The Tycoon's Odyssey

The air was heavy with disbelief as the finance minister's budget presentation came to a conclusion. Find adventures on empire

Across homes, offices, and public squares, the reactions were mixed—from stunned silence to outright skepticism.

"What did I just hear?" a man exclaimed, sitting in a crowded tea stall. The others around him exchanged equally bewildered glances.

"Is this guy even speaking the truth?" someone muttered, shaking their head.

"True? Do you honestly believe all of this is possible within a year?" an older woman questioned skeptically, her arms crossed.

Another man scoffed, "Sounds like a fantasy. Bullet trains, renewable energy, discounts, and dams—all this in a year? Impossible!"

The room filled with murmurs of agreement, the skepticism spreading like wildfire.

While most people across the nation condemned the government for what they considered to be empty promises, they were unaware of the groundwork that had already been laid. Nearly 30% of the ambitious projects were already completed, with many nearing their completion ahead of schedule.

Unbeknownst to the public, Evan had a solution to expedite the remaining work even further. With the use of molecular printers and strategic rewiring, the remaining tasks could be accomplished in just a matter of two months. But he held back, knowing that too much progress in such a short time risked drawing unnecessary attention. For now, restraint was necessary.

Irrespective of the public's doubts, the market reacted with enthusiasm. The Nifty index surged nearly 700 points, hitting an all-time high of 28,000. Even as the general populace remained divided, the positive outlook hinted at a ripple of optimism among investors.

_____

Meanwhile, chaos reigned inside the Samvidhan Bhavan.

The opposition roared with indignation, their voices rising in anger and disbelief.

"This is absurd! No government can achieve this!" one opposition leader shouted, his face flushed red.

Another slammed his hand on the desk. "These are lies! Nothing but lies to fool the people!"

The Speaker of the House struggled to maintain order, his gavel banging repeatedly against the rising tide of voices. Amidst the turmoil, Rajesh Patel rose from his seat, his calm demeanor standing out against the storm of voices.

Stepping forward to the podium, he cleared his throat. Gradually, the cacophony in the assembly subsided and all eyes turned to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his tone laced with sincerity and steadiness, "as a servant of this great nation, I have devoted my life to the betterment of our people. Despite external turbulence, Indra will not falter. We will not fall into the hands of foreign powers. This nation is strong, and together, we will make it stronger."

His words hung in the air, resonating with an undeniable power. Some members nodded reluctantly, their skepticism momentarily silenced by his confidence.

After a deliberate pause, Patel let his gaze sweep across the room before he continued. "But progress requires change. And today, I stand before you to propose a change that will ensure accountability and efficiency in our governance."

The assembly held its breath as he delivered the bombshell.

"This will be effective immediately, I propose that no politician shall run for assembly after the age of 70. It is time to make way for new blood, fresh perspectives, and innovative leadership."

The chamber erupted in outrage. The opposition shouted, accusing the government of undermining democracy. Patel stood firm, letting the noise die down before continuing.

"Furthermore," he added, his voice rising above the murmurs. "To ensure only the most capable individuals represent our people, every candidate must pass an entrance examination. This examination will assess their understanding of governance, law, and public policy. Additionally, all candidates must have a minimum educational qualification of Grade 12 and be at least 28 years old to run for office."

The silence that followed was deafening, disbelief could be seen etched across the faces of those in the room as his words sank in.

But Patel wasn't finished.

"Lastly," he said, his tone sharpening, "we will be implementing advanced AWS systems to monitor election campaigns and candidate activities. This system will ensure transparency, prevent the misuse of funds and curb manipulation of voter sentiments. Any candidate found guilty of corruption or malpractice will be disqualified immediately."

His words struck like lightning. The opposition sat frozen, their minds racing, their usual rhetorics rendered powerless. For decades, loopholes had allowed unqualified and corrupt individuals to rise to thrive. Patel's proposals threatened to dismantle that system entirely.

