I am a master in India

Chapter 322 Zoo

Muna has been having recurring dreams lately, in which he stands on the ruined walls of Black Castle, surrounded by a group of terrified monkeys.

He loudly recited the works of the great pastoral poet Iqbal, poems about gods and demons.

In his poem, he imagines himself as the devil, rebelling against the gods' oppression of him.

According to the herders' legend, the devil was once a companion of the gods. Later, they became enemies and went their separate ways, beginning a fierce struggle between them.

Iqbal's poem is about this matter, and Muna only remembers the gist of it now.

The god said: "I possess boundless supernatural powers; I am the only one worthy of respect in heaven and on earth. You shall return to be my servant!"

The devil said: Ha!
Muna then thought of himself, that short, dark-skinned boy, wearing a soaking wet khaki uniform, lying on the earthen wall of the Black Castle.

The gods spread their hands across the blue sky, covering the plains below, so that this small man could see the village of Kana, the small tributary of the Ganges, and everything in the distance: thousands upon thousands of such villages, billions upon billions of such people.

The god asked the little man: Isn't all this wonderful? Isn't all this magnificent? Aren't you grateful to be my servant?
The short man in the wet khaki uniform started trembling and then woke up with a start.

Muna sighed and sat up in bed. He had recently had another fight with his family, and his cousin Pap had come to see him, urging him to go back and get married.

Muna refused to accept this; he always associated old Rutu with the gods in his dreams, and saw himself as the devil.

They were originally a very close family, but they drifted apart for various reasons.

Family should be the strongest bond, especially in India, where the saying goes, "When one person attains enlightenment, even his chickens and dogs benefit."

But in rural India, especially among the lower classes, the home also binds everyone.

You can't just think of yourself; you have an obligation to ensure they also have a good life.

Your income, your network of contacts, everything must serve your family, even your marriage!

He was like a large sugar cube that had fallen into a pile of ants.

This kind of thing is all too common in India, especially among officials who are of Dalit origin.

Why did he have no choice but to resort to corruption?

Because he was a golden phoenix that flew out of a sparrow's nest, he was able to obtain an official position in the "Imperial City" of Delhi.

Every time he returned to the village, his family and the entire impoverished community eagerly awaited the various "tributes" he would bring back.

This country is beyond saving, and the more Muna reads, the more he understands this.

Democracy! What a joke!
Indian propaganda brochures devote considerable space to describing India's glorious democratic cause: how awe-inspiring it is that a billion people vote to decide their own future, and how they fully enjoy the right to vote freely, and so on.

Some politicians on the radio said they would definitely surpass the University of Tokyo because, although they lack a developed drainage system, clean drinking water, and Olympic gold medals, India has a great democracy.

Muna thought that if he were to create a country, he would first lay down the drainage system, then consider democracy, and finally give brochures and statues of Gandhi to foreign dignitaries from all over the world.

But what does he know? He's just a sugar maker named Harvey!

Muna has no problem with democracy; on the contrary, he has "benefited greatly" from it!
Even his birthday was a gift from democracy.

This is a long story. At that time, Muna was doing odd jobs such as breaking coal and wiping tables in a tea shop in Kana village.

One day, applause came from the direction of the Gandhi portrait at the teahouse. The teahouse owner started shouting loudly, telling everyone to stop what they were doing and then line up and head to the school.

A man in official robes sat at the podium in the classroom, with a large notebook and a black pen in front of him. He asked everyone the same two questions.

"Name?"

“Muna Harvi”.

"age?"

"No."

Do you know when your birthday is?

“I don’t know, sir. My parents didn’t write it down.”

He looked at Muna and said, "I think you should be eighteen years old. You just turned eighteen today. You just forgot, didn't you?"

“Yes, sir, I forgot. Today is my eighteenth birthday.”

"What an obedient and good child."

Then he wrote Muna's information down in the notebook and told him he could leave.

Thus, Muna has since had a government-recognized birthday.

He had to be eighteen years old; all the employees at the tea shop were registered as being eighteen or older, which was the legal voting age.

Just before the election, the tea shop owner had already sold them for a good price.

He was selling Muna's handprints, because illiterate people here vote by pressing their handprints.

This is something Muna overheard from a tea drinker. Apparently, the election was a close contest, and the tea shop owner received a lot of money from the Socialists for their fingerprints.

Alas, according to government documents, Muna turned eighteen three or four years ago, and now he is twenty-four!

At this age, she should indeed be married long ago in rural India.

"Country rat!" Dorje appeared at the door; he never knocked.

"What is it?" Muna asked, having finished making the bed.

