I am a master in India

Chapter 110 Blood debt must be paid with blood

Ron hadn't expected that advertising in The Times of India would be so expensive.

Just a quarter of the front page, published continuously for a week, costs 60 rupees.

But after all, it was the oldest and most widely circulated newspaper in India, so Ron gritted his teeth and paid the money.

In those days, before television became widespread, newspapers were the only advertising medium of choice. They were cheap to obtain, and nearly everyone had a copy.

Because the product was so widely available, many people wanted to advertise. Ron, through Kaavia's connections, was able to schedule his own ad for two weeks later, around mid-March.

In addition to The Times of India, he also arranged for the local Mumbai Express.

The front page is in color and costs 15,000 rupees a day, which is a much more affordable price.

Ron signed for a week with a flourish, staggering the schedule with The Times of India by a few days, targeting the Hindi-speaking audience.

The advertising fees for the two newspapers totaled 70 rupees, which directly reduced Ron's wallet by more than a quarter.

He counted his small treasury and found only about 180 million left.

Okay, no more wasting time.

The remaining money has to be saved for emergencies. He had originally thought about TV advertising, but now he is only considering the city's commuter trains. It shouldn't cost much to put up some posters in the carriages.

Unfortunately, the tourism business has been in a slump, and the income from the foreign exchange black market has also been reduced by half.

The once glorious scene of monthly profits exceeding one million was difficult to reproduce, and it was not until February that it barely recovered to the level of 500,000 rupees.

"The number of foreign tourists at the train station has dropped significantly, but the number at the airport has increased a bit." Ron was studying the financial statements in his hand.

"Because there are too many people in the train station, foreigners feel it is unsafe there," Nia explained.

The so-called "too many people" actually means too many poor people. The previous riots initially spread from the slums where the poor live.

The poor are more easily instigated because they are dissatisfied and eager for change, while the rich will maintain the existing order and do not want unrest to occur.

This principle applies all over the world, so many foreigners coming to Mumbai choose the airport with better security conditions instead of the original train station.

"If it really doesn't work, we can just reduce the number of people at the train station and transfer them to the airport. Anyway, Nia, you can do whatever you want."

"Got it, Baba. I'll go to the train station in the next couple of days to do an inventory and then deploy the personnel."

Nia has been taking care of the recent tourism business. After two months of training, she has become more and more proficient in it.

"How is the business of the hotels and restaurants that cooperate with us?" Ron asked again.

"Hotel occupancy rates have dropped by about 40%, and the same is true for restaurants." Nia has made a table of these data on the computer.

"What a heavy loss." Ron sighed.

"Baba, we suffered the most losses, more than half." Nia reminded from the side.

"That's true," Ron couldn't help but laugh, "but we don't have any heavy asset burdens, so the rent pressure isn't too great."

"A lot of money is missing." Nia, a financial expert, pouted.

Ron laughed, and then couldn't help but kiss her hard.

Well, Nia is soft.

Just as the atmosphere in the room was rapidly heating up, the rumbling sound of an engine appeared at the door.

Nia was like a kitten, her fur stood up and she hid in the room.

Ron greedily withdrew his hand. The softness of his fingertips was really addictive.

"Ron!" someone shouted from outside.

"Here he comes!" He walked to the door and saw that it was indeed Johnny.

"I went to the airport and Anand said you were still on the maid's body."

Ron's face darkened. "That guy has been obsessed with a fat woman lately. You know, her belly is as big as an elephant's."

"Anand's taste is well-known in the area. He even has an affair with a housewife over 50 years old." Johnny laughed happily.

"What!" Ron was shocked again.

"I'll tell you his jokes later. I have other things to do today." Johnny's expression slightly recovered.

"What's wrong?" Ron invited him in, but Johnny refused.

"I have to leave right away. I came here to tell you to be careful. There's something fishy about those Mumin people."

"Did you get any news? Khaderbhai said something similar before."

"Do you know about the Daoud Gang?" A look of disgust appeared on Johnny's face.

"Of course, he was once the underground boss of Mumbai. I heard that he fled to Dubai."

"That's right, but he's been sending people to Mumbai a lot lately, all of them are secret agents. This is not a good sign."

Dawood Ibrahim, India's most notorious gangster, rose to power in Mumbai's underworld in the 1980s through violent means.

Later, he was wanted by the police for shooting a gang leader who appeared in court to testify, and finally fled to Dubai.

He is a Mumin, and most of his gang members are also Mumin.

"There are rumors that the destruction of the Bari Mosque made him furious. In any case, it's better to be careful."

"Thank you, Johnny, I'll be careful." Ron was worried. There was no telling when these endless sectarian conflicts would end.

There are actually many factions within the Mughals, and they hate each other even more than they hate Hindus.

These people were originally divided and scattered, but the last riot made them put aside their prejudices and start to unite.

At this critical moment of life and death, they must unite to face the outside world. They find that being a member of the secret society is a sin in the eyes of others.

