The Return of Vaman - A Scientific Novel (6 page)

A letter in an envelope marked ‘secret’ and closed with sealing wax, contained within another sealed manila cover, and that too delivered by special courier … Professor Kirtikar as a rule was not a frequent receiver of such mail. He read the contents with some misgivings for he never looked forward to committee meetings in the nation’s capital. The letterhead carried the address of the Department of Science and Technology in red letters to indicate that it was an official communication from a department of the government.

Professor Kirtikar smiled as he read through the letter. The contents were all phrased in the passive mode so cherished by bureaucrats. The addressee must never know who was to be held responsible for all the plans reported in the letter—certainly the sender could not be held accountable for the statements in it. The only thing that could not be avoided by the sender was providing his own name (albeit slightly obscured by an illegible signature) at the end of the letter.

Raj Nath! Kirtikar mused sadly as he read that name. Raj Nath, a one-time colleague on the institute’s faculty, was a close friend of his. And of so many others, young and old. A lively person with liberal views, Raj Nath had been affectionately called ‘Smoke Chimney’ by his colleagures, for his habit of incessantly smoking through a pipe. Indeed, it was often difficult to see Raj Nath clearly through the smoke screen around him. But those who had discussed science with him knew that beneath all that smoke there was a highly perceptive brain. A molecular biologist by profession, Raj Nath had views on fundamental physics ranging from superconductivity to cosmology and would often be found animatedly expressing them in the institute’s canteen.

But, alas, not any more! Just over two years ago, a short while before Kirtikar himself became the director, the long arm of the government, always on the look-out for distinguished scientists to run the science administration from New Delhi, had taken Raj Nath away to head the D.S.T. His colleagues were sorry to see him go, but had hoped that a man of his freshness and liberal outlook was just what the bureaucracy in Delhi needed.

As Kirtikar looked at Raj Nath’s letter he realized how misplaced those hopes were. The same Raj who used to be infuriated by officialdom, now excelled in writing DO’s in the best officialese. Here was yet another promising scientist eaten up by the bureaucratic Black Hole of New Delhi, thought Kirtikar as he glanced at the names of the committee members.

The high powered nature of the committee was obvious from the fact that no less than the Home Minister, Bhagvati Dayal Upadhyay, a minister of cabinet rank, was chairing it. The Minister of State for Science was the next person, followed by secretaries from the Departments of Home Affairs (Probir Ganguly), Culture (Harisharan), Information and Broadcasting (Shafi Ahmed) and Science and Technology, represented by Raj Nath as the Convener. The list of official members also included Dr Ramesh Gupta, Director General of the Archaeological Survey and, curiously enough, two other names with no designation given. Of these two, the name of Major Samant seemed to ring a bell, but exactly when and where Kirtikar could not recall.

The unofficial members included, apart from himself, Drs Arul, Laxmanan and Navin Chandra Pande. A Raj Nath touch, probably. Otherwise such junior people would never have found their way into a high-level committee of this kind. Well … there is still some fire left in the old dog after all, thought Kirtikar, as he called for his travel section to book him a ticket to Delhi.

The date of the meeting, he noticed, was the very next day.

Technology Bhavan is a single storeyed building standing next to the Qutub Hotel on the outskirts of Delhi. Unlike most other government departments which are in the neighbourhood of Rashtrapati Bhavan, the Science and Technology Department was tucked miles away from the corridors of power. Was this symbolic, Kirtikar used to wonder?

The building itself once belonged to the United States Information Service. Now maintained by the P.W.D. it had naturally lost the polish it had in earlier times. Kirtikar, who had visited the U.S.I.S. a couple of times in the past, could not fail to notice the decline in standards as he was conducted to the Secretary’s office.

‘Hallo, Raj!’ he greeted the figure barely visible behind the smoke. He was meeting Raj for the first time since he had left for this Delhi assignment. He was somewhat taken aback to see the change in his appearance.

‘Welcome Prashant … take a seat’, Raj Nath greeted him with the characteristic effusiveness that came so naturally to him.

