CHAPTER 112: CH.109: THE PEOPLE’S CHOICE

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- Ujjain, Bharat -

- September 1938 -

The air in Ujjain had begun to carry a slight coolness, hinting at the change of seasons. September had arrived—not with drama, but with purpose.

And across the vast stretch of Bharat, a different kind of energy surged. Not festive, not fearful—but focused. For the first time in the history of the newly awakened nation, the people were preparing to choose.

The Election Commission of Bharat, a newly formed constitutional body, had announced the date—national elections would be held in November.

It was official now.

And the wheels of democracy began to move with precision.

________

Across every state, from the tea-lined hills of Assam to the sun-baked villages of Gujarat, thousands of officers, volunteers, and local administrators were at work—collecting, verifying, and updating the very first electoral rolls of Bharat.

Teams went door to door, speaking with citizens, checking identification, ensuring even the most remote voices were counted.

Young women with satchels full of forms, retired schoolteachers now working as verifiers, and tech-trained volunteers using early magi-slate tablets—together, they carried a quiet pride.

Security was tight. Parliamentary and paramilitary forces worked together across all major cities and borders.

Now, everyone in Bharat had a say.

_______

But while the system worked with silent efficiency, the political air was anything but silent.

Two names stood out on the national stage:

Surya Rajvanshi, leader of Bharatiya Vikas Morcha (BVM).

And

Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, representing the Indian National Congress.

________

The BVM had a clear advantage. Surya had led the interim government under Samrat Aryan for nearly two years now. His leadership was known, his conduct dignified, and his promises—from infrastructure to healthcare—had already started turning into reality.

Surya wasn’t a fiery orator. But he didn’t need to be. His calm voice and grounded presence carried trust. And more importantly, he was the father of Aryan, the very symbol of Bharat’s rebirth. That connection, while never exploited, was enough for many citizens to believe in him wholeheartedly.

________

The Congress, on the other hand, was facing its own internal tug-of-war.

Mahatma Gandhi, though publicly distanced from formal politics, still cast a long shadow. Within the Congress, he had gently backed Jawaharlal Nehru as his preferred candidate for Prime Minister.

Nehru had charm, intellect, and legacy. Many from the now-defunct Muslim League, which had mysteriously dissolved last year, had aligned behind him. Some saw in him a more internationalist future for Bharat—others simply trusted his idealism.

But the party had voted.

And by a narrow margin, it was Sardar Patel who emerged as the official Congress candidate.

Patel’s support came not just from the old guard, but from a growing wave of progressive leaders, educators, reformers, and rural organizers who admired his no-nonsense discipline and deeply rooted nationalism. He wasn’t flashy, but he was respected. And he had weathered storms that few others could have survived.

________

Both sides now had something to prove.

The rallies began.

________

In the heartlands of Bharat, Surya Rajvanshi stood beneath banyan trees and on village chaupals, speaking plainly and with purpose.

"We do not ask for blind trust," he told a sea of farmers one afternoon. "We ask for memory. For reflection. Look at the roads built, the schools opened, the water made clean. If we have done well, give us your voice to do more."

The BVM campaign focused on development—agriculture modernisation, industrial employment, women’s education, and ethical governance. They spoke of vision. Of self-reliance. Of a government that served, not ruled.

And above all, they emphasized continuity—that Bharat was on a promising path under Samrat Aryan, and Surya Rajvanshi knew that path well.

_______

Meanwhile, Sardar Patel’s rallies echoed in cities and towns alike.

His words were grounded, direct, sometimes even stern—but always full of conviction.

"We are not here to worship the past," he declared in Lucknow. "We are here to build the present. And if given a chance, we will ensure no child sleeps hungry, no man stands jobless, and no woman walks in fear."

Congress highlighted their legacy of freedom struggle, their grassroots reach, and Patel’s promise of administrative reforms, inclusive growth, and decentralisation of power.

There was a renewed energy in their campaign. And Patel, despite internal resistance, was proving to be a unifier in surprising ways.

_______

One thing was clear: the Election Commission was not letting things slip.

According to the Constitution, no candidate—no matter how senior—was allowed to use religion, caste, or sectarian identity to gain votes.

Violations carried strict criminal penalties.

And even more uniquely, all leaders—whether from BVM, Congress, or independent parties—were mandated to attend training sessions.

These were joint conduct camps, led by retired judges, scholars, and administrators handpicked by Aryan.

They weren’t just lectures—they were deep conversations on ethical leadership, transparency, and the responsibilities of public service.

"Being elected doesn’t give you power," one retired judge told the gathering. "It gives you responsibility. And that responsibility begins with character."

_______

The Samrat, as alwayss, stayed above the campaign—never endorsing, never interfering. But his silent presence in the background of Bharat’s rebirth was more than enough to shape the spirit of the elections.

Aryan had ensured that every promise made during campaigns would be legally binding—to an extent no democracy had dared before. False promises carried real costs, not just to the candidate, but to their party.

