March 2002. The Set of Chandramukhi's Kotha.
The set was not a room; it was a hallucination in gold and glass.
Nitin Chandrakant Desai, the production designer, had built a world that cost more than most small films. A lake had been created inside the studio. The pillars were carved with intricate designs that would barely be visible in the wide shots.
Aarav Pathak sat on the floor, leaning against a bolster. He was wearing a white dhoti-kurta, stained with 'pan' and dirt.
He was holding a bottle.
In the original timeline, Shah Rukh Khan had admitted to consuming alcohol to get into the character of Devdas, a dangerous method that messed up his health.
Aarav looked at the bottle. It was apple juice mixed with a specific herbal concoction to mimic the viscosity of liquor. But the mindset... that was 100% toxic.
[System Activity: Method Acting (Extreme)][Mode: The Tragic Lover][Warning: Prolonged use causes 'Emotional Bleed'. You will feel the character's depression off-camera.]
"Action!" Sanjay Leela Bhansali's voice boomed over the speakers.
Madhuri Dixit (playing Chandramukhi) began her dance. Maar Dala.
Aarav didn't watch her like a hero. He watched her like a dead man who was annoyed by the noise of life. His eyes were glazed, red-rimmed (thanks to sleeplessness, not makeup).
He lifted the bottle. His hand trembled—a specific, neurological tremor he had studied from real alcoholics in rehabilitation centers.
"Aur kitna piyoge, Dev Babu?" Madhuri asked, her eyes full of concern.
Aarav laughed. It was a wet, jagged sound.
"Kaun kambakht bardaasht karne ko peeta hai?" (Who the hell drinks to tolerate life?)
He delivered the iconic line not with poetry, but with venom. He made it sound like a curse.
"Cut!" Bhansali yelled. "More pain! Aarav, I want to see your soul rotting! Again!"
April 2002. The Generator Crisis.
The heat in Mumbai was peaking at 35°C. Inside the set, with the heavy lights, it was 45°C.
Aarav was sweating through his costumes. He had lost 6 kgs for the role. His cheekbones were cutting through his skin.
Binod Pradhan, the cinematographer, walked up to Bhansali.
"Sanjay, we don't have enough light. The mirrors are absorbing too much. We need more power."
"Get it," Bhansali snapped.
"There are no more generators in Film City, Sir. We have rented all of them."
Aarav, sitting in the corner with a wet towel over his head, heard this. He stood up.
"Call the wedding planners," Aarav rasped.
Bhansali looked at him. "What?"
"It's wedding season in Mumbai," Aarav said, his voice hoarse. "Call the biggest wedding planners. Rent every generator they have. Pay double."
"But... the weddings?" Binod asked.
"Let them light candles," Aarav said coldly. "We are making art."
By that evening, 42 massive industrial generators lined the perimeter of Film City. Half the weddings in Juhu and Bandra faced power cuts that night because the "King" needed light for his death scene.
It was arrogant. It was selfish. It was exactly what Devdas would have done.
May 2002. The Breakdown.
Aarav came home to Villa Vienna at 4 AM.
He smelled of stale smoke and sweat. He hadn't washed his hair in three days because he wanted the 'matted' look for the climax.
Preity was waiting in the living room. She was wearing pajamas, looking tired.
"You look terrible," she said softly.
Aarav walked past her to the bar. He poured a real drink. Whiskey.
"I'm working, Preity."
"No, you're not," she stood up. "The shoot ended four hours ago. You are carrying him home."
"He pays the bills," Aarav snapped. He immediately regretted it. This was the 'Emotional Bleed'. The character's irritability was leaking into Aarav.
Preity walked over and took the glass from his hand. She slammed it on the table.
"Shah Rukh played the villager and won hearts," she said, her voice shaking. "You are playing a drunkard and losing yourself. Is this the 'Global Domination' you wanted?"
Aarav looked at her. He saw the fear in her eyes.
He closed his eyes.
System. Deactivate Method Mode.
[Deactivation in progress... 3... 2... 1...]
