**March 13, 2003**
**Agni University, Rewari**
The afternoon sun spilled through the window of Jatin's office at Agni University, casting a gentle glow across the wooden desk cluttered with papers and a steaming mug of chai. He leaned back in his chair, its familiar creak a soothing sound, his boots resting on a stool as he gazed out at the campus.
He'd come to Rewari to escape the grind of Delhi, leaving Vedic Technology's bustle behind, knowing Vice Principal Mohan Das handled the university's daily churn with steady hands. This office was his retreat, a place to unwind, to watch students weave through the dusty paths below, their laughter drifting up like a balm.
Across the courtyard, the new chemistry lab gleamed—its walls fresh with paint, its shelves lined with gleaming instruments, beakers glinting in the light. Jatin had overseen its construction, a quiet pride in its modern pulse, a gift to Agni's curious minds fueled by VedaOS's crores.
In that lab, Radhika Verma, a second-year student, hunched over a workbench, her dupatta tucked back, her fingers deftly mixing solutions, the air sharp with chemical tang. She was slight, her dark hair tied in a messy bun, her eyes narrowed in focus as she worked with stubble—paddy straw, the parali left after rice harvests, a farmer's burden.
Jatin sipped his chai, its warmth seeping into his palms, unaware of the spark unfolding below, his mind drifting to the neem tree swaying outside, its rustle a soft rhythm against the distant clang of construction. Radhika stirred, adjusted a burner, the faint hiss of gas blending with the lab's hum, her notebook scribbled with formulas.
Suddenly, her hands stilled, her breath catching as a yellow hue bloomed in the fabric sample before her, vibrant against the workbench's steel. "Finally, it happened," she whispered, her eyes sparking with triumph, a grin breaking across her face as she held up the cloth—born from parali, a farmer's waste turned gold.
Jatin didn't hear her, didn't see the yellow gleam, his gaze fixed on students kicking a football near the canteen, dust swirling around their feet. Radhika's discovery—a dye from stubble, sustainable, bright—simmered in the lab, a quiet revolution he'd learn of soon.
He set the mug down, the clink soft in the stillness, and stretched, the chair groaning under him, his mind light, unburdened by Delhi's reports—5 crore earned, 1.5 crore left, Ananta's 70% reign. Here, he breathed, the campus alive beyond his window, a sanctuary of growth.
Radhika scribbled notes, her yellow cloth a beacon on the bench, the lab's instruments humming around her, a testament to Agni's fire. Jatin grinned faintly, watching a student trip over the ball, the simplicity a balm, unaware of the spark below that would soon blaze anew.
The afternoon sun hung low over Agni University, its golden light pooling across Jatin's desk, warming the scattered papers and the chipped mug of chai he cradled in his hands. He sat slouched in his chair, the creak of its frame a familiar hum, gazing out at students kicking a football in the courtyard, dust swirling around their feet.
A soft knock broke his reverie, followed by a hesitant female voice drifting through the door. "Sir, may I come in?" Jatin straightened, boots scuffing the tiles, and called out, "Yes, enter," his voice steady, curious. The door creaked open, and Radhika Verma stepped in, clutching a vibrant yellow cloth, her dupatta slipping slightly as she moved.
Her face glowed with a mix of joy and nerves, her eyes wide, her hands trembling faintly as she stood before him. Jatin tilted his head, the chai mug warm against his palm, and said, "Your name's Radhika, right? Second-year chemistry major?" His memory snapped sharp—photographic, a gift from his B-level body potential—every student's face etched in his mind.
"Yes, sir," Radhika replied, her voice soft but firm, a nervous smile tugging at her lips as she shifted her weight, the yellow cloth catching the light. Jatin set the mug down, the clink sharp in the quiet, and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, papers rustling beneath him.
"What happened? Why are you here?" he asked, his tone gentle but direct, his eyes flicking to the cloth in her hands. Radhika stepped closer, her sandals scuffing the floor, and held it out. "Sir, I made this cloth from parali—wheat crop residue," she said, handing it over, her voice trembling with pride.
Jatin took it, the fabric soft and light in his grip, its yellow hue vivid against his ink-stained fingers. He turned it over, inspecting its weave, and asked, "How'd you do it? What benefits does it have? Is it biodegradable?" His mind raced—parali, the stubble farmers burned, choking the air—could this be more?
Radhika's nerves eased, her words tumbling out as she explained. "Sir, in the chemistry lab, I extracted cellulose from parali using a sodium hydroxide soak, then spun it into fibers with a wet-spinning process—sulfuric acid to coagulate. It took weeks, adjusting pH, testing strength." She paused, her eyes bright.
"It's strong, lightweight, and biodegradable—breaks down in soil, no harm. It can replace plastic bags, packaging—cheap to make, uses waste farmers dump." Jatin nodded, the cloth smooth under his thumb, its potential unfolding in his mind—a physical business, sustainable, real.
He grinned, raw and wide, and said, "Radhika, this is brilliant—game-changing." She blushed, relief washing over her, the lab's chemical tang still clinging to her as Jatin held the cloth up, the sun igniting its yellow fire. Agni burned brighter—step by steady, blazing step.