A New India
Chapter 273 - 273: Peace and Accountability

The morning after Prime Minister Rohan's speech, the streets of India bore the marks of the chaos that had unfolded in the days prior.

Burned-out vehicles, shattered windows, and charred homes stood as a reminders of the riots.

But the air was different now.

Where once there was rage and fear, there was now an air of contemplation, a sense of reckoning.

Across villages and towns, radios were still making noise as people replayed the Prime Minister's address.

His words had struck a chord, igniting something powerful in the hearts of the people, reflection.

In a small village near Lucknow, a crowd had gathered at the village square.

The local leader, who had been one of the loudest voices against the State Reorganization Bill, now found himself cornered.

A group of young men stood in front of him, their anger unmistakable.

"Ram Charan Tiwari," one of them growled, stepping forward. "You told us the government was going to take our land. You made us pick up sticks and fight the police. And now we know it was all a lie."

Tiwari, sweating profusely, raised his hands in defense. "Brothers, I—I was only trying to protect you. The government—"

"The government?" interrupted an elderly farmer, his voice trembling with restrained fury. "The Prime Minister himself said this bill is for our good. He explained everything. You're the one who lied to us!"

The crowd roared in agreement.

Some began to push Tiwari, others shouted curses, and before long, a scuffle broke out.

Tiwari was dragged from his spot and shoved toward the edge of the square. "Get out of here!" someone yelled. "Don't show your face again!"

In Gaya, the scene was markedly different.

Instead of violence, there were conversations serious, heartfelt discussions between villagers and local government officials.

At the center of one such gathering was an elderly man named Ramprasad Sharma, a respected community elder.

"Explain it to us properly," Ramprasad said to the district collector, his voice calm but firm. "What exactly does this bill mean for us?"

The district collector, a young IAS officer named Arun Joshi, took a deep breath. "The bill divides larger states into smaller ones so that governance can reach every corner. For example, in Bihar, the government wants to create Jharkhand as a separate state. This will mean more development offices, more jobs, and better administration."

A younger villager interjected. "But why couldn't the government explain this before? Why did we have to hear it from the Prime Minister after riots broke out?"

Ramprasad raised a hand to silence the young man. "It doesn't matter now. What matters is that we understand the truth. Joshi-ji, thank you for explaining this. But I'll ask you for one more thing, help us spread this information. Go to the other villages. Tell them what you told us."

Joshi nodded, grateful for the elder's leadership. "I will. And if you have any questions, don't hesitate to reach out. We're here to help."

In Amritsar, the riots had been among the most severe.

Mobs had attacked police, burned shops, and even stormed government buildings.

But the morning after Rohan's speech, the city began to heal.

In one neighborhood, a group of young men who had been involved in the riots sat together, their heads bowed.

One of them, Harjit, spoke hesitantly. "Did we… make a mistake?"

Another, Amrit, nodded slowly. "The Prime Minister said the bill is for us, for our future. But we trusted those leaders… and now look at what we've done."

An older Sikh man approached them, his face stern but not unkind. "You did make a mistake. But it's not too late to fix it. Go to the gurdwara. Help clean the streets. Apologize to the shopkeepers whose livelihoods you destroyed. And remember this never let anyone fool you like this again."

The young men nodded, humbled and ashamed.

They stood up and began to walk toward the gurdwara, their guilt pushing them to make amends.

In Delhi, the change was noticable.

The riots had all but ceased, and government officials reported a sharp decline in violence across the country.

In his office, Rohan sat with Neeraj, Rao, and Atma, going through the latest updates.

"Sir," Rao began, "your speech has worked. Most of the unrest has died down. In some places, people have even started turning against the local leaders who incited the violence."

Atma nodded. "In Punjab, we've received reports of villagers expelling those leaders from their communities. In Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, people are holding meetings with government officials to understand the bill better."

Rohan leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his face. "Good. That's how it should be. But we can't stop here. The misinformation may have slowed, but it hasn't disappeared. We need to stay vigilant."

Neeraj added in. "Sir, your prestige among the people is stronger than ever. They trust you. But the opposition will still try to spin this chaos against you."

Rohan's expression hardened. "Let them. I'll face them in Parliament, in the media, wherever they want. But the truth will always prevail. This country is waking up, Neeraj. And that's what they're afraid of."

Across the country, people gathered in chai shops, fields, and homes, discussing the events of the past week.

In a small tea stall in Varanasi, a group of workers debated the bill.

"I think the Prime Minister is right," one of them said. "Smaller states will mean better governance. Look at how big Uttar Pradesh is. Do you think anyone in Lucknow cares about our problems here?"

Another worker, older and more skeptical, replied, "Maybe. But what about the riots? Do you think they'll start again?"

A third man, sipping his chai thoughtfully, interjected. "Not if we stay informed. That's what these leaders don't want. They want us to be ignorant so they can control us. But now we know better."

The others nodded in agreement, their conversation turning to how they could help spread accurate information in their communities.

In small towns and villages, the aftermath of the riots was bittersweet.

The destruction was undeniable, but so was the sense of awakening among the people.

They began to question the narratives they had been fed, to demand accountability from their leaders, and to seek the truth for themselves.