This past spring, Srila Acharyadeva completed his novel and submitted it to a professional editor.  He is now in the process of reworking passages and addressing the editor's suggestions.  For a sneak preview of chapters 14-20, read below!

     Once there was a soul named John Urban who came to this world, eager to enjoy. When souls come to this world, they must live in Cities, so John Urban searched the world over for a City that would satisfy all his desires. He searched on the wind, in the water, and on the land, but did not find a City that fulfilled all his dreams to enjoy this world.

     Frustrated, morose, even angry, John Urban did not remember that long, long ago, in a very different place, he knew and loved a friend with whom he had indeed been happy. And so John continued searching for a perfect City, trying to enjoy this world.

     One day, he awoke and found himself in a magnificent City unlike any he had inhabited before. Within its smooth walls were lush parks, noble buildings, picturesque houses, broad and shaded avenues, handsome theatres, schools --- in short all the best of mortal creativity! Best of all, this City boasted nine fabulous Gateways leading to and from the urban area. Indeed, this was the City of Nine Gates!

      “All these Realms,” declared John Urban, “exist for my pleasure, for I rule the City!”

       Thus, since the answers to his deep queries regarding the City’s origin, and his place in the City, did not instantly present themselves to his mind, he put such questions aside and instead focused on a more promising project. Rather than analyze the City of Nine Gates, he would enjoy it!

      “I exist here and now,” he told the citizens, “and this City exists for my pleasure. That is the best philosophy, and the only one I really need!”

      This one deep thought satisfied John Urban. 

      Now it so happened that hundreds of soldiers, dressed in black and white, constantly circled the City, and even entered it. Noticing this, John reasoned as follows:

      “Since everything here is for my enjoyment, these soldiers must also exist to help me enjoy. Indeed they are rather fashionably dressed and they enhance the City’s visual appeal.”

      The behavior of the soldiers confirmed the ruler’s analysis. Whenever John Urban needed time to enjoy his City, the soldiers provided it. When the ruler waxed romantic, these soldiers faithfully made the passion flowers bloom and sent breezes to spread the scent about the Town.

      The soldiers precisely regulated the rising and setting of the sun and moon, to magnify, or so it seemed, the pleasure of the City’s ruler. Thus as John Urban’s early, innocent days in the City quickly passed, Time was good to him.

      However, on one of those rare days when the King thought deeply, he again wondered,

      “Where did this City come from? How am I its King? How long can I stay here?”

      Pondering these questions, and forgetting to notice where he was going, the King wandered into the northernmost sector of the City, beyond all the nine City gates. 

      Moving steadily north, John Urban beheld all around him fruit and flower-laden trees, and flowing creeks. The sublime atmosphere worked upon him. He became positively pensive!

      Ambling about in a reverie of thought, he entered a serene and lovely campus with parks and buildings. An old sign read:

      City Academy

      Place of Knowledge

      John had never seen such a place, though he had lived in many Cities. The campus greatly intrigued him. In this new, heady atmosphere, so different from the bustle of the lower City, the very notion of knowledge fired his young mind.

      He strolled into a campus garden, savoring the ambiance, and there beheld a lovely young lady sitting peacefully and reading a book. Her high, handsome forehead, large, sensitive eyes and perfectly proportioned figure all fascinated him. She felt his gaze and looked up at him with pleasure, for John Urban was quite handsome.

      “Hello!” she cried. “It’s you, John Urban! I was so hoping you would come.”

      “Do you know me?”

      “Of course,” she said with most charming incredulity. “John, you are the soul of the City!”

      “It’s very kind of you to say that. May I ask your name?”

      “I am Buddhi. I promote wisdom in your City.”

      “Wisdom?”

      “Yes, thought, speech and behavior that is both rational and profound.”

      “Excellent!” cried John Urban. “That sounds like a great idea.”

      “Indeed it is,” said Buddhi. “In lower Cities, souls cannot grasp who they are, what the world is, nor what the source of it all might be. But you, John Urban, can understand these things – if you choose.”

      “I must admit,” said John, “recently, I’ve been pondering these questions.”

      “John, your sincere inquiries led you here.”

      Buddhi’s thoughtful manner touched John Urban’s heart. But was he ready, was he able to go where she might lead. He recalled that too much philosophy might dampen his joy in life.

