The Media War Begins
November 15, 2010
7:30 PM — Prime Debate Panel, INN News Network, New Delhi
The newsroom was electric with tension, the air thick with the subtle hostility that had become a signature of Indian prime-time television debates. The anchor, Rajiv Mehra, an aging but sharp-eyed journalist known for his aggressive style and open bias toward corporate and political elites, sat at the center of the circular debate table, his fingers tapping impatiently on his stack of notes. The cameras rolled, red indicator lights blinking, as the show's intro music blasted through television screens across the country.
"Good evening, India," Rajiv began, his voice dripping with manufactured concern. "Tonight, we discuss the most controversial education project in modern history. A private city-sized university, backed by corporate money, given thousands of acres of land by the Bihar government, and free from the rules that govern our nation's established institutions."
The screen behind him flashed the words:
NALANDA EDUCATION CITY: DREAM OR CORPORATE TAKEOVER?
Rajiv turned toward his panel, a carefully selected mix of politicians, education experts, and business leaders, each chosen to push the desired narrative.
To his left sat Sharad Tripathi, a senior spokesperson for the opposition party, dressed in his usual white kurta, a red tilak boldly marking his forehead, looking eager to attack. Beside him was Dr. Alok Bansal, the chairman of India's largest private education trust, his hands folded in a calm but calculating manner.
On the right sat Professor Leela Anand, a respected academic who had been openly supportive of Nalanda Education City, looking outnumbered but unfazed. Next to her was Anirudh Basu, a well-known columnist who had published a series of damning articles against corporate influence in education.
Rajiv leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Dr. Bansal, let's start with you. Your university has educated thousands of students across India. Do you believe a privately-run city like Nalanda is the future of education, or is it a dangerous experiment?"
Dr. Bansal smiled thinly, adjusting his glasses before speaking. "Rajiv, let's be clear. Education is not an industry—it's a sacred duty. Universities like ours have built the backbone of this country's workforce. But Nalanda? It's an elitist dream, funded by foreign interests, bypassing regulations that protect students from exploitation."
Professor Leela Anand raised an eyebrow, her expression sharp. "Dr. Bansal, are you seriously suggesting that the private education sector—where fees for a single engineering degree can reach ₹25 lakh—protects students?"
Sharad Tripathi jumped in before Bansal could respond, his voice thick with feigned patriotism. "That's not the point! This project is an insult to Bihar's culture! It's Western corporate greed disguised as education! Why should a private company control a university bigger than our IITs and AIIMS combined?"
Rajiv nodded approvingly, steering the conversation toward the desired outrage.
"Exactly, Mr. Tripathi! And let's not forget—thousands of acres of land were gifted to this project by the Bihar government! Why was this land not used for government universities instead?"
Professor Anand's eyes flashed as she finally interjected. "Because, Mr. Mehra, government universities are chronically underfunded, politically mismanaged, and take decades to expand! How many IITs have we built since independence? Twenty-three! How many top global universities does India have? None! If we are to compete on the world stage, we need something revolutionary!"
A loud scoff came from Anirudh Basu, who had been waiting for his turn. "Revolutionary? Or corporate colonization? Do we really believe Nalanda will provide free education forever? This is about control."
The debate escalated, voices overlapping, accusations flying.
---
The Invisible Hand Behind the Narrative
8:45 PM — A Private Conference Call, Undisclosed Location, New Delhi
Inside a high-rise corporate office, Surya Pratap Reddy leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched the debate unfold on a massive screen mounted on the wall. He had hand-picked the panelists, ensured that Rajiv Mehra's production team received the "necessary guidance", and provided Dr. Bansal with carefully crafted talking points to steer the conversation.
Beside him, a conference call was ongoing, connecting half a dozen executives and political backers across the country.
"We've controlled the narrative for tonight," one of the voices said. "Viewership is peaking—social media is already flooded with anti-Nalanda hashtags."
Reddy's fingers drummed against the table. "Good. But this isn't enough. We need real public outrage. What's the status on the student protests?"
"We've planted people in three major universities—JNU, Delhi University, and Hyderabad Central. By tomorrow, there will be anti-Nalanda marches with slogans about corporate education killing public institutions."
Reddy's smirk widened. "Perfect. Now, what about Bihar?"
A different voice answered, this one belonging to a local opposition leader. "We've mobilized rural community leaders to claim that the project is stealing ancestral land. Farmers will start protesting outside the construction sites in a few days."
Reddy nodded. Delay. Distract. Destroy. The project couldn't be shut down in one stroke, but a thousand small cuts could bleed it dry.
"Keep the pressure up," he said, taking a sip of his whiskey. "We make them suffer for every inch they try to build."
---
Omni News Fires Back
November 16, 2010
10:00 AM — Omni News Headquarters, Mumbai
The newsroom was in chaos. Unlike other media houses, Omni News was not dependent on corporate funding or government advertising. And today, its editors and producers watched in rage as the national media flooded the airwaves with lies, distortions, and manufactured outrage.
