Chankya's Chant (65 page)

‘The former finance minister obtained the information for me from the director of the Guernsey Financial Services Commission. A special favour,’ explained the wrinkled and forgotten prime minister.

‘My sources have indicated that a child was born to Chandini but that it was stillborn,’ said the reporter, carefully choosing his words. ‘She had tried to abort it earlier, but had a change of heart.’

‘Your sources are wrong,’ smiled the politician.

‘I shall need to verify the facts for myself.’

‘That’s why I’ve arranged a ticket and foreign exchange. How quickly can you get going?’

‘There is a eunuch called Hameeda who lives near Tundey’s Kebabs in Lucknow. I need to meet her,’ said the caretaker prime minister. The bedlam in Parliament had forced another round of general elections on India and the country was under President’s Rule. His government was a lame duck.

‘I didn’t realise the First Lady had given birth, I shall immediately—’ started his private secretary.

‘It isn’t the fucking First Lady,’ snapped the premier, realising a tad too late that he had created a title of sorts for his wife. ‘I don’t need blessings for a newborn. I need this particular eunuch. That’s all—get it done!’

Hameeda had been asked to dress well for the occasion. She couldn’t be taken inside the prime minister’s bungalow looking like a eunuch. What would the security guards think? The prime minister’s private secretary had arranged for a haircut and a business suit. ‘Will I be able to keep the clothes?’ asked Hameeda.

The private secretary had nodded. No one would want the clothes after they’d been used by her, anyway. The security detail at the gate issued Hameeda a visitor’s pass. It was laminated and suspended from a blue neck cord. The private secretary handed it over to her. ‘It works for most of South Block, North Block and Rashtrapati Bhavan for the next sixty minutes. Return it to the guard on your way out,’ he said as Hameeda hung the barcoded pass around her neck.

As they walked into the office, the PM looked at Hameeda and asked slyly, ‘What would you do if I told you that there’s an opportunity to get back at Gangasagar?’

‘I spend each waking moment plotting ways to kill him. I even see myself murdering him in my dreams.

He didn’t just have my balls chopped off, he castrated my life!’ spat out Hameeda.

‘There’s a way you can destroy him, honey. Tell Chandini that Gangasagar arranged for Ikram to be bumped off during the hijack encounter.’

‘But that isn’t true. Ikrambhai was killed by Rashid.’

‘But she’ll believe you. You lost your family jewels trying to protect her!’

The meeting with Hameeda lasted less than twenty minutes. On her way out Hameeda stumbled and, much to the embarrassment of the hapless private secretary, fell on him with her arms around his neck. ‘Seems like we’re destined for one another,’ she whispered lecherously into his ear. He shuddered.

As Hameeda left, she dropped her visitor’s pass into the slot for used passes. She didn’t need it anymore. She had the private secretary’s instead. Training under Sachla Devi had its advantages.

The former finance minister was seated in a comfortable armchair, flanked by Rungta and Somany. ‘You sacrificed me to resurrect your deals. I can understand that. All’s fair in business. But why did you agree to let ten per cent of your revenues go to Agrawalji? All you’re doing is making them financially stronger,’ he urged.

‘I agree that we overpaid,’ said Rungta, ‘but now we’re stuck. It’s impossible to back out.’

‘There is one way,’ said the politician softly. ‘Drive a wedge between Gangasagar and Chandini. She’s the one who now has a national stature. She could quite easily be the next prime minister. Make her hate Gangasagar and she’ll happily go along with revoking any arrangements Gangasagar may have made.’

‘But how do we drive that wedge between them?’ asked Somany.

‘If the rumour mills are true, she had an affair with her secretary—a chap called Shankar. Gangasagar was so upset that he had him killed in a hit-and-run.’

‘How does one prove it?’ asked Somany.

‘When it comes to matters of the heart, it won’t be your job to prove anything, my friends. It’ll be for Gangasagar to disprove it.’

The caretaker prime minister called in his private secretary. ‘This election is going to be different,’ he said, sipping his iced tea.

‘How so, sir?’ asked his respectful private secretary, his confidant of many years.

‘Ikram’s not around. Who’s going to make sure that no dirty tricks are employed in Uttar Pradesh? Ikram’s goons would man all the polling stations and would ensure that no ballot-stuffing could happen. Gangasagar has lost a valuable asset.’

‘So is that an opportunity?’ enquired the private secretary, smiling at his boss.

‘How much of Sentiosys do we now own?’ asked Gangasagar.

‘Fifty-one per cent,’ replied Agrawalji, shaking his head. It had been one of the worst investments that he’d ever made.

‘Excellent,’ said Gangasagar, ‘we can now call the shots in management.’

‘I am unable to understand you most times, Ganga. You’re so damned obstinate. Are you going to tell me why this company is so important to you?’

‘I’m told their CEO is just twenty-four. I like supporting youngsters,’ said Gangasagar, chuckling.

Gangasagar was busy catching up on the previous day’s neglected newspapers. He folded the paper he was reading and dropped it on the floor in a pile of other discarded papers. Gangasagar, Chandini, Agrawalji, Menon and Major Bedi were having their session on strategy in Gangasagar’s cubby-hole flat in Kanpur.

‘Have you considered moving out of this dump?’ Chandini had asked him after they had joined the government in New Delhi. ‘You’re one of the most powerful men in the country and yet you persist with a life of penury.’

‘Never forget my lesson about the power of renunciation, dear girl,’ he had replied.

‘Isn’t this meant to be a meeting with Major Bedi on election strategy? We still need to finalise candidates for the upcoming Lok Sabha elections and you continue to read your newspapers,’ said Chandini irritably.

‘There are four of you to decide election strategy. I’d rather keep myself posted on what’s going on in the country,’ replied Gangasagar.

‘But you never used to read the
Economic Times
and
Financial Express
. Why have you started getting interested in financial matters rather than political?’ asked Chandini.

‘It’s all the bloody same! Political power hopes to control the economic resources of the country. Economic power hopes to control the politicians,’ he replied jovially. He resumed scanning the company reports, particularly those of Sentiosys.

‘So, if I may have your attention for a moment, our candidates for the eighty-five Uttar Pradesh seats will be a mix of incumbents and freshers—’ began Major Bedi.

Gangasagar looked up from his crumpled
Financial Express
and asked, ‘What was our share of the vote in the last elections?’

‘Thirty per cent,’ replied Major Bedi.

‘And yet we won seventy-six per cent of the seats. What does that tell you?’ asked Gangasagar.

‘That we won not because we had a high share of the vote but because the remaining votes were adequately divided,’ said Bedi, adjusting his turban and attempting to make himself comfortable in Gangasagar’s untidy surroundings.

‘Don’t worry about identifying strong candidates who can increase our vote-share. Vote-share is meaningless. Instead, concentrate on causing divisions and fractures in everyone else’s share,’ said Gangasagar triumphantly.

‘And how do you propose we do that?’ asked Chandini.

‘I’m working on it,’ said Gangasagar, absentmindedly looking at the Sentiosys financials in the newspaper lying before him.