**April 30, 2003**
**Agni University, Rewari**
The late April sun blazed over Rewari, its heat shimmering through the office window at Agni University, casting a golden haze across Jatin's desk—stacked with enrollment lists, a steaming mug of chai, and a small swastika plaque glinting in the light. He sat back in his chair, its creak a familiar comfort, his fingers tracing the edge of a report as the distant hum of Agni National Schools drifted up from below.
The new session had begun, a tidal wave of life—15,000 students flooding 30 schools across Haryana, their gates now open, swastika high. Of them, 11,000 paid nothing—fees waived, a promise kept—drawn from families too poor to dream of books, while 4,000 were holdovers, old students from the 20 purchased schools, their exams done, their roots deep.
Jatin sipped his chai, its warmth cutting the dust, and grinned—11,000 new faces, a victory carved from grit. But shadows lingered; thousands more had applied, only to vanish when whispers of Sanskrit, martial arts, and "cultural stuff" reached their parents' ears, fear painting it a waste, Kalaripayattu's kicks branded violent.
He'd fought that tide—recruited a dozen scouts, simple men in kurtas, sent to knock on mud-walled homes, sit with families over tea, and plead. "Your kids will thrive—free food, free learning, strength for life," they'd said, voices steady, hands gesturing to the future, Agni's fire a beacon for the broke and broken.
It worked—11,000 came, their parents swayed by full bellies and no bills, kids streaming in from slums and villages, their uniforms crisp, eyes wide. Jatin had handpicked them—families with empty pockets, roofs leaking, hope thin—his scouts' words a lifeline, pulling them to desks where Sanskrit chants would soon ring.
Thirty schools had roared to life—15,000 students, 11,000 fee-free, their session underway—but the cost stung. Renovating 20 old schools and building 10 new ones had bled 70 lakhs from his money—bricks laid, roofs tiled, walls painted with swastikas, all in six months.
That covered free meals—dal steaming, rice fluffy—uniforms crisp on young shoulders, and salaries for teachers and staff—Sanskrit pandits, martial arts gurus, cooks stirring vats. Labs hummed with basic gear, playgrounds rang with footballs, but the tally gnawed at him, the chai's warmth a faint shield against the math.
Jatin leaned back, boots scuffing the tiles, and rubbed his eyes—70 lakhs for six months, a heavy lift. After that, the burn would deepen—salaries ticking up, food stocks rising, advanced equipment looming—microscopes, computers, training gear—for growing minds and bodies.
He'd calculated it, pen scratching late into nights—1 crore rupees annually to keep 30 schools ablaze, feeding 15,000, paying 600 staff, upgrading labs. More students, more schools, and the cost could climb—1.2 crore, 1.5 crore—his empire's roots drinking deep from a thinning well.
He sat forward, the chair creaking under him, his fingers drumming the wood as he grabbed the phone, its cord twisting as he dialed Anand Mishra, Vedic Technology's CEO.
Anand picked up, his voice crackling through, warm and brisk. "Hello, Boss, what can I do for you?" The line hummed faintly, a distant echo of Delhi's buzz, where Anand ran the company's pulse from Vedic's sleek office.
Jatin leaned back, boots scuffing the tiles, and asked, "How's the company doing?" His tone was steady, but the 1 crore school cost loomed, his 80 lakhs a thinning shield—VedaOS, his first fire, needed to roar louder.
"Sir," Anand replied, a grin audible, "VedaOS is doing very good. We had 30% market share, now it's 35%, and in one or two months, it could hit 40%. We earned 30 crore this month—next few, maybe 50-60 crore." The words landed like a thunderclap, the office stilling around Jatin.
His jaw dropped, the chai mug forgotten as he blinked, shock rippling through him. "Thirty crore?" he rasped, voice rough, leaning forward, papers crinkling. "How? What's driving it?" His S-level mind raced—5 crore last year, now this—numbers too vast, too sudden.
Anand chuckled, the sound tinny over the line. "Sir, early money was Gateway—$5 per license, 2-3 after taxes, but their market's small. This time, it's online sales—$10 per device, 7-8 after taxes. New computers launched—Dell, HP—boosting us. At 60-70% market, we'll rake in hundreds of crore."
Jatin's breath caught, the phone warm against his ear, his grin breaking wide—30 crore this month, 50-60 next, a flood to drown his worries. Online sales, new PCs—VedaOS's infinity logo was spreading, unstoppable, his empire's roots sinking deeper.