In the center of it all, Neha Verma, Omni's chief investigative journalist, was on the phone with a source inside the Education Ministry. Her fingers flew across her notepad, scribbling notes as her source fed her a bombshell.
She slammed the phone down and turned to her team. "Get the cameras ready. We're breaking this story today."
Within an hour, Omni News went live, its banner flashing:
"EXPOSED: HOW INDIA'S PRIVATE EDUCATION GIANTS ARE TRYING TO KILL NALANDA!"
Neha's voice was sharp as she delivered the report.
"We have obtained exclusive documents showing that the same businessmen funding anti-Nalanda protests have lobbied for laws that keep education expensive and inaccessible! These are the people who profit from student debt, coaching fees, and overpriced degrees! And they are terrified of a system where students don't need them anymore!"
A montage of secret meetings, financial transactions, and leaked emails flashed on screen. The damage was done. The battle for public perception had just begun.
November 18, 2010
10:30 AM — Outside Nalanda Education City Construction Site, Bihar
The smell of burning rubber mixed with the crisp winter air, thick black smoke rising in furious columns above the crowd. The once-quiet rural road leading to the Nalanda Education City construction site had become a battlefield—barricades of bamboo poles and burning tires blocked the entryway, while a crowd of nearly two thousand protestors chanted slogans in rhythmic fury.
"Bihar is not for sale! Bihar is not for sale!"
The banner at the front read:
"STOP THE CORPORATE LAND GRAB!"
Among the protestors, some were genuinely angry local villagers—farmers worried about land acquisition, students concerned about fees. But woven into the crowd were paid agitators, political operatives, and hired muscle, men who weren't here for any ideology but for a paycheck from unseen hands.
A man with a thick mustache and an old Gandhi cap, his kurta stained with dust, stepped forward, raising a microphone. His voice rang out, hoarse and filled with rage carefully crafted for the cameras.
"This land is our ancestors' blood! The government has sold our future to a corporation! They call it an education city—but it is a city of slavery! The poor will suffer! The rich will rule! Bihar will be destroyed!"
Cheers erupted, fists pumping into the air. National media cameras zoomed in, their anchors already preparing dramatic primetime debates, waiting for the perfect moment of chaos to make their headlines.
And then, the first stone flew.
It smashed into the windshield of a construction truck, cracking the glass like a spiderweb. A second later, another one sailed through the air, striking a laborer on the shoulder.
That was the signal.
A wave of aggression surged through the crowd. Bricks, wooden rods, and Molotov cocktails rained down on the construction site. Workers scrambled for cover as a bulldozer was set on fire, its metal frame twisting and shrieking as flames engulfed it.
From the construction site's perimeter, a small group of private security guards, armed with batons and shields, tried to hold the line, their radios crackling with frantic messages.
"This is getting out of control! We need police backup—now!"
---
Bihar CM's Office — The Political Dilemma
11:15 AM — Patna, Bihar
Chief Minister Vikram Sinha stood by the massive glass window of his office, staring at the TV screens broadcasting the chaos live.
His jaw clenched as he watched the violence escalate—construction workers being chased away, vehicles being smashed, and political slogans drowning out any rational debate.
Behind him, his Home Secretary, Amit Yadav, adjusted his glasses nervously. "Sir… we have to send the police in. This is no longer a peaceful protest."
Vikram didn't respond immediately. His fingers tapped lightly against the wooden desk, his mind racing.
Sending in the police meant an armed crackdown—which would be the exact image the opposition wanted. They were waiting for a confrontation, something they could broadcast to the nation as "Bihar government's police attacking innocent farmers and students."
But if he did nothing?
The construction would be paralyzed. And that was exactly what these people wanted.
Amit Yadav's voice was lower now, urgent. "Sir, if this goes on, we risk permanent damage to the project's timeline. This isn't just a protest. It's sabotage."
Vikram exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Send in the Rapid Response Force. No lathicharge, no brutality. Just clear the road."
Amit hesitated. "And if they resist?"
Vikram's expression hardened. "Then make sure every camera sees who threw the first stone."
---
The Streets of Delhi
3:00 PM — Jantar Mantar, New Delhi
Hundreds of kilometers away, the protest movement had spread to Delhi.
Thousands of university students had gathered in Jantar Mantar, holding banners that screamed outrage against the Nalanda Education City project. From Delhi University to Jawaharlal Nehru University, students had been mobilized, their slogans echoing through the city:
"NO TO ELITIST EDUCATION!"
"PUBLIC UNIVERSITIES UNDER ATTACK!"
"EDUCATION FOR ALL, NOT JUST THE RICH!"
At the front of the protest, a lean, sharp-eyed student leader named Manish Patel stood atop a makeshift podium, microphone in hand, as he delivered a speech calculated for maximum impact.
