Ch -01 (The Switched Divinity )

The Cosmic Welcome and The Mark of Destiny

​Part I: The Storm and the Sovereign (April 23, 1999)

​The polished marble floor of the Bhatt family’s private wing felt slick with the sweat of anxiety. Outside, the night had turned venomous. Vasisth Bhatt, a man accustomed to commanding rooms full of people, was reduced to pacing the hallway, his powerful hands clenched. Twelve hours. Twelve hours his wife, Varsha Bhatt, had been in labor inside Room 302.

​Then, the world seemed to hold its breath.

​A torrential downpour began, driven by winds that sounded like a monstrous hunger outside the soundproof glass. The sky flashed—not once, but in a relentless, blinding cascade—until a furious thunderclap struck. It wasn't just loud; it was an impact, a blow that shuddered through the hospital’s concrete bones.

​And then, silence. A single, shattering cry.

​Vasisth stopped, his breath catching. Just as he heard his son's first sound, the darkness outside the window fractured. The clouds, minutes ago a bruised black, were ripped open to an impossible, ethereal display. The sky was not just colorful; it was alive, a swirling canvas of violet, gold, and deep cerulean. It was a magnificent, overwhelming cosmic salute—the undeniable welcoming of a heavenly lord.

The nurse laid the boy on Varsha's chest. He was perfect, and on his small, smooth arm, a distinct, rose-hued half-lotus mark pulsed faintly. The Preserver had arrived.

Part II: The Creator's Cry and The Fated Gaze (2003)

Four years later, the echo of destiny was heard in the Bhatt's Charity Hospital, an institution that stood as a testament to the decades-long bond between Vasisth Bhatt and his best friend, Parmeshwar Acharya.

April 23, 2003.

In one of the modest rooms, Pratibha Acharya had given birth to a daughter. Though weary, she gazed at the baby with blinding devotion. The girl possessed a fragile, luminous beauty—a doll-like face and eyes of a shimmering, enchanting pearl color that seemed to hold a light too vast for her tiny body.

Meanwhile, four-year-old Shreesh Bhatt, usually reserved and observant, was navigating the hospital lobby with his father. Suddenly, an intense, silent current—a compulsion that bypassed logic—tugged him down a specific hallway. He slipped away from his father's side, his small legs carrying him with a speed born not of urgency, but of magnetic inevitability.

He paused at the room of the newborn, drawn to the crib. He looked down, and the infant’s pearl eyes opened, fixing immediately on his. The world outside the room—the sounds, the smells, the people—vanished. The connection was immediate and absolute. Shreesh, the boy who struggled to connect with children his own age, felt an astonishing calm and recognition wash over him. This child, he realized with the simple, pure certainty of a four-year-old, was his.

He reached out a tiny hand, his fingers hesitating inches above her soft skin. He noticed the mark first: a delicate, rose-hued half-lotus etched onto her wrist. A shock of understanding hit him. He instinctively pulled up the cuff of his own expensive kurta, revealing the matching mark on his arm—a scar he had always thought was unique, a strange birthmark that mirrored the divine mark on the infant’s arm.

The profound recognition was interrupted. A kind, elderly nurse entered, moving to adjust the baby’s blanket.

​In that instant, Shreesh’s profound awe transformed into a fierce, unthinking protection. He planted his feet and moved with startling quickness, placing his small body squarely between the nurse and the crib. He didn’t shout or cry; he simply fixed the woman with a concentrated, silent glare—a deep, territorial possessiveness that belied his age.

​The nurse, startled but amused by the fiercely protective toddler, hesitated.

​Shreesh was unflinching. He kept his stance, issuing his first, resolute silent command: She is mine. Do not touch her.

He stayed there, guarding her, until his father, Vasisth, found him. When Vasisth gently pulled him away, Shreesh kept his pearl eyes locked on the baby. The scene drew the attention of both fathers. Vasisth Bhatt and Parmeshwar Acharya entered to find Shreesh, the quiet child, radiating an inexplicable, proprietary intensity over the newborn. They exchanged a baffled look, then laughed.

"Look at him, Vasisth," Parmeshwar chuckled, shaking his head. "My little girl has claimed your son already."

Vasisth, seeing the beauty of the baby and the undeniable, protective instinct in his own son, felt his heart swell. "Perhaps we should just save them the trouble," he replied, a genuine smile replacing his usual sternness. "Parmeshwar, let's seal this. We will betroth them. The moment they come of age, they will be married. Shreesh and Shrista. It's destiny."

Parmeshwar agreed instantly. The two best friends, bound by decades of friendship and business, made a solemn vow, sealing the future of the Preserver and the Creator in a handshake, utterly oblivious to the divine marks that foretold their union.

• {new character's introduction;

Male protagonist father's name - Vasisth Bhatt

Male protagonist mother's name - Varsha Bhatt

Female protagonist Real Father's name - Parmeshwar Acharya

Female protagonist Real mother's name - Pratibha Acharya}.

Part III: The Whisper of Omens (2003)

In the early hours of April 23, the corridors of the Bhatt Charity Hospital glowed faintly under amber light. The storm outside had passed, but its echo still hummed in the air.In Room 215, Pratibha Acharya cradled her newborn daughter—their long-awaited blessing after years of unanswered prayers. The child’s skin carried the softness of moonlight, and her eyes, a delicate shade of pearl, seemed to shimmer with galaxies. Around her neck rested a small lotus pendant, gold petals encasing a ruby center — the Acharya family’s divine heirloom, said to have been blessed by their ancestors during a pilgrimage to Kashi.Parmeshwar Acharya brushed his hand over it reverently. “Let it stay with her, always,” he whispered. “It keeps the Creator guarded by the lotus of purity.”“She will make the world better,” Pratibha said through tears. “She will heal what others destroy.”They named her Shrista — “the one born to create.”

