Taking profits

Aditya closed his notebook, switched off the radio, and lay down on the bed. He did not sleep. He watched the dim yellow streetlight in the alley outside and listened to the occasional blasts of ship horns from the distant harbor.

He drifted off as dawn approached. When he opened his eyes again, the sky outside was already bright. Someone was calling out in the alley, and wheels rumbled over the road.

Aditya rolled over and sat up. He put on his shirt, washed his face, and went downstairs.

The milk tea stall downstairs had just opened. The owner was setting a pot of freshly brewed tea on the table and casually switched on the radio beside it.

Aditya ordered a cup and squatted by the roadside to drink it.

"Crackle... crackle..." Then a voice suddenly came through clearly. "All India Radio morning news."

Aditya's hand froze around his cup.

"...The India government issued an announcement today lifting import and price controls on phosphate and potash fertilizers, effective immediately, while also abolishing the associated subsidies. This means domestic retail prices for phosphate and potash fertilizers will be determined by the market..."

Aditya listened to the entire report. The announcer read through the main provisions of the announcement, then moved on to other news. The rupee exchange rate, international oil prices, the monsoon forecast.

Time seemed to stand still for three seconds. Then Aditya burst out laughing.

He leisurely finished his tea, set the empty cup on the stall, stood up, and walked toward Cumballa Street.

Nayak's office was not open yet. Aditya stood outside and knocked three times.

A noise came from inside, followed by shuffling footsteps, and the door opened. Nayak stood barefoot in the doorway, his hair tousled and his eyes heavy with sleep.

"What is it? It's so early."

"It's out."

Nayak's hand stopped rubbing his eyes. He excitedly grabbed Aditya's arm and asked loudly:

"The government issued the announcement? When? What did it say?"

"It came out this morning. Calm down first."

Nayak looked at Aditya and saw how composed the young man looked. He slowly calmed down.

Nayak said nothing. He stood there for two seconds, then went back inside, picked up a cigarette from the table, and lit it. He took a drag and slowly exhaled.

"Looks like your gamble paid off."

"Yes. Mine paid off, and so did yours."

Nayak immediately roared with laughter at that, but stopped when he noticed Aditya watching him.

Before long, Aditya could no longer keep a straight face. The corners of his mouth began to turn up.

Nayak glanced at Aditya, then started laughing again.

Soon, laughter filled the little room and went on for half a minute.

Then Nayak asked happily, "Guess what the price is now?"

"No idea, but it's definitely not forty-eight hundred anymore," Aditya answered confidently.

Nayak finished his cigarette, stubbed it out, and tossed it into an empty can by the door. Then he looked up at Aditya and said, "Wait. We need to wait another day and let the news ferment."

Nayak turned to put on his clothes and shoes. Once he was ready, he told Aditya, "Let's go!"

"What for?" Aditya asked.

"To look around the market. All of Cumballa Street is awake now. Guess how many newspapers that old man at the newsstand has sold?"

"I don't know."

"We'll go see."

Aditya followed Nayak through the alley.

Cumballa Street was much livelier than usual. Several clusters of people stood along the street in groups of three or five. Some wore shirts, some wore undershirts, and some squatted on the steps. They were all talking. Their voices blended into an indistinct buzz, but something felt different from usual.

Nayak stopped in front of a newsstand. The owner was a scrawny old man in a worn hat, stacking newspapers on the rack. When he saw Nayak approach, he lifted his eyelids and handed over the newspaper he was holding.

"Sold over two hundred already. Three times more than usual today."

Nayak took a copy and glanced at the front page. Aditya leaned over to look too. Near the bottom was a small section, four or five lines long, about the lifting of fertilizer controls.

"What's the price now?" Nayak turned to the business section.

"No one's quoting yet. It's a mess." The old newsstand owner pointed across the street. "Old Zhu just came over from the market. Said he heard someone calling out seventy-two hundred."

Nayak returned the newspaper to the old man and headed back. Aditya walked beside him.

"Seventy-two hundred?" Aditya asked.

"That's what was going around this morning. Might not be accurate." Nayak slowed his pace. "We'll know this afternoon. The news just broke. Everyone's waiting and watching."

The two returned to Nayak's company and sat on the steps outside.

Aditya sat leaning against the wall, his legs stretched far out.

There was no wind. The aroma of fried flatbread drifted over from the restaurant next door. More and more people filled the street, some carrying sacks of goods, some pushing handcarts, and some riding bicycles. All moved a little faster than usual.

