Chapter 19: Cracks Beneath the Surface
Date: May–July 1968
Location: Kaithal–Karnal–Panipat Belt, Haryana
The summer of 1968 arrived like an uninvited guest who refused to leave.
By the first week of May, the cool breath of winter had completely vanished. The air turned thick, dry, and merciless. Dust rose from the parched fields and hung in the sky like a dirty veil. Even the trees looked tired, their leaves drooping under the weight of the sun.
Inside Akshy's factory, the heat was brutal. The metal sheets burned if you touched them for too long. The machines roared without mercy, spitting hot air and oil smell everywhere. Workers had long stopped wearing shirts. Sweat glistened on their bare backs as they lifted heavy iron rods, hammered blades, and tightened bolts. Pieces of cloth were tied around their heads like turbans to keep the sweat from dripping into their eyes.
Still, no one slowed down.
They couldn't afford to.
Akshy stood at the entrance of the main shed, arms crossed, watching everything in silence. His white kurta was already damp at the collar. A thin layer of dust coated his shoes.
"Arre oye! Dhyan se pakad yaar!" Suresh's loud voice cut through the noise. "Gir gaya toh pura din barbaad!"
One young worker had nearly dropped a half-finished sickle. He caught it just in time, grinning sheepishly. Suresh shook his head and wiped his own forehead with the back of his arm.
That was when he noticed Akshy standing there.
"Sir…" Suresh straightened up immediately, a mix of respect and slight nervousness in his tone.
Akshy gave a small nod but didn't speak right away. He simply observed.
The floor was messy, noisy, and chaotic — but it was moving. Tools were being used. Blades were taking shape. Orders were getting packed. It wasn't perfect. Far from it. But it was alive.
And for Akshy, that was enough for now.
He turned and walked toward the small office room at the back.
Shyamlal was already there, sitting behind a wooden table covered with two thick ledgers. The old accountant looked exhausted. His eyes were sunken, and the lines on his forehead seemed deeper than usual.
"Sir…" Shyamlal said slowly as Akshy entered and sat down on the creaky chair. "Paise ka masla ban raha hai."
Akshy leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. "Kitna bada masla?"
"Paisa aa toh raha hai… lekin ruk-ruk ke. Gaon walon ne payment delay karna shuru kar diya hai. Aur jo naya orders humne liye hain, unmein kharcha bahut zyada ho raha hai. Steel ki keemat bhi badh rahi hai."
Akshy stayed quiet for a long moment, staring at the spinning ceiling fan that barely moved the hot air.
This was the double-edged sword of growth. The more you expanded, the more money flowed in — and the more it flowed out.
"Agla mahina kaise niklega?" Akshy asked calmly.
Shyamlal flipped a page, his finger tracing the columns. "Agar aise hi chalta raha… toh agle mahine ke end tak dikkat ho sakti hai. Cash flow tight ho jayega."
The silence in the small room felt heavier than the heat outside.
Before Akshy could respond, the door opened with a loud creak. Raghubir walked in, his clothes covered in fine red dust from the roads. His face was serious.
"Sir, ek aur problem hai."
Akshy looked up. "Bolo."
"Panipat wale phir se tang kar rahe hain. Do gaon mein unhone afwaah faila di hai ki humara maal low quality hai. Logon ko bol rahe hain ki humara blade jaldi toot jata hai aur unka zyada mazboot hai."
Akshy's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened.
"Kaunse gaon?"
"Ek Indri ke paas… dusra Karnal se thoda aage, chhota sa gaon."
Shyamlal frowned deeply. "Yeh toh seedha hamare against campaign hai."
Akshy simply said, "Theek hai."
Shyamlal looked at him, surprised. "Theek hai matlab?"
"Matlab… dekhte hain," Akshy replied quietly.
That evening, instead of staying in the office going through files, Akshy did something unexpected.
He took the old jeep and drove alone to one of those villages.
No prior message. No warning.
The road was terrible — full of potholes and loose gravel. Dust rose in a thick cloud behind the vehicle. The sun was already low, but the heat still pressed down like a heavy hand on his chest.
