I'm a Master in India

The room was noisy, filled not only with music but also the sounds of people talking among themselves.

In the small corner where Ron and the others were, people occasionally cast curious glances, but no one came over to disturb them.

“Have you heard of Madam Elizabeth?” Hader Khan also took a sip of his red tea.

“I only know that she hasn't been in Mumbai for long and seems to be planning to do business in the red-light district.”

“Your information is quite accurate,” Hader Khan said, looking at him with surprise, “but also a bit outdated.”

“How so?” Ron asked curiously.

“That's just a facade. Elizabeth is not without connections. She has a lot of influence and knows many powerful figures.”

“So she's determined to get Sharma's textile factory?”

“For Elizabeth, nothing is a must-have; the only difference is whether she deems it worthy.”

An elderly man walked over and sat down at Hader Khan's feet, wearing a simple cotton shirt and loose, thin trousers. The wrinkles on his face were deep, and he was thin and hunchbacked, clearly poor.

The two stopped talking and quietly watched the man grind tobacco leaves and hemp with his rough hands. After a few minutes, he handed a hookah to Hader Khan and lit it for him with a match.

“This is Omar, the best hookah maker in all of Mumbai,” Hader Khan said, squinting as he exhaled.

The man named Omar grinned, revealing his toothless mouth, reveling in the praise. He handed the hookah to Ron, with a critical look, preparing to assess his technique and lung capacity.

But Ron refused; Mumbai was full of hemp, and he always insisted on this point. Omar was somewhat dissatisfied. He inhaled the rest of the hookah in one breath, sucking so hard that his thin chest swelled as if it would burst.

After he cleaned up the remaining white ash from the hookah, he nodded to Hader Khan and left, not even looking at Ron.

“You missed the best hookah in all of Mumbai,” Hader Khan laughed. “Omar also controls the shisha lounge business in the Bandra area.”

Ron shrugged; he didn't care. He just didn't expect that Omar, who looked like a poor man, was actually a small boss in a certain area.

“Yesterday, Elizabeth took action to teach you a lesson; she was warning you,” Hader Khan finally returned to the main topic.

“I guessed as much; Anand told me. Is she really planning to build a 'palace' in that godforsaken place?” Ron frowned.

“Palace? No, the palace is already built. Elizabeth bought a former shopping mall in the Bandra area, just three streets away from here.”

“What?” Ron was very surprised. “Then what was the point of yesterday's events? She doesn't need that textile factory at all?”

“There's a Persian saying: sometimes a lion has to roar, just to remind the horse of its fear. Do you understand, Ron?”

Ron understood; he was the horse. He dared to ignore Elizabeth's warnings and contact Sharma; at that moment, he became the horse in Elizabeth's eyes.

“That textile factory…” Ron paused, his expression serious, “I really want it.”

“I could tell. When you went north, Johnny told me about it.”

Johnny was sitting next to them, and he had been quiet throughout their conversation. When Hader Khan mentioned him, he simply smiled at Ron, a friendly and kind smile.

He regarded Ron as a friend, far beyond the familiarity between ordinary friends. When he learned that Ron had set foot in another gang's territory, he had sought out Hader Khan.

In Mumbai, such rash actions could sometimes lead to gang warfare. Fortunately, Ron was not one of Hader Khan's men; he was a businessman, which was a good cover.

Gangs would exclude each other, but they were mostly very friendly to businessmen because businessmen could provide them with funding, whether it was kickbacks or bribes, which meant money.

Elizabeth didn't directly deal with Ron, but only had someone teach him a lesson, also because of this. She couldn't let other businessmen feel fear, as that would be detrimental to the gang's 'tax revenue'.

“That piece of land,” Hader Khan picked up a dried fruit and put it in his mouth, then took a sip of red tea, “I can help you sort it out, without any trouble, including Elizabeth.”

“What do I need to give in return?” Ron asked calmly.

There was no such thing as a free lunch, and he didn't think his relationship with Hader Khan was good enough to ignore Elizabeth's existence.

Hader Khan glanced at the stage, where three singers were ascending, sitting slightly further away in front of the musicians. The room gradually fell silent as people subconsciously stopped what they were doing.

“Let's listen to the song first,” Hader Khan said, sitting up straight, adopting the solemn posture of someone at prayer.

Suddenly, the three singers began to sing loudly, their voices deep and moving. It was multi-layered music, the melody touching and full of emotion.

They were not only singing but also crying and lamenting through the songs. Tears flowed from their closed eyes, dripping onto their chests.

People were immersed in it, feeling sorrow and anxiety with the song. They sang three songs in a row, then quietly passed through the curtain, leaving the stage and entering another room.

“What do you think, Ron?” Hader Khan asked.

“Great, I've never heard anything like it, both sad and very powerful. Is that Urdu?”

“That's right, do you understand Urdu?”

“I'm learning. I'm learning many languages of India: Marathi, Urdu, Tamil, Bengali…”

“I didn't know you were also a linguist,” Hader Khan said, looking at him with surprise.

“No, I just want to master more languages so that I can open a travel company in every state in the future.”

“Very good, Urdu is also one of the main languages of the Persian Gulf countries, which will be very helpful for your business,” a glint flashed in Hader Khan's eyes.

“Are they blind?” Ron thought of the scene of the three singers closing their eyes while singing.

“You didn't know? They are the Gwal Urd blind singers, very famous in Mumbai.”

“So they were born blind, or later…” Ron thought of some very bad rumors.

Some gangs would pick out orphans on the streets, and those with singing talent would be deliberately blinded. This could allow them to focus more on singing, release emotions more easily, and also gain sympathy.

“They could originally see, but in a village near Gwal Urd, a blinding incident occurred, and these people became blind.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked.

“There were rebels and bandits hiding near the mountains of that village, and the villagers had to offer food and other assistance; they had no choice. Later, after the police and soldiers came, those rebels blinded about twenty people as a lesson, to warn other villagers.

This kind of thing happens often; these singers are not from that village, but they happened to be there to perform, which was really unlucky. They, along with others, were blinded. All of them, men and women, were tied to the ground, and their eyes were gouged out with bamboo strips. Now they sing here, singing everywhere…”

Ron was speechless after hearing this. On this magical land, in addition to the fantastical, there were also all kinds of chilling things happening.

“Let's talk about Urdu,” Hader Khan smiled, leaning over and placing his hand on Ron's arm.

In India, people often touch each other when talking, emphasizing their points with a slight squeeze. Ron was already used to this way of talking, and he often did the same.

“Urdu?” Ron was a little puzzled.

“That's right, it's also related to what we're going to talk about. That piece of land, I'll help you get it, and you also do me a favor.”

The main event was coming, and Ron couldn't help but take a breath.