CHAPTER 114: CH.111: AFTER THE APPLAUSE

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- Ujjain, Bharat -

- December 10, 1938 -

The winter sun had barely warmed the sandstone steps of Ujjain’s new Parliament building when the city began to stir with quiet excitement. Today was not a day like any other. It wasn’t a festival, yet the air carried that same buzz—like something sacred was about to begin.

The Parliament, a marvel of both ancient inspiration and futuristic design, stood tall at the heart of the central administrative mandal. Its domes gleamed in the sunlight, and its halls—lined with murals of Bharat’s journey from chains to choice—were soon to witness history again.

Five days had passed since the general elections declared Surya Rajvanshi as Bharat’s first democratically elected Prime Minister. But today, December 10, the process of building the nation’s full democratic structure came into form.

Across Bharat, results for the state and local elections had been announced.

Every corner of this vast country—from the snow-blanketed peaks of Kashmir to the green deltas of Bengal, from the deserts of Marwar to the distant shores of Rangoon—had participated in shaping their own futures.

This wasn’t just about one Prime Minister anymore. It was about 33 states and 7 union territories, each choosing their own Chief Ministers and legislative assemblies. From the bustling metros to sleepy hamlets, municipal wards and panchayat posts had new faces ready to serve.

—

In a warm tea stall near the gates of the Parliament, two men sat with clay cups in hand, listening to the results being read aloud by a young boy perched on a wooden stool, holding a radio close to his ear.

"Arunachalam won in Tamil Nadu this time, huh?" the older one chuckled.

"Hmm," the younger replied. "But look at that, BVM even got Balochistan and Sindh. That’s no joke."

"And Kerala, Punjab, Gandhar Pradesh...?"

"Congress," the boy answered. "Their recently recruited local representation held strong there. Barely, but they did."

Across Bharat, that same kind of talk echoed—a quiet political awareness blossoming in chai stalls, courtyards, and street corners.

Though the Bharatiya Vikas Morcha (BVM) had emerged dominant, just like in the Lok Sabha, it hadn’t swept every corner. States like Kerala, Burma, Punjab, and Gandhar Pradesh still leaned toward Congress, especially in local and state assemblies where Congress’s grassroots network remained strong.

It was something BVM leaders had taken note of. They had won big, yes, but not everywhere. Not yet.

—

Inside the Parliament, preparations for the oath-taking ceremony were nearly complete.

The Parliament’s central dome echoed with the low hum of voices and the rustle of silk and khadi as elected representatives from all over Bharat took their seats. These were new faces of power—farmers turned MLAs, teachers-turned-ministers, young lawyers, elderly social workers, and fiery idealists.

Today, both houses—the Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha—would be sworn in.

In the front row, Surya Rajvanshi sat calm, just as he had during the election results. Next to him sat Anjali, who was also elected as a member of Lok Sabha, from her constituency. Behind them, Aryan’s personal seat—though empty—remained respectfully reserved.

As the Chief Justice of Bharat began reading the formalities, the cameras and radios began to broadcast the moment nationwide.

"...in service of the Constitution of Bharat... to uphold its dignity, sovereignty, and democratic values..."

One by one, the members stepped forward.

Surya was the last to rise.

Draped in white with the same charcoal shawl across his shoulders, he took his oath with a steady voice and a firm gaze. There was no thunder in his words, but there was strength—born not from power, but from responsibility.

And as the final word left his lips, a loud, collective clap filled the chamber.

It wasn’t just for him.

It was for the journey that brought them here.

—

Behind all this ceremony, though, was a structure that made it all work—the newly defined system of governance. It was vast and layered, but clear.

Each of the 33 states had a Chief Minister and an elected legislative assembly. These were chosen by the people. But every state also had a Governor, already appointed by the Samrat himself—Aryan Rajvanshi—when the interim government had first been formed after independence.

These Governors shared power with the state governments, acting as the Samrat’s eyes and ears—not to control, but to balance. In sensitive or strategic states, especially the border regions, this duality ensured stability.

The 7 Union Territories were governed more directly.

In places like Delhi and Goa, which had assemblies and Chief Ministers, security and policing powers remained with the Governor, who in turn, followed the directives of the Samrat. Nepal and Bhutan, unique in their integration, had no Governors. Their monarchs served in that role, in cooperation with elected Chief Ministers and legislative assemblies, preserving royal traditions under the constitutional framework of Bharat.

This structure wasn’t perfect—but it was new. Adaptable. It gave the people both representation and protection, freedom and structure.

—

As the national anthem played at the close of the ceremony, many eyes turned upward toward the high dome of the Parliament.

In that moment, it didn’t matter who had won or lost.

What mattered was this—

The people had chosen.

The system had worked.

And Bharat was no longer just a dream. It was real.

Outside the Parliament, crowds cheered as newly elected representatives waved to them.

Among the voices, a schoolgirl asked her mother, "Will this help us get water in our village now?"

Her mother smiled and said, "Yes beta. If they remember us like they promised."

And in Kamal Asthaan, not far from the Parliament’s dome, Aryan stood watching the broadcast from his quiet chamber. He said nothing. Just smiled faintly as the screen faded into the closing credits of the broadcast.

