Reborn In 17th century India with Black Technology

4th December 1677

Golestan, The Kingdom of Persia

Khosrow dug through the pots and pans in the kitchen and couldn't help but grow desperate. Looking at his 12-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter, both staring at him with those dark, beady eyes, he didn't know what to do. He turned to his wife, hoping she might have an idea, but her gaze, once full of life, now felt dead and empty.

Hunger really pushed his family to the brink of insanity.

Making up his mind, he went to his room and covered himself with the thickest cloth he could cover his whole body with, picked out an old cotton bag, and decisively stepped out of the house.

His wife, who was sitting at the corner as if someone had died, was immediately startled.

"No, husband, come back, it is dangerous, you can't do it, you can't leave me alone," she started to cry, which made the little daughter cry as well. As for the son, although he did not cry, he was almost there as he stood at the door, clenching his mother's clothes with eyes full of fear.

Khosrow smiled bitterly. Of course, he knew that going outside meant death, but what can he do? If he does not do it, his family might starve to death before the kingdom provides any aid. As a man, he couldn't just watch his wife and kids be devoured by hunger alive. Exchanging his life for a lot of food could be considered as him at least fulfilling his responsibility.

Stepping into the street, he looked around and couldn't help but sigh at the empty streets and feel nostalgic for their glorious past.

Putting those thoughts aside, he walked around the street aimlessly, trying to find a household in which everyone had died so that he could have their food.

His luck didn't seem too good, as every house he passed was already occupied. But fortunately, fate wasn't too cruel. A few hours after leaving his home, he found a place that looked abandoned. Still, he hesitated to go in, since the bloodstains splattered across the walls were clearly visible from outside.

Khosrow had come prepared to die, but there was always that small sliver of hope. What if he could survive? If he could find a house without a dead body, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't get infected by the Balkan Death. Maybe he could live.

"If I don't find any other houses by evening, I'll take this one," he said to himself with a grave expression and moved on after remembering the location.

"Here one, here all..."

Khosrow was startled when he heard a person shouting loudly from the next street.

He stopped his actions and carefully listened. Hearing people talk nowadays is rare; everyone stays in their home and does not come out until the food in their home is empty.

When the person said that food was being distributed, Khosrow was immediately startled; there was hope after all. He didn't hesitate anymore and ran to Faisal Plaza as fast as his legs could carry him. He knew the others in the houses had heard the announcement too.

Everyone would be heading to Faisal Plaza, and he didn't want to be late and end up with nothing.

So, despite feeling like his legs were about to give out at any moment, he did not stop and demanded them to run, with his eyes red and his teeth clenched until his gums hurt. In his mind, the only thing that existed was to get food so that his family could survive. Questions he should ask, like is the man saying the truth, what if he comes into contact with the infection where so many people gather, what if riots occur, or the military mistakenly thinks him as a rioter and kills him on the spot.

These are all the questions most of the surviving people have started to ask before doing anything, which has saved them their lives multiple times. But now, being tempted by the food, Khosrow had to temporarily put aside the way of life he had learned for the past year and cling to the ray of hope that is so illusory, yet so tempting and comforting.

Finally getting to the street of the Faisal Plaza, Khosrow could see people running towards one direction. Standing on the sideline, he was momentarily hypnotised, such a scene he hadn't witnessed for more than a year, but he soon came back to his senses. Worry grew in his heart, 'If so many people take the food, can it last?' He didn't know, so he became one of the hundreds of zombies flocking towards the plaza.

While running, he knew that coming into contact with anyone could lead to his death, so he tried his best to keep some distance. Thankfully, everyone else had the same idea as well; they were doing their utmost to not contact anyone and simply moved in their own little pockets towards the plaza.

Of course, Khosrow was thankful he came so early because, despite the footfall, the crowd was still manageable. He felt as if time went on a little longer, the isolation among one another could not be maintained with the increasing crowd.

Getting into the compound of the plaza, there were military personnel holding weapons and looking at each and every one of them with a threatening gaze.

"Everyone will line up, collect your food and get out."

A man roared.

The queue was long, but with the guns of the soldiers threatening to shoot anyone who dared to make trouble, it moved quickly.

Within 10 minutes, Khosrow collected the food and was out of the compound, but thinking about what was in his bag, he was extremely confused.

They were cans, metal cans. How is this food?

