The Alternate Reality

      The Alternate Reality

This is my autobiography. You could even call it a story. Compared to other autobiographies or stories you may have read, this one might feel a little different. That is because I have only described three years of my life here. Yet, those three years contain the essence of my entire life. Some of the most important turning points in the history of this nation also happened during those years.

I begin the first part of this story in the year 1922, when I was just six years old. Usually, incidents from such a young age don’t remain in our memory. But for me, that year stands out vividly. So many events from that time have been etched deeply into my heart like carvings on fresh wood.

I remember that day in November very clearly. I was playing inside the Sabarmati Ashram. Inside, my father and grandfather were having a conversation. Their voices were loud enough for me to hear every word. They were engaged in a very emotional discussion.

Since childhood, I had always been closer to my grandfather than to my father. Whenever I asked questions beyond my age, it was grandfather who patiently answered. Father rarely had time for me. Yet, my grandfather was always busy too. His name was Mohandas, but everyone called him Father of the Nation. People came daily just to see him. I grew up as a fortunate child who played on the laps of the great leaders who came to meet him. Even grandfather’s friends all knew my name — Rasik.

It was through his eyes that I first began to see the world. He introduced me to books when I was only five. He told me many mythological tales. Later, whenever I felt lonely, I turned to books for comfort. The seed for that habit came from him. Grandfather mostly read books on politics and history. He often praised Tolstoy’s War and Peace, encouraging me to read it too. But my interest leaned more towards science. Grandfather, however, believed science was a dangerous force to humanity. I often argued passionately with him about this.

The most important thing I learned from grandfather was holding on to principles. Like him, I could never settle for easy compromises. After my father and grandfather began to have differences of opinion, I remained silent, but deep inside, I sided with grandfather. He named my father Harilal, inspired by the truthful king Harishchandra. Yet, father was quite the opposite — he believed that nothing, not even principles, is permanent in life.

My attention turned towards the conversation happening inside...

Inside, I focused more closely on their conversation.

"Harilal, my daughter-in-law told me that you’ve been drinking excessively. Is this the punishment you’re giving me? Is this how you show your anger towards me?" grandfather asked.

"Do I even have the right to be angry with you? I’m nothing but a worthless man. My birth itself is a mistake. I am determined to drink myself to destruction. Please, father, stop worrying about me. Think about the nation and its people instead," father replied bitterly.

"How can I not worry about you? Tell me what you need. I will do whatever I can," grandfather pleaded.

"I cannot do these ashram chores anymore, father. I want opportunities to prove my abilities. I’m planning to contest for the leadership of the Congress in Maharashtra," father declared.

"That would be a grave mistake. One must not seek a position. If we build our abilities, positions will naturally come to us," grandfather advised.

"So, I won’t get your support, is that it?" father asked.

"I cannot show favoritism just because you are my son. You are not fit to be the leader," grandfather said firmly.

"Well, then you will have to accept that I will follow my own path," father said, standing up.

Father stormed out of the ashram. Grandfather watched him leave with tears in his eyes.

--- ✽ ✽ ✽ ---

That evening, word spread that Jawaharlal, Rajagopal, and Mohammad Ali would be visiting grandfather. As they were to discuss something very important, grandfather was already consulting with other helpers in preparation.

I always looked forward to seeing these three visitors. Rajagopal, especially, would narrate mythological stories much more colorfully than grandfather. When Jawaharlal and Mohammad Ali came, they would usually bring Dina along. Playing with her was one of my greatest joys.

The guests arrived on time, as always, out of respect for grandfather, who valued punctuality as much as non-violence.

While we children played, the elders held their serious discussion. Before long, we children ran into the room during our game of chase, making noise.

Mohammad Ali became irritated. "Go outside and play! This is not the place for children!" he scolded.

"Children will always be like that. Come here," grandfather said kindly, calling us closer.

Dina sat on grandfather’s lap, and I sat on Jawaharlal's.

The adults resumed their discussion.

Ali began, "I don’t believe the Satyagraha movement will bring the results you expect. It will only create disorder across the country. The proper way is to achieve freedom through legal means. I even think Satyagraha contradicts non-violence."

Grandfather calmly replied, "Satyagraha does not contradict non-violence. We respect even our enemies. We talk to them. But we are not cowards. To establish our rights, a struggle is necessary. Satyagraha is simply the means to that end."

Ali countered, "Your support for the Khilafat movement has divided Indian Muslims. What they truly need is education and progressive thinking. Your position is pushing them towards orthodoxy."

