Moropant said grimly,
"Look at his clothes. Who knows who he really is or where he comes from? What if he belongs to the British… or worse, what if he is their enemy sent in disguise?"
Mannu thought for a moment and replied calmly,
"That may be possible. But does that mean we should stop helping people just because of suspicion?"
Hearing this, Moropant let out a slow breath and said,
"Our dharma was to protect his life, and we have done that. What happens next will be as God wills."
At that moment, Aarav walked out slowly and said,
"Please don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."
Mannu asked immediately,
"But where will you go? Come with us. Our Dada Saheb will surely help you."
Aarav asked in confusion,
"Dada Saheb?"
Realizing her mistake, Mannu quickly corrected herself,
"I mean… the Maharaj of Bithur, Peshwa Bajirao."
Hearing this, Aarav thought to himself,
Just as I suspected… this is an ancient era. But exactly which time period? I need to confirm that.
Seeing Aarav lost in thought, Mannu assumed he had agreed. She looked at Moropant and asked softly,
"Baba, did I do the right thing?"
Moropant placed his hand on her head and said gently,
"You did absolutely right. This is dharma."
---
After some time, the three of them left together and reached a bullock cart, where a few of Mannu's friends were already waiting.
Her friends asked,
"When will you come back again?"
Mannu smiled and replied,
"Where would I go? This is my home."
Soon, the bullock carts began moving.
Aarav was seated in the same cart as Moropant and Mannikarnika. He looked at Mannu and said,
"We haven't properly introduced ourselves yet. May I know the names of the people who helped me?"
Mannu looked at her father. When Moropant nodded, she said,
"My name is Mannikarnika Tambe, and this is my father, Moropant Tambe."
The moment Aarav heard that name, his heart skipped a beat.
Mannikarnika…
A legendary name from history surfaced in his mind—Rani Lakshmibai, one of the most renowned figures in Indian history.
Yet Aarav quickly dismissed the thought.
No… this can't be my world's past. This must be a parallel fantasy world—one that closely resembles ancient India. It could all be a coincidence.
Just then, suddenly, all the bullock carts came to a halt.
Moropant asked the driver sharply,
"What happened?"
The driver replied hesitantly,
"British soldiers…"
Hearing this, Moropant said in anger,
"These British will devour our land like a disease, tearing it apart piece by piece."
Aarav asked in confusion,
"British… soldiers?"
Mannikarnika looked at him and asked,
"Do you remember anything about them?"
Aarav shook his head.
Mannikarnika explained,
"Think of them as outsiders. They are not from our land. They come here and slowly seize our soil. They call themselves the East India Company."
At that moment, realization struck Aarav like lightning.
This wasn't a coincidence.
He wasn't just in another world—
He was in a world set in an era eerily similar to the British period.
And whatever force had brought him here…
It had done so with purpose.
A British soldier stepped forward and stood right beside the bullock cart. His rifle rested casually on his shoulder as he spoke in broken Hindi, his tone arrogant.
"You cannot pass without paying toll tax. First pay the tax."
Hearing this, Aarav muttered under his breath,
"Wow… even bandits are better than these people."
His eyes drifted toward the British soldiers who had turned that place into their camp. Laughter echoed in the air. They were having a barbecue party as if this land belonged to them. Nearby, a few Indian laborers worked at the checkpoint, treated little better than animals—shouted at, pushed around, and humiliated.
Moropant did not want any trouble. With a heavy heart, he paid the demanded tax, signaling the driver to move forward quietly.
Mannu's fists were clenched.
She said nothing—but Aarav could clearly see the fire burning in her eyes.
At that moment, something subtle yet unmistakable washed over Aarav.
A protagonist's aura.
It was faint, restrained, but undeniable.
Aarav was now certain—
She was the protagonist of this world.
Yet confusion gnawed at him.
Then why am I here?
This world doesn't feel like a destroyed fragment… nor does it seem unstable.
So why did the World send me here?
---
After some time, they stopped at a village to rest.
As night settled in, Aarav tried to use his powers.
Nothing happened.
No response. No resonance.
His expression stiffened.
