Date: July 7, 2012
Location: New Delhi | Salt Lake | Jadavpur | Parliament Hall | Army HQ
The sun rose quietly over a bruised, breathless India.
And yet, it felt… lighter.
For the first time in years, the capital city did not wake to a command.
It woke to choice.
New Delhi – Parliament Complex – 8:42 AM
They gathered like ghosts from a fading empire.
Members of Parliament—shaken, sunken-eyed, their arrogance wilted—filed slowly through the gates of Sansad Bhavan. Gone were the fanfare, the motorcades, the camera-tamed choreographies. No garlands. No media statements. Only grim-faced men and women walking through corridors still echoing with the chants of thirty crore voices.
The central hall had been repainted just last year. Now, it felt like a museum display of irrelevance.
Speaker Rajendra Tiwari took his seat, hands trembling slightly as he arranged his notes. Beside him sat Chief Whip Kundan Yadav, silent, phone buzzing constantly with alerts, none of them good.
Only 192 members were present.
A full 147 had either resigned, defected, or outright disappeared.
There was no opposition today.
There was no ruling party either.
There was only a hollow.
---
Salt Lake – Nova Headquarters – 9:17 AM
Inside the Civic Dome, Lumen's light was steady, glowing a shade calmer than before—as if the algorithm itself understood serenity.
Rajat Kapoor stood in front of the "People's Index"—a real-time feed aggregating over 3.1 billion civic data points from every Indian state.
A new tab had just gone live.
> Confidence Metric: Parliamentary Trust = 2.8%
> Confidence Metric: People's Panels = 72.4%
Ishita stepped beside him.
"They called a session?"
"Yes."
"Will you go?"
Rajat shook his head slowly. "We're not a party. We're a mirror."
---
Jadavpur – Aritra's Study – 10:03 AM
Aritra sat before the holographic wall, each pane displaying one visual: footage of protests still underway, even as calm began to return. A child giving water to a police constable. A temple preparing langar for everyone, no questions asked. A widow teaching people how to read from the Constitution.
Lumen's voice broke the stillness.
> "The government has issued a press request: they wish to discuss settlement terms."
Aritra smiled faintly.
> "Should I respond?"
He leaned back in the chair, watching the light filter in through the curtain slats, painting streaks on the polished floor.
"No. The people will answer for me."
---
Army Headquarters – 10:45 AM – South Block
A single press statement was issued by the unified command of the Indian Armed Forces.
It was only fifty-eight words long.
> "The Indian military reaffirms its allegiance to the Constitution of India. We shall not act against citizens practicing peaceful protest. We remain guardians of sovereignty—not instruments of fear. No government shall use us to defend corruption. This is not mutiny. This is memory."
The statement was released on every major channel.
But it was OmniLink where it truly resonated.
Within one hour, 94% of surveyed users voted to archive it permanently into the public Civic Record, alongside India's original Constitution.
A new tag appeared beneath it.
> "The Second Oath."
---
Parliament – 11:30 AM
Back inside Sansad Bhavan, debates had broken down into farce.
Some MPs shouted, demanding Nova be declared an illegal "digital occupation."
Others begged for time.
One minister, desperate, raised his voice.
> "What do they want? Do they want all of us gone? Is that democracy?"
From the gallery, a voice answered, clear and steady.
A woman stood. Civilian, not MP. A civic law professor.
> "No. That is accountability. Something you promised when we voted for you."
Silence.
Then someone clapped.
Then a dozen.
Then the whole gallery.
---
OmniLink Broadcast – 12:01 PM – National Transmission
A soft notification tone buzzed across all devices.
The feed faded in—not to Aritra's face, but a series of short clips.
Children holding hands around their village school.
A Muslim craftsman repairing a Hindu idol.
A policewoman dancing with protesters on duty break.
No narration.
Only text.
> "This is India. You don't need to believe us. Just remember yourselves."
Then Aritra's voice, soft and simple:
> "This movement has no crown. No flag. No end date. Only you."
The screen faded to white.
> "July 7. The day we became the nation again."