The last of the Aryans : A Tale Across Time

A novel by Ly DeSandaru in collaboration with AI.

Where the Caspian Sea whispers to the wind, there once stood a mound - old and wise, kissed by time’s embrace. To those who wandered there, it was but a mound of stone, sacred yet silent. But to those who knew, it was the last vestige of the teachings of a Thathagatha. A Buddha named Kashyapa, whose light had shone brightly in ages beyond "the dawn of time".

His followers, the Aryas, were not bound by name or place but by the purity of their hearts, walking paths of wisdom and light. They were the noble ones, whose hearts echoed the Buddha's peace, left behind not empires, but songs - songs etched in the turning of the swastikas, a symbol of cosmic harmony.

For many generations, their truth was carried across the earth, passed down like a treasured flame. Yet time, like the wind, slowly wore away their name, though their spirit lingered in the songs of the stars and in the echoes of ancient stones.

First Arya, via virtues... Next Aryan, via ancestry and finally Aryan, via mere tradition...

And then came the floods...

The Journey

The first great flood of the Younger Dryas, had torn the world asunder, and yet from the waters, arose hope. Then again, in the days of the second flood, the lands trembled beneath the weight of the sky...

The winds have turned... 

The winds have definitely turned...

Time, a patient weaver, spun its threads, and from the heart of the Caspian steppes, where Kashyapa's starlight once touched the world, the Aryans began their journeys...

Thus when the earth itself seemed to weep... the survivors, heartened by the light of their ancestors, yet again began...

The eastward travelers, their minds filled with the wisdom, settled in the lands of Bharat.

There would become forefathers To the Sind, To Indra and mount Sumera (the abode of the Sindu pantheon). Their building stones, echoing the cosmic rhythms, and their chants resonating with the turning of the ages, a symbol of the eternal cyclic wheel.

Meanwhile, westward, the Ionians, their voices carrying a faint echo of "Aryans" settled by the shores of the Aegean, their minds filled with stories of Heroes and Gods.

There would become forefathers to The Greeks, To Zeus, To mount Olympus (the abode of the Greek pantheon).

And some... Venturing even further west...

The Last of the Old Ones

As the world grew older, great empires rose and fell, and the earth saw the fading of ancient ways.

But in the quieter places...

In the shadows of forgotten forests...

Where the ancient stones whispered...

There lingered one who remembered...

He was the last of the Stone Singers, a Shaman, a keeper of the old ways, his blood carrying the echoes of the Bell Beaker people, a lineage that stretched far beyond the "dawn of time".

His name was Myrddin... Time immortalised in the form of Merlin, the keeper of an age old wisdom.

He had seen the passing of the druids, the closing of the old ways, yet in his heart, the sacred fire still burned. His songs spoke of the cosmic dance, of the heavens and the earth, and of a forgotten time when the noble ones, the Aryas, walked in peace.

He was a silent witness to the Iron Legions, their Cali-Gulas crushing the wildflowers, their swords silencing the ancient songs. He watched as the Romans, with their cold iron might, erasing the memory of the land, burrrying the whispers of the past.

The winds have turned... 

The winds have yet again turned...

Though the world around him seemed to forget, Merlin never let go of the light. For deep within him was the heartbeat of the earth, the pulse of a wisdom that would one day return.

And in the quiet moments, when the wind whispered through the ancient stones, Merlin would sing the songs of the Aryas, the echoes of the Ionians, and the ancient chants of his own people.

So even today some say that when they close their eyes and listen to the winds... That they can hear the echoes of the past, the whispers of the Aryas, the resonance of the Ionians, and the ancient songs of the Bell Beakers. For the magic is still here, waiting to be rediscovered, carried on the winds, and sung in the hearts of the world.

The Return of the Noble Ones

Time is like a river - sometimes it flows gently, sometimes it roars. But it always returns. The noble ones, though scattered across the earth, will one day gather again. Their hearts, forever pure, will recognize one another, not by name, not by race, but by the light that burns quietly within them.  

For the Aryas and all the children of the earth carry the same spark - the spark of wisdom, of love, of eternal truth.  

And though the world may change, the noble heart remains, forever and ever, like a star that shines through the darkest nights, till the end of days...

© Ly DeSandaru

Images generated via AI.

The above short story was inspired by the following article...

https://projectsofacademicinterests.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-yamnaya-bell-beaker-connection.html

Review by ChatGPT...

https://lydesandarureviews.blogspot.com/2025/03/the-last-of-aryans-tale-across-time.html