‘You startled me, Raj. When did you grow such long hair? You look like one of those ancient sages living out in the jungle’, Kirtikar said, half jokingly. But Raj turned serious.

‘Whether I look like a sage or not is debatable. That New Delhi is a jungle, is not! … Come, tell us about good old Bombay, which I miss so much. But, first, tea or coffee?’ He pressed a bell fixed to the side of his table.

His P.A. entered, duly took the order and departed. Yes! Things were different here. In earlier times they would both have trooped down to the canteen, stood in the queue and served themselves.

‘Good you came somewhat earlier, so I can brief you about this meeting’, Raj Nath relit his pipe.

‘You had better! In any case, a rustic from Bombay like me feels a little overawed by this high level committee.’

‘It was constituted by the P.M. himself … in fact, it went through an amusing metamorphosis. Strictly between us, I will tell you how.’

‘Absolutely!’ Kirtikar recalled how often he had heard that phrase from Raj back in the institute. He knew it to be a prelude to some scandal.

‘The P.M. wanted an expert committee to quickly assess the container and its contents; and he so instructed the Department of Culture. Naturally, the matter landed in Harisharan’s lap.’

‘Harisharan?’ Kirtikar asked.

‘Secretary, Department of Culture’, explained Raj Nath, blowing out a smoke ring. ‘Harisharan promptly constituted a list and sent it to the P.M. for consideration … you know what the P.M.’s comment was? He said it looked like a marriage party made up of caterers and bandsmen but without the groom and bride.’

How did Raj Nath know what the P.M. had said, wondered Kirtikar. Was this part of the grapevine for which Delhi was so notorious?

‘Apparently Harisharan’s list included secretaries and additional secretaries from four departments, state officials from Karnataka and the Collector of the region including Gauribidnur.’ Raj Nath continued with a smile, ‘In short there were no real experts on the committee … And so I was summoned to South Block and asked to constitute this committee. You know the result. Harisharan would have had a fit to see such juniors as Arul or Laxman on the committee; but he had to go by the P.M.’s decision.’

Raj Nath then started briefing Kirtikar about the other committee members from Delhi so that he would be on guard. As he was halfway down the list, he looked at his watch and rang the bell once again.

‘
Are Bhai, chay ka kya hua?
The time for the meeting is drawing close’, he told his P.A.

‘It’s coming, sir! I will telephone the canteen again, sir.’

‘Well, that’s Delhi for you, Prashant’, said Raj Nath as the P.A. left. ‘It’s all bound up with who is at what level and who can do what. I cannot go to the canteen myself—the whole deparatment would be shocked if I did. So I tell the P.A. It would be below his dignity to go there now. So he will send a peon … and so it goes on. You notice the contrast in efficiency even more when you come from our institute.

That’s the tragedy, Kirtikar thought. Efficient people from well run places are called here just to be eaten up by the ‘system’.

The tea came soon, however. But they were destined not to finish it. For halfway through, word reached Raj Nath that the two ministers were due any minute. He left his cup and rushed to the front gate to receive the V.I.P.’s, while Kirtikar ambled along to the committee room.

The meeting started on schedule with the chairman calling upon members to introduce themselves. It was then that Kirtikar learned who Major Samant was. After Samant had introduced himself as ‘coming from the Intelligence Bureau’, the chairman felt the need to elaborate further.

‘Major Samant has been characteristically reticent. Perhaps I should add that he has been awarded the Veer Chakra for his bravery in the Bangladesh War of Independence. He has since then done a lot for the I.B. but, of necessity, the details cannot be disclosed. I am happy that he is in charge of security at the Science Centre.’

All but one in the committee were reassured by this description, for they shared the concern for security and confidentiality about the newly found container. All but Navin, that is. Navin had already experienced the effect of Samant’s efficiency. Just how much did Major Samant know about his past?

An incident came to Navin’s mind, something that had happened a couple of days back. He was getting ready to go to Bangalore for a dinner engagement when Major Samant jokingly remarked, ‘Out for a date, Mr Navin? I am sure you have found a loved one in Bangalore.’ This was spoken in Hindi with the word
pyari
used for ‘loved one’, and Navin had laughed it off. But now he began to wonder—why had Samant used that particular word? Did he know about the Pyarelal connection?