       “So Buddhi,” said John, glancing anxiously at his watch, “did you want to tell me the answers to those questions?”

      “You know the answers, John. They exist within you. You’ve just forgotten them.”

      “Oh, well how do you like that!”

      An awkward silence followed. John felt the conversation getting too serious, and so with sincere appreciation, he told Buddhi,

      “Well, I believe you’re doing a great job here at the Academy and maybe I’ll come back when I have more time.”

      Buddhi only smiled in reply. John Urban made a slight bow, excused himself and headed back toward his palace. He had not taken many steps, and was still on Academy grounds, when he saw the entrance to an unusual forest. On the entrance gate was a sign that read:

      Welcome to the Metaphorest

      A Tree Shall Set You Free!

      John hesitated, but could not overcome his curiosity and went inside. He walked slowly, warily along the leafy paths of the Metaphorest, gazing, indeed staring at the strange trees. Soon he came to a stand of trees, all of which were dry and dying. A snappily uniformed gardener with an elaborate water gun was climbing in the trees, carefully spraying each branch and leaf.

      With genuine concern for the dying trees, John called to the gardener:

      “Could I have your attention please? I’m your ruler, John Urban. It seems you’re watering the branches and leaves of these trees. Water the roots! Trees drink through their roots.”

      “Oh, it’s King John Urban himself!” cried the gardener, doffing his official gardener’s cap. “An honor to meet you, sir. With all due respect sir, what you said is actually an old myth. In the old days, people thought that you have to water the root of a tree. But science has disproved that. In modern times, we go ahead and water each part of the tree. It’s far more practical this way.”

      “But the trees are dying!” cried John Urban.

      “Oh it certainly looks that way to a layman,” laughed the man. “But we know that these trees will all do just fine. It just takes a little while.”

      As he said this, one of the sicker, dryer trees cracked in its middle and crashed to the ground.

      “What about that tree?”’ shouted the King.

      “Can’t expect one hundred percent,” said the gardener lifting his cap and wiping his brow with his forearm. “There’s no hundred percent in this world. But on average, we’ll do fine.”

      The gardener then climbed up a tree with his elaborate water gun and continued spraying. John Urban gave up and went back to his palace asking himself these questions on the way:

      “Am I the root of my own existence? Can I nourish myself directly? Is there another root to my existence, something beyond me that I must serve?”

      But as he walked away from the Academy, these questions faded from his mind. Before long, he forgot all about his visit to the City Academy and again absorbed himself in the pleasures of the City of Nine Gates.

      The black and white soldiers were there to serve him, though lately they did not seem quite as helpful as they were in the past. But John did not worry about them, for they did not seriously impede his pleasure in the City of Nine Gates.
 

      Ch. 16

      Despite his focus on urban joy, John Urban did suffer a relapse into deep thinking. It began one day when he heard, within his own palace, whisperings of a legend that both excited and troubled him. He left the palace and went to feast at a midtown restaurant, hoping to take his mind off this legend. But as he sat at an outdoor table, a cool wistful breeze aroused in him an indefinable nostalgia, and set him to thinking.

      He could only eat so much, and off he went on an afternoon walk. Pondering, wandering, yearning, confused, but somehow inspired, John Urban drifted north into the campus of the City Academy. He looked for Buddhi, both eager and afraid to find her. It was a crisp afternoon and as the sun glided through the dark blue sky past the horizon, John beheld in a fragrant garden the lithe figure of Buddhi, her face magically aglow in the silver light of a rising moon. John greeted her joyfully, receiving in turn her affectionate greeting.

      “My dear Buddhi,” began the King, “there is something we need to talk about. Would you mind?”

      “Not at all John,” she said.

      John sat close to her and spoke in a low and confidential tone:

      “I heard whisperings in the palace. At first I took it to be no more than a legend, a mere story, but now I’m not sure, and it troubles me.”

      “What did you hear?” asked Buddhi.

      “I heard that here in my City, indeed in my own palace, there lives a forgotten Friend whom I once knew. The legend claims that this Friend built my City and gave it to me -- as a gift! Do you believe that, Buddhi?”

      Buddhi saw the fear in John’s eyes.