"So this is how it is…" he murmured inwardly.
"There's no divine energy, no dark energy, no mana—or if it exists, it's so thin that it's practically useless."
Just like some of his previous partner lives, this was a normal world.
No supernatural powers.
No fantasy laws bending to his will.
Only history… raw and unforgiving.
The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Just then—
In the darkness, Aarav noticed a figure passing by, cloaked in black.
His instincts sharpened instantly.
Without making a sound, Aarav followed.
For nearly an hour, they walked through shadows and narrow paths until the figure finally reached a familiar place—
The same British checkpoint where toll had been collected earlier.
Aarav's eyes narrowed.
The black-cloaked figure slipped closer to the camp. Soon, more figures emerged—men and women alike, all dressed in black.
Aarav watched silently from a distance.
They moved like ghosts.
In moments, they stormed the checkpoint, stealing grain, wealth, and supplies. Before the British soldiers could properly react, flames erupted.
Fire swallowed the checkpoint.
Cries echoed in the night.
And just like that, the black-cloaked figures vanished—leaving destruction behind.
Aarav didn't need to think hard.
He already knew.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"So that's how it is…"
He was certain now.
The person in black was none other than Mannikarnika herself.
And the others were revolutionaries who stood with her—stealing from the British and redistributing to the poor.
The Robin Hood of this era.
Thinking this, Aarav let out a soft chuckle.
"To witness history this closely… this is far more interesting than I imagined."
With that, he quietly turned back toward the village—
his mind already racing with possibilities.
This world might not have magic.
But it had legends in the making.
The smell of burning wood and gunpowder still lingered in the air.
Mannikarnika had tied every British soldier to the wooden pillars of their own outpost. The sound of lashes had echoed across the barren ground, sharp and merciless. And when the punishment was done, she had set their entire checkpoint ablaze. Flames devoured the structure as if the fire itself carried her fury.
Hours later, a British troop arrived at the ruined site.
Their commander, Nelson, dismounted his horse slowly, his boots crunching against the blackened debris. His sharp eyes scanned the charred remains, the smoke still rising lazily into the sky.
His jaw tightened.
"Who did this?" he roared, his voice cutting through the silence. "Find them. I want every single one of them brought before me."
The soldiers stiffened. The hunt had begun.
---
The next day, after hours of travel, Aarav and the others finally reached Bithur.
Bithur was under the nominal rule of Peshwa Baji Rao II. Though the territory officially fell under British control after the war with the Marathas, the British had handed administration to the Peshwa—only to keep him confined here like a ruler without power. He held authority in name, but not in strength.
As soon as Mannikarnika's caravan halted, she leapt out of the bullock cart without a second's hesitation and ran straight toward the akhada.
Aarav stepped down more slowly, confusion written across his face.
"What happened to her?" he asked, glancing at Moropant.
Moropant chuckled. "Go see for yourself."
They followed her.
The akhada was alive with the clash of steel. Nearly a hundred men practiced swordsmanship, their blades flashing under the sun. Among them stood two figures at the center — one around thirty years old, composed and commanding, and the other a young prince, close to Aarav's age.
Moropant spoke with pride. "That is Nana Saheb, the prince of Bithur. And the one guiding him is Tatya Tope — his guru and the commander of Bithur's forces."
Tatya disarmed Nana Saheb with a swift maneuver and nodded approvingly. "You are becoming a capable swordsman, Prince. Soon, you will master this art."
At that very moment, a figure clad in saffron stepped into the arena.
The newcomer raised a sword, silently issuing a challenge.
Aarav's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile forming on his lips.
The legendary Queen of Jhansi.
Tatya accepted without hesitation.
The two stepped into the circle.
Steel met steel.
Their blades collided in a sharp arc, sparks flying as they tested each other's strength. Tatya lunged forward with a diagonal strike, aiming for her shoulder, but she pivoted gracefully, her feet gliding across the sand. Her counter came low and swift, forcing Tatya to retreat two steps.
The crowd began to gather.
