I am a master in India

Chapter 248 Uttar Pradesh-Style Business Warfare

"Hey bro, do you think that Tiraga is reliable?" Ratan asked on the way back.

“He won’t let this opportunity pass. The one killed by the Tripati family was his most valued son, who had studied in Europe.”

“He wants to use us,” Ratan warned. “After driving out the Tripati family, he will swallow Mirzabul and then he will be the biggest gang in the East.”

“Of course I know, but we also want to use him, don’t we?” Ron shrugged.

So what are you planning to do?

"We'll just have to watch the show when it happens," Ron thought to himself.

"What's with all this nonsense? When did running a gang become so complicated? Back then, people would just pick up a gun and start fighting."

"Brother, you need to use your brain to get into the gang. Acting recklessly will only make you a pawn and you'll die quickly."

"Okay, okay, from now on, leave the gun-related stuff to me. You just need to use your brain."

Ratan leaned his head back and began fiddling with his exquisite pistol.

Compared to India's homemade pistols, the thing in his hand was a work of art.

"By the way, what should we do before that? We can't just wait around. The Tripati family's arms factory is annoying."

"Then let's cause them some trouble first."

"How to say?"

“I’ve been gathering a lot of information lately,” Ron said, handing him a piece of paper. “It’s mainly about the operational processes of the Tripatty family’s military factory.”

"Barrels, bullets, distribution channels." Ratan flipped through the pages, seemingly confused. "And then?"

Do you know where their gun barrels come from?

"Truck parts?" It was written on the paper in Ratan's hand.

Where are the most trucks in Mirzabul right now?

Ratan was taken aback for a moment, then slowly began to laugh.

Where are the most trucks? Of course, it's at the Suer Cement Plant.

"The parts that can be used to process gun barrels are all specific parts from trucks. None of the truck parts replaced in the factory will leak out, and I also swept up all the goods in the auto repair shops around Mirzapur."

Wow, this must cost a lot of money!

“On the contrary,” Ron chuckled, “those junk items are worthless. One hundred thousand rupees, all done.”

The Tripati military factory only buys old parts that have been replaced from trucks. What's the value of junk?

Ron could throw a million rupees at the Mirzapur area and cause a year-long shortage of truck parts.

The Tripati family could certainly buy from further afield, but that would mean a significant increase in both cost and time.

They could also buy brand new parts, but again, that would increase costs.

A homemade pistol that originally cost 1,000 rupees has suddenly increased in price to 2,000 rupees. Who would buy it?
Those who use this kind of product are poor people; they can't afford higher prices.

“Why would those auto repair shops be willing to sell you all their parts? They must have some kind of business relationship with the Tripati family, right?” Ratan asked.

"Do you think the profit margin is higher for car repair or for selling scrap?"

"Ah, you're their biggest customer, they wouldn't dare disobey you."

“It doesn’t matter who I sell to, I’ve paid them a fair share.” Ron shrugged.

“A cunning businessman.” Ratan disliked people who used their brains, except for his own people.

“Of course, I didn’t eat all the goods; I left some.” Ron gestured with his hand.

"Is there a problem with those goods?"

"Hmm." Ron nodded.

What will happen if I use it?

"Bang!" Ron spread his fingers. "It's going to explode."

“Brother, it’s truly unfortunate for the Tripati family to have met you.”

Ron shrugged. They deserved it.

His cement factory had barely started operations when he was repeatedly ordered to stop. Although he managed to pay them off, the news would certainly not be good for his reputation.

He's a businessman, so since the other party wants to play "business warfare," Ron will play along.

One week later, one evening, two people were waiting outside the Tripatty Estate.

One of them had his right hand covered in blood and flesh, and the other gestured for him to calm down.

Soon, the headlights of a car appeared in the distance, and the two quickly stood still.

"Kalimbai!" The leader clasped his hands together and came to the car window.

"What's going on?" Karin asked from the back seat of the car.

“He’s one of our men in Parsey Square,” explained the tall man, Magob, in the front row.

“Kalimbai, I’m here to sell you a gun. This guy bought a homemade pistol from me, and then…” The man outside the car pointed behind him.

"Brother, it exploded in my hand the moment I pulled the trigger," the injured man said, his face contorted in pain.

"So you bastard, you decided to come to my house?" Kalin asked in an unfriendly tone.

“No! Kalimbai, I didn’t want to bother you either, but he insisted on coming,” the gun seller quickly explained.

"Didn't you try out the gun before you bought it?" Kalin asked. "How much did you pay?"

“One thousand five hundred rupees,” the injured man replied.

"You think you can buy an AK for that little money? This is a homemade pistol."

The injured person lowered their head and remained silent.

“Magob, get him another gun.” Kalin tilted his head back.

Soon, another loaded homemade pistol was handed to the injured man's intact left hand.