      “John Urban,” she said calmly, “what makes you think there is such a Friend?”

       After a deep breath, he replied,

       “Buddhi, although my palace is the heart of the City, within that palace is an inner chamber which is like the heart of the palace. It’s the only space in the palace I never explored.”

      “Why not, John?”

      “I’m not sure. I never wanted to go so deep into the palace. I felt that since I was already in the heart of the City, I didn’t need to explore the heart of the heart. I thought it wasn’t healthy.”

      “Do you still believe that?”

      “I don’t know. There’s something… well, strange about that inner chamber.”

      “What do you mean?” said Buddhi.

      “Well…that chamber glows with an unusual light, unlike a fire or candle.”

      “Does anything else bother you about that chamber?” asked Buddhi.

      “Yes,” said the King, “and this is probably the main reason I never entered it: whenever I approach that chamber, I start to doubt myself.”

      “How so?”

      “I begin to doubt that I’m actually the ruler of the City of Nine Gates. I doubt that anything is truly, ultimately my property. Buddhi, I fear that the forgotten Friend does dwell in that very chamber. Buddhi, you must have seen that silly gardener in the Metaphorest, the one who won’t water the roots of the trees.”

      “Of course I’ve seen him.”

      “Well, the legend claims that the forgotten Friend is the root of my City.”

      “How do you feel about that, John Urban?”

      “Buddhi, if this is all true, then I’m not the ultimate lord of the City. But I’m not prepared to give up my position, even if, in some ways, it’s false. That’s why this legend bothers me so much. That’s why I avoid the inner chamber.”

      “John Urban, if the forgotten Friend is truly a friend, you have nothing to fear. The Friend is not a subjugator. He’s a friend. If he is the root of your City, he will act for your happiness, just as the root of a tree acts for the good of the tree.”

      “But that’s philosophy!” cried John Urban.  “Buddhi, I’m already happy!”

      “Completely?”

      “Yes! Well, almost completely. But life is good. I do occasionally worry about those soldiers, but I’m sure they won’t be a problem.”

      “John,” said Buddhi, “do you want to talk about the soldiers, and who they really are?”

      “No, I think not,” said John Urban. “I don’t think it’s really a problem. And besides that, I’m very attached to the nine City gates. What if the forgotten Friend orders me not to enjoy the City Gateways? What if he’s Gateway-phobic?”

      “John Urban!” cried Buddhi, “Your Friend, if you accept him, will lead you through those very same Gateways to even more pleasurable, and more permanent, Realms!”

      “I see,” said John Urban. “Well, that sounds quite exciting. Maybe some day I’ll look into it.”

      Buddhi would say no more. The King felt awkward and false in her presence. He looked at his watch, and with his heart in conflict, he bid Buddhi farewell. She asked if he would return and he said, “I’ll try,” in a tone that made it clear he probably wouldn’t. And off he went. 

      John Urban did not rest well that night. He slept in short, fitful spells till he gave up hope of peaceful slumber and got up to pace the palace corridor. He passed the inner chamber, where a strange and wonderful light flowed out through every space between the door and its frame.

      He kept pacing past the door till he stopped just outside that mysterious chamber, drawn by the light, even as it troubled him with its power. Did a voice welcome him into that chamber? Or was it his imagination, mimicking the Friend?

      He stood doubting for some time till another voice whispered to him,

      “Once you open that door, John Urban, you are no longer the absolute City ruler. You will share the City with a Friend, or perhaps concede it entirely to him. John, do you understand the powers you will unleash upon yourself?”

      Whirling around, John Urban faced his own mind, standing before him, moving from side to side in passionate reproof.

      “What are you doing?” demanded his mind. “This so-called Friend may lead you to ‘higher’ Realms, but only to enslave you!

      John Urban looked at the wondrous light, and turned away from it.

      “You are the City!” said his mind, stroking his brain. “The City is yours. Forget all about the Friend and sleep in peace!” 
 

      Ch. 17

      John was relaxing in bed the next day when a harsh shaft of sunlight pierced the palace curtains, streaking the wall with its glaring rays. Never had the sun shone so unpleasantly in the City of Nine Gates.

      “I have to stop that light,” muttered John Urban. “I need more coverings on the window.”