Those young people from the Mu Min sect have been blinded by hatred at this moment. All they think about now is revenge, revenge.
Yarahan blew carefully on the spoon in his hand, and only brought it to his mother's mouth after the rice was no longer hot.

"The rice smells so good," Jane chewed twice, a look of satisfaction and nostalgia in her eyes. "If only Mumbai could be like it was before, with wheat as white as snow. You could walk down the street with your belongings and no one would come and rob you."

"Mother." Yarahan scooped another spoonful of rice.

Jane sighed and said no more. Her hands were deformed and twisted, and she was paralyzed from the waist down. On the day of the riot, she was lifted high by the Hindus who rushed in and then thrown violently to the concrete floor.

She had just returned from the hospital and could no longer walk as briskly as before, nor could she cook basmati rice and grilled lamb chops and then feast on them, feeding the guests, including the Hindu neighbors who came to visit.

She began to miss the past, when people were always good. Now the new is not as good as the old, and the past is always better than the present.

"Silk at Home" took another bite of rice, and Jane seemed to be hesitant to speak.

"It will be fine, don't worry." Yarahan comforted softly with a calm look in her eyes.

Their family originally had a silk shop downstairs, but it burned down, and the shop was taken back by the government without any reason. It was then transferred to another person, and now the sign there is "Marathi Mattress".

"I'll be back in the evening." After wiping her mother's mouth, Yarahan slowly walked out.

After closing the door, he glanced at the cartoon backpack on the wall of the living room with his eyes flashing. It was still waiting for its little owner.

Yarahan went outside and found another young man waiting for him in the corridor. They nodded to each other and left without saying a word.

Asad came on a motorcycle with Yarakhan sitting behind him, and they were going to a place first.

"Someone will take care of your aunt." Assad turned to comfort him.

Yarakhan didn't know what to say, Asad was always so optimistic.

Assad's brother and father mistakenly entered the Hindu area during the riots and were beaten unconscious, doused with gasoline, and set on fire.

Their bodies were left to rot by the railroad tracks for ten days, and crows and wild dogs devoured their flesh.

The police refused to remove the body. The Jogeshwari police said it was under the jurisdiction of the Goregaon police station, and the Goregaon police said it was under the jurisdiction of the railway police.

When Assad finally learned the news and came to look, nothing could be distinguished on the ground; everything was covered by garbage.

Look, it's the road ahead. To the right are tall buildings, to the left is a huge garbage dump. A group of boys are playing cricket there, and scavengers are scouting the land with pickaxes.

Assad twisted the accelerator and the motorcycle sped past. Twenty minutes later, they arrived near Ishaq's house.

There is already a tall man waiting here. His name is Tajie, and he is the "big brother" of this group.

Taj's grandfather doused a group of Hindus upstairs with hot water, and then they pulled his grandfather out and wrapped him in a blanket borrowed from a neighbor.

The fire was still burning, and when the police arrived, there was only a charred corpse on the ground, and no one was around.

Taj looked at Yarahan and said, "You will go to the airport later."

Then he looked at Assad. "You are in charge of the stock exchange."

The two nodded, Yara Khan still expressionless, and Asad also put away his grin.

Taj said nothing more and turned around to knock on Shaik's door.

The maharaja in the house tried to pretend not to hear, but his eldest son Shaik had already opened the door.

"Is all the black soap there?" Taj asked.

"They're all here." Shaik handed him the sack that had been prepared long ago.

Black soap is a term used in the underworld to refer to RDX explosives, which is the one with a skull painted on the box in the sack.

"Here are the remaining 1 rupees. Remember not to go out today, especially not to crowded places, such as the airport, train station, and stock exchange." Taj threw a large stack of banknotes to Shaik.

"Brother Taj, I want to go with you." Shaik finally mustered up the courage.

"No! Come back!" Old Mohara suddenly threw Shaik to the side, and his mother and sister in the house also cried and begged him to stay.

Taj glanced at the whole room full of his family, shook his head angrily at Shaik, and left with his men.

There were more than a dozen such secret groups, secretly hiding munitions and explosives, and they would rush to various parts of Mumbai as soon as they were notified from above.

As for who is in power, many of the Muslims do not care. They just want to take bloody revenge and let the Hindus also have a taste of fear.

Ron went to the airport. Johnny's warning made him uneasy.

So to be on the safe side, he simply let Anand and the others go home first, leaving only a young man here to receive them.

Ron told him that if anything seemed wrong, he should leave immediately and not worry about the store.

There's not much valuables here, so there's no need to worry about losses.

When I got home, Nia wasn't there. She must have gone to the train station, where she also needed to make some arrangements.

Ron took a bottle of soda from the refrigerator, but before he could drink it, he received a call from Uncle Mohara.

"Ron, don't go out! Don't go to the train station, the airport, the stock exchange, the market...anywhere!"

(End of this chapter)