I am a master in India

Chapter 182: Abundant Martial Arts
Mirzapur is a small city in southeastern Uttar Pradesh, with a population about one-fifth that of Varanasi.

In the Socialist Party's propaganda, the area has ample electricity, running water, and telephone service.

The children in the village have a relatively good diet, with meat, eggs, vegetables, lentils, and other foods available.

After checking them with a measuring tape and scale, I found that they were developing well, and their height and weight met the minimum international standards.

Ha! This is the Mirzapur that the Socialist Party talks about, or rather, the entire Uttar Pradesh is modeled after this.

The truth is, the utility poles weren't electrified. The faucets weren't working. The children were all disproportionately thin for their age, and their heads looked unusually large.

Those innocent eyes blinked as if they were torturing the conscience of the Indian government.

Ron sat in the car and looked around. Everywhere he looked, there were backward villages, very primitive.

The so-called "telephone pole" was actually just a wooden stake with no wires at all. However, the Socialist Party's propaganda posters were plastered everywhere, confidently guaranteeing that electricity would be provided if they were elected.

The slogan had turned yellowish-white, indicating it was at least five or six years old. But the utility pole remained empty, forlornly standing as if it might lean and fall at any moment.

It's all vanity work; no Indian official would be foolish enough to honor their promises, especially in Uttar Pradesh.

Ron didn't go to the city of Mirzabul; he didn't know what the situation was like there, and he didn't plan to go.

Today's itinerary is to visit a small village called Kana, near where Mirzabul's largest limestone mine is located.

The car drove south along a tributary of the Ganges, and a main road led directly to the village.

Groups of pigs were rooting around in the dark drainage ditch, their backs dry, their long bristles tangled together, while their bodies, soaked in the muddy water, were shiny black.

Several roosters with bright red combs and golden feathers flew up and down on the roof.

Every household has a cow in front of their door, and women are cutting grass to feed it, pinning all their hopes on the cow's fat body.

If they produce enough milk, the women can sell some in the hope of earning a little more money.

The water buffalo has a huge body, shiny coat, and an iron ring on its nose as thick as a child's arm. It always has pearl-like foam hanging from the corner of its mouth.

It is the most important member of the whole family, and even the huge pile of cow dung beneath it is a treasure.

"This godforsaken place actually has a limestone mine?" Ratan idly fiddled with his pistol in his seat.

"The reserves are said to be hundreds of millions of tons, which is nothing for the whole of India, but there is one important point."

“What?” Ratan asked.

“Most of Mirzabul is flat, except for a few small hills nearby, which means that mining is much easier.”

Transportation is one of the core supporting facilities for mining. Even if the cement is processed on-site, it still needs to be transported out eventually.

Ron had researched the area before buying the mine; it was a plain, wonderful.

"By the way, we just came to take a look. Why did you bring so many people?"

Ron was in a sedan, and right behind them was a van crammed with more than twenty people.

They were all armed, with everything from Glock pistols to AKs.

“Ron, this is Uttar Pradesh. Don’t treat going out like you’re having a leisurely trip.” Ratan chuckled and clicked the bolt of his gun a few times.

"Is it that serious?"

“Mirzabul is not Varanasi, and we are all from the East.”

“Oh, the crazy East,” Ron sighed.

His hometown was full of martial spirit, what could he do? Even Ron himself was given a brand new Beretta 92 pistol by Ratan.

These things cost over $800 each and were obtained from an officer in Uttar Pradesh. Only he and Ratan were equipped with them.

"Look at this color, this feel, it's even more captivating than a woman's skin." Ratan raised his pistol and aimed left and right.

"Put it away. There's a teahouse up ahead. Let's go ask around and get some information." Ron pointed to the awning at the crossroads.

Tea shops are scattered throughout the rural areas of Uttar Pradesh, serving as both activity centers for villagers and hubs for information.

The honk of the horn startled the rickshaw drivers around the teahouse, who thought the honey badger had come to collect their share of the money again.

Upon seeing a car they had never seen before, they were eager to approach it, as unfamiliar faces represented potential customers.

Muna also noticed the car outside; it wasn't a bus, nor was it a Honey Badger Ambassador.

This is rare; Kana village rarely sees outsiders, let alone driving in.

The car door opened, and a young man got out.

The tea shop owner, the rickshaw pullers, and everyone, including Muna, held their breath.

There are people in the world who are this good-looking!

Muna hadn't received much formal education, so he didn't know how to describe it.

In short, the young man's body was like a high-end cotton pillow—fair, soft, and without any scars.

Their bodies were quite different. For example, Muna's father's spine looked like segments of hemp rope, the kind that the village women used to draw water from the well.

His collarbone protruded high, like a dog's collar.

This young man must be from a legendary high caste!

