I'm a Master in India

Mirzapur is a city in the southeast of Uttar Pradesh, not large in size, with a population only about one-fifth that of Varanasi.

According to the Samajwadi Party's external propaganda, the city has sufficient electricity, running water, and working telephones.

The children in the village are said to be well-nourished, eating meat, eggs, vegetables, lentils, and more.

Checking with a tape measure and scale, they are said to be developing well, with height and weight meeting the minimum international standards.

Ha!

This is the Mirzapur according to the Samajwadi Party, or rather, the entire Uttar Pradesh is carved from this mold.

The reality is, the utility poles have no electricity.

The faucets have no water.

The children are all thin, disproportionate to their age, with particularly large heads.

Their innocent eyes flicker, as if scourging the conscience of the Indian Government.

Ron sat in the car, watching the scene unfold, seeing backward, very primitive villages everywhere.

The so-called utility poles are actually just wooden stakes with no wires on them at all.

However, there are many Samajwadi Party propaganda slogans pasted everywhere, solemnly promising to provide electricity if elected.

Those slogans have already turned white and yellow, having been there for at least five or six years.

But the utility poles are still bare, standing lonely as if they could tilt and fall at any moment.

It's all for show; no Indian official would be foolish enough to fulfill their promises, especially in Uttar Pradesh.

Ron didn't go to the city of Mirzapur; he didn't know what the situation was like there, and he didn't plan to go.

Today's itinerary is a small village called Karna Village; Mirzapur's largest limestone mine is located near there.

The car drove south along a tributary of the Ganges River, with a main road leading directly to the village.

Groups of pigs were rooting in the black drainage ditch, their backs dry, with long tangled bristles, while their bodies submerged in the muddy water were shining black.

Several roosters with bright red combs and golden feathers flew up and down on the rooftops.

Every household had a cow in front of their door, with women cutting grass to feed them, their hopes entirely pinned on the fat on the cows' bodies.

If the milk production is sufficient, the women can sell some, hoping to exchange it for a little more money.

The buffaloes have huge bodies, shiny fur, iron rings on their noses as thick as a child's arm, and always have pearl-like foam hanging from the corners of their mouths.

It is the most important member of the entire family; even the large pile of terrifying cow dung beneath it is a wealth.

"This broken place actually has a limestone mine?"

Ratan was fiddling with his pistol in the seat, bored.

"The reserves are said to be over a hundred million tons, which is nothing for the whole of India, but there's one important point."

"What?"

Ratan asked.

"Most areas of Mirzapur are plains; apart from the few small hills nearby, this means the difficulty of mining is greatly reduced."

Transportation is one of the core requirements for mining; even if processed into cement on the spot, it eventually has to be transported out.

Ron had checked the information about this place long before buying the mine; a plain area, excellent.

"Oh, right, we're just here to take a look; what are you doing bringing so many people?"

Ron was in a sedan, and right behind them was a van packed with over twenty people.

They were all armed, with everything from Glock pistols to AKs.

"Ron, this is Uttar Pradesh; don't treat going out as casually as sightseeing."

Ratan chuckled and racked the slide a few times.

"Is it that serious?"

"Mirzapur is not Varanasi, and we are all people from the east."

"Oh, the crazy east."

Ron sighed.

His hometown is full of martial spirit; what could he do?

Even Ron himself was given a brand new Beretta 92 series pistol by Ratan.

This thing costs over 800 dollars a piece and was acquired from an army officer in Uttar Pradesh; only he and Ratan were equipped with it.

"Look at this color, this feel; it's more captivating than a woman's skin."

Ratan raised the pistol and aimed left and right.

"Put it away; there's a tea stall ahead; let's go ask for some information."

Ron pointed to the awning at the intersection.

Tea stalls are everywhere in rural Uttar Pradesh; they are both the activity centers for villagers and the hub for information.

The honking of the horn startled the rickshaw pullers around the tea stall; they thought Honey Badger was coming to collect protection money again.

After seeing it was an unfamiliar car, they became eager to step forward; new faces represent potential customers.

Muna also noticed the car outside; it wasn't a bus, nor was it Honey Badger's Ambassador car.

This was very rare; Karna Village rarely had outsiders visiting, let alone coming by car.

The car door was opened, and a young man got out.

The Tea Stall Boss, the rickshaw pullers, including Muna, everyone held their breath.

How could someone in this world look so good!

Muna hadn't studied for many years; he didn't know how to describe it.

In short, the young man's body was like a high-quality cotton core pillow, fair, soft, and without any scars.

Their bodies, however, were completely different.

For example, Muna's father, his spine looked like segments of hemp rope, the kind the village women used to draw well water.

His collarbone protruded high, looking just like a dog's collar.

This young man must be of the legendary high caste!

Almost everyone instantly concluded this.

The two beasts of Karna Village looked like bumpkins in front of him.

