The streets of Delhi hadn't changed much since I last saw them, but the signs of progress were evident. Dust from the construction of new roads lingered in the air, and I could hear the rhythmic clanging of hammers in the distance. It seems Father had taken my proposal to heart—Delhi was finally being connected to the major cities. It was a small but crucial step in our larger plan.
As we approached the towering walls of the Red Fort, my mind wandered to the conversations, the alliances forged, and the countless miles I had travelled. But now, I was home.
Father was already waiting for me in the courtyard. He stood tall, as always, a faint smile tugging at his lips as I dismounted. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he wasted no time diving into the matter at hand.
Father: "How was your journey, Qadir? I trust you found what you were looking for?"
I offered a respectful nod before speaking, careful to choose my words.
Qadir: "Yes, Father. I visited Singhbum, Udaipur, Keonjhar, Kolkata, and several other places in Awadh. The people there are restless, and many of the rulers are already sympathetic to our cause. Some of them are prepared to act when the time is right."
Father's eyes gleamed with interest. I could tell he was pleased but would never show it too openly.
Father: "Good. And what of the merchants? Did they offer any support?"
Qadir: "They did. Many of them are willing to assist with resources once the routes are in place. I believe the trading company we discussed will be essential in keeping our operations funded."
Father gave a slight nod, a hint of pride in his gaze.
Father: "You've done well, my son. But the road ahead is long."
After a few more minutes of detailed discussion, I felt the weight of exhaustion beginning to set in.
Qadir: "If you'll excuse me, Father, I'm quite tired. I'd like to rest before we continue our planning."
He waved a hand, dismissing me gently.
Father: "Go, get some rest. But don't forget to visit your mother. She's been eagerly waiting to see you—she'll be upset if you don't."
I smiled at that. Mother always had a way of knowing when I returned, and her displeasure at not being the first to greet me was legendary.
As I entered my chambers, the familiar scent of sandalwood greeted me, along with the sight of the ever-diligent servant waiting by the door. He bowed slightly as I approached.
Servant: "Welcome back, sahib."
I gave him a tired smile.
Qadir: "Thank you. Please prepare a bath for me. I need good relaxing" [It is already October so it is cold here in Delhi]
Servant: "Right away, sahib."
he prepared the bath for me as I sanked in the bath I started thinking about the trip and how everything had started to get in place,
The servant moved swiftly, drawing warm water into the large copper basin, the scent of rose petals and sandalwood filling the air. Steam gently curled from the surface as I slipped into the bath, feeling the tension slowly ease from my muscles. The warmth wrapped around me like a soothing embrace, but my mind refused to settle.
As the water lapped against my skin, I found myself lost in thought, retracing the journey that had brought me back to Delhi. The roads, the meetings, the alliances—they were all starting to fall into place, yet there was something unsettling about it all.
Everything looks good on the surface, I thought,
One persistent worry gnawed at me, surfacing again and again, refusing to be ignored. It was the fragmentation—this lack of unity among the people and the rulers alike. Every place I had visited, every ruler I had met, was concerned only with their own territory, their own people. There was no greater vision, no sense of a collective struggle.
We are not united, I realized bitterly. We're not fighting as one nation but as fragments—each trying to protect their small patch of land, their own rule. How can we expect to drive the British from our soil when we can't even unite under a single cause?
The truth was difficult to swallow. There was no common leader, no one figurehead who could rally the people from all corners of the land. Each region, each ruler, seemed locked in their own battle—isolated from the greater picture.
The British, they have that unity, I mused. They are organized, and their rule is backed by a clear chain of command. But us? We are still too divided.
A wave of frustration surged within me, the warm water suddenly feeling less comforting. How could we expect to push back the British if we couldn't even agree on who would lead us? Without a collective identity, without a unified front, all our efforts were at risk of crumbling.
People of India, I thought to myself, is that even a real thing? Or are we just people of Delhi, of Mysore, of Udaipur? Can we ever come together as one, or will this dream of independence remain just that—a dream?
