Chapter 7: Dreams and Dacoits

But a nagging unease kept me up at night.

I dreamed of chaos—city walls under siege, rivers of blood. I woke drenched in sweat, heart pounding.

Chunni, always alert, saw me and asked softly, “Baba, tabiyat theek hai?”

I forced a smile. “Bas, bura sapna tha, beta.”

Checking my system, I saw a new black line. Curious, I swiped up.

Set D: random instant noodles with egg and sausage.

Set E: do glucose biscuit packs, ek Bisleri bottle.

Instant noodles and glucose biscuits! In this era, these were devta ka prasad.

Was I meant to be some raja?

Chunni noticed my frown. “Kya hua, baba?”

I snapped out, handed her an E set. “Try this.”

She sniffed the biscuits. I opened the Bisleri, took a sip. “Cake hai, tumhare jangli cake jaise.”

She nibbled, eyes lighting up. Sweetness she’d never known. In her world, salt was luxury—biscuits, a miracle.

She closed her eyes, blissful. I cautioned, “Zyada mat khana.”

She stashed the rest, offering me one. I smiled, almost emotional. “Not what I meant. Rakh le, bas dheere-dheere. Biscuits heavy hain.”

She grinned. “Baba, yeh khana devlok se hai kya?”

I teased, “Bilkul! Ek khaya toh 47 hazaar saal zinda rahoge!”

She giggled, holding the biscuit like a gem.

Sleep, I thought, let her keep her magic. What’s a small lie among so many burdens?

Morning brought trouble. Nandu rushed in, breathless. “Baba, daku ghus aaye!”

I froze. “Roadblocks nahi the?”

He wiped his brow. “Sab traps pata the unko.”

“Casualties?”

“Nahi, leader milna chahta hai.”

As a city boy in old Bharat, dacoits were nightmares. But I had no choice.

I stepped out. Ragged, hungry men stared back. Their leader, a burly man, stepped forward. “Baba, bhookh lagi hai. Khana de do, shanti se chale jayenge. Nahi toh...”

He drew his sword, but his hands shook. They looked more desperate than dangerous.

Still, I had to show strength.

“Accha, arm wrestling karo Nandu se. Jeet gaye toh khana le jao. Nahi toh, nikal jao.”

He agreed. Nandu, now burly from meat, stripped his shirt, flexed. The old soldier looked like a gust would topple him.

Nandu broke a bamboo stick—crack! The old man tried, failed, looked sheepish.

The leader insisted, “Main bhi koshish karunga.”

I rolled up my sleeve. As I did, his eyes fell on the tiger token at my waist. He gasped, sword raised. “Yeh token kahan se aaya? Sach batao, nahi toh kaat dalunga!”

“Dost ka diya hai,” I replied, calling Ramesh.

The leader asked, “Tu kaun hai?”

“Ramesh.”

His face changed. “Ramakant tumhare kya lagte hain?”

“Pitaji.”

At this, the leader collapsed, weeping. “Baba, aap mil gaye!”

“Tum log cavalry ho?”

“Haan, Mahavir Singh, dusre ghatak ke captain. Raja ne hum par vishwas nahi kiya, rations nahi mile. Raja humse darta tha, isliye humein bhi nikal diya. Commander marne se pehle bola—baba ko dhundo, tabhi bachenge.”

I was cautious. “Ramesh ko pehchana kyun nahi?”

“Chote the jab dekha tha. Ab mota ho gaya hai!”

Everyone laughed—a little relief.

Mahavir Singh bowed low, hands folded. “Baba, aapka saath zindagi bhar.”

His hundred men bowed too. My head throbbed. Destiny was steering me somewhere I hadn’t planned.

Sigh. Kya karein? Dekha jayega.

“Pehle khana khao. Bhookh se mat maro.”

Eyes brightened. Two A sets each, everyone queued, smiles returning.

Mahavir Singh opened his box, hands trembling. Mutton curry, lauki, aloo, beans, rice—the aroma alone could make a man cry. He looked at me, gratitude shining in his eyes, and as Mahavir Singh’s men devoured their first real meal in weeks, I realized—this cave wasn’t just a shelter anymore. It was the beginning of something bigger.