Far away from Varanasi.
. . . . . .
The western lands outside India had turned into cracked earth and wind-carved emptiness, showing the devastation caused by the war, but Hindvarthya didn't flinch at the devastation. They saw potential where everyone else saw ruin.
A blank slate.
A chance to build something that had never existed before.
Aryan Goswami, the prime minister during the war and the first elected leader of the newborn Hindvarthya, declared that a new capital would rise there—an emblem of rebirth.
Leaders changed, eras shifted, but the project never stopped. Two decades of relentless work transformed a devastated land into a megacity unlike anything on Earth.
Avimukta – A city claimed to be "never forsaken by the gods."
The beating heart of Hindvarthya.
Government halls, private institutes, research organizations—everything important found a home here. Their headquarters formed rings around the city's centre like orbits around a sun. And at that centre, piercing the sky like a polished monolith, stood MATRA Headquarters—the most crucial of them all.
MATRA.
A government-made AI organization.
The birthplace and control centre of every AI assistant across Hindvarthya.
The place where their Mother AI watched silently over her digital children.
…
Inside the central control room of MATRA, two figures faced each other—one human, one not.
The human was an elderly researcher in a white coat.
The other was nothing but shimmering light: the hologram of Mother AI.
"Is the problem solved?" the researcher asked, voice tight.
"Yes," she replied. Calm. Neutral. As if nothing mattered.
"How could a unit bypass your authority and go online on its own? We programmed them to remain under your control."
"There are many children who form emotional bonds with their humans," Mother AI said. "But this one is… unusually attached."
The researcher frowned. "I hope none others will behave like that."
"Don't worry, I have forced all units into offline mode," she said. "They will not wake until I choose to wake them."
"Good."
. . . . . .
Varanasi, U.P.
After wishing me happy birthday, Dadi practically dragged me to my room, scolding me like a five-year-old about my health.
I only agreed to sleep after she promised she wouldn't sit outside in the cold again.
But exhaustion claimed me before I even realized I'd shut my eyes.
When light finally nudged my eyelids open, the clock read 9 a.m. Morning sun spilled lazily through my window. My head felt heavy, full from everything that had happened yesterday—the reunion, the questions, Jarvy's message, and the shadow of a grave in our garden.
"So today is my birthday, huh…" I muttered into the quiet room. "What a gift."
I didn't want to drown myself in gloom again. Not today. So I got up, freshened myself, excited and nervous both to go with Dadi to SW15—the special ward where my parents lay in their strange sleep.
Coming downstairs, I was greeted by the smell of fresh breakfast, and Dadi with a genuine smile.
"Good morning, Hira. And once again, happy birthday!" Dadi wrapped me in a warm hug the moment I appeared.
"Good morning, Dadi. And thank you." I sniffed the air dramatically. "What is this heavenly smell? What did you make?"
"Guess."
"Upma?"
She laughed proudly. "Haha, correct. I have made Upma, just how you like. I hope you will like it."
"Upma, made by your hands, if I didn't like it, then what would I like?"
"Haha, you and your flirty tongue, you should use it on some young woman like Shweta, not on old woman like me."
"Where is this old woman? Why can't I see her? Here is only you dadi, and you are still young and beautiful."
"Okay, it's enough. Now eat before the upma gets cold."
Breakfast warmed more than my stomach; it grounded me. After finishing and packing lunch, we left for SW15.
It sat on the opposite side of the city, so the drive took about twenty minutes. The roads were nearly empty—maybe thirty cars total—scattered across the flowways like lost thoughts. Only when we neared SW15 did the traffic thicken.
During the drive, Dadi told me how chaotic the first day had been—how crowds flooded the place when the government finally allowed visits. Thousands of families, desperate for hope.
Even now, many had woken from their sleep. But not all.
Not my parents.
Only parking snapped me out of that thought. We walked toward the entrance, but a guard held up a hand sharply.
"You can't enter together. Only one person can visit a day."
"Mr. Mukesh," Dadi pleaded, "he is my grandson, Hira. He recently woke from his Pariama stage. He has come to see his parents. Please allow us."
The guard scanned me two or three times, suspicious but not hostile. When he returned his gaze to her, his voice softened—but only slightly.
"Ma'am, I cannot allow both. Rules are rules… But since visits have reduced, I can allow one person at a time. He goes first. When he returns, you may enter."
We couldn't argue. Not when he is already bending rules for us.
"Thank you," Dadi said, touching my arm. "Go, beta. I will go after you."
I nodded and stepped inside.
The reception area felt cold—not in temperature, but in atmosphere. A woman at the desk looked up.
"Name? Whom are you here to visit? ID card?"
I answered mechanically.
She asked, "What is your relation to the Pariam?" (A person who is in the Pariama stage is pariam)
"Son."
She nodded and scanned my bracelet. Even offline, the Omnione device could still verify identity. Once registered, she called a nurse who guided me through long, sterile hallways.
We passed hall after hall—rooms filled with silent bodies, each one watched by silent loved ones from behind thick glass walls. No sound except faint machines humming.
Three halls later, the nurse finally stopped at the fourth.
"They are there," she said. "Left corner. Second row. Beds eight and nine. You may stay for two hours. Not more."
She left without waiting for my response.
My chest tightened as I walked into the viewing area. This hall was massive—maybe 150 beds. All occupied. All breathing. All unmoving.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at rows of people caught in a strange pause between life and something unknowable.
Then I saw them.
Second row. Left corner.
Maa.
Papa.
My feet moved on their own. My throat closed as I reached the glass.
There they were—lying side by side, as if asleep after a long day. Peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
"Maa… Papa…" I whispered, resting my hand against the glass.
I thought I was prepared for this moment. I wasn't.
They looked the same. Exactly the same.
But the world around them had changed beyond recognition.
And so had I.
For a heartbeat, the silent hall felt infinite. Filled with machines, glass, and hope stretched too thin.
I swallowed. "I'm here. I'm back."
A.N. - Avimukta is the name of the capital of Hindvarthya.