Chapter 4: First Steps, First Words –
July – December 1976
Singh Family Home, Aminabad, Lucknow
The Courtyard of Many Worlds
The Singh family's courtyard was the kind of place where time didn't just pass—it blossomed. Enclosed by sun-warmed walls, a neem tree stood at the center like a silent guardian. Birds chirped from its branches, laundry danced from clotheslines, and children's toys lay scattered among patches of light and shade.
In this little world, Bharat Singh, not yet a year old, was the sun—and everyone else revolved around him.
Some days, the family called him Chhote Maharaj. Other times, Raja Beta, or just Bharat Baba. But in his own mind, Bharat knew this: He was reborn for a reason.
"This time," he often told himself, "I won't waste the gift of time. I've returned to fulfill what I left incomplete."
Three Stars Around the Sun
On a late monsoon afternoon in August, the courtyard echoed with giggles and splashes. Raghav Chacha had filled a steel tub with water, claiming it was time for Bharat's "swimming lesson."
"Yeh le beta, jal mein raho. Jal ke veer bano!"
("Here you go, son—live in the water. Become a warrior of the water!")
Arjun Chacha, more composed as always, stood nearby with a towel. "Is this what they call training in the Navy, Raghav?"
Pooja Bua laughed from the verandah, holding up a small toy boat she'd made from dried leaves and matchsticks. "Dekho Bharat, yeh hai tumhara pehla jahaz. Doctor banne se pehle kaptaan bhi ban jao."
("Look Bharat, here is your first ship. Become a captain before becoming a doctor.")
Bharat, now almost eight months old, slapped the water, soaking everyone. A full-family splash war began—Arjun dodging waves like a soldier, Pooja screaming as her dupatta got soaked, and Raghav dramatically pretending to drown.
Saraswati (Dadi) walked out with an umbrella and mock sternness:
"Kya ho raha hai yeh sab? Yeh toh Ramayan ka yudh lag raha hai!"
("What is all this? It looks like a war from the Ramayana!")
"Aur Bharat hai Laxman, jo sab pe bhari pad gaya!"
("And Bharat is Laxman—stronger than all!") Raghav replied, dripping.
Even Devendra (Dadaji) chuckled quietly as he watched from behind his newspaper.
The Walk of Willpower
In early September, just before sunrise, the moment arrived. Bharat, with fists clenched and eyes focused, stood up from the floor unaided. His feet wobbled, legs trembled—but his soul, his determination, did not.
One. Two. Three steps.
And then—he stood still. Smiling. Balanced.
Vandana's gasp was heard first. "Ajay! Dekho toh!"
("Ajay! Just look!")
"Woh chal raha hai!"
("He's walking!")
Ajay rushed out from the other room. Arjun, Raghav, and Pooja were all called instantly. Within minutes, the entire family had gathered like villagers around a miracle.
Bharat stood in the center—calm, quiet, but glowing.
Raghav placed a marigold flower before him.
"Beta, tu toh sach mein Hanuman nikla. Ek saal se pehle chala!"
("Son, you truly are like Hanuman. You walked before one year!")
"Yes," Bharat thought. Because I remember what it's like to fall. This time, I will rise early."
Voices of the Past, Faces of the Future
The house came alive with music and teasing.
During the evenings, when the family gathered after dinner, Bharat would sit in his grandfather's lap, eyes fixed on his face as Devendra told tales of freedom fighters and forgotten kings.
"Maharana Pratap kabhi Jhuke nahi. Aur Shivaji ne toh Agra se bhag ke dikhaya!"
("Maharana Pratap never bowed. And Shivaji even escaped from Agra!")
Bharat's tiny fists would curl as he listened.
"I was there… somewhere in those times. I failed to stand up. Now I will never kneel."
One night, when Ajay read aloud from the newspaper about growing computer use in India, Bharat leaned toward the images.
"Beta, yeh dekho. Yeh automation hai. Sab kuch machine se hoga."
("Son, look. This is automation. Everything will run by machines.")
Bharat babbled something. A syllable or two that sounded like:
"P...Pu...t...er..."
Ajay paused, stunned. "Vandana, suna tumne?"
("Vandana, did you hear that?")
Vandana smiled. "Haan. Yeh sab sunta hai. Aur samajhta bhi hai."
("Yes. He hears everything. And he understands it too.")
The Battle Over a Bite
Dinner times became mini-dramas. Everyone wanted to feed Bharat.
Pooja Bua tried with kheer, holding the spoon like a plane.
"Yeh aa gaya Bharat express! Moo kholiye Maharaj!"
("Here comes the Bharat Express! Open your mouth, my Lord!")
Raghav Chacha came with a puri. "Kha le beta. Puri khayega toh masti karega."
("Eat, my boy. Eat puri and you'll have more fun.")
Arjun held a small bowl of mashed banana. "Only nutrition. No drama. He's a future commander. He needs strength."
Bharat would giggle and lean one way, then another—just to tease them all. Sometimes he'd cry until Pooja picked him up—then instantly smile.
"He's acting, I swear!" Raghav groaned.
"He's smart. That's called negotiation." Arjun corrected.
"Of course I'm smart. I chose you as my family."
The Sacred Visit
On 25 December 1976, Bharat's first birthday, the family walked together to the ancient Hanuman temple near Aminabad. The streets were full of winter life—hawkers selling peanuts, red woolen caps, and garlands of hibiscus.
As they reached the temple steps, Bharat was quiet—not scared, but deep in thought.
The aarti bells rang.
The murti of Lord Ram and Hanumanji stood bathed in morning light. Vandana whispered:
"Yeh tera pehla darshan hai beta."
("This is your first divine sight, my son.")
The priest looked at Bharat's face and stilled.
"Is bacche ke chehre pe to vir purush ka tej hai."
("There is the glow of a heroic soul on this child's face.")
A marigold flower was placed in Bharat's hand.
And Bharat… bowed.
"Yes," he thought, "I remember this fragrance. This silence. I've come home."