      Looking out, the King saw that the sun had indeed grown stronger. And the soldiers now marched aggressively through the City.

      “We may have trouble,” he said nervously to himself. “I’d better look into this.”

      Later that morning, John Urban listened as a political aide reported in a reassuring voice:

      “Nothing has changed, John! The number of troops in the Urban area has remained perfectly stable: 365 black soldiers and 365 white soldiers. And these soldiers have always facilitated our enjoyment.”

      “But the soldiers seem different now,” said John Urban. “I don’t think they’re as friendly as they used to be.”

      “Really?” said the political aide.

      “Haven’t you noticed?” asked John.

      “Oh, there may be petty acts of vandalism here or there, but that’s to be expected.”

      “Vandalism?” gasped John Urban. “That is totally unacceptable! These soldiers are here to serve me, to give me pleasure! How dare they violate the sanctity of my City?”

      “Your Majesty, the Gateways are still lots of fun!” said the political aide.

      John Urban dismissed his political aide and briefly began to think. He recalled that Buddhi once offered to tell him about the soldiers, who they really are. John was now in a mood to listen and he went to see her in the City Academy.

      “What is going on, Buddhi?” cried John. “The black and white soldiers don’t respect the City anymore. My City defenses still keep them under reasonable control, but our defense forces are tiring and the soldiers grow stronger every day. When I was younger, the soldiers served my every wish. They even raised and lowered the sun and the moon for my pleasure!”

       “John Urban, please think!” cried Buddhi. “How do the soldiers have such powers?”

      “I never thought about it,” said the ruler. “It just seemed like a good thing.”

      “John, those soldiers were never under your command. They obey another authority.”

      “What other authority is there in the City of Nine Gates?” asked John Urban. Buddhi put her hand on his shoulder and said,

      “John, the black and white soldiers work for the CTC, the Central Time Command. They are Time agents. They will ultimately destroy your City.”

      “Oh that’s great!” cried John Urban, “That’s really great! Buddhi, do you think I’m going to permit a bunch of Time soldiers, or anyone else, to take over my City!”

      With a curt bow to Buddhi, John Urban proudly, defiantly strode out of the Academy, determined to defend his City. After consulting with his staff, he decided he would first attempt a diplomatic solution to the problem.

      The City ruler approached Colonel Blaze Wheeling, who commanded the black and white soldiers. As usual, the commander was circling the City in a shining military vehicle. Colonel Wheeling wore a radiant uniform with a fire-colored military cap perched atop his wavy blond hair.

      As John indignantly approached him, the commander met him with such fierce, piercing eyes, that the King found it difficult to meet his gaze.

      “Colonel Wheeling,” began John Urban, “I have learned that in fact you are working not for me, but for the Central Time Command. Is that correct?”

      “That is correct,” said Colonel Wheeling, “though I would add that the CTC does have your best interest at heart.”

      “Thank you,” said John, “but that is not my concern. I want to be perfectly clear that you are in fact a Time Commander.”

      “I am.”

      “Well,” said the ruler, taken aback, “you and I have always had a good relationship. I considered you a friend. But lately your Time agents have been causing problems in my City and I don’t like it one bit.”

      “Sir,” came the grave reply, “my soldiers are doing their duty, as they always have.”

      “Are you saying,” cried John Urban, “that there duty is to vandalize my City?”

      “We carry out standard Time procedures, just like we do in every City. The problem is that your urban defense is not as strong as it used to be.”

      “Say what you like,” snapped John Urban, “but I am the ruler of this City and I don’t think I want ‘standard Time procedures’ in my City.”

      “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” said the impassive Blaze Wheeling. “The Central Time Command does not obey any urban ruler. For us, there are no urban limits, no private places, no special people.”

      Furious and deeply disturbed, John Urban stormed away with his advisors, and spent the rest of the day brooding and scheming in his palace.  During those sessions, John’s mind, in the guise of a trusted advisor, told him,

      “John Urban! You can defeat these soldiers.”

      “But Buddhi told me…” began John.

      “To surrender, I’m sure,” said his proud mind. “I know that Buddhi wants you to give up your supremacy. But don’t do it! Fight!”

      “I do want to fight,” said John.

      “Good!” said the mind. “We will fight. And we will win! But beware of Buddhi!”

