Vedman's Response
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The evening air inside the Vedman house felt heavier than usual.
The television glowed softly in the living room, its volume turned just high enough to drown the ticking of the wall clock.
Hira sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocked so tightly that his knuckles had begun to pale.
Across from him, Shanti sat upright, her back straight despite the fatigue that had settled into her bones over the months. Her eyes never left the screen.
Every channel carried the same image.
Image of a middle-aged man addressing his nation.
The Prime Minister stood behind a transparent podium, the emblem of the nation projected faintly behind him. His face looked calm, composed—too calm, Hira thought, for a world that had spent seven months holding its breath.
"Fellow citizens," the Prime Minister began, his voice steady, practiced. "My greetings to every household listening tonight…"
Across the continent, people leaned closer to their screens.
Some watched from crowded living rooms, surrounded by family members who had finally returned from hospitals. Others watched alone, seated beside empty chairs, listening for answers that might never come.
Hira felt Shanti's fingers tighten around the edge of her shawl.
The Prime Minister continued. "As of today, more than sixty percent of those who entered the Pariama stage have awakened."
A murmur rippled through the nation.
Shanti inhaled sharply.
Sixty percent.
The number echoed in Hira's mind. Numbers were cruel that way—clean, precise, indifferent. Sixty percent awake meant forty percent still lost in that unnatural sleep. It meant Virat and Jyoti were still lying behind glass walls.
"The lockdown," the Prime Minister said, "is hereby lifted completely."
For a moment, the room seemed to exhale.
"But," he added, raising a finger, "with necessary security restrictions still in place. Curfews in sensitive zones, monitored transit corridors, and mandatory identity verification will continue until stability is ensured."
Hope, Hira realized, now always came with conditions.
Outside, distant sounds of celebration rose—someone clapping from a balcony, a firecracker bursting prematurely into the sky.
Inside the house, Shanti remained silent.
The Prime Minister spoke of recovery zones, of reopened markets and resumed transportation. He spoke of factories restarting, of hospitals transitioning from emergency mode to research centers.
His words painted a picture of order returning to chaos, brick by brick.
Then his tone shifted.
"However," he said, "normalcy cannot resume without understanding what has changed."
The word changed lingered in the air.
"Starting this academic year, all schools, colleges, and universities will conduct a compulsory assessment module designed to evaluate the physical and mental transformations experienced by students who passed through the Pariama stage," he clarified, anticipating fear. "They are meant to map the advanced physical and mental conditions observed in individuals who have awakened from the Pariama stage."
Hira's jaw tightened.
Mapping, measuring, categorizing.
"The human body," the Prime Minister continued, "has shown unprecedented adaptability. Enhanced endurance, altered neural responses, and accelerated recovery. These changes are not anomalies. They are data."
Shanti's gaze finally wavered from the screen, drifting toward Hira. He could feel the weight of her worry without looking back.
"In addition," the Prime Minister said, "all citizens are required to update their Omnione chips at designated government offices within one month."
Hira's eyes flickered.
"The update will resolve current network instability and ensure compatibility with new security protocols. During this process, all AI assistants—private and public—will also be updated."
Jarvy.
The name surfaced in Hira's mind uninvited, followed by fragmented words.
Disturbance… not natural… unknown in space…
"There have been concerns," the Prime Minister acknowledged, "regarding AI downtime and connectivity failures. I assure you—this update will bring stability."
Shanti's lips trembled.
"What about the people who haven't woken up?" she whispered, though the Prime Minister could not hear her.
On screen, as if in response, he said, "For those still in the Pariama stage—research continues. Dedicated teams are working day and night. We cannot yet predict when every individual will awaken."
Not yet.
The words struck harder than a refusal.
"No dates," Hira muttered under his breath.
Shanti's eyes filled, tears slipping free despite her effort to contain them. Hira noticed immediately.
He shifted closer. "Dadi," he said softly, "they didn't say never."
She smiled weakly. "They didn't say when either."
The Prime Minister straightened, his voice lowering.
"There is one more truth the nation deserves to hear," he said. "Pariama is not the final stage."
The room went utterly silent.
"Our scientists and researchers have discovered that what humanity is experiencing is not an endpoint, but a step. Evolution does not move in straight lines—it unfolds."
Hira felt a chill creep up his spine.
"There is more ahead," the Prime Minister continued. "What lies beyond will be revealed only through patience, discipline, and unity."
Unity.
A convenient word, Hira thought, when answers were missing.
He introduced the new authority, made to follow and keep the data of this so-called evolution, MPN- MANAVA PARINAMA NEXUS.
The speech concluded with assurances, with appeals to calm and cooperation. The screen faded to commentators, analysts already dissecting every sentence.
Shanti reached for the remote and turned the television off.
The sudden quiet felt louder than the speech itself.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Shanti wiped her tears with the edge of her shawl and straightened. "They speak so beautifully," she said, her voice steady but hollow. "But beauty doesn't wake children."
Hira swallowed.
"They are trying," he said, though the words tasted thin.
"Yes," she replied, nodding. "Trying… Good Night Hira."
"Good night Dadi."
With the heavy atmosphere, they both went to their rooms.
. . .
Inside his room, Hira lies on the bed, lost in thought.
Vrrrrr
Vrrrrr
Suddenly, his bracelet vibrated softly.
"Who can call me at this time?"
As he checks, the screen lit up with the name he hadn't seen in half a year.
Amit Yadav.
Seeing his best friend's name, he quickly received the call.
"Hello, Amit?" Hira asked uncertainly.
"Haven't my number been saved in your contacts, Vedman?"
A young man's voice came from the other side, a little rough as if the speaker hadn't spoken for a long time, but Hira acknowledged the voice.
"Good to have you back buddy."
A.N. - Vedmanas Pratikriya - Vedman's family reaction to speech.