I am a master in India

Chapter 239 Changes in the sky
“Muna, what suggestions do you have?” Ron asked in a softer tone.

“Master, the farmers who caused the trouble must have all been paid, but there aren’t many of them,” Muna explained cautiously.

“Okay, continue.” Ron nodded.

"Most of the villagers whose land was requisitioned are here with us, on construction sites and in mines; they are our people."

"you mean"

“Master, you give them jobs, pay them salaries, and don’t take a cut of their money. Everyone is grateful to you.”

Those lazybones, who would oppose you for a pittance, are universally condemned as heartless, ungrateful, and traitors.

"If it were you, what would you do?" Ron asked with a smile in his eyes.

“Let all of Mirzabul know of your mercy. I will organize a procession to sing your praises and give the grateful villagers the opportunity to repay your kindness.”

“This kid is acting like an elector right now,” Ratan said from the side.

Ron laughed, "That's hilarious."

"Muna, you've improved a lot."

"These are all stories written in books. Mahatma Gandhi organized many marches when he was young."

"That book for young adults?"

"Yes."

What else have you watched in the past few months?

"History, and social encyclopedia."

"If I have time, I'll take a look at Indian politics and elections."

"Yes, Master."

"I'll leave this matter to you."

“Is that so?” Muna suddenly looked up.

"Do as you say. Mirzabul will not allow two voices. I will allocate manpower for you."

"Yes, Master!" Muna's clenched fist trembled slightly.

This was a feeling he had never experienced before; his heart was pounding.

“Alright, let’s go check out the factory first.” Ron stood up.

He wasn't in a hurry about the newspaper; he was more concerned about his cement factory.

The small hills that used to belong to the crows have now been completely transformed.

The potholed, rocky slopes have disappeared, replaced by solid platforms that stretch from the foot of the mountain all the way out.

Amidst the roar of engines, yellow heavy trucks sped past, kicking up a trail of dust, their cargo beds overflowing with ore.

The unloaded ore is automatically transported away by a conveyor belt, and at the end, a giant jaw crusher opens its iron teeth and swallows it whole.

Whenever its mouth is full, it bites hard and tears the boulder into fist-sized pieces.

These roughly processed gravel pieces were then transported by trucks and driven along newly paved asphalt roads to the cement plant outside.

The towering calcining furnace rises from the ground, and standing on it, one can overlook the lush forest in the distance.

A vast industrial area stretches out into the distance at its feet, including feeding towers, rotary kilns, dust collection workshops, warehouses, and transportation pipelines.
At the top of the feeding tower, there is a tall observation deck surrounded by steel, and the elevator leading up to it is slow and shaky.

Wearing a hard hat, Ron looked down proudly from above at the massive project that was nearing completion.

"When is the first phase of the production line expected to be completed?" he asked.

"At most two months, most of the equipment will be ready for testing," the chief engineer, Gao Er, replied.

"Is there any difficulty?"

"The power supply from the outside is unstable, and our own generators cannot power all the equipment."

"I remember that when it was originally designed, a power station was planned for this area?"

“Yes, right there,” Gore said, pointing into the distance.

It was a red and white chimney, the main structure of which was already completed, but it was quiet and still at the moment.

What's needed to make it move?

"A 5MW generator set."

"Increase the budget?" Ron frowned.

"For just $100 million, or 3000 million rupees, it can meet all the needs of the cement plant and the mine. In the long run, this will save us 70% on electricity costs."

"Besides the generator set, what else do we need?" Ron was a little tempted.

"Coal!" Gore's eyes lit up.

"I'll take care of the coal." Ron waved his hand dismissively; it was the least valuable thing.

There are coal mines in Sumbadera to the south, less than two hours' drive from here, very close.

Yes, he is very satisfied with the progress of the project here.

In less than a year, the original farmland was transformed into an industrial center of considerable size.

Of course, this is only the first phase of the project, and it's purely to speed up the production line's progress.

It will take at least two years to complete the construction of the 100 acres of industrial land, which will probably be by the end of next year.

"I will try to stay in Uttar Pradesh for another two months until the cement plant starts trial production."

"It will definitely go smoothly; this is just the first line," Gore said confidently.

The current cement plant has an annual designed output of 100,000 tons, which can only be considered a small to medium-sized plant, and there is no difficulty in achieving this.

Gore had worked on similar projects, and his ideal target was 500,000 tons, which would match the mine's reserves.

But that's for later; take it slow, the first step is the most important.

Ron was captivated by the view from the tower, which offered a panoramic view of the entire construction site.

Busy workers moved like ants underfoot, the newly paved asphalt road was black and shiny, and two rows of neat plywood houses stretched out in a long line next to the factory.

Because of their advantageous location, the workers' living quarters were also paved with cement.

The small workshop left behind by those two beasts has already been put to use.

The cement produced was of average quality, so we decided to use it to support the factory's internal construction.

Unfortunately, cement roads are too rigid and not suitable for uneven, sloping roads; heavy trucks can easily break them.

