Genesis Maker: The Indian Marvel (Rewrite)-Chapter 94: : A Nation in Bloom

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Before you all dive into the Chapter, I have to clarify some things. In the previous as well as this Chapter I had just casually introduced a number of magi tech innovation brought by Aryan in background of the story and didn't go into much details about them. But don't worry there are some Interlude Chapters that will be coming next that will clarify all the details regarding how Aryan and Bharat as a whole made progress in magi tech devices.

Anyways, enjoy the Chapter.🎉🎉

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- Ujjain, Bharat -

- August 24, 1937 -

August had come quietly, wrapped in golden winds and fields heavy with promise.

Aryan's 17th birthday had passed almost unnoticed by the world—but not by those close to him. Shakti had handed him a handmade book filled with pressed flowers and hand-drawn sketches of the cities and people they were shaping together. His parents, Surya and Anjali, had embraced him in a rare moment of stillness. Raghav had placed a small diya outside his chamber door at midnight, whispering a prayer like he had done when Aryan was a child in their home.

But Aryan? He had spent that night looking at the stars from the balcony of Kamal Aasthaan, feeling the weight of years he never truly lived, and the future he was still writing.

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Across Bharat, change had begun to root itself in ways no ruler could force—but only nourish.

The agricultural sector, once starved and stagnant, now surged with new life. With the rollout of eco-friendly pesticides, Prāṇa-fertilizers, and high-yield seed variants, farms had started to thrive like never before. The government's outreach campaigns, training programs, and demonstration fields had built trust where none had existed before. Entire villages now spoke in the language of soil pH, water tables, and crop rotation.

The monsoon harvest had not just been good—it had been transformative.

But Aryan knew what came next.

Fields alone weren't enough. Water was life, and Bharat's rivers had always been both its blessing and its burden. The grand project of river linking, of constructing dams, barrages, canals, and irrigation channels across the subcontinent, was still in its infancy. The blueprints were drawn, the science was sound, and the people were ready. But they needed momentum—money, machines, and minds.

And this harvest was going to fund it all.

If Bharat could feed itself—and more importantly, the world—it would generate the wealth to invest in its next leap forward. Export contracts were being discussed with nations scrambling to secure food amidst rising tensions in Europe and East Asia. War was not yet upon the world, but the drums were faintly beating.

Aryan intended to turn that storm into opportunity.

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Today was the 24th of August.

Tomorrow, Bharat would celebrate one year since it had thrown off its chains and become sovereign again—a land not ruled by outsiders, but led by its own dreamers, scientists, farmers, teachers, and warriors.

The First Anniversary of Independence.

The celebrations would take place in Ujjain—the new capital still rising from the soil, brick by brick, like a lotus emerging from the mud. Though many of the government buildings were yet unfinished, the heart of the city—its administration zone—was alive. The Parliament, halfway complete but impressive in scale and design, stood beside wide roads lined with greenery and banners fluttering in the wind. And at the head of it all, Kamal Aasthaan—the Emperor's palace—gleamed like a beacon.

Preparations had turned the city into a living canvas. Artisans worked alongside engineers to decorate the grand road connecting the palace to the central square, which would host the parade and ceremonies. The smell of wet paint and marigold garlands filled the air. Tri-color banners unfurled from lamp posts. Stages, viewing platforms, and welcome arches bore inscriptions in every major language of Bharat.

This was not just Ujjain's celebration—it was Bharat's.

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Foreign dignitaries had already begun to arrive.

Today, the Japanese delegation touched down at the newly inaugurated Aryavarta International Aerodrome—a marvel of modernity. With gleaming runways, automated landing systems developed in Aryan's newly established magi-tech labs, and a control tower run by some of the most well-trained officers in the country, it was nothing short of breathtaking.

The Japanese, known for their precision and discipline, found themselves quietly astonished.

The airport was a statement—not just of Bharat's technological capability, but its vision. There were separate terminals for domestic and international visitors, gardens along the walkways, and a seamless blend of traditional architecture with cutting-edge design. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood, and welcome chants echoed softly through the halls, adding a layer of serenity to the experience.

The delegation was welcomed with warm smiles, garlands, and folded hands. Officials bowed respectfully, not in mimicry of foreign custom, but in genuine Indian courtesy. And somewhere in the exchange, the Japanese found familiarity. The grace. The reverence. The quiet dignity.

It felt like home.

Their journey from the airport to the city was no less impressive. Multi-lane roads—some for civilian use, others for cargo and official transport—ran smooth and clean, lined with trees that had been handpicked to bloom in August. The road signs were crisp and bilingual. Solar-powered street lamps cast a gentle glow, and public sanitation units were discreet and efficient. Electric rickshaws and public buses, new creations of Rajvanshi Automobiles operated in silence, guided by trained drivers and supported by a newly formed Transit Command Centre. With the full scale implantation of Prāṇa fuel underway, generation of Electricity especially in Ujjain, where the nation's largest Energy Generation Plant was built, was hardly a problem.

