I am a master in India

Chapter 184 The Wind and Thunder Stir
“I said, is it really necessary to make such a big deal out of it? We’re here to do preliminary exploration, not to fight a war.”

“Ron, you don’t understand. In Uttar Pradesh, you have to rely on the weapons you have, otherwise those people won’t respect you.”

With a click, Latan pulled back the bolt, and after hearing the crisp sound of the spring mechanism, he tossed the submachine gun to his subordinate with satisfaction.

The Sue family's private armed forces have undergone a complete overhaul.

The old homemade revolvers, kukri kukri, and hunting rifles have all been replaced with modern standard weapons.

From the renowned AK to the compact and agile submachine gun, and even the Glock pistol standard issue for Indian police officers, they are all high-end products.

The team, which originally consisted of several dozen people, has now been upgraded from ragtag guns to artillery, with each person carrying a weapon.

Of course, acquiring this batch of weapons would cost a lot of money, approximately 800 million rupees.

The Sue family couldn't come up with that much cash, so Ron covered most of the expenses himself.

He never skimps on security. His family's armed forces are his backing.

Uttar Pradesh is a land of outstanding people and abundant resources, and Ron wasn't naive enough to simply transplant his business model from Mumbai to Uttar Pradesh.

Adapting to local conditions and respecting local customs is the right approach.

However, Ron couldn't hold back when he saw a truck full of armed men.

Yes, this time the trip to Mirzabul will no longer be by minivan. No, minivans are still included, but they will no longer be the main mode of transport.

Ratan somehow acquired two large trucks, each crammed with dozens of people in its cargo bed.

This scene looks like some kind of anti-government armed group preparing to launch an uprising.

That's so hardcore!

"Just you wait, Ron, those two guys will be scared out of their wits!"

Ratan waved his hand, and the rumbling truck started moving, with the animals behind it shouting excitedly.

These family retainers were completely unaware of fear, or rather, they had long been accustomed to it.

Living in Uttar Pradesh is inherently a life of constant danger.

Gangs are rampant here, and the number of murders is the highest in all of India; killing and being killed are both very commonplace.

A distorted and morbid living environment has led the lower classes to fanatically worship violence.

For them, upgrading their weapons and equipment wouldn't be enough to vent their excitement without a fight.

Ron rubbed his forehead and reluctantly got into the car. He didn't go with Ratan, but followed behind in a sedan.

In the front row sat Anil and another bodyguard, while in the back row sat exploration experts brought in from Lucknow.

In Ratan's words, he was more professional than Ron at fighting.

Well, hopefully those two beasts will know what's good for them.

The long convoy headed south, the sky over Mirzabul filled with dark clouds.

With a loud bang, the crow was startled by the sudden thunder, but quickly sat up straight again.

“Kalimbai, I urgently need this shipment, you must help me,” he pleaded, clasping his hands together.

"You're not asking for a small amount. So many guns, who are you planning to use them against?" The figure in the main seat asked in a deep voice.

Kalin Tripati, the underground king of Mirzabur, also known as Kalinbai.

He controlled all the shady businesses in the city, including arms dealing, narcotics, loan sharking, and hitman services.

The mere mention of his name instilled fear in everyone, who dared not utter the slightest disobedience.

Legend has it that anyone coming to Mirzabul to do business must first pay their respects here. No one may "fire a shot" without his permission.

The crow was just a small landowner in the countryside, and he adopted an extremely humble posture in front of the renowned Kalinbai.

“Kalimbai, the Varanasi are trying to take my territory, which has belonged to the Kasa family for generations. I have no choice but to fight back.”

"Varanasi? What are they doing here?"

"I don't know either. They had guns and came in aggressively."

The crow wasn't telling the truth; he was afraid the limestone mine would attract the covetous eyes of Kalinbai.

For so many years, the crows have been doing this business in secret, making a fortune quietly.

Furthermore, according to the rules of the underworld, as long as he doesn't ask for help, Kalinbai can't find a reason to interfere in his business.

The underworld has its own order, and Kalimbai, who sits on the throne, even has to personally maintain this order.

“The factory doesn’t have much stock. If you want to pick up the goods now, you’ll have to pay extra.” Kalinbai picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"If I want it now, what's the price?" the crow asked cautiously.

“30 rupees, I’ll have someone take you to the warehouse.”

"Okay!" the crow gritted its teeth and agreed.

This was almost half of his fortune; even a small landowner in the countryside didn't have much surplus grain.

Kalinbai tilted his head, gesturing to the big guy next to him to take the crow to get the goods.

To conceal his arms dealing, Kalimbay specifically set up a small copper factory.

They were pretending to make copper; their real purpose was to manufacture weapons.

Yes, Kalimbay's weapons don't come from elsewhere; they're all handmade.

The bullets don't have much added value; most of them are cheap bullets obtained from the military.

When the crow followed the tall man to the warehouse, the workers outside were clanging and banging on a red-hot gun barrel.

Without lathes or die-casting machines, only hammers, it's all handcrafted.

"Are these guns okay?" he asked.

"A gun costs several thousand rupees. What do you expect to buy, an AK?"

The tall man silenced the crow with a single sentence; the arms trade, of course, also operates on the principle of "you get what you pay for."