"Your master is calling you." He had a bright smile on his face.

This mouse was sleeping in! Dorjee guessed that when his owner called him over, he was definitely going to give him a good scolding.

What right does a servant have to sleep in late? That's outrageous!
"I'm coming right now." Muna hurriedly finished packing and went downstairs.

His dormitory building was on the west side, and the factory's office building was on the south side, some distance apart.

Muna jogged across the concrete and arrived at Ron's office, already out of breath.

"Master," he gasped for breath.

"Why the rush?" Ron waved for him to sit down. "I'll just stand, Master," Muna said stubbornly.

Have you been reading any books lately?

"Yes."

Have you watched "Politics and Elections"?

"Looked."

"Give your opinion."

"Master?" Muna asked, puzzled.

How can a newly established political party quickly build its base of support?

Muna pondered for a moment, then raised her head sheepishly, "Master, you already said that last time."

"Ok?"

"It's not difficult to monopolize the voters at the grassroots level, but it's difficult to establish connections with the upper echelons of politics. A political party needs a stage that everyone can see."

“Tell me about the voters,” Ron said noncommittally.

"The quickest way is to unite people of the same caste. Secondly, we should focus on poorer areas and win their votes, which is much easier than in the cities."

"Caste."

"Yes, caste is the best electoral district division."

Muna had read history, and he felt that India was like a big zoo, a self-sufficient, hierarchical, and orderly zoo.

Everyone has their own job and is happy in their place. There are goldsmiths, cowherds, and landlords here.

The family with the surname Harvey makes candy, the family with the surname Cowherd herds cattle, and the lowly people carry manure.

The original landlords were also administrators, and whether they were kind to the serfs depended entirely on their mood.

They also stipulated that women must wear veils and always look at the ground when speaking to strange men.

In zoos, people of the same species are naturally more likely to be close to each other, as they are more likely to gain the trust of their companions.

“Starting today, a new political party will be formed in the Pufancha district, and you will be in charge of it.” Ron handed him a piece of paper.

"Wh-what?" Muna was so frightened that she didn't dare to move.

He looked down; the paper read: All India Social Progressive Front.

This is the name of the new political party, or simply the Progressive Party.

“It starts with your Harvey. They know you, and you are their role model.”

Muna was already quite well-known in the area; he was a successful and important figure in the Halvi, and many Halvi children regarded him as a hero.

Before him, no Harvey had ever reached the level Muna has achieved today; he is the pinnacle of the caste.

That car is proof that Harvey was able to drive around all by himself in his own car!

“But… Master, I…” Muna trembled, unable to speak.

Fear? Excitement? Horror? Joy? He couldn't tell; he only knew that the gods had spread their palms before him.

“I will find someone to help you set up the party structure, and you don’t need to worry about money. All expenses will be managed by a dedicated account. Your task is to expand southward, preferably covering Sombalade.”

"Master, what should I do?" Muna asked, trembling.

"Do what you're supposed to do: be a candidate and representative in your constituency until you win the election."

"What is the purpose of the Progressive Party?" he asked.

"It's all on paper, but the core points are just two: work and infrastructure. Of course, bigger slogans could include representation, honor, and the rights we deserve."

Slogans are for promotion, but the core elements that truly attract people must be down-to-earth.

Work is something all poor people crave, and the Sue family happens to be able to provide a large number of jobs.

Want to live a life of luxury? Vote for the Progressive Party!
It's perfectly reasonable for voters to consider people's livelihoods and build roads, bridges, hospitals, and schools, isn't it?

Handing it over to the Su family not only guarantees quality and quantity, but also provides some job opportunities.

Win-win! The logical loop is complete!

“Master, if we want to cover the constituency of Sombalade, we need at least three electors.”

“I will arrange two more, and you can also recommend some, but it would be best if they were from other backward castes besides Harvey. Although the Progressive Party is bound by caste, it still needs to unite the majority.”

“I understand, Master.” Muna had now accepted the news.

A political party cannot grow large by relying on a single caste, as other political parties in Uttar Pradesh have proven.

There are many political parties here based on caste, including the Lodi, the Karta, and the Jat.
However, none of them are mainstream; they can only barely secure one or two seats in the state legislature by uniting with other political parties.

Since a single-caste political party can't grow big, why not take a long-term view from the beginning?

"You should start preparing now. In two months, you must at least take over the Mirzabul region."

It was already early 96, and the general election was fast approaching.

"Yes, Master." Muna stood up to leave.

“Muna,” Ron called after him.

"Owner?"

"From today onwards, call me sir."

“Yes, sir,” Muna began to tremble again.

(End of this chapter)