The lunch dishes had barely been cleared when Vikram Singh poured fresh mango lassi and leaned forward, voice low but earnest.
"Jai, one favour. Take Isha back to Surat with you. Let her see the city you've built, the factory, the heights, the life you've given three thousand families. Let her breathe it. A week, maybe ten days. She's only heard stories."
Jai glanced at Isha. She sat very straight, saffron pallu perfect, but her eyes betrayed eager hope.
Jai inclined his head. "A young girl of Mewar's blood travelling alone with me… tongues will wag."
Vikram laughed, warm and certain. "If it's you, no tongue dares wag. I trust you with my life, brother. I trust you with my daughter."
The matter was settled.
The next day passed in a blur of Ahmedabad's nobles and merchants—banquets, contracts, bicycle demonstrations. Then, at the first hint of dawn, the convoy rolled out. Jai climbed into the lead luxury cart, Shadow stretching across the wide cushioned bench like a living throne. Isha approached, hesitated at the sight of four hundred kilograms of tiger, and took a polite step toward the second cart.
Jai smiled. "He won't move unless I tell him to. Come."
She gathered her cream-coloured lehenga, climbed in, and sat—gingerly at first—on the opposite seat. Shadow merely yawned, revealing ivory fangs longer than her hand, then rested his head on his paws. The cart lurched forward.
For the first hour Isha was quiet, clutching the rail. Then curiosity won.
"So… how many languages do you actually speak?"
"Enough to make Englishmen nervous," Jai answered in that flawless Mayfair drawl.
She switched to English herself—crisp, convent-educated, London-polished. "Try me."
They talked. Literature (she loved Shelley; he quoted Byron she'd never heard). Trade routes (she was stunned he knew the exact tonnage of every EIC ship in 1615). Politics (he spoke of balance of power as though he'd read newspapers from 1947). Every time she probed, his answers were sharper, wittier, more precise than hers. By the tenth hour she had stopped testing and started listening, wide-eyed.
When the paved section began—smooth stone gleaming under the sun—she leaned out, wind tugging her dupatta.
"This road… Papa said you're building it all the way to Surat?"
"And beyond," Jai said. "One day Delhi to Surat will be twenty hours, not twenty days."
She shook her head, laughing in wonder. "You make the impossible feel ordinary."
Twenty hours later, as the moon rose over the Tapti, the carts rolled into Surat. Vora Heights towered ahead—twelve storeys of marble and glass, lit like a jewel box. Isha's breath caught.
"Full glass walls… in India… in 1616…"
Leela and Anil greeted them at the private lift to the penthouse. Shadow padded straight to his corner rug. Isha was shown to the guest suite—teak floors, silk drapes, a balcony overlooking the entire city. She stood there long after the household slept, staring at lights that no palace in Mewar could rival.
The next day Jai took her through the empire.
Packaging halls where six hundred workers sealed saffron pouches in perfect rhythm.
The glassworks where molten sand became crystal decanters.
The bicycle yard where children laughed as they tested new frames.
The school where girls in Durable Thread uniforms recited mathematics beside boys.
The clinic where a widow received free medicine for her son.
Everywhere, workers bowed—not in fear, but pride. "Jai-sahib." "Jai-bhai." Even the soldiers saluted with grins.
At dinner on the penthouse terrace—Leela's mutton biryani under a sky full of stars—Isha set down her spoon and looked at Jai directly.
"I thought London was the centre of the world," she said quietly. "I was wrong. This is."
She paused, then smiled—small, determined, a little shy.
"If it's not too much trouble… may I stay a little longer? Ten days is not enough to understand how one sixteen-year-old boy built all this."
Jai glanced at Leela (who was already beaming) and Anil (who hid a knowing smile behind his lassi).
"As long as you wish, Isha Singh," Jai said. "Surat is yours to discover."
Shadow rumbled in agreement from the shadows, and across the table a new story quietly began.
From: Aurthor Nikhil T.
Subject: Please check out my new novel, Asura: The Hunter
Hello,
I've recently published my new novel, titled Asura: The Hunter.
I would appreciate it if you could give it a read.
Thank you very much for your time and consideration.
Best regards,
Nikhil T. (Author)