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- Ujjain, Bharat -
- January 4, 1938 -
Aryan sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, pen in hand, eyes steady on the open file before him. Across from him sat Rajnath Mishra, Bharat's Minister of Agriculture—a composed man in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, deep-set eyes, and a voice that always carried clarity, no matter the chaos in the room.
There was no ceremony today. Just work.
Stacks of reports were spread across the table. Pages filled with numbers, maps, handwritten notes from district collectors, and testimonies from village councils. Together, they had spent the last few hours going through them one by one.
Finally, Rajnath set his spectacles down and leaned back with a slow nod.
"It's real," he said, voice low but steady. "Even with some districts still lagging behind in equipment availability, the preliminary data shows almost double the average yield across key crops—wheat, rice, pulses, even some medicinal herbs." He tapped the table. "Some regions have tripled, especially where the irrigation systems were finished before the monsoons."
Aryan didn't speak immediately. He closed the file in front of him and leaned forward, hands clasped.
"And the distribution systems?"
"Improving," Rajnath replied. "Still a few bottlenecks in transport logistics, especially in the hill states. But we're clearing them out. The Prāṇa-powered grain dryers and cold storages in central and western zones have already started reducing post-harvest losses. That alone saved us thousands of tonnes."
Aryan let out a slow breath—not from exhaustion, but relief.
Months ago, when the nationwide green revolution had been rolled out, it had been more than just a plan. It had been a gamble. One that replaced outdated colonial-era practices with alchemically enhanced soil treatments, eco-friendly pest management, and high-yield seeds that grew in harmony with the land rather than against it.
But the real breakthrough hadn't been the tech.
It had been access.
Subsidised tools. Rentable tractors. Training camps for young farmers. Transparent procurement systems. Fixed minimum prices. Mobile advisory units that travelled village to village explaining crop cycles, weather data, and soil health like schoolteachers instead of bureaucrats.
It was messy. It was hard.
But it was working.
"Any major farmer pushback?" Aryan asked, flipping through the summary sheet.
"Not major," Rajnath replied. "A few hesitations early on—some older landowners were skeptical of the Prāṇa fertilizers. Thought it was sorcery or some sort of state trick. But when they saw their neighbours getting better harvests, they changed their minds quickly enough."
Aryan cracked a small smile. "That tends to do the trick."
"And the farm laborers—" Rajnath continued, "—they're benefiting too. Wages have gone up slightly due to better harvests and more consistent demand. Plus, your policy of giving sharecroppers a fixed bonus per yield band? That's earning you real goodwill in rural Bharat."
Aryan nodded. "They deserve it. They've held this land together for generations. It's time the system held them up in return."
Rajnath paused. "I was in a village near Allahabad last week. A young girl—maybe ten, eleven—ran up to our convoy. Gave me a basket of groundnuts and said, 'Tell the Samrat thank you. My father didn't cry this season.'" His voice softened. "That stayed with me."
Aryan looked away for a second, his jaw tightening just slightly.
"I see."
He stood up, walking to the sideboard to pour two glasses of water. Handing one to Rajnath, he asked, "Do we have early projections for the next sowing season?"
Rajnath took the glass with a nod. "Yes. With proper weather and enough support, we could be looking at a 2.5x output increase in key grain belts next year. Medicinal herb exports might rise sharply too—especially amla, ashwagandha, and brahmi. Demand from Europe and Japan is growing."
"And farmer cooperatives?" Aryan asked, sitting back down.
"Growing steadily," Rajnath confirmed. "Over 3,200 active by last month. And with the new digital record-keeping initiative you started, small farmers are finally getting the credit and recognition they need."
Aryan scribbled a note in the margin of his copy. Then paused.
"Let's release an interim report to the public. Let them see the numbers. Not just the success—also the challenges. We'll add a summary of what still needs work and how people can contribute."
Rajnath raised an eyebrow. "You sure? That level of transparency could invite criticism."
Aryan met his gaze. "Let them criticize. It means they care. I'd rather have a country of critics than one of silent sufferers."
Rajnath smiled faintly. "You sound like your mother, Your Majesty."
Aryan nodded slightly with a hint of smile on his lips at that comment. "She taught me well."
They both sat in silence for a while. Not the kind that comes from tiredness—but the one born from shared purpose. No need to fill the room with words when the work itself had spoken loud enough.
