River of Gods (50 page)

Data-panes pop up filled with fluttering manifests demonstrating the
inexplicable hole in the military records filled by Aerial Defence
Drone 7132's attack on the Badrinath sundarban. Mr. Nandha watches
the fine display but his thoughts are on Professor Naresh Chandra,
profoundly shocked to learn how his research colleagues had died.
Most of his staff held outside consultancies—it was the nature
of research funding—but a
sundarban
. He had meekly
opened up their office. Mr. Nandha had already called in the search
unit. He had sniffed at their many jars of coffee—a different
blend for each occasion, it seemed—while the Krishna Cops went
through the files. Mr. Nandha very much wished he could drink coffee
without it making him feel as if his stomach was dissolving. Within
minutes they had found the link.

Graphics can dazzle and seduce but every successful excommunication
order reaches a point where machines fail and the prosecution rests
on human drama. Mr. Nandha takes a silk handkerchief from the pocket
of his Nehru jacket, unfolds it. He holds up the charred disc-image
of a rearing white horse.

"Kalki," he says. "The tenth avatar of Vishnu, ender
of the Age of Kali. An appropriate name, as we shall see, for an
unholy contract between a private company—Odeco—the
university and the Badrinath sundarban. Even Ray Power receives
research funding from Odeco. But what is Odeco?"

Behind him the virtual globe unpeels into a Mercator projection of
Planet Earth. Cities, nations, islands rise out of the surface as if
torn free from gravity: blue lines arrow between them, arcing high up
into the virtual stratosphere. It is the money trail, the nested
shell companies, the storefront offices, the holding groups and the
trusts. The web of light wraps the map, the projection folds back
into a sphere as a ray of light arcs up from the Seychelles and
plunges ballistically towards Varanasi: a Jyotirlinga reversed, the
creative light of Siva that burst from the earth of Kashi, returning
after its trip around the curvature of the universe.

"Odeco is a venture capital fund domiciled in tax havens,"
Mr. Nandha continues. "Its methods are.. .unorthodox. It has a
small shop-window office in Kashi but its preferred mode of operation
is through a network of distributed aeai trading systems. The
Pasta-Tikka excommunication involved just such a system, unwittingly
sold on to Jashwant. It had been hybridised in Badrinath to run an
illegal betting system but its operating core was always for Odeco,
trading away in the background."

"To what end?" asks Arora.

"I believe to fund the creation of Kalki, a Generation Three
artificial intelligence."

Murmurs from the Ministry seniors. Mr. Nandha raises a hand and the
orb of information collapses in on itself. The Ministry men blink in
the bright sun.

"An impressive presentation as ever, Nandha," Arora says
slipping off his 'hoek.

"A stimulating but clear presentation is the most effective
means of establishing the case." Mr. Nandha sets the ivory disc
on the desktop.

"The Badrinath sundarban was destroyed," Sudarshan says.

"Yes, I believe by the Kalki aeai to cover its tracks."

"You hinted that Odeco also fund Ray Power. How far does this
thing go? Are you suggesting that we go after Ranjit Ray? The man is
a virtually a Mahatma now."

"I suggest a close investigation of his youngest son, Vishram
Ray, who has taken over the Research and Development Division."

"Before you go against any Ray, you had better have a damned
tight case."

"Sir, this is a Generation Three aeai investigation. All avenues
should be pursued. Odeco has also funded an extraterritorial medical
facility in the Free Trade Zone at Patna through an American
Midwestern fund management corporation. This, too, is a subject of
investigation. At present I rule nothing out."

"Odeco is your immediate target," Arora says. Behind him
against the panoramic windows the storm front breaks like a black
wave.

"I believe it is now the sole link to the Generation Three. I
require a full airborne tactical support unit with police backup,
with an immediate embargo on all information traffic in and out of
Odeco. I also require . . ."

"Mr. Nandha, this country is on a war footing."

"I am aware of that, sir."

"Our military resources are fully occupied defending threats to
our nation."

