Part 1: Beyond the Equator
The saffron flag of the Swarajya now fluttered peacefully over the Andaman archipelago. Through unprecedented diplomacy and the promise of the Free Markets, the foundation for a deep-sea port had been laid with the absolute cooperation of the indigenous tribes. Commander Yachama remained behind to fortify the new island stronghold. However, Advit's (Sriranga's) strategic mandate did not end at the Bay of Bengal. His true target was the absolute geometric center of the global maritime trade routes.
Detaching from the main fleet at Andaman, a squadron of five of the fastest, most heavily armed galleons sailed further south. Command of this specific vanguard fell to Ayyappa Nayaka. Their bearing was set dead South—past the equatorial line, directly into the terrifying, unfathomable void of the central Indian Ocean.
For weeks, the men witnessed absolutely nothing but the infinite expanse of blue water and the overarching dome of the sky. The ocean was so impossibly vast that the battle-hardened warriors of the Deccan, men who had decimated empires on land, felt their very existence shrink to insignificance. Yet, beneath their boots, Advit's scientific mastery proved its worth every single day. The copper-sheathed hulls of the galleons sliced through the saltwater with zero parasitic drag from barnacles or shipworms, allowing the heavy vessels to glide across the ocean at terrifying speeds.
Ayyappa Nayaka stood firmly on the quarterdeck of Swarajya-1 (the flagship formerly known as The Royal Sovereign). In his calloused hands, he clutched a leather map given to him personally by Advit. In the absolute center of the blue parchment, Advit had drawn a single, dark dot.
"Commander," the chief navigator asked, shielding his eyes from the blinding equatorial sun. "We have sailed to the absolute edge of the world. There is no land here. No mountains, no resources. Why has Prince Sriranga sent us into this watery abyss?"
Ayyappa gripped the map tightly, his voice filled with a profound reverence. "Because our Prince possesses a vision that pierces far beyond the horizon of the Europeans. He explicitly stated that hidden in this blue darkness is a singular piece of land capable of choking the breath out of the entire world. Raise your telescope to the horizon and keep watching!"
Part 2: The Coral Fortress (Diego Garcia)
The following afternoon, a geographical miracle materialized from the endless silence of the ocean.
The lookout perched high atop the mainmast blew his brass horn with frantic excitement. "Land! Solid land dead ahead!"
Ayyappa Nayaka raised his brass telescope. What emerged from the horizon was not a traditional mountainous island. Sitting perfectly in the center of the ocean was a sprawling, emerald-green ring of lush vegetation and pristine white sand, shaped exactly like a massive horseshoe. This was the crown jewel of the Chagos Archipelago—Diego Garcia.
As the five massive galleons carefully navigated through the narrow opening of the horseshoe and dropped their anchors, Ayyappa Nayaka's mind was entirely paralyzed by Advit's geographical genius. Outside the coral ring, the Indian Ocean roared with violent swells and aggressive currents. But inside the massive, enclosed lagoon, the water was impossibly deep, yet as calm and reflective as a sheet of glass. It was a natural sanctuary.
"A natural dry-dock, forged by the hands of the gods themselves," Ayyappa whispered in absolute awe. "No matter how violently a monsoon rages in the open ocean, our fleet will remain perfectly sheltered inside this lagoon. How could Prince Sriranga possibly know of this place? This is a completely impenetrable naval fortress floating in the center of the world!"
Without spilling a single drop of blood, the infantry of the Deccan planted the flag of the Swarajya into the white sands of the uninhabited atoll. Advit's 'Project Blue Water' had reached its ultimate, terrifying climax. Diego Garcia, the geopolitical heart of the Indian Ocean, now belonged to India.
Part 3: The Ocean's Tollbooth (The Global Choke Point)
Only a few days had passed since the establishment of the base camp on Diego Garcia, when the sharp blast of a sentry's horn shattered the morning calm.
Emerging over the eastern horizon was a massive silhouette. It was a heavily laden Portuguese merchant galleon, its hull sitting low in the water, packed to the brim with highly valuable spices and silk, utilizing the trade winds to return to Europe. For a century, this oceanic route had served as a free, uncontested highway for European colonial wealth. But as of today, the laws of the world had fundamentally changed.
A sharp, predatory smile crept across Ayyappa Nayaka's face. "In the royal court of Vellore, Prince Sriranga decreed the absolute necessity of the 'Toll-Tax'. We have heavily taxed the dirt roads of the Deccan... it is now time to collect transit tax on the ocean."
At Ayyappa's sharp command, three copper-bottomed Swarajya galleons shot out of the lagoon like unleashed hounds. Thanks to their advanced thermodynamic hulls and copper plating, their nautical velocity was double that of the sluggish, tar-coated Portuguese vessel. Within a matter of hours, the Swarajya warships had flawlessly outmaneuvered and boxed in the massive European merchant ship from three sides.
The Portuguese Captain stood frozen on his quarterdeck, his knees physically trembling. He had never in his life seen native Indians commanding fully modernized, heavily armed galleons in the deep ocean. Dozens of Swarajya cast-iron cannons were dialed in, aimed directly at his ship's mainmast.
BOOM!
A single heavy cannon roared from Ayyappa's flagship. The iron ball splashed violently into the ocean just fifty feet off the Portuguese ship's bow, sending a massive geyser of water raining down upon their deck. It was not a strike to kill; it was a highly disciplined warning shot.
Swarajya infantrymen swung across the rigging, boarding the European ship with terrifying precision. Ayyappa Nayaka stepped heavily onto the deck, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. The terrified Portuguese Captain immediately threw his rapier to the deck. "We are merely merchants! Please, do not plunder our cargo!" he screamed in broken, desperate Hindi.
Ayyappa smiled a cold, administrative smile. "We are not pirates, Captain. We are the commissioned Naval Commanders of the Swarajya. And you are currently navigating through the sovereign maritime territory of the Indian Ocean. By the decree of the Deccan, every foreign vessel utilizing this route must pay an 'Ocean Transit Toll'."
The Portuguese Captain stared at him in sheer, bewildered shock. "A tax on the ocean? That is madness! The ocean belongs to no man!"
Ayyappa drew his blade, resting the cold steel gently against the Captain's collarbone. "It belongs to us now. Go back and tell your King that the entire Indian Ocean has been claimed by Prince Sriranga of the Deccan. You will hand over exactly ten percent of your total cargo's value right now as a transit toll, or you will leave both your ship and your life in these waters."
Paralyzed by the absolute reality of the threat, the Captain immediately surrendered a heavy chest overflowing with gold bullion to Ayyappa's men. And this was merely a single ship. Diego Garcia sat directly astride the equator; every single European ship sailing to or from the East Indies eventually passed near these waters. Advit had generated massive wealth by taxing the paved roads of India, but by rewriting the laws of the ocean, he had successfully placed his hands around the economic jugular of the entire European continent.
The most critical 'Global Choke Point' on earth was now firmly under the absolute control of the Swarajya.