Jatin and the Alchemy of Faith

 In a quiet village in the district of Cuttack, Odisha, where mud walls cracked under summer heat and school bells often rang to empty rooms, lived Jatin, the son of a marginal farmer and a vegetable-seller mother. Neither of his parents could read or write, but they worked with dignity, raising their child with the hope that he might one day become a government officer. But Jatin dropped out of school in Class 9. Not out of laziness—but because he couldn't understand science and maths, and there was no one to teach him. His father said, “Dear Child. Work with me in the field. Books are not for people like us.” But Jatin’s heart whispered something otherwise. He had once seen a video on a neighbour’s mobile phone: a man in another country converting plastic waste into fuel. That single moment ignited something in him—a fire that neither poverty nor ridicule could put out. Every day, Jatin collected discarded plastic bottles, wrappers, and containers from the roadside and town outskirts. Villagers mocked him. People thought he was just a good-for-nothing loafer. But Jatin didn’t care. At night, he locked himself in a small shed behind his house and experimented. Fire, heat, crude pipes, old gas cylinders—all cobbled together from scrapyards. To understand the science of petroleum production, he downloaded English-to-Odia translation apps on a second-hand phone his maternal uncle had gifted him. He read chemical names like polyethylene and pyrolysis aloud, repeating them until they became part of his thoughts. One stormy night, after months of trial and error, a single drop of oily liquid trickled out from his makeshift condenser. Jatin held it up, wide-eyed. It smelled like kerosene—fuel. He ran into the house, shouting, “Ma! Look! Petrol!” His mother stared at the dark liquid and blinked. “This is petrol?” “Yes Ma, from plastic!” he said with hapy tears in his eyes. News spread fast. Journalists came. Scientists visited. The local collector arranged a meeting with the Odisha Renewable Energy Development Agency. A small pilot plant was set up under Jatin’s leadership. The boy who once collected garbage now employed dozens of villagers, including many who had once mocked him. Every morning, long lines of villagers arrived at his factory, carrying bags full of plastic waste. He paid them by weight.“You’ve cleaned our village and lit up our lives, Jatin!,” said Suresh Uncle, the village postman. “You’ve done what even our netas couldn’t do.” But Jatin knew something was missing. To take his work further, he needed to study science deeply. So, at 19, he began preparing for the matriculation entrance. People raised eyebrows! “Board exam at this age? Leave it, Jatin.” But the young man was resolved and tight-lipped. He studied under lantern light, read aloud in Odia, and taught himself English facing hurdles every day. After failing once, he passed the entrance on his second attempt, then cleared matriculation with distinction. He enrolled in a local science college in an interior area. The professors were amazed. Dr. Pradeep Rath, his chemistry teacher, said during class, “You’ve got the hands of an engineer and the mind of a dreamer. That’s rare, Jatin.” Jatin replied humbly, “Sir, I’m only trying to understand what the Lord has put in plastic that it burns like fuel.” For his final-year project, Jatin proposed a radical idea—using plastic waste to build stronger, more durable roads. “Impossible,” said a professor. “Too ambitious,” said another. But Jatin experimented relentlessly. Using a unique blend of shredded plastic and bitumen, he created a prototype slab that withstood both heat and heavy load. A trial stretch was built near the college entrance. After one year—with no cracks or potholes—even the most skeptical professors were genuinely impressed. Dr. Rath said at a seminar, “This young man is a scientist not by education alone, but by spirit. Science lives in him the way faith lives in the temple.” Despite all his success, Jatin never gave up his early morning visits to the Jagannath temple in the village. “You built all this, Lord,” he would whisper before lighting a diya. “I only put the pieces together Once, during a speech at a science conference in Cuttack, a professor asked, “Jatin, what drives you?” He replied:“Studying science doesn’t make one a scientist, nor does reading poetry make one a poet. A scientist is one who seeks truth. That truth can be inside an atom—or within the soul. Lord Jagannath is the source of my inspiration. He dwells in every discovery.” The audience stood in awe, not just of his mind, but of his clarity. Dr. Rath, moved by Jatin’s dedication and humility, came to visit his workshop with his daughter, Meera, a microbiologist. Over time, conversations turned to collaboration, then to friendship, and then something deeper. At a quiet family gathering, Dr. Rath smiled and said,“Jatin, will you accept my daughter as your life partner?” Jatin’s hands trembled. “Sir, I have nothing except this work and my devotion to Lord Jagannath.” Dr. Rath patted his shoulder. “That’s more than enough. Meera sees a scientist in you. I see a good man.” Jatin’s marriage was attended by hundreds from the village. His illiterate parents wept silently as garlands were exchanged. His mother whispered, “You’ve taken us from darkness to light, son.” His father added, “You’ve proved that knowledge bows before faith and hard work.” Today, Jatin heads a nationally recognized initiative called "Plastic to Progress." His roads cross rural India. His fuel plants inspire youth. He teaches science to underprivileged children every Sunday. On the board above his workshop were inscribed the following words: “Where science ends, devotion begins. But sometimes, the two walk hand in hand.”