✍️ Chapter (1): The Awakening
25 December 1975
Sarvodaya Hospital, Lucknow, India
The cold morning breeze brushed softly against the curtains of the dimly lit hospital room, carrying with it the faint scent of old wood, antiseptic, and marigolds blooming outside. Lucknow was quiet under its winter sun—muffled streets, chaiwala cries in the distance, temple bells ringing faintly from a street corner. Inside, however, the room pulsed with warmth, not from any heater or sunlight, but from something far older—family love.
Wrapped in a faded woollen shawl, Vandana Singh, just 20, cradled her newborn son in her trembling arms. Her forehead glistened with sweat and sindoor, a red trail in the parting of her hair. Her lips murmured a name again and again like a mantra, "Bharat... Bharat..."
Her eyes—rimmed with fatigue—shone not with tiredness, but something closer to wonder. The boy had arrived early, yet completely formed. He was not crying, not squirming. Instead, he lay still, his eyes open, watching her.
As if he already knew her.
The Soul Awakens
I'm here again...
Inside the child, a flicker stirred—a memory that had no language. In some distant past, he had known loss, failure, choices he regretted. But now, he had returned. His name would be Bharat, but he was not entirely new. This time, I will do it differently, he promised in silence.
He would not rush to show all he knew. He would not speak in miracles. Instead, he would learn again—to honor his family, to feel the warmth of their hopes, to protect what he loved, and to serve Dharma in this simple, human form.
He would let them teach him, though he already remembered much.
Because this was love.
Ajay Singh – A Father is Born
Standing at a respectful distance, Ajay Singh, aged 22, watched the two of them—his young wife and his son. He wore a slightly oversized kurta, its sleeves pushed up, and a hint of ink on his fingers from reading the morning Pioneer. He had studied computers—still a new field in India—and worked at a small government automation unit near Hazratganj. But today, none of that mattered.
He had become a father.
His breath caught as Bharat's tiny fingers wrapped around his own. So small, he thought. And yet, he holds my entire future. A lump rose in his throat.
He remembered his own father's rough hands—how they'd guided him in silence. Could he be that strong for this child?
He stepped closer and whispered, "Beta... I promise... I will give you a world of purpose."
Outside the Room – Love in Waiting
Just beyond the white wooden door, the family waited in reverent anticipation.
"Ab khol bhi do darwaza!" came the sharp whisper of Pooja, Ajay's younger sister. At 17, she was still finishing her schooling and had dreams of becoming a doctor. Her eyes danced with excitement, her long braid swinging as she paced.
Beside her stood Arjun, 20, the family's eldest son after Ajay. Tall, upright, already in NDA training, he spoke little, but watched intently.
Behind them, Raghav, the 19-year-old middle brother, leaned casually against the corridor wall, flipping a coin in his hand, trying to hide his nervousness. "Bas ek chhoti si jhalak chahiye," he muttered, grinning.
The moment the nurse signaled, the three burst in like a tidal wave of warmth.
The First Meeting
"Maa ki kasam, kitna pyara hai!" Raghav exclaimed, staring at the baby.
Pooja's eyes welled with tears as she knelt beside Vandana. "He's... he's perfect," she whispered. "Bhaiya, can I hold him?"
Ajay nodded. Pooja gently took Bharat into her arms and gasped. "He's watching me... Why is he watching me like he knows me?"
"He knows you love him already," Vandana smiled.
Arjun stepped forward silently. His military posture melted as he touched Bharat's foot. "You will carry our name further than we ever could, little one," he said under his breath.
Bharat looked up at him. A connection was made.
The Grandparents Arrive
From behind, slow footsteps entered—Devendra Singh, the grandfather. A retired postmaster with a disciplined gait and a head full of white hair, he said nothing at first. Saraswati Devi, his wife, carried a copper lota filled with Gangajal and a tulsi leaf.
They stood together, old yet proud, gazing at the future in a bundle of cloth.
"This child has Lord Ram's grace," Saraswati said.
Devendra nodded, voice gravelly. "And Lord Shiva's silence. He has come for a reason."
They each placed their hands on Bharat's head and offered a quiet prayer. Saraswati added, "May his destiny be full of meaning, but his heart always remain kind."
Lucknow Outside – A City Wrapped in Winter
Outside Sarvodaya Hospital, the city moved like poetry written in Urdu and Awadhi.
Rickshaws rolled by slowly, their bells chiming. Chaiwalas shouted over boiling kettles. A group of students walked past in mufflers, arguing about cinema and politics. A stray cow chewed on paper near the gate. Lucknow's old-world charm hung in the air—the carved windows, narrow lanes, the fading red bricks of Aminabad, the smell of kulhad chai and burning wood.
In this city of history and heartache, Bharat Singh had taken his first breath.
A Gift to the World
Back home that evening, a quiet ceremony unfolded.
Saraswati insisted that they send warm food to the families near their home—kacche basti near the railway colony. Vandana, though still healing, helped wrap bundles of rotis, sabzi, and halwa. "Let no one go hungry today," she said.
Raghav and Arjun distributed the parcels, pausing to talk to the children barefoot in the dust.
"Let them know this child came not to take, but to give," Devendra said.
Bharat's First Thought
Later, in the quiet of the night, wrapped in a quilt and resting on his mother's chest, Bharat looked at the flickering diya in the corner.
Last time, I forgot who I was until it was too late. This time... I'll remember. Slowly, but surely.
The weight of the world had not yet arrived. For now, he was just a child. A new beginning.
But something had already shifted.
"Aaj se kuch badlega…"
Things will change from today.