Chapter 1: Waking in a New World

“Baba, hosh aa gaya? Theek ho na?”

A middle-aged man in a faded kurta-pajama, stubble rough and eyes shadowed with worry, leaned over me, hands pressed together in a respectful namaste, as if worried to disturb a sadhu in deep dhyaan. The faint scent of old agarbatti clung to his clothes, and behind him, the distant rattle of bullock carts echoed over the rough earth.

I forced my eyes open, head throbbing like after a bad fever. Blinking, I took in my surroundings—a patched-up tent, bits of tarpaulin and faded saree cloth sewn together. The only light came from a battered kerosene lantern, its yellow flame shivering in every gust. Outside, the sticky, humid night hummed with mosquitoes, and someone coughed in the darkness. The straw mat beneath me itched at my skin.

Suddenly, like some filmi chamatkar, a glowing system screen flashed in my mind’s eye: ‘Buffet’—free ₹100 standard meal, jitna marzi khao. For a moment I wondered if I’d eaten wild datura or if the lantern’s fumes were making me hallucinate.

The options blinked:

Set A: one bada non-veg dish, teen veg dishes.

Set B: do chhote non-veg dishes, do veg.

Set C: ek chhota non-veg, teen veg, aur ek chhoti cola ki bottle.

Trying to make sense of this madness, my mind wandered—kaunsa naya kaand hai yeh? The man in front of me looked like he’d just lost an election and still had to count the ballots. He spoke again, his concern clear: “Baba, kal raat sadak par achanak gir gaye the. Hum log koi vaidya nahi hain. Kal shaam se ab tak aap besudh pade the. Sabne sabhi devtaon se dua ki, ki aap hosh mein aayein. Ab aankhein khol li—Shukr hai, baba!”

I strained to remember what had happened. Blank. “Yeh kahan hai? Hum kahaan jaa rahe hain?”

“For shramdaan, baba. Aap hamare group ke mukhiya ho.”

I sat up so fast the lantern nearly toppled. “Kya? Mazdoori? Zabardasti?” My city brain was still stuck on news flashes of strikes and bandhs. Was I in some alternate Bharat?

After half an hour of grilling him with question after question, the details came together. I was the panchayat head of Rajpur block, reporting to some senior I couldn’t recall. My job? Lead fifty people from the block to build a samadhi. The loyal man next to me was my attendant, Nandu.

Nandu saw my confused face and his worry deepened: “Baba, kuch khana laaun? Bhookh lagi hogi.”

At the mention of food, my stomach roared, reminding me—abhi bhi insaan hoon.

I nodded. Nandu hurried out, his chappals slapping the sticky ground.

He returned soon, holding out two rough, blackened bajre ki rotis—so hard, they could break a window. He held them out with both hands, hesitating, eyes flicking away as he wiped his palms on his kurta before offering them.

I eyed the rotis, raising an eyebrow. “Yeh kya hai?”

“Mixed grain roti, baba. Das din se safar mein hain, sab khatam ho gaya, ration bas khatam hi samjho. Yeh main chupke se aap ke liye bacha ke rakha tha. Kal naya ration mil jayega.”

The rotis were ugly, but the earthy smell was honest. At least not adulterated with plastic or urea, I thought. I broke off a piece and chewed slowly. The first bite was like gnawing a tyre—tough, stubborn. But as I chewed, a rustic bitterness faded into a nutty, almost sweet taste. Suddenly, an image flashed—my mother, rolling rotis by hand in our old kitchen. For a moment, I was home again, warmth and love in the air. I swallowed, blinking back the memory, and cracked a smile: too much of this and I’ll need to see a dentist soon.

Nice for a change, but a lifetime? I’d go mad, yaar.

As I chewed, I caught Nandu watching me, his Adam’s apple bobbing, hunger clear in his eyes.

“Nandu, tu kyun nahi khata?”

He grinned sheepishly, rubbing his stomach. “Baba, aap khao. Mujhe bhookh nahi hai.”

“Kabse nahi khaya?”

He shrugged. “Kya hai na, ek din, do din nahi khaye toh sehat bhi banti hai.”

Bas, I thought, at least I had this system. If nothing else, I could fill a hungry stomach.

I closed my eyes, summoned the system, and chose a Set A and Set C. Frankly, I was just craving that cola—the body felt parched, as if I’d walked through May ki dhoop with no nimbu paani in sight.

I reached out, and—like a magician on Doordarshan—pulled two Tupperware dabbas from thin air. Nandu’s eyes widened, and for a second I thought he’d run out screaming about chamatkars.

Curiosity took over. I opened Set A—aromatic mutton curry, soft aloo gobi, bhindi fry with masala, palak sautéed with sprouts. Set C had fluffy egg bhurji, lauki sabzi, beans, jeera aloo—everything piping hot, with the smell of home ghee. Even the dabba’s plastic felt thick and posh.

“Aao, Nandu, khana shuru karo,” I said, shifting over on the straw mat. A faint jingle of someone’s payal drifted in from outside.

Nandu stared, eyes round as ten-rupee coins, glancing between me and the food. “Baba, yeh khana kahan se aaya?”

Looking at his innocent face, I felt a pang. How to explain? That my new supernatural system was the reason? I just smiled and waved it off.

He kept staring, still stuck in disbelief.

A bit impatient, I said, “Bas, jaldi khao. Aur bhi sawal poochne hain.”

I handed him both dabbas, cracked open the cola for myself, and quietly nibbled my bajra roti. The hiss of cola fizzed in the quiet, like a memory of city life invading the dusty tent.

Nandu clutched the tiffins, hands trembling. “Mutton... white rice... sach mein, baba?”

“Kya dekh raha hai? Kha le!” I said, louder than I meant.

Suddenly, Nandu bowed low, hands folded. “Baba, naukar ko bhi itna izzat dete ho. Bhagwan aapko sukh de!”

I nearly laughed out loud. “Pagal hai kya? Sirf khana hai, lottery nahi! Uth, bhai.”

Still shaking, Nandu pinched a piece of mutton, eyes glistening. “Baba, aap bhi khao...”

I waved him off. “Arre, doctor ne mana kiya oily khana. Tu khayega toh mujhe khushi milegi.”

He looked puzzled.

“You eat, warna dabba wapas le lunga.” I pretended to snatch it. He clutched the box, then gave in, scooping up some rice, eyes closed as if tasting amrit.

No spoons, but here, even ministers eat with their hands.

“Kaisa laga?”

Nandu’s face lit up. “Swarg jaisa hai, baba! Diwali par bhi aisa nahi khaya.”

“Acha laga toh aur le le,” I said, handing over the other box. He gazed at both meals, lost in gratitude.