As the Japanese cars glided toward the luxury guest house built in traditional Indo-Japanese fusion style, they passed murals that told the story of Bharat's journey—from chains to freedom, from famine to feast.

One of the visiting ministers whispered to his aide, "They've done in one year what most nations struggle to do in decades."

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As the sun rose higher above Ujjain, the roads bustled with more than just final touches to the decorations. Motorcades rolled in with flags fluttering from their hoods, carrying dignitaries from the Himalayan kingdoms—Nepal, Bhutan, Sikkim, and Tibet.

Their arrival, though staggered, carried the same sense of awe that the Japanese had expressed. But for these guests—monarchs, crown princes, and queens—the wonder came not only from the grandeur of the capital but also from the journey itself.

Unlike the Japanese, most of these dignitaries had arrived via the newly constructed Bharatiya Rail Network—a marvel of engineering winding its way through the mountains, forests, and valleys. Trains that ran not on coal, but a blend of clean Prāṇa fuel and arcane mechanisms, had glided through terrains long thought impassable. The royal compartments, carved with intricate wooden panels and modern comforts, whispered of a Bharat that respected both tradition and innovation.

From the windows of their carriages, the royal families had seen villages lit with clean energy, bridges spanning wild rivers, and terraced farms thriving under the monsoon sun. They had stepped onto newly built stations lined with flowers and manned by courteous staff trained to serve with quiet dignity.

They were not just impressed—they were overwhelmed.

Bhutan's Queen Mother had been seen whispering to her ministers, her eyes never leaving the clean roads that led from the railway station to their temporary residence. Sikkim's young Prince remarked aloud, "This is not just a nation. This is a vision brought to life."

But none were as silently stirred as the royal family of Nepal.

They had arrived with pride, yes—but also with caution. Once a kingdom with centuries of sovereign legacy, Nepal now stood at a crossroads. Modernisation had been slow, internal divisions had grown, and the threat of being left behind in a fast-changing world loomed like a shadow.

And yet, there was one thread pulling them forward—a thread they hadn't expected.

Princess Nalini Shah.

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Most saw her as the youngest daughter of the Shah dynasty—quiet, well-mannered, with a mysterious grace. But very few knew her as Aryan and Shakti did.

To the outside world, her closeness with the Samrat and the future Samrajni was explained away as diplomatic charm, perhaps even youthful friendship.

But beneath that carefully woven narrative lay a deeper truth.

Nalini was a member of the Hidden Flame—the secret organisation founded by Aryan to safeguard Bharat's future from threats not just of this world, but beyond it. She had joined quietly, months ago, having grown disillusioned by the limits placed on her by tradition and the narrow training she had received under the Sorcerer Supreme at Kamar-Taj.

What Aryan had given her wasn't just power. It was understanding.

He taught her how to bend her magic into utility—how to weave healing threads into battle constructs, how to combine ancient rituals with cosmic resonance, and how to believe in her potential beyond the walls of titles and temples. Shakti, too, had become a pillar in her journey—more than a comrade. A sister.

They sparred together. They laughed till midnight on Kamal Aasthaan's sun-kissed balconies. They wrote coded letters to each other, even when in the same city. It was a bond formed in quiet fire.

The senior members of the Nepalese royal family had observed this closeness with increasing interest. A political opportunity had emerged, one too valuable to ignore.

Though the official conversations around a political merger of Nepal with Bharat were still tentative and held behind closed doors, they had gained serious momentum.

After all, if Nepal were to unify with Bharat—retaining its cultural sovereignty but gaining access to Bharat's protection, economy, and infrastructure—it would solve many of its internal crises.

And if Princess Nalini were to be married to the Samrat... it would not just secure Nepal's future. It would elevate its legacy forever.

There had been hushed conversations over tea and scrolls. Gentle, formal inquiries made through mutual advisors. It was not yet a proposal—only a seed.

But it had already begun to take root.

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At Kamal Aasthaan, Aryan stood in his private chamber, watching the sun dip behind the domes of his half-finished capital. The city still buzzed with cranes, scaffolding, and construction crews. And yet, it felt alive.

It felt right.

Tomorrow, the world would watch Bharat rise—not just as a free nation, but as a rising power. And Aryan would walk that parade route not as a boy cloaked in titles—but as a son of the soil, walking the road paved by the will of his people.

As he turned from the window, he whispered to himself,

"One year ago, we reclaimed our right to dream. Tomorrow, we show the world how far we've come."

And outside, the streets of Ujjain glowed under lanterns and laughter, ready for a celebration that would mark the birth of a new era.

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