I am a master in India

Chapter 237 Sounding the Alarm
Not only India is short of US dollars, but Dongda University is too.

Although this year's exchange rate unification reform has eased the situation.

However, according to regulations, enterprises and individuals must sell their foreign exchange earnings to designated banks, which will then manage them centrally.

To put it bluntly, the foreign exchange quota is still not freely disposable, and we are far from being wealthy.

When they heard that Ashish paid for two black-and-white television production lines in US dollars, the manufacturers who were worried about where to get rid of their junk were overjoyed.

They all took the initiative to come to Ashish and his men, serving them fine wine and food, all in an effort to get rid of the factory's burdens as soon as possible.

The initial offer of $30 was driven up to $20 by the influx of competitors.

In the end, the relevant departments couldn't stand by and watch, and they mediated the transaction.

A TV factory in Shanghai, taking advantage of its proximity, acquired two production lines that were 80% new and in good condition, for a discounted price of $450,000.

Based on the principle of "it's our first transaction, but there's plenty of time for future collaborations," they also gifted Ashish two sets of spare repair parts.

Of course, with Ron's approval, Ashish, representing Suer Electric, reciprocated.

They signed a contract with several TV parts factories near Dongda University, mainly to purchase certain core components.

As agreed, Suer Electric will import 20 picture tubes and circuit boards from component manufacturers such as Hongguang and Shangdian within the next two years.

Unfortunately, India can't produce such a core component as the display tube, so we have to import it.

However, the price quoted by the University of the East is very cheap: $20 for each 14-inch CRT, which is equivalent to 172 yuan or about 620 rupees.

When Ron received the call from Ashish, he thought he had misheard.

He had consulted the international market about things like picture tubes.

The same 14-inch picture tube costs $100 each in Europe and America, but is cheaper in Japan and South Korea, at $80.

The University of Tokyo's offer is only a quarter or a fifth of theirs, a truly drastic price cut.

What else is there to say? Buy it!
What they didn't know was that the manufacturers from Dongda University were also feeling uneasy after submitting their quotes.

Because there's an overcapacity of this technology in China, and it's on the verge of being phased out. Black and white TVs only sell in rural areas; urban residents have long since stopped buying them.

The cost of producing a 14-inch picture tube is only about 100 yuan, but they sell it to Indians for 172 yuan, which is a huge profit.

Then a strange scene unfolded: Ashish wanted to bargain but dared not, while the manufacturers from Tokyo wanted to concede but were afraid of appearing weak.

Using a hemp stalk to fight a wolf, both sides are afraid.

Finally, Ashish tentatively asked them to cover the shipping costs and subsequent training expenses, to which the Dongda manufacturer immediately agreed.

Well, one person bought a high-quality, low-priced product, and the other unexpectedly opened up a channel for earning foreign exchange. Everyone is happy.

The atmosphere during the signing was extremely enthusiastic, just like when NEC signed a contract in Mumbai.

Ron was extremely satisfied with the deal; he had found the key to wealth.

The main cost of a television set is the picture tube, which accounts for about 30%-50% of the total cost. India can produce the other parts itself.

Including tariffs, other components, labor, electricity and other costs, the total cost of producing a 14-inch black and white television by Suer Electric is approximately 1700 rupees.

Damn it, I might as well just buy it now.

In India, no black and white TV sets cost less than 8000 rupees. How can you even play with that?
For a fleeting moment, Ron even considered becoming a comprador from then on.

Dongda's products are completely dumped in India; there are no competitors at all.

Unfortunately, the comprador path won't last long. In two years, once India fully opens its doors, more and more people will be eyeing this market.

Without technological advantages and the ability to keep up with the pace of iteration, being eliminated is inevitable.

Fortunately, we don't need to consider this issue for the time being; Ron can start by becoming a comprador.

The total cost of 1700 rupees is a complete blow to the other two domestic competitors in India.

However, this matter should be kept low-key and not publicized as much as when we collaborated with NEC.

The relationship between India and the University of Tokyo is something those who know, understand.

Ron could only sneak into the village; he couldn't fire a shot.

With NEC providing cover in front, there shouldn't be any major problems.

According to Ashish, the production line from Dongda is expected to arrive at the port in about a month, which is incredibly fast.

Ron was excited; he wanted to see the televisions bearing the Suer logo roll off the production line.

However, a call from his hometown in Uttar Pradesh forced him to temporarily put aside his affairs in Mumbai, as there was trouble at the mines.

Muna now feels like he's living in paradise. He not only gets to eat curry chicken every few days, but he also has time to read!
What a luxury! It's a privilege reserved for the rich and powerful.

Now Muna also has this privilege; it is a gift from his master.

The books placed on his bedside table are proof of this, ranging from Indian encyclopedias to introductions to local customs and culture, covering a wide range of topics.

Muna cherished these books, just like she would with Ruby.

However, he usually doesn't read indoors because Dorje always makes sarcastic remarks.

Dorjee longed to leave the mine and return to Varanasi or stay with his master Ratan, but he was never able to do so.