      “Buddhi is my friend!” cried John Urban. “She cares about me, as I care about her.”

      “No!” shouted the mind. “Buddhi is nothing but a sorceress, a conjuror, a frustrated priestess who will weaken you and teach you surrender.”

      These words pained John Urban, but now was not the time to fight his mind. Rather he must fight the Time Command and defend his position as City ruler. John Urban surrendered to his proud mind, forgetting his affection for Buddhi.
 

      Ch. 18

      John Urban announced to the Citizens his decision to hold a joyous City Rally. At this gala event, he and his loyal followers would manifest their courageous opposition to the Time agents, and proudly reaffirm the principle of urban joy! John Urban would defend the City of Nine Gates, and his own urban sovereignty.

      The City Rally took place on the palace lawn on a balmy night, spiced with redolent breezes. Admiring the still impressive City skyline, John and the Citizens relished tasty refreshments, and listened to the rocking sounds of a local band. In this festive atmosphere, the City’s ruler stepped boldly to the podium and the Citizens erupted in cheers.

      Smiling, waving, and pointing like a true statesman, John Urban brought the crowd to its feet in a standing ovation. Then in his masterful style, punctuating his words with well rehearsed gestures, pauses and pitch modulations, John Urban proclaimed the rights, privileges, liberties and entitlements of the Citizens and their ruler.

      At the end of his speech, John Urban cried out to his people:

      “Ladies and gentleman, as your King and as your friend, I declare to you that I will always be there for you. For the City is mine, and” (here he paused for suspense), “I am the City of Nine Gates! I am the City!”

      The crowd went wild. Suddenly a new spirit took the Town. Fear of Time vanished. Buttons and banners appeared with slogans such as:

      John Urban IS the City!

       or:

      Urban Joy Forever!

      Unfortunately the Time agents were wholly unfazed by the City Rally. They grew even more aggressive, stressing City defenses more than ever. Yet for all these problems, John did not see any real danger. Indeed he began telling anyone who would listen:

      “A City is as young or old as it feels, and on behalf of my City, I can say that I feel great!”

      The King met with City leaders to discuss cosmetic repairs to the urban infrastructure and many Citizens began to speak about a “new lease on life.”

      Soon after, however, events took place that shocked the City ruler. John Urban heard news that neighboring Cities had suffered devastating attacks at the hands of Time agents. Some Cities were entirely destroyed. The fate of their rulers was unknown.

      Concealing this news from the Citizens, and struggling alone with his fears, John recalled his old relationship with Buddhi and went to visit her in the neglected City Academy.

      He had just entered the Academy grounds, when he suddenly heard the heart-rending cries of children in distress.

      “What is that?” he cried. “I must help those children!”

       As John raced toward the cries, the cries grew louder, mingling with the sound of the wind rustling the leaves of a large tree. The King ran faster till he found himself at the entrance to the Metaphorest. The cries came from within that unpredictable grove!

      John Urban stopped at the gate, afraid to enter. But the children cried out louder. John made his decision. Breathing deeply, he rushed into the Metaphorest. Heading straight for the children, he came to the shore of a still lake.

      On the lake bank grew a giant banyan tree, it’s labyrinthian branches filled with succulent fruits of many colors. The children’s anguished cries continued to reverberate all around him, yet he saw no children!

      Desperately he searched the area, finding nothing, till he gazed into the mirror lake. There he beheld within the water the reflection of the banyan tree. He was shocked to see there in the maze of reflected branches, a host of children crying out in hunger as they climbed about the reflected branches, vainly trying to grasp the mere reflections of the tree’s succulent fruits.

      John frantically reached into the water, trying to rescue the children, but at the sight of his hand, the children fled deeper into the tangle of reflected branches.

      “Why won’t you come out?” he shouted.

      The reply came not from the children, but from a familiar voice at his side:

      “The children don’t know they’re trapped in a reflection,” said Buddhi, standing next to him.

      “Buddhi!” cried John Urban. “It’s you!”

      “Yes, I’m here!”

      “Buddhi! Why won’t those children take my help?”

       “John, these poor children don’t even know there is a real tree. They’re so hungry, but they always try to eat the reflections of real fruits.”

       “But who are those children?” said John Urban, utterly amazed.