Grandfather responded, "You misunderstand this land. Western ideas of modernity will not easily take root here. This soil has its own tradition of wisdom, which unites Muslims, Hindus, and people of all faiths."

Rajagopal added, "Then, why not prove you are not against Muslims by supporting Jinnah as the next Congress leader?"

Grandfather answered, "I cannot choose the leader. The people must decide."

Rajagopal pressed further, "Then will you at least refrain from fielding a candidate against Jinnah?"

Grandfather said firmly, "Competition is essential in elections."

The talks ended without agreement. The three leaders took leave.

Rajagopal pulled Ali aside for a private conversation.

Ali fumed, "Mohandas is a hypocrite. His claims of being secular are just an act."

Rajagopal asked, "Are you certain you will contest for the leadership?"

Ali replied, "It is my duty to represent the Muslims."

Rajagopal warned, "Without Mohandas’s support, no one can win. That is the current political reality. You should think carefully before deciding."

With that, they left the ashram, taking Dina along.

--- ✽ ✽ ✽ ---

It was getting late. Mother was making rotis and dal. I was flipping through the day's newspaper. I skipped the political news; it never interested me. In the corner of the middle page, however, an article caught my attention — an interview with the scientist Einstein. I could not understand most of the scientific content, but one question and answer sparked my imagination.

Question: "Will humans be able to travel through time in the future?"

Answer: "Yes. Scientifically, it is possible. Humans could travel into the future or to the past. However, building such a machine would be incredibly difficult. Maybe, after a century or two, mankind might develop such technology."

The word time travel swept me into a world of imagination. I pictured India gaining freedom centuries later. I dreamed of going back in time to fight alongside the brave King Shivaji, or even meeting Buddha.

Excitedly, I ran to tell my mother about it. But she barely paid attention. Still, I kept talking eagerly. I even asked her what she would do if she could go back ten years.

Mother quietly said, "I would have avoided marrying your father."

I was stunned. Speechless, I buried my face into my pillow and wept.

After a while, I felt mother gently stroking my hair.

"Your father hasn’t returned yet. I will go look for him. Lock the house and stay safely inside," she instructed.

"I’m scared. I want to come with you," I said.

"You know where I am going. You must not come there," she insisted.

I was stubborn, so she finally took me along.

We walked some distance and reached a liquor shop. The people there stared at us strangely. In one corner, father lay curled up, drunk.

Mother and I helped him home and laid him on the bed.

He mumbled, "Who am I? The son of the Father of the Nation. If he is Dasaratha, then I am Rama. I will never cross the boundaries he has drawn. But I will drink, and not even God can stop me. This is not punishment for you, father. This is my punishment for God."

Soon, his murmurs turned into snores.

Mother and I quietly went into the next room and lay down.

"Mother, I should not be angry with you. If you hadn’t married father, you would have been happy," I said softly.

Mother hugged me tight.

At the Sabarmati Ashram, Mahatma Gandhi’s prayer meeting was taking place. Gandhiji read a few verses from the Bhagavad Gita, the Quran, and the Bible. After that, bhajan songs were sung by the people gathered there. Finally, Gandhiji turned towards the assembly and began to speak.

“This prayer meeting takes place every single day. All of you have been attending without fail. There is a young boy in this ashram. He must be around twelve years old. He once asked me a question. He said, ‘Grandfather, you pray to God every day. Why can’t you just ask God to give freedom to our country? Why do you have to go through all this Satyagraha and struggle? You are suffering and making others suffer too.’”

The crowd laughed.

“The boy is very clever. He asks a lot of questions. Only by questioning do we gain clarity. We should never suppress our children’s curiosity under the name of discipline. Now, coming to his question — why do we pray to God? Is it to ask for our needs and get them fulfilled? No. Prayer removes the beast hidden deep within our hearts. It purifies our minds with thoughts of compassion. That is why our struggle must be a righteous one. We must reach out to our opponents with compassion. For that, prayer is very necessary.”

While Gandhiji was still speaking, an assistant whispered disturbing news into his ear.

“The boy is missing.”

Gandhiji stood frozen in shock.

“Oh Ram! How many more trials are you going to give me?”

------******------

The next morning, my father was missing. My mother and I searched everywhere, but it was of no use. Even after a week, my father didn’t return home. My mother was completely shattered. She hardly spoke to me. That hurt me deeply. My mother needed my father. I needed my mother. So, I decided that I must go find my father.