A heavy weight lifted from his chest. The fog cleared. He slumped onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's... it's just heavy."
Preity sat next to him, running her fingers through his greasy hair.
"Finish the film, Aarav," she said. "And then, please, do a comedy. For me."
May 23, 2002. Cannes, France.
The French Riviera. The sun was shining, the ocean was blue, and the red carpet was waiting.
Lagaan had gone to the Oscars in a suit and failed to win. Aarav Pathak came to Cannes in a Sherwani.
He stood next to Aishwarya Rai (Paro) and Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Aishwarya was wearing a golden saree. Aarav wore a black velvet sherwani with diamond buttons.
They didn't just walk the carpet. They arrived in a horse-drawn carriage.
It was a spectacle. The Western media, usually indifferent to Bollywood, went crazy.
"Who is he?" a French photographer shouted. "That is the King of India," another replied.
Aarav stepped out. He waved. He didn't wave like an actor hoping for a role in Hollywood. He waved like a visiting monarch.
Inside the Grand Théâtre Lumière, the screening began.
The film was 3 hours long. It was opulent, loud, and melodramatic—everything the West usually mocked.
But the sheer scale of it mesmerized them. The colors. The dance. The tragedy.
When the final scene played—Devdas dying at the gates of Paro's house, the heavy gates closing on him—Aarav held his breath.
The screen went black.
Silence.
Then, a slow clap started. It built into a roar.
The audience stood up. The standing ovation lasted for ten minutes.
Aarav stood up. He looked at the balcony. He saw the critics wiping their eyes.
He had done it. He hadn't won an Oscar, but he had forced the global elite to stand up for a Bollywood masala tragedy.
July 12, 2002. The Release.
Devdas released in India.
It was the most expensive film ever made (₹50 Crores). The tickets were priced higher than usual.
Box Office Report:Verdict:HIT.Gross: ₹90 Crores Worldwide.
It wasn't the biggest profit-maker (due to the high budget), but the Cultural Impact was nuclear.
Aarav Pathak proved he could do "Art". He proved he could do tragedy. He proved he could replace Shah Rukh Khan in his most iconic potential role and do it better (or at least, grander).
The Review that mattered:> "Shah Rukh Khan went to the Oscars with a bat. Aarav Pathak went to Cannes with a bottle. Both are giants. But after Devdas, one thing is clear: Pathak is no longer just a Star. He is an Actor who suffers for his art." - Khalid Mohamed.
Aarav sat in his office. He looked at the poster of Devdas.
He had defeated the "Chocolate Boy" label. He had defeated the "TV Actor" stigma. He had defeated the "Local Star" boundary.
But the System was flashing a new alert.
[Era Update: The Multiplex Age (2003-2008)][New Trends Detected:]1. Small, concept-driven films (Munna Bhai, Kal Ho Naa Ho).2. The Resurrection of the Rival.
Aarav frowned. Resurrection?
He turned on the TV.
Shah Rukh Khan was giving an interview. He looked rested. He looked happy.
"I am producing a new film," SRK said, smiling that dimpled smile. "It's about a man who teaches a girl how to smile. It's called Kal Ho Naa Ho."
Aarav froze. Kal Ho Naa Ho. The film where SRK dies and leaves the girl to Saif. It was the ultimate sympathy card. It was the film that made SRK the "King of Hearts" forever.
Aarav realized his mistake. By taking Devdas, he had forced SRK to take Kal Ho Naa Ho (which was originally offered to SRK anyway, but in this timeline, SRK needed it desperately).
"He's going to play the dying man," Aarav realized. "He's going to steal the sympathy back."
Aarav needed a counter. He needed a film that was modern, cool, and emotional, but not tragic.
He looked at his pile of scripts.
One script was sticking out. It was titled Munna Bhai M.B.B.S.
In the original timeline, SRK rejected it due to back problems. Sanjay Dutt did it and became a legend.
"If I play Munna," Aarav thought, "I become the 'Bhai'. I become the Common Man's Hero."
He picked up the phone.
"Get me Rajkumar Hirani."
[End of Chapter 14]