The rhythmic clatter of the assembly line was a symphony to Harsh's ears, but each note had a price. The initial euphoria of the first thousand 'Swaranjali' radios was quickly tempered by the cold, hard mathematics of mass production. The dream of a vertically integrated empire was colliding with the gritty reality of supply chains, labor costs, and the brutal arithmetic of profit and loss.
He spent the morning in his new office, a spacious room overlooking the factory floor, its walls adorned not with art, but with Gantt charts, production schedules, and a large map of India studded with colored pins. Spread before him were the ledgers for 'Bharat Electronics,' a subsidiary now breathing its first, fire-filled breaths.
"Break it down for me again, Deepak," Harsh said, his voice calm but his eyes sharp as they scanned the cost sheet. "From the raw silicon to the box on the shelf. I want to feel every paisa."
Deepak, looking more comfortable with a clipboard than he ever had in the Bhuleshwar alley, cleared his throat. "The core, the 'Bharat-1' chip, is our advantage. Our internal cost to fabricate one unit is 18 rupees. If we had to buy an equivalent microcontroller from abroad, it would be 45 rupees, minimum. That is a saving of 27 rupees per unit, right there."
Harsh nodded. That was the whole point of the Dholera facility—to create this fundamental cost advantage. "Go on."
"The other components: the PCB, resistors, capacitors, speaker, plastic casing, tuning knob, battery compartment," Deepak listed, tapping the sheet. "Sourced from suppliers in Ahmedabad, Pune, and Delhi. Total cost: 52 rupees per radio. Then, assembly labor: 8 rupees per unit. Overhead for the factory—power, water, maintenance, management salaries
Harsh did the mental math. 18 + 52 + 8 + 7. "Eighty-five rupees. Our cost to build one 'Swaranjali' radio is 85 rupees."
"Correct, Harsh Bhai."
"Now, the selling price," Harsh said, turning to Sanjay, who was practically vibrating with energy.
"The market rate for a basic two-band FM/AM radio is between 150 and 200 rupees," Sanjay reported. "The Doshi 'Trumpet' sells for 175. We have two choices. We can match their price and have a much higher margin, or we can undercut them dramatically and steal their market share."
Harsh leaned back, steepling his fingers. This was the strategic crux. "If we sell at 175 rupees, our profit per unit is 90 rupees. A margin of over 100%. Tempting. But the Doshi name has decades of trust. Why would a customer choose us at the same price?"
"Exactly!" Sanjay agreed. "But if we sell at 125 rupees? Our profit is only 40 rupees per unit, but Harsh Bhai, at that price, we are not just competitive; we are a monopoly. No one can touch us. The Doshi 'Trumpet' would look like a fraud. We would flood the market."
It was a classic pivot: volume over margin. But Harsh's mind, trained in the brutal school of street-level hustle, saw a third path.
"We do both," he declared. "We create two lines. The 'Swaranjali Standard,' which we sell to distributors for 110 rupees. Let them sell it at 125 or 130 on the street. That gives them a margin and makes them fiercely loyal to us. Our profit is 25 rupees per unit. Then, we create a 'Swaranjali Deluxe.' A slightly better speaker, a glossier casing, a carrying strap. We sell that for 165 rupees directly through our own branded stalls and selected retailers. Our cost goes up by maybe 10 rupees, so we make 70 rupees profit on that. We capture both markets: the price-sensitive and the quality-seeking."
The room was silent for a moment as Deepak and Sanjay processed the elegance and aggression of the plan. It would require more complex production scheduling, but it would strangle the competition at both ends.
"Implement it," Harsh said, his tone leaving no room for debate. "And I want a detailed financial projection. I want to know how many units we need to sell to break even on this entire 'Bharat Electronics' division, including its share of the Dholera facility's capital costs."
The following days were a whirlwind of activity. The assembly line was reconfigured into two streams. The marketing materials were redesigned. Sanjay and his newly expanded team of salesmen fanned out across Maharashtra, signing up distributors with the irresistible lure of the 110-rupee price point.
