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- Kamal Asthaan, Grand Hall of Council -
- Ujjain, Bharat -
- August 25, 1937 – Evening -
While the parades echoed in the hearts of the people outside, and Bharat's ministers spoke to the world under open pavilions, another kind of conversation was unfolding behind the elegant marble walls of Kamal Asthaan. The light in the grand hall was mellow, filtered through carved jharokhas. Incense trailed lightly from copper holders. Soft footsteps echoed on the polished stone floor, but the air held the gravity of history being written.
Samrat Aryan sat at the head of the crescent-shaped council table. He wore no crown. No heavy robe. Only his white kurta and shawl edged with golden threads—simple, yet unmistakable in its aura. On either side sat the heads of states of Nepal, Bhutan, and Sikkim. Kings in name and bearing, but today, seated as equals in a room where destinies converged.
Aryan began the meeting with calm dignity.
"Your Majesties," he said, his voice neither forceful nor pleading, "Bharat has never sought expansion for glory. We seek unity, safety, and shared prosperity."
He looked each of them In the eye.
"You have seen the world around you change. The old empires are cracking, but new forces—western, eastern, and those hiding behind corporate masks—are waiting to assert their shadow over this land. We've already seen what it means to resist them alone."
He gestured to a map behind him. A vibrant illustration of the subcontinent—Bharat, still fresh in its freedom, shining like a living body, with roads, rails, and cities like pulsing veins.
"You've seen what one year of unity has done. Roads that reach the clouds. Trains that run with the rhythm of hope. A nation that feeds its people before it feeds its treasury. And yes—those who would dare threaten our peace know we have the means to stand tall. Alone, each of us will eventually be tested. Together, we are unshakable."
The King of Bhutan, older and steady-voiced, was the first to speak.
"We have admired Bharat's growth, Samrat Aryan. Your vision is compelling. But what will become of our traditions? Our language, our festivals, our right to decide on matters close to our soil?"
Aryan nodded.
"Each state in Bharat retains its soul," he said gently. "Ujjain is not Kolkata. Delhi is not Madurai. Yet each contributes to the whole. I am not here to erase your identity—I am here to protect it. With autonomy in governance for local affairs, preservation of temples and monasteries, freedom of language and culture. Your flags will fly beside Bharat's, not beneath it."
There was silence. A respectful one.
The King of Sikkim, younger and more curious, leaned forward.
"And what of representation? Will we have a voice in the Lok Sabha? In national policy?"
Aryan nodded again. "Yes. Elected representatives from your lands, just like any other Bharatiya state. Equal voice, equal vote."
It was the King of Nepal, Mahendra Bir Shah, who raised the next matter with a flicker of calculated tact.
"You present a generous offer, Samrat. And the strength of Bharat today cannot be questioned. But it is also tradition among monarchs to bond through bloodlines. I offer, with great respect and affection, the hand of my youngest daughter—Nalini Shah—for a future alliance. She would join your household with your already known fiancée, Shakti Nath Roy. Nalini is graceful, learned, and…"
There was a pause.
"…a gift worthy of a union that may shape the future of the subcontinent."
The room turned slightly colder.
Aryan's expression did not change, but his fingers gently folded on the table. He looked at the King with a calm that could quiet storms.
"Your Majesty," Aryan said softly, "I understand your offer and the goodwill behind it. During the long process of integrating Bharat, many such offers were made—marriage proposals from Rajput kings, from the Nawabs, even from the Ruler of Kalat. Each hoped to strengthen our bond through matrimony."
He paused, then added with clarity:
"I declined them all. Not out of disrespect, but because my path is not political in that way. Shakti and I are bound not just by promise, but by power. We are both superhuman. I have sworn, and she has agreed, that if there is to be a second wife in my life, it would be only someone of the same nature… and with her blessing."
The Kings understood the gravity in his words. This was not arrogance. It was principle. The King of Bhutan nodded silently. The King of Sikkim leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.
But King Mahendra's eyes held something more—a flicker of amusement behind their stillness.
He smiled slightly.
"Of course, Samrat," he said politely. "The matter was but a gesture. Perhaps, when time allows, you may meet Nalini again… and see where fate leads."
Aryan did not reply to that, but a faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. Because he already knew the truth: Nalini was a superhuman. Her gifts were kept hidden, known only to a few. Aryan had encountered them more than once, in fact she had joined his secret organization and has great relationship with both Shakti and himself. And though he said nothing now, he understood the subtle hand the King of Nepal was playing.
But this was not the time for personal matters. The conversation returned to the merger.
Documents were discussed. Territorial designations. Resource-sharing agreements. Guarantees of spiritual and cultural sanctity. Each point was carefully debated, worded, revised.
