The July 1610 dusk settled over Surat's vibrant beachfront, the Tapti River's ripples glinting like coins under the fading sun. The Vora Trading Company complex thrummed with triumph: the restaurant's butter chicken and spicy biryani packed tables, the medicine shop's Pain's Whisper and Surat's Elixir flew off shelves, the clothing store's Vora's Durable Thread outfits sold out daily, and Kofi's blacksmith shop rang with hammers forging blades for nobles. Vora Heights' brick-and-stone frame rose steadily on the 18,000-square-foot Tapti plot, its future penthouse a beacon of the Vora family's dominance. In the basement hideout, Jai Vora, nine years old but sharp as a Mughal khanda, stood with his shadow unit—Maya, Arjun, Rahil, and Sanjay—their faces still flushed from last night's report of sabotaging the East India Company's Masulipatnam factory. The Emperor System, Jai's secret AI-spirit guide, buzzed: "Your pranks shook the EIC, kid, but those British commanders are the head of the snake. Chop their morale, and roll out something new to flex Vora's muscle."
Jai's eyes burned with resolve, his hatred for the EIC a smoldering coal. "Maya, your team's disruptions—bitter food, mosquito swarms, stolen supplies—hit hard, but the British are stubborn, bribing officials, begging Jahangir for guards. We escalate. Target the top five commanders running the factory. Make their lives hell—pranks to break their spirits, drive them back to England." Maya, her Agility a silent blade, leaned forward. "Those pigs whip workers, call them 'filthy natives,' pay scraps. What's the plan?" Jai's grin was fierce. "Relentless torment. Spike their tea with laxatives—let them squirm through drills. Swap their boots with tight ones—blisters on every step. Loosen their saddle straps—watch them fall like fools. Forge letters from England—fake scandals, bankruptcies, sick families. Make them doubt every meal, every shadow."
Arjun chuckled, his blade hand twitching. "Add itching powder to their beds—scratch till dawn." Rahil smirked. "Dye their uniforms pink—parade them as clowns." Sanjay, his voice low, said, "Stink bombs in their tents—foul smells to empty the camp." Maya nodded, her loyalty iron. "They'll crack, Jai. The Mughal guards and their sailors won't save them from paranoia." Jai's voice was steel. "No blood—just misery. Amir, secure our couriers; I'm drafting a letter to Jahangir, exposing the EIC as slavers exploiting his empire." Amir, his Bladework steady, growled, "Done. Let's bury them."
As the unit prepared to ride for Masulipatnam, Jai's mind sparked with a new vision, his 2025 knowledge humming. He strode to Kofi's blacksmith shop, the forge's heat washing over him as hammers rang on anvils. Kofi, sweat-glistened, shaped a spearhead, his Blacksmithing skill a furnace of creation. "Kofi," Jai said, unrolling a parchment sketch, "I've got an idea—luxury horse carts, smoother than any in the empire." He traced the diagram: coiled springs and sturdy struts. "Suspensions—springs to absorb bumps, struts to stabilize. And tires, not wood—rubber, from tree latex. Collect the milky fluid, coagulate it with acid to form sheets, reinforce with silk or steel threads, mold, and vulcanize under heat and pressure. Durable, cushioned wheels."
Kofi's eyes widened, his hammer pausing. "Springs? Like coiled steel? I've forged chains, but this…" He studied the sketch, voice booming. "And rubber? Latex from trees? You're mad, Jai, but I'm in. Smooth carts for nobles?" Jai grinned, his Charm weaving excitement. "Exactly. They'll glide like clouds—nobles'll pay fortunes. Build a model cart, test the suspensions. Harvest latex from rubber trees near the coast; I'll show you how to process it." The system pinged: "Suspension carts with rubber tires? Kid, you're turning Mughal roads into highways. Get that prototype rolling."
Kofi clapped Jai's shoulder. "I'll temper the steel hot, coil it tight. Latex—heat it like dough? We'll test it on a small cart first. If it works, Vora carts'll rule Surat." Jai nodded. "Make it fast. Nobles are coming for Vora Heights' opening—show them something new." As Kofi sketched steel coils, Jai stood by the Tapti, the river's flow mirroring his ambition. With the EIC commanders under siege and a revolutionary cart in the works, Vora's empire was unstoppable—but the British officer's gaze on Maya lingered in his mind, a shadow on the horizon.
Note from Nikhil T.
Dear Readers,
I'm taking a brief hiatus to celebrate the joyous festival of Diwali and enjoy a travel adventure with my family. I'll be away soaking in the festivities and exploring new places, but I'll return on November 1, 2025, recharged and ready to share more stories and insights with you. Thank you for your continued support and understanding during this festive break!