I wrote to my mother in my childish handwriting, “I am going to find father,” and left home.

I wandered through the streets and reached the railway station. I searched there too, but couldn’t find him. I climbed into a railway carriage and sat down. Hunger and dizziness overcame me. I didn’t even realize when the train left.

After some time, the ticket inspector woke me up. He asked me something, but I was too dazed to understand. A man sitting nearby spoke to the inspector on my behalf and gave him some money. The inspector left. I fell asleep again.

Later, someone else woke me. A Sikh man sitting next to me offered me food. I was starving, so I ate quickly. He asked if I was still hungry. I nodded. He gave me more chapatis, which I ate to my fill.

I soon fell asleep again — this time peacefully. I don’t know how long I slept, but I had a dream. My father appeared, then my mother. I woke up suddenly. I didn’t even know how many days I had been away from my mother. I felt like I had to return to her.

I started crying. The Sikh man asked me questions and tried to comfort me.

When his stop arrived, he asked if I would come with him. For a moment, I hesitated. Then, the image of my mother’s tear-stained face came to my mind. I decided that I would go nowhere without my father. I told him I wouldn’t come. He nodded and left.

A week passed on the train. By now, I didn’t cry anymore. I had made up my mind — if I returned home, it would only be after finding my father. Many people got on and off the train. Those who came spoke to me kindly and gave me food. But I always avoided their question: “Why are you traveling alone?”

Finally, the train reached Chennai city. I started wandering the streets again. Unknown language, unknown people, unknown place — but my determination to find my father did not waver.

I don’t know how many days I roamed. Whenever I got hungry, kind people gave me food. I had a photograph of my father with me. I showed it to people and asked if they had seen him. No one knew.

One day, I went into a liquor shop. Everyone there drove me away saying I shouldn’t be there. I cried and stood my ground. The shopkeeper came and asked me what I wanted. I showed him my father’s photograph and asked where he was.

The shopkeeper looked at me in surprise.

“Isn’t this Mohandas’s son? Why are you searching for him?”

I said nothing. The shopkeeper questioned me in many ways, but I just cried.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. One day he came here. He got drunk and passed out. When I woke him up, he asked when the next bus to Kanyakumari was. I told him, and he left. Most likely, he has gone to Kanyakumari.”

I wandered along the beach one evening. The crowd had dispersed since it was night. There was no one around, and I was just watching the waves when an old man came and sat beside me.

He spoke to me in Hindi. He asked me who I was and what my name was. Without telling him my real name, I replied, “Ram.”

“Why are you alone?”

“My father is missing. I want my father.”

“Did your father pass away?”

“No, he left us. Someone said he might have gone to Kanyakumari.”

“Alright. Let’s go find your father together.”

When I agreed, he took me to a big lodge. After resting for the night, we traveled by train towards Kanyakumari.

After three days, we reached Kanyakumari.

Old Man: “Where do we look for your father here?”

Me: “He might be in a liquor shop. That’s where he usually is.”

The old man’s face showed shock.

When we inquired in the liquor shops, we found out that my father was staying in a nearby village with someone named Kayalvizhi.

The next day, we traveled towards the village in a bullock cart. On the way, there was a riot happening. The rioters surrounded our cart and wouldn’t let us pass. I got caught up in the scuffle. My clothes were torn. One man hit me on the head with a stick.

I staggered forward. I saw a pond nearby. Overcome by thirst, I walked towards it.

My vision darkened, and I fainted.

When I woke up, I was inside a hut. The first thing I saw was the old man. Somehow, he had found me again. He was talking to an old lady. He was happy to see me awake.

Me: “I thought I could escape you. Looks like you won’t let me go.”

The old man laughed at my joke.

“Your father is indeed in this village. They say he went to Madurai for medical treatment and will be back tomorrow. Don’t worry, everything will be alright.”

The next morning, I felt someone gently caressing my forehead.

I was shocked to see my father sitting next to me. I pushed his hands away and turned my face.

He hugged me and cried. I didn’t speak to him. My anger just flowed as tears.

Father: “Rasik, I will never leave you and your mother again. Please forgive me.”

Father also told me that Grandpa would be coming to Madurai in two days. We decided to meet him together.

We went to Madurai. When we arrived at the lodge where Grandpa was staying, he was speaking with other leaders. Grandma was sitting beside him. When Grandpa saw both of us, he embraced us.

“My little one, you trickster! You put us all in sorrow and disappeared. But you found your father with such perseverance.”

My father fell at Grandpa’s feet.

