The June 1610 evening draped Ahmedabad's Mughal court in a golden glow, its marble halls aglow with torchlight as Jai Vora, his noble friend Vikram Singh, and their cook Rajan were ushered into a private dining chamber. The air was thick with the promise of a feast, the emperor's invitation a rare honor. Jai, nine years old but sharp as a courtier's blade, adjusted his kurta of Vora's Durable Thread, its indigo weave catching the light. The Emperor System, his secret AI-spirit guide, buzzed: "Dinner with Jahangir? Kid, you're dining with destiny. Let Rajan's biryani do the talking, but don't fumble the emperor's favor."
The chamber, draped in silks and cushioned with velvet, held a low table laden with silver trays. Emperor Jahangir, aged 40, sat at its head, his regal bearing softened by a curious smile. His robes shimmered with gold thread, his eyes keen as they studied Jai. Vikram, ever the steady ally, sat beside Jai, while Rajan, Vora's master cook, oversaw servants bearing platters of butter chicken and spicy biryani, their aromas—creamy tomato, saffron, and chili—filling the room. Rajan's recipes, the heart of Vora's restaurant, were a gift as bold as the glassware and swords Jai had presented earlier.
Jai bowed low, his Charm cloaking his wit in Mughal deference. "Your Majesty, we are honored to dine with you. Our humble fare, crafted by Rajan, is for your pleasure." Jahangir waved a hand, his voice warm. "Rise, young Vora. Your gifts—medicines, clothes, glass, blades—have already impressed my court. Let us feast and talk." The servants set down the butter chicken, its rich sauce glistening, and the biryani, its rice flecked with spices. Jahangir took a bite, his eyes widening. "This chicken—smooth as velvet, bold as fire. And this biryani, a dance of flavors. Your cook is a sorcerer, Jai."
Rajan, standing discreetly, bowed. Jai smiled, his voice steady. "Rajan's craft is Vora's pride, Your Majesty. We serve it in Surat, and soon across the empire." Jahangir leaned back, intrigued. "A boy of nine? I've heard of your shops—medicines, clothes, glass—opening in ten days. My court speaks of little else." Jai, formal as Vikram had coached, replied, "Your Majesty's wisdom lights our path. Vora seeks only to serve Surat and your empire."
Jahangir chuckled, his tone easing. "Enough formality, Jai. Speak freely—your mind intrigues me." Jai relaxed, his wit surfacing. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I only wish to build—shops, homes, a name that honors your reign." The emperor's gaze softened, a fatherly warmth breaking through. "My own children could learn from you, Jai. Your vision, your gifts—they outshine many twice your age." Vikram, sipping sherbet, nodded. "Jai is Surat's spark, Majesty. His ventures lift us all."
The conversation flowed like the Tapti, warm and lively. Jahangir, savoring the biryani, said casually, "I hear of your grand opening—shops, spectacles. Am I not invited?" Jai's heart skipped, his mind racing. Inviting an emperor was unthinkable—a merchant's presumption could be seen as disrespect. He bowed slightly, his voice earnest. "Your Majesty, I dared not assume such an honor. Your presence would be Vora's greatest pride, but I feared overstepping." Jahangir laughed, waving a hand. "No offense taken, boy. I'm in Ahmedabad a while longer. I'll visit your opening—see this Vora magic myself."
Jai's eyes sparkled, his Charm sealing the moment. "Your Majesty, nothing would honor us more. Our shops—medicines to heal, clothes to fit all, glass to dazzle—await you in Surat." Vikram added, "Your presence will make Surat shine, Majesty." Jahangir nodded, pleased. "Then it's settled. I'll see your Heights, your flats, your empire." The system pinged: "Jahangir's coming to your party? Kid, you've hooked the Mughal whale. Keep those EIC secrets tight."
The feast continued, plates refilled with butter chicken and biryani, the talk weaving through Surat's trade, Vora's ventures, and Jahangir's tales of Agra. As the meal ended, Jai rose, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, thank you—for this honor, your favor, and your visit to come. Vora is yours to command." Jahangir smiled, his voice kind. "Go, Jai. Build your dreams. My court watches." Vikram clapped Jai's shoulder as they left, whispering, "You've won him, Jai. Now Surat awaits."
Jai, Vikram, Dhruv, Nishil, and Rajan returned to Vikram's haveli, the emperor's words a golden weight. As they prepared to ride back to Surat, Jai's mind churned—Jahangir's visit would crown Vora's rise, but the EIC's shadow loomed ever closer.