The Mystery of Kailasa nadha temple

Chapter 1 The Sky Opens The stars whispered louder than usual that night. Above the frozen spires of the Himalayas, where the thin air carried only the voices of wind and wolves, a shimmer appeared in the velvet black sky—too steady to be a shooting star, too silent to be a meteor. It was shaped like a crescent, almost a perfect ‘C’, and it moved with purpose. Not falling. Descending. The elders of the Gori tribe, nestled deep in a valley between the peaks, gathered outside their stone huts. Dogs whined. Infants cried. Fires flickered, as if shivering in fear. And then it happened. A blinding white light bloomed over the tallest ridge—a massive flash like a second sun, followed by a thunderless shockwave that pressed the air flat across the valley. No sound came. Just pressure. A divine silence. Far above them, the object crashed into Mount Siraj, one of the most untouched and feared mountains in the region. The locals called it “Deva Chal”—the Mountain of the Gods. No one had ever climbed it, and those who tried vanished or returned mad. But now, the gods themselves seemed to have descended. --- Three days passed before the weather calmed enough for anyone to approach the site. Snowstorms of unnatural intensity had swirled around the mountain ever since the crash. The winds howled not in chaos, but rhythm—like chants. That was when Ravikaanth, the tribe's solitary sage, declared his intention to ascend. He was not a man of many words. Tall, thin as a reed, with snow-white eyebrows that seemed to have been frozen into that color since birth. His age was unknown, his voice rarely heard. But when he spoke, all listened. “I must climb,” he said, gazing up at the smoldering halo where the object had fallen. “The gods have opened the sky.” The chieftain objected. “No man can walk Deva Chal and return. It is cursed.” Ravikaanth smiled faintly. “Then I shall speak with the curse.” --- Armed with nothing but a bone-handled staff and a satchel of herbs, Ravikaanth began his journey. He climbed alone, using paths no one remembered existing. Ravens circled overhead, and strange green glows flickered beneath the ice like dancing souls. After three days, he reached the crash site. What he saw would never leave his mind. --- The impact crater was immense—a bowl in the snow-laden rock, its edges scorched and pulsing with faint bluish energy. At its center lay the object. It was a perfect C-shaped monolith, almost symmetrical, smooth as glass but clearly forged—not formed by nature. Its surface shimmered like black pearl under moonlight. It hovered inches above the ground, humming softly. Ravikaanth stepped forward. The closer he got, the quieter the world became. No wind. No breath. Even his heartbeat slowed, as if time hesitated near the object. He reached out and placed his fingers on the curve. --- A soundless explosion of color burst in his mind. He saw stars die and be reborn. He saw creatures of light spiraling through nebulae. He saw a world—metallic, golden, alien—torn apart in war. He heard a name echo across dimensions: Vaikaran. Then came blueprints, visions of impossible machines, floating cities, and a temple—not made of stone, but thought, shaped by will, carved from dreams. He saw it—standing atop this very mountain, in a future not yet born. And then he saw himself—older, glowing, with four stone lions behind him and an X of energy at his chest. The vision collapsed into silence. Ravikaanth collapsed with it. --- When he awoke, a snow leopard sat beside him, unmoving, like a sentinel. The object still hovered, now thrumming like a heartbeat. He bowed to it. Then he began to climb back down the mountain. --- The valley tribes noticed a change in Ravikaanth the moment he returned. His voice carried resonance. His eyes glowed faintly in moonlight. He spoke of the divine object, and that he had been chosen. “Not by gods,” he clarified. “But by beings from beyond the sky. The Vaikarans.” He unrolled parchment after parchment—etched with symbols none could read but all felt in their bones. They were not words. They were instructions. Architecture. Coordinates. Forces. “We are to build a temple,” Ravikaanth declared. “Here. Upon Deva Chal. As they showed me.” “But why?” asked the chief. “And for whom?” “For Earth itself,” he replied. “The temple will become a key.” --- Skepticism turned to awe when Ravikaanth pointed to a rocky cliff face and said, “Strike it there.” A team of workers did so—and the cliff split open cleanly, revealing deep veins of greenish stone they had never seen. Harder than granite. Lighter than air when carved. Each day, Ravikaanth gave new instructions. Stones were cut not with hammers but with sound—tuning forks, harmonics, the vibrations of chants. Fire floated upward unnaturally, forming shapes mid-air before cooling into marble-like sculptures. People began to believe. It wasn’t long before other tribes, even from far regions, came to see the “Prophet of the Sky Temple.” They brought offerings, tools, and workers. A grand construction began. But none were allowed to return to the crater. Ravikaanth said the C-object must remain untouched. “It is dreaming,” he whispered. “When the temple is complete, it will wake.” --- Six months into construction, strange events increased. At night, the temple stones would glow faintly. Carvings made during the day were often found altered the next morning—refined, improved, made symmetrical without human intervention. The wind began to carry sounds—songs in unknown languages. And one night, a child disappeared near the base of the temple. When found days later, she was unharmed but different. Her eyes had turned entirely black, and she spoke fluently in an alien tongue—one that Ravikaanth understood. “She says the Vaikarans are watching. And pleased.” The builders redoubled their efforts. --- One year after the descent of the C-object, the main body of the temple was completed. It rose like a mountain of its own—a structure unlike anything on Earth. No mortar. No visible seams. Each stone clicked into place with divine precision. The central sanctum pulsed faintly, though no lanterns were lit inside. It felt alive. Ravikaanth stood atop the highest platform and called the people together. “The time is near. We must prepare the final structure—the Seal.” He drew a symbol in the air with his hand. It hovered in glowing red fire: a perfectly balanced X, surrounded by four roaring lions. “These will bind the ship.” The people murmured in confusion. “Ship?” someone asked. Ravikaanth simply smiled. “All shall be revealed. But for now, build. Four lions. One X. And bury the heart of the mountain beneath them.” --- Below the temple, workers excavated a final chamber as instructed. What they found beneath chilled them to the soul: A massive metallic disc, embedded within the rock. It was over 400 feet wide, seamless, and warm to the touch. It pulsed once every few seconds—like a breathing organism in hibernation. One of the builders screamed when he accidentally stepped on it and vanished in a beam of white light. Ravikaanth did not weep. “He has become light,” he said. “The ship has accepted its first passenger.” The work continued. And the temple gained its true purpose: not a shrine to the gods—but a vault. A crown atop a sleeping king. A UFO hidden in plain sight. --- As the first monsoon clouds swirled over the temple, Ravikaanth stood before the four lion statues newly erected at the summit. Each faced a cardinal direction. Each held an expression of vigilance, not peace. Between them, the final X had been inlaid—crafted from a meteoric alloy never before found on Earth. It glowed as it locked into the center, sealing the chamber below. The sky opened again. This time, in thunder. But no one feared. For the temple had risen. And beneath it, the Vaikaran ship dreamed of stars.