Rebirth of the Indian Chemist.

Thelliyoor Estate – 1711 CE

Kshiraja did not smile when she led us to her workshop.

If Aranyaka was the mind behind House Thelliyoor's influence, then Kshiraja was the muscle, sinew, and meticulous fingers that gave it shape.

Her workshop was an open pavilion built around an ancient mango tree. Vines dangled from its branches, and among them hung gears, pulleys, chain-link segments, and strange cages made of bronze.

"This is the nerve center," she said. "We test all hydraulic concepts here before applying them to river projects."

She handed me a pair of rolled schematics without introduction.

"Find the flaw," she said.

I blinked. "No hello?"

"You're not a guest," she replied. "You're a variable."

I knelt on the mat and studied the scrolls.

One was a dam design meant for floodplains with triple sluice gates. The other was an aqueduct bridge with an unusually tight load-bearing curve.

I pointed at the aqueduct. "This span isn't feasible at that gradient. You'll shear the support columns in monsoon erosion."

"Solution?"

"Widen base, insert support legs deeper, or shift to parabolic arch."

She raised one brow. "You studied under whom?"

I smiled. "Rain, mud, and a goat with high standards."

Stone sneezed loudly from behind a bush. Bhairav tried to muffle a laugh.

Devika whispered, "We're going to die here, aren't we?"

---

For the next two hours, I was bombarded with technical questions.

"What's your system for labor rotation?"

"Double-shift with rotational hydration, fifteen-minute tool breaks every ninety minutes, decentralized oversight using trust anchors."

"Describe your pulley calibration."

"Coir-based counterweight balance, with red-lead-marked gear teeth for early wear detection."

"How do you calculate maximum flood storage against predicted flow rate in premonsoon variation zones?"

"Depends on the river, but I use hybrid volume-velocity ratio mapping with elevation offset buffers."

At one point, even Devika raised an eyebrow.

"He's making up half of that, right?" she asked Bhairav.

Bhairav shrugged. "Sounds smart. Must be real."

---

By late afternoon, Kshiraja finally relented.

She handed me a clay cup of lemon rice and said, "You passed. Barely."

"Is that a compliment?"

"No. But my mother is impressed."

She turned away, but I caught a small smile at the edge of her lips.

---

That evening, we dined in the inner courtyard of the estate.

Lady Aranyaka sat on a sandalwood dais, flanked by scholars and musicians. Kshiraja sat beside her, eyes calm but observant.

The food was exotic—banana flower fritters, jackfruit mash, fish wrapped in banana leaves and roasted in earthen ovens. Bhairav was in heaven. Stone was hand-fed grapes by a bored servant girl who thought he was a magical beast.

"This is a rare moment," Aranyaka said. "All my advisors agree on something. You're dangerous."

I placed down my cup. "Dangerous can mean many things."

"It means you think ahead. That makes you unpredictable. But that also makes you useful."

She leaned forward. "If we ally with you, we face the wrath of both Eravanad's king and the Dutch. But if we don't, we may end up begging for grain in ten years."

I let the silence settle.

"Then let's build together. Roads. Fortresses. Schools. Dams. Futures."

"And what do you ask in return?"

"Land to build the new relay tower. Right at the edge of your southern forest. Access to your paper makers. And engineers. Like her."

Kshiraja blinked.

Aranyaka studied me. "And what if I say no?"

"Then I'll build it further north. And the trade routes will go with it."

She smiled. "You are very young to be this terrifying."

I bowed. "It's the diet."

---

After the feast, I walked alone through the moonlit gardens.

Kshiraja found me by the old stone well.

"You fight with blueprints instead of blades," she said.

"Blades rust. Blueprints endure."

She nodded. "You're arrogant. But effective."

"I could say the same."

"I'd like to see your floodgate up close someday."

"You're welcome to. But only if I can visit this workshop again."

We stood in silence a while.

"I've never met someone who built from memory," she said.

"You've never met someone who remembers two lives."

She looked at me sharply.

I shrugged. "Maybe I'm just strange."

"Good. The world needs strange."

Then she leaned closer, and whispered:

"Marry me, and we change the map together."

I blinked.

"Was that a proposal?"

"No. It was a test. But your reaction was satisfactory."

And just like that, she was gone, vanishing into the shadows like she'd never been there at all.

---

The next morning, we signed a pact.

Velikara and Thelliyoor would co-develop the inland routes.

We would share engineers, signals, paper-making secrets, and surveillance on Dutch movements.

It wasn't a grand empire.

But it was a beginning.

A seed of resistance.

And a slow, quiet war fought with ink and innovation.