“Promise me you will never do this again. You must do this for your wife and son. My daughter-in-law and grandson wandering around liquor shops for your sake is heartbreaking.”

“Father, I promise I will never disobey you. I will never touch alcohol again.”

"I am very happy. Instead, tell me what I should do. Tell me what help you need to shape your life meaningfully."

Father was thinking about what to say. At that moment, the elder interrupted, "Sir, if your son is given a position in the Congress Party, won't he get a chance to work for the nation as well?"

"Sir, you have saved both my son and grandson. I am indebted to you for life. First, one must be given work. Only after that will a position come. Hari must first serve. If he is worthy, the position will come later."

Grandmother tried to interrupt. But the conversation was cut short when Jawahar came to meet Grandfather.

Grandmother took the elder and father aside to speak privately.

"Sir, I don't want to lose my son again. Please advise us on what is best for Hero's well-being."

"You should meet Rajaji and discuss your son's future in the Congress."

Father and grandmother agreed to this. Many people were constantly coming to meet Grandfather, leaving him no time to play or talk with me. So, I too traveled to Chennai with my father.

We met at Rajagopalan's house. He openly said that nothing could be done in the Congress against Grandfather's stand.

The next day, an unexpected turn of events occurred. In defiance of British oppression, an entire police station in Pune was burned down. Twenty policemen were killed. The violence spread to British settlements where 164 British people, including women and children, were killed.

Grandfather strongly condemned this and withdrew from his Satyagraha movement.

Rajagopalan invited father to his house for a meeting. There, Muhammad Ali, Subhas, and many other leaders were present in discussion. They welcomed father and grandmother warmly.

Rajagopalan said, "We are at a crucial moment in history. The decision we make today will alter the nation's fate. The recent violence by our people against the British is condemnable, but for Mohandas to withdraw from the freedom movement because of it is foolish. Can we so easily forget the brutality of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre committed by the British? That wound is still fresh in the hearts of the people. Today's violence is but an outcome of that. While wrong, it is understandable. Mohandas' decision will delay our freedom by twenty years. Do you all agree?"

Everyone agreed in unison.

"We must now decide on our next course of action. Unlike before, we cannot simply follow all of Mohandas' decisions, even if we have doubts. In the upcoming party leadership election next month, we must nominate our own candidate. We need to decide who it will be."

"Mohandas' side will field Jawahar, who has massive public support. On our side, we have no strong leader," said all the leaders.

Rajaji said, "I propose we field Muhammad Ali. What is your opinion?"

"If Muhammad stands, he will surely lose. He has little support among the Hindus."

Rajaji replied, "That was the situation two days ago. Now, everything has changed. Mohandas withdrawing from the struggle has caused great unrest among the people. They have begun to believe that under his leadership, freedom is hopeless. We must seize this opportunity. Muhammad Ali will stand for the presidency, and Mohandas' son, Harilal, will contest for General Secretary. It will be a great advantage for us that the Father of the Nation's own son stands against him."

After further discussion, all leaders agreed.

At a meeting held on Chennai's Marina Beach that evening, the leaders spoke. Father was also given a chance to speak. His emotional speech was well received by the public. Newspapers wrote about the rise of a new star leader.

The day of the leadership election arrived. Leaders spoke at the conference, and finally, father spoke.

"Today is a historic day. Until now, my father was Dasaratha, and I was his obedient Rama. Today, he is still Rama, but I have become one of the twins, Lava or Kusha. For two hundred years, the British have committed countless atrocities against us. Our rights have been snatched away. This wealthy land has been looted. We have been reduced to beggars in our own land. Once, our nation led the world's economy, and Western nations competed to trade with us. Today, the West has made tremendous economic progress, but we have become a poor nation. Is this merely because of Western scientific advancement? No! This is the land of Aryabhata and Varahamihira, scientists from a thousand years ago. Why, then, have we lagged behind in scientific knowledge? Because we have been a slave nation during this period. We must not postpone our nation's freedom even for a day. We must not give up the struggle. Instead, we must intensify it. Our people may make mistakes; that must be seen as the cry of the oppressed. But we must not give up. My difference with my father is only on this point. Muhammad Ali, who stands with us, is a capable leader. Only he can unite Hindus and Muslims. Under his leadership, we will build a strong India. Support him and help create a new era. Jai Hind!"

There was great applause at the conference. Everyone cheered for both father and Muhammad Ali. The voting took place, and Muhammad Ali won by a large margin.

