Tides of Distant Shores

१ || The Ostracized Prince

"Thump"

The black ink seeped through the fine linen and spoiled his neat white shirt. Despite his frantic struggles to wipe off the stain, t continued to spread throughout his chest and sleeve.

'You bastard!' he growled, just as another color bomb blasted against his finely shaved head, making the stinky liquid flow down his face.

'I'll kill you all!' he bellowed, his voice lost against the combined protest of thousands. They wanted to kill him too. And before he knew, his entire body was covered in black ink and soot, the bitter stench blocking his nasal passages as it seeped down his face. Silently, he thanked his luck for the sturdy gates holding the crowd away. If they managed to break through, they were lost.

Disheartened and filthy, he doubled back inside, carefully holding his book bag away from his stinking body. Mohanrao Gopaldas Holkar's first day in the university was truly a disaster.

* * *

'I'm fine Ai! Stop fawning all around me!' he snapped as Ramabai attempted to wipe away the ink from her son's face. She cursed the mob in her mind for harassing her son in this manner. Though she was estranged from Mohan, she still considered him her son, unlike her husband.

'Those son of whores should be beaten black and blue!' Shivrao, the eldest son of the family, and the heir of the Holkar & Co. hollered from the verandah upstairs, where both father and son was sitting since dawn, keenly observing the protesting mob. 'They dare to malign us! The Holkars!'

'Chup raiyo Shiv!' Gopalrao hushed him. He loved his son, but he loved his business more. Being a cold and calculating businessman, he knew that provoking the enraged mob did nothing but aggravate their agitation. They had to wait until the protest died down, and then attempt some good old damage control.

'Kahe Baba?' Shivrao hadn't inherited his father's cool nature.

Gopalrao didn't deem him with an answer. His mind was already plotting – if his plan succeeded, both his business and reputation would undergo an enormous boost.

* * *

'Shame on the Holkars!' the board read. If he hadn't been assaulted this morning, Mohan would've been exhilarated at the prospect of his father's shame. Though he knew the accusation was false, he couldn't help but wish the downfall of Gopalrao. As he scrubbed his body with a rough rag, he smiled in a sarcastic way. Once again, he had been assaulted because of his father.

Holkar & Co. is one of the largest cotton dealers to grace the hallowed grounds of Bombay. Though the Parsis still rule the business of cotton, Gopalrao Ramdas Holkar is a force to be reckoned with. Thousands of men and women spin the cotton wheel throughout the day at their factory, manufacturing yards and yards of fine cotton, which are then dyed and designed accordingly before sending the finished good to the gigantic showroom. The stacks of fine muslin and linen might occupy an inferior position, but the Holkars produce hundreds of yards of these fabrics regularly too. In the dark and dank factory, flush with filth and stagnant water, the dreams of women blend finely with the necessity of men. As Gopalrao often observed, women, especially those of the privileged class, dress for fashion, while men – they dress for obligation.

The showroom itself is a majestic affair. The narrow building with shelves full of colors had the capability to awe even the most disinterested of men. The dark, windowless space reeked of the fragrance of textile fresh from the mill. The stamp of the Holkar at the very end of the fabric roll was a pride of it's owners. Gopalrao Holkar, the second generation to manage this business, had seen the mill grow from a thatched hut to a factory spanning acres of land, and contributed vastly in it. As he saw the grandeur of the Holkars with his own proud eyes, he couldn't but imagine himself the king of the textile business.