I am a master in India

Chapter 333 Servant
The man in the overcoat shook the papers in his hand.

"We've taken care of the police, the judges, and even the villagers. As long as your people don't cause any trouble, we can rest easy."

“My people are fine, don’t worry. He’s a member of the family, and he’s very obedient.”

"That's fine, that's fine."

The man in the black coat stared at Barum and handed him a piece of paper.

"Can you read, buddy?"

“No, sir.” Barum shook his head.

“Okay, I’ll read it, you listen.” The man in the coat took the paper back.

The contents of that paper were roughly as follows:
声明
To the relevant parties:
I, Barum Nishad, son of Vikram Nishad, a native of Gabul village in the Awad region, hereby make the following statement.

This statement is made voluntarily by me. The statement is as follows:
On March 12th of this year, at noon, while maintaining the helicopter belonging to former Chief Minister Yadav at the Unnau rally site, I inadvertently damaged its internal wiring. Due to my panic, I failed to carefully assess whether the severed wiring would affect the helicopter. In my panic, I neglected my duty by not informing the helicopter team of the damage and instead silently left the scene. Prior to the incident, no one else had touched the helicopter; I was the only one performing maintenance. Therefore, I am willing to bear sole responsibility for the accident.

I hereby swear in the name of Almighty God that I have not been coerced or instructed by anyone to make this statement.

Handprint area:

(Barum Nissat)
The following are witnesses to this statement:

Vikram Nishad, a villager from Gar village in the Mirzapur region.

Chamandas Varma, lawyer at the Lucknow High Court

Without Satya having to intervene, his cousin Lamar spoke up on his own initiative.

He asked Barum in a sincere tone, "I've already told your family about this. What's your father's name again?"

"... "

"What did you call me? I didn't hear you clearly."

"...Mm"

“Yes, yes, his name is Vikram. I drove to Gar, and the roads were really bad, weren’t they? I told him all about it myself, and he’s really amazing.”

Lamar touched his ear and grinned widely.

This action shattered Barum's last shred of hope; he knew Lamar hadn't lied to him.

Touching his ear was a habitual gesture of his father.

“He said he was proud that you could do this and agreed to be a witness for this confession. Look, this is his fingerprint, Barum, right below where you are supposed to sign.”

“If he can’t read, he can also leave a handprint,” said the man in the black coat. “That’s how it works.” He extended his thumb and made a handprint gesture in the air.

"He can write his own name. His father told me he was the first in their family to write his own name. He said, 'You've always been sensible, Barum.'"

Barum stared at the paper, pretending to look at it again, but his hands began to tremble involuntarily.

As a servant of the Yadav family, he knew this day would come; such a thing was not unusual throughout India.

Go to any big city, Lucknow or New Delhi, and ask a decent, honest, and reliable middle-class person if they have ever had a servant take the blame for someone else's crime.

Just keep your eyes fixed on that honest, reliable middle-class man, and you'll see him look terrified, see him swallow hard, see him turn his gaze to the window, and see him immediately change the subject.

Behind the iron bars of prisons in major North Indian cities are servants who take the blame for the crimes of their honest and reliable middle-class masters.

Although servants like Barum have left the countryside, their masters still control everything about them, their bodies, their souls, and their bottoms.

Yes, that's right, they live as servants in the world's greatest democracy.

Barum recalled the slogan of his master, Yadav's Socialist Party—"equal rights".

What a fucking joke!
He even shouted this slogan himself just a few days ago.

But what can he do? Won't his family protest? No, not only will they not, they'll brag about it everywhere.

Look, our Barum took the blame for his master and was imprisoned in Tihar. He's as loyal as a watchdog. What a dutiful servant he is!
Judges? This confession was clearly coerced; couldn't they see that?

But they were also part of the same circle. They accepted bribes and were happy to turn a blind eye to obvious loopholes in the case.

Life goes on as usual.

Except for that servant.

“Is there a problem, Barum?” Lamar asked.

“No problem, sir.” He squatted there and smiled.

"Is your leg uncomfortable?"

"Sir, I need to go to the restroom."

Lamar looked up, and Satya didn't say anything, just nodded.

“Go ahead, go right here, you’re family.” Lamar offered to lead the way for him.

Barum struggled to his feet and followed Yadav to the office restroom.

This place is unbelievably luxurious; even the frames of the mirrors are covered in gold leaf.

He had been in and out of this office countless times, but had never used the restroom here.