Part IV: The Silent Oath

Meanwhile, Shreesh Bhatt, son of the hospital’s co-founder, sat by the window of the private wing, watching lightning scatter diamonds across the glass. His grandfather was telling him tales of Lord Narayan and Narayani—the Preserver and the Creator who descend upon Earth in times of imbalance.Shreesh’s gaze, however, remained distant. “Dada… what if the Creator is just a baby right now?” he asked solemnly.Ramnivas chuckled softly. “Then the Preserve must already be watching her, until she remembers who she is.”And though he didn’t understand destiny, Shreesh already had chosen his—he would protect her, always.

Part V: The Night of Switching

The storm’s aftermath had left the hospital in quiet chaos. Lights flickered, records had to be rewritten after an electrical surge, and sleepless nurses weaved through narrow wards like shadows. Among them, one exhausted attendant carried two swaddled newborns: Shrista Acharya and another baby girl, the Sharma child, born in a nearby maternity ward.In a single exhausted moment, she shuffled the name tags while swapping bassinets into newly sterilized cribs. No angels trumpeted. No cosmic warning flashed. Fate simply blinked.

When Pratibha awoke to feed her baby, the infant beside her was not her own. But the face was wrapped, and the same hospital bracelet bore the name “Acharya.” Exhaustion muted doubt. Unaware, she smiled softly and whispered to what she thought was her little Shrista.

Part VI: Veil of Greed

Across the city, the Sharmas—Girish and Shanti—stared in awe at the baby they believed was theirs. They had prayed for a male heir, and disappointment lingered beneath their smiles. But when Girish unwrapped the blanket and saw the gleaming lotus pendant, his eyes widened.“This… isn’t ordinary gold,” he murmured.He weighed it in his rough palms, running his thumb across the ruby at its heart. “This could feed us for years.”Shanti’s lips pursed sharply. “And prove that we’ve been blessed beyond anyone else in this colony. But…” Her eyes darted toward the sleeping infant. “What if it means someone higher born lost their child? Someone could come looking.”Girish looked up slowly, his expression hardening. “Then we’ll make sure they never find her.”That night, they removed the pendant, hiding it under a loose slab in the floor beneath their wooden chest. The act was simple, but it sealed their greed’s pact with fate.From that moment, they treated the child not as divine inheritance but as a means of comfort—a reminder of their own stolen luck.

Part VII: The Search for Shrista

Back in the hospital, the Acharyas’ world crumbled before they even left the ward.When the nurse came to discharge them, Pratibha noticed it first: the infant’s eyes were not the same pearl hue she remembered.“This isn’t my baby,” she said faintly, panic dripping into her voice. “My daughter’s eyes… they were like light.”The nurse, startled, examined the bracelet. “Ma’am, this tag says Shrista Acharya. This is your baby.”“But the pendant!” Pratibha clutched at her neck, realizing with terror that the heirloom was gone. “Where is her pendant?”The ward nurse checked the records, her face paling. “There is no note of a pendant, madam. Perhaps you removed it earlier?”Parmeshwar’s voice, usually dignified, thundered through the corridor. “No one removes that pendant. It’s been in our family for two centuries. Where is my child?”They turned the hospital upside down for hours—questioning nurses, reopening bassinets, scouring every room. Files were mixed up, mothers discharged, infants transferred, and by the time anyone thought to double-check the Sharma records, that family had already left.When they finally traced the signatures Shanti Sharma’s discharge papers bore the same time and baby weight as the Acharya’s record sheet.A single clerical error. One unnoticed duplication. The staff pleaded ignorance.Pratibha collapsed in her husband’s arms, screaming her daughter’s name until her voice broke into sobs.“We’ll find her,” Parmeshwar murmured, holding her close. “If I have to tear every record, every ward, every house, I will find her.”But fate had already shut the door. The Sharmas had disappeared into the smaller towns with their “miracle daughter.”

Part VIII: The Child of Regret

Weeks passed with no leads. Hospitals were inspected, police inquiries filed, and even the media caught scent of a “missing infant from a doctor’s home.” But as days turned into months, the case fell silent—just another page in bureaucracy’s oblivion Exhausted, the Acharyas returned to their home. Then came the cruelest twist. A nurse from the same maternity wing, fearing scandal, arrived with an abandoned baby—the real Sharma child, the one left unclaimed in the shuffle.“She was found alone in the isolation ward—it seems her parents never returned for her,” the nurse said softly.Pratibha held the child, trembling. “She has no one?”“None, madam. If you wish, we can admit her to the shelter—”“No,” Parmeshwar interrupted, his eyes heavy with grief but steady. “She came through our misfortune… she must stay in our fortune.”They named the child Srishti—“Creation reborn.”

Part IX: The Cosmic Ledger

The stars above witnessed in silence. The divine pendant slept in a floor’s hollow. The Creator’s daughter grew in shadows, unseen, while another child—innocent but misplaced—was raised amid kindness and luxury.Lord Shiva watched without interference. Fate, after all, demands balance. In one cradle slept sorrow disguised as wealth; in the other, comfort carved out of loss.And so began the era of The Switched Destiny, where the lotus of creation lay buried in dust — waiting for the day it would surface again, blazing with truth.

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