(August 21–September 10, 2015)
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I. The Trial Begins
The morning of August 21 was heavy with humidity, the kind that clung to the skin even before sunrise. Inside the nearly completed assembly hangar, silence hung like a held breath.
At the center of the cavernous hall rested a half-assembled shield section of the tunnel boring machine. A massive circular plate, twelve meters in diameter, bristling with cutting heads shaped like teeth. Behind it stretched skeletal frameworks that would one day extend into a machine longer than a football field.
Arjun Rao stood with a group of engineers at the control console. His face was unreadable, but his fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the panel, as though keeping rhythm with a tune only he could hear.
"Today we test rotation," he said in crisp Hindi. "Not full power. Just alignment."
The engineers nodded nervously. They had built heavy machinery before, but never anything like this. This was not a crude mining rig or railway drill. Every bolt had been machined to microscopic tolerances. Every circuit board gleamed with alien precision.
When the signal was given, a low hum filled the hangar. The great circular shield shuddered, then began to rotate. Slow at first—so slow the workers held their breath—then smoother, smoother still, until it spun with a steady, hypnotic motion.
And then came the sparks.
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II. Sparks That Weren't Sparks
At first they looked ordinary: small bursts of orange at the friction points, tiny flares leaping off the steel. But soon, the workers noticed something strange.
The sparks didn't fall.
Instead of dropping to the ground as they should, they lingered in the air, drifting sideways as if caught in a current invisible to everyone else. Some clustered together, merging into glowing filaments that writhed like fireflies.
One mechanic, Sandeep Verma, stepped closer, squinting.
"Sir," he called to the supervisor, "the sparks… they're not cooling."
Indeed, minutes passed, and still the tiny flares glowed, hovering mid-air, moving almost deliberately before vanishing one by one.
The supervisor barked, "Back to your station! Don't question the machines."
But Sandeep could not stop staring.
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III. Arjun's Observation
From the control platform, Arjun Rao watched everything, eyes narrowing slightly. He made no move to stop the test.
"Rotation stable. Friction negligible," he said calmly.
One of the senior engineers hesitated. "Sir, the sparks—"
"They are not sparks," Arjun interrupted, voice clipped. "Do not record them as such. Log it as luminescent discharge. Continue."
The engineers exchanged glances. None dared argue.
But in Arjun's mind, a calculation ticked forward.
Residual quantum resonance… even in partial operation. The system is adapting faster than expected.
His lips curved in the faintest trace of a smile.
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IV. Side POV – Sandeep Verma
That night, in the cramped dormitory provided for workers, Sandeep could not sleep.
He took out his phone, opened the notes app, and typed in hurried English-Hindi mix:
Aug 21 – Sparks behaved wrong. Not fall down. They move like birds in sky. Like something living. When I close eyes, I can still see them.
Other men laugh at me. Say it was light trick. But I know welding sparks. I know grinding sparks. These were not that. These had… direction.
He stared at the glowing screen, then typed one last line:
If these machines go under our cities, what else will they wake up?
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V. The Engineers' Dilemma
By August 25, the test had progressed to power coupling. Thick cables carried current into the TBM's control core. The engineers expected overheating, perhaps blown fuses.
Instead, the opposite happened.
The instruments showed negative resistance—as though the machine was feeding power back into the grid. Lights across the hangar flickered, then grew brighter, steadier.
"This is impossible," one engineer whispered. "It's… generating?"
Another leaned closer to Arjun. "Sir, we should stop. This violates conservation—"
"Continue," Arjun ordered. His tone brooked no argument.
Behind him, the sparks appeared again. This time, they didn't just float—they moved toward the shield section, spiraling around it, tracing strange geometric arcs in the air.
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VI. Rumors Spread
By September 1st, whispers had spread among the workforce.
"Have you seen it?" one welder asked another over chai. "The light that dances?"
"Yes," the other replied grimly. "My cousin says it is ghost-fire. A bad omen."
Some said the factory was cursed. Others believed it was military tech, too secret to be named. A few claimed that the lights formed patterns—like script in a language no one could read.
Sandeep said nothing, but he knew one thing for certain: those sparks were not random.
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VII. A Visit from Above
On September 5th, government officials arrived unannounced. Their black SUVs rolled through the gates, and men in suits stepped out, their shoes crunching on gravel.
They demanded a private demonstration.
Arjun obliged, standing at the console as the TBM's shield rotated once more. The officials watched, impressed, until the sparks appeared again.
One man frowned. "Is this safe?"
Arjun met his gaze without blinking. "Completely. What you see are artifacts of high-efficiency systems. Nothing more."
The man hesitated, then nodded. None of them wanted to admit they didn't understand.
When they left, one whispered to another, "I don't know what he's building. But if it works… India will be unstoppable."
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VIII. The Mechanic's Nightmare
On September 8th, Sandeep dreamed.
He was standing in the hangar, staring at the shield. The sparks were everywhere now, hundreds of them, swirling faster and faster. They merged into a glowing tunnel that stretched into darkness.
From within the tunnel came a sound—metal grinding, earth splitting, and beneath it something deeper. A pulse. Like a heartbeat.
He woke in a cold sweat, gasping.
At work the next day, he avoided looking at the machine. But every time he blinked, he saw the tunnel again.
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IX. The First Sparks Named
On September 10th, the first official report was filed.
The engineers, under Arjun's dictation, described the phenomenon as:
"Localized plasma anomalies resulting from quantum-level resonance during prototype testing. Non-hazardous."
But among the workers, the name was simpler.
They called it "Chingari Devi"—the Goddess of Sparks.
And whether it was blessing or curse, none of them yet knew.