Ch.33: The Empire Strikes, then Breaks
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- Somewhere in India -
- July 20, 1936 -
At the same time as the British planned and declared total war against Aryan, he had already anticipated their every move. His knowledge from his past life, combined with the intelligence network he had built in this world, had ensured he was always a step ahead.
He sat in a dimly lit chamber, deep underground. The air was cool, the stone walls absorbing the summer heat. A single oil lamp flickered on the table before him, casting long shadows across the faces gathered in the room.
These were his newest and most loyal subordinates, recruited by the initial six members of his organization, which he had founded months ago. They were men and women ready to do whatever was necessary for their shared goal—freedom.
Aryan's gaze fell upon the map spread before them. India—divided by colonial borders, its people ruled through fear, its leaders either suppressed or forced into submission.
But not anymore.
Not since Maheshvara had risen.
"The British will soon try to turn the people against us," Aryan said, his voice calm but firm. "They will brand us as extremists, terrorists—claim that we are a danger to India itself. They will attempt to divide the Congress, the Muslim League, the Mahasabha, and every other group fighting for freedom." He looked around the room, meeting each person's eyes. "But they do not realize that they are already too late. The people are no longer divided. We have united them."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber. This moment had been in the making for months.
In the past few weeks and months he had worked in background, apart from his superheroic activities as Maheshvara, to ensure that the Bharatiya Swatantrata Sangathan (BSS) was no longer just a small group based in Bengal. It had now grown, spreading across the subcontinent, both in the shadows and in the open. With the blessing of Aryan's parents and the original members of BSS—who had once led the organization—he had expanded its reach.
The underground movement he had created as Maheshvara, with his parents, Shakti, and Karna, had now merged with the larger, above-ground BSS. Together, they had absorbed smaller underground networks, forged alliances with once-divided factions, and systematically spread their influence across India.
A turning point had come when Aryan had revealed his true identity to the BSS leadership. At first, they had been shocked, but after realizing the gravity of their mission, and with Aryan's parents recognizing his capabilities, they had accepted him as their leader.
Maheshvara was now the face of the growing revolution.
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- Bombay Presidency -
The textile mills had once fallen silent at the mere sight of a British officer. Now, the workers no longer bowed their heads.
"We are not afraid anymore," Rajendra Gokhale, a former labor leader turned revolutionary, declared, standing before a gathering of workers. His voice carried through the humid air, thick with the scent of sweat and grease. "Maheshvara fights for us, for India. The British want us to live in fear, but tell me—" he gestured at the crowd, "who here has seen them stand against him and win?"
Silence. Because everyone knew the answer.
The British were powerless against Maheshvara.
"We will not beg for freedom," Rajendra continued, his words burning with conviction. "We will take it. The mills will no longer fuel their empire. Our labor will serve our people, our future!"
A roar of approval filled the courtyard.
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- Punjab -
The fields of Punjab stretched endlessly under the golden sun, but it was not just farmers tending the land. The revolution had taken root here too.
Near Amritsar, Arjan Singh, a former British Indian Army soldier, stood before a group of young men.
"They think we will remain divided, that we will fight among ourselves. But what has Maheshvara shown us?" His hands curled into fists. "He fights for all of us—regardless of faith, caste, or land. The British have rifles, but they are cowards. I saw it with my own eyes—the day Maheshvara crushed their strongest battalions in Bengal."
A boy, barely sixteen, stepped forward. "Then we fight too."
Arjan nodded. "Yes. But not as fools. We will strike where it hurts them most—their supply lines, their informants, their officers who still believe they can control us."
He pointed toward a British outpost in the distance.
"That fort? By next week, it will belong to the people."
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- Madras Presidency -
In the humid streets of Madras, Lakshmi Narayan, a schoolteacher turned revolutionary, walked past walls covered in Maheshvara's symbol. Where once whispers of rebellion had been spoken in fear, now people talked openly, boldly.
She stopped by a small printing press, where students worked tirelessly to distribute information to the masses.
"What's today's message?" she asked.
A young woman handed her a freshly printed pamphlet, the ink still drying.
"Maheshvara fights. India rises. The chains are broken."
Lakshmi smiled. "Good. Print more. The people must know."
The British had raided their press before, but each time it had been rebuilt.
Now, the people no longer feared the British.
They pitied them.
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- Bihar -
The coal mines of Jharia had long been a prison for the workers who toiled beneath the earth, breathing in dust, living on scraps.
But today, Balaram Das, a miner who had spent a lifetime under British rule, held a torch high before hundreds of his fellow workers.
"Enough," he said, his voice hoarse but unwavering. "We break our backs, we die young, and for what? To fill the pockets of those who see us as nothing?"
A murmur of agreement spread through the crowd.
"No more," Balaram declared. "If the British want our labor, let them mine the coal with their own hands."
The torches flickered as hundreds of men and women turned their backs on the mines.
The first mass labor revolt in Jharia had begun.
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- July 21, 1936 -
The British Empire was still plotting its next move, unaware that even before they could act, Aryan's vision had already reshaped India.
From the north to the south, from villages to cities, the fire had spread.
The British had always relied on fear to rule. But fear no longer held power.
The people no longer saw the Raj as an unstoppable force. They saw Maheshvara—the warrior who shattered British battalions with a wave of his hand, who stood against storms and emerged victorious, who walked among them as protector and leader.
And so, they rose.
