. Vritra
19. Chaturanga
20. Pankh
21. Hathi-Paun
22. Yagya
23. Sarp-poonch
PART III
24. Atmayog
25. Pandayam
26. Sabha and Samiti
27. Chayan
28. Eka
29. Indra
30. Atman
Epilogue
Follow Penguin
Copyright
EBURY PRESS
SAMSARA
Saksham Garg is an editor at Penguin Random House India. For seven years, he studied at Woodstock School, Mussoorie, from where he could see the snow-capped Seven Hills of this story. He currently spends his time between New Delhi and Jaipur, and, outside of work, is often found on the football field or practising the violin.
He loves to interact with his readers; connect with him on Instagram, Facebook or LinkedIn @sakshamgarg94. To get updates on upcoming book events and workshops on writing and editing, log on to www.sakshamvgarg.com .
Advance Praise for the Book
This book will define the Indian fantasy genre for years to come -Akshat Gupta, author
Samsara is a fresh and fantastic read with epic-level world-building and unforgettable characters. Finally, India s answer to Harry Potter -Krishna Udayasankar, author
Samsara takes you on an amazing voyage. This is magic, mythology and mysticism, all rolled into one delicious Hinduism-inspired story. Narrated beautifully, the plot and pace are gripping. What a fantastic debut novel by a young writer whose talent shines out on every page -Harish Bhat, author, marketer and columnist, and brand custodian, Tata Sons
Absolutely fascinating creation of a new world and imagination at its best -Anand Neelakantan, author
Samsara is a unique and intriguing story that takes us to the hidden heart of the Himalayas, where mountains and mythology meet. Saksham Garg has a compelling story to tell, and he conjures up an exciting, thought-provoking tale -Stephen Alter, author
Samsara is the newest addition to India s growing fantasy fiction genre. It s an unputdownable read where you encounter demons and gods -Stuti Changle, author
Samsara introduces its readers to a never-seen-before world of mythology. Every part of it is so visually powerful -Kevin Missal, author
Saksham s pen whispers incredible, fantastical tales to you in your grandmother s voice. Finally, a Harry Potter in India -Ayush Gupta, author
Samsara is the kind of mytho-fantasy that is so jaw-droppingly brilliant that it leaves you wide-eyed with wonder and begging for more! A phenomenal new talent has arrived! -Anuja Chandramouli, author
Saksham Garg s Samsara brings to life a world of Indian mythology and fantastical adventure. A creative and entertaining read -Shashi Tharoor
To Grandad, who recently returned from Vanyasa
To see the map in detail and colour, log on to www.sakshamvgarg.com
The hut grew silent and people turned towards the man who had entered, carrying a musical instrument. He sat right beside the sleeping boy, tuned his veena , cleared his throat, and swept into the Song of the Valley. Everyone knew better than to sing along-at least not before the last Adwaita of the valley.
Tucked within brambles that may,
Shielding boughs and keeping at bay;
Every dashak centres a blue rose,
Scent of which dale invariably knows;
Watered, it riots by the nights,
Sheeny, eliciting awe from sights;
But in the valley fortified by the one that slithers,
For the sake of home, that flower must wither.
The Souls
Aman
Idhika
Fayza
Prithvi
Ujal
Aarti
Payal
Dhara
Jagrav
Savitri
Yuvan
Prologue
More than anything, what you hold is a map-a guide that will allow you to find the mythical valley of Vanyasa. But know that this book will only help you as far as Nandana, the tree that keeps the valley a secret. Once you get there, you re on your own.
You may have heard of Vanyasa, or you may be wondering what it is. If you have ever chanced upon some mention of it, you probably think it is fictional. But I assure you that Vanyasa exists. In fact, even today, there are many who spend years-sometimes entire lives-meditating, hoping to be led to this valley that exists only for the enlightened.
Vanyasa is known in different cultures by a multitude of names: Gyanganj, Shambhala, Swakipur, even Shangri-la. Nestled within the hidden folds of the Himalayas-on the roof of the world-the valley is completely inaccessible. However, every ten years, for its own survival, Vanyasa opens its doors to let in ten new Souls from the plains of the Indian subcontinent. They must take to the valley, its ancient ways, its sacred lessons, and know that they have no more than one year to prepare for the Mahayatra, the ultimate journey. They must survive the Mahayatra in order to join the ranks of the immortals that live in the valley.
