"Varun's week in Kolkata became a crucible of planning and contemplation.
He spent countless hours immersed in the library's archives, deciphering the intricate geopolitical landscape of 1945 India, and formulating strategies to unite the nation's diverse communities.
He meticulously mapped out his next steps, considering the delicate balance of power between the British Raj, the rising Muslim League, and the burgeoning independence movement.
He envisioned a future where India, free from internal strife and external manipulation, could stand as a beacon of unity and harmony.
Throughout this period, Daivik remained largely silent, his processing power dedicated to a far more complex and urgent task: analyzing the space-time portal that had transported them to this era.
The portal's sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance remained a mystery, a puzzle that Daivik was determined to solve.
Though he had been in a passive state during the journey, he had still perceived the energy signatures that swirled within the portal, a chaotic symphony of spacetime distortions.
Daivik, lacking physical sensors of its own, relied on Varun's own sensory input to gather data.
Every flicker of light, every tremor in the air, every subtle shift in the gravitational field was registered and relayed to Daivik's neural network.
This constant influx of sensory information, coupled with the complex calculations required to analyze the portal's energy signature, demanded a significant amount of processing power.
To conserve energy, Daivik minimized its interactions with Varun, focusing its computational resources on the portal analysis.
The neural link, which facilitated communication and data transfer between Varun and Daivik, drew its power from Varun's own brain activity.
Daivik understood that prolonged periods of high activity could strain Varun's cognitive functions, so it operated with utmost efficiency, prioritizing the analysis of the portal's energy patterns.
Varun, understanding the importance of Daivik's task, allowed the AI to work undisturbed.
He trusted that Daivik, with its vast computational power and analytical prowess, would unravel the secrets of the portal, providing them with a means to understand their predicament and perhaps even find a way back to their own time.
He knew that the answers they sought lay hidden within the swirling eddies of spacetime, and he was willing to wait, to allow Daivik to work its digital magic."
With his roadmap meticulously outlined and his grand vision for India's future firmly etched in his mind, Varun instructed Daivik to store the entire plan within its database.
Once the digital blueprint was safely secured, he carefully burned the physical sketches and notes to ashes, erasing any trace of his intentions from the physical realm.
He then sought out the merchant, his expression a mixture of impatience and resolve.
'When will the materials arrive?' he inquired, his voice laced with a subtle urgency.
The merchant, his brow furrowed in thought, replied, 'It will take approximately seven to ten more days, sir.
Transporting such a large quantity of materials, especially the rare metals, requires the use of ships.
The journey, along the rivers and through the delta, is time-consuming.'
Varun, his gaze unwavering, countered, 'The materials will be delivered to the village, not here.
The logistics of this transport are your responsibility. I trust you will find a way.'
The merchant, his eyes widening slightly, nodded in acquiescence.
He understood that Varun's request was not a suggestion, but a command. 'Of course, sir. We will make the necessary arrangements.'
Varun, his mind already turning towards the village and the work that awaited him there, prepared to depart.
He had spent far too much time in Kolkata, immersed in politics and planning.
The village, with its simpler rhythms and its growing dependence on his knowledge, beckoned him back.
He had a 3D printer to rebuild, a community to empower, and a future to shape. He could not afford to linger any longer.
Just as Varun was preparing to join the merchant's caravan for his return journey to the village, a shadow fell over his plans.
The British government in Kolkata, the governor of bengal the Viseroy.
Alerted by the whispers and rumors that had spread like wildfire through the city's bazaars, had finally taken notice of him.
The incident in the town bazaar, where Varun had displayed his extraordinary strength, had not gone unnoticed.
It was a spectacle that defied explanation, a feat that lingered in the minds of those who witnessed it.
The tiger bones and deerskin he had gambled with, further evidence of his unnatural abilities, had only fueled the growing curiosity and unease.
For an entire week, while Varun was engrossed in his research and planning, British intelligence had been secretly investigating him.
They had meticulously gathered information, piecing together the fragments of his actions, his interactions with the villagers, and his presence in the gambling den.
The confirmation of his incredible strength, combined with the strange materials he possessed, had triggered alarm bells within the colonial administration.
Viseroy saw Varun not as a mere curiosity, but as a potential weapon, a source of power that could tip the scales of global dominance.
They believed that by capturing him, by unlocking the secrets behind his supernatural strength, they could gain an advantage in the waning days of World War II, ensuring Britain's continued supremacy.
He also hid this news from the British Royalty in Britain, so that he could monopolize or have the priority to it.
His ambition, fueled by a desire to maintain the british imperial power, mirrored the future aspirations of America.
They envisioned a world where British might reigned supreme, a world where their technological and physical superiority would ensure their dominance.
And so, as Varun prepared to depart, a trap was being laid. British agents, disguised as ordinary citizens, were strategically positioned along his route, some even infiltrated his caravan,
while carrying potent poison and anesthesia, chlorofoam ready.
Their orders clear: capture the stranger, by any means necessary.
----- Gosaba Village -----
Unbeknownst to Varun, as he prepared to depart Kolkata, a horrific scene unfolded in the village of Gosaba.
Far from the city's bustling streets and political intrigue, the quiet village was being consumed by violence.
A contingent of the Muslim League, their faces masked by rage and a thirst for vengeance, had descended upon Gosaba.
Their weapons, a chilling mix of firearms and traditional talwars, gleamed in the harsh light of the midday sun.
They moved with a ruthless efficiency, their objective clear: to avenge the deaths of the Tehsildar and his nephew, the miya.
Their target, however, was not the village itself but a specific individual: Kajal.
News of Kajal's marriage to Varun, the 'tiger hunter,' had reached their ears.
They saw her as a symbol of Varun's power, a vulnerable point they could exploit.
To them, she was not just a village girl, but a prize to be taken, a means to draw Varun into their grasp.
The massacre began with brutal efficiency.
The League members, their voices echoing with cries of 'Allahu Akbar,' stormed through the village, their weapons leaving a trail of terror.
Villagers, caught unprepared, were cut down, their screams lost in the chaos.
Homes were ransacked, and any resistance was met with swift and violent reprisal.
Kajal, realizing that she was the primary target of their wrath, attempted to flee, but she was quickly cornered.
The League members, their eyes burning with hatred, surrounded her, their weapons raised.
They were determined to make her pay for the deaths of their leaders, to make Varun suffer for his defiance.
What very few knew, however, was the true extent of the League's fury.
The Tehsildar and the miya, far from being mere local officials, were descendants of a once-powerful branch of the Bengal royal family.
Their lineage, though diminished, still held significant sway within certain circles of the League.
Their deaths were not just a matter of local justice, but a direct affront to their royal bloodline, a challenge that demanded a brutal and decisive response.
The massacre was not simply an act of revenge, but a reclaiming of power, a bloody assertion of their lost authority.