The echoes of the Rajasthan strike had not yet faded when Deepak turned to something far closer to his heart: water.
For all the futuristic energy, medicines, and machines he had unleashed upon the world, he had never forgotten the simplest truth his mother had drilled into him as a child in Unnao: "No life without water."
And Lucknow, sprawling, thirsty, and overburdened, was drowning not in excess but in scarcity and poison.
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Ananya's Father's Worry
The idea had taken seed during a quiet conversation with Ananya's father, Justice Raghav Mehra, on the private island.
The elder man, more comfortable with books than technology, had confessed one evening while sipping chai under the palm trees:
> "Beta, I see what you're building. You're changing nations. But when I drive from Lucknow to the High Court, I see children drinking from drains, women carrying pots for miles. If you want to gift me something before you marry Ananya, don't bring diamonds or cars. Bring them clean water."
The words had struck Deepak deeper than he admitted.
So when he returned to India, he called in Sanjeev Rawat and Arjun Rao.
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The Plan
In the newly expanded Shakti Headquarters, the two CEOs listened as Deepak outlined his vision.
> "I don't want borewells or tankers. That's patchwork. I want a permanent system, scalable across every Indian city. A solution no one can poison, no one can corrupt."
Arjun Rao, heading Shakti's advanced research arm, leaned forward.
> "Then we bring out the atomic painters."
These were experimental nanotech systems—machines that could decompose toxic molecules atom by atom and repaint them into harmless configurations. Originally designed for river cleanup, they could be miniaturized into massive water purification grids.
Sanjeev Rawat tapped his tablet, running quick models.
> "We can build a plant outside Lucknow. Solar-fed, self-sustaining, AI-managed. Capacity for a city of five million. And no maintenance beyond nanite replacement every six months."
Deepak's eyes softened. "Make it so."
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The Inauguration
On a warm September morning, the citizens of Lucknow gathered near the Gomti River. Banners fluttered, children waved tiny tricolors, and curious crowds pressed against barricades.
A massive dome-like structure rose near the riverbank, humming with quiet energy. Its design was elegant—gleaming white with lotus-shaped spires, symbolizing purity. Inside, billions of nanites pulsed like fireflies, ready to rewrite water itself.
Justice Mehra stood beside the machine, hand trembling as he placed a ceremonial garland over its entrance.
Sanjeev Rawat, acting as spokesperson, addressed the crowd:
> "This is the gift of Prithvi Energy and Shakti Corporations to the people of Lucknow. From today, your children will drink water as pure as the Himalayan springs. Forever free."
Cheers erupted.
Then came the moment of proof. A rusty bucket of Gomti water—green, foul-smelling, thick with chemicals—was poured into the intake. Within seconds, clear liquid gushed from the output tap into crystal glasses.
An old woman, her hands shaking, lifted the first glass. She drank, paused, and wept.
> "Pehli baar… asli paani." (For the first time… real water.)
The crowd roared. Men embraced, children danced, and women broke into folk songs. For them, this wasn't technology. It was miracle.
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The Invisible Layer
What the public didn't know was that the plant carried defensive layers far beyond purification.
Arya's AI monitored every drop for contamination, every pipe for sabotage.
Sensors embedded in the dome could detect even trace explosives or toxins.
If tampered with, the entire system would go into quantum-lockdown, rendering it impenetrable.
Deepak had seen too many enemies already—oil cartels, pharma giants, terrorists. He would not let water, the foundation of life, be weaponized against his people.
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Media Frenzy
News channels erupted that evening.
NDTV declared: "India's first self-sustaining water purification plant opens in Lucknow—free for all citizens."
The Hindu wrote: "A technological leap that could end water poverty across the subcontinent."
In Pakistan, anchors mocked it as "Indian propaganda," until viral videos of villagers drinking pure water shut down the debate.
In Africa, leaders sent urgent cables to New Delhi: Could we have this too?
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The Shadow of Enemies
But while the common people celebrated, the world's boardrooms turned grim.
For oil barons, Deepak had killed demand.
For pharma giants, he had destroyed profits.
Now, for bottled water empires and corporations selling purification devices, he had erased billions in market value.
In a Manhattan high-rise, the CEO of a global water-tech company threw a glass against the wall.
> "He's not just building. He's erasing industries. He's erasing us."
And across the world, dossiers marked with Deepak's companies grew thicker, red stamps screaming: HIGH THREAT PRIORITY.
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The Quiet Moment
Later that night, away from cameras, Justice Mehra stood on the riverbank. The Gomti shimmered faintly under moonlight, its foul smell slowly fading as upstream purification grids hummed alive.
He turned to Deepak, who had stayed in the shadows.
> "You've given me something no father could have asked for. You've given me peace."
Deepak only smiled faintly. For him, this was just the beginning. Lucknow was the first city. Soon, Unnao. Then Kanpur. Then every river, every tap.
For the first time, India would not thirst.
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