The Prime Ministers of the three kingdoms joined the table, adding legal and bureaucratic weight to the promises being drafted. A scribe from Aryan's secretariat quietly began preparing a preliminary charter. They agreed that the final draft would be ready within a fortnight and signed in a joint ceremony in Ujjain.
At the end, the kings stood. Aryan too rose, offering the traditional namaskar. No throne had to tower over them. Only shared vision did.
"You will not be absorbed," Aryan said one final time. "You will become a part of something greater—while remaining yourselves. That is my word."
As the dignitaries prepared to depart, the King of Nepal lingered for a moment longer near Aryan.
"Samrat," he said with a knowing gleam in his eyes, "Perhaps after the draft is signed, you might consider an informal walk in the palace gardens. Nalini, since childhood is very fond of nature. She especially has a fondness for dusk and jasmine."
Aryan did not answer directly. He only looked out at the courtyard, where night had fallen, but the lamps of Ujjain were glowing—softly, steadily, like a nation finally breathing freely.
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- Ujjain, Bharat -
- September 20, 1937 – Morning -
The late monsoon sky hung heavy over Ujjain, streaked with soft clouds that looked like strokes of an artist's brush. In the quiet streets below Kamal Asthaan, bells chimed from temples and radios hummed with the same calm voice repeating the headlines that were now on every lip and doorstep:
"NEPAL, BHUTAN, AND SIKKIM JOIN BHARAT – NOW 33 STATES STRONG."
There were no fireworks, no fanfare. Just steady newsprint, warm chai, and conversations whispered at breakfast tables, tea stalls, and village chaupals. The ink told a story, but the people felt it more than read it. They knew something profound had happened.
It had taken weeks of careful deliberation. After that first meeting in the Emperor's hall, more officials had joined the talks—ministers from Bharat's Home, Culture, Defence, and External Affairs ministries. Advisors from the royal courts of Nepal, Bhutan, and Sikkim had arrived in Ujjain, staying in its serene guest wings as debates unfolded through long days and quiet evenings.
The discussions had not been easy, but they were sincere.
Bharat promised what it had always stood for since Aryan took the helm—protection without erasure, integration without domination.
Each kingdom brought its own concerns to the table.
From Bhutan, the quiet question: "Will our monasteries remain untouched?"
From Sikkim, a hopeful ask: "Can our language find space in your schools?"
And from Nepal, a firm voice: "Will our borders be guarded just as you guard your own?"
The answer from Bharat was yes—to all. And not in paper only, but with policies drafted, officials assigned, and legal charters prepared with signatures from both sides.
The agreement was finalised in a closed ceremony inside Kamal Asthaan on the 19th of September. There was no crowd, no flashing cameras. Only the Samrat, the three Kings, their prime ministers, and the ministers of Bharat. A brass lamp was lit, and the scroll signed in silence.
Each of the three kingdoms would now become a state in Bharat, with their regional governments preserved under a new federal framework. Local laws, cultural norms, and religious institutions were to be protected and encouraged. In return, these states would receive:
• Full protection by the Bharatiya Armed Forces and Special Divisions.
• Funding for infrastructure, education, and healthcare under the Five-Year Vision Plan.
• Participation in national decision-making with seats in the Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha.
• Representation in the upcoming National Cultural Council to safeguard heritage.
From 30, Bharat had grown to 33 states. The seven Union Territories remained unchanged—but even there, whispers of future transitions had begun.
Newspapers across the land carried the headline in every language—from Bengali to Hindi, Tamil to Nepali:
"THE HIMALAYAN HEART JOINS THE BODY OF BHARAT."
In Nepal, young students gathered around public bulletin boards, eyes wide as they read the names of new Bharatiya representatives. In Bhutan, monks in crimson robes smiled faintly over cups of butter tea, murmuring prayers for a future stitched in peace. And in Sikkim, farmers who once looked nervously toward foreign borders now tilled their fields with a quiet sense of assurance.
One newspaper in Lucknow carried a poetic sub-headline that lingered in many hearts:
"We did not conquer.
We embraced.
And in that embrace, we became whole."
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Back in Ujjain, Aryan stood at the edge of the Kamal Asthaan gardens as the final printed reports were brought to him. He read them quietly, sunlight falling over his shoulder like a blessing.
Shakti arrived by his side, her presence calm as ever.
"They have accepted not our power," she said, looking at the papers, "but our promise."
Aryan nodded slowly. "Now the work begins—turning that promise into reality."
Below them, across the rivers and hills, the heartbeat of a larger Bharat began to rise. Not in sudden leaps—but in the small, steady ways that mattered most.
Bridges would be built across valleys. Schools would open in new districts. Festivals would be celebrated with both old rituals and newfound pride. And soldiers would stand shoulder to shoulder—no longer from different flags, but one.
The tapestry of Bharat had grown.
Not stitched with threads of conquest—
But with shared dreams and quiet trust.
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