“Now, fire another shot.” Kalin shook his head.

The injured man trembled; the gun was exactly the same as the one that had exploded before.

"Hurry up." Kalin stared at him coldly.

"Brother, I'm right-handed," the injured man pleaded.

“That was before. You’re left-handed now. From today onwards, you can only eat and wipe with your left hand,” Kalin said, staring at his bloodied and mangled right hand. “Big brother…”

"Stop talking nonsense and hurry up."

This is the King of Mirzabul; no one in town dares to refuse him.

The wounded man could only raise his gun and point it at the sky. The gun seller next to him immediately jumped aside in fright.

"Bang!" Blood burst open.

The shooter screamed and fell to the ground; he had lost both his hands.

Kalin, who was inside the car, looked very unhappy. He waved to the outside, "You, come here!"

"Big Brother." The man in charge of selling guns stepped forward.

“Take him to the hospital.” Kalin slipped him a few rupees.

The man was taken away, and Kalin's car continued to run.

*Thud!* The severed finger was crushed under the wheel.

“Marco, the probability of guns exploding lately is getting higher and higher. We have to solve this problem. It's not good for business. Let's go.”

"Yes, sir."

The next day, Kalin led his men to the arms factory. There were still many people there, but it seemed a bit quieter than last time.

The hammering and banging sounds have decreased, one of the machine tools has stopped, and many people are sitting idly on the ground.

"Are fewer people buying guns lately?" he asked Production Supervisor Ubi.

“Kalimbai, many customers say the guns are not good and will explode. They want to return them, and we can only do so.”

"Old guns could also explode, but it didn't affect business much. And now we're using equipment instead of manual labor. What's your explanation for that?"

“Kalimbai, barrel explosion is one issue, but recently the steel for making gun barrels has also been hard to come by,” said Ubi, the production supervisor, looking troubled.

"Hmm?" Kalin turned to look at Magob. "Where's Ram? Call him over."

After bringing his son to visit the arms factory last time, Kalin began to gradually put him in charge of some of the factory's affairs.

First comes the procurement of raw materials, then the responsibility of selling guns; the entire process is followed.

“Dad.” Ram came down from his office upstairs; he had just been smoking hemp.

"Has anything unusual happened at the factory recently?"

"No, everything is normal." Ram sniffed, her tone relaxed.

"Everything's normal?" Kalin's face turned cold. "Almost no one dares to use our guns anymore, and you're saying everything's normal?"

"Dad, it's only 1,500 rupees. We can't just sell them an AK, can we?"

Kalin was so angry she wanted to slap him, but considering that there were outsiders present, she held back in the end.

"Where's the gun barrel? Whoopi said it's been hard to buy steel from trucks lately?"

“I sent people to all the auto repair shops near Mirzabul, but none of them had suitable steel for making gun barrels,” Ram said innocently.

"What did the companies that used to work with us regularly say?"

"No, they said it was bought by someone else."

"Who?" Karin asked.

“The people at the cement factory to the north said that the trucks there were prone to breaking down, so they bought up all the usable parts.”

“Sul.” Kalin realized something was unusual about this.

They're causing trouble for each other, and now their own business is facing this problem—it's hard to call it a coincidence.

“Kalimbai.” The tall Magob stepped forward, gestured with his hand to make the shape of a gun, and pointed it to the north.

“Yadav promised us he wouldn’t interfere, on the condition that no guns are used and the cement plant isn’t damaged.” Kalin shook his head.

His original plan was to use various underhanded means to force the cement plant to stop production.

If this drags on long enough, the Su family will eventually go bankrupt.

The other party invested over 100 million rupees, most of which were bank loans.

It won't take long, just two months, before the bank comes knocking on your door to collect the debt.

This was a plan he and Yadav had devised, and the bank had also received instructions from Yadav.

Once the Suer cement plant is forcibly mortgaged, the Tripati family can acquire it without lifting a finger.

As for the engineering orders that Yadav promised to the cement plant, that was merely to appease Suer.

The actual start date of the project will probably be delayed until next year, by which time the cement plant will have changed owners, and everything will be just right.

To persuade Yadav, Kalin not only offered to cover the bank loan, but he also transferred some of his shares in the cement plant to him.

Hmph, a 10% kickback on the project payment?

Suer really underestimated Yadav's appetite.

However, it now seems that the other party has already realized something.

"Are all the guns we talked about last time ready?" Kalin asked.

“Ready.” Ma Gebu nodded.

"It's best to check it again, remove anything that might explode, and check for any deficiencies."

“Dad, I’ll go buy the steel needed for the gun barrels,” Ram volunteered.

"Where to buy it?"

“Changwudali, I know someone over there. Suer can’t reach that far.”

Kalin turned his gaze, and the tall Magbu nodded.

"Bring as many people as possible, the sooner the better."