Waiting

That night, Aditya thought about a great many things, running through them again and again in his mind.

Before coming to Mumbai, Aditya had recalled a trade financing model very common in India in the 1990s: "using downstream customers' money to pay upstream suppliers," earning the difference in between.

This was the core of Aditya's entire plan: using five hundred thousand rupees to leverage the profit on three hundred tons of phosphate fertilizer.

He had only 500,000 in cash, while the total price of 300 tons of DAP (diammonium phosphate) was as high as 1.86 million. He simply could not afford to pay the full amount at once.

Therefore, shipping in batches and paying in batches was the only viable way for him to leverage his limited funds into a large-volume transaction.

The reason Fromm had agreed to these harsh terms was that he had been driven into a corner.

The goods had been sitting unsold for two months, with storage fees mounting every day, and he urgently needed cash flow to replenish his lifeblood. At the same time, Aditya came from a traditional northern Brahmin family, firmly tethered to Varanasi by its land, making the credit risk relatively manageable.

After getting this shipment, Aditya only needed the policy to take effect and fertilizer prices to rise. He could then resell it to local wholesalers at a high price, using the proceeds to pay the balance he owed Fromm. Only when the third batch was sold would the price difference become his actual profit.

Early the next morning.

Nayak waited for him at the warehouse entrance, a cigarette in his hand. Seeing Aditya approach, he finished it, casually tossed the butt onto the ground, and ground it underfoot twice.

"Start the inspection?"

"Let's inspect it."

Nayak led the way, and Aditya took out his key to unlock the warehouse door.

The warehouse was huge. The light was decent near the entrance, but it grew darker the farther they went. Light leaked through several places in the sheet-metal roof overhead, falling through the gaps in streaks onto the rows of sacks.

The air was thick with the somewhat acrid smell of ammonia. Aditya coughed a few times before slowly getting used to it.

When they reached the innermost row of sacks, Aditya stopped and patted one.

The burlap was rough, and he could feel the outlines of the granules inside through it. Product information was printed on the side: the country-of-origin mark, the importer's label, and a line of numbers: "batch number, date, weight."

"This is the DAP imported from Jordan. It's purer than the domestic stuff."

Aditya crouched and first examined the stitching sealing the sack. The thread was tied tightly, with no signs of having been opened. He grabbed one corner of the sack and gave it a hard tug. The seal did not budge.

Nayak took a small knife from his pocket and handed it over. Aditya took it and slit the side of the sack. White powder spilled out through the opening. He scooped up a handful from the ground and rubbed it with his thumb. It was dry, without clumps, and the granules were uniform.

He leaned closer for a careful look. It had not gotten damp.

Aditya tied the opened sack shut and crouched beside the pile of fertilizer on the ground. He scooped up another handful and put it into a small cloth bag he had brought, tying the mouth tight.

"Keeping a sample."

Nayak curled one side of his mouth and said with a smile, "Afraid Fromm will swap your goods?"

"It's not to guard against him. But it'll be useful when I negotiate with other people later."

"Open a few more sacks."

Aditya randomly selected a few more sacks, cut their seams open with scissors, and poured out some of the fertilizer onto an old cloth spread on the ground.

Without exception, the fertilizer was dry, its color pure and its granules intact.

"How long has this shipment been here?"

"Two months." Nayak put the knife back in his pocket. "Fromm stored it here in early June. It's been sitting untouched ever since."

Aditya stood and dusted the powder off his hands. He took a notebook from his pocket, turned to a blank page, and wrote down the date and a set of numbers.

Aditya calculated in his head: six thousand sacks, stacked in all these rows. He walked down the aisles between them, counting the stacks and checking their height.

It took Aditya quite a while to finish inspecting the three hundred tons of goods. Afterward, he found Nayak.

"Finished inspecting?" Nayak asked.

"Finished," Aditya replied.

"What do you think?"

"The goods are excellent. It's just... you know."

At this, Nayak immediately laughed and said mockingly, "Once the arrow leaves the bow, there's no calling it back. Things have come this far. Surely you can't back out now?"

"No, I'm not having regrets. I just wanted to ask you about the storage fees," Aditya replied.

Nayak froze for a moment, thought it over, and answered:

"For three hundred tons of phosphate fertilizer, storage is four rupees per ton per day. Loading and unloading are extra, and transfer charges depend on the distance. No, wait, you don't need a transfer. You just need to wait for the government announcement. How long will you be staying at the docks?"

"Today is August twentieth. I'll stay in Mumbai for a little over a week. Ten days at most."

"Ten days, three hundred tons. Twelve thousand in storage fees."

"That's fine, but I can only pay you after I sell the goods."

Nayak waved a hand. "That's a small matter. There's just one thing I can't understand. Are you really that certain the government will lift the controls or abolish the subsidies? That would strike at the farmers' very lifeblood. Don't they want votes anymore?"

"I told you, I'm gambling. I'm young. I can afford to gamble," Aditya replied.

Nayak eyed Aditya doubtfully. He did not believe this young Brahmin was merely gambling. Deep down, he was certain there was not a trace of a gambler about this young man, only absolute confidence.

Aditya moved first, and the two walked toward the warehouse entrance.

When they reached the entrance, sunlight flooded in from outside, making Aditya squint.

He glanced back at the neatly stacked sacks inside the warehouse and ran through the figures in his head again.

Six thousand sacks, three hundred tons. It was all here.

Once outside the warehouse, Nayak, weighed down with worries, hurriedly said goodbye and left.

Aditya stood at the warehouse entrance for a few seconds, then turned and returned to the hotel as well.

Over the next few days, Aditya went nowhere. He stayed at the hotel, crouching beside the bed and listening to the radio.

On the twenty-first, All India Radio's morning news made no mention of fertilizer. The BBC's shortwave reception was poor, with static drowning out the voices. Aditya listened for two hours without making out anything clearly.

On the morning of the twenty-second, he went to a newsstand on Cumballa Street and bought a copy of the Hindustan Times. A brief item in the bottom-right corner of the business section said that a preliminary consensus had been reached within the government, and the reform plan for phosphate and potash fertilizers "might be announced in the near future."

He read those few lines three times, then folded the newspaper and took it back to the hotel.

On the twenty-third, there was no news.

On the twenty-fourth, there was no news.

Nayak came to see him at noon. Seeing him crouching beside the bed listening to the radio, he did not go inside, but crouched in the doorway and smoked.

"Any news?" Nayak asked.

"No."

"Then why are you still listening?"

"Sooner or later, there'll be something. Why do I get the feeling you're more anxious than I am?" Aditya asked, puzzled.

"I... I bought a hundred tons of phosphate fertilizer too. Isn't that because I trust you?" Nayak muttered quietly.

At this, Aditya stared straight at Nayak.

His stare made Nayak's scalp prickle. "Don't look at me like that," he said quietly. "If I make money, I won't charge you for storage."

Aditya nodded helplessly.

After dinner, Aditya returned to his room and switched on the radio. It was All India Radio's evening news, and the announcer's voice came through the speaker with a crackle of static. Aditya sat beside the bed without moving.

He listened through most of the news item without switching it off. Then that sentence came.

"...sources within the Ministry of Finance revealed that the reform plan for price controls on phosphate and potash fertilizers has entered the final approval stage and is expected to be officially announced within the next few days..."

Aditya's pencil stopped over his notebook.

The next few days.

He circled those words and wrote a date beside them: 25.

The twenty-fifth.