*January 27, 1986, Mumbai, India*
The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of Raj Mehra's office at Karma Productions, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden desk where he sat, a steaming cup of Kamla Aunty's chai in hand. The air was thick with the scent of ink and ambition, the walls adorned with posters of *Love Train* and early sketches for *Pyar Kiya*. Raj's empire was humming—his 11-crore fortune, built from a 3-crore inheritance in just six months, was a testament to the ROI system's uncanny precision. The recent sale of *Love Train*'s sequel rights to Kapoor Studios for 1 crore had been a calculated move. "I don't know if the sequel will earn under Kapoor's stardom," Raj mused, leaning back in his chair, "but in my hands, it wouldn't. Let them take the risk." The decision freed up Karma Productions to focus on new projects, and Raj's mind was already racing with possibilities.
The phone on his desk buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. He picked up the receiver, his voice crisp. "Suraj, how's the European acquisition going?"
Suraj Singh's voice crackled through, brimming with efficiency. "Sir, we've finalized the deal. One crore for a London-based publishing house with a printing capacity of one lakh books daily. It's a solid setup—modern presses, good distribution network. We've started printing *A Song of Fire and Ice Chapter 1*, and marketing kicks off in two days. Billboards, newspaper ads, and radio spots across London and Paris are lined up."
Raj's lips curved into a satisfied smile. *A Song of Fire and Ice*, another gem from his 2025 knowledge, was poised to captivate European readers with its epic fantasy. The ROI system had projected a 2-crore return by 1988, and Raj trusted its numbers implicitly. "Excellent work, Suraj," he said. "Keep me updated on the launch. I want *Mehra Book House* to dominate Europe's shelves."
"Will do, boss," Suraj replied, his tone confident. "Anything else?"
"Not now," Raj said, hanging up. He leaned back, the thrill of global expansion tingling in his veins. *Mehra Book House* was no longer just a Mumbai venture; it was a bridge to international markets, and *A Song of Fire and Ice* would be its flagship.
The door creaked open, and Shyam Rao, Raj's trusted uncle and manager, stepped in, his greying hair slicked back, a stack of files tucked under his arm. His face carried the familiar mix of pride and caution, his eyes crinkling with a fatherly warmth as he looked at Raj. "Raj, *Love Train* pulled in 40 lakhs this week alone," Shyam said, his voice tinged with excitement. "The buzz is still strong, and we're on track for that 5-crore projection. But I've got something else—fifty new movie scripts for you to review." He placed the hefty stack on the desk, the papers landing with a soft thud.
Raj nodded, his expression focused. "Good work, Uncle. Let's see what we've got." He opened the first file, summoning the Prediction system in his mind. The interface flickered, a silent oracle analyzing each script's potential. He posed a simple question to the system for each: *Will this movie recover its creation cost?* One by one, the system responded with a stark "Yes" or "No." Raj's fingers moved swiftly, sorting the files into two piles. After fifty queries, only nine scripts promised to break even—a sobering reminder of Bollywood's volatility in 1985.
But Raj wasn't chasing break-even projects. He narrowed his focus, asking the system, *Will this movie be a hit?* The responses were ruthless, whittling the nine down to three scripts that glowed with potential. Raj pulled their files, his pulse quickening as he read the titles:
- *Ghar Sansar*: Creation cost 30 lakhs.
- *Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya*: Creation cost 40 lakhs.
- *Jamna Par*: Creation cost 20 lakhs.
The system's projections flashed: all three were hits, with combined profits of 3 crore in 1.5 years. Raj's mind raced with visions of packed theaters, the kind of success that would cement Karma Productions as a powerhouse. He pressed the intercom. "Uncle, come back in."
Shyam returned, his eyebrows raised. "Found something already, Raj?"
Raj slid the three files across the desk, his voice steady but laced with conviction. "These are our next projects: *Ghar Sansar*, *Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya*, and *Jamna Par*. Total investment of 90 lakhs. I want you to contact the scriptwriters and finalize deals—40% profit share for Karma Productions, and full creative control for the directors, but the film rights stay with us. One more thing: review the scripts for any anti-Hindu propaganda. If you find any, cut it out. We're building a legacy, not controversy."
Shyam's eyes widened, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "Raj, 90 lakhs is a big bet. These scripts… *Ghar Sansar* is a family drama, fine, but *Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya* is a romance with a rebellious edge—might ruffle feathers. And *Jamna Par*? It's a small-town story, no big stars attached. Are you sure about these?"
Raj leaned forward, his gaze intense, the ROI system's certainty fueling his words. "Uncle, I've studied the market. *Ghar Sansar* will resonate with families tired of action flicks. *Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya* taps into the youth's hunger for bold love stories—it's got passion and defiance, like *Love Train*. And *Jamna Par*? It's raw, authentic, the kind of story that'll linger with audiences. Trust me, these are winners. Just make sure the scripts are clean and the budgets stay tight."
