Reborn In 17th century India with Black Technology-Chapter 849: Raftaar’s Obsession & Summary (XXL)

25th June 1671

Imperial Capital Bengaluru, Akhand Bharatiya Empire

An air of passion and excitement engulfed Bengaluru, carrying on the roaring cheers of admirers shouting at full volume. The newly constructed Devaraya Stadium was packed with over 50,000 fans, all yelling in support of their favourite athletes competing in the final of the highly anticipated 100-meter sprint event.

It was the time of the Aikyotsava Festival, a grand celebration of unity through sports. The sounds of celebratory horns and drums echoed throughout the stadium while spectators purchased their favourite fast food from the cafeterias and settled into their seats, snacks in hand, faces alight with joy as they watched the thrilling competition.

Looking at the stadium, no one would guess that this event was hosted by an empire embroiled in two of the world's largest ongoing wars. But the truth is sometimes bizarre, and this is one of those cases where the excitement of the Aikyotsava Festival was able to overshadow the increasingly intense war in the Middle East and even made people ignore that the Ottoman Empire is currently being besieged by the Russians. Even in the financial markets, the war did not have any adverse reactions.

The sports manufacturing sector continued to flourish as it always did during this time of year. Stock prices of various sports brands surged, rivalling those of major agricultural and real estate giants. The Aikyotsava Festival, which had grown into a miniature Olympics exclusively for Bharatiyas, fueled this boom. Stock exchanges such as the Mangaluru Stock Exchange and Kolkata Stock Exchange regularly saw annual rises between 4 and 7 percent, but this year was exceptional. Thanks to the empire's continuous enthusiasm for sports, the Mangaluru Stock Exchange surged by 10.2 percent, while the Kolkata Stock Exchange climbed 8.6 percent.

"Go Go Go Go"

Deafening chants of encouragement were heard from the audience in the Devaraya Stadium. Shouting of excitement and actions fueled by adrenaline could be found all over the gallery.

"Bang!"

The sound of a loud gunshot was heard, after which the athletes posing on the front line kicked their legs at the fastest speeds like a wiper ready to strike and blasted forward, burning all the oxygen in their muscles.

Cheers became more deafening, and a couple of seconds later, the race was over. It was a close one. The people began to excitedly speculate with each other about who the winner was, but no one could reach a conclusion. This even led to a few people arguing and quarrelling with themselves, but thankfully, a few moments later, they got the answer they were looking for.

"The winner of this year's 100 metres sprint is... the 18-year-old dark horse from Balochistan.... bearing the jersey number 7, Mr. Bolenath Baloch."

The magnetic voice of the announcer, standing on the topmost pedestal, assisted by the architectural design of Devaraya Stadium, which is a sound engineering marvel, echoed throughout the galleries.

"Ahhhh HE WON!!!!"

"I KNEW IT!!!"

"YES YES YES!"

The crowd went nuts as the shouts drowned out the rhythmic music of the congratulatory band. The vibrations of the sound waves penetrated the stadium, causing the building to rumble. The atmosphere was electrifying.

Bolenath Baloch had waited breathlessly for the verdict. His stomach had twisted in knots, and he had held his heart in his hands. Every second felt like a year, tormenting him mentally, but when he heard his name spoken, his expression froze.

It was as if all the tension in his body suddenly disappeared, and his heart started to beat once again. Bolenath, who had just set the imperial record in the 100 metres, collapsed onto the ground; his legs gave out.

Tears began to well up in his eyes, and his emotions were chaotic. His mind was blank, even tuning out the loud uproar like that of a torrential wave as if it were a radio in the background. All the sweat, tears, and blood he had to put in appeared in his mind: his countless leg injuries, his countless blisters, countless scoldings, countless gazes of disapproval, countless gazes of disdain. He, Bolenath Baloch, an orphan abandoned by his family and tribe, finally proved himself.

Suddenly, a hand rested on Bolenath's shoulder. It was a very firm hand, like that of an elder who is capable of providing support and guiding you forward when you are at your most vulnerable. Still gasping for air as his chest heaved up and down from crying, Bolenath looked up to see who it was.