This wasn’t politics as usual. This was Bharat, redefined.

________

In schools, children asked their parents who they were voting for.

In cafes and farms, debates bloomed—sometimes light, sometimes fierce.

And in the minds of millions, a single thought returned again and again:

"This is our choice. Our future."

_______

By the end of October, with electoral rolls nearly completed, rally schedules overflowing, and campaign teams moving like clockwork—it was clear.

This wasn’t just an election.

This was a celebration of citizenship.

And soon, in November, theeir voice would be heard.

_______

- Chandrapura Village, near Bhopal -

- November 10, 1938 -

The morning air felt cooler than usual. A breeze brushed gently past the neem trees, rustling leaves that had seen too many summers, but none quite like this.

Raghunath Mishra stood in front of his small house, adjusting his slightly faded kurta and tapping his pocket for the third time to make sure his Voter Identification Card was still there.

It was.

He exhaled and smiled to himself.

Today wasn’t like other days.

Today, he would vote.

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Behind him, the slow shuffle of feet gave him pause. His younger brother, Mukund, had finally emerged from the house, hair still messy from sleep, yawning as if he’d carried the burden of the nation overnight.

"Do we really have to go this early?" Mukund muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Raghunath chuckled. "Yes, because if we don’t, the line will reach till the next village. And besides, this is our first vote. You should be excited!"

"I’d be more excited if there was breakfast first," Mukund grumbled, but followed along nonetheless.

They were joined by a few neighbors—Meena, a schoolteacher in her early twenties, and Ramesh, who ran the local sugarcane press. Everyone carried their IDs, some tucked neatly in plastic covers, others simply held tight in calloused hands.

As they walked toward the government primary school that had been converted into their local polling booth, the village roads buzzed with similar groups. Families, friends, elders, and even many young voters like Mukund—everyone heading in the same direction, hopeful, curious, and proud.

_______

The schoolyard was neat, with bright banners that read:

"Voting is not just a right. It is a duty."

— Election Commission of Bharat

There were uniformed security personnel at the gates—not with guns raised, but calmly watching, guiding, nodding respectfully.

A temporary shaded walkway had been set up, lined with clay lamps and flowers—simple, beautiful. Water pots, mats for the elderly, and chairs for mothers with young children had been thoughtfully arranged.

And at the far end, inside a well-ventilated classroom, sat something new.

A gleaming magi-tech voting console.

The machine hummed quietly, bathed in soft blue light. It looked a bit like a typewriter and a glowing scroll merged into one—ancient charm with future touch.

________

"Good morning!" a cheerful voice greeted them.

It was a poll guide—a young man in a crisp white uniform marked with the insignia of the Election Commission. His smile was warm, his presence comforting.

"Since this is your first time, I am here to guide you," he said gently, "don’t worry. We’re here to help—without seeing who you vote for. That’s your secret and your right."

He led them one by one to the briefing counter, where a simple illustrated chart showed the process:

How to check your name

How to activate the voting console

And how to select from the listed candidates

Each voting console had the symbols and names of candidates:

🟢 Bharatiya Vikas Morcha (BVM)

🟠 Indian National Congress

⚪ Independent Candidates

⚫ NOTA – None of the Above

"Remember," the guide said, "vote for the person you believe will serve your region best. And if none of them feel right to you, that’s okay too. That’s why we have NOTA."

Mukund blinked. "So even if I think all of them are useless, I can still vote?"

The guide grinned. "Exactly."

________

When it was Raghunath’s turn, he stepped into the softly lit voting cubicle.

The room fell silent.

He placed his finger on the sensor. A faint glow acknowledged his identity.

Then, with a gentle click, the list of names appeared, their party logos shining beside them.

He took a breath.

He wasn’t thinking of grand speeches or promises anymore. He was thinking about his village. The road that had finally been paved. The new school roof that didn’t leak. The night clinic that had saved his neighbor’s child.

He pressed the button.

A soft chime confirmed his vote.

It was done.

________

Outside, Meena and Ramesh chatted about the process. Mukund had finally woken up, grinning after casting his vote like he’d just conquered a mountain.

"I feel oddly responsible now," he admitted. "Like, if things go wrong, I can’t just complain anymore."

Raghunath laughed. "Welcome to adulthood."

_______

By the time the sun began dipping low in the sky, Chandrapura had crossed 85% voter turnout.

Young and old, rich and poor, literate and learning—they had all walked to vote. And all left with a gentle indigo ink mark on their index fingers, a mark more powerful than any weapon or slogan.

That evening, Raghunath sat on the charpai outside his house, sipping a cup of steaming chai. Mukund was asleep again, his head buried under a newspaper he hadn’t finished reading.

A slow smile crept across Raghunath’s face.

He hadn’t solved the world’s problems today.

But he had done his part.

He had voted.

And that, in his heart, felt like something extraordinary.

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