When he reached the village, a group of farmers was sitting under an old banyan tree, sharing a hookah and talking in low voices. They noticed the jeep immediately.
"Arre… saab aa gaye," one of them whispered.
An older farmer stood up, dusting his dhoti. "Namaste, saab."
Akshy nodded and walked straight toward them. He didn't stand like a boss. He sat down on the charpoy with them, right there in the dust.
"Kaam kaisa chal raha hai?" he asked casually, as if he had just come for chai.
The men exchanged uneasy glances.
One of them finally spoke, choosing his words carefully. "Theek… theek chal raha hai, saab. Par…"
"Par?" Akshy prompted gently.
The man hesitated, then said, "Panipat wale bol rahe the ki aapka maal jaldi kharab ho jata hai. Unka blade unkaafi mazboot hai."
There it was. Out in the open.
Akshy didn't get defensive. He didn't argue. He simply asked, "Jo humara maal aap log use kar rahe ho, uska kya experience hai?"
The farmer looked down at his rough hands. "Abhi tak toh theek hi hai… lekin…"
"Phir problem kya hai?" Akshy's voice remained calm, almost kind.
Another younger farmer finally blurted out the truth: "Saab, woh log bahut sasta de rahe hain. Hum gareeb log hain. Paisa bachana padta hai."
Akshy nodded slowly, understanding everything now.
Price. Not quality.
He sat with them for a few more minutes, listening to their small complaints about the weather, the crops, their children's school fees. Then he stood up.
"Kal main aadmi bhej raha hoon. Sab cheez check kar lenge. Koi problem ho toh bata dena."
The next morning, Raghubir and Suresh went together to both villages.
They spent the entire day inspecting every single tool that had been sold, checking fittings, sharpness, durability. They even asked farmers to demonstrate how they used the blades in the fields.
When they returned in the evening, both men looked tired but satisfied.
"Sir, quality mein koi badi problem nahi hai," Raghubir reported. "Bas ek jagah pe fitting thodi loose thi. Woh bhi humne theek kar di."
Suresh added, "Logon ne khud kaha ki humara maal chal toh raha hai. Bas sasta option dekh ke confuse ho gaye hain."
Akshy leaned back in his chair.
"Phir problem quality ki nahi… price ki hai," he said quietly.
Shyamlal sighed. "Competition badh rahi hai, sir. Woh Panipat wale har tarah se koshish kar rahe hain."
Inside the factory, a different kind of crack was forming.
Two workers didn't show up one morning.
The next day, another left early, making some excuse about his mother being ill.
By afternoon, Suresh walked into Akshy's office looking worried.
"Sir… log baat kar rahe hain."
"Kya baat?"
"Panipat wale zyada mazdoori de rahe hain. Kai logon ko offer aa raha hai."
Akshy didn't look surprised. He had been expecting this.
"Kaun kaun jaana chahta hai?" he asked.
Suresh reluctantly gave five names. Some were old workers. Some were new but skilled.
That evening, Akshy didn't call a grand meeting. He didn't shout or threaten.
He called each man one by one into the office.
When Ramesh — a hardworking welder — stood in front of him, shifting nervously from one foot to another, Akshy looked at him steadily.
"Sunaa hai bahar jaana chahte ho?"
Ramesh couldn't meet his eyes. "Sir… wahan paisa zyada mil raha hai. Ghar mein chhote bache hain. Bimari bhi chal rahi hai…"
Akshy nodded, not angry.
"Kitna zyada mil raha hai?"
Ramesh told him the amount.
Akshy stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "Wahan kaam kya karoge?"
"Same… blades aur tools hi banana hai."
"System same hoga?" Akshy asked softly.
Ramesh looked confused.
Akshy leaned forward slightly. "Yahan tumhe sirf kaam nahi… samajh bhi mil rahi hai. Kaise behtar banana hai, kaise customer ko khush rakhna hai, kaise future mein tarakki karni hai. Wahan sirf mazdoori milegi. Aur kal ko agar woh bhi band kar denge, toh kya karoge?"
Ramesh remained silent, staring at the floor.