      “They are young souls, still learning. They represent you and other City rulers. Remember, we’re in the Metaphorest.”

      “But I’m not suffering like those children.”

      “Your suffering has already begun, John Urban. That’s why you came here to find me. I told you about the Time Command and I tell you now that you’ve seen but the first stage of their attack.”

      “That sounds like a dire prophecy, Buddhi.”

      “Dear John! Can’t you see what’s happening all around you?”

      “Alright Buddhi, let’s not dwell on that. Tell me this: does this banyan tree indicate that my City is but a reflection of a real City.”

      “Yes, it does,” said Buddhi.

      Hearing this, John let out a groan. Buddhi gave him time to collect himself, and when he did, he spoke in a voice muted by anguish:

      “Are you against my City, Buddhi?”

      “Not at all, John. Your City is temporary, but even temporary things may lead us to that which is permanent.”

      “So you believe that however I struggle, the Time Command will destroy my City.”

      “Your City is mortal,” said Buddhi quietly.

      John Urban lowered his face into his hands.

      “This is too hard for me,” he said. “I can’t accept it.”

      “John Urban,” said Buddhi, “putting her arm around his shoulder, “worldly Cities are fleeting, but you can survive. You are the soul of the City, but don’t say you are the City. John Urban, your real home is far from here. You’ve just forgotten!”
 

      Ch. 19

      Upon hearing of the ghastly fate of many neighboring Cities, John Urban summoned his top aides and with morbid fascination and a trembling voice, asked them,

      “What in heaven’s name happened to those poor Cities? What will become of us?”

      “We’re doing all we can,” said the King’s defense aide. Our City is on maximum alert.”

      Soon, while strolling through the Midtown Market, John was dismayed to see that some of his favorite restaurants were permanently closed. On pleasure outings through the Gateways, he observed some of the roadways were damaged. Indeed, traffic to some Realms was reduced to a single lane, with frequent delays.

      Days later, chilling evidence surfaced of the Time Command’s growing power in the City. The wildly popular Southern Pleasure Center was closed for repairs, with little hope of its ever reopening.

      John Urban placed the City defenses on high alert, and enacted additional defensive measures such as special diets and regular exercise. Time agents would surely have trouble grasping a moving target.

      Then one night John Urban could not sleep. He got up, paced his bedroom for a minute and then sank wearily into a chair. He saw shadows moving weirdly on the wall, he felt a spectral presence.

      Rising fearfully to his feet, John turned on a dim light and looked around. Peering into a full-length mirror, he saw a wraithlike figure wrap its arms around his body. He cried out, but the arms held him tighter. Long, thin fingers moved over his face and body.

      As suddenly as it came, the figure vanished. Gazing again into the mirror, John shuddered, for a wrinkled, white-haired old face stared back at him. He wept before the mirror till he had the good sense to drop a satin cloth over it, hiding the image.

      The covert attack on its ruler left the City of Nine Gates stunned and near collapse. There was little pleasure left now in the once fabulous Gateways and Realms.

      The King still believed that he and his City would rally again and restore all their former glory. Once, for a moment, he briefly thought of Buddhi and felt as young as ever. But when he gazed at his reflection in a City mirror, he saw a decrepit old man. Where was the truth of his identity?

      John Urban now discovered that the deeper his attachment to the City, the greater his pain and disappointment at its decline.

      When the citizens beheld the state of their ruler, they recoiled at the sight. The miserable monarch heard them whispering to each other,

      “Our leader looks terrible.”

      “He’s not at all what he was.”

      “Does he know what he’s doing?”

      “It’s hard to say.”

      “He can’t protect himself. How can he hope to protect others?”

      A committee of senior advisors came to the palace and told John Urban,

      “Sir, it is our most unpleasant task to inform you that Time Commandos are surrounding the City with deadly force.”

      “So what?” wheezed the ruler. “We’ve been surrounded our whole life by Time soldiers.”

      “This is different, sir. This is a massive force unlike anything we’ve seen. Blaze Wheeling and his troops have worn us down and now this is the big one, the big attack we’ve always feared.”

      The ruler thought for a moment, cocked his head and said,

      “What if we deploy an aggressive regime of military pills?”

      “Your Majesty…”

      “Perhaps we need urban surgery.”