The face was familiar. It was a face that once upon a time he loathed to look at. He wanted to stay as far away as possible from that face and wanted nothing to do with it, but as time went by, he realised that that was the only face that ever gave a rats' ass about a 10-year-old orphan kid like him who couldn't understand a single word, as all the words in his eyes looked like monsters, and even the teachers wanted nothing to do with him, treating him like the mentally challenged retards.

All of that only changed after he persisted under sheer venom in his heart to prove the world wrong, to prove that he was capable of greatness. As he spent more time with that face, he respected it and obeyed its every command no matter how harsh and difficult it may have been, come rain, sandstorm, heat, hell— even if it was a tsunami, he wouldn't miss a day and followed the commands of that face to the T. He just knew he didn't want to disappoint that face, as he understood that it was that face which was the fulcrum that removed the weight of "mentally challenged" and replaced it with the image of greatness.

It was the face of his mentor Raftaar, the first champion track and field celebrity athlete of the Bharatiya Empire and a man nicknamed "Son of the Wind."

Raftaar's eyes were a little moist, but he did not allow the tears to drop. Instead, he looked at his disciple, who was more like a son, and smiled, "You did great, Bolenath. I am proud of you."

Looking at that smile which he had never seen, and the words of praise which he had never heard, Bolenath laughed out loud with a choke, but the emotions that were stirring in his heart did not calm down. Instead, they began to rage further, causing the tears to flow out like water out of a dam.

His shoulder immediately felt light, and he noticed a pair of legs walking away with a limp out of the stadium. It was his master's. He didn't say anything. He simply turned towards the direction where his master was leaving and knelt down, touching his head to the ground, thanking the person who had been patient with him and given him a new life.

Some people in the stadium seemed to have realised who the middle-aged man was. With this realisation, a chant slowly began to form in one corner of the stadium. It eventually spread throughout the stadium, causing a deafening roar.

"Raftaar Raftaar Raftaar!!"

"Raftaar Raftaar Raftaar!!"

Hearing the shouts, in the corner of the stadium, a pair of eyebrows was furrowed. "Hello, excuse me, I am sorry but who is this Raftaar?" a European, who had come to see the famous sporting spectacle of the Bharatiya Empire, more massive than the Olympics held in Athens in ancient times, asked in confusion.

A young Bharatiya man dressed in a dignified salwar kameez smiled proudly, "That is Raftaar, the first 100-metre and 400-metre sprint champion of the Empire."

"Unfortunately, in the 4th Aikyotsava Festival, due to an accident, he damaged his leg permanently, making him unable to participate in athletics."

"But he was an amazing athlete, the best in fact. You might not know, the previous record of the fastest sprinter in the Empire was actually his. It has not been broken for more than a decade. It's amazing, isn't it? Everyone still wonders what he would have achieved if he had not been injured." The man smiled and looked forward. "It looks like the boy Bolenath is the disciple of Raftaar. Quite fitting, if I say so myself, the disciple surpassed the master and continues to carry on his legacy."

The blonde-haired European patiently listened to the tale of a man who once was and turned his eyes towards the end of the field, where he could vaguely see a silhouette engulfed in the darkness of the tunnel. A look of admiration appeared on his face. "This is a very respectable person," he thought, as he got up and started clapping.

Raftaar, who was almost out of the stadium and was about to get on the carriage, whose door was already opened by his servant, stopped in his tracks when he heard his name reverberating throughout the stadium. This time, he did not hold back anymore and let his tears flow out. He clenched his fist and punched the air.

"Yes!!"

He growled like a wounded beast that had succeeded in killing the enemy at last. It had become a demon in his heart to win the Aikyotsava Sprint Championship for the second time, but he couldn't keep up— not only with the competition, but he couldn't keep up with himself. He trained relentlessly without considering day or night, with the only obsession being to bring his state another championship. But on the 4th Aikyotsava Festival, he could still remember, as if it happened yesterday, how his feet were dislocated and how his bones were shattered. Even imagining it would feel like his heart was grasped by a vice grip, crushing it one inch at a time.

