Diya

Prakash waited at the factory gates. When he saw the green jeep stop, he jogged over.

"Have the workers been notified?" Aditya asked as he got out, before Prakash could offer a greeting.

"I had all the former foremen notify them. They'll wait at the gates first thing the day after tomorrow," Prakash said, pressing his palms together.

"Then that's settled. Let's start the handover." Aditya nodded.

At that, Prakash turned and fetched a small cloth bag from the gatehouse.

Madan took it and opened it. Inside were three keys, five old account books, and a tool inventory.

"These are the only things still of any use. There's nothing much else. When will you pay me?" Prakash asked with an ingratiating smile.

"Once the factory resumes production in three days, if there are no problems, I'll transfer the money straight to your account," Aditya replied.

"Thank you, Mishra." Prakash bowed with his palms pressed together.

Aditya stood without moving. Prakash straightened, took one last look at the factory gates, then turned and left.

Before long, the darkness in the alley swallowed Prakash's figure.

Aditya watched Prakash leave, lost in thought.

"Uncle Madan, head back to Varanasi tonight," Aditya said, turning to his uncle.

Madan had been about to get his cigarettes from the jeep. His hand stopped in midair. "Tonight?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes. Since we've opened a textile mill in Kanpur, we need to put the land allotted to us back home to use too. We can't rely entirely on outsiders here, either. Go back and explain things to Grandfather first, and get the factory building back home built as well. Then pick out a few capable people from the family and have Raju bring them over together," Aditya said.

"I'm staying back home to build a factory? What do we need another factory back home for?" Madan asked.

"Just oversee the construction. It'll come in useful later." Aditya kept him guessing.

"Then will you be all right here on your own?"

"That's why I want you to have Raju bring people over. We need our own people handling the dormitories and canteen, guarding the gates, and moving goods."

"Once Raju gets here with them, with Dipti and me here too, that'll be enough," Aditya said.

Madan hesitated for a while, then nodded. "All right, then!"

Aditya locked the factory gates and drove his uncle to the bus station first.

After Madan left, Aditya drove back to the hotel with Dipti.

Dipti got out, still holding the cloth bag Prakash had handed over.

Night fell earlier in Kanpur than in Varanasi. Dipti went upstairs first.

Aditya ordered two cups of milk tea downstairs and carried them up to the room. Dipti's door was open, saving him the trouble of knocking.

Aditya gave a cough and walked straight in.

Inside, Dipti had spread the account books across the bed. She was checking the old accounts and copying them into her own notebook. She had also copied out Prakash's list of unpaid wages.

She really is a fresh university graduate. A heaven-chosen wage slave! Now this is a proper employee. Watching Dipti work with such energy, Aditya could not help nodding in satisfaction.

Aditya set the milk tea by her bedside. "I'm going to the market tomorrow. Stay at the hotel and go through Prakash's old accounts."

Dipti looked up. "I'll go with you. After we find suppliers, we still need to visit the factory again. The old yarn and tools in the warehouse haven't been inventoried yet."

Aditya thought that made sense. "Then come with me tomorrow. I do need you to keep the suppliers' accounts."

Dipti nodded. Her gaze flicked toward the milk tea by the bed, and she said nothing more.

Leaning against the doorframe, Aditya continued pumping the wage slave full of enthusiasm. "Senior, I'll be counting on you for the factory's accounts from now on. Make sure you manage the books and money properly for me."

Without waiting for Dipti to speak, Aditya said good night, walked out, and closed the door.

A complicated expression crossed Dipti's face. She sat in a daze for a while, then slowly picked up the milk tea and began drinking it in small sips.

Aditya returned to his room, washed his face, and lay down on the bed.

Tomorrow, he had to buy yarn and tidy the warehouse. The day after, he would bring the workers back, and then the machines would have to start running.

It felt as though there were many gears in his head, all meshing tightly.

The government side had been taken care of, Madan had gone back home, and Raju would bring people over. Everything was moving forward, and things seemed to be going smoothly.

Aditya suddenly recalled the way Narayan had pinned the envelope beneath his elbow in the government office that afternoon.

That wasn't bribery. In India, it should be called cooperation. What these people do best is turn public assets into private business.

The government treated Prakash's old debts as dead accounts. I, Aditya, get the factory, Narayan gets the envelope, and the workers get their wages. Everyone is satisfied. Who loses?

Does no one lose? Is Kanpur the loser? But Kanpur has countless Prakashes. If I don't take over Jaya, someone else will. If someone else takes over, the workers will only suffer more.

Aditya rolled over. He knew that sometimes, a person did not need to be too clean.

He did not care that Narayan took bribes. On the contrary, he benefited from it. He had to get the factory running first, make sure it could survive, sell the cloth, and get the money into his hands. Only once he had money could he talk about anything else. That was India as he understood it.

Dipti had not gone to sleep next door. Aditya could hear the sound of papers turning.

The room was dark and hot. Aditya closed his eyes. He thought that by this time the day after tomorrow, the Jaya mill's workshop should be brightly lit.

Once the looms started running, he would not let them stop.

Aditya was going to manage the textile mill well. He would let every Indian worker enjoy the happy life of 996 and two-shift rotations.

Aditya would bring civilization to the textile mill's workers and bestow blessings upon every hardworking Indian.

Aditya woke just as dawn broke.

He washed his face. When he went downstairs, Dipti was already sitting in the restaurant and had ordered breakfast for them both.

"We have a lot to do today. Let's get the new license first, then go negotiate with the yarn merchants," Aditya said as he sat down and ate breakfast.

Dipti nodded. "I still have Prakash's old license. We'll need to cancel the old one to get a new one. We may have to visit several counters."

"No rush. One thing at a time," Aditya said, swallowing his food with the curry mash. "Stay close to me later. Those clerks won't listen when you speak. They'll only listen to me."

"All right," Dipti said calmly.

She had already seen it at the government building yesterday. Those government employees only bowed to Aditya's sacred thread. For a Vaishya like her, they could not even be bothered to lift their eyelids.

After eating, the two drove to Kanpur's business registration office, a grayish-white single-story building.

A long line stretched outside the entrance, with hawkers in sandals as well as accountants carrying briefcases under their arms.

Aditya walked straight inside without joining the queue. Holding the cloth bag, Dipti jogged to keep up.

A man wearing black-framed glasses sat behind the counter, holding down some documents with an old ruler.

Aditya approached the counter. The man looked up, saw the sacred thread, and put down his ruler. Pressing his palms together, he said, "Sir, what can I do for you?"

"I want to register Diya Textile Factory and cancel Jaya Textile Mill's registration while I'm at it," Aditya said.

Jaya Textile Mill had already gone bankrupt, so naturally Aditya needed a name for his new company. After turning it over in his mind, he still found Diya more suitable.