Rohan laughed, a hollow, desperate sound. “This is absurd. I’m a scientist.”
The archivist was a wizened old man with fingers stained by centuries-old dust. He didn't ask for Rohan’s name, date of birth, or horoscope. He simply looked at Rohan’s palm for a second, then pulled a crumbling leaf bundle labeled “M-4392.” bhrigu samhita kundli
“Your leaf,” the old man whispered.