Reborn In 17th century India with Black Technology

Suriya Nagari, Queensland

In the office of Kalyan Media Works

" I'm sorry, Mr Rajeev, I regret to inform you that your submission has not been accepted "

" Thank you for considering our publication house, and in the future, if you have other works, please do similarly consider us "

Rajeev walked out of the tall three-storey building, dejected, but as soon as he got on the footpath, he cheered up, and his lively temperament soon returned.

He couldn't allow himself to be kicked down because he had too many burdens to bear.

With renewed vigour, he did not let up and travelled from one city to another, submitting his words to various media houses, large and small, but unfortunately, God did not grace him with good luck.

None of the media houses accepted his work.

Finally, he found himself standing before the doors of the last media house left in the Frontier, Heritage Media Trust. It was neither popular nor particularly well-known, a modest publishing company that barely made its presence felt in the industry. Under its banner, it carried only a single Chitrakala, and even that was struggling to stay afloat. Still, for Rajeev, it represented the last flicker of opportunity in an otherwise closing world. In his heart, he knew it wasn't much, but at this point, something was better than nothing.

Like always, he submitted both of his works, one a short story, another a Chitrakala.

Rajeev immediately felt bad after he did so, because the person sitting at the desk and the editor were both the same person. Could he really trust this company? He did not know, but what other choice did he have?

Finally, nearly an hour of wait later, he got the answer.

" I have to say both of your works are quite interesting, Mr Rajeev, although as an adult, they don't interest me at all. From the perspective of children, they seem to be very interesting, especially your drawings. Though they are not as exquisite as some of the professional Chitrakala painters, your drawings have a sense of spirituality that makes the characters look lively and alive "

Hearing these words, words he had never even dreamed of hearing, Rajeev finally looked straight at the middle-aged woman, studying her carefully. This was the first time someone had spoken positively about his work. Until now, every review he had received had been nothing but dismissive: either "it's too childish" or "the drawings aren't good at all."

For the first time, someone had actually recognised his intentions. Yes, his story was simple, but it was meant to be simple. He was writing for his daughter and for all the children her age. And yes, the drawings were far from perfect, he could admit that. They were detached from reality, often crude in form, but that was exactly how he wanted them to be. Only through such drawings, he believed, could he stir wonder in the minds of children and fill them with the beautiful fantasies he so deeply wished for them to carry.

Was he wrong? No, absolutely not.

" Thank you, miss, you don't know how grateful I am for your words "

The woman nodded with a smile after looking at how excited Rajeev was, but her expression turned a little regretful.

Rajeev immediately felt bad.

" However, I am sorry that I cannot accept your work to be included in our magazine "

" Wha-" Rajeev was taken aback, " But Miss, didn't you say that it was good? "

" I did, but the risk is too great "

"Mr. Rajeev, I will not lie to you. If our company were a little bigger, I would have considered your work without hesitation, because I truly believe you hold a lot of potential. But as you can see, we are a small company, and we simply cannot afford to take such risks. Your works are extremely unique. They appeal to my sensibilities, yes, but they may not appeal to everyone else's, and accepting them would be a risk I cannot bear to take."

What else could he say? Looking at the woman's face, he could clearly see her difficulties as well, and Rajeev understood. Yet, the feeling inside him was unbearable. It was as though he had been shown the gates of Heaven, only to be cast down into Hell a moment later.

This rejection hurt him far more than the ten or fifteen he had endured before.

In the end, he could not regain his cheerful attitude, which he always maintained.

He took a public carriage and went home.

As soon as he stepped foot in the hall, his wife came out of the kitchen with an expectant look. Rajeev could only sigh and shake his head. He saw the visible disappointment on his wife's face. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she stopped herself at the last moment and went into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner.

Rajeev stood in place for a while longer until he let out a deep breath and went into his room.

He could understand what his wife wanted to say; it was nothing but to give up his fantasies and to work down to earth on the farm.

' Maybe Dhanya is right, maybe I should really give up, ' Rajeev thought to himself. ' If father were to see me right now, would he laugh at my face? Probably. He did say that I had no skill, now I'm simply proving him right. '

Thinking about back home, his mood continued to worsen. In fact, he was not from a poor family, not from a middle-class family either, but he was from a rich family back in the mainland.

His surname Singhania is quite noble and well known as well. His father, Tejaswi Singhania, was the one who had started his business from a small but well-known restaurant to a restaurant chain spread throughout several states in the north.

He had to break up with his father since he was forcing him to marry the daughter of an agricultural consortium's boss.

He was already in love with Dhanya at that time; he could not imagine himself being with anyone else, so when he proposed that he would marry Dhanya, his father outright rejected him, saying that she was a poor woman born into a low caste family. He did warn him that if he brought up the matter again, he would lock him up in a room and never let him out.

At that moment, Rajeev knew that there was no way his father would change his mind, so he decisively used the pocket money he had saved up, took Dhanya, and emigrated to Surya Nagari. He got married here, had a lovely daughter, worked for a factory, earned some money, bought a plot of land along with what had already been allocated. For anyone, this was a fulfilling life.

But for him, it was empty, it was dull, it was mundane. He wanted to do something special, so he picked up his hobby and passion from school and college, drawing and writing.

He noticed the difference immediately; it felt like his days were much more meaningful and his life was filled with purpose, but this took a toll on his career, as after several warnings, he was removed from his post, and he couldn't even tend to his plot properly.

So a few weeks ago, he had made the decision to hire someone to take care of the field for a few weeks and decisively went to solicit media houses to see if they would be interested in purchasing his work.

And that decision brought him here two weeks later, thinking about the past, sulking in the room like the sad man he was.

Making up the decision in his mind, he got up, took the manuscripts, and threw them into the box where all the old books of his daughter were stacked up.

He remembered his wife telling him to get rid of these, but he didn't want to; these were all memories, his most cherished memories.

As he flipped through the pages of his daughter's scribbling, a smile could not help but appear on his tired face.

Looking at the image of him she had drawn using only three lines, and looking at the drawing of the street dog, which was simply a blob, he couldn't help but chuckle.

He quickly went through the pages in quick succession with his thumb.

This was an unintentional action on his part, but looking at the pages quickly, he caught a sudden inspiration after looking at the drawings that acted as if they were moving.

The inspiration was like a jolt of electricity passing through his body. He sprang up from his bed, went to his table, picked up the pencil, and started to draw simple line stick figure drawings through each page.

He did this for 100 pages straight.

After shaking his hand as it started to pain, and going to the final drawing he made, he put his thumb on the edge of the book and slowly released the tension.

The pages flipped through in quick succession, and he saw it, that drawing he had made had come alive, the stick man picked up the sword and did a swing.

His eyes widened, and his mouth ran dry.

At the corner of his eyes, he saw his short novel and the Chitrakala, and an idea suddenly struck his mind.

' Can I make something similar with my novel as well? '

This thought was like a parasite that appeared in his mind and wouldn't leave him.