A pat on the back brought him back to the present. The chairman was addressing him.

‘I beg your pardon, Minister … I was not paying attention,’ he apologized.

‘Mr Pande, we have been told that the container was opened last week. Can you give us an account of how this feat was accomplished? The minister repeated his question.

As head of the archaeological project, it was Navin who had to present the account. This he did in his fine narrative style. For technical details he gave way to Laxman and Arul. By way of conclusion, he added, ‘We can now open and close the container. But we are awaiting this committee’s sanction to proceed further and investigate its contents.’

‘I am surprised, Mr Navin! With your archaeological expertise and with a team of scientists to help you, how could you contain your curiosity?’ the minister asked. ‘I would have expected you people to have ransacked the container right away.’

Navin, Arul and Laxman glanced at one another, as if avoiding the answer. It was left to Kirtikar to come to their rescue.

‘Sir, they would indeed have done so but for a restraining order from Delhi’, he clarified.

‘Restraining order? Why? Who sent it? The chairman looked round the table.

‘Er … I gave the order, Minister’, Harisharan mumbled, somewhat embarrassed. ‘Realizing that it was a sensitive matter I felt that all investigations should proceed through proper channels after due clearance from this committee. This is standard practice, sir. I simply followed it.’

The minister smiled. If Harisharan’s house catches fire, what and whose clearance would he require before calling the fire brigade, he wondered? Aloud, he said ‘I can understand your approach Harisharanji, as one dictated by caution … But surely all here would agree that these experts at the Science Centre are mature enough to decide for themselves? They don’t need to run to this committee for every small step.’

Everybody agreed.

‘I will so minute it Mr Chairman!’ added Raj Nath, tongue in cheek.

There was, however, a discussion on what should be done as the investigation proceeded. Finally, the chairman summarized the views. ‘Let us call on the experts to proceed as they think fit in order to get the maximum information about the contents of the box, bearing in mind, of course, that national security must not be jeopardized. Let the experts, Mr Pande, and the scientists Arul and Laxmanan, prepare a report for us. I hardly need to emphasize the need for complete confidentiality … let none of the findings of the investigation go beyond this committee.’

‘When will this committee meet again, sir?’ Harisharan forgot that Raj Nath and not he was the convener.

‘The committee will meet when the experts prepare their first report.’ The chairman looked at his watch in clear indication that the meeting was over.

‘Umi … Umi …’

As usual, the long distance call had a lot of static, but Urmila managed to make out that it was Laxman at the other end.

‘Yes, Urmila here. I bet your stay is extended further.’

‘Yes, my angel, extended indefinitely. That’s why I am arranging for you to come here to stay. Pack and be ready to travel on the Karnataka Express on Tuesday. Your ticket is being arranged and will be delivered to you. Be sure to bring all you need for a stay of several months.’

‘Including your stone god?’ Urmila asked jokingly. She was elated at the prospect of being with Laxman again.

The ‘stone god’ was not an idol. Laxman was not a believer in Hindu rituals, but he loved idlis and dosas. Realizing this, Urmila’s mother had given her the traditional stone grinder to prepare the dough for these dishes. Urmila recalled Laxman’s vehement veto when she proposed bringing it all the way from Tanjore to Hyderabad. Always a light traveller, Laxman could not tolerate carrying that huge block of stone. Urmila on the other hand did not wish to leave her mother’s gift behind. This led to their first quarrel after the wedding, and Laxman thought that Urmila had conceded him victory. However, on reaching their home in Hyderabad, when Laxman opened all the boxes he was astonished to find the stone block peering at him from Urmila’s steel trunk. Rather than carry it separately, Urmila had smuggled it in. Only then did Laxman realize why the porters who carried that trunk in Tanjore and Hyderabad had demanded extra tips.

However, once the grinder was placed in Urmila’s kitchen, it more than justified its transport and soon attained the status of a stone god in Laxman’s gastronomic view.

As Urmila pulled out her famous steel box from under the bed, she speculated about the contents of that other large container, in Gauribidnur.

