December 12, 1971
Narayanganj District, East Pakistan.
The road to Dhaka was not a straight line. It was a broken artery of muddy tracks, burning villages, and ambushes.
The convoy had split up. The tanks had pushed ahead to secure the demilitarized zone, leaving the logistics tail exposed. Vajra Unit 4—a column of three trucks carrying medical supplies and diesel—had fallen behind due to a snapped axle.
Rudra sat in his jeep, parked under a Banyan tree two kilometers back. The Orion Radio on his dashboard hissed.
"Malik! Ambush! We are pinned down near the jute mill! Razakars!"
It was Raghu. His voice was tight with fear.
"Status?" Rudra barked.
"They are in the tree line. Maybe twenty of them. We can't see them, but they are picking us off every time we move. Driver Mohan is hit."
Rudra looked at the sky. It was a moonless night. Pitch black. The Razakars (local militia loyal to the Pakistani Army) knew every ditch and bush. Raghu's team was blind. If they turned on their headlights to find the enemy, they would just become brighter targets.
"Balwant," Rudra said to his bodyguard. "Get the rifle."
"I can't shoot what I can't see, Malik," Balwant grunted, checking the bolt of his Lee-Enfield. "It is too dark."
"Then let's buy some daylight," Rudra whispered.
The Purchase
Rudra closed his eyes. The battlefield faded, replaced by the cool blue hum of the System Interface.
[SYSTEM SHOP]
Situation: Low Visibility Combat.
wealth: ₹76,00,000 (Liquid/Assets).
Search: Night Vision Optics (1970s Era).
Two options appeared:
Active Infrared Sniper Scope (Vampir style) - Bulky, requires IR spotlight. (Detectability: High).
Passive Starlight Scope (AN/PVS-2 Gen 1) - Amplifies ambient light. Expensive. Rare. (Detectability: Zero).
"Option 2," Rudra commanded. "Give me the Starlight."
[Purchase Confirmed. Cost: ₹8,00,000.] [Item Materializing in: Cargo Box 3.]
Rudra walked to the back of the jeep. He opened a heavy wooden crate that had "Spare Parts" stenciled on it. Inside lay a massive, tubular device—black metal, heavy, smelling of fresh grease.
He clamped it onto the rail of Balwant's rifle.
"What is this?" Balwant asked, staring at the bulky tube.
"It catches starlight, Balwant," Rudra said. "Look through it. Don't shoot until you see the green."
The Green Ghost
Balwant peered through the rubber eyepiece.
The world wasn't black anymore. It was a grainy, swimming ocean of neon green. The static was heavy, but the shapes were distinct. He swept the rifle towards the jute mill.
He saw them. Heat signatures weren't visible, but the movement against the starlight was. He saw a man crouching behind a bullock cart. He saw another in the upper window of the mill.
"I see them," Balwant whispered, awe in his voice. "They are... glowing."
"Take out the leader," Rudra ordered coldly. "The one giving orders."
Balwant adjusted his aim. The scope was heavy, but the optics were magic. He found a man waving a machete, directing fire.
Crack.
The rifle shot echoed through the night. 300 meters away, the militia leader dropped mid-shout.
The Razakars froze. They looked around wildly. There was no muzzle flash visible (Rudra had bought a flash hider too). Just death from the dark.
Crack. Crack.
Two more militia men fell.
"Run!" one of them screamed in Bengali. "They have demons! They can see in the dark!"
Panic broke the ambush. The Razakars, terrified of the invisible sniper, scattered into the paddy fields.
"Clear," Balwant lowered the rifle, trembling slightly. "Malik, this machine... it is the devil's eye."
"It's just physics, Balwant," Rudra said, taking the scope back and putting it in the case. "Let's move. Raghu needs us."
The Golden Trade
The Jute Mill Complex. 1 Hour Later.
The Razakars were gone, but new shadows emerged from the forest. These men didn't run. They wore lungis and carried captured rifles.
