The night sky of September 3rd, 2004 split open with thunder. Lightning clawed across the tiled roof of a small rented double-bedroom house in Atreyapuram, its rain-soaked walls trembling under the storm's fury.
Inside, young Dileep—Dilli—tossed on his thin cot. His chest heaved, sweat pouring from his skin though the night was cold. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm raging inside his fragile body.
Unseen, the soul of the elder Dilli, battered from his forbidden ascent of Mount Kailash, descended like a comet of burning light. It entered the boy's chest with a force that tore silence into screams.
The Pain of Merging
The younger boy convulsed, clutching his head, his small frame shuddering violently. His mouth opened in a roar that shook the house, echoing louder than the thunder outside.
Inside him, an ocean of memories crashed—a torrent of decades he had never lived. Love and heartbreak. Pilgrimages and failures. Dreams of Chitti. The weight of his parents' burdens. The agony of frozen peaks and the silence of Shiva.
His delicate mind buckled, his very core trembling as two souls collided. Elder Dilli's will clamped down, forcing itself into the boy's being, and the pain was excruciating.
Sweat drenched his nightshirt, soaking the mat beneath him. His fists tore at his own hair as his eyes rolled back.
The Parents' Terror
The roar shook the house awake. His mother bolted upright, heart pounding, while his father stumbled in confusion. Together they rushed to the boy's room.
"Dilli!" his mother screamed, kneeling beside him. His body was burning hot, trembling, slick with sweat.
"Something's wrong—terribly wrong!" his father cried, fumbling to hold him down.
Another roar ripped from the boy's throat, primal, otherworldly. His parents exchanged a look of pure terror, the storm outside answering his cries with lightning that cracked the heavens.
Without wasting another moment, his father lifted the boy, drenched and convulsing, into his arms.
The Race to Rajahmundry
Through rain-slick roads and pounding thunder, they drove their Red Maruthi Suzuki Alto Car, shielding the boy with a sheet. Every bump made him groan, every flash of lightning illuminated his wide, tormented eyes.
The twenty-five kilometers to Rajahmundry stretched like eternity. By the time they reached the hospital, his parents were near collapse themselves.
Doctors rushed him inside, but tests revealed nothing. Blood pressure normal. No fever. No head trauma. No seizures detected. Machines showed only a normal boy—yet his body writhed as though possessed.
The doctors exchanged baffled looks. One muttered, "This is beyond medicine." Another whispered, "Give him sedation before he tears himself apart."
The Dream of Transition
They injected anesthesia. Slowly, his roars quieted into shallow breaths. His parents clutched each other in helpless sobs as his small body finally stilled.
But inside his mind, another storm raged.
The younger Dilli stood in a void, trembling. Before him, the elder Dilli's form loomed like a shadow of fire, his eyes weary yet unbroken.
The elder soul spoke:
"I am you… twenty years from now. Broken, beaten, yet unyielding. You must carry me now, Dilli. Together we will rewrite what was lost."
The boy cried, clutching his head. "It's too much… it's burning me alive!"
"Endure," the elder whispered, pressing his glowing forehead against the boy's.
Memories poured in—Shiva's silence, Chitti's smile, his parents' aging faces, journeys across mountains, oceans, and battles yet to come. The boy screamed, his small body straining as if it would shatter.
But then… he held.
He clenched his fists, teeth grinding, and whispered through his pain:
"If you survived Kailash, then I can survive this. I will bear you, because you are me."
And with that, the merging completed. Two timelines fused. One soul, reforged in fire.
The Dawn of September 4th, 2004
Morning light crept through the hospital window. The storm was gone. Birds chirped over soaked streets.
On the narrow hospital bed, Dilli opened his eyes. His gaze was no longer that of a ten-year-old boy—it carried the weight of lifetimes.
His mother wept with relief, holding his hand. His father whispered, "Today is your birthday, son. Ten years old."
But inside, Dilli knew he was both ten—and timeless.
For he carried within him the soul of the man who had stood at the forbidden slopes of Kailash, who had roared at gods, who had sworn to cherish love, life, and faith no matter the cost.
And so, on September 4th, 2004, his second birth began.