Aman is one such Soul. Although his life is one in which few choices happen to be his own, he goes on to determine the fate of a nation. This is his story.
PART I
1
Aman
How about you, the teacher asked, you in the back?
The boy to whom these words were sternly directed did not react. Seated in the last row, he continued to look in his textbook, rhythmically shaking his leg and tugging at a red thread around his wrist.
The teacher cocked her head in a dramatic gesture. Excuse me? I m talking to you !
Ma am, he can t hear you, a girl said, trying not to laugh. The entire class sniggered and began muttering under their breaths. The commotion finally stirred Aman, who looked around, not realizing he was the target.
The substitute teacher quickly checked the register to figure out the boy s name and asked again, louder this time, Aman Chandra?! Can you hear me? Did you get a chance to read the first three chapters as Kulkarni Sir had instructed?
What are the odds that I m picked? Aman thought, feeling cornered. Time was running out. Everyone was probably staring at him.
Aman cleared his throat. Umm-
No, it s not that he can t hear you, Ma am, another boy interrupted him. He just can t spe-spea-speak, but he can . . . He looked around for approval. He can surely cry.
Aman stiffened. Are you kidding me? Cry? That was more than ten years ago!
He had always been a quiet kid, but it wasn t like Aman wanted to be tongue-tied at such a moment. His reticence had festered over the years as he d backed himself further and further into a corner. The silence in his world had enveloped him completely after the loss of his father back in 2009, thirteen years ago. His father, the infamous Avi Chandra, had been an army officer. When Aman was five years old, an official letter had arrived at their home in Delhi, informing him and his mother, Upasna, of Avi s death. But it wasn t accompanied by any of the outpourings of poignant glory reserved for the deaths of soldiers. No gun salutes. No badge of honour. No eulogies in the press. In fact, there was no state funeral for him-the army had said disobedience and abandonment of duty lay behind Avi s death.
With little time offered to grieve, Upasna and her son were thrown out of the army staff quarters. She had tried looking for work, but even when the hope of a job glimmered, any inquiry about her family and husband put an end to it. She had no alternative but to take the low-paying job of a dishwasher at a local canteen.
It wasn t long before the consequences of this unfortunate situation spilled over into Aman s life. In the second grade, he was called son of a traitor by a classmate for the first time, and he ended up sobbing in front of his class. That event bred new bullies who continued to torment him the entire year. The taint of his father s disrepute seemed to be the only thing people spoke about when it came to him. But changing schools was out of the question-this was the closest public school to where he lived, and they couldn t afford anything else.
Aman s survival mechanism had become all about avoiding attention. First, he started watching his actions and weighing his words. He called in sick as often as possible. In the third grade, he completely stopped engaging in any discussions, and from the fourth grade onwards he only spoke when called upon by a teacher.
By the sixth grade, Aman Chandra had sidelined himself to the extent that the older students appeared to have forgotten about him. He was also careful to never engage with the new students, and even went to extraordinary lengths to hide his last name.
By the seventh grade, he had succeeded in his mission to be invisible. His classmates avoided him and the teachers-the regular ones, not the substitutes-clearly knew better than to ask him questions, whether out of pity or sheer weariness. Aman kept a poker face and would admit to no one that he wished he had a friend. Just one person to talk to honestly. But one day rolled into the next, and time went on.
So imagine Aman s surprise when the substitute teacher addressed him directly. Of course, he wasn t going to answer. Other than the occasional yes, ma am or yes, sir , Aman s voice was scarcely heard by others. So if he was going to speak-if there was no other way out of it-then it had to be done early.
Here goes nothing, loser. He readied himself to speak. But time had already run out. It no longer mattered that he had indeed read the chapters last night and knew the answer to the teacher s question. He knew that even if he tried to speak, he wouldn t get past the dryness in his throat. So instead, like always, he offered his classmates a callous smirk, hoping they would mistake it for indifference.
The boy sitting right in front of Aman turned around and snapped his fingers in Aman s face. Then, deftly manoeuvring his hands so that the teacher couldn t see, he pulled out a dev

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