Although Honey Badger and Crow were landlords, they were not of high caste, not even Kshatriya.

Vaishya can also be landlords; that is earned through bribery and the guns in their hands.

This is a Brahmin!

The rickshaw pullers stopped in their tracks, not daring to step forward anymore.

They are Shudra, not qualified to speak to a Brahmin Lord.

After Ron got out of the car, Ratan also got out with his pistol tucked in his waist; his appearance made the people in the tea stall as silent as mutes, not daring to breathe heavily.

"What can these low castes know?

They probably don't even have their own names."

Ratan muttered.

Brahmin Lord, you are absolutely right!

Muna, standing at the entrance, secretly agreed.

"Muna" means child in hindi; that simply cannot be considered a name.

His parents had always called him that and had never thought of giving him a name, or perhaps didn't know how to.

Muna recalled the scene of his first day at school.

The teacher asked them to line up and register their names one by one at the teacher's desk.

When he told the teacher his name, the teacher looked up and stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Muna?

That's not a name."

"But that's the only name I have."

He said.

"Didn't your mother give you a name?"

"She's very sick, Mr..

She's bedridden and always coughing up blood; she didn't have time to give me a name."

"What about your father?"

"He's a rickshaw puller, Mr..

He didn't have time to give me a name either."

"Do you have a grandmother then?

Aunts or uncles?"

"They didn't have time either."

The teacher turned his face and spat out a mouthful of betel nut juice, the bright red juice spraying onto the classroom floor.

He licked his lips, "Alright, then I'll just have to give you a name, won't I?"

He smoothed his hair, "Uh, you can just be called Balaram.

You should know whose name this is, right?"

"I don't know, Mr..".

"He is the loyal companion of the cowherd god Krishna.

Do you know what I'm called?"

"I don't know, Mr..".

He burst into laughter, "I'm called Krishna."

The name Balaram was too long, and Muna dropped out of school early, so he ended up still being called the child "Muna."

Oh, that Brahmin Lord is coming over!

Look at his shoes; are those the legendary boots made from camel leather?

I really want to lie down and kiss his feet!

Muna was dumbfounded, his eyes seemingly losing focus.

"Who's in charge around here?"

Ron threw over a few coins.

"Wh-what?"

Muna stared at the coins in the crook of his arm, stuttering.

Those were large 2 rupee coins, five of them!

Enough to let him watch ""in praise of durga"" again!

"Mr., I know!"

The Tea Stall Boss jumped out, reaching for the coins in Muna's arms.

"It's the two beasts!"

Muna bent over, arching his back, desperately protecting the money, and shouted.

Haha!

A burst of laughter rang out around them, and Ron was also a bit stunned.

Two beasts?

Someone is actually called that?

"It's Honey Badger and Crow, Mr.!"

Muna quickly hid the money, his mouth answering rapidly.

"Are these two guys involved in gangs?"

Ratan asked.

With nicknames like that, you can tell they're not good people.

"They are the landlords of Karna Village; the surrounding land, and the hills, are all theirs."

Muna's heart was pounding non-stop.

He felt incredibly important now; this was a Brahmin Lord, after all.

Ron and Ratan exchanged glances; alright, it must be them.

"How many people do Honey Badger and Crow have?"

Ratan asked directly and with ill intentions.

"I don't know, Mr..

They have over a dozen servants at home, and there are some workers near the hill."

"Workers?"

Ron sharply grasped the key point.

"Those workers help him mine limestone and then sell it to people in the city to build houses."

Well, it seems the limestone business is already up and running.

"Ron, it looks like those two guys won't give in easily."

Ratan was a smart man; he knew that once businessmen tasted the sweetness of profit, they would never give up easily.

"Let's meet with them first, talk it over; we can't just go straight to their door.

Oh, right, where is their house?"

Ron asked again.

"Near the town, heading southeast, about one or two kilometers."

Muna answered everything he knew, wishing he could tell Ron and the others even the information about where the two beasts' children went to school.

After so many years, no one had ever troubled them; such an opportunity was rare.

"No need for so many words,"

Ratan waved his hand indifferently, "Just tell them to get lost; that's our mine."

"Doing business in Uttar Pradesh is completely different from Mumbai."

Ron shrugged.

They didn't need to go looking for them; two more cars drove over from a distance.

Honk, honk, leading the way was Honey Badger's Ambassador car!

The rickshaw pullers scattered in a rush, and the tea drinkers under the awning also quietly slipped away.

Only the Tea Stall Boss and Muna couldn't leave; one had all his belongings here, and the other wanted to watch the excitement.

The short, stout Honey Badger got out of the car aggressively, his brother Crow also looked gloomy, and both had pistols tucked in their waistbands.

In the other car behind them, over a dozen thugs also got out, some holding knives, some holding sticks, all looking fierce.

Ron smiled, and Ratan let out a low whistle.

The people in their van hadn't even gotten out yet.