Almost everyone immediately made up their minds; the two beasts from Kana Village looked like country bumpkins in front of them.

Although honey badgers and crows are landowners, they are not of the high caste, not even Kshatriyas.

Vaishyas can also become landlords, but they do so through bribery and the power of their guns.

This is a Brahmin!
The rickshaws stopped and dared not go any further.

They are Shudras, and have no right to speak to the Brahmin lords.

After Ron got out of the car, Ratan also got out, pistol tucked into his arm. His appearance silenced everyone in the teahouse; no one dared to breathe.

“What could these low castes know? They probably don’t even know their own names,” Ratan muttered.

"Your Excellency Brahman, you are absolutely right!" Muna, standing at the door, secretly agreed. "Muna" means "little child" in Hindi, so it couldn't really be considered a name.

His parents have always called him that, and they have never thought about giving him a name, or even knew how to give him one.

Muna recalled her first day at school.

The teacher asked them to line up and register their names one by one at the teacher's desk.

When he told the teacher his name, he looked up and stared at him in disbelief.

“Muna? That’s not really a name.”

“But this is all I have,” he said.

Didn't your mother name you?

“She is very ill, sir. She is bedridden and constantly vomiting blood. She has no time to name me.”

"What about your dad?"

“He was a rickshaw driver, sir. He didn’t have time to name me.”

"Do you have a grandmother? Do your uncles and aunts have one?"

"They don't have time either."

The teacher turned her face away and spat out a mouthful of betel nut juice, the bright red liquid spraying onto the classroom floor.

He licked his lips. "Alright, then I'll have to name you, right?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Uh, you can just call me Balram. You should know whose name that is, right?"

"I don't know, sir."

"He is a faithful companion of Krishna, the god of cattle. Do you know my name?"

"I don't know, sir."

He burst into laughter, “My name is Krishna.”

The name Balram was too long, and Muna dropped out of school early, so he ended up just being a child named "Muna".

Oh, that Brahmin gentleman is coming!
Look at his shoes, aren't they the legendary camel skin boots?
I really want to lie down and kiss his feet!

Muna stood there dumbfounded, her eyes seemingly unfocused.

"Who's in charge of this area?" Ron tossed over a few coins.

“Wh-what?” Muna stared at the coin in his elbow, stammering.

Those were five 2-rupee coins! Enough for him to see another performance of "The Praise of Difficult Mother"!
“Sir, I know!” The tea shop owner jumped out and reached for the coins in Muna’s arms.

"They're two beasts!" Muna shouted, bending over and clutching the money tightly.

A burst of laughter erupted around them, and Ron was a little stunned.

Two beasts? There are people with that name?
“It’s a honey badger and a raven, sir!” Muna hurriedly hid the money, answering quickly.

"Are these two guys involved in a gang?" Ratan asked.

People with such nicknames are definitely not good people.

“They are the landowners of Kana Village. The surrounding land and the hills all belong to them.” Muna’s chest pounded.

He's so smug now; he's a Brahmin lord, after all.

Ron and Ratan exchanged a glance. Okay, they were the ones.

"How many honey badgers and crows are there?" Ratan asked directly and with ill intent.

"I don't know, sir. They have more than a dozen servants, and there are some workers on the mountain."

“Workers?” Ron keenly grasped the key point.

“Those workers helped him scoop lime, and then sold it to city people to build houses.”

Well, the lime business has already taken off.

"Ron, it seems those two aren't going to give in so easily."

Ratan was a smart man; he knew that once a businessman had tasted the sweetness of profit, he would never give up easily.

“Let’s meet with them first and talk to them. We can’t just barge in. By the way, where do they live?” Ron asked again.

“It’s about one or two kilometers southeast of the town.”

Muna was very open with information, eager to tell Ron and the others everything, including where the two beasts' children went to school.

For so many years, no one has ever bothered them; such opportunities are rare.

“No need for so much talk,” Ratan waved his hand dismissively. “Just tell them to get lost. That’s our mine.”

“Doing business in Uttar Pradesh is a completely different matter from doing business in Mumbai,” Ron shrugged.

Before they even came looking for them, two more cars drove up from a distance.

Dudu, the lead vehicle is the honey badger's ambassador car!

The rickshaw drivers scattered in a panic, and the tea drinkers under the shade of the pavilion also quietly slipped away.

Only the tea shop owner and Muna couldn't leave; one had all his belongings there, and the other just wanted to watch the excitement.

The short, stout honey badger got out of the car aggressively, and his brother, Raven, also looked grim. Both of them had pistols tucked into their waistbands.

From another car behind them, more than a dozen thugs got out, some carrying knives, some carrying sticks, all looking fierce and menacing.

Ron laughed, and Ratan gave a soft whistle.

The people in their van haven't gotten out yet.

(End of this chapter)