In a somewhat rickety jam-packed state government bus heaving down a winding road from Almora to Haldwani en route to Delhi, sat a bony twelve-year-old bespectacled boy crammed near a window seat, holding tight a shaking book with both hands, eyes burning into the bouncing text. This is what I remember so vividly of my first mesmerizing encounter with Babu Devakinandan Khatri's Chandrakanta and his mahajaal.

A restless traveller with awkwardly long legs, I used to hate sitting cramped up and eagerly looked forward to any stop where I could get off, stretch my legs, sample a roadside snack and explore the surrounding area. But during that particular journey. I sat inside the bus mindless of the stops.