Stepping back from the podium, Patel surveyed the room, his eyes locked on the assembly with an unwavering gaze. "This is not about personal gain—it's about the future of Indra. Change is never easy, but it is necessary. Let us rise above our differences and work for the betterment of our people."

The room turned unnervingly silent as the weight of his words settled over the assembly like a heavy fog. Outside, the citizens gathering around enormous screens, watching the broadcast, were left in a mix of awe and disbelief. Whether they believed in the government's vision or not, one thing was clear, Indra was venturing into uncharted territory.

Inside the chamber, the stillness shattered as the opposition erupted into fury, their voices overlapping in an incoherent cacophony. Red-faced leaders pounded their fists on the tables in protest.

"This is outrageous!" a senior opposition leader bellowed, his voice barely audible over the shouting. "This bill is a direct attack on the foundation of democracy! It's a ploy to erase us!"

Another politician stood trembling with indignation. "This government is overstepping its bounds! Who are they to decide who is fit to run? Education and age don't determine a leader's ability to represent the people!"

Yet, amidst the chaos, members of the Indra National Party (INP) rose from their seats, hitting their tables in support of the proposed bill, drowning the opposition's uproar with their synchronized claps and chants.

"Let the old guard step aside!" one INP member shouted. "It's time for a new era of leadership!"

"The people demand transparency and accountability!" another added, their voice filled with conviction.

The atmosphere grew electric as the two sides clashed, the chamber transforming into a verbal battlefield as words flew like arrows. Yet, Rajesh Patel stood quietly at the podium, his expression calm, almost indifferent. But beneath the stoic mask, his heart weighed heavily.

He could feel the weight of his own words crushing him from within. He had delivered the speech with unwavering confidence, but inside, he was breaking.

Rajesh Patel, the one who was pushing these reforms, knew he was signing his own political death warrant. At seventy-two, Patel knew that he was already past the age limit he had just proposed. When the proposed law was enacted, he would be one of the first to vacate his seat.

And it wasn't just him. Many of his closest allies in the government lacked the minimum education requirement of Grade 12. Some hadn't even passed Grade 10. The sword he had wielded today would not only cut down the opposition but would also strike deeply into his own ranks.

But what could he do, what the Lord had ordered needed to be followed.

In fact, many even gave Rajesh a look as if saying has this guy gone insane? What the hell is going on?

As the shouting match intensified, Patel allowed his gaze to wander across the room.

Many of his allies, his comrades, the men and women who had stood by him for decades—he knew many of them would fall alongside the opposition when this bill was passed. The thought sent a pang of sorrow through his chest, but he clenched his fists, refusing to let his emotions be known.

The image of that man flashed in his mind—the one who had given the order. It wasn't a suggestion or a proposal; it was a command, delivered with the chilling finality of a guillotine.

"Pass these laws," the voice had demanded, "and prepare to step down from the seat."

Patel had no choice. The alternative was unthinkable.

As the debate raged on, desperation gripped the opposition. One leader, unable to contain his frustration, yelled, "This bill is a sham! It's designed to decimate the political system and leave the field open for the government's puppets!"

Another slammed his fists on the table. "We demand a delay! This cannot be passed without proper scrutiny!"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

But the INP stood firm. "Enough with your excuses!" one member retorted. "This is for the betterment of the nation. The people deserve leaders who are qualified and capable, not relics of a bygone era!"

The room felt like a battlefield, with emotions running high on both sides. And yet, through it all, Rajesh Patel remained still, his face a mask of composure. Inside, though, he mourned.

He mourned for the colleagues he would lose, for the legacy he had built, and for the power he was about to surrender. But most of all, he mourned for himself—a man who had spent a lifetime serving the country, now forced to step aside.

As the Speaker finally called for order, Patel took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was to come. The storm in the chamber was far from over, but the decision had already been made.

He knew that this wasn't his choice but his duty. The wheels of change were already in motion.