Grandfather and Jawahar both resigned from their positions. The decline of Grandfather's political career began that day.

All the leaders surrounded father. Even as he spoke with them, father's eyes sought out the elder standing quietly to the side. He pushed past everyone and went to him.

"Sir, you made me a new man. You saved my son. You guided me and pulled me out from a deep pit. You have laid the foundation for a great historical change. I will never forget this. Who are you, really? Where do you come from?"

"I am a wanderer. I roam through every corner of this universe. I search for new worlds. I have no name or hometown. My work here is done. I bid you farewell."

The elder left. After that, we never saw him again.

Father took me back to Ahmedabad. He received a grand welcome. When we returned home, mother did not speak to him. She even showed her displeasure towards me. After I calmed her down, she eagerly asked me about my experiences.

Father tried to talk to mother as well. After some time, her anger lessened.

Father said, "It's been two months since I left the house. Today, I stand in a position respected by the nation. Yet, there is no happiness on your face. Why?"

Mother replied, "Your political stand today may have brought you victory. But your father is a Mahatma. Every decision he makes is rooted in truth. Just wait and see, history will always favor him."

Father said, "My father is a man of principles. But life needs some flexibility, which he completely lacks. Look at the freedom struggles of other countries. Has there been no violence? My father's decision to abandon the movement because of it is sheer foolishness. Why can't you understand that?"

Mother said, "I am just a woman. What do I know?" and ended the conversation.

That night, father, mother, and I went to bed. Father, with excitement, kept talking to mother about his political dreams. Mother did not respond and had turned her face away. Father gently shook her, but she was already fast asleep.

Second Story

August 1945

This story took place during one of the most bizarre periods in history. An era of great wars and major political events. A time when humanity faced massive destruction. Revolutions caused social upheavals, and leaders cemented power using ideologies as mere illusions.

I call this a bizarre period not just because of these reasons. In Greek times, philosophers were the representatives of their societies. During the feudal era, it was religious leaders. In the Renaissance, writers played that role. But there was a brief moment in history when scientists dominated.

Centuries ago, a scientist was punished for revealing truths that contradicted religious scriptures. Everyone knows Galileo's story. In contrast, this era turned out to be quite the opposite. That is what made it fascinating.

I am the storyteller, timeless, able to move effortlessly through past and future. Thus, this story will unfold before you through me. I will also accompany you as your comrade on this journey. Come, let us begin.

I am now a 31-year-old youth. I have just returned to my motherland after completing ten years of exile in Europe. The train I am traveling on will reach Ahmedabad in half an hour.

Sitting by the window, the cool early morning breeze brushed my face. For the first time, I felt that breeze carried the scent of freedom. Yes, India is moving towards independence.

In these ten years, so many events have occurred. I had been staying in Europe to study science, my father became a significant figure in Indian politics, and my grandfather's political career, which united the people for the freedom struggle, took off. All of these happened in these ten years.

As soon as I returned to India, the first person I wanted to meet was my grandfather. This made my father a little upset. I stood at the railway station and then went to my grandfather's ashram. The place, which was usually decorated with festival-like designs, was now deserted. When I saw my grandfather, I was quite astonished. I had expected to find an elderly person burdened by old age and the frustration of failure, but my grandfather's face appeared more radiant than before. He was reading the newspaper.

Since he couldn't recognize me, I introduced myself. My visit gave him great joy. After inquiring about family matters, the conversation turned towards politics.

"My political career ended 25 years ago. I have both regrets and joy about it. My son, who was once a drunkard, now holds a great responsibility. My stubbornness had ruined him, but through my downfall, he has risen. In the freedom struggle, Muhammad Ali and Hari worked together. They helped unite Hindus and Muslims. If not for them, this country might have been divided."

After a moment of silence, my grandfather continued, "The regret is that this country is losing its soul. Your father's Congress Party did not firmly accept the doctrine of non-violence. In various places, there were violent uprisings against the British and the Congress that went unnoticed. After independence, the government that forms will not resemble the ideal Ram Rajya I had dreamed of. Villages will perish. The political ideologies of Western countries will dominate here. Economic and military growth will be emphasized. The Freedom Party will come to power. Muhammad Ali will be the Prime Minister. If that happens, beneath the guise of democracy, it will be a mild form of dictatorship. My concern is about this country's future, 20 years from now."

"I am happy, Rasi," he said. "The people have forgotten me, and in a way, that's good. Look at how peaceful this place is now. In peace, the unrest in our hearts becomes clear to us. In solitude, I am able to subject my mind to a rigorous examination of truth. Through this process, I have been able to expel a little of the poison mixed in my system. I am gradually changing into a person deserving of the divine path."

