Jaya

Aditya glanced at Madan.

Madan took the hint and said, "We can't pick up the car until this afternoon. Let's find somewhere for lunch first. After we eat, we'll come back for the car, then head straight to Kanpur."

As he spoke, Madan pointed at the shopping street not far away and set off first.

Dipti said nothing and silently followed Madan toward the shopping street.

Aditya let out a long breath of relief and followed too.

At three in the afternoon, the three returned to the dealership. The green jeep had been washed and was parked outside the entrance.

The salesman handed over the keys, the transfer papers, the insurance policy, and two driving licenses.

They checked everything and found no problems.

Aditya paid the balance and had Dipti sit in the back and Madan in the front passenger seat.

They drove out of the dealership, stopped at a petrol station to fill the tank, then headed for Kanpur.

Once they left Lucknow, the road narrowed, and sugarcane fields grew more numerous on either side. Women were cutting grass in the fields, with brass basins balanced on their heads.

Trucks approached from the opposite direction, trailing clouds of yellow dust. Aditya slowed down, but the jeep jolted badly. Dipti clutched the front seat, her face pale.

Aditya glanced in the rearview mirror and rolled a rear window down a little. Hot wind carrying the smell of earth poured inside.

Dipti visibly felt a little better.

Madan warned him, "The dirt road ahead is in terrible shape. Drive slowly."

After two hours on the road, they finally reached Kanpur.

With Madan giving directions, the jeep turned onto a slightly wider street and stopped in front of a lodge. The sign above the entrance read "Kanpur Lodge." There was a restaurant downstairs and guest rooms upstairs.

The three of them had dinner at the restaurant.

Aditya booked three rooms on the second floor, each with an electric fan and a mosquito net. Dipti's was at the end of the corridor, and its door could be locked from the inside.

Aditya said, "Get some rest early. We're going to look at machinery tomorrow."

Dipti nodded and pushed the door open to go inside.

Standing in the corridor, Madan glanced at Aditya and lowered his voice. "Aditya, I know you don't like hearing this. But how many people on the streets of Lucknow saw you letting a Vaishya woman ride in your car? When we get back to Varanasi, those old fellows won't call you clever. They'll only say the boy from the Mishra Family broke the rules."

Aditya thought for a moment before replying, "Uncle Madan, she's the accountant I hired. Have you ever seen an accountant who could spot several hundred rupees in excess tax at a glance? How many people will the factory have to deal with in the future? Without her, I couldn't even work out the dealership's tax properly. Caste is for other people to look at. The factory is what I'll live on."

Madan said, "But other people don't see it that way."

Aditya said, "How other people see it is none of my business. Once the factory makes money, none of this will be an issue."

They fell silent for a while. Madan sighed and said, "As long as you know what you're doing about her. I won't say any more."

Suddenly remembering something, Aditya asked, "We're going to Textile Street to look at machinery first tomorrow. Is that friend of yours reliable?"

Madan said, "Neelam Sharma. He used to run a textile mill in Kanpur. The mill closed later, but he's still here. He knows which mills have good machinery. Before I came, I had someone send him word."

Aditya nodded. "Then we'll find him first tomorrow."

Madan said, "I've arranged to meet him at seven tomorrow morning, at the southern entrance to Textile Street."

Early the next morning, the red sun was just rising.

Dipti came downstairs in a fresh shirt, looking well.

Aditya called her over for breakfast.

Breakfast consisted of a few hot parathas, a small dish of potato curry, and a cup of milk tea. Madan ordered three portions, then added two portions of sweet milk cake.

Dipti sat down, rested her hands on her knees, and waited for Aditya to start.

"Eat." Aditya pushed the aluminum plate holding the flatbreads toward her.

Only then did Dipti take one and slowly tear it apart. Aditya noticed that she dipped it in only a tiny bit of curry, avoiding all the spicy parts.

Aditya placed a small bowl of yogurt in front of Dipti as well. She ate it in small mouthfuls, not daring to look up at him.

After breakfast, Madan said, "Let's go to the southern entrance to find Neelam first. Jaya's owner is eager to sell the machinery, but he'll only take cash."

Kanpur was already growing hot in the early morning, beneath a gray, hazy sky.

The jeep was parked beside the lodge, its hood beaded with dew from the night before. Aditya started the engine and drove slowly south along the potholed street.

Kanpur's textile district was not in the city center, but in the northern part of the city near the railway. The closer they got, the stronger the smell of coal ash in the air became.

The factories along the road all had high perimeter walls topped with embedded shards of glass. Some factory buildings were already empty, their iron gates half-collapsed and weeds growing through cracks in the concrete.

Neelam was already waiting at the southern entrance to the textile district.

Aditya stopped the jeep. Neelam sat behind the front passenger seat, squeezing in with Madan.

He leaned forward to give directions. "Let's go to Jaya Textile Mill first. The owner, Prakash, is waiting there. We'll take a look at his batch of machines first. It's a complete batch, twenty-eight textile machines in all. The brand is John Bullock, British-made. You don't see many of them in Kanpur."

Neelam sighed as he spoke, then continued, "Cotton yarn prices rose sharply last year. Jaya's owner had taken export orders, and when the rupee fell, he sank all his capital into them. Now he even owes money on electricity. The machines are good. They've been idle for four months. Yesterday, I had Prakash turn on the workshop lights. The power's still on."

Madan asked, "What's the owner like?"

Neelam said, "He's quite honest. Otherwise, he wouldn't have let the mill end up like this. He wants to sell the machines without splitting up the batch. All twenty-eight have to go together. If you buy the whole lot, the price is negotiable."

Aditya said nothing, his eyes on the road ahead. He had seen far too many of Kanpur's closed textile mills in the materials he had read in his previous life.

These old textile mills all died much the same way: raw material prices rose, orders dried up, banks pressed for repayment, and the owner struggled to hold on. Then one night, work stopped, and never started again.

Jaya Textile Mill stood at the end of a narrow alley. The alley was too narrow for the jeep, so Aditya parked at its entrance and told Dipti to bring the cloth bag and follow them inside.

The factory gate was made of blue sheet metal, with "Jaya Textile" written across it. Most of the white paint had peeled away.

Prakash stood at the entrance like a black stick, his striped shirt hanging loosely on that stick. He nodded when he saw Neelam, then pressed his palms together when he saw Aditya and Madan.

The factory grounds were small, with one workshop and a row of small single-story buildings.

Aditya stood in the middle of the workshop and surveyed the entire building. The roof was high, and the iron beams and columns had not yet rusted. The textile machines stood directly on the concrete floor.

"When did the machines stop running?" Aditya asked.

"June," Prakash said.

Aditya lifted the old cloth covering the first machine. Apart from some accumulated dust, he found no other problems. The John Bullock nameplate was still on the iron frame.

"All twenty-eight are in working order?" Madan asked Prakash.

"Of course they are. They're all new-model machines. If I hadn't run into funding problems, I'd never bear to sell them. These are all things that can lay golden eggs," Prakash replied.

Aditya inspected them one by one, checking all twenty-eight machines.

There was no impact damage or repainting. The machines' oil lines were not clogged, the yarn racks were complete, water pipes ran to the corner, and the previously obtained electricity permit was affixed to the electrical box.

The rear workshop door also led to a small courtyard, where there was a tube well. Water would not be a problem.