Genesis Maker: The Indian Marvel (Rewrite)-Chapter 98: : Interlude II: Electric Dreams of a Free Nation

Chapter 98 - Ch.95: Interlude II: Electric Dreams of a Free Nation

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- Flashback: April 1937 -

- Rajvanshi Automobile Mega-Factory -

- Outskirts of Nagpur, Maharashtra -

The sound of hammers and humming machines echoed through the colossal belly of the Rajvanshi Automobile Factory. This was no ordinary industrial site—it felt alive. As if the walls themselves thrummed with quiet excitement. Pipes hissed softly. Mechanical arms moved with grace. Sparks flew in bursts of orange fire. The air smelled of hot metal, fresh paint, and potential.

It was April, and the summer sun outside had begun its climb, but within these massive hangars, men and women worked tirelessly, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed, minds alight.

Not because someone forced them to.

But because they believed in something bigger.

And that belief had a name—Aryan Rajvanshi.

A couple of months earlier, an unusual wave had swept through engineering institutes, alumni networks, and research facilities—not just in Bharat, but across Europe, America, and Japan.

Letters.

Personalized, warm, and astonishingly generous letters.

Some landed on desks in quiet corners of MIT. Others arrived at Parisian design labs. A few found their way into the cluttered workbenches of young Indian mechanics working in Hamburg, in Sheffield, in Tokyo.

All said nearly the same thing in different ways:

"Come home."

"Build with us. Dream with us."

"We are free now. Let's shape our future before the world dictates it for us."

The letters carried more than words. They came with offers—competitive salaries, housing, research freedom, family relocation support, cultural grants, and above all, respect. Respect that many had never known in foreign lands.

The world expected Aryan to build roads and weapons.

They didn't expect him to build cars.

________

Inside the main assembly hall, a meeting had just concluded.

Roughly fifty of Bharat's brightest minds sat in a semicircle—mechanical designers, battery chemists, fluid dynamicists, and even a few aerodynamic hobbyists. Many had met each other for the first time just a month ago. Now, they were collaborators.

At the centre, a low table was cluttered with thick folders—blueprints, handwritten notes, strange circuit diagrams, and impossible equations. Each page bore the same signature at the bottom:

A. R.

One of the younger engineers, Ayan Sengupta—freshly returned from Berlin Tech—held up a blueprint, eyes wide.

"This isn't a vehicle. It's... a vision." He looked around. "He's rethinking everything. Chassis design, battery integration, torque distribution. Even the steering system uses something called electro-magnetic assist. Have you seen this?"

A tall woman beside him, Dr. Sunita Mehta from Madras Institute of Sciences, nodded. "Yes. And the battery schematic? It's not lithium-based. It runs on sodium, with a stabilising graphene matrix." She paused. "We're decades ahead of where the West is even thinking."

Someone from the back, half-jokingly, said, "If this is real... we're not just making a car company. We're starting a revolution."

And they weren't wrong.

__________

Earlier that day, Aryan had walked through the factory—not as an emperor, not as a shareholder, but as a curious mind among equals.

He wore no crown. Just a cotton kurta, stained with oil from helping an intern tweak a cooling pipe prototype. As he moved through rows of test benches and battery cells, he listened.

Not to praise.

But to confusion, to awe, to doubt.

Because many still didn't fully understand what they were building.

They only knew that the blueprints worked.

_________

In one section of the lab, a scale model of an electric vehicle sat on a rotating platform. Sleek, curved, almost futuristic in design—nothing like the boxy combustion-engine cars the world was used to. Even the tyres had embedded sensors for traction feedback.

And in the battery wing, a new type of charging station was being tested—powered not by coal, but by Prāṇa Fuel.

Aryan had told them, during the closed-door orientation in early April:

"The world is entering an age where energy will decide empires. Oil will fuel wars. Let Bharat not fight for oil—but build with light."

Prāṇa Fuel was the answer.

Clean, abundant, nearly limitless in potential, it allowed the creation of decentralized power stations. Large Plants were already being constructed in Ujjain, Bombay and other major location of Bharat. These would power everything—from villages to factories to entire transport networks.

_________

In the corner of the factory's planning chamber, a notice board bore the week's targets. Most factories displayed quotas. Here, it was different.

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🔧 Prototype 1 Road Test – Friday

⚡ Battery Stress Test – Phase 2

💬 Innovation Circle with Samrat – Sunday

🌱 Local Hiring Milestone Achieved: 92% Workforce from Surrounding Districts

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And at the bottom, a handwritten note in blue ink:

"Progress isn't just speed. It's direction. Keep building. We're on the right road."

