The summer of 1979 in Varanasi did not arrive with a whisper; it arrived with a roar. The dry heat of the North Indian plains pressed down on the ancient city, carrying the scent of parched earth, the spicy aroma of roasting cumin from the Pathak family's grinding units, and the faint, holy scent of incense drifting from the nearby temples.
Inside the Pathak Haveli, a sprawling, two-story structure of old brick and limestone, the air was thick with more than just heat. It was thick with the weight of a joint family. The rhythmic click-clack of a heavy metal ceiling fan offered little relief, its shadow slicing through the sunlight that filtered through the wooden shutters of the bedroom.
On a modest bed with a cotton sheet, five-year-old Ashutosh Pathak's body lay still, a damp cloth resting on his forehead. For three days, a mysterious fever had gripped him. But beneath the stillness, a storm was raging.
Digital cameras... 4K resolution... the smell of a Mumbai film set in 2024... the sound of a roaring crowd at a film festival... the screeching of tires on a rainy night... darkness.
Ashutosh's eyes snapped open.
He didn't scream. He didn't gasp. He simply stared at the ceiling. The memories of twenty-five years of life as an orphan who had clawed his way through a film direction degree in the modern era were no longer a dream. They were a part of him. But they weren't replacing the five years he had lived in this house; they were merging. He remembered the taste of the milk his mother gave him yesterday; he also remembered the complex cinematography of a movie that wouldn't be filmed for another thirty years.
'I died,' he thought, his adult consciousness stabilizing within his child's mind. 'And I'm back. 1979.'
He looked at his hands—small, plump, and unscarred. The shock should have been overwhelming, but a strange warmth flooded his chest. For the first time in his existence, he wasn't an orphan. He had a home. He had a family.
Suddenly, a semi-transparent interface flickered into existence before his eyes. It was sleek, floating in the air like a high-end holographic projection from a sci-fi blockbuster.
[MEDIA DOMINANCE SYSTEM: INITIALIZED]
[HOST: ASHUTOSH PATHAK]
[AGE: 5 YEARS]
[STATUS: SOUL SYNCHRONIZATION 100%]
[STARTER GIFT UNLOCKED:]
○ Top-Tier Comprehension Talent (Passive)
○ Top-Tier Physique Potential (Passive)
○ Eidetic Memory (Active)
○ Talent Appraisal Panel (Active)
'A System?' Ashutosh's heart hammered against his ribs—a physiological response his five-year-old body couldn't quite control. 'No drawbacks? No punishments? Just... tools?'
He sat up, the damp cloth falling into his lap. The "Fiery" nature of his soul, a trait he carried from his previous life, sparked. He wasn't just going to live; he was going to dominate.
The sound of bickering drifted in from the courtyard outside his room, pulling him back to reality.
"I tell you, Raghunath, the boy has the Mishra constitution! We are built of sturdier stuff," a booming, authoritative voice shouted. "A fever is nothing but the body testing its own strength!"
"Nonsense, Janardhan!" a second, slightly more refined but equally stubborn voice countered. "He is a Pathak. He is probably just exhausted from being more intelligent than every other five-year-old in this neighborhood. His brain needs more cooling than his body!"
Ashutosh couldn't help but smile. He knew those voices.
His Nana (Maternal Grandfather), Janardhan Mishra, the retired Chief Justice of India, was currently visiting—or rather, living there. And his Dada (Paternal Grandfather) was equally convinced of his own lineage's superiority.
The door creaked open. A woman in her late twenties entered, carrying a fresh bowl of water. She wore a simple cotton saree, her face radiating a natural, cheerful warmth that seemed to brighten the dim room. Savitri Pathak, his mother, stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him sitting up.
"Ashu?" she whispered, her eyes filling with instant tears. "He Krishna! My Kanha is awake!"
She rushed to the bed, dropping the bowl on the side table. As she pulled him into a tight, fragrant embrace, Ashutosh felt a surge of genuine, child-like emotion. In his past life, he had no one. Here, he was the center of the universe.
As she held him, Ashutosh's eyes drifted to her head.
[TARGET: SAVITRI PATHAK]
[RELATION: MOTHER]
[POTENTIAL: A-RANK (EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE & PUBLIC RELATIONS)]
[CURRENT STATE: OVERJOYED/RELIEVED]
'A-Rank potential in PR?' Ashutosh thought, amazed. 'Of course. She manages a house of ten people without ever losing her smile.'
"Maa," he said. His voice was high-pitched and soft, but his eyes were steady. "I'm okay. Don't cry."
Savitri pulled back, surprised by the clarity in his voice. "Wait here, I'll call your father! Raghunath! Papaji! Ashu is awake!"
Within seconds, the room was no longer cramped; it was a fortress.
His father, Raghunath Pathak, stepped in first. He was a man of discipline, his posture straight, though his eyes betrayed his deep worry.
[TARGET: RAGHUNATH PATHAK]
[POTENTIAL: A-RANK (OPERATIONS & STRATEGY)]
[TRAIT: HESITANT VISIONARY]
Behind him came the two grandfathers, still glaring at each other but united in their rush to the bedside.
"See? I told you!" Janardhan Mishra, the Nana, barked. "Look at those eyes! That's the gaze of a judge! He's already analyzing us!"
"He's looking for his father, you old goat," the paternal grandfather retorted, though he gently patted Ashutosh's feet.
Ashutosh looked around the room. He saw his three older brothers—Abhishek, Aryan, and Ansh—peeking through the doorway, their faces a mix of relief and sibling curiosity. He saw the family's loyal butler, a man who had served the Pathaks for decades, standing in the shadows with a silver tray.
Finally, he saw his younger sister, Ananya, clinging to her mother's saree, looking at him with a pout that said she was glad he was okay, but annoyed that the attention had shifted away from her for so long.
Ashutosh took a deep breath, the "Physique Potential" already making him feel a strange, buzzing energy in his limbs.
He was in Varanasi. It was 1979. He was the most loved child in a family of hidden geniuses. And he had a System designed for global dominance.
He looked at his father, Raghunath, who was hesitating to speak, likely wanting to be strict about 'getting back to studies' but too relieved to say it.
"Papa," Ashutosh said, a charismatic, tiny smile playing on his lips. "I'm hungry. And then, I want to see the Masala factory. I have some ideas."
The room went silent. The grandfathers blinked. Raghunath cleared his throat, stunned.
"Ideas?" his father managed to ask.
"Yes," Ashutosh replied, his mind already calculating the shift in the Indian market that would happen in the next five years. "Big ones."
The journey had just begun, and the Pathak family had no idea that their "Ankho ka Taara" was about to turn their world into a global empire.