Chankya's Chant (27 page)

‘So what is it that you want from me if not a cuddle?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.

‘Let’s just say that I’ll call in the favour whenever I need it. In the meantime, do continue to have fun with your special nocturnal friend.’

‘And it now seems clear that the Uttar Pradesh assembly elections are likely to throw up an unclear mandate with no single party being able to form the government on its own,’ droned the news anchor. Agrawalji, Ikrambhai, Menon and Gangasagar were seated in Agrawalji’s living room watching the polling results as they were flowing in.

‘I thought you said Chandini would become chief minister,’ said a visibly worried Agrawalji. He had spent millions financing the ABNS and was seeing his investment being washed down the drain.

‘I never said that Chandini would become chief minister. I said that the ABNS would hold the reigns of power.’

‘How in heaven’s name are you so damn flippant about such things, Gangasagarji?’ exclaimed Ikram.

‘Menon, how many seats does the Uttar Pradesh assembly have?’ asked Gangasagar.

‘Four hundred and three,’ replied Menon.

‘And how many of those seats are with the ABNS?’

‘One hundred and sixty.’

‘So we’re forty-two short of the halfway mark for a majority, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is there any party in the state that has won more seats than the ABNS?’

‘No. The next highest has ninety-nine.’

‘And as per the Constitution of the country, the governor of the state must invite the leader of the party that has obtained the maximum number of seats in the assembly to form a government. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘The problem, of course, is that if the governor invites the ABNS to form the next government, we would need to entice opposition MLAs to cross over to our side.’

‘So what?’

‘They’ll want cabinet berths. Our own members will be deprived of positions. We’ll have disciplinary problems.’

‘So you
don’t
want the governor to invite us?’ asked the perplexed Agrawalji.

‘If we don’t produce adequate letters of support from MLAs of other parties, he’ll have to ask the next largest party to try cobbling together a government.’

‘Yes, but if they need to reach the halfway mark they’ll need a hundred and three allies in addition to the ninety-nine MLAs that they already have. They would need our ABNS MLAs to get a working majority in the house.’

‘Suppose we offer them our entire strength?’ asked

Gangasagar quietly. ‘What? Are you out of your fucking mind?’ yelled Ikram. ‘My price for ABNS support is that I want each and

every cabinet berth for my MLAs. All the portfolios— home, finance, revenue, industries, human resources— must be allotted to us. They can have their chief minister.’

‘And what happens to Chandini?’

‘She waits for the government to go into paralysis.’

‘Paralysis?’

‘What will their chief minister do when all his

decisions get stalled? All the portfolios shall be with us.’

‘But what if the paralysis prompts the governor to ask New Delhi to step in and impose President’s Rule?’ asked Agrawalji.

‘The governor won’t ask for President’s Rule.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the president will advise him against it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the prime minister will not recommend it

to the president.’ ‘And you have direct access to the prime minister of India?’ ‘Well, almost.’

The sadhvi was dressed in a simple, pale saffron saree and chose to remain barefoot. Around her neck was a string of
rudraksha
prayer beads. She was a beautiful woman, and not in the physical sense alone. True, she was fair-complexioned, shapely and her smiling face was framed by her open shoulder-length hair. But these aside, her face reflected deep spiritual contentment. Her presence was almost magical—radiating quiet confidence and divine serenity.

She sat on a comfortable sofa facing a large picture window that framed a rose garden. It was summer and the searing heat of New Delhi was kept at bay by the quiet hum of air-conditioning within. To her left sat the prime minister of India, on an armchair slightly lower than the sadhvi’s sofa—in deference to the sadhvi’s enlightened soul.

‘What is bothering you, child?’ she asked him.

‘I’m rather worried, blessed mother,’ he replied.

It was ironic. He was sixty, and she barely thirty, but she insisted on addressing him as ‘child’ and being addressed as ‘mother’. Anyone listening in on their conversation would have laughed but their conversations were always entirely private. The prime minister’s secretary was not allowed to make any entry either in the official entry log or in the prime ministerial diary.

‘I know—I can tell. A mother always knows when her child is in trouble,’ she commented softly.

‘The situation in Uttar Pradesh is confusing. The ABNS emerged as the single largest party. The governor had asked us—informally—if he should invite them to form the next state government. We felt that there were sufficient grounds not to invite them.’

‘Such as?’

‘They did not have a clear majority.’

‘Neither did your party—you had fewer numbers than them!’

‘But they did not even attempt to muster letters of support from legislators outside their party. They made it painfully easy for us to convince the governor to invite the second-largest formation—our own party—to form the government.’

‘So what seems to be the trouble? Aren’t you happy that your party is in government in Uttar Pradesh?’

‘At what price? We had only ninety-nine legislators of our own. The balance hundred and three had to be pulled in from the ABNS to get a working majority. None of them wanted any monetary reward, only ministerial berths.’

‘And you obliged?’

