The Calm Before the Storm
January 17, 2011 – Evening – Bonvibi Mela, Naskar Village, West Bengal / Moscow, Russia
The night sky above Naskar Village shimmered with the vibrant colors of thousands of kites soaring in unison. The Bonvibi Mela had reached its crescendo—a beautiful storm of joy, rituals, and laughter. The earthy lanes were alive with celebration, the air filled with the scent of incense, fried snacks, and the reverberation of traditional drums. Oil lamps flickered at temple gates, while brass bells rang from puja stalls lined with marigold garlands and vermilion.
Amid the revelry, Aritra Naskar walked beside Katherine through a narrow village path lined with food vendors, his demeanor relaxed, his attire simple—shorts, a cotton t-shirt, a cap that shaded his eyes. He looked no different from any local, one among many soaking in the spirit of Bonvibi. But beneath the surface, a different current ran.
Inside the hidden control node of his pocket, his encrypted mobile buzzed with updates that had nothing to do with the village fair. Beneath the cheerful din of celebration, a silent geopolitical realignment was underway.
---
Moscow – 7:00 PM Local Time
Location: A Secure Industrial Conference Suite, outskirts of Moscow
Inside a windowless, steel-paneled room somewhere between a hangar and a war bunker, the air was thick with strategy and tension. Across the table sat high-ranking representatives of the Russian military-industrial complex, flanked by advisors and tech specialists. Their uniforms bore the crisp creases of ceremony, but their eyes were all business.
On the other side sat Arjun Mehta, the public face of Nova Tech—the CEO, the polished professional, the plausible deniability.
At his side was Ishita Roy, his operations secretary and the company's most trusted node between Aritra and the world. She carried a portfolio of blueprints, specs, and NDA-bound research pipelines, her tone firm, diplomatic, and never once letting slip who truly crafted the chessboard they operated on.
Aritra had authorized the meeting—quietly, strategically, and invisibly. Not a signature, not a recorded call, not even a whisper linked his name to the contents of this negotiation. But the agenda bore his fingerprints.
"Mr. Mehta," said General Anatoly Morozov, leaning forward, his voice rich and textured like gravel. "Our procurement command has reviewed your NeuralCore Gen-5 proposal. Impressive. But we do not invest in dreams. What do you offer Russia, today, that our current suppliers cannot?"
Arjun kept his composure. "General, our offer isn't a dream—it's an escape hatch from dependency. Your current chipsets are vulnerable. Most of them are built on aging architecture licensed from American or European firms. In five years, they'll be traceable, hackable, and slow."
He tapped the embedded tablet at his side. A 3D layout of Nova Tech's latest military-grade chipset sprang to life in the room's projector—compact, minimal, glistening with efficiency.
"This," he continued, "is our classified military-grade chip design. 14nm now, with a 10nm fabrication roadmap by Q4. Hardened against EMP, encrypted on both hardware and firmware levels. Faster computation, lower energy consumption, and real-time latency control for drones, radar, and battlefield AI."
The Russian defense analysts murmured. One leaned in and whispered to his colleague, nodding.
Ishita followed up. "If you accept the pilot production agreement, we're ready to deploy a custom line at our Salt Lake facility in Kolkata within 45 days. And our expansion into Volgograd—pending land allocation—can commence immediately after. Russia gets domestic control. Nova Tech retains the design core. No American IP, no NATO oversight."
Morozov's eyes didn't leave the display. "You are aware this crosses into classified defense thresholds. If we engage with you, we risk international scrutiny."
"That's why we're here," Arjun replied evenly. "You're not dealing with an American subcontractor. Nova Tech is a private Indian entity. And we answer to no one—not Washington, not Brussels, not Tokyo."
He didn't need to say it out loud, but everyone in the room knew: the real decision-maker wasn't present. Aritra Naskar, whoever he truly was, remained in the shadows. And that suited everyone just fine.
---
Back in Bengal – 7:45 PM IST
As the meeting in Moscow pressed deeper into negotiation, Aritra stood before a small clay idol of Bonvibi being raised onto its ceremonial platform, villagers lifting her with chants and rhythmic drums. His expression remained unreadable.
Another encrypted ping reached his phone. He checked it discreetly. "Russian delegation impressed. Finalizing pilot agreement terms. Awaiting your approval."
He didn't reply immediately.
Instead, he raised his gaze to the sky, where a large kite, diamond-shaped and brilliantly red, sliced through the twilight like a blade. The world wants to cut us loose, he thought. Let them try. We'll own the air they fly in.
---
Moscow – 8:10 PM Local Time
The discussion now turned to logistics.
"We need custom silicon," said a Russian colonel with a deep Siberian accent. "For drones, anti-radiation targeting. Your generic chips won't suffice."
"We already expected that," Ishita replied, sliding a separate portfolio across the table. Inside were specifications for a modular chipset family—NovaShield-X, designed specifically for air-to-ground drone intelligence, radar jamming, and automated long-range flight correction in GPS-denied environments.
"These are untraceable by US export standards," she added. "And we'll custom-lock them to your security firmware. Full Russian localization."
Another voice joined the room—Major Yegor Malinov from Russia's digital warfare division. "What about redundancy?" he asked. "What happens if the West cuts off your lithium or substrate supply?"
Arjun's expression didn't waver. "We've spent the last six months securing rare-earth contracts in Madagascar, Vietnam, and select Middle Eastern zones. Aritra—"
He caught himself just in time. Too close.
"I mean, our executive board saw this risk early. We don't rely on the West. Our supply chain is independently financed, independently protected."
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Back in Naskar Village – 8:50 PM IST
Aritra and Katherine were now near the village square, where people gathered around to watch a kite-fighting competition overhead. Sharp glass-threaded strings clashed in midair as villagers below cheered like warriors in an ancient battle.
A local boy ran up to him, holding a broken kite frame.
"Dada! My kite got cut by a Delhi one! Can you get me a better one?"
Aritra smiled and knelt. "You want to fly one that won't get cut again?"
The boy nodded fiercely.
"Then don't fly the same kind they do," Aritra said gently, his tone playful but veiled in deeper meaning.
He handed the boy a custom-stitched kite from his bag—one of the designs gifted to the village by his company's cultural program team. It bore no logo, no signature. Just a radiant orange and gold face of Bonvibi herself, stitched into the sky.
---
Moscow – 9:15 PM Local Time
The Russian side had heard enough. General Morozov turned to his team and gave a sharp nod. "Draft the MoU. Pilot production begins in Kolkata. Volgograd facility preparation to follow."
Arjun stood and extended his hand.
"Russia won't regret this," he said.
Morozov shook it firmly. "See that we don't."
As the room cleared, Ishita turned to Arjun, lowering her voice.
"You almost said his name."
"I know," Arjun muttered. "But they already know. They just prefer not to say it."
She gave a half-smile. "He's watching everything anyway."
They both turned toward the encrypted laptop, where a secure satellite link remained active. A brief pulse of confirmation blinked in from Eastern India.
The man behind the curtain had spoken, without saying a word.