I leaned back in the bath, letting the water ripple around me, The image felt symbolic—tiny, isolated circles that expanded but never truly touched, never merged into one.
my thoughts refused to stay calm. The weight of what I had witnessed during my travels pressed heavily on my mind. Everywhere I went, the same pattern emerged—people divided by their differences, blind to the larger enemy looming over us.
We are divided, I reminded myself again. Divided by colour, by region, by religion, by language, by caste. Each man looks to his own and forgets that the British exploit these differences to strengthen their grip on our land.
I stared up at the ceiling, watching the patterns of condensation form and disappear, like fleeting hopes of unity that never quite took hold. This division, this lack of a common purpose, was our greatest weakness—and the British knew it. They thrived on it, turning us against each other, so we were too busy fighting amongst ourselves to realize how deeply their claws had sunk into our land.
If we don't find something to unite us, something to make us proud of our common roots, this struggle will be for nothing. The British will continue to exploit our differences, and we'll be too weak to resist.
The realization hit me harder than I had expected. It wasn't enough to rally the rulers, or the merchants, or even the common people. I needed something bigger, something that could bind us together, something that transcended the borders of language, caste, and region. A collective identity, a sense of pride in being part of something greater than ourselves.
But what could that be? What was the one thing that could unite a land as vast and diverse as India?
My thoughts swirled like the water in the tub. It had to be something ancient, something deeply rooted in the soil of this land—something we all shared, even if we'd forgotten it. Something that reminded people that before the British, before the Mughals, before any invader, we were one people.
The land itself, I thought, our shared history, our ancient culture that has survived for millennia. We are bound by our love for this soil, by the stories of our ancestors, by the gods and heroes that our grandmothers told us about when we were children. That is our strength.
A vision began to take shape in my mind. I needed to give people a reason to be proud of where they came from, to look beyond their immediate differences and see themselves as part of something far older, far greater. We were not just the people of Delhi, or Mysore, or Udaipur. We were the inheritors of a vast and rich heritage, a lineage that stretched back into the dawn of time. We were the children of this land.
I must find a way to remind them of that, I resolved. To give them a reason to stand together as one. To show them that, despite our differences, we are all bound by the same roots.
The British may have come with their cannons and their laws, but they could never understand what it meant to be part of this land. If I could make people see that, if I could give them that sense of belonging, then maybe—just maybe—we could stand together against the British and drive them out of our home.
I took a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. This would be no easy task, but it was necessary. If I failed, the British would continue to divide and exploit us. But if I succeeded… if I found a way to unite the people, we might just have a chance.
I have to do something, I thought. Something bold, something that can't be ignored. I have to give the people a reason to stand together, or we will fall apart.
The servant's footsteps echoed softly as he approached the bath again, but I was already miles away in my thoughts, planning the next step in our struggle.
A soft voice interrupted my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.
Servant: "Sahib, the water has grown cold. Should I fetch more hot water?"
I glanced at the servant, realizing how long I had been lost in my thoughts. The once-steaming bath was now lukewarm, but I waved a hand dismissively.
Qadir: "No, that won't be necessary. I've had enough. I'll go to sleep now."
He bowed respectfully and left to tend to his other duties as I climbed out of the bath, the cool air prickling my skin. I dressed quickly, the heaviness in my mind far greater than the weariness in my body.
As I made my way to the bed, my thoughts continued to whirl. The more I considered it, the more daunting the task seemed. How could I possibly unite so many divided hearts? So many languages, so many beliefs, so many borders—each person more attached to their own than to the idea of something greater.
I lay down, staring at the ceiling, my mind still restless. What can I do? The question echoed over and over in my head. What can I offer that will unite them all? The vastness of the task loomed larger with each passing moment, and yet, it was the only way forward.
Perhaps, I thought, I need to start small. Focus on one region, one group, and show them what we can achieve together. If I can convince them, maybe others will follow.
But even as the thoughts raced through my mind, exhaustion crept in. I wasn't sure when my eyes finally closed, or when my thoughts slipped into the darkness of sleep. The last thing I remember was the distant sound of construction outside, like the faintest promise of something greater on the horizon.
[is this style of writing ok with you guys??]