"This is not about education!" he roared, his voice filled with righteous anger. "This is about power! Control! They don't want students like us—children of laborers, farmers, and shopkeepers—to enter their elite institutions! They want to keep us out, keep us uneducated, keep us poor!"
Cheers erupted.
Inside the protest, hidden within the genuine anger, were operatives from India's largest private education corporations—men who had funded the buses, supplied the posters, and fed the anger to ensure that Nalanda never took root.
At the back of the rally, a well-dressed man in his forties, wearing dark sunglasses, pulled out his phone and sent a short text.
"Protests activated in Hyderabad, Kolkata, and Mumbai. By nightfall, the country will burn."
---
6:00 PM — Omni News Headquarters, Mumbai
Inside Omni News' war room, Neha Verma stood before a massive wall of live news feeds, each showing different cities descending into chaos. The sheer orchestration of it all was undeniable.
She turned to her team of investigative reporters, her voice cutting through the tension.
"This isn't a protest," she said coldly. "It's a hit job."
Her senior editor nodded grimly. "Our sources in Bihar confirm that many of the protestors aren't even locals. They were bussed in overnight."
Neha's eyes narrowed. "And the student protests?"
A young reporter slid a folder across the table, filled with receipts, financial transactions, and leaked emails.
"Many of the protest leaders are receiving direct funding from India's top private education companies. We have proof that some of them were paid to organize these marches."
Neha's fingers tightened around the folder.
"They want to play dirty?" she murmured. "Fine. Let's burn them to the ground."
November 19, 2010
8:00 PM — Omni News Headquarters, Mumbai
The newsroom buzzed like a live wire, charged with urgency. The war had escalated. Protests had turned violent, construction sites had been burned, and the entire national media was spinning the narrative against Nalanda Education City. But Omni News had spent the last twenty-four hours digging.
And now? They were ready to strike back.
At the center of the storm stood Neha Verma, her face a mask of cold determination. She stood in front of a massive touchscreen display, the newsroom's lights dimming as the live broadcast countdown ticked to zero.
The Omni News theme played.
"Good evening, India. Tonight, we expose the truth."
She turned to the screen, where images of burning construction equipment, police clashes, and screaming protestors flashed.
"Over the past seventy-two hours, our nation has witnessed one of the most coordinated attacks on education reform in modern history. The media has called this a 'people's protest.' But what if I told you it was a carefully crafted, manufactured outrage, paid for by India's most powerful education barons?"
A gasp rippled through social media. Omni News' viewership spiked instantly.
Neha turned, tapping the screen. A document appeared—a bank transaction statement.
"This is a payment made on November 10th—₹2.5 crore transferred from a private trust owned by Western Education Group to a 'student activist association' in Delhi."
She clicked again. More receipts, wire transfers, leaked emails.
"These are just a few of the payments made to organizers of the protests in Patna, Delhi, and Hyderabad. The money came from coaching giants, private universities, and examination boards. Their goal? To kill Nalanda Education City before it even begins."
---
The Secret Audio Leak
The screen changed again—this time to an audio waveform.
"Viewers, what you're about to hear is an exclusive leaked recording from a secret meeting in New Delhi, where India's top private education CEOs discuss their plan to stop Nalanda."
Neha pressed play.
At first, just muffled voices. Then, clearer words.
Surya Pratap Reddy's voice: "If this city gets built, we're finished. No coaching fees, no entrance exams, no control. We can't let it happen."
A second voice: "Then we have to make sure the land acquisition is challenged in court. And the students—push them into the streets. We control half their scholarships. They'll protest if we tell them to."
A third voice, laughing: "If the government can't handle the violence, even better. We turn this into a law-and-order failure."
Omni's live chat exploded.
StopEducationMafia trended instantly on X (formerly Twitter).
Neha stared directly into the camera.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a protest. This is a war for control over your children's future."
And across the country, people finally saw the truth.
---
Aritra Watches & Prepares His Move
11:00 PM — Aritra's Villa, Jadavpur, Kolkata
Aritra leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes fixed on the live Omni News broadcast. Lumen had already fed him the real-time engagement data. Viewership had crossed 90 million.
The education barons would be reeling. Their names were now in public. Their carefully planned sabotage had been exposed.
But this was only step one.
Aritra turned to his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulled up Echelon Holdings' financials.
His enemies had played dirty. Now, he would crush them with money.
His voice was calm as he spoke. "Lumen, prepare Phase Two."
The AI responded instantly. "Define Phase Two."
Aritra's lips curled into a smirk. "Acquisition."
One by one, he began marking education businesses, coaching centers, and publishing companies linked to the protests.
Buy them out.
Own their supply chain.
Control their cash flow.
By the time Surya Pratap Reddy and his allies realized what was happening, their own companies would belong to him.
Aritra closed his laptop, exhaling slowly.
The game was no longer about defending Nalanda. It was about destroying those who tried to stop it.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, they would feel the consequences.