He could feel that there was something inside the cans, which was most probably the food, but he was still a little surprised as to who would go through so much trouble to put food into metal containers. Couldn't they just use mud pots, or even better, he could have simply brought over the utensils from his home? Why do they have to package the whole thing, and why do they use metal containers to make it more costly?

The reason why he is grumbling is that he was informed that next time he received the food, he would have to pay for it. Although the cost was not too high, it was even a little cheaper than what he estimated, it is still a lot more costly than normal grain.

Putting aside the useless thoughts in his mind, he ran to his home, but he did not directly go inside. Instead, he locked himself up in the outhouse and called for his wife from the window.

"I don't know if I'm infected, but I will stay here for the next week or so. If the god has some pity on me, I will live."

"Go bring some firewood and throw it into the window. I have some food."

The wife went into the house, covering her mouth and trying her best not to make a sound. Hearing the voice of her husband, her son tried to run out, but she snatched his collar back, pulling him into the house and locking him in a room.

She can't let her husband's efforts go to waste. Picking up the firewood from the storeroom, she threw it into the window of the outhouse and sat on the ground next to it, simply talking with her husband about what had happened since he left this morning, trying to speak as normally as possible.

The husband and wife talked to each other, separated by a wall and separated by life and death, for a long time until Khosrow felt like he had cooked the food enough.

Khosrow took out the four cans that had been burned by charcoal.

"Wife, move away from the window a little bit."

He said, and his wife did so. He quickly came forward and placed the three steaming hot tin cans on the edge of the window and quickly backed away.

"Take it, wife, there is food inside that, quickly feed it to the kids while it is still hot."

He said as he looked at the tin can with curiosity. The person who gave him the cans never said how to open them. He didn't say that it should be heated up as well, but surviving in a plague for a year had taught him that consuming food hot is always safer.

He turned the tin can, and he noticed a tab-like thing. He nudged it upward, and it created a place for his finger to go through. He intuitively understood what had to be done, as he could see that there was a pattern attached to this tab. It felt as if he pulled the tab; the pattern would tear apart and open up the tin.

Bringing his thoughts into action, he did exactly that, and as expected, the tin can was open. He grew excited. He screamed into the house about how to open the tin can and looked at what was inside.

It was some kind of vegetable stew. It was steaming hot. Without hesitation, he brought that tin can to his mouth and took a quick gulp. The vegetable stew was very thick and very hot. It scalded his tongue, but its taste left him wanting for more.

Black residue was left on his lower lip, but he didn't care and went for another bite. 'If only there was roti now,' he thought with some yearning, but still, he was happy, as he hadn't, or rather, his family hadn't, eaten such good food for the last year or even more than that.

He finished the full tin can in a few minutes, after which he let out a big burp and leaned back onto the wall, craving more.

His eyes landed on the bag, where there were still four more tins. He tried to reach for the m, but he stopped midway; he decisively denied himself from thinking any further. This was the food for tomorrow. Even though the people from the military said that the store at the Faisal Plaza would open every day, he was still worried. What if those words were just to comfort people like him, or what if there was a problem with logistics and the food did not come? He couldn't take this risk.

So even though he knew that having only one meal a day was extremely unhealthy, caused malnutrition, it was better than starving to death, and most of all, it was much better than how they had lived for the last year.

The next day, he set off to the plaza, carrying money as well as the empty cans that were told to be returned for a discount.

To his delight, the store was still there. They said that more stores were opened up throughout the city as well, so he quickly lined up, exchanged the old tin cans, and bought as many tin cans as he could. And before he left, he was also given a few weird items, like some sort of a powder which the person said to sprinkle on red hot coal, or a few herbs which apparently reduce the chances of disease spreading if the sick person inhales the steam imbued with the herb, and finally there was even that concoction which is said to stop the spread of the disease after someone having the disease takes it.

Hearing the properties of these magical drugs, Khosrow couldn't help but be amazed at the Bharatiya Empire for finding a way to kill the unkillable plague. Thinking about the food cans, admiration rose up from the bottom of his heart, 'Why can't I be a person of the Bharatiya Empire?' This thought suddenly crossed his mind and wouldn't leave him, ' Maybe after all of this is settled and I am able to live, I will see what the situation is.' He decided in his mind. For now, he will persist, as there is a beacon of hope burning radiantly and resiliently in his heart, unwilling to be extinguished by the hardships of life, especially now when he saw a chance for survival and a better future.