A tall, thin man in a gray shirt came running from the alley entrance, moving as fast as if a dog were chasing him. Nayak called out to stop him as he drew near. He stopped, caught his breath, and only then spoke.

"Someone's named a price. Seventy-five hundred a ton. Word came from the market-the first batch's transaction price."

"When?" Aditya asked.

"Fifteen minutes ago."

Nayak turned to look at Aditya without saying a word.

By afternoon, the atmosphere in the Cumballa Street market had grown even more heated. All sorts of voices mingled together. Some people were making phone calls; others were shouting prices. A restless excitement permeated the air.

Aditya stood at the hotel window, looking out. Occasionally, he could see people stop at the alley entrance to exchange a few words before hurrying away. His palm rested lightly on the windowsill.

Madan had already heard the news. Smiling broadly, he walked over from inside the room and stood behind Aditya for a while, then followed his example and looked out the window. The people in the alley walked quickly, like a group of students heading to the cafeteria.

"Aditya, can we sell today?" Madan asked.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Let the news spread a little further. The market has only just started moving. A lot of people are still confused, and prices haven't settled yet. By tomorrow, everyone who needs to know will know, and everyone who needs to prepare money will have it ready," Aditya explained.

Madan nodded. He was excited too. After standing by the window for a while, he went back into the room.

The next morning, Aditya bought a newspaper at the newsstand. The business section already carried reports of transaction prices.

Phosphate fertilizer ranged from seventy-five hundred to eight thousand a ton.

He stood beside the newsstand and finished the article, then followed Cumballa Street to the end and arrived at a shop by the docks.

Nayak had told him about this place the night before. The shop was not open yet, but Aditya knew someone would definitely come today.

Nayak was waiting outside. He nodded when he saw Aditya arrive.

"This is that Singh fellow's shop. He's been in the fertilizer business on Cumballa Street for over ten years. Full payment on the spot, no delays. He called this morning asking who had stock."

"You know him?"

"Yes. We've worked together before. He's fairly reliable. I'm planning to sell my stock to him. Whether you want to sell is up to you."

Aditya stood outside the shop and considered it, then said, "I'll sell too, but only a hundred tons this time."

Nayak nodded, and the two waited outside.

Before long, a bald man in an old shirt approached, reading a newspaper as he walked.

Seeing Nayak and Aditya, the bald man lowered his newspaper and swept his gaze over them both. Then he opened the shop and motioned for them to follow.

Once the three were seated inside, the bald man spoke in heavily accented Hindi:

"Nayak, is this the person you mentioned?"

"Yes. He's from Uttar Pradesh. His surname is Mishra. He just bought a batch from Fromm."

The bald man looked Aditya up and down, rolled his newspaper into a tube, and tapped it against his hand. "Young man, you have a good eye, and plenty of nerve. Where's the stock now?"

"In Fromm's warehouse. You can go take a look," Nayak answered.

The bald man did not respond immediately. He spat to one side and ground it under his sole before asking, "How much can you sell?"

"How much do you want?"

"I'll take everything you've got." The bald man held up a finger and wagged it as he spoke.

"At what price?"

The bald man did not answer immediately. He lowered his head and thought briefly, as though doing calculations in his head, then looked up. "Seventy-five hundred a ton. Pickup this afternoon."

Aditya glanced at Nayak, who was leaning against the wall, seemingly studying a little advertisement in the corner. Aditya withdrew his gaze and replied, "Seventy-eight hundred."

The bald man looked at Aditya. After a moment's silence, he said, "Seventy-eight hundred works, but two hundred tons minimum."

Aditya looked at Nayak, who nodded.

"Two hundred tons. No problem," Aditya answered.

"Then we'll load up at three this afternoon," the bald man said.

After settling the handover details, Aditya and Nayak left the shop.

At four that afternoon, Nayak arrived with two trucks and stopped outside Fromm's warehouse. His hundred tons had already been accepted. Now it was Aditya's turn.

The workers began carrying sacks onto the trucks, stacking them neatly one by one. Aditya stood watching from the side. The sun was already sinking westward, stretching the shadows at the warehouse entrance.

Nayak squatted at the foot of the wall, smoking. His cheeks puffed in and out as though he were savoring something.

Once the trucks were full, the bald man drove over as well, carrying a black briefcase.

He set the bag on the trunk of his car and unzipped it, revealing stack upon stack of rupees. Seven hundred and eighty thousand, all neatly arranged.