Akshy's voice became even quieter. "Decision tumhara hai, Ramesh. Main kisi ko rokunga nahi. Lekin ek baat yaad rakhna — yahan se jo jaata hai, wapas aana bahut mushkil hota hai."
Something shifted in Ramesh's eyes.
He had expected shouting, threats, or guilt-tripping.
Instead, he got respect. And a choice.
"Main… soch ke bataunga, sir," he said, voice low.
That night, the heat refused to die down even after sunset. The air felt thick enough to cut with a knife.
Akshy sat alone in the office, a small notebook open in front of him. The kerosene lantern flickered, casting long shadows on the wall.
He wrote in neat Hindi:
Problem: Workers leaving for higher wages.
Reason: Money + external influence from competitors.
Solution: Build better structure + create real growth opportunities.
He paused, then added one more line:
Need: Second supervisor immediately.
The next morning, he called Suresh.
"Tumhare neeche ek aur aadmi chahiye. Koi suggestion hai?"
Suresh thought for a moment. "Vijay… woh theek rahega."
"Kyuu?"
"Kaam acche se karta hai. Log uski baat maante hain. Thoda strict bhi hai, lekin fair hai."
Akshy nodded. "Shaam ko bula lena."
When Vijay walked in that evening, he carried himself differently — broader shoulders, a confident stride, slightly older than Suresh. His eyes were sharp.
Akshy looked at him directly. "Suresh ke under kaam karoge?"
Vijay's expression changed slightly. "Under?"
There it was. Ego.
Akshy didn't get annoyed. He understood.
"Responsibility milegi," he said calmly. "Par bade decisions upar se aayenge. Team ko sambhalna, quality check karna, naye logon ko sikhana — yeh sab tumhara kaam hoga."
Vijay thought for a long time.
Then he asked straight, "Paisa kitna milega?"
Shyamlal almost opened his mouth, but Akshy raised a hand slightly.
"Zyada milega," Akshy said simply. "Lekin sirf agar kaam bhi zyada hoga."
Vijay stared at him for a few seconds, then gave a small nod.
"Theek hai, sir."
The structure was slowly taking shape.
Raghubir for outside work and relations.
Suresh for daily operations.
Now Vijay as second supervisor.
Not perfect. Still raw. But stronger.
Yet the pressure from outside never stopped.
Panipat rivals reduced prices again. They spread more rumors. Once, they even tried to block one of Akshy's delivery carts on the way to a village. Not violently — just enough delay to create tension.
When Raghubir came back fuming that night, his eyes were red with anger.
"Sir, yeh seedha challenge hai! Hum chup nahi reh sakte!"
Akshy listened patiently, then asked only one question:
"Delivery pahunch gayi thi?"
Raghubir paused. "…Haan, sir. Late se, lekin pahunch gayi."
Akshy gave a small, tired smile.
"Phir system jeet gaya."
Slowly, the factory found a new rhythm.
The workers who stayed became more loyal. The new layers of supervision started showing results. Orders kept coming, even if slower than before.
One quiet evening, when the hot loo wind was still blowing across the fields, Akshy stood outside the factory gate, looking at the orange sky.
The steady clanging of machines sounded behind him like a heartbeat.
Raghubir came and stood beside him.
"Sir… bahut mushkil ho raha hai."
Akshy nodded. "Haan."
"Phir bhi chal raha hai," Raghubir added, almost to himself.
Akshy looked up at the darkening sky for a long moment.
Then he said softly, almost to the wind:
"Abhi toh sirf shuruat hai."
Because deep down, he knew the real storm was still far away.
1971 was coming.
Bigger markets.
Bigger competitors.
Bigger risks.
Bigger dreams.
For that future to survive, this small, sweating, struggling system had to endure everything — the heat, the betrayals, the money problems, the politics, the people.
Akshy turned around and walked back inside the factory.
The men were still working.
Some singing old folk songs while hammering.
Others wiping sweat and laughing at silly jokes.
Machines kept running, sparks flying, metal taking shape.
It wasn't much yet.
But it was becoming something.
And Akshy could already feel it in his bones — this was only the beginning of a much longer, much harder journey.
End of Chapter 19