Want to buy a nice imported gun? Fine, keep adding money. An AK, a star in the arms world, won't cost less than 80,000 rupees. Of course, Crow isn't that extravagant; he wants a large quantity and also needs to include consumables like bullets.

Revolvers, double-barreled shotguns, and long-barreled rifles—300,000 rupees is barely enough; you can only choose cheaper local options.

But seeing the rough gun barrel still gave the crow a toothache.

I don't know if this thing is reliable or not, but the muzzle is frighteningly thick.

With a wave of his hand, he signaled his men to move the goods, and the crow readily paid the money.

He was greedy by nature, but not stupid. Protecting what he already had was paramount; money could be earned later.

Outside, a honey badger was waiting for him in a truck, also full of people, ready to arm themselves immediately once they got the guns.

Boom! Another muffled thunderclap.

Muna glanced at the sky with surprise. The rainy season had just ended, so why was it going to rain again?
"You little rascal, you're slacking off again!" The tea shop owner chased after him, carrying a large ladle.

"No, it's going to rain, so I came out to move the stove inside!"

"Liar! The rainy season is long over. You're just like your father, incorrigible, always thinking about escaping the village. And in the end, you're just a worthless dead body!"

Muna ran briskly, the angry roar of the tea shop owner ringing in her ears.

The small square in front of the teahouse was crowded with people, including rickshaw pullers and idle teenagers, all laughing and joking as they watched Muna make a fool of himself.

Muna was once one of those teenagers; they waited here for only one thing: to leave.

Whenever a truck passed by the square, the boys would run towards it, reaching out their hands and shouting, "Take me with you! Take me with you!"

After a bit of pushing and shoving, six or seven people will squeeze onto the bus, while the rest will wait for another bus.

The few who escaped were going to work as construction workers or excavators; they were lucky to have escaped this primitive village.

Every two hours, another truck would arrive, followed by another round of jostling and pushing.

Muna was once very fortunate to squeeze to the front; the driver was a Sikh with a blue turban on his head.

He held a wooden stick in his hand and waved it to direct the crowd to retreat.

"Listen up, all of you!" he roared. "Take off your shirts! If you want to find work, I need to see if your bodies are up to par first!"

The driver examined Muna's chest, slapped his buttocks, stared into his eyes, and then slammed his thigh with a stick. "Too skinny! Fuck you, get out!"

“Give me a chance, sir! I may be thin, but I’m strong! I can dig dirt, I can carry cement, I can do more,” Muna pleaded.

The driver swung his stick and struck Muna in the left ear. Muna clutched his ear and crouched down, and the people behind him immediately rushed over and took his seat.

Muna sat on the ground, rubbing her ears, watching the truck speed away, kicking up a cloud of dust.

He cried bitterly, wanting to leave this place, even if it meant being covered in wounds like his father.

Yes, Muna still remembers her father's health.

His body was covered in scars, from his chest down to his waist, then to his hips and arms. Everywhere you touched, there were wounds and scars of all sizes, like marks etched on his body by the whip of time.

Reality wrote a history of poverty on his father's body, its strokes sharp as a knife, cutting deep into his flesh.

Muna isn't afraid of becoming like her father, as long as she gets out of here.

He knew that with those two beasts around, the villagers would never have a chance to rise above their circumstances.

The honey badger and the crow didn't treat them as human beings, but as servants and slaves, taking whatever they wanted from them.

When the fishermen couldn't pay their share of the money, they got the fishermen's daughters pregnant.

Muna's cousin couldn't save up her dowry, so she tried to borrow money from loan sharks, but instead, she was forced to stay by Crow and got pregnant.

Although the child was aborted, it will be very difficult for her cousin to find a good family again.

A widowed bachelor is willing to agree to a dowry, provided that a large sum of money is prepared.

Difficult! Life in Kana village will drive Muna crazy sooner or later.

He hated the two beasts; all the suffering was caused by them.

Beep beep, there's a horn sound.

Is that a bus from town?

Actually, Muna doesn't necessarily have to leave the village; she just wants to live like a human being.

What does it mean to live like a human being? For Muna, it might mean living like Vicha, the bus ticket seller.

The bus will stop in front of the tea shop for half an hour, and after the passengers get off, the ticket seller, Vicha, will also get off to have a cup of tea.

He was the object of admiration for everyone working in the teahouse. He wore a khaki uniform issued by the company, with a silver whistle tied to his pocket with a red string, looking extremely smug.

Everything about him tells people that he has made a name for himself.

Vicha's home was also in the village, but it was like a pigsty; it represented the true bottom of society.

But he still succeeded; somehow, he got involved with an official.

It is said that he swapped his body with someone else's, and then everything went smoothly for him.

Being a ticket seller is a good job; he has a pretty silver whistle in his hand, and he blows it when the bus starts moving.

At this point, the village children would chase after the car like madmen, banging on the car body and shouting that he should take them with him.

Muna longed to be like Vicha, wearing a uniform, with a fixed salary, and a shiny whistle around his neck that made a loud whistling sound when blown.

Then everyone looked at him as if to say, "Look, what an important person he is!"

This is Muna's dream: to live like a human being.

Beep beep! A few more honks from the horn.

Huh? These aren't the town's buses; there are several of them.

Muna turned her head, then slowly opened her mouth wide.

The tea shop owner, exhausted from running, chuckled at him while resting his knees, but his laughter soon faded.

(End of this chapter)