"Sir, this is a Generation Three aeai. It is an entity ten
thousand times more intelligent than any of us. That, I believe, is a
threat to our nation."

"I have to sell this to the Ministry of Defence," Arora
says. "And there is the karsevak problem—they could flare
up again at any time." His face looks as if he has swallowed a
snake. "Nandha, when did we last request a full tactical support
unit?"

"As you are aware, sir."

"My colleague Sudarshan may not be aware."

"The recapture and secure incarceration of J. P. Anreddy."

"For the benefit of my colleague Sudarshan."

"Mr. Anreddy was a notorious dataraja, eight of spades on the
FBI's most-wanted deck of cards. He had twice escaped from lawful
custody using microscale robots to infiltrate his prison. I requested
a full military support unit to recapture him and incarcerate him in
specially designed maximum-surveillance panopticon unit."

"That will have come cheap," Sudarshan mutters.

"Mr. Nandha, maybe you are not yet aware, but J. P. Anreddy has
filed harassment charges against you."

Mr. Nandha blinks.

"I was not aware of that, sir."

"He claims that you interrogated him without recourse to legal
representation, that you used psychological torture, and that you
exposed him to the threat of physical emperilment to his life."

"Might I say, sir, that at the moment Mr. Anreddy's allegations
are of small concern to me. What is."

"Nandha, I need to ask this. Is everything all right at home?"

"Sir, is my professionalism under question?"

But it is as if a single steel-jacketed slug has ripped out half his
spine and it is the sheer shock of being dead that holds him upright.

"Your colleagues have noticed that you've been absorbed in your
work—too much absorbed. Intense, I think, is their word."

"Is it not good that a man treats serious work seriously?"

"Yes, but not at the expense of other things."

"Sir, my wife is the treasure of my life. She is my dove, my
bulbul, my shining light. When I go home she delights me."

"Thank you, Nandha," Sudarshan hastens. "We all have
much to occupy our attention these days."

"If I seem absorbed, distracted even, it is only because I
believe this Generation Three to be the most serious threat this
department has faced since its inception. If I may offer an opinion?"

"Your opinions are always valued here, Nandha," Arora says.

"This department was established out of our government's desire
to be seen to comply with the international agreement of artificial
intelligence licensing. Failing to act against a Generation Three
aeai could give the Americans reason to push their Awadhi allies into
invasion on the grounds that Bharat is a haven for cyber-terror."

Arora studies the grain in the desktop. Sudarshan sits back in his
leather chair, fingertips bouncing off each other as he considers Mr.
Nandha's submission. Finally he says, "Excuse us one moment."
Sudarshan raises a hand and the air goes flat around Mr. Nandha. The
Superintendent has summoned a mute field. The two men swivel in their
chairs, turning leather backs to him. Mr. Nandha presses his hands
together in an unconscious namaste and looks out at the flickers of
lightning pressing the edge of the monsoon. It must break. Tonight.
It will break.

My shining light. My dove, my bulbul. Treasure of my life. She
delights me, when I go home. When I go home. Mr. Nandha closes his
eyes at the sudden clench of panic inside him. When he goes home, he
does not know what he will find.

The flat air unfolds into space and sound. The conference is done.

"There is merit in your argument, Nandha. What exactly would you
require?"

"I have a military briefing prepared, it can be sent at a
moment's notice."

"You have this all worked out," Sudarshan says. "It
must happen, sir."

"There is no doubt of that. I will authorise your action against
Odeco."

This morning Bharti on the Breakfast Banquette wears her Serious News
Face. Thanks to Raj for that analysis of what the Khan Scandal might
mean for Sajida Rana and here's a message from us at
Breakfast
with Bharti
to the brave jawans at Kunda Khadar: keep it up boys,
you're doing a great job, we're all right behind you. But now here's
the latest gupshup from
Town and Country
and all the talk is
Aparna and Ajay's upcoming wedding,
the
event of the season
and here's a real Bharti Breakfast Breakthrough: an exclusive peek at
Aparna's dress.

Cheered, Parvati Nandha sails into the kitchen to find her mother at
the stove stirring a pot of dal.

