The Laying of the First Brick
November 10, 2010
10:00 AM — Nalanda, Bihar
The sun hung high over the open plains of Nalanda, casting sharp shadows across the vast 3,000-acre stretch of land that was soon to become India's most ambitious educational project. The air carried a crispness unique to early winter mornings in Bihar, blending with the faint aroma of damp earth and the diesel fumes of idling construction vehicles that stood ready like steel giants waiting for command.
At the heart of the site, an enormous white stage had been set up, its backdrop emblazoned with the logos of Echelon Holdings and the Bihar Government. The stage, flanked by rows of officials, business leaders, and high-profile guests, had been set for what was supposed to be a defining moment in Bihar's history. But even amidst the official grandeur, there was an undercurrent of unspoken tension—the kind that came not from excitement, but from the weight of resistance, of unseen forces working to crush progress before it even began.
In the front row, Vikram Sinha, the Chief Minister of Bihar, sat with an expression of quiet determination, his fingers drumming lightly against his chair's armrest. He had faced resistance before—bureaucratic hurdles, media skepticism, opposition sabotage—but this was different. This wasn't just about politics. This was about legacy. And today, no matter how many unseen forces tried to stop it, Nalanda Education City would begin.
The murmurs among the gathered audience quieted as Vikram rose and stepped toward the podium, gripping its edges as he surveyed the crowd. He could see the mix of curiosity and doubt in their eyes—some hopeful, some skeptical, some waiting for him to fail. He took a slow breath, steadying himself before speaking.
"For years, Bihar has been seen as a land of struggle. A state where people speak of poverty before they speak of potential. A place where our brightest minds must leave to find opportunities elsewhere. And for too long, we have let this narrative define us."
A low murmur rippled through the journalists, cameras clicking furiously as the words cut through the morning air like a blade.
"That ends today."
He let the statement hang, unshaken by the skeptical glances from a few national reporters seated toward the back.
"We stand here on the soil that once housed Nalanda—the world's first and greatest university. A place where scholars from every corner of the world came to learn, to teach, to create. And for centuries, that legacy has been buried beneath the dust of time."
His voice carried strength, but also something else—the unshakable conviction of a man who knew what he was building.
"But today," he continued, eyes sweeping across the assembled crowd, "we begin the journey to reclaim what was lost. Nalanda Education City is not just a project. It is a declaration. A promise that Bihar is no longer waiting to be recognized. We are rising. And no force—political or corporate—will stop us."
A smattering of applause rippled through the audience, but many still watched with reserved expressions. Skepticism was a difficult beast to kill.
Vikram didn't wait for their approval. Instead, he turned toward the large white marble foundation block, placed solemnly at the center of the stage. He reached down and lifted a ceremonial steel hammer, its polished handle gleaming under the sun.
He looked up, locking eyes with the assembled press, the gathered government officials, and even the silent opponents sitting among them.
"For those who said this couldn't be done—"
The hammer came down, striking the marble with a sharp, cracking thud.
A second blow.
A third.
With a final swing, a deep fracture split through the surface, the resounding crack echoing across the open plains.
The applause this time was thunderous. Behind him, the massive construction vehicles roared to life, their engines rumbling like awakening beasts, sending vibrations through the earth as the first phase of land development officially began. The ground had been broken. The city was no longer just a vision—it was reality.
But not everyone celebrated.
---
The Shadows Behind the Celebration
Far beyond the cheering crowd and the cameras, in the shadow of a parked SUV, a small group of men stood watching in silence. Their eyes weren't filled with awe or anticipation. They were filled with something else. Calculation. Resistance.
One of them, a tall man with neatly combed hair and a sharp suit, pulled out his Nokia communicator phone, flipping it open as he exhaled slowly.
"He did it," he murmured, eyes fixed on the scene ahead.
On the other end of the line, a voice responded, low and measured. "And now?"
The man took a slow drag from his cigarette before flicking it away. "Now we make sure they don't lay the next brick."
---
The First Blocks of Sabotage
By the next morning, the first signs of interference began to surface.
A shipment of high-quality steel beams, crucial for early infrastructure work, was unexpectedly halted at the Bihar-Uttar Pradesh border. The reason? "Routine inspections." Documents that had been verified just days earlier were now "missing proper clearance". The truck drivers, frustrated and confused, were forced to wait, their cargo unmoving.
At the same time, a new legal challenge emerged in the Bihar High Court, filed by an anonymous "heritage protection committee"—a group that had never existed until today. The lawsuit claimed that the construction "violated historical preservation laws", despite all permits having been cleared months ago. The court case could take weeks, months even, and if the judge ruled for an immediate halt to construction, the entire project could stall before it had truly begun.
And then, there were the protests.
In the narrow streets of Patna, a group of men gathered outside government offices, waving banners that read:
"BIHAR IS NOT FOR SALE!"
"STOP CORPORATE EDUCATION SCAMS!"
"PROTECT OUR LAND FROM PRIVATE GREED!"
The national media latched onto the spectacle immediately, spinning the protests as a "people's movement against elite control". Within hours, panel discussions on major news channels were filled with experts condemning the project, questioning whether a private company should have so much power over a historically significant region.
It was a calculated attack.
And it had only just begun.
---
Vikram's Boiling Rage
By evening, Vikram Sinha stood in his office, gripping the edge of his desk as he scanned the endless stream of reports flooding in—delayed shipments, court cases, manufactured protests. His legal advisor, an older man with graying hair and a weary expression, shook his head.
"It's happening faster than we thought," he muttered. "Whoever is behind this… they knew exactly where to strike."
Vikram exhaled sharply, trying to rein in his frustration. "This isn't just opposition politics," he muttered. "This is corporate warfare."
