Rebirth : Revolution Of the New India

In a small, quiet apartment in Delhi, a man, about 28 or 29, sat hunched over his computer, deeply absorbed in reading about nuclear weapons. There was a faint hum of music in the background, and he absentmindedly chewed on a pencil, a blank notebook open in front of him, waiting to be filled with notes.

On his computer screen, a detailed PDF on nuclear reactions glowed, with the DRDO logo in the corner. The information was dense, but his sharp mind soaked it all in, focusing on every diagram and explanation.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

He frowned. He hated interruptions, especially when he was deep into something. Ignoring it at first, he shifted in his chair. Then, he heard a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

"Brother Surya, it's me, Akshay."

Surya blinked. *Akshay?* He wasn't expecting him, and more importantly, how did Akshay know where he lived? Akshay was a colleague, a junior scientist, but Surya had never shared this address with anyone from work.

He hesitated for a moment before getting up from his chair, opened a drawer and placed that thing into his back and walking to the door. Slowly, he turned the handle and opened it.

What happened next hit him like a punch to the gut. Standing in the doorway was Akshay, pointing a gun directly at Surya's head.

His mind raced. How had this gone so wrong? Why was Akshay, his colleague, doing this?

Surya's left hand instinctively slid into his pocket, his fingers pressing down on a hidden button. He kept his face calm, even as his mind worked in overdrive.

"Akshay," Surya started, his voice calm but steady, "what the hell is going on? Why are you pointing a gun at me?"

Akshay's face twisted into a strange grin, but there was no humor in it. "This isn't just about you, Surya. It's about the government. I couldn't get to them, but I can get to you."

With the gun still aimed at Surya, Akshay stepped inside and locked the door behind him. The tension in the room was thick, but Surya didn't flinch.

"Why?" Surya asked again, more seriously this time, trying to keep him talking, to buy time.

Akshay's grin faded, replaced by something darker. "My father died in the Doklam Valley conflict. The government promised us compensation, but they lied. We got nothing." His voice was bitter. "And then, last year, when you were chosen over me for the nuclear program… that was it for me. I swore I'd get revenge."

Akshay's eyes gleamed with anger as he continued. "But I couldn't just strike at the government. So, I joined a terrorist group. I've been leaking secrets, small ones at first, but now I'm ready for something bigger."

Surya didn't react outwardly, but inside, his brain was moving fast. He needed to stay calm, and he needed to act.

"As for how did I found you?"

Akshay smirked. "I found you by kidnapping one of the DRDO chief's sons. He gave up your location. And now, after I kill you, I'll send a message to the government. You were always more valuable to them than any of their officials."

Surya didn't wait for Akshay to finish his speech. In one smooth motion, he pulled out the gun he had hidden behind his back and fired twice.

*Bang! Bang!*

The shots hit Akshay square in the chest. He staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock. But in a final act of desperation, he pulled the trigger of his own gun. The bullet whizzed past Surya, grazing his chest.

Surya stumbled, clutching his chest where the bullet had hit, but it wasn't a fatal wound. Akshay, though, collapsed onto the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

Breathing heavily, Akshay let out a weak, bitter laugh. "You think you've won?" he gasped. "That bullet I shot you with... it's laced with poison. You've got maybe an hour. No one can save you now."

Surya's heart pounded, but he didn't have time to panic. His chest was already burning from the poison spreading through his bloodstream, but he pushed through the pain. He had one final mission to complete.

Ignoring the dying man on the floor, Surya made his way back to his computer. His hands were shaking, but he moved quickly, organizing the files, activating a secure server, and sending everything DRDO needed.

The pain in his chest grew worse, his vision starting to blur. But he forced himself to stay conscious long enough to make a final call.

"Surya, how are you?" came a voice, filled with concern, on the other end.

With his last bit of strength, Surya replied, "I've done what I had to do, sir."

And with that, he leaned back in his chair, the world around him slowly fading. He knew the end was near, but a strange sense of peace washed over him. He had done his duty.

In those final moments, Surya Yadav, one of India's most brilliant scientists, took his last breath.