The underground networks were no longer confined to the shadows. The freedom movement was no longer divided by caste, creed, or ideology.
It was now a single force with a single purpose.
The British had declared war on Maheshvara and his allies.
But India had already answered.
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- Somewhere in India -
- July 25, 1936 -
The British moved soon.
They had again and again done the same mistake of underestimating Maheshvara, dismissing him as another radical. But now, they were starting to realize that this was no ordinary uprising. The newspapers in London had somehow got to know about the situation in India and they called him a myth, an exaggerated boogeyman conjured by revolutionaries to instill fear in the Raj. But fear was already creeping into the hearts of the officers and generals who had seen his work firsthand.
Their strategies—smear campaigns, false accusations, political sabotage—were mostly useless. Higher leadership of Congress, they tried to turn against him were already in his confidence, though that was not the case for the lower level leaders and some members of Muslim league and the Hindu Mahasabha, however their numbers were low and their influence weak. Somehow , Maheshvara had brought together the whole Indian subcontinent under his larger influence. Informants they paid for intelligence returned with scraps, if they returned at all. The underground networks now were not a fractured resistance but a unified force, with advanced firearms and weapons that rivaled the Army's, and now stretched across the subcontinent.
And Maheshvara himself?
He was something they could not define, let alone control.
Reports came in from officers who had faced him: Entire regiments crushed, battalions erased, fortifications turned to dust. Some said he controlled storms, others that he bent reality itself. Those who survived his wrath were either too terrified to speak or too ashamed to admit that they had no idea what they were fighting against.
Under such pressure and in a move that showed their impatience, they came to do another atrocity.
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- Punjab -
- July 31, 1936 -
In a small village near Punjab, the British planned their retaliation. The place had openly supported Maheshvara, feeding and sheltering his men, spreading his message. The officers in charge decided to make an example out of it.
The plan was simple—march in, gather the villagers, and execute the leaders in public. A message to the rest of India: The British Raj would not tolerate rebellion. It was to be another Jallianwala Bagh, a bloody reminder of who held power.
By the time the soldiers arrived, the people had already been forced into the village square. Families clutched one another, fathers shielding their children, mothers whispering prayers. A young boy, barely ten, stood in front of his sister, trying to hide her behind him. The officer in charge, a man named Lieutenant Colonel Edward Hastings, watched them with cold indifference.
"Fire at the boy first," he ordered. "Let them see what defiance costs."
The rifleman hesitated. Even among those who served the British, some acts of cruelty were hard to stomach. But orders were orders.
The soldier raised his gun.
Then the sky darkened.
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A gust of wind swept through the square, howling like a beast. Shadows stretched unnaturally, twisting, shifting. The oppressive heat of the summer day vanished, replaced by an eerie cold.
Maheshvara had arrived.
The oil lamps flickered out. The torches held by soldiers sputtered and died, swallowed by an unnatural darkness. The villagers gasped as a towering figure emerged from the void—his eyes burning with an unholy light, his very presence warping the air around him.
The soldiers—Indians in British uniforms—froze, their fingers trembling on the triggers of their rifles.
Maheshvara spoke.
"You were given a choice, before." His voice echoed, not just in the air but in their bones. "You could have stood with your people. But instead, you became their executioners."
Then he moved.
A shadow tendril lashed out, yanking the officer's gun away. Before the soldier could react, Maheshvara was in front of him. He placed a hand on the man's chest. There was no visible attack—just a flicker of energy, a pulse of darkness. The soldier's body withered in an instant, his life force sucked dry, leaving behind an empty husk.
Panic broke.
The battalion opened fire. Bullets surged toward him, but he raised a hand, and they stopped midair, hovering like insects caught in amber. With a flick of his wrist, the bullets reversed course, tearing through the men who had fired them.
The remaining soldiers screamed, scrambling to retreat. Shadows erupted from the ground, clawing at their ankles, dragging them into the abyss. Illusions flickered—visions of hellish nightmares burned into their minds. Some dropped their weapons, clawing at their own eyes, trying to rid themselves of the horrors Maheshvara forced them to see.
The officers, the ones who had ordered this massacre, were the last to remain. They huddled together, their polished boots sinking into the bloodied dirt.
One of them, Major William Carter, took a step forward, his voice shaking. "You can't— you shouldn't—do this. We are soldiers of the Crown! You are a man of India, a leader! Not a demon—"
Maheshvara tilted his head. "And yet you were willing to slaughter children."
He raised his hand, the air crackling with raw power. The ground split apart as dark tendrils coiled around the remaining soldiers. Their screams echoed as the shadows swallowed them whole, dragging them into nothingness.
The villagers stood In stunned silence, staring at the aftermath. The British force had been wiped from existence, save for a handful of officers, now trembling, kneeling in the dirt.
Maheshvara walked toward them, his eyes burning. He did not need to strike them down. They were already broken men.
"You will return to your commanders," he said, his voice low but carrying finality. "And you will tell them what happened here. Tell them what awaits any who dare harm my people."
He stepped back. Shadows surged around him, and in an instant, he was gone.
The British survivors stumbled away, their minds shattered. The villagers, once trembling in fear, now stood with something new in their hearts. Not just relief.
Power.
Once again, a fact that they already were aware in the past few months, now became clear, they saw the British for what they were—fragile. And they saw Maheshvara for what he had become.
Not just a man. Not just a leader.
A force of nature.
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