‘Yes. But it meant making the cabinet gigantic—sixty members! The entire cabinet—with the exception of the chief minister—is drawn from the ABNS. The tail is wagging the dog!’

‘And this troubles you?’

‘O blessed mother, we shall soon have a revolt within our ranks in Uttar Pradesh. Our own MLAs—who have been denied cabinet positions to accommodate the ABNS—are up in arms.’

‘Do you believe that your state government in Uttar Pradesh will fall, child?’

‘Yes, blessed mother, I do.’

‘And what will be the implications of this elsewhere in the country?’

‘State elections are due in several states over the next year. A problem in Uttar Pradesh will send out a very negative signal to the rest of India. It will suggest that our party is not in control of things.’

‘What are your political options, child?’

‘I’m damned either way. If I don’t do anything, we’ll have a rebellion, the government will fall and the Opposition will slide easily into power. If I ask the president to declare President’s Rule—government by New Delhi—I’ll be called a traitor to the Constitution, a backdoor manipulator.’

‘Come over here, child,’ she commanded suddenly. He rose and walked over to her and knelt before her.

She placed a hand on his head and chanted some prayers fervently, with her eyes closed. A minute later, she opened her eyes and directed, ‘Your answer will be with you by tomorrow!’

‘But blessed mother—’ he began.

‘Sshh!’ she admonished him, placing a finger upon his lips. Her touch was electrifying. ‘Haven’t I guided you correctly in the past?’ she asked.

He nodded quietly.

‘Then do as I say!’ she instructed.

A
special camp had been set up along the border of Gandhar. Luxurious tents, overflowing with food, wine, perfume, musicians and dancing girls, were buzzing with activity, the event managers desperately keeping up with the demands of Ambhi. He certainly knew how to throw a party. ‘Alexander is no less than a god who shall help me crush that devil—Paurus! Alexander’s welcome to Gandhar should reflect his exalted status,’ said Ambhi to his new ministers—handpicked loyalists who had no ties to his dead father.

The cacophony of marching drums and bugles accompanied by the ominous stomping of thousands of feet was deafening. The Alexander war machine marched like a swarm of killer ants ready for a feeding frenzy. As their feet trampled the ground, the dull vibration of the infantry’s advance sounded a sinister warning to those who ventured near. The main body of the army had traversed the Khyber Pass while a smaller contingent directly under the command of Alexander had taken the more circuitous northern route, capturing the fort of Pir-sar in a victory that had eluded the great Heracles before him.

Hearing the approach of the Graeco-Macedonian monster, Ambhi’s camp fell into a silent hush. The Gandhar musicians stopped blowing trumpets and beating drums, the dancing girls stopped gyrating their bellies and hips as the music ceased. The sound of the approaching Macedonian army was dull, a bit like the lumbering tread of a giant that shook the earth each time it placed another foot forward.

‘Maybe we’ve been duped,’ whispered one minister excitedly to another. ‘Isn’t it possible that we’ve dropped our dhotis in humble obeisance only to be raped?’ His colleague gestured for him to shut up. Both of them would be roasted on the skewers that were being used to cook meat for the flesh-loving visitors if Ambhi heard them. He silently muttered a few expletives as he maintained a plastic smile for the benefit of his monarch.

A special platform had been constructed at a huge height. It was to be used by the two leaders to be seen embracing one another in order to send out a signal of their mutual friendship to the men. Ambhi climbed the stairs that led to it, to get a better view of the approaching behemoth, slightly out of breath. His eyes were bloodshot from excessive drinking, though his physique continued to remain fit and firm. His face had a permanent scowl that looked even more menacing when he smiled or flashed his teeth. He was always attired impeccably, with colour-coordinated turban, dhoti, wrap, slippers and jewellery. If his outfit was of a reddish hue, his jewellery would consist of rubies or pink diamonds; if his clothes were green, the jewels were emeralds; if his ensemble was blue, the gems would be sapphires; of course, diamonds went with any colour. Ambhi squinted as he tried to gaze into the distance. All he could see was what looked like a gathering storm in the distance. It was actually the dust being kicked up from the earth as Alexander’s phalanxes marched inexorably to the beat of the drummers.

After an interminable wait, Ambhi could eventually discern the infantry wearing protective bronze armour, including bronze leg-guarding greaves and helmets with cheek guards and decorated with plumed crests of horsehair. All of them were carrying bronze and leather shields, long spears and shorter swords. Flanking the infantry on either side was the companion cavalry of around three thousand, which had been divided into groups of two hundred each. The horses seemed oversized and well-fed, each animal draped with thick felt over its sides. The beasts were armoured with breast and head plating and their riders, wearing bronze cuirasses, shoulder guards and Boeotian helmets, carried xystons and shorter curved slashing swords. Alexander’s army was a sight to behold. Ambhi gulped nervously and wondered whether he had bitten off more than he could chew.