The Parramatta Prince

This thread of Ramayana came from a future era, with skyscrapers of glass stabbing at smoggy skies, screens opening doors to endless online worlds, and this weird magic called coding. It was the Kali Yuga, the age of chaos and rush, full of noise and hurry. But even then, people had their own rituals, their own tough disciplines, and strange rewards. This lost chapter doesn't start with a king's oath or a sage's curse. It kicks off with the steady drone of servers in a place that'd later be called Sydney—like the modern world's own sacred hum. It's about unsung heroes, those little threads that hold the whole thing together. You know Rama, the perfect prince with his divine bow humming gold. Ravana, the genius king with ten heads full of smarts and ego, laughing like crashing mountains. Hanuman, whose loyalty could literally move mountains, roaring loud enough to crack the sky. But you haven't heard of Chunmun Singh, the Data Sage of our messed-up age. His big tests weren't in a peaceful forest ashram, but in a bland office under buzzing lights. Fourteen years of crushing deadlines was his penance, and he stuck to his celibacy vow amid all the glowing screens tempting him. This is how his ordinary life—a plain gray strand—got yanked back in time and tied into the bloody, epic showdown of an ancient war. It raises a wild question: What happens when the cold, yes-or-no logic of the future slams into the wild, magical chaos of the past? How does duty hold up when the hero isn't a prince with a god-blessed bow, but a data guy with some bizarre gift from corporate burnout? Listen up. Past the blare of conch shells and the boom of war drums, there's a new noise in the air. The zap of a portal shutting, like static ripping reality. And a new smell: that crisp ozone whiff, like tech and lightning, mixing with the old battlefield dust. The loom's spinning, and a fresh pattern in unheard-of colors is about to unfold. Hindi translation has been provided at the end of the book.