"Mother, what are you doing?"

"Making you a proper breakfast. You don't look after
yourself.""Where is Ashu?"

"Oh, that idle lump. I dismissed her. I'm certain she was
stealing from you." The early morning joy from the
Town and
Country
exclusive evaporates. "You did what?"

"I told her to go. I gave her a week's wages in lieu of notice.
It was fifteen hundred rupees, I gave it to her out of my own purse."

"Mother, that was not your decision."

"Somebody had to make it. She was robbing you blind, never mind
her cooking."

"Mr. Nandha requires a special diet. Have you any idea how hard
it is to get a decent cook these days? By the way, have you seen my
husband?"

"He left early. He is working on a most important and trying
case, he says. He would not take any breakfast. You need to take him
in hand and tell him that breakfast is the most important meal of the
day. The brain cannot function if the stomach is not well-lined. It
never ceases to amaze me how stupid supposedly educated people can
be. If he had some of my dal and roti."

"Mr. husband has conditions, he cannot eat this stuff."

"Nonsense. It is good, nutritious food. This bland, pale city
diet is no good for him. He is withering away. You only have to look
at him, pale and tired all the time, and no energy for anything, you
know what I mean. He needs strong, honest country food. This morning
he came in, I thought I was looking at one of those hijra/nute things
on the television news this morning."

"Mother!" Parvati bangs her hands on the table. "This
is my husband."

"Well, he doesn't act like it," Mrs. Sadurbhai declares.
"I'm sorry, but it has to be said. A year you have been man and
wife, and am I hearing ayas singing and little laughter? Parvati, I
have to ask, is he working properly? You can get this checked, there
are doctors specially for men. I have seen the advertisements in the
Sunday papers."

Parvati stands up, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Mother. No. I am going up to my garden. I intend to spend the
morning there."

"I have messages to run myself. I have things I need to get for
the evening meal. By the way, where do you keep the cook's grocery
money? Parvati?" She has already left the kitchen. "Parvati?
You really should have some dal and roti."

That morning Krishan works staking up the young plants and binding
the climbers and covering seedlings against the coming storm. In a
single night the wall of cloud has leapt closer, to Parvati Nandha it
seems about to topple over on her, crush her and her gardens and the
whole government apartment building beneath its blackness. The heat
and humidity appall her but she cannot go downstairs, not yet.

"You came to see me yesterday," she says. Krishan is
shutting down the irrigation system. "Yes," he says. "When
I saw you get up and run out, I wondered."

"What did you wonder?"

"If it was something I had said, or done, or maybe the cricket."

"I loved the cricket. I would love to go back."

"The team has gone home. Their government recalled them, it was
not safe for them to stay, with the war."

"With the war, yes."

"Why did you leave like that?"

Parvati spreads a dhuri on the ground in the scented arbour. She
arranges the cushions and bolsters and settles among them.

"Come and lie beside me."

"Mrs. Nandha."

"No one is looking. Even if they were no one would care. Come
and lie down beside me."

She pats the ground, Krishan kicks off his work boots and settles
beside her, lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. Parvati lies
on her back, hands folded across her breasts. The sky is creamy,
close, a dome of heat. She feels she just needs to reach her hand out
and plunge it into it. It would feel milky and thick.

"What do you think of this garden?"

"Think? It's not really for me to think, I'm just building it,
that's all."

"As the man who is building it then, what do you think?"

He rolls on to his back. Parvati feels a touch of warm wind on her
face.

"Of all my projects, this is the most ambitious and I think it
is the one of which I am most proud. I think if people could see it,
it would help me greatly in my career."

"My mother thinks it is not worthy of me," Parvati says.
The thunder is closer today, intimate. "She thinks I should have
trees, for privacy; rows of ashok trees like the gardens out in the
Cantonment. But I would say we have privacy here, wouldn't you?"

"I would say so, yes."

"It's strange; it is like we can only have so much privacy. Out
in the Cantonment you have your walled gardens and your ashok trees
and your charbagh but everyone knows your business every hour of
every day."