_________

By evening, the factory's clatter softened into a calm hum. Many engineers remained, not because they were asked to, but because they wanted to. Tea stalls around the premises buzzed with soft discussions—about electromagnetic torque, about eco-paint polymers, about whether it was truly possible to design regenerative braking in 1937.

No one had all the answers.

But no one felt alone in the search.

__________

Somewhere on the mezzanine floor, Aryan watched them silently.

He saw not just machines—but makers.

He saw not just engineers—but dreamers.

He saw not just a factory—but a future that had already begun.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the hangar in golden orange, one could almost believe that history had taken a small, decisive turn on this very day—in the heart of Bharat, in a place where sparks met steel, and dreams met design.

The wheels of the future had started to turn.

Quietly. Steadily.

And there would be no stopping them now.

__________

- Outskirts of Ujjain, Bharat -

- July 1937 -

The ground was still raw.

Beyond the city's heart—where marble roads met red sandstone towers and half-finished bridges spanned glimmering rivers—the land was quieter. Dust rose in lazy spirals from the tire tracks of supply carts. Cranes stood like skeletal giants over half-built towers. And in the distance, one structure pulsed with a silent kind of power.

It looked like a temple—but it wasn't.

It was the Prāṇa Shakti Kendra.

The largest energy generation plant of its kind in all of Bharat. And today, it would come alive.

People had gathered since morning. Locals from nearby villages, engineers from distant cities, ministers in khadi robes, students in wide-eyed silence. Even the birds seemed to wait.

Because the man they were waiting for was not just a ruler.

He was a symbol.

Aryan Rajvanshi had arrived.

Not with trumpets or cavalcades—but in a simple open-top jeep, dust clinging to the hem of his white kurta, a soft smile playing on his lips as he stepped out.

His gaze went to the plant.

It rose like a lotus of glass and steel—curved petals arching towards the sky, etched with glowing runes that shimmered faintly even in daylight. A dome at the center, crystalline and translucent, housed the main core—the Prāṇa Heart.

And under that dome, miracles waited.

_________

As Aryan walked through the main gateway, young technicians bowed their heads—not out of fear, but respect. Many had been handpicked by Aryan's councils. Some had grown up in families where lightbulbs were still a rarity. Now, they were lighting up a nation.

An older engineer, Rudrapratap Singh, met Aryan at the control deck. His hair was mostly grey, his hands scarred from decades of electrical work.

"I never thought I'd live to see this, Samrat," he said softly. "Energy drawn not from mines or oil—but the very air we breathe, the heat of the ground, the light of the sun... It still feels like magic."

Aryan smiled gently. "Magic is just science we haven't been allowed to dream of," he said. "Today, we make it real."

_________

Inside the heart chamber, the Prāṇa Core stood tall.

A spiraling lattice of alchemical steel surrounded a floating crystal—no bigger than a coconut, but glowing from within with soft, golden-blue light. Runes pulsed across its surface like a slow heartbeat.

Here, the energy of the environment—heat, kinetic movement, ambient life force—was drawn in silently through layers of inscribed stone channels, compressed through arcane filtration, and finally transformed into a liquid form.

Prāṇa Fuel.

Stored in gem-like flasks, each glowing like captured dawn.

And now, with the final circuit complete, that fuel would be converted into electricity—clean, stable, and powerful. Ready to light homes, run trolleys, power radios, hospitals, schools—without smoke, without fire, without the chains of coal or foreign oil.

_________

The Inauguration was not flashy.

There was no ribbon, no staged speeches.

Just a hand.

Aryan stepped up to the central panel—a slab of black stone inlaid with runes, surrounded by copper branches and circuits of shimmering glass. He placed his palm on the interface. The system hummed.

The crystal responded first—glowing brighter, as if waking up from a long dream.

Then the runes lit up—one by one, forming a radiant circuit that spread outward from the core to the transmission lines laid deep underground.

Lights across the facility flickered on.

A few seconds later, somewhere in Ujjain, a ceiling fan began to turn in a worker's home that had known only oil lamps.

And in another district, the flickering tubes of a hospital corridor steadied into a firm, white glow.

Cheers didn't erupt immediately.

People stood in stunned quiet, watching as the crystal pulsed in rhythm—like a beating heart—feeding light to an entire city.

Then, slowly, hands began to clap.

Not out of obligation.

But awe.

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