He whispered to the stillness,

"One more piece in place. Now, the real building begins."

Because this wasn’t the end of the road.

It was just the foundation.

—

- Rajvanshi Manor, Ujjain -

- December 10, 1938 | Evening -

The golden glow of dusk spilled gently through the carved jaali windows of the Rajvanshi household, casting dancing patterns on the marble floor. It had been a long day of formalities and oaths, applause and anticipation. But now, inside the warmth of the family’s private quarters, the weight of titles and duties had been set aside.

No Samrat.

No Prime Minister.

No Home Minister.

Just a son, sitting with his parents.

Aryan leaned back against the soft bolster, his plate still half-full but clearly defeated by his mother’s enthusiasm. Anjali hovered near the table with a satisfied smile, wiping her hands on the edge of her cotton saree as she watched her son chew slowly, trying to keep up with the spread she had prepared.

"I swear you’ve been feeding me like I just came back from war," Aryan said between mouthfuls, rubbing his stomach.

"You’ve grown thinner," Anjali declared, tapping his arm gently. "And don’t think I didn’t notice. Just because you’re hiding behind that royal overcoat doesn’t mean your mother can’t see your collarbones!"

Surya chuckled from across the low table, sipping warm jeera water. "Let him breathe, Anju. Poor boy has had ten meetings a day for the last week. Let him eat at his own pace."

Aryan smiled softly, his eyes drifting between his parents. It had only been a week, but it felt longer. Since moving permanently to Kamal Asthaan, moments like these had become rare. Their roles had grown heavier, and so had the spaces between them.

But tonight, it was just them. No aides, no guards, no advisors. No formal silence. Just a quiet home and hearts full of pride.

"Maa, Baba congratulations again," Aryan said, looking at them both. "You’re the Prime Minister of Bharat, Papa. And you—" he looked at his mother— "returning as the Home Minister. Both of you... elected by the people."

Surya smiled. "And congratulated by our dear Samrat in a very formal letter. I think I cried twice reading it."

Anjali laughed. "He was showing it to everyone like a schoolboy with a gold star."

Surya looked bashful. "I was proud."

They laughed at that, and then sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the clinking of utensils and distant sounds of Ujjain life outside filling the background.

Then, casually—too casually—Surya set down his glass and cleared his throat.

"By the way," he began, "we’ve decided something. Your mother and I."

Aryan looked up with a small hum. "Hmm?"

"We’ve decided to retire," Surya said.

The words took a second to land.

"Wait—what?"

Surya nodded with an almost amused calm. "After my five-year term as Prime Minister is over, we’re stepping back. No more politics. No more government."

Aryan blinked, fork frozen in midair. "You... what?"

Anjali smiled sweetly as if she’d just announced she’d picked up fresh mangoes from the market. "We’ve already started preparing the next generation of BVM leaders. Quietly training them. Supporting them. By the end of this term, they’ll be ready."

Aryan stared at them, clearly baffled. "But you’re not even forty! You’re both in your late thirties. You’re healthy, sharp, respected. Why retire so soon?"

Surya leaned forward, his eyes gentle. "Because, beta... we’ve done what we set out to do. We fought for freedom. We built the foundation. Now it’s your turn—and your generation’s. We want to spend the next Chapter of our lives living it. Not leading it."

"But—" Aryan began to protest.

Anjali interrupted, walking over and cupping his face with both hands like he was still her little boy. "Don’t act so surprised. You’ve given us more than we ever dreamed of. Freedom. Dignity. Safety. What more could we ask for?"

She smiled, voice growing softer.

"Well... maybe grandchildren."

Aryan groaned. "Oh no. Here we go."

Anjali laughed, patting his cheek. "Don’t act clueless. You’re eighteen now. You know what that means."

"It means I’m still too young for that," Aryan said, raising an eyebrow.

Anjali sat beside him, playful but persistent. "When I was your age, I was already married and had you. Your father was just a year older."

Aryan gave a dry laugh. "Yes, and look how that turned out—you two became revolutionaries who didn’t sleep properly for a decade."

"And still managed to raise you just fine," Surya added with a wink.

Aryan sighed, defeated by their double-team tactics. "Ma, Baba... Shakti is still underage. You do remember that the Constitution you helped write says the minimum legal age for marriage is twenty-one for boys and eighteen for girls, right?"

Anjali waved her hand. "Shakti’s turning eighteen soon, and I’m not talking about only her. There is that sweet girl, Nalini too, she isn’t far behind either. Besides, Shakti told me herself she doesn’t mind, as long as she comes first in your heart. And I know she does."

Aryan’s ears turned faintly red.

"Nalini is her best friend," Anjali added smugly. "She’s known since the beginning how Nalini feels about you."

"She’s not objecting?" Aryan asked, surprised.

"No," Anjali said with a warm smile. "Because both of them care more about you than about competing with each other. They love you in their own ways. They’ve already accepted it. You’re the one who keeps avoiding it."

Aryan leaned back, covering his eyes with his arm. "This is what I get for coming home. I’m ambushed with love, food, and marriage proposals."

Surya laughed. "It’s our duty as your parents. You handle diplomacy and all sorts of threats. Let us handle your marriage."

They all shared a laugh, the room filled with a rare warmth that no position or power could replace.

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