Echoes of Brilliance
**April 2–28, 2002**
**Sharma University, Rewari**
The days blurred into a frantic rhythm at Sharma University, the air thick with the rustle of pages and the hum of restless energy. Exams loomed—April 29, the first paper—and the students burned with focus. In classrooms, pencils scratched furiously, the chalk dust clinging to Vikas's kurta as he drilled first-years on physics. Under the neem tree, Rahul pored over calculus, his 120% mind—boosted weekly—honing every formula, while Raman, now at 125%, quizzed third-years on complex analysis, his cracked glasses glinting in the sun. Eighty of 150 students studied seriously, their determination a quiet fire Jatin felt in his bones.
In the computer lab, Jatin hunched over flickering screens, his fingers—calloused, ink-stained—flying across keys with a speed that grew sharper each Sunday. VedaOS took shape: a kernel hardened, drivers streamlined, a user interface blooming with Vedic simplicity—80% more intuitive than clunky rivals, stable as granite, visuals crisp and alive. By April 28, after boosts from 120% (April 7) to 125% (April 14), 130% (April 21), and 135% (April 28), he'd done it—VedaOS was complete, a month's labor distilled into code. His 2025 foresight and Jatin's Oxford roots fused into something a decade ahead—security tight, multimedia rich, a new visual style glowing with infinity motifs.
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**April 29, 2002**
The first exam dawned, a hush falling over campus as students filed into halls, their breaths fogging in the cool morning air. Jatin paced the office, boots scuffing the floor, the scent of ink and old wood grounding him. His 135% mind whirred—VedaOS done, but the university's coffers still bled. He'd emailed IT firms—India's TCS, Infosys, America's Microsoft, IBM—pitching VedaOS, but silence echoed back. "They'll see," he muttered, rubbing his neck, the cigarette burn from last night faint on his fingers.
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**April 30, 2002**
Tuesday, Jatin sat at his desk, the brass clock still dead, a chipped mug of chai steaming beside him. The computer pinged—an email from the *Journal of Number Theory* and *Journal of Pure and Applied Mathematics*. He opened it, heart thudding: Raman's Riemann proof and Rahul's Euler-Mascheroni proof—published. Accepted. Live. A grin split his face, pride surging like a tide. "After decades," he whispered, voice rough, "Indians showing the world again." He saw it—Western theft of Vedic math, yoga, branded as their own, now shattered by two Rewari boys. Raman, quiet and brilliant, Rahul, gritty and fierce—proof India's mind still led, not followed.
Kamla Aunty shuffled in, her sari a faded blue today, broom swishing. "Jatin, beta, what's that smile?" she asked, pausing. "Raman and Rahul—they've done it, published," I said, leaning back, chair creaking. Her eyes widened, a warm laugh escaping. "Our boys! I knew they had fire—thanks to you." I waved her off, but her jasmine scent lingered, a quiet balm.
Outside, whispers spread. "Raman and Rahul—journals!" a third-year gasped at the canteen, tea sloshing as his friend nodded. "Jatin's behind it—mark my words," another said, steam curling from his mug. Vikas overheard, adjusting his glasses. "He's waking them up," he muttered to himself, a half-smile tugging his lips.
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**Background: The Global Ripple**
In Oxford, Professor Eleanor Hargrove—a wiry woman with silver hair and sharp gray eyes—sat in her cluttered office, the journal open on her desk, chai cooling beside her. She traced Raman's contour integral, then Rahul's continued fractions, her breath catching. "Decades unsolved—by undergraduates?" she murmured, stunned. She grabbed her phone, dialing her colleague, Dr. Simon Patel, a jovial Indian expat at Cambridge. "Simon, you've seen this? Rewari—two BSc students!" Simon laughed, rich and deep. "Eleanor, it's bloody brilliant—India's striking back!" By evening, their calls spiderwebbed—MIT, Stanford, Paris—professors buzzing, shock turning to awe.