He inquired about my experiences in the West and my scientific education. After conversing with him, I traveled to Delhi.

When I arrived home, my father appeared very dignified. Since I had arrived, he had been speaking to me without pause.

"You’re coming after ten years, and you didn’t even look for your mother. You went straight to Sabarmati. How is your grandfather?"

"He seems to be in peace now. Politics is of no interest to him anymore. The whole nation has forgotten him. If we are moving towards independence today, it is because of him. But what respect does he get now? That’s why I decided to meet him first."

"Respect has to be earned. If needed, we can print his image on the currency notes of independent India. That’s all we can do. His policies and ideologies won’t have a place."

"We are trying to follow Western nations. But he understands this land well. He dreams of a country centered on villages, giving full autonomy to them. That resonates with me."

"What place will you have in that village kingdom? You are interested in science. Would you be willing to read a book of logic like Ratna’s? It is all impractical and unworkable."

"Today, political ideologies in the world are divided into two poles. Government is essentially about foreign policy, people’s welfare, and national security. A strong military is an indispensable part of this ideology. According to this, people will decide their own economic conditions. Investors will be highly valued, and the government will not interfere. This is right-wing political theory. Countries like the United States and some European nations have built their political structures based on this."

"On the other pole is a government that imposes many restrictions on the people. The government’s main goal will be to eliminate inequalities. There will be higher taxes on people, numerous barriers to trade, and the government will intervene in daily life. It will refuse to interfere in the internal affairs of other countries. This is left-wing political theory."

"How does India’s political situation fit into this? Both the Congress Party under Nehru’s leadership, which represents the left-wing theory, and the Freedom Party under Muhammad Ali, which represents the right-wing, stand firmly. India’s democracy will operate in a way that will amaze the world."

"I have no interest in politics. Where is Grandma?"

"She is with me. Two years ago, Grandma was fighting for her life. The doctors suggested surgery, but your grandfather refused. He believed surgery was violence against our soul. Your father, with his stubbornness, saved me from the consequences of that. The final moments of his 'Satyagraha' are well known to you. If I had done the same, would he have accepted it? His pride as a man is the cause of all this."

I was silent. Grandma continued.

"Your father has some plans for you. Please listen to him now," said my grandmother.

At that moment, father entered the room.
"You've come straight here. I thought you'd come to see me first," he said.

To show the eye-glasses, father changed the topic. After exchanging pleasantries and news about the family and relatives, he asked me to come with him. He took me to a private room and started speaking.

"28 years! It's been 28 years since I became the Prime Minister of this country. India, once a poor, begging nation, has now become a superpower. We have emerged as one of the top 10 richest countries in the world. From the very first day of independence, the liberal economic policies we adopted have transformed us into a wealthy nation. Today, hunger is no longer an issue in India. Even a poor man has access to good education and healthcare. Our infrastructure has grown to match that of the Western countries."

"But there has been a huge cost to the people of the nation. Villages have been destroyed. The environment has been polluted. The poor Adivasi people have lost their land to big factories. They haven’t been given proper compensation. Natural disasters like floods and droughts have worsened. You have suppressed the people's opposition with an iron fist. Thousands have died in the process."

"So what is your alternative? Look at nearby China. What are the results of their socialist economy? Half the population is living in a killing field. When compared to them, why don't you see what I have accomplished as an achievement?"

"I don't know much about economics, but you're not a true democrat. The political tricks and conspiracies you've played led to the separation of Pakistan and Bangladesh from our country. There's still huge unrest in Punjab."

"This is all a foreign conspiracy. I don't want to end my political life this way. My rule should be remembered like Ashoka the Great's reign. For that, I need your help. We are going to meet someone, and you must speak on my behalf."

"I don’t know anyone in politics."

"You know him very well. He is very fond of you. That will help us."

Even though my father had become the Prime Minister, he remained simple. When he traveled by car, he strictly refused security detail and traffic control.

The car arrived at Nethra's house. She is now the deputy leader of the Congress party. After Jawahar's retirement, the Congress party had decided to contest the upcoming elections under her leadership. Her son, Ranjith, leads the youth wing.

Nethra wasn’t expecting me. She didn’t look at me directly. She greeted my father and treated me with indifference. Ranjith sat beside her, looking energetic but also restless. His gaze towards me showed contempt.