Aditya counted and checked the money, then fastened the bag shut.

The trucks started up and slowly drove out of the alley, disappearing around a turn. Aditya stood at the warehouse entrance, watching their rear ends vanish from the alley mouth.

Sunlight fell from the side, stretching the shadows on the ground even longer.

"You've still got two hundred tons," Nayak's voice came from behind him.

"Yes."

"When are you planning to sell the second batch?"

"Tomorrow."

That night, Cumballa Street was much quieter than during the day. An occasional passerby's footsteps approached from far away, then receded into the distance.

Early the next morning, Aditya bought a newspaper. He turned to the business section, which read, "Fertilizer prices continue to rise. DAP quotations in some areas have reached eight thousand rupees per ton."

He tucked the newspaper inside his shirt and went straight to Nayak's place.

Nayak was brushing his teeth. Aditya grabbed the toothbrush handle and pulled it out. "Stop brushing. Phosphate fertilizer's already up to eight thousand. Ask that Singh fellow if he still wants stock."

Nayak snatched back his toothbrush, quickly finished brushing, and spat a mouthful of rinse water at Aditya's feet.

Aditya hastily jumped out of the way.

"I've got no damn stock left to sell. Who gives a shit about your business?" Nayak cursed.

"Brother Nayak, calm down. I just got too excited, didn't I?" Aditya realized he had acted inappropriately too. He apologized while massaging Nayak's shoulders.

"Singh called again today. He's still buying." Nayak's anger subsided. He brushed Aditya's hands aside and spoke irritably.

Aditya turned and went to Singh's shop. Singh was on the telephone. Seeing him enter, he put down the receiver, tapped the desk twice, and said casually, "Young man, you're back. What brings you here?"

"I want to sell another hundred tons. Are you buying?" Aditya asked.

"Young man, just how much stock do you have?"

"Another two hundred tons, but I want to sell it in two batches."

"Aditya Mishra, a Brahmin from Varanasi, a junior of Solomon Cohen. How about this? Give me all two hundred tons, and I'll raise the price to eight thousand six hundred and fifty a ton. Consider it forming a good connection with you. Deliver everything in one go, and you'll have less to worry about. You won't have to waste money on storage either."

Aditya weighed it for a moment, then said:

"Nayak has already waived my storage fees. But since you've made the offer, Senior Singh, I can't refuse you that face. Arrange the workers, Senior. We can load up this afternoon."

"Ha! Good. Young people really are straightforward. Here's my card. You can come to me if you need anything." Singh laughed, picked up a business card from the desk, and handed it to Aditya.

That afternoon, as agreed, Singh sent workers to load the remaining two hundred tons and handed Aditya the payment.

By the time everything was done, the sun had already half sunk. A faint red washed the horizon over Cumballa Street, and the wind from the harbor carried the smell of seawater.

Aditya stood at the warehouse entrance, unable to calm down for a long time.

Nayak squatted at the foot of the wall, lighting a cigarette. The flame flared in the dusk and went out again, briefly illuminating his face.

Suddenly, Nayak asked, "You've sold everything. Are you leaving?"

Aditya paused, thought for a moment, and answered, "Yes. It's time I went back to Varanasi."

"How much did you make?"

Aditya ran through the figures in his head. Three hundred tons of phosphate fertilizer, at a cost of sixty-two hundred a ton.

The first batch, a hundred tons sold at seventy-eight hundred, had netted a hundred and sixty thousand.

The second batch, at eight thousand six hundred and fifty rupees per ton, had brought in a total of one million seven hundred and thirty thousand for two hundred tons, with a net profit of four hundred and ninety thousand.

Six hundred and fifty thousand rupees in total.

"Six hundred and fifty thousand," Aditya answered.

Aditya smiled, because he knew that money was enough to repay the Mishra Family's debts.

"Will you come to Mumbai again?" Nayak had already finished an entire cigarette. He asked as though it were nothing.

"I'll be back," Aditya said firmly.

"Good. I knew you were no ordinary kid." Nayak ground the cigarette butt viciously beneath his sole, seemingly feeling thoroughly satisfied.

On August twenty-ninth, Aditya read a newspaper report about farmers protesting and heard someone on the radio say that people within the government had proposed restoring the subsidies.

But none of that had anything to do with Aditya anymore.

Because Aditya, Madan, and Raju were already on the train, nearly back in Varanasi.