For a few years, he lived muddleheadedly. He even made the decision to end it all, because despite having all the riches he could wish for from the endorsements and the fame, the obsession in his heart refused to let him live in peace. It was then he discovered Bolenath, an orphaned young man living in an orphanage. He saw him for the first time when he came chasing after a carriage in order to hand over the lunch box to his elderly teacher. Looking at him, he was amazed because the carriage had already picked up speed, and it was quite shocking for the young boy to keep up with it. At that moment, he knew that the young boy was an uncut diamond waiting to be polished so that he could shine.

His bet finally paid off.

Like soft snow melting under the glow of the morning sun, he no longer has any obsessions. In a way, it was not he who gave Bolenath a new life—it was Bolenath who gave him a life and something to live for.

---

In the VIP room, Vijay stood tall like a pine tree, straight and unwavering. He applauded the performance with a smile.

Suddenly, a burly man with a long beard came forward with a respectful attitude and handed over a heap of documents to Vijay.

Vijay didn't turn around, but he took the documents and noticed that they had a seal of confidentiality on them.

He was not surprised; with two major wars happening simultaneously, Vijay frequently received SSS confidential intelligence on a regular basis.

Not making any excessive movements, he walked back into the room and sat down in the chair. He opened the documents and started to read.

Reading the contents, his unchanging expression finally shifted.

Half an hour later, he let out a breath of turbulent air and leaned back without uttering a word. His mind wandered over the intelligence he had just read.

He hadn't expected the war to advance to such a level in the Russo-Ottoman War. The Russians, led by Yuri Alexandrovitch Dolgorukov and Ivan Sirkov, had taken control of several strategic locations and logistic points optimal to challenge the three major fortresses of Azov, Perekop, and Bakhchisaray in Crimea.

Several strategic locations were captured near Moldova, Budapest, and Belgrade as well, putting them in a position to slice through the defences of the Ottomans. The Russians slowed down in their march not because they were experiencing heavier resistance but because they were gearing up for a bigger charge, taking advantage of their better weaponry, higher personnel, and local support.

As for the War of Unification led by the Venetians, it was even more surprising.

On the very day the war set off, the Venetians and the Savoy Dynasty joined hands to launch an attack on Genoa while causing riots in the Spanish colony of Milan, multiple duchies, along with the Grand Duchies of Tuscany, Naples, and Sicily.

Once the riots yielded results, the Venetians, as well as the Savoy, quickly occupied Milan and Parma, dividing them between themselves. The Venetians created a divide between noble families in Genoa and had them assassinate the last Doge. The two major families who cooperated with the Venetians rose to the rank of Doges of Genoa and Corsica.

In the meantime, supporting local nobles to revolt against the House of Gonzaga Nevers, who were the hereditary rulers of the Duchy of Montua and Montfeirrat, the Venetians were able to add one more republic called the Republic of Montua and Montfeirrat, similar to Venice, Corsica, and Genoa.

In the riots, the House of Este, ruling the Duchy of Modena, was forced to sign the unification bill, as was the House of Medici, ruling the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, after it was cut off from reinforcements from foreign allies.

Finally, a new duchy was propped up by supporting a fallen noble family, the House of Della Rovere.

So far, the only states in the Italian peninsula still resisting the Federazione Italiana are the Papal States, which are proving to be too difficult to deal with, as well as Naples and Sicily, the heartland of Spanish power in Italy.

With all things considered, everything is moving in the right direction, but what Vijay worried about was the French and the Holy Roman Empire acting too quickly. Although they were not quick enough to stop the establishment of the Federazione Italiana, their reaction time was enough for Vijay to see that they would definitely interfere when the Ottomans were at their last straw.

'Tsk!!'

'The probability of us needing to get directly involved has risen considerably,' Vijay thought to himself with annoyance. Even though he had a hunch that this was bound to happen, it didn't take away from the fact that he did not want it to happen.

However, the ball is still in the court of the Bharatiya Empire because, no matter what, at a certain point, the Ottomans would definitely have to take back their troops to support the Balkan region. He wouldn't believe for a second that Mehmed IV values the Middle East more than the Balkans, so this will be the time to completely eliminate the Ottoman presence in the Middle East.