He vented his resentment on Muna. The two lived in the same room, no more than a meter apart, but never exchanged a friendly word.

There wasn't even a simple "hello" or "how is your mother?" or any similar greeting.

The first thing Dorje does every morning after getting up is to bow and pray before the no fewer than twenty idols he has pasted on the wall, chanting "Om, Om, Om." At this time, he will glance at Muna out of the corner of his eye, as if to say, "Don't you pray? What are you doing? Are you a traitor disguised as a shepherd?"

Muna was furious. One evening, he went to the market and bought all the statues of Rama and Hanuman that he could find, about twenty-four or twenty-five of them.

He pasted all the idols inside his house, so that in terms of the number of idols he owned, he was on par with Dorje.

Every morning, after bowing to these great deities, the two of them would pray loudly, each trying to outdo the other.

After persisting for a few days, Muna realized that he didn't need to waste his time with that guy.

Wouldn't it be better to use that time to read more books?

So, under Dorji's smug gaze, Muna stopped competing with him to see who was more loyal to the gods.

Muna got up very early; before sunrise, the roosters crowed incessantly throughout the village as if they had gone mad.

He carefully left the house, took his books, and climbed towards the small hill near the mine.

The sun was just about to rise, and the pond at the foot of the mountain shimmered. Occasionally, stones would tumble down from the mountaintop, rolling and roaring as they plunged into the pond.

The stone that fell into the water was half submerged, its surface smooth and wet, like a large pebble.

The pond was covered with lotus flowers and water lilies, and the ripples among the flowers shimmered with silver light.

As usual, the village's water buffalo wade through the pond, chewing on water lily leaves, their noses arching out in a large V-shape wherever they go.

The sun slowly rose, casting its light upon the buffalo, upon Muna, and upon the land.

Muna looked up and saw a stone wall with rows of observation holes that looked like bright red lines at sunrise.

That's right, there's an ancient castle on the hilltop, which the villagers prefer to call Black Castle.

Blackburg is said to be at least several hundred years old, but no one knows who built it.

Perhaps they were Ottomans, perhaps Persians, perhaps British, or other foreigners who had ruled India.

Muna curled his lip in disdain. He had read history and knew that India had never been truly free.

At first, the herdsmen had the final say, but then it was the British who started bossing them around.

The British left in the 1940s, but only an idiot would believe that India was truly free.

Blackburg is now abandoned, and a group of monkeys have taken over as their king. Apart from shepherds who sometimes graze their sheep nearby, no one has ever been up there.

The closer you get, the louder the monkeys' squeaking becomes. Their nimble figures leap and bound along the city wall, climbing high and low, sometimes fighting each other, as if the dead warriors of Blackburg were possessed, ready to reignite their final battle.

Muna climbed to the top of the hill, passed through the gate, and entered the Black Castle.

He looked around and saw only a few dilapidated walls and a group of frightened monkeys watching him from a distance.

The stones in the pond at the foot of the mountain were probably dropped from the stone walls of Blackburg.

Ignoring the monkeys' squeaking threats, Muna climbed to a bare platform atop the Black Fort.

The light here is perfect, there are no obstructions, and there's even a rustic stone table left behind.

This is Muna's desk, sturdy and durable, preserved for over a hundred years.

Muna likes to read here; no one bothers him, and it's also an excellent lookout post.

Just stand up and walk to the stone wall, and you can look down at the mines and cement plant construction sites at the foot of the mountain, as well as the small village not far away.

Muna saw the tower in the temple near the village, the small market, the gleaming, stinking ditch, the mansions of the beasts, and his own home.

There was a small black dot in front of the house; Muna knew it was a water buffalo. It was simply the most beautiful sight in the world.

He leaned out of the castle, wanting to shout something loud.

Well, he didn't do that because he was afraid the people from the mine would come up and check.

Just as Muna was about to turn back to read her book, she suddenly paused, noticing a row of small black dots approaching from a distance.

Coming from the south, there were cars and pedestrians, a grand procession.

Muna found it strange that few outsiders came to Kana Village, especially those from the south.

Workers from the north, coming from Varanasi, are nothing new to everyone, but why from the south?

Muna squinted and examined them for a while, then his expression suddenly changed drastically.

Oh no, it must be Mirzabul's men.

That King of Mirzabul, Kalimbai! Only he could mobilize so many people.

Muna took off running down the mountain, abandoning even the books on the stone table.

Muna remembered everything his master had told him to do and kept a close watch on everything happening around Kana Village.

He ran so fast, like a warrior charging down from Blackburg, that he almost lost his footing and fell into the pond as he passed it.

"Dorje! Dorje! Hurry! The men from Kalimbai are here!" Muna shouted.

The miners who had just started work looked completely bewildered, having no idea what he was shouting.

It wasn't until Dorje, having heard the news, came out and vigorously rang the bronze bell under the eaves.

Clang! Clang! Clang! The mine was awakened and became restless.

(End of this chapter)