First Steps Into Reality and The White Pillar.
In the past few months, life had been a repetitive cycle of walls, ceilings, and faces looming over my crib. But today, I had decided that enough was enough.
I woke up with a singular mission: Escape.
I was lying on the bed as usual, but my motor skills had improved—slightly. I could squirm with purpose now. I spotted the small window across the room, a square of bright, inviting sunlight. With a grunt of effort, I began to inch forward, dragging my tiny body across the sheets like a determined caterpillar on a sacred mission.
Just as I was making real progress, a shadow fell over me.
"Oh no you don't," a familiar voice cooed.
Kamla scooped me up before I could even reach the edge of the mattress. My escape route vanished, replaced by her smiling face.
No! Put me down, woman! I have places to be!
I deployed my most effective weapon. I scrunched up my face, took a deep breath, and let out a wail that could shatter glass.
"Aw, hush, my son, hush," she said, rocking me gently. "Mama is here."
I ignored her comfort. I was a man on a mission. I cried harder, flailing my small fists for emphasis. I was tired of these four walls. I needed fresh air. I needed to see the world I was supposed to save.
"What happened, Kamla?"
Raghav rushed into the room, looking genuinely panicked. His hair was messy, suggesting he had been napping—again. "Why is he crying so loud? Did you drop him?!"
"No, you moron!" Kamla snapped, though her hold on me didn't loosen. "What kind of mother drops her own child?"
"Oh yeah. That's right. My bad," Raghav muttered, scratching his head sheepishly. "Then why is he screaming like that? Is he hungry?"
"No. I fed him this morning," she sighed, bouncing me up and down in a futile attempt to silence me.
Raghav leaned in, studying my tear-streaked face. I paused for a second to glare pointedly at the window, making my intentions as obvious as an infant could.
"Hmm..." Raghav rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He keeps glancing outside. Maybe he's just restless. Why don't you take him with you when you go to the market today?"
"Oh, but—" Kamla started to protest.
I immediately stopped crying. Silence filled the room.
Good job, Father. You're smarter than you look.
"Look!" Raghav pointed at me, his eyes lighting up with the satisfaction of a man who had just solved an impossible puzzle. "He stopped the second I said it! He understands me!"
Kamla looked down at me, surprised. I gave a small, innocent gurgle, trying to look as angelic and helpless as possible.
"Yes, you're right," she admitted, sounding relieved. "I suppose I have no choice. If I leave him here, he'll just scream the house down."
"Exactly," Raghav grinned, already backing toward the door. "Have fun, you two. I'll... hold down the fort."
"You mean you'll go back to sleep," Kamla shot back, though she was smiling.
"Yeah, today is a holiday, so of course I want to rest," he winked. He leaned in, kissing her on the forehead, and then planted a quick, whiskery kiss on my cheek. "Bye, honey. Bye, champ. Don't cause too much trouble out there."
He left the room with a spring in his step, clearly happy to have avoided babysitting duty.
Kamla sighed, adjusting her sari with practiced efficiency. "Well then, little one. Let's get you ready. It's time you saw the village."
She wrapped me in a soft cotton cloth, tying me securely against her chest in the way mothers had done for generations. I felt like a bundle of vegetables ready for delivery to the market, but I didn't complain. This was my chariot, and freedom awaited on the other side of that door.
As we stepped out of the front gate, the world exploded into color and noise and life.
I had heard the village from my window—the distant lowing of cows, the chatter of neighbors, the rhythm of a community going about its business—but seeing it was entirely different. The street was a river of dust and activity. Women in bright saris walked with brass pots balanced on their heads like crowns, men drove bullock carts piled high with hay and grain, and children ran barefoot, chasing rusted hoops with sticks, their laughter echoing off the clay walls.
It was chaotic. It was loud. It was overwhelming.
So this is my kingdom, I thought, craning my neck to see everything at once, my infant eyes struggling to process the sheer abundance of stimulation. A bit dusty, but it has potential.
"Hold on tight, little one," Kamla whispered, adjusting her sari as she merged into the crowd with the ease of someone who had navigated these streets a thousand times before.
We walked toward the market square. The smell of roasting spices and frying jalebis filled the air, making my toothless mouth water with anticipation. But as I looked closer, beneath the vibrant surface of color and commerce, I began to see the cracks.
The houses we passed were crumbling. The clothes people wore were patched and repatched until the original fabric was barely visible. There was a heaviness in the way the men walked—shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the ground.
And then, I saw the reason why.
In the center of the market stood a tall, white stone pillar. It looked completely out of place among the mud and brick buildings. carved into the stone was the crest of the Albion Empire—a lion devouring a sun.
Beneath it, two soldiers stood guard.
They didn't look like the villagers. They wore crisp blue uniforms with polished black boots. But the most terrifying part wasn't their swords.
It was the faint, blue glow emanating from the batons hanging at their belts.
Mana tools, I realized, my heart skipping a beat.
In this world, magic was life. It was energy. But here, in my own country, it was a weapon allowed only for the oppressors. The villagers walked a wide circle around the pillar, keeping their heads down, terrified of even looking at the glowing weapons.