The launch event at Cross Maidan was a spectacular success. Minister Shinde gave a stirring speech about national self-reliance, standing in front of a pyramid of a thousand 'Swaranjali' radios all playing a patriotic song in unison. The crowd went wild. The media coverage was fawning.
But in the background, the numbers began to tell the real story.
End of Week 1 Financial Report - Bharat Electronics
· Units Produced (Standard): 8,500
· Units Produced (Deluxe): 1,500
· Total Revenue:
· Standard (8,500 units @ 110 Rs/unit): 9,35,000 Rs
· Deluxe (1,500 units @ 165 Rs/unit): 2,47,500 Rs
· Total: 11,82,500 Rs
· Total Cost of Goods Sold (10,000 units @ avg. 87 Rs/unit): 8,70,000 Rs
· Gross Profit: 3,12,500 Rs
· Operating Expenses (Marketing, Salaries, Logistics): 2,00,000 Rs
· Net Profit (Week 1): 1,12,500 Rs
Harsh looked at the bottom line. One lakh twelve thousand rupees. A week. From a single product line. It was a fraction of what he had moved during the oil trade, but this was different. This was clean, legitimate, and sustainable. This profit was built on something real.
However, success, as always, drew predators. At the end of the second week, Rakesh Rao arrived with a grim expression.
"The Doshi Group is not laughing anymore, Harsh Bhai. They are acting. They have told their distributors that if they carry the 'Swaranjali' brand, they will lose their franchise for all Doshi products—radios, tape players, everything. They are also threatening our component suppliers, hinting at pulling their own, much larger business if they continue to supply us."
It was a classic, heavyweight move. They were using their market dominance to try and choke Harsh's supply chain and distribution network before he could gain a foothold.
Harsh felt a familiar cold fury. He had faced this before, on a smaller scale, with Kersi. But Doshi was a behemoth.
"Are any of our suppliers wavering?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"The plastic casing supplier from Ahmedabad is getting nervous. Doshi is their biggest customer."
"Call them," Harsh instructed his secretary. "Get the owner on the line. Now."
Five minutes later, Harsh was on the phone with a nervous Mr. Shah from Ahmedabad Plastics.
"Mr. Shah, I understand the Doshi Group is applying pressure," Harsh began, not bothering with pleasantries. "Let me be clear. If you cease supply to me, I will not only never do business with you again, but I will also immediately invest in building my own plastic injection molding facility right here in Dholera. I will use it to supply my own needs and then I will undercut you in the open market for every other customer you have. The capital investment for me is trivial. The loss of your entire business is not trivial for you. The choice is yours."
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end of the line. The owner had expected pleas or negotiations. He had not expected a declaration of total war. Harsh was no longer a small-time player he could afford to lose. He was a force of nature with the capital and the will to obliterate any obstacle.
"Th-there must be a misunderstanding, Mr. Patel," Mr. Shah stammered. "Your order will be delivered on time. You have my personal guarantee."
"See that it is," Harsh said, and terminated the call.
He turned back to Rakesh Rao and his team. "The distribution is a bigger problem. We cannot force shops to carry our product if Doshi is threatening them. So, we will go around them. Sanjay, triple the number of our own branded street carts. I want a 'Swaranjali' cart at every major railway station and bus stand in Western India within a month. We will become our own distributor."
The war for the Indian market was on. And Harsh Patel, the Chipman, was proving he had not forgotten the ruthless tactics he had learned in the streets of Bhuleshwar. He was simply applying them on a grander scale. The 'Swaranjali' radio was more than a product; it was a weapon. And with every unit sold, his empire grew stronger, its foundations sinking deeper into the fertile soil of a nation eager for its own tune. The revenue was flowing, the profits were accumulating, and Harsh was meticulously building the war chest for the next, even greater, conquest.