His phone buzzed.
A message.
"They think paperwork can stop us. Let them try."
Vikram smirked, his anger cooling into something far more dangerous.
"Proceed as planned."
Tomorrow, they would strike back.
---
November 12, 2010
8:00 PM — Private Boardroom, Oberoi Hotel, New Delhi
The air inside the dimly lit boardroom was thick with cigar smoke, the faint scent of aged whiskey lingering as a dozen of India's most powerful education tycoons sat in a tight semi-circle around a polished mahogany table. The atmosphere was not one of camaraderie, but of shared concern—of urgency.
The men gathered here were not ordinary businessmen. They were owners of India's largest private universities, coaching institutes, publishing houses, and examination bodies—the titans who had dominated the country's education sector for decades. For them, Nalanda Education City wasn't just another development project. It was an existential threat.
At the head of the table sat Surya Pratap Reddy, a man whose mere name commanded respect in India's education circles. His empire stretched from Hyderabad to Delhi, owning three of the country's largest private universities and a coaching empire that funneled students into IITs and medical colleges like an assembly line. He tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, his expression dark.
"We have a problem," he finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was smooth, but laced with barely contained frustration. "A very serious problem."
The men around the table exchanged looks. Some already knew what he was referring to. Others were still waiting to hear what made this meeting so urgent.
Reddy leaned forward, placing a newspaper onto the table. The bold headline in Omni News stared back at them:
"Nalanda Education City Breaks Ground—India's Future Begins Here."
The accompanying article painted a glowing picture of a revolutionary education hub that would change the landscape of higher learning in India forever. A place where the best students from across the country would be trained, nurtured, and recruited directly into world-class research and industry.
Reddy's jaw tightened. "If this project succeeds, we are finished."
A murmur of disbelief spread across the room.
"This is just a university," scoffed Arvind Malhotra, the chairman of Western Education Group, which owned over fifty private colleges across Maharashtra and Gujarat. "We've seen dozens of these so-called 'world-class' institutions come and go. What makes this one different?"
Reddy's gaze snapped toward him, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Are you blind? Do you think this is just another private university? This isn't about some glorified college campus in Bihar. This is a direct attack on our control over India's education system."
The room fell silent.
"This project," Reddy continued, voice now measured but lethal, "is not just offering education—it's offering a pathway. Students who join Nalanda won't just graduate with degrees. They will walk straight into industry-backed careers, research labs, infrastructure projects, media conglomerates."
He let that sink in before adding, "Tell me, gentlemen—why would any student take out massive loans to attend our institutions when they can go to Nalanda for free and be recruited directly by the industries we are supposed to supply talent to?"
Malhotra's face paled slightly as the realization settled in. Others in the room began nodding in quiet understanding.
"It's not just about students," Vikram Nanda, the head of India's largest coaching chain, cut in. "If Nalanda succeeds, it will kill the coaching industry. Why would students pay for IIT and medical entrance coaching when Nalanda will train them for free? Our entire business model relies on students being desperate enough to need us."
Reddy's lips curled in satisfaction. Finally, they were beginning to understand.
"Exactly," he said. "Echelon isn't just building a university. They are rewriting the rules of the game. If we don't stop this now, we will become irrelevant."
A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the soft clinking of a whiskey glass being set down.
"So," Devendra Shah, an elderly but sharp-eyed businessman, leaned forward, "what do we do?"
---
The Plan to Destroy Nalanda
Reddy exhaled slowly, as if he had been waiting for this question.
"We hit them on three fronts," he said. "Politics, media, and law."
He raised one finger. "First, we put pressure on Delhi. We have enough contacts in the Education Ministry to push for stricter regulations on private universities—enough red tape to slow them down for years."
A few men nodded in agreement. They had deep connections in the bureaucratic machinery of Delhi.
Reddy raised a second finger. "Second, we use the media. We control advertising revenue for most major news networks. A few well-placed stories can turn public opinion against Nalanda."
A smile spread across Malhotra's face. "We paint them as elitist, foreign-funded, anti-traditional. Make it seem like they are trying to erase India's ancient education values."
Reddy gave a small nod before raising a third finger. "And finally—the courts. We fund public interest litigations against them. Environmental concerns, land ownership disputes, fake labor union protests—anything that can delay their construction."
The men exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from concern to cold calculation. This was a fight they could win—if they acted swiftly.
Shah leaned back, rubbing his chin. "And Echelon? If they see this coming?"
Reddy's smile was razor-sharp. "They won't see it coming. Because we won't attack all at once. We'll drag them into a thousand small battles until they collapse under the weight of it."
A few men chuckled.
"It's settled then," Reddy said, picking up his glass. "We kill Nalanda before it takes its first breath."
They clinked glasses in agreement.
But in another part of the country, Aritra was already watching.
---
Salt Lake, Kolkata — Aritra's Study
In the dim glow of his private study, Aritra leaned back in his chair, swirling his coffee absently as Lumen displayed the live transcript of the Delhi meeting.
Every word, every strategy, every plot.
He had anticipated this. The old guard of Indian education would never allow Nalanda to rise without a fight. They needed the system to remain broken—because their wealth depended on it.
His fingers tapped idly against his desk, his mind already moving ten steps ahead.
If they wanted to play dirty, so be it.
He reached for his phone and sent a single message.
"Begin acquisition. All targets."
Thousands of miles away, in Mumbai, Delhi, and Bangalore, silent transactions began shifting in the financial underworld. Shares were bought. Influential board members received anonymous offers. Coaching centers, private universities, exam bodies—one by one, their ownership began to change.
By the time these men realized what was happening, it would already be too late.
Aritra exhaled slowly, allowing himself a small smile.
"Let's see who really owns education in this country."