The thunder that ended Dr. Arindam Sen's life in one century became the echo that started another.
1. The Awakening
He gasped, coughing smoke and dust.
The world smelled of sweat, ink, and independence.
Outside the window, the Red Fort shimmered in the August sun.
Flags snapped in the wind—saffron, white, and green.
A young aide burst through the door.
"Sir! The Governor-General's car is at the gate. The world press is waiting. Your speech must be ready!"
Arindam blinked at him. "My… speech?"
The mirror above the mahogany desk reflected a thirty-year-old version of himself—same eyes, same face, same faint scar on the brow.
Only the clothes were different: a crisp khadi sherwani, a tricolor pin gleaming on the chest.
A nameplate on the desk read:
> PRIME MINISTER ANIRBAN SEN
Government of India, 15 August 1947
The impossible truth hit him like a heartbeat:
He had awakened not as a professor, but as the first prime minister of a newly freed nation.
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2. The First Order
Before any ceremony, before even the "Tryst with Destiny" that history remembered, he called for an immediate meeting.
> "Summon Intelligence Bureau Chief T.G. Sanjeevi Pillai" he said.
"And General Cariappa. Quietly. No press."
The aides exchanged uneasy glances—this wasn't in the schedule—but hurried out.
Within minutes, the Prime Minister's chamber filled with maps, reports, and the hum of ceiling fans.
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3. The Midnight Briefing
Pillai entered first, saluting sharply.
"Congratulations, sir. It's a new dawn."
Anirban nodded. "And dawns are when shadows move fastest. Tell me about Junagadh, Hyderabad, and Jammu & Kashmir."
Pillai hesitated, surprised. "Sir, those matters haven't yet reached the Cabinet. How—"
"Because I've read people," Anirban said quietly, his mind still echoing from another lifetime.
"They will be the fault lines that test our sovereignty. We cannot wait for the crises to erupt."
He moved to the map of India pinned to the wall.
With a fountain pen, he drew small circles around the three princely states.
> "Junagadh," he said, tapping the western coast. "A Muslim ruler with a Hindu majority, leaning toward Pakistan."
"Hyderabad—wealthy, armed, dreaming of independence in the center of our land."
"And the north—Kashmir—mountain passes open, uncertain accession, a border that can burn for generations."
The room fell silent.
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4. The Directive
"Here's what we'll do," Anirban continued.
1. Junagadh: Send envoys immediately, prepare for a plebiscite. "But make sure our naval patrols in Kathiawar are ready. No secession by surprise."
2. Hyderabad: Quietly begin economic pressure. "No trade, no currency flow. The Nizam's isolation will bring negotiation faster than guns."
3. Kashmir: "Secure Srinagar airfield. Build relationships with local leaders. And for God's sake, document everything—we cannot let foreign hands write our story."
Reddy stared at him. "Sir, may I ask—how do you know all this?"
Anirban smiled faintly. "Let's just say I've read the future of our own ."
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5. The Speech That Never Was
When he finally stepped onto the Red Fort ramparts, the crowd below roared.
He looked down at the handwritten speech his aides had prepared—full of gratitude and poetic hope.
He folded it once and slipped it into his pocket.
Instead, he spoke from memory, his voice calm and resolute:
> "Today we are free—but freedom without foresight is only another chain, forged by our own hands.
Our task is not celebration, but construction.
Let us defend unity before we proclaim it."
The crowd fell silent, listening—not to a dream, but to a man who seemed to already know the weight of the years ahead.
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6. The Whisper of Time
That night, alone in his study, Anirban looked at the stack of intelligence files and the tricolor fluttering outside.
He whispered to the empty room:
> "If destiny has given me a second chance, then this time, India will not repeat its mistakes."
The clock struck midnight again.
History itself had just been rewritten.