      “Sir…”

      “We’re not dead yet. Enjoy every moment! Don’t worry about the future!”

      Shaking their heads, John Urban’s aides left the palace.

      The Time Commandos soon launched their final attack on the City of Nine Gates. With cries of fate and inexorable arms they poured into the City, razing the once magnificent town, setting it all ablaze.

      City walls shook and crumbled, towers fell, flames swirled into the sky. Crying for his City, John Urban called out madly for help. Once he had proudly cried to a cheering crowd, “I am the City!” But now he saw the City of his dreams collapsing around him. Utterly defeated, he prepared to leave his City.

      Suddenly a frigid hand gripped him and a macabre voice declared,

      “John Urban, I am the director of the Central Time Command. Come with me.”

      As the CTC director dragged him away, John Urban tried to cry out, to warn his friends, but no sound came from his throat. He tried to escape, but he could not move. He was held fast in the fist of Time. 

      Long years before, John Urban awoke in a fabulous City that he believed would fulfill all his desires. Now, having turned his back on every good prophecy, he saw himself dragged from his urban paradise.

      And what became of that Town? Bereft of its soul, for whom it was fashioned, the fabled City of Nine Gates quickly dissolved, merging into the very nature from which it emerged. 
 

      Ch. 20

      Having declared: “I am the City!”, John now suffered the City’s death as if it were his own. The shock of urban demise drove from his mind all thought of Buddhi and his forgotten Friend.

      It was John Urban’s lot to suffer, like a tree with thirsting roots, or a child fed on reflected fruits.

      It is difficult to say how long he suffered, for Time expands beyond measure for those in pain. Who can say how far he wandered?

      Yet ultimately, the wheel of Fate turns in the soul’s favor. After much travail, John Urban awoke again in a splendid City. In this urban episode, from early childhood his dearest friend was a lovely girl his age, a girl wise beyond her years. From their childhood, she looked upon John as an old friend and John saw her in the same way. She was to be the dear companion of his life. Her name was Buddhi.

      Though the citizens of this new City treated John Urban as their ruler, he saw himself as the City’s steward, governing on behalf of the City’s ultimate builder and Friend. And though he still could not fully embrace this Friend, he honored the Friend, following his cherished Buddhi, the City’s spiritual leader.

      All went well, till history seemed to repeat itself. Time soldiers again attacked his City.

      “All my life,” cried John Urban, “I trusted in Buddhi. I believed my Friend would help me. But now another City collapses around me.”

      As the City fell, John desperately searched for Buddhi. But so severe was Time’s attack that he could not find her.

      “Buddhi is gone!” he cried, convinced she had left him.

      “I have come to this!” he wailed, falling to his knees. “Will no one in the universe help me? Is there no true friend in this world?”

      As he wept and grieved, the violent sounds of the Time Commandos suddenly ceased and in their place he heard the soft sound of footfalls coming toward him. The rhythmic sound roused his anguished mind. Raising his weeping eyes, he saw an innocent youth with flawless features and a kind, openhearted expression. Something about this youth seemed familiar to John Urban.

      “Hello,” said the charming youth, “Why are you so sad?”

      “I lost everything that I cherished. Buddhi is gone. And my City, again, is ruined.”

      “Was it really your City?”

      “I know it wasn’t,” said John Urban. “I’ve learned at least that much. But still, we all need a home, and how can I avoid being attached to the only home I had?”

      “Do you remember me?” asked the youth.

      The youth’s perfect features were familiar, as if John Urban had once beheld perfection.

      John paused and the youth continued,

      “Long ago, you had a real home, one that Time can never touch. There, I was your friend and you were mine.”

      “I do remember you,” said John Urban. “But that was so long ago.”

      “You and I are old as can be,” said the youth with a smile, “because we have always existed. You wanted to rule, so you traveled to the world where souls play like lords. I followed you here, hoping to bring you back to our real home.”

      “You,” said John Urban, “are my Friend, no longer forgotten.”

      “Yes. And another friend of yours longs to be reunited with you.”

      Buddhi appeared. Stepping forward, she embraced John Urban who joyfully held her to his heart. The Friend then embraced John, and at his touch, John remembered all that he had ever forgotten. He and Buddhi now returned to their original home.