Second Chances | A Teen Fic Dystopian Tale

Chapter 22

Content Warning: Strong language ahead. Translation for the words are given right after the statements. For the sake of your sanity, please do not google the actual statements, its.. very traumatizing.

Maya's POV:

Timeline of Events: early adolescent years of Maya's childhood

The sun, a mischievous artist, splashed molten gold across the dusty desk in front of me. My hand itched to grab a crayon and join its chaotic masterpiece, but Mrs. Sharma's chalk held a different kind of magic. The words dancing on the board, "History of Jamnagar," promised an escape from the humdrum textbook saga.

Silence, as brittle as old parchments, seized the room until my hand flew up like a signal flag. "Jamnagar was part of the Nawanagar princely state, right?" I asked, my voice filled with the excitement of a pioneer discovering a hidden cave. "They built all those cool roads and railways, even had their own industries!"

A spark ignited in Akash's eyes, mirroring mine. "Yeah, like Lakhota Palace," he chimed in, his voice buzzing with a mix of pride and awe. "My grandma says it was fit for a king!"

Dhruv, usually lost in his daydreams, surprised us all. "Actually," he mumbled, fiddling with his pen, "I remember reading about it in my dad's old Times of India clippings. Not all kings were bad guys, you know."

Naina, ever the pragmatist, countered, "But what about the ordinary people? Did they benefit from all this princely wealth?"

Seeing an opportunity to share her viewpoint, Gayatri added, "You may wonder if we benefited from the princely wealth. Yes and no, then. My family fared reasonably well as shopkeepers under Jam Saheb control, in my opinion. The kings made shrewd investments in ports and highways so that we might all benefit and not just themselves so they could collect taxes for their opulence. Overall, we live simple but happy lives for the most of our years."

Everyone listened attentively, their focus shifting to her as she described.

"Yet, pay great attention when I say that the British left, but the royalty remained. Do our daughters still not serve as palace brides, age after generation? Where is the law written that allows an average person to become Prime Minister? But we accept whatever benefits come our way, whether for the better or not.

I ask you: Independence took the crowns. But seats of power rarely stray far from history's shadows, do you see? What dreams wear this country, which is still limited by invisible cliffs?

The debate crackled like static, each viewpoint a spark igniting the next. We speculated, argued, and dreamt up alternate realities for Jamnagar's past. Time blurred, the dusty classroom transformed into a bustling marketplace of ideas.

Mrs. Sharma, the wise merchant in this marketplace, guided the discussion with a gentle touch. She tossed out nuggets of information, like rare jewels, each one sparking a flurry of curiosity. We learned of the last Jam Saheb's role in India's independence, of Jamnagar's transformation from a princely enclave to a modern economic hub, and the triumphs and challenges that came with it.

The bell's jarring clang ripped us from Jamnagar's vibrant tapestry, flinging us back into the humdrum reality of desks and equations. The echoes of Jamnagar's past lingered, tangled with the faint, metallic scent of numbers. What secrets would Math unveil today?