It was the third night of Amavasya, the fortnight of the new moon.
Under a canopy of night sky, a road-weary traveller had all but collapsed. Undertaking a sojourn on the first day being inauspicious, he had waited for a more propitious date before setting forth.

The day’s journey had been unrelenting and long.
All through it, the heat of the sun had borne down, exhausting his body, vexing his brain. Leading him to question not only the purpose of his journey, but that of his life.

Why am I here, he asked himself. With what intent have I set forth from a land faraway, besides leaving it forever?

This was the predicament that vexed his mind, as, undone by the vast tracts of sand, he lay down for the night. It was pitch black, and starless, yet in his mind’s eye, he saw a searing flash of light in the distance.

How could it be the sun, blazing on a night when the moon hid itself? He thought he was in peril, that he had lost his mind and not just his way.

Sure as day, the blinding, flashing mass of light loomed closer, and closer, seemingly an apparition, splendorous and blinding. From the light he could discern a golden-hued charioteer, drawing plumed golden white steeds. Twenty one magnificent creatures, reined in by a god-like visage.

Presently, this vision came to a halt before him.

“Who are you, Lord,” asked the traveller, for clearly the charioteer was a celestial being.

“Ask yourself who you are, and with what intent you have set foot,” came the cryptic response.

“I am but a traveller, banished from my home, with no recourse but to find another to call my own,” said the man.

“I am Surya” replied the charioteer, “and you are of my kin, the Suryavanshi.”

“I am, my Lord,” the traveller asserted.

“And you, all-knowing, all-powerful, one, must determine my future, for you know so well my past.”

Surya smiled. “Upon this waterless, barren tract, you shall build me a grand palace, a refuge for travellers, a testament to the will of the Suryavashi. And this shall be your home, steadfast one.”

In a flash, the vision took wing, spurred by his wondrous steeds.
And so it came to be that the traveller’s journey had come to fruition, and that upon the shifting sands, stone by stone, an imposing citadel was built, a beacon of light and hope and succour, a monolith to faith and the will of God.