Finally, Rajnath stood, gathering his papers. "We'll continue monitoring region by region. But this… this is a turning point."
Aryan nodded. "Let's keep it turning. Slowly, steadily. No shortcuts."
As Rajnath walked out, Aryan remained seated, flipping through the files again. Yield charts. Water maps. Soil condition logs. Letters from farmers. It wasn't glamorous. But it was real. This was the kind of progress that didn't make headlines overseas—but it fed children, lifted debt, ended despair.
And that, to Aryan, was worth more than applause.
He made one final note before closing the file:
"The roots are strong. Now comes the harvest of hearts."
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- Ujjain, Bharat -
- January 5, 1938 -
The morning was quiet, but not idle.
Aryan sat at the smaller conference table in his administrative wing—no crowd, no ceremony. Just open folders, a warm cup of tea, and a sharp-eyed minister seated across from him.
Meenakshi Iyer, Minister of Fisheries, Animal Husbandry, and Dairying, adjusted her shawl as she flipped through the freshly printed booklet Aryan had handed her. In her mid-forties, she was pragmatic—seasoned by decades of fieldwork—and spoke with the clarity of someone who had seen both drought and abundance up close.
Aryan had been in regular discussions with her over the past few months, working on the rollout of new guidelines and technologies powered by Prāṇa fuel to revolutionize the fisheries, livestock, and dairy sectors—just as the Green Revolution was now transforming Bharat's agriculture.
Today's meeting was focused and detailed. They had gathered to discuss the next steps.
"I've gone through your notes, Your Majesty," she said, tapping the booklet. "And if I'm being honest, I'm a little stunned. These designs for temperature-regulated fish storage could solve nearly half our coastal transport losses."
Aryan nodded. "And they're affordable. The core units run on Prāṇa—low maintenance, no emissions, and portable. They won't completely replace ice, but they'll give our fisherfolk breathing room."
He slid another page forward. "Take a look at this. Modified breeding tanks for inland fisheries. Built using compressed bio-rune filters. We can raise native species like rohu and catla all year—even in water-scarce areas."
Meenakshi scanned the diagram. "Honestly, everything is just perfect, Your Majesty. But I'm worried about the cost of all these ne technologies and the training requirements for them."
"Don't worry, I have worked on the budget with the finance ministry. There will be no problem in Subsidising all these things to make it affordable for the people," Aryan said. "Also, many of the guidelines are designed to be scalable. We can also encourage Cooperatives to manage them jointly. Even, many of these tools can be assemble the frames after minimal training by Local blacksmiths and artisans."
She looked up with a faint smile. "You really want to start a Blue Revolution, don't you, Your Majesty?"
Aryan returned the smile. "Not want, Meenakshi. We need it. Our rivers and coasts are underutilized. Fish exports are minimal. More importantly, our fishermen live season to season. Their children deserve more than that. They deserve stability."
She nodded slowly. "You're right. Then let's talk about livestock."
Aryan leaned forward, listening.
"The White Revolution needs more than just milk," she said. "We've made some progress with cooperative dairies, but access to veterinary care is uneven. Breeding practices are outdated in half the states. Disease tracking is still manual and prone to delay."
"I've prepared something for that," Aryan said, handing over a slim device. "This is a prototype for a handheld livestock health scanner. It runs on a low-range Prāṇa cell. Tracks temperature, hydration, and early signs of infection. Data syncs wirelessly to a central hub using rune relays."
She turned it over, impressed.
"And breeding?"
"Improved genetic tracking," Aryan explained. "Non-invasive anklets with rune-coded health data. They monitor lineage, milk output, and dietary needs. The goal isn't just yield—it's building healthier, smarter herds."
Meenakshi placed the device down gently. "What about feedstock?"
"I've already coordinated with the Ministry of Agriculture," Aryan replied. "By summer, we'll have high-nutrition fodder variants tailored for specific breeds. Prāṇa-enhanced compost keeps the soil fertile and the feed clean."
Meenakshi exhaled, her tone softening. "It's a lot to take in. But if this works… it could change everything. Fishers, herders, dairy workers—they've always been seen as secondary. But they're the backbone of rural Bharat."
Aryan nodded, his voice calm and steady. "Exactly. We've spent so long building cities. It's time we remember the hands that feed them."
There was a pause—not awkward, just thoughtful.
Meenakshi nodded firmly. "Alright then. Let's begin."
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