The twilight deepened over Rewari, the last streaks of sunlight fading through the office window at Agni University, casting a dim glow across Jatin's desk—financial sheets, a swastika plaque, and a chipped mug of chai gone cold. He stood by the phone, its cord coiled tight, his boots scuffing the tiles as he spoke to Anand Mishra, Vedic Technology's CEO, the line crackling with Delhi's distant hum.
"How's Ananta doing?" Jatin asked, voice steady, his fingers tapping the desk, the 30 crore from VedaOS still ringing in his ears—70 lakhs for schools a lighter burden now, but his empire's second pillar needed to shine.
Anand's tone lifted, brimming with pride. "Sir, Ananta's doing very good—80% market share now. Deals with ad agencies are paying off—10 crore this month, more to come. Users love it—no pop-ups, just clean headers and footers, as you instructed." The words hit like a wave, Jatin's jaw slackening, his grin breaking wide.
"Ten crore?" he rasped, shock rippling through him, the phone warm against his ear. He'd built Ananta—fast, secure, infinite—its ads a whisper, not a scream, and now it poured rupees like rain. His S-level mind spun—80% of browsers, 10 crore monthly, a flood to fuel Bhumi, Baba, and Agni's schools.
Anand continued, his voice steady. "But, sir, there's a hitch—USA, Europe, and China want Ananta servers in their countries. No data leaks, they say, and they demand monitoring rights, control over our servers there." The line buzzed, tension creeping in, Jatin's grin fading to a frown.
"Control?" Jatin snapped, his free hand clenching, the chai mug rattling as he paced. Governments sniffing at his creation—Ananta, his fortress—stirred a cold anger. "We can install servers there, but no access. Negotiate, Anand—delay them, stretch it to a year. If they won't budge, we pull out, find new markets. They've tasted Ananta—let them crave it."
"Ok, sir," Anand replied, voice firm, the call ending with a click, leaving Jatin alone, the office quiet save for the fan's hum. He pushed the window wider, Rewari's dusk alive below—students laughing, dust swirling, Agni's fire steady.
---
In Washington, D.C., a sleek office buzzed, U.S. officials huddled around a table, papers stamped with seals. "Vedic's Ananta—80% here," a suit named Carter growled, tapping a report. "We need servers stateside, data locked—no leaks to India or China." Another, a woman with sharp eyes, nodded. "And control—monitoring rights. Call them."
A Vedic rep, Priya, sat across, her dupatta neat, voice calm. "Servers, yes—control, no. Our data's secure; we'll host locally, but access stays ours." Carter scowled, "Not enough—national security." Priya smiled thinly, "We'll discuss, take time—months, maybe a year." The room bristled, but she held firm, Anand's orders clear.
---
In Brussels, a Eurocrat named Klaus paced a marble hall, his tie askew, barking into a phone. "Ananta's everywhere—80% here too. Servers in Europe, or we ban it—data can't flow east." Vedic's envoy, Vikram, leaned back, cool. "Servers, fine—control, no. We'll delay, refine terms." Klaus huffed, "Unacceptable," but Vikram shrugged, "Take it slow—users won't wait."
---
In Beijing, a stern official, Li, sat stone-faced, a red flag behind him. "Ananta's servers must be here—monitored, ours. No foreign leaks." Vedic's Chen, a local hire, sipped tea, unruffled. "Servers, yes—access, no. Let's talk, stretch it out—a year, maybe." Li's eyes narrowed, but Chen smiled, "Users love it—think on that."
---
Jatin didn't hear their voices, didn't see their desks, his mind in Rewari—30 crore from VedaOS, 10 crore from Ananta, 40 crore this month alone. He sat again, chair creaking, and flipped a report—Bhumi Biobags' factory hummed, 1.5-rupee bags stacking; Baba Construction's plastic roads stretched, contracts piling.
The schools—15,000 strong, 70 lakhs spent, 1 crore ahead—felt lighter now, 40 crore a cushion, his 80 lakhs a seed not a lifeline. Governments could push, but Ananta's sweetness—fast, ad-free—had hooked the world; they'd bend or break without it.
He grinned, raw and wide, and refilled his chai from a flask, its steam curling up, the office warm with dusk's glow. Anand would stall—USA, Europe, China dangling—while VedaOS hit 40%, Ananta soared, profits swelling—hundreds of crore in sight. Agni burned—step by steady, blazing step.