The City Beneath the Earth

Riyaz, the young geologist, was curious about the unknown. He would spend days lost in ancient texts, scrutinizing antiquated maps, thinking of retrieving something that the world had long forgotten. While most focused on careers and fame, Riyaz chased whispers-legends of golden cities, buried treasures, and civilizations obliterated by time.

One day, in a crumbling room of an archive in Chattogram, he found an old map sewn to the back of an unremembered journal. The map showed a series of tunnels running beneath the wooded hills, and in faded ink at the center, just one word: "Abhimantra."

It was a city he had never before heard of. But it was the warnings scrawled along the edges that drew him further into intrigue:

"Cursed land. No man returns. The dead walk."

Most would have shut the book. Riyaz, however, smiled. This was precisely the mystery he had lived for.

He put together a small team and trudged up the hills, gear strapped to their backs. The place was quiet, unnaturally so. It was like even the birds were avoiding it. After days of digging through layers of rock and earth, something gave way beneath them.

Riyaz plummeted into the dark.

When he came to, he found himself lying on a cold stone, cast in a faint golden glow. Cautiously, he turned his head.

He lay in a colossal underground cavern, and an entire city unfurled before him. Streets paved with smooth stones, buildings hewn out of rock, domes and arches soaring above. Lanterns of crystal were still glimmering faintly even after centuries of being forsaken.

Then he noticed them—figures in the shadows gliding in silence through the streets. They walked like people fell short of it in so many ways. Their forms were blurred, their faces hollow.

The instinct to run seized Riyaz; yet another ancient sort of feeling beckoned him onward. Through endless corridors of the city, wonder eclipsed awe. The heavy silence did not suggest immediate danger, and while the cold air weighed on him, it carried with it no malice.

Finally, he reached the great towers of a temple standing at the heart of the city. Its spire reached upward to the cavern's ceiling as if attempting to stab the earth overhead. The temple walls were painted with murals of another civilization in harmonious coexistence with the earth's core, worshipping its energy.

In the heart of the temple stood a stone vessel on a pedestal, softly shimmering under the ancient light; inscribed on its side were words carved in ancient script.

"He who touches this shall inherit the burden of the past. He shall become the Keeper."

His fingers hovered over it... He hesitated. But the geologist inside him, the one who sought forgotten truths, would not relent. He touched it.

The moment his skin met the stone, the city awakened.

Lights burst to life. Air shook. Shadowy figures halted and wheeled; their faces were now visible. Eyes like molten gold, skin glistening like dust. One walked toward him: the elder, staff in hand.

“You have awakened us,” it said, voice echoing like wind in a cave. “You are the first in centuries with the heart to see us.”

Riyaz was paralyzed. “What… what is this place?”

“This is Abhimantra,” said the elder. “A city built on wisdom and balance. But we were cursed by our own greed. A priest, in his thirst for power, summoned dark energy from the very crust beneath us. It consumed us. We became prisoners of time.”

"Why me?" Riyaz asked softly.

"Because you came not for gold or glory-but for truth. Only such a soul could break the silence."

The elder offered his hand. "Will you bear our memory to the world above?"

Riyaz nodded with tears in his eyes. "I will."

Bowing their heads, the figures began to fade, smiles illuminating their faces, finally at peace.

When Riyaz woke, he was lying just outside the cave entrance. His team had found him unconscious, babbling something of lights and voices. They thought he had been hallucinating.

But Riyaz knew what he saw. And he remembered his vow.

After returning to Dhaka, he wrote everything down: drawings of the city, transcriptions of the murals, and descriptions of the people. He sent his findings to universities, experts, and the media, but no one would believe him.

"They laughed at him-a city underground? Just a piece of fantasy."

Still, Riyaz never stopped. He published the scholarly work "The City Beneath the Earth". There were very few sales, but the few who read it could feel something stir deep within their bones-a whisper of mystery. A beckoning quest for remembrance

Late into the night, Riyaz would dream of that place. Silent streets. Shimmering lights. The time when the city whispered its story into his soul.

And sometimes, wherever he'd stand above the soil, he could almost hear it thumping-just like a heart refusing to die.

For deep down below the world, hidden from history, lies the truth.

Abhimantra was still waiting.

And Riyaz was to be that last guardian.