At IIT Madras, Professor Madan Lal—tall, bespectacled, with a stern jaw—flipped through the journal in his sunlit office, the hum of ceiling fans overhead. "Riemann *and* Euler-Mascheroni? Indians?" he said, voice rising. He called his friend, Dr. Neela Rao at IIT Bombay, her sharp voice crackling over the line. "Madan, it's Sharma University—some tiny place in Haryana! Who's this Jatin Sharma?" Word raced—IIT Delhi, IISc Bangalore—shock igniting pride. "Two kids from Rewari outdid us all," a Bombay prof grumbled, half-laughing, chai sloshing as he toasted the news.
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**May 1, 2002**
Jatin pivoted—emails ignored, he'd sell VedaOS himself. In the lab, dust coating his boots, he built www.veda.com on a creaky server, uploading two versions: a free trial (limited features, smooth as silk) and a full version—$10, a steal against $50 rivals, Linux aside. "Let them try it," he muttered, 140% mind (April 28 boost) whirring, fingers coding the site's infinity logo, its glow hypnotic. He clicked publish, the screen flashing live, and leaned back, exhaling smoke from a fresh cigarette, its bite sharp on his tongue.
In New York, Justin Trudo—a lanky NYU junior with tousled brown hair—slumped at his dorm desk, cursing his stuttering Windows XP. "Piece of junk," he growled, the screen freezing again. Scrolling forums, he stumbled on www.veda.com. "VedaOS? Indian, $10? Probably trash," he scoffed, but the free trial tempted him. Thirty minutes later, it downloaded; ten minutes more, installed—a sleek infinity sign flared up. "Fast," he muttered, clicking in. The interface flowed—smooth, vibrant, intuitive. He grinned, testing apps, the OS humming under his fingers. Two hours in, a prompt: "Full version, $10." He paid, license key pinging, and dove deeper—stability rock-solid, visuals stunning. "This is insane," he said, texting friends: "Get VedaOS—trust me."
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**May 2–5, 2002**
Justin's word spread—NYU dorms, then Reddit, a wildfire of downloads. In Rewari, Jatin juggled exams, his office a chaos of papers, ink smudging his hands as he graded physics sheets, 140% mind slicing through. Kamla swept by, chuckling. "Beta, you're everywhere—lab, office, those boys' papers!" I smirked, chai steam curling. "Just starting, Kamla."
In Oxford, Eleanor emailed Jatin: "Mr. Sharma, your students' work is extraordinary—may I visit?" At IIT Madras, Madan faxed a colleague: "We need to see this Sharma University." The buzz grew—Indian pride swelling, Western awe dawning.
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**May 6, 2002**
Monday, Jatin sat in his office, boots scuffing the floor, the computer pinging. He checked his VedaOS account—40 full-version sales, $400 gross. After taxes, $300—14,400 rupees. His jaw dropped, a laugh escaping, rough and raw. "Library, R&D—it's starting," he whispered, pride swelling for Raman, Rahul, and VedaOS. The OS—80% friendlier, a decade ahead—had legs, and the world was noticing.
Outside, Rahul graded mock papers with third-years, his 140% mind (April 28) crisp, while Raman tutored under the neem, dust on his kurta. "They're talking about us," Rahul said, grinning. Raman nodded, shy. "Sir made it happen." At the canteen, a third-year toasted with tea: "To Rewari—world-beaters!" Laughter rang, mugs clinking.
Jatin lit a cigarette, smoke curling into the dusk, the campus alive beyond his window—chai tang, dust, student chatter. Raman and Rahul had lit the spark; VedaOS fanned it.
He was very happy that someone from his University has done that no one in world can do. It credit goes to them they have sharp mind.
With only system boost they can't make it.
In whole University many students have boost but only 2 has done it.
It show there potential.
More work waited—selling, building—but for now, he savored it: India rising, step by steady step.