**Patna, Bihar – 1900–1910**
The Yadav estate stood as a testament to wealth and influence, its sprawling gardens and marble halls a stark contrast to the bustling streets of Patna beyond its gates. For Randhir Yadav, it was both a sanctuary and a gilded cage. Born into privilege, he was the only son of Arvind and Meera Yadav, a couple whose love for their child was matched only by their inability to fully understand him.
Arvind Yadav was a man of action, his days consumed by the intricacies of trade and commerce. His business empire spanned textiles, spices, and even opium, a controversial but lucrative enterprise in colonial India. He was a shrewd negotiator, a master of navigating the delicate balance between British officials and local merchants. To Arvind, Randhir was a prodigy—a child whose sharp mind and quiet demeanor hinted at a future as a successful businessman.
"You have a gift, Randhir," Arvind would say, ruffling his son's hair after a particularly impressive display of mathematical prowess. "One day, this empire will be yours."
Randhir would nod politely, hiding the turmoil within. His father's world of ledgers and trade deals felt stifling, a narrow path compared to the boundless possibilities his powers offered. Yet, he played the part of the dutiful son, excelling in his studies and absorbing every lesson his tutors provided.
Meera Yadav, on the other hand, saw her son in a different light. Where Arvind saw a future businessman, Meera saw a soul far older than his years. She often found Randhir sitting by the window, staring at the stars or lost in thought.
"What are you thinking about, beta?" she would ask, her voice soft and warm.
Randhir would smile, his answers always measured. "The universe, Ma. How small we are, and yet how much we can change."
Meera would laugh, a melodic sound that filled the room. "You speak like a sage, not a child."
But there was a flicker of unease in her eyes, a sense that her son carried a weight far beyond his years. She never pressed him, though. Instead, she nurtured his curiosity, filling the house with books on science, philosophy, and history.
---
#### **The Library**
The Yadav estate's library became Randhir's refuge. Its shelves groaned under the weight of leather-bound tomes and scrolls, a treasure trove of knowledge from both East and West. Randhir devoured every book, his mind racing to connect the dots between ancient philosophies and modern science.
One evening, as the monsoon rains lashed against the windows, Randhir sat cross-legged on the floor, a book on Newton's laws of motion open in his lap. His fingers traced the diagrams, his mind already leaping ahead to the implications of gravity and force.
*If I can manipulate matter, can I defy gravity?* he wondered, his gaze drifting to the brass lamp on the table. He focused, willing the lamp to rise. It trembled, lifting a fraction of an inch before clattering back down.
**[Energy Reserves: 60%]**
The System's voice was a constant reminder of his limits. Randhir sighed, closing the book. He needed to understand more—not just about his powers, but about the world he was destined to change.
---
#### **The British Raj**
Randhir's studies soon turned to the history of British rule in India. He pored over accounts of the 1857 rebellion, the partition of Bengal, and the growing unrest among the Indian populace. Each page fueled his anger and resolve.
*They exploit us. They divide us. And they think we'll never fight back.*
But Randhir knew the fight would come. He had seen it in his past life—the rise of leaders like Gandhi, Bose, and Nehru, the sacrifices of countless unsung heroes. And now, with his powers, he could be more than just a witness. He could be a catalyst.
---
#### **The Secret**
Randhir's dual life was a delicate balancing act. By day, he was the perfect son—studious, obedient, and respectful. By night, he tested his powers, reshaping objects and experimenting with their limits.
One evening, as he transformed a wooden block into a miniature cannon, his father walked in.
"What's this?" Arvind asked, picking up the cannon.
Randhir's heart raced, but he kept his voice steady. "A model, Father. For my studies."
Arvind examined the intricate details, his brow furrowing. "You made this?"
"Yes. I've been reading about European weaponry."
Arvind nodded, impressed. "You have a talent for craftsmanship. Perhaps you should consider engineering."
Randhir forced a smile. "Perhaps."
But as his father left the room, Randhir's mind was already elsewhere. *If I can make a model, I can make the real thing. And when the time comes, I will.*
---
#### **The Vision**
As Randhir grew older, his sense of purpose solidified. He began to map out a plan, a silent revolution that would unfold in the shadows.
*I'll start small. Weapons for the rebels. Food for the hungry. Intelligence for the leaders.*
But he knew the risks. The British were ruthless, their spies everywhere. One misstep, and his family could pay the price.
---
#### **The Bond**
Meera remained his anchor, her love a constant in his turbulent world. One night, as they sat on the veranda watching the stars, she turned to him.
"You're different, Randhir. I've always known it."
He looked at her, his heart aching. "Different how?"
"You carry a burden. I can see it in your eyes."
Randhir hesitated, then took her hand. "I want to make a difference, Ma. For India. For us."
Meera smiled, her eyes glistening. "I believe in you, beta. Whatever you do, I'll always be proud of you."
Her words were a balm to his soul, a reminder of why he fought.
---
#### **The Future**
As the years passed, Randhir's resolve only deepened. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger and sacrifice. But he also knew that he was not alone.
*The System chose me for a reason. And I will not fail.*
As he stood on the balcony, watching the sun set over Patna, Randhir felt a surge of determination. The future was his to shape, and he would do whatever it took to see India free.
---