Karl Shulz, too, was speculating. He never wasted time, and on his first night in Bangalore he had promptly set off for Gauribidnur.

At ten o’clock that night Pyarelal brought the car to the porch of the hotel as arranged, and Shulz was ready for him. The driver set off as previously instructed.

As the car crossed the city limits, Shulz spoke: ‘PL, I agree with you … I won’t contact Navin just now. We should not be seen together. But what about you? You have been meeting him in the past. Have you ever been watched?’

‘Watched?’ Pyarelal was shocked. ‘By whom?’

‘By the secret service … your CBI or IB.’

Pyarelal laughed and added, ‘They are all morons. Had they known anything about us they would have nabbed us by now.’

‘Don’t be too sure, PL. Of course, it is your business. But let me give you that age old advice that I have found indispensable: don’t underrate your enemy. For example, did you realize that, as we came out of the hotel, there was a person watching us?’

‘Rubbish, Karl! You have become paranoid about our secret service. There are always a lot of hangers-on in our five star hotels …’ Pyarelal suddenly broke off with an exclamation as a car whizzed past in the opposite direction.

‘What is the matter?’ Shulz asked.

‘That was Navin’s Jaguar going past. He must have got some news for us since he was heading for Bangalore.’

Shulz cursed under his breath and commented, ‘PL, your whole organization is amateurish! Otherwise this lack of coordination would not have happened. Evidently you cannot communicate with Navin inside that Science Centre.’

Pyarelal was silent. Shulz had hit upon the nail well and truly. However, after a while he added lamely, ‘Karl, you will soon see how well fortified that place is. See if your professional brain can find a way of …’

Shulz slapped him on the back genially and added, ‘My friend, don’t take it to heart! Stop the car about a kilometre from the Science Centre. I will get out and walk.’

The car pulled off the highway behind a clump of thick bushes. Shulz got out and walked on swiftly but noiselessly into the night. As he disappeared into the darkness, Pyarelal wondered what it would be like to encounter this huge figure in the dark as an adversary. He shuddered at the thought.

A ten-foot high brick wall mounted with broken glass surrounded the Science Centre. Moreover, an electrified wire fence had been erected on top of the wall as a further precaution. There must also be burglar alarms suitably hidden, Shulz surmised as he took it all in. He directed his steps to a large peepal tree not far from the fence. Noiselessly, and with a speed that belied his bulk, he climbed halfway up the tree. He was hidden by the foliage but could get a clear view of what lay beyond the wall. The view was barely visible to human eyes, but it was clear enough for the infrared camera that Shulz carried with him. He rapidly took a large number of photographs.

From what little Shulz could make out with his own eyes, he was at the eastern corner of the centre while the excavated portion lay to the south. Not far from him stood what was evidently the laboratory building cum office block. The adjoining barracks to the north were presumably used as housing. Shulz uttered a grunt of satisfaction when he discerned an empty plot to the west, no doubt set aside for a garden.

‘Aren’t the fortifications formidable?’ Pyarelal asked as Shulz returned an hour later.

‘Indeed, yes. But I have managed to get prisoners out of jails guarded even more meticulously.’ Pyarelal knew that Shulz was stating a fact that the police of a dozen countries could corroborate.

As the car made its way back to Bangalore, Shulz’s brain was already formulating plans for penetrating that barrier, if not physically, at least information-wise. Like Houdini, he treated fortifications as a challenge and invariably found ways of getting through them. He estimated (and he was always conservative in his estimates) that within a week he would be able to establish a channel of communication with Navin.

Of course, Shulz thought grimly, Navin must play his part.

Major Samant was unscrambling the telexes from Delhi. He had warned the telex operator that garbled messages from Delhi did not mean that his machine was out of order, and that he need not try to read sense into the jumble of words.

There were five separate telexes on his desk. The key to them was in the secret drawer of his innocent looking desk, specially brought from Delhi. Even with the key, each telex by itself would have made no sense. But when all five were brought together in a certain order, they became clear. Their message drew out a whistle from the phlegmatic man who read them.