Chapter 11: The Land Dispute
It began with a single word, uttered at the dinner table between spoonfuls of lentils and torn rotis.
"Temple."
Kabir mentioned it so casually that it took Ishan a few seconds to process. He looked up from his plate, eyebrows narrowing.
Kabir was speaking to their father. "They say the company's sent surveyors already. Started measuring land behind the old temple."
Their father grunted. "Not the first time some outsider tried to buy that land. But this one—they're serious. Offering a good deal."
"Too good," Kabir replied. "It doesn't sit right with me."
Ishan set his roti down. "What company?"
Kabir looked at him. "I don't know. But the name of the project... it was something like Project Surya Heights."
The room blurred around Ishan for a moment.
Surya Heights.
He had named it.
Three years ago, back when he still wore tailored suits and dictated the skyline of cities, he'd approved a redevelopment project in South India. Eco-luxury housing. Near a spiritual landmark to attract elite investors with a taste for cultural immersion. The board had been skeptical. He had been certain.
"It creates a blend of tradition and affluence," he'd said at the time.
And now... now that same project had found its way into this village.
Into his second life.
That night, Ishan couldn't sleep.
He sat by the broken window, cool breeze brushing his face, mind unraveling possibilities.
Could this really be the same project?
Had his former company moved forward with the plan after his death?
Or was this something else?
A cover? A coincidence?
He needed answers. And soon.
The next morning, Ishan approached Kabir as he tightened bolts on an old bicycle out front.
"Who told you about the company?"
Kabir looked up. "Mr. Sharma from the panchayat. He said people from the city came yesterday. Offered the temple trustees a huge sum for the land behind the shrine. Said they wanted to build schools and development parks."
"Schools?" Ishan repeated, incredulous. "Next to a heritage temple?"
Kabir nodded. "Said it was for modernization."
Ishan felt bile rise in his throat. He knew that tactic. He had used it himself.
Dress greed in the robes of progress. Offer development, promise jobs, and slowly chip away at tradition.
He had been the architect of such deceptions.
Now, he was on the other side of it.
At school, he was distracted. Even during a difficult algebraic derivation, his focus wavered. He thought about old blueprints, project timelines, investor briefings.
He remembered Ayaan.
Was he involved?
Had Ayaan taken over the company and proceeded with Ishan's unfinished projects?
And if so, was this his plan all along?
During lunch, he pulled Parth aside.
"I need you to do something."
Parth's eyes lit up. "What is it?"
"Go to the library. There's a weekly business newspaper archived in the files. Check for any recent news about Project Surya Heights. Copy whatever you find."
Parth blinked. "But... I might get caught."
Ishan looked him straight in the eyes. "You're the smartest one in this school besides me. You won't get caught."
Parth nodded, determined.
By evening, Parth returned with smudged notes and a photocopy.
"Found this in last week's issue. Page seven. Regional projects update."
Ishan scanned the article.
Project Surya Heights approved in collaboration with AryaGreen Corp and New Earth Housing Pvt. Ltd. Located near Shivgram Temple, Bihar district. Scheduled to break ground in three months.
Ishan exhaled slowly.
AryaGreen Corp.
The name was new.
But the idea wasn't.
He read further.
Company spokesperson Aryan Mehta declined to comment on heritage conflicts, stating only that the project had full legal clearance.
Aryan Mehta.
His spine went cold.
Ayaan.
He'd changed his name.
And taken his dream.
His plan.
His ambition.
And now, he was building it—on land sacred to people who had nothing left but their faith.
Ishan folded the paper carefully.
So it wasn't just about betrayal now.
It was a war.
The next day, he walked with Kabir to the temple grounds.
The old priest, a man with cloudy eyes and a silver beard, stood at the steps reciting morning mantras.
Kabir offered his respects. Ishan observed.
Beyond the temple walls, a few men with measuring tape and soil testing tools worked diligently.
"That's them," Kabir whispered. "The city people. Surveyors."
Ishan walked closer. He noticed polished shoes, designer belts. Clipboard holders with logos.
Everything screamed corporate.
He spotted one man scribbling notes beside a rock.
"Excuse me," Ishan said.
The man glanced at him, amused. "You shouldn't be here, kid."
"I live here."
"Well, we're working on a government-approved project. You'll see schools here soon."
"And the temple?"
"We're not touching it. Just the land behind."
"That land belongs to the community."
The man shrugged. "Not anymore. Paperwork's clean."
Ishan watched him walk away.
His fists clenched.
He felt it rising again.
The instinct to fight.
To protect.
Not for money. Not for image.
But for something... purer.
His home.
His people.
He had never felt that before.
And now, he burned with it.
That night, he sat with Kabir and Aaru, the news clipping between them.
"I know this man," Ishan said. "The one behind the project. He was part of my previous life."
Kabir didn't laugh. He had stopped doubting Ishan's strange truths.
"Then what do we do?" Kabir asked.
"We find out who sold the land. Who signed the papers. And if there's any way to block it."
"You sound like a lawyer."
"No."
Ishan stared into the dark.
"I sound like someone who has nothing left to lose."
In the days that followed, he quietly began collecting intel. Visiting old farmers. Listening to whispers. Piecing together the path the company had taken.
He wrote it all down.
Names. Titles. Dates.
For once, his obsession with precision had a purpose again.
He had no money.
No power.
But he had truth.
And that, he was starting to realize, was enough to start a fire.
The land dispute wasn't just about sacred ground.
It was the first battlefield.
And Ishan Malhotra, reborn, had just chosen his war.