Thank God! He actually has the right to urinate here today!

Barum turned on the tap, his hands trembling uncontrollably. Water rushed to the bottom of the sink, splashing all over his legs.

He glanced down and saw that his legs were trembling uncontrollably, almost making a gurgling sound.

No, that's not water, it's urine flowing down his thigh.

Dozens of lives lost, including the death of the Chief Minister, and he has to bear the blame all by himself.

He's dead. His life is over.

Despite his terrified state, Barum never once entertained the thought of escaping, nor did he ever consider telling the judge the truth.

He was trapped, unable to get out. What would it be like inside the prison? This was the only question on Barum's mind. What strategies could he use to avoid being bullied by those hairy, filthy, burly men?

He recalled a story he had heard before: a man who was imprisoned lied about having AIDS to avoid being sodomized.

If only he had listened more carefully back then, he could have copied exactly what that man said and did!
But if he says he has AIDS, won't they assume he's a professional sodomite and then sodomize him even more?
Barum hid in the bathroom, filled with fear and dread; he was doomed.

"Barum!"

“Sir!” he answered instinctively.

"Is your stomach upset?"

"Yes, I'll be right there."

Barum composed himself and emerged two minutes later with a bright smile on his face.

He pressed that handprint; he had no other choice.

The lives of all seventeen members of his family were entirely in the hands of his most beloved master, Yadav.

This is the fate of Indian servants: to give everything to their masters at any time.

After receiving the statement with his fingerprint on it, Satya breathed a sigh of relief.

His brother's case is too big to be easily dismissed with a few words.

Someone has to take the blame and be completely cooperative without resisting.

Of course, if the police in Lucknow believe it was an accident, that's fine too.

Consider it a precaution; whether we actually need it or not is irrelevant.

Satya decided that once things calmed down, he would try to reconnect with Sur.

He believed that the female Dalit would mess everything up.

Yes, Satya guessed correctly.

Mayawati has barely taken office and is already eager to make money.

She even picked the biggest one as the fattest lamb, completely disregarding the friendship they had built up over the years.

"I must get half of the profits from this project!"

"What did you say?" Ron thought he had misheard.

“You didn’t pay a single penny for these mines, not even taxes, so shouldn’t you share some with me?” Mayawati argued vehemently.

“Madam Chief Minister, I need to remind you that this was something we agreed upon beforehand.”

"That's because you lied to me. You didn't say that the mineral reserves of Sumbadra are several times that of Mirzapur."

"The exploration results have just come out, and I didn't even know about it myself."

“That’s why we should renegotiate; the previous agreement is invalid,” Mayawati insisted.

"Are you sure you want to stick to this?" Ron asked, looking at her.

"Yes!"

Ron smiled.

"You know what? The last person who talked to me like that was named Yadav."

"Who?" Mayawati paused.

“Yadav. Yes, the Yadav who took the helicopter, your nemesis.”

Mayawati couldn't help but shudder, a flicker of fear crossing her eyes.

What do you want to say?

"What can I say? After all, the decision rests with our beloved Chief Minister."

Ron reached for the document on the table, but Mayawati stopped him.

"I'll let it slide this time because you helped me before. But from now on, I have to take half of these deals!"

Ron tilted his head and didn't say anything.

Mayawati quickly signed the document, still feeling resentful.

She had long heard about the steady stream of profits from the Suer Cement Plant.

She thought that once she became the chief minister, all the merchants in Uttar Pradesh would obediently comply.

But that wasn't the case; he even threatened himself.

“Oh, by the way,” Ron said, turning around with the documents in hand, “the government formed by the Socialist Party is a multi-party coalition, right?”

"I know it's you manipulating the Progressive Party."

“No, no, no,” Ron shook his finger, “If necessary, I can also manipulate the Bharatiya Janata Party and other minority parties.”

Mayawati was stunned.

"Do you understand? The Socialist Party is sitting here because I haven't objected. If you insist on tearing up our cooperation for that little bit of profit, then I don't mind replacing you with someone else."

Ron turned around abruptly, completely ignoring the dumbfounded Mayawati behind him.

What he said was certainly a bit of an exaggeration; the Socialist Party still has a considerable following, especially during its first time in power.

However, if the price is high enough and the money is spent, it is not impossible to get the BJP to defect.

Oh dear, we still have to find our own front man; coalition government and the like are too uncertain.

Ron needs time, and the Progressive Party needs to expand slowly.

(End of this chapter)