He died.

.

.

.

19 July 1945.

India, Delhi

Surya woke up with a jolt, gasping for air like he'd just surfaced from deep water. Sweat dripped down his face, and his heart pounded in his chest. He quickly touched his chest, expecting to feel the bullet wound or the sharp pain of poison coursing through his veins. But there was nothing. No wound, no poison. Just his steady heartbeat.

How am I still alive?

He sat up, looking around, but the surroundings didn't make sense. He wasn't in a hospital or even in his apartment. Instead, he found himself in a small, dimly lit room, lying on a straw mat on the floor. The walls were rough, made of stone, and the air smelled musty.

Where am I?

Slowly, he got up and walked toward the window. Pushing aside the rough fabric hanging there as a curtain, Surya's breath stopped in his throat. Outside was a street that looked like something out of an old photograph. Horse-drawn carriages rattled past, shopkeepers stood outside their rickety stores, and British soldiers patrolled with rifles slung over their shoulders.

This can't be real...!

His head started to spin, and suddenly, memories—someone else's memories—flooded his mind. He grabbed his head in pain, trying to make sense of the barrage of images and feelings.

I'm not in 2024 anymore… this is 1945.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He wasn't just Surya Yadav, the scientist from the future. He was now in the body of a 19-year-old revolutionary, also named Surya Yadav, in the middle of British-occupied India.

Surya staggered back from the window, trying to breathe steadily.

How is this possible? Reincarnation?

The memories kept coming. This young man—this other Surya—was a co-leader of the Bharatiya Swatantra Sangh (Indian Freedom Union), a revolutionary group fighting for India's independence. And the leader of the group, known as Anand Verma, had just been killed in British custody. The British were hunting down everyone connected to the Sangh (party), and now, the leadership of the group had fallen to Surya.

But I'm not him. Am I?

Before he could process any of it, the door creaked open. A man in his thirties walked in, his face lined with exhaustion but his eyes sharp and alert. He stopped when he saw Surya standing there, clearly surprised.

"Surya! You're awake!" the man said, rushing over, his voice a mix of relief and urgency.

Surya blinked at him, still trying to piece everything together. "Yeah, I… How long was I out?"

"Two days," the man replied. "After Verma's death, we thought they might've gotten you too. The British have been rounding up anyone involved with the Sangh."

Surya's mind raced. The leader—Anand Verma—was dead. And now this stranger, this man who clearly knew him, was looking to him for answers.

*I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.*

But he didn't have the luxury to panic. The weight of the situation hit him hard. This wasn't just about surviving. He was now part of a fight for freedom—a fight where people were dying.

"What do we do now?" Surya asked, the question tumbling out of his mouth before he even thought about it.

The man's expression hardened. "We keep fighting. The British think they've crushed us by killing Anand Verma, but they're wrong. The people are ready to rise up. They just need someone to lead them."

Surya could feel the pressure mounting. He wasn't just some 29-year-old scientist anymore. He was now a revolutionary, leading a group of people risking their lives for a free India. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but he had to try.

"We'll need to regroup," Surya said, his voice steadier than he felt. "The British may have dealt a blow, but we're not done. We'll organize, spread the word, and keep fighting. They haven't won yet."

The man nodded, a flicker of hope crossing his face. "I knew you'd step up, Surya. Verma Ji always trusted you. So do we."

Surya felt a strange, This wasn't his fight originally, but now, it had become his. He wasn't just here to survive—he had the chance to shape the future.

"We won't just fight for independence," he said, feeling the words coming naturally now. "We'll build a country that can stand on its own, free from the British and anyone else who tries to control us."

The man nodded again, his determination clear. "I'll gather the others. The Sangh is ready to follow your lead."

As the man left, Surya stood there, staring at the door. This was real. He wasn't just living in the past—he had become part of it. He had the knowledge of the future and the responsibility to use it.

This time, I'm not just going to watch history unfold. I'm going to change it.

He turned back to the window, looking out at the streets below. The British soldiers moved like they owned the place, like they were invincible. But Surya knew better.

The storm is coming, and I'm going to lead it.