My father started a conversation with Nethra.
"In politics, both Jawahar and I have become opposites. But even so, I have always respected him. Both of us are nearing 80. We are at the threshold of retirement. The future is in your hands, and the hands of young people like Rasik. The next generation must come together for the good of the country. What do you think, Nethra?"

When my father mentioned my name along with hers, I understood the political maneuver. It was clear that he was trying to pull me into politics.

Nethra asked, "Please explain it more clearly."

"In the upcoming elections, both the Independent Party and Congress should form an alliance. Otherwise, no one will get a majority. The Communists and regional parties will win, and that won't be good for the unity of the country."

"Who should hold the leadership?"

"The Independent Party has more support than Congress. We will win more seats in the coming election. So, it makes sense for Rasik to be the Prime Minister and you to be the Deputy Prime Minister."

"Congress will agree only if my son, Ranjith, becomes Prime Minister. And Rasik should not hold any position in your government or party. If you agree to this, we will sign the agreement. Otherwise, Congress will contest the elections separately."

This shocked my father. I remained calm. With disappointment, my father took his leave from Nethra. In the car, I didn't speak to him. He was lost in thought, and we both remained silent.

When we arrived at the President’s Palace, I was filled with wonder. I wondered why I was called there.

President Sanjeev was waiting for my father. They started talking about important national matters.

Father said, "The country is no longer as it was before. Earlier, rapid industrial growth and job creation were enough to satisfy the people. Now, people are starting to talk about the environment, the well-being of farmers, and other such concerns."

The President asked, "Will the bill for land acquisition pass in the upcoming parliament session? What is Jawahar saying? Have you had discussions with him?"

Father replied, "Jawahar has stirred up strong opposition across the country to this bill. He is portraying me as the enemy of farmers. The people’s expectations have changed. Right-wing politics will no longer work here. We need a blend of both right and left-wing politics."

The President said, "You're right."

Father continued, "This requires new leadership. I am about to retire. My son Rasik will lead the country and the party."

This was a huge shock to me. I hadn't expected my father to make this decision without consulting me.

When I was about to leave the room in anger, my father's assistant whispered something to him. Father then spoke to the President, saying, "My father, the father of the nation Mohandas, has passed away."

Tears rolled down my father’s eyes.

Grandfather’s body was decorated with flowers. He looked as though he was in a deep sleep. The smile that always appeared on his face when he slept was still visible. Was this eternal sleep or death, where no dreams exist? He was 105 years old when he passed away. Even in the final years of his life, he never had to lie down in bed. His death came quietly.

Because of his curved nature, he won in the battle between him and my grandfather. Grandfather’s political life, celebrated by the entire country, was overshadowed by his own son. Father’s 28-year-long rule as the Prime Minister was due to his practical approach to life.

Leaders began arriving to pay their final respects to Grandfather. They spoke to Father with feigned sorrow. "Long live the father of the nation, Mohandas!" echoed outside the house.

For the past 35 years, no one had acknowledged Grandfather. Now, everyone was praising him, which felt repulsive to me.

The opposition leader, Jawahar, arrived. My father’s assistant informed him, and my father went to greet him. Even though Jawahar was my father’s political enemy, my father had a great respect for him.

When Jawahar arrived, he embraced my father. They stood for a few moments in silence.

"How did it happen, Harilal?" Jawahar asked my father.

"He passed away peacefully. During the night, his heart stopped while he was sleeping."

Afterward, Father took Jawahar to the room where Grandfather's body lay. When Jawahar saw the body, he knelt and wept bitterly.

"He hated me, his own son, and loved Jawahar, the adopted son," my father often said.

Jawahar left Father and came toward me.

"Rasik, when did you come back from America?"

"I’ve been here for a week."

"Then we must talk about your research soon."

Jawahar was interested in philosophy, literature, politics, history, and science. I would have long discussions with him.

After inquiring about my well-being, Jawahar spoke with other relatives. In a little while, Grandfather’s body was taken to the crematorium, and the last rites were performed.

The family returned home. I wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone. My mind was filled with thoughts of Grandfather.

Someone placed a hand on my shoulder, and when I turned, it was my father. He took me to his room for a private conversation. He broke the silence between us.

"Today, we burned the body of a great man. Do you know how great he was?"

I remained silent, encouraging him to continue.

"Fools! They say we wouldn’t have gained independence if not for him. These are ignorant words. What was the freedom struggle like during his time? Some struggles here and there. Was it easy to bring an entire nation into a freedom struggle? He died without getting the full recognition he deserved."

