Yamini Dhar.
Not Princess Yamini Gaur.
She picked up her bag and left.
The station was crowded and loud. She found her seat by the window and forced herself to focus on work. Today was simple.
Pictures of the plant. Workers in helmets. Clean branding visuals.
And worst case, maybe a few shots of Bharat from a distance if the PR team needed him in frame.
I can do this.
She repeated it in her mind until it sounded believable.
By the time the train reached the industrial town, heat already rose. She hired a cab, gave the address.
As the cab got closer to the plant, she saw the police barricades. And beyond them, the protest.
It wasn’t a scattered group or a handful of people with placards. It was a wall of people pressed against metal barricades, shouting slogans that rolled across the air like waves. Hand-painted placards rose and fell.
STOP POISONING OUR AIR
SAVE OUR RIVER
JOGRA STEEL = DEATH
A few protestors banged drums. Others screamed into megaphones. Most of them wore scarves covering their faces from dust and heat.
The cab slowed at a checkpoint where security stood alongside police, their posture alert and watchful.
Yamini’s mouth went dry as she stepped out.
The noise hit her full in the chest. People yelling. Police barking orders. Protestors pushing forward, then being shoved back.
She adjusted her camera strap and moved toward the gate.
A guard raised his hand.
“ID.”
She handed it over, steady.
“Photographer?”
“Yes. PR vendor.”
He scanned it, studied her face for a moment longer than necessary, and then stepped aside.
“Go in. No photos outside the perimeter.”
She nodded and walked through, the gate closing behind her with a heavy clang that felt almost final.
The noise faded slightly inside the compound, but it didn’t disappear. It seeped through the fencing. A constant reminder that outside these walls, people wanted the plant shut down.
Inside, the plant stretched massively. Pipes, towers, smoke stacks, giant sheds. Trucks moving in lines. Workers in orange helmets walking with purpose. The air smelled like hot metal and dust.
Was Bharat Jogra inside?