The Mukti Bahini (Liberation Army).
Their leader, a scarred man named Commander Rashid, walked into the clearing where Rudra was bandaging Driver Mohan's arm.
Rashid looked at the dead Razakars. He looked at Balwant's rifle. Then he looked at Rudra.
"You shoot well for a businessman," Rashid said, his suspicion evident.
"Self-defense, Commander," Rudra replied, wiping blood from his hands. "We are bringing supplies for the refugees. These men tried to stop us."
Rashid nodded slowly. "We heard the shots. We have been hunting this Razakar unit for weeks. You did us a favor."
He looked at the Vajra truck. "You have medicines?"
"Penicillin. Morphine. Bandages," Rudra confirmed.
Rashid's eyes softened. "My men... we have gangrene. We have no doctors. We have no money to pay you."
Rudra looked at the mill behind Rashid. It was the Narayanganj Jute Mill, one of the largest in East Pakistan. The machines were silent, the workers fled. But the warehouses were stacked to the ceiling with bales of raw jute—the "Golden Fiber."
Rudra knew something Rashid didn't. The moment this war ended, the global price of jute would skyrocket. Plastic packaging was getting expensive due to the oil crisis. The world needed jute for sacks, carpets, and fabrics.
"I don't want money, Rashid," Rudra said. He walked to the warehouse doors.
"I want a contract."
"A contract?" Rashid frowned. "Dhaka hasn't even fallen yet."
"It will fall in three days," Rudra predicted. "And when it does, you will need to rebuild. You will need buyers for this fiber."
Rudra pulled a notebook from his pocket.
"I will give you half my medical cargo right now. For free. It will save your men."
"And in return?"
"In return, when you become the Administrator of this district... Pratap Industries gets the 'Most Favored Buyer' status for this mill for five years. I buy at market rate minus 10%."
Rashid looked at the Indian businessman. He saw a man who was trading morphine for a future that didn't exist yet. It was a gamble.
"You believe in Bangladesh that much?" Rashid asked.
"I believe in business," Rudra said. "And I believe in you, Commander."
Rashid spat on his hand and extended it.
"Deal. If we live through this week, the Jute is yours."
The Wide Lens
As Rudra shook hands with the future, the war thundered on.
Dhaka
General Niazi, the Pakistani Commander, sat in his bunker, listening to the BBC. The Indian Army was closing the noose. The "Ghost Convoys" of Vajra Logistics were ferrying ammunition faster than his own trucks could move.
Bombay
Kuldeep Sikka read a report from his spy network. "Pratap has entered East Pakistan. He is gone." Sikka hoped Rudra would die there. He didn't know Rudra was currently securing a monopoly on the raw material that would choke Sikka's packaging business next year.
Nagpur
Bhau Saheb lit a lamp for his grandson. "He walks in fire," the old man whispered. "Let him not burn."
The Vision
10:00 AM.
As the convoy rolled out towards Dhaka, Rudra sat in the passenger seat, sketching on a notepad.
The war was almost over. But the Jute Packaging Act was coming in India. Cement, grain, sugar—everything would legally require jute packaging. By securing the source in Bangladesh now, while others were scared of the instability, Rudra had just cornered the market.
[System Alert] [Strategic Asset Acquired: Exclusive Jute Supply Chain.] [Impact: Monopoly on Packaging Material for Post-War Reconstruction.] [Current Wealth:] Decreased (Night Vision Purchase) / [Projected Wealth:] Exponential.
Rudra looked at the "Starlight Scope" hidden in the bag. It had cost a fortune, but it had bought him a monopoly.
"To Dhaka, Balwant," Rudra said. "Let's finish this."
****************************
Thank you all for reading and supporting my stories!
Advance Chapters are available on my ko fi for readers who want to read ahead and support my work.
❤️ Support the story here: ko-fi.com/inkstory