Shyam sighed, his skepticism melting under Raj's infectious confidence. "You've got your father's fire, Raj. Alright, I'll handle the negotiations and script reviews. No anti-Hindu content, I promise. We'll make these films shine."
As Shyam left, Raj felt a surge of adrenaline. The new Prediction system had never failed him, and these three films would elevate Karma Productions to new heights. But his ambitions stretched beyond Bollywood. He grabbed his coat and headed to the Bombay Stock Exchange, the city's chaotic energy buzzing around him as his Hindustan Contessa weaved through honking rickshaws and crowded bazaars.
At the BSE, the air was thick with the shouts of traders and the clatter of ticker tapes. Rajnath Gupta, his seasoned broker, greeted him with a hearty handshake, his weathered face breaking into a grin. "Raj, you're back! Your last picks were pure gold. Ready for another round?"
Raj nodded, settling into Rajnath's cluttered office. "Show me what you've got." Rajnath handed over a file with ten company profiles—textiles, chemicals, and emerging tech firms. Raj scanned them, the ROI system analyzing each in seconds. Two stood out: *StarChem Industries* (40 lakhs, 60-lakh return in 14 days, driven by a new fertilizer patent) and *TechTrend Electronics* (40 lakhs, 60-lakh return in 14 days, fueled by demand for imported transistors). A total 80-lakh investment for a 20-lakh profit.
"I'm putting 80 lakhs into these two," Raj said, sliding the file back. "StarChem and TechTrend, 40 each. Finalize the trades today."
Rajnath's eyebrows shot up, his caution surfacing. "Bold choices, Raj. StarChem's patent is untested, and TechTrend's relying on imports with shaky customs rules. Why not spread it across safer bets?"
Raj's smile was unwavering, the system's glowing numbers anchoring his resolve. "I've done my homework, Rajnath ji. These two are set to soar. Get it done, and take your usual 10% fee."
Rajnath chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got a golden touch, kid. Alright, trades are on. You'll see 1 crore in two weeks, minus my 8 lakhs."
Raj left the BSE, the city's pulse matching his own. His next stop was *The Bharat Front*'s office in South Mumbai, a bustling hub where typewriters clacked and reporters darted between desks. The paper's circulation had hit 500,000, its stock tips driving the Sensex to 630 points and filling Karma Productions' coffers with ad revenue. Raj strode into the manager's office, where Anil Kumar, a wiry man with a sharp mind, stood to greet him.
"Boss, circulation's up another 5%," Anil said, adjusting his glasses. "Your stock column's a hit. What's next?"
Raj leaned against the desk, his expression serious. "Starting this week, I want a front-page story every week highlighting how China, Japan, and other nations are advancing—technology, infrastructure, industry—while India lags behind. Show their progress, their resources, their discipline, and contrast it with our challenges."
Anil's brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. "But boss, why? Won't that make readers feel discouraged? What do we gain from this?"
Raj's voice was steady, his vision clear. "When our readers see how others are surging ahead, they'll demand more from our leaders. It'll create pressure on politicians to act—better policies, more investment in progress. We're not just a newspaper, Anil. We're shaping the nation's mindset."
Anil hesitated, his skepticism evident. "Will it work? Readers might just get angry or lose hope."
Raj's eyes gleamed with conviction, a hint of suspense in his tone. "Work or not, we're doing it for six months. It's a slow burn, Anil, but when the pressure builds, you'll see change. Trust me."
Anil nodded slowly, his doubt giving way to curiosity. "Alright, boss. Six months it is. I'll get the writers on it—hard-hitting, factual, no fluff."
As Raj left the office, the weight of his plan settled over him. The ROI system had given him wealth, but this was bigger—using *The Bharat Front* to stir India's ambitions, to nudge the nation toward greatness. The thrill of it coursed through him, a quiet suspense building as he imagined the ripple effects. Would the government respond? Would readers rally or resist? The answers lay months away, but Raj thrived on the gamble, his every move calculated yet daring.
Driving back to Karma Productions, Mumbai's skyline sparkled under the afternoon sun, a canvas of his dreams. *Love Train*'s 40-lakh week, the three new films, the stock investments, and *The Bharat Front*'s bold new direction—all were pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Raj's thoughts drifted to Priya and Jyoti, their bond a fiery anchor in his whirlwind life. As he parked his Contessa, he smiled, the anticipation of tonight's dinner with them mingling with the suspense of his national vision. With the ROI system as his guide, Raj was not just building an empire—he was rewriting India's future, one calculated risk at a time.