"All the recognition that he should have received, you took it away. You brought people like Jinnah and Subhash on your side and isolated him. In the end, you deprived him of the support of the nation’s people. You used emotional words to bring people over to your side. And finally, you made the lie that it was because of Harilal that we gained freedom. That's what we are taught in schools."

"The same uncompromising attitude that exists in the elder man also exists in you. I am not his enemy. The qualities of stubbornness and ideological attachment are his enemies. He doesn't believe that I have the ability to lead. The elder man invited me to work at his ashram. What would I do there? Clean the toilets? The elder man is truly an autocrat. Do you know how many newly married couples, after listening to his speeches, took vows of celibacy and ruined their lives?

Realizing that the argument was growing unnecessarily, I remained silent.

"Okay. I didn't listen to my father's advice. At least you could respect my wish and act accordingly."

"What do you expect from me?"

"You should enter politics and assist me. After me, you should rule this country as my heir."

"By bringing politics into the equation, you are sacrificing democracy. Moreover, I have no interest in politics. My interest lies in science."

"Didn't you win a Nobel Prize in science last year? What more do you need to achieve in science?"

"I am working on developing a machine that will implement my scientific theories. Also, I am going to America tomorrow."

"You said you'd stay for a month."

"I am not comfortable here. I am leaving."

I didn’t say the real reason why I was leaving — that my father’s pressure would increase if I stayed any longer in India.

My father tried various means to pull me into politics, but I didn’t give in. As soon as he left the room, I made arrangements to leave for America. I spoke with my mother and relatives for a while, then went to bed.

--------**********---------

The next morning, I left early and traveled by plane to Sunnyvale, USA.

I focused entirely on my research for two months. I haven’t shared much about my research with you so far.

We live in a universe filled with stars and planets, and we will understand this more as time progresses. After quantum physics became a dominant theory, some scientists began firmly believing that there are multiple universes. Not only that, some of these universes could potentially be similar to ours. There could be a planet like Earth in one of them. There could be humans there, and there might even be a duplicate of you and me in that universe. While you are reading this story now, your duplicate in that universe could be reading this very story. Not all universes need to be exactly the same. Some universes may vary slightly from ours. In this universe, if you are a writer, you may be a scientist in a different universe. This is not just a fictional story, but scientific theories supported by ideas.

For the next few months, I remained fully absorbed in my research.

I kept in touch with my father occasionally. He had suffered a crushing defeat in the party elections. The Congress Party had won, and Ranjith became the Prime Minister.

Seven months later, one day my father called me on the phone. Ranjith had gotten involved in a massive corruption scandal. The court had ordered him to resign. My father’s voice sounded filled with old enthusiasm. He said he was planning to organize a protest to announce the next elections. He urged me to come to India and help him. I didn’t give him any clear assurance.

My research was complete. I wanted to speak to my father, so I called him.

Father: "Ranjith has declared an emergency law. Many opposition members have mysteriously died. My life is in danger at any moment. I’ve learned that they have decided to kill me through intelligence agencies. Don’t worry about me. Be cautious and take care of yourself."

While my father was speaking, I heard a gunshot in the background.

"Rasik pathiram" were his last words. The phone call was cut off.

My father’s death threw me into shock. A sense of guilt was gnawing at me. If I had accepted my father’s call 27 years ago and entered politics as his companion, would this situation have befallen him? Could I have changed his wrong decisions? My thoughts spiraled in that direction, and my interest in life diminished. I decided to go to an alternate universe, changing my earlier decision. I prepared myself to face death.

The truth that I was alone, and no one else mattered, struck me deeply. That was when I felt the urge to write my life as a story. I decided to write my story in three parts.

For the last two days, I have been writing my story. The beginning is almost complete. It is nearing midnight. I heard a knock on the door outside. I sensed that my end was near. The door was broken open, and a man entered. He had a gun in his hand. I looked at him for a moment. His face was as expressionless as a stone. I continued writing. The man fired the gun.

A bullet was speeding toward my forehead.

Bang.

In our world, 2024

A large crowd gathered in front of a shop. They were watching a cricket match between India and Pakistan on the TV inside the shop. As India lost the match, the crowd, angry, began shouting and scattering.

"In my anger, it seems like I want to erase Pakistan as a country."

"Is Gandhi the only reason for this? Nehru is also at fault. If Nehru had remained Prime Minister, we would have been a superpower by now."

"Don't worry. In a few more years, the Congress Party will no longer exist.”