Tatya shifted his stance and attacked in a rapid sequence — three consecutive strikes aimed at her upper guard. She blocked the first, deflected the second, and spun under the third, her braid whipping through the air as her blade swept toward his flank.
Tatya barely managed to parry.
Their swords locked for a moment, faces inches apart, before they broke apart again.
Tatya attempted a feint, lowering his blade before abruptly redirecting it toward her wrist. But Mannikarnika anticipated the move. She twisted her grip, trapped his sword with hers, and with a swift rotational movement of her body, disarmed him.
Tatya's sword fell into the sand.
Silence.
Then applause erupted.
Mannikarnika removed the cloth covering her face and smiled. "Well, Tatya Guru, what do you say about my skill now?"
Tatya rose, brushing sand off his attire, a light laugh escaping him. "There is none more proficient than you in swordsmanship."
Nana Saheb grinned mischievously. " Tatya Guru, you were praising me just moments ago."
Tatya found himself without an answer, and both Mannu and Nana burst into laughter.
Around Aarav, whispers spread.
"I thought it was a skilled young warrior…"
"It's a girl?"
"A woman with such mastery?"
Moropant straightened his chest proudly. "Why wouldn't she be skilled? She is my daughter."
Soon, Moropant and Aarav stepped closer.
Moropant scolded lightly, "Child, when one arrives after a journey, one rests first — not jumps into an arena."
Tatya laughed softly. "Our Mannu is no ordinary girl. Her nature cannot be ordinary either."
Then his gaze shifted to Aarav. "Who is this young man?"
Aarav folded his hands. "Namaste. My name is Aarav Shastri."
Moropant explained that the boy remembered nothing except his name, and Mannu had brought him for help.
Tatya studied him carefully. "Do you know the art of war?"
Aarav blinked innocently. "War? What is that?"
Tatya sighed.
"Very well. We begin with swordsmanship."
Mannu handed Aarav a sword.
The moment he grabbed it, he bent slightly as if its weight overwhelmed him. Laughter rippled through the crowd. He awkwardly gripped it with both hands.
Tatya pointed toward a training dummy. "Strike it with all your strength."
Aarav walked forward, raised the sword high — but just as it neared the dummy, he stopped and gently tapped it instead.
"Strike it!" Tatya snapped.
Aarav inhaled deeply and swung again.
The blade collided with the dummy — and instantly slipped from his hands, flying off and landing near a startled soldier.
Tatya placed a hand on his forehead.
Nana Saheb chuckled. "Tatya Guru, he is the exact opposite of Mannu."
Tatya sighed again. "Fine. We try horse riding."
Aarav failed to mount properly.
They moved to spear throwing. The spear barely traveled a meter.
Tatya tried different drills — stance correction, grip practice, footwork. Nothing worked.
Finally, he placed a firm hand on Aarav's shoulder. "This is not for you."
With that, he walked away.
Aarav scratched his head and glanced at Moropant.
Moropant looked at Mannikarnika — a warrior who could defeat seasoned fighters — and then at this boy who seemed utterly incapable.
The contrast was almost absurd.
---
Later, Moropant and Mannu returned home.
At the entrance stood a widow, glaring at Mannu in anger.
But Mannu simply smiled and hugged her. "Aayi.(Mother)"
The woman's voice was stern. "How many times have I told you? Warfare is for men. A woman's duty is the household."
Just then, Aarav appeared behind them.
Since Tatya had given up, Moropant now intended to present Aarav before the Maharaj.
Aarav scratched his head and slowly turned to leave.
"Stop," the woman said sharply. "Who are you?"
Aarav froze, then turned around awkwardly. "I… I came to learn household work."
Mannu burst into laughter. Even Moropant struggled to contain himself.
The woman stared at him. "What nonsense is this? How can a man do household work?"
Aarav tilted his head in confusion. "Do men not cook in the palace? Do they not tend plants or manage tasks? Or do only women work there?"
For a moment, she was speechless.
Then she replied firmly, "Such tasks do not suit a man. A man belongs in the battlefield, not by the hearth."
And Aarav stood there, eyes calm — far calmer than a helpless boy should be.
Because behind that clumsy act…
Something else was watching.