I felt a spark of anger deep in my chest. It was the same heat I had felt when the tax collector came.
They hoard the magic while my people starve, I thought bitterly. They use it to keep us in fear.
"Namaste, Kamla bhabhi!"
A voice broke my concentration. We had stopped in front of a vegetable stall. The shopkeeper, an old man with a kindly, wrinkled face, was smiling at us.
"Namaste, Kaka," Kamla replied, her voice lightening. "I need some onions and potatoes today."
"Of course, of course," the old man said, weighing the vegetables. Then his eyes drifted to me. "And who is this little prince? Is this the famous Shaurya?"
"The one and only," Kamla beamed, patting my back. "He was demanding a tour of the village today."
The old man laughed, leaning over the counter to look at me. "Keen eyes he has. Look at him staring at everything. He looks like he's inspecting my shop!"
I held the old man's gaze. Your potatoes look a bit small, old man. But I'll let it slide this time.
"He's a smart one," the shopkeeper whispered, his smile fading slightly as he handed Kamla the bag. "Keep him safe, Bhabhi. The soldiers... they've been restless lately. They say the Census is coming early this year."
Kamla stiffened. Her hand went instinctively to my head, shielding me.
"I know, but he's still only nine months old," she said quietly. "But still, we will be careful, thank you for worrying about us."
"No, it's alright. I can atleast do that" old man said. And we left his shop and moved forward.
Kamla continued walking, holding me tighter after the shopkeeper's warning. The sun was getting higher, and the village buzz was turning into a dull roar of haggling and gossip.
I saw blacksmiths hammering red-hot iron, potters spinning clay wheels, and farmers arguing over the price of grain. It was fascinating. In my old life, I read reports about "rural development" and "agricultural output." But seeing it—smelling the sweat and the dust—was different. These people were alive. They were struggling, yes, but they were alive.
We stopped at a bangle shop next. The shopkeeper, a woman with silver rings in her nose, gasped when she saw me.
"Oh my goodness! Look at those eyes!" she squealed, leaning over the counter. "They are so... intense! Like a little tiger!"
Kamla laughed, a proud sound. "He's a thinker, this one. Doesn't cry much, just watches."
"He's going to be a heartbreaker," the woman winked, dangling a shiny blue bangle in front of my face. "Here, little tiger. Do you like the shiny?"
I stared at the bangle. It was cheap glass, poorly made.
Lady, I've negotiated billion-dollar trade deals. You think a piece of colored glass is going to impress me?
I reached out and grabbed it anyway.
Goo-goo ga-ga, I thought cynically. I am a baby. I love shiny things.
The woman clapped her hands in delight. "See! He loves it! You must buy some for yourself too, Kamla. A mother needs to look beautiful for her son."
As Kamla haggled over the price of a set of green bangles, my attention drifted.
Across the street, something strange was happening.
A group of children, maybe six or seven years old, were playing near a well. But they weren't playing tag or marbles. They were huddled in a circle, whispering excitedly.
One of the boys, a scrawny kid with messy hair, held his hand out. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face turning red with effort.
"Come on... come on..." he muttered.
Suddenly, a tiny spark—no bigger than a firefly—popped from his fingertip. It fizzled out instantly, but the other kids gasped in awe.
"Did you see that?!" one girl whispered loudly. "He did it! He used magic!"
"Shhh!" another boy hissed, looking around frantically. "Are you crazy? If the soldiers see..."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
So it's true, I realized. The magic is everywhere. Even kids can access it naturally.
But the fear in their voices was palpable. Even at seven years old, they knew. Magic was forbidden. Magic was dangerous.
Just then, a heavy boot crunched on the gravel nearby.
The kids froze. The scrawny boy hid his hand behind his back instantly.
One of the Albion soldiers—a large man with a thick mustache and a bored expression—was walking past. He stopped, looking directly at the group of children.
The air in the market seemed to vanish. Even Kamla stopped haggling, her hand freezing on a bangle.
The soldier stared at the scrawny boy. The boy trembled, his eyes wide with terror.
"You there," the soldier grunted.
The boy didn't move. He couldn't.
"Your shoelace is untied," the soldier said flatly. Then he turned and walked away, not caring in the least.
The entire market let out a collective breath. The kids scrambled away, terrifyingly relieved.
I watched the soldier's retreating back. He hadn't noticed. Or maybe he just didn't care enough to look closely. But the message was clear. One slip-up, one tiny spark in the wrong place, and it wouldn't be a warning about shoelaces.
It would be the end.
Kamla quickly paid for the bangles and turned away from the scene, her face pale.
"Let's go home, Shaurya," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "We've seen enough for today."
I rested my head against her chest, listening to her rapid heartbeat. I clutched the cheap blue glass bangle in my small hand.
Yes, Mother, I thought, my eyes narrowing as I watched the white Albion pillar fade into the distance. We've seen enough. And one day... I'm going to tear that pillar down.
To Be Continued….