After the cement plant goes into operation, Ron plans to build a wide cement road that runs directly from the plant to Varanasi.

This continuous supply of cement can be quickly delivered to Varanasi railway station, and then transported to various parts of Uttar Pradesh. "To get rich, build roads first"—a truly wise saying.

After inspecting the construction site, Ron finally prepared to head to Lucknow.

The quickest way to resolve the recent turmoil is to start directly from the top.

As for media reports, you can ignore them; that's just how unconventional Uttar Pradesh is.

However, Ron was very concerned about his reputation, so he decided to take a two-pronged approach.

Muna was responsible for changing public opinion from the bottom up, and he went to resolve the underlying conflicts of interest.

...

Mirzabur, the Tripati family.

"Did you do this?" Karin threw the newspaper on the table.

“Dad, I didn’t fire a shot this time, and I didn’t use a single bullet. You can ask Mark Bu if you don’t believe me.”

The tall Mark Bu, standing next to them, nodded slightly. He was in charge of all the Tripatty family's guns and had the key to the armory.

“Didn’t I tell you not to mess with them right now?” Kalin stared intently at him.

“Their factory will start operating soon, in no more than two months. Dad, you said we should wait until they have everything sorted out before we make a move.”

"Where did you hear this news from?" Kalin narrowed his eyes slightly.

“One of our students works there, and I found him,” Ram said with a smug smile.

In Mirzapur, "Kalimbai" means command, and no one dares to refuse the Tripati family.

Through that student's connection, Ram has already gotten a pretty good idea of ​​the cement plant's progress.

He couldn't contain himself and decided to cause the other party some trouble, and at the same time prove himself to his father.

The King of Mirzabul cannot always be "Kalimbai," he can also be "Rambai," and this small town will ultimately belong to him.

“The Varanasi are not so easy to deal with. You’re just alerting them.”

"Dad, you're the one who said I'm idle all day long. I just want to do something for the family now," Ram said, dissatisfied.

"I'm not saying you did something wrong, but you went too far."

"What?" Ram was taken aback.

"Why not let someone shoot from behind? In that situation, the other side would definitely fire back."

Kill as many farmers as possible, and preferably take out the journalists too, so that we can escalate the situation.

Such bland and innocuous reports will only annoy the other party, but will not cause any real harm.

Have you become stupid from reading too much? When did the Tripatty family ever act so hesitantly?

"Then...then I'll bring people over in a couple of days."

"Idiot, too late. The Varanasi are already on guard," Kalin scolded, exasperated.

This son is arrogant and domineering, and he's quite clever, but he's narrow-minded, immature, and not ruthless enough.

“What’s going on with the Daily News?” Karin asked again.

The tabloids in Mirzabul are understandable, but the Daily News in Lucknow, the Tripatti family can't stretch that far.

"I asked Rao's daughter for help," Ram said hesitantly.

“Councilor Rao? Why should his daughter listen to you?” Kalin was taken aback, then his eyes turned strange.

"I promised to go to the movies with her."

"that's it?"

“That’s it.” Ram shrugged.

The atmosphere in the living room grew increasingly strange. The old man, who rarely concerned himself with family affairs anymore, sat in his wheelchair with a smile on his face.

Stepmother Pina also glanced at Ram, her eyes sparkling as if they were about to overflow with tears.

“Don’t make things difficult for Senator Rao; he only has one daughter,” Kalin warned him.

"It was just to watch a movie; she offered to help me herself."

"You should stop interfering in this matter; the family will handle it."

"dad…"

Just as Ram was about to speak, Gupta from the police station suddenly arrived.

Kalin waved, signaling the other person to come forward.

"Kalimbai, there's some noise outside." Gupta clasped his hands together and smiled obsequiously.

"What's the noise?"

"There is a protest."

"Ok?"

"The Varanasi are right outside."

Kalin remained silent, and just as the people in the living room were exchanging glances, he suddenly got up and walked outside.

The Tripati family's estate is in the best location in the town of Mirzapur.

It was a high ground, overlooking the town's central square.

The plaster statues of Karin and Ram are there; they are symbols of the Tripati family's rule over Mirzapur.

At this moment, a large crowd gathered in the square, waving flags and shouting slogans.

"Great Mr. Sur gave us work!" "Roads, running water, praise to Mr. Sur!"...

The boy in the lead, with a yellow turban on his head, stood on the truck like a fighter, raising his fist and shouting.

Behind him was a portrait of Ron Sue, and everyone could see his gentle smile.

Among the moving convoy, some people were handing out leaflets, which contained very little, just one sentence.

300 rupees a month, what a generous gift from the great Mr. Sur!
There are too many illiterate people in Uttar Pradesh, so you have to write "300 rupees" in big letters; that works better than anything else.

The crowd in the square began to stir. 300 rupees? That's too much!

Almost without any slogans or encouragement, people spontaneously joined the queue. They couldn't wait; they wanted to go to the cement plant to the north right now.

Kalin watched helplessly as the crowd followed the parade away, and the town square visibly became deserted.

The two plaster statues were ignored.

(End of this chapter)