Aarav, Rohan, and Kabir, three teenagers who had just completed their 11th-grade exams, stepped into the library on a quiet, sunlit afternoon. The sharp click of the glass door closing behind them was absorbed quickly by the thick silence inside. The air smelled faintly of old paper and varnished wood. They had come searching for reading materials for a group project assigned for the summer vacation before their 12th grade commenced. Each of them was leaning toward a career in medicine, though none had yet settled on a specific path.
Kabir, who often spoke with a quiet intensity, had been particularly intrigued by Ayurveda, thanks to his uncle, Dr. Azad, a practicing physician of that tradition. When Kabir had once suffered a fever and cough, Dr. Azad had treated him with a bitter herbal decoction and spoken at length about the concept of Doshas. That experience had lingered in Kabir’s mind. Aarav and Rohan, on the other hand, were more enthusiastic about the basics of mainstream medicine, having covered human physiology and introductory pathology in their school curriculum.
They had decided, after some deliberation, to undertake a project titled Health, Illness, and Healing: A Comparative Approach. Their hope was that this project would allow them to examine both modern and traditional systems of medicine through a more critical and informed lens.
The library was nearly empty, its silence only occasionally broken by the low hum of the ceiling fans and the soft turning of a page from somewhere across the room. The boys made their way past rows of tall, dark shelves to the far end, where older volumes, many of them covered in dust, rested in quiet neglect.
Rohan glanced over his shoulder and whispered, “Feels like we’re in a time capsule.”
Kabir chuckled softly. “Perfect place to find ancient wisdom, maybe even some forgotten secrets.”
They began scanning the section labelled Traditional Indian Medicine. Most of the books were thick and bound in cracked leather, their titles fading. Aarav, running a finger along the spines, paused. Wedged between two imposing tomes was a remarkably thin volume. Its binding was faded to a dull brown, and there was no title on the spine.
“Hey,” Aarav said, voice low but urgent, “look at this one.”
He tugged gently at the book, which gave way with a faint creak. It had no front cover, and the title page was missing entirely. The first few pages were brittle, their edges crumbling slightly as they turned them.
“This looks… really old,” Rohan murmured, leaning in.
Kabir took the book carefully and opened to the first complete page. The text was printed in an antique serif font, dense and formal, possibly from an early lithographic press. At the top, in faded ink, it read:
Lesson 1: The Expedition
They turned the page with care, the dry paper whispering as it slid beneath their fingers. Rohan cleared his throat and began to read the first passage aloud, his voice softened in deference to the library’s stillness:
“My dear students,
Before you seek to treat illness, you must first understand life.
Before you gather the herbs, you must understand the earth that gives them.
Before you study the pulse, you must sense the rhythm of day and night, and of the seasons.
Medicine begins not in the mortar and pestle, but in the eye and the ear, the nose, the skin, and the mind that questions.”
For a moment, none of them spoke. The words hung in the air, resonating with an unexpected clarity. Kabir finally broke the silence.
“This doesn’t read like a textbook. It feels like someone is speaking directly to us.”
Aarav nodded slowly. “It’s almost… poetic. Like it’s meant to make you feel something before you even start learning the theory.”
They flipped through a few more pages, increasingly absorbed. The lessons were structured as a series of dialogues, with the ancient physician Charaka addressing students who asked questions or posed reflections. Some chapters included conversations involving Sushruta as well. The tone shifted subtly between them, alternating between reflective guidance and precise instruction. The sections were titled with broad themes: Basic Principles, Physiology, Pathology, Diagnosis, and Treatment. However, several pages were missing, torn or eroded by time.
Rohan frowned. “Looks like someone tried to preserve it but couldn’t keep the whole thing intact.”
Aarav said, “Still, what’s left is valuable. It’s not just about medicine. It’s about how knowledge was transmitted, how learning was structured.”
Kabir added, “And how healing was understood in terms of ancient theories”
They sat silently for a few moments, the ancient voices from the pages still echoing in their minds. The library, with all its modern order and cataloguing, had yielded something unexpectedly alive.
“Should we document this?” Rohan asked.
Aarav nodded. “Yes. This might be the most original part of our project.”
Kabir closed the book gently. “Let’s start by mapping what we have. Even the gaps could tell us something.”
They brought the book to Mr. Deshpande, the librarian, who was sitting at his desk sorting new magazines.
Kabir (placing the book gently on the desk): Sir, we found this in the Ayurveda section, behind some other books.
Mr. Deshpande (looking at the book, turning a few pages, and frowning slightly): I have worked here for over twenty years, but I do not remember seeing this book before.
He searched the library’s computer system, typing in different words from the book. Then he checked the physical register. There was no record of the book. No author name, no publisher, no year.
Mr. Deshpande: This book is not in the library records. It is an old printed copy, but I do not know where it came from. It might be the only one.
Aarav: Can we borrow it?
Mr. Deshpande (thinking for a moment): Yes, but only if you agree to one thing. You must get it properly bound with a hard cover. The pages are too weak to last much longer. Bring it back within a fortnight.
Mr. Deshpande opened the physical register to the “Miscellaneous” section and wrote:
Title: Unknown Printed Book (Charaka and Sushruta Dialogues)
Status: One copy only. Not in catalogue. Needs new binding. A few pages missing.
Mr. Deshpande: Now, each of you sign below.
The boys signed their names. Then they walked out of the library, the book held carefully in Rohan’s hands. The light from the windows was soft. No one said anything, but they all felt the same thing. This book was different. It felt important, like something forgotten that had been waiting for someone to find it again.
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The following evening, all three sat together in Kabir’s living room. The lights were low, and the newly bound book was placed in the middle of the table. They decided to read it aloud, taking turns. Kabir read as Charaka, using a steady and deep voice. Aarav and Rohan took turns as different students, asking questions and responding to Charaka’s words. The room grew quiet as the old voices of the book came to life again.
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