Tomorrow #1
Date: 20th June 2020
Time: 3 PM (2 hours after the blast)
Location: Central Bangalore
Ajit Karmakar, the man of many names, loosened his tie and lowered the glass window; the smell of burning tires gushed-in along with the chilly winds. His car zoomed past closed shutters and deserted markets, navigating through sharp turns. He peered out with a sense of amusement. The curfew had turned a sprawling central district of old Bangalore into an unrecognizable ghost town. There was not a single soul on the street except several knots of policemen every few hundred meters, wielding their batons. The absolute silence was only broken by barking dogs and the engine of his own car.
Occasionally, he’d get stopped by policemen who, upon looking at his identity card, immediately sublimed and sharply saluted out of his way. They’d have stood more erect had they known that Ajit Karmakar ranked far higher than what his id card claimed.
But Ajit Karmakar didn’t become the head of Special Frontier Force(SFF) for salutes and guard of honours. In fact, at SFF, more commonly called Establishment 22, his failures were nakedly public while triumphs solemnly private.
The organization, which didn’t even exist on paper, was a highly secretive arm of Research and Intelligence Wing or RAW. A secret organization within a secret organization. It started as an advanced paramilitary force specialized in Guerilla tactics and an expertise in covert operations but had quickly branched into other intelligence services. Such was their repute that former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had handpicked them for Operation Bluestar to get rid of militants holed-up at the Golden Temple.
Now, even those few who were aware of its existence, even within RAW, weren’t certain of their exact gamut of operations. Some believed that they were a group of top-notch assassins spread across the globe, while others said that they were a bunch of hackers engaging in a cyber warfare. Only a handful of top personnel knew that their real prowess was far stranger than the speculations.
However, everyone inside RAW and the top government was certain about one thing - when everything else failed, you dialled Establishment 22.
Ajit Karmakar’s car stopped in front of a non-descript building in an old part of Bangalore. He removed his hat, wiped the sweat and re-did his tie knot. Out of habit, he surveyed the street carefully before stepping out of his car. He tilted his head to read an old sign board outside the building that hung only from one side. Though the paint had faded, the outline still managed to spell “InfoTech Technologies Pvt Ltd”.
It was one of the remnants of the technology bubble that gave rise to thousands of technology companies overnight at the turn of century. While some of them downed their shutters during the crisis of 2009, others like InfoTech Technologies managed to stay afloat, albeit barely. Or so it seemed.
Inside the old office building, a small and damp reception desk lay in the corner of a small room. The receptionist filed her nails, staring into Windows Solitaire screen which was open on her desktop’s yellowing screen. Behind her, a pile of ‘in’ and ‘out’ stacks of file lay with thick dust, disturbed only by spiderlings.
“How can I help you?” she said in a bored voice, dragging a four of hearts on top of five of clubs.
“There are 12 zodiacs in the sky,” said Ajit, flatly.
The receptionist stopped and turned towards him.
“What the heck are you talking about?”
“And Orion isn’t one of them,” replied Ajit Karmakar.
“Will you leave yourself mister, or you want me to call security to throw you out?” She raised her voice.
“Icarus had wings, but he couldn’t fly.”
She stood up from her chair in anger. “This is my last warning to you.”
“I stay my ground.”
In one swift movement, she pulled out a revolver from her bag and pointed it at Ajit’s forehead.
“Any last words?” she said conking the lock of her gun.
Ajit didn’t move an inch. He said coldly without leaving his gaze, “I persist.”
At once, the anger vanished from her face and her dark red lips curled into a smile. She lowered her gun and sat down calmly.
“State your name agent.”
Ajit Karmakar couldn’t help but wonder at the change of tone and tenor. She was perhaps one of the best shooters in her unit, specializing in close quarter and melee combat, and it’d have been impossible for someone without the right passcodes to infiltrate the building.
“Agent Sharat Sunder,” said Ajit Karmakar. Even within RAW, his real identity was buried under layers of secrecy.
She tapped a few keys on the keyboard and the computer screen transformed into a complex jumble of information and photographs. Satisfied with what she saw on the screen, she said, “Welcome, agent Sharat. Can you please stand there for your bio-scan?”
The dusty shelf behind her turned 180 degrees and transformed itself into a glass booth that looked like a giant test tube with just enough space for one person. The secretary motioned him to step inside. “This way please… and make sure to take your hat off.”
Ajit glanced at the sophisticated machinery and scanners. As soon as he stepped in, the glass door slid to enclose him, and scanners whirred around him. It always made him uncomfortable knowing that if even one of his bionic details didn’t match with the records, he’d be instantly incinerated. To his relief, ‘Access Granted’ flashed on the glass surface of the booth and a number pad appeared on the right. Ajit touched some buttons and the booth started its downward journey to the basement levels of the building.
In front of him the emblem was embossed on the glass - The Lion Capital of Ashoka with its four Asiatic lions standing back to back atop a circle, complete with Ashok Chakra. Beneath it, the motto of RAW glowed as if to remind him of his duty to the nation – ‘Dharmo Rakshati Rakshataha’. Dharma protects when it is protected.
Finally, after what seemed liked several minutes, when the door opened, the whole scene had dramatically changed. The high-security basement couldn’t have been more different than the dummy ground level. Even on such a day, Ajit couldn’t help but admire the state-of-the-art facility that looked quite like NASA’s mission control room.
A huge multi-level enclosure was fitted with sophisticated machinery and instruments. At the far end of the enclosure, scores of people sat on their control panels facing a very large screen occupying an entire wall. The screen itself was divided into multiple sections; smaller screens were given to news channels, and the central area was dedicated to telecast the satellite feed. Right now, it was running a stop-motion video of the nuclear blast taken by a network of spy satellites so powerful that they could read the fine print on a newspaper advertisement from space.
A handful of agents and RAW personnel walked the floor while blurting instructions into their headset microphones.
Ajit didn’t stop to look. He swiftly moved towards the corner office, opened the door and sat on the lone chair facing a tinted glass wall. The only other object in the room was a table and a mic in front of him. He placed his hat on the table, cleared his throat and whispered into the mic. “Ajit Karmakar, Inspector General, SFF.”
After a couple of seconds, the tinted glass turned transparent and another room on the opposite side came into the view. It was identical in all the respects including the table, chair and the mic. RAW chief Dhule occupied the chair but his mind seemed to be distracted. He looked like someone having a bad day at the office. Though he was in his late fifties, the work had taken its toll and made him look significantly older and his thin moustache had more salt than pepper. He adjusted his mic and his voice boomed through surround speakers in Ajit’s half of the room.
“It’s very bad business, Ajit,” he said shaking his head. “Very bad business.”
So much for the protocols and formalities, Ajit thought.
“I hoped to never see you before my retirement. But here we are... it has been what ten... fiftee
n years since we last met?”
“Twenty years,” Ajit replied. From your perspective. He thought of adding but decided otherwise.
“TWENTY YEARS. Has it been that long?”
“Yes, sir,” Ajit replied. “Since Kargil.”
“Right, Kargil. Yes. That was some war. But we came through... all thanks to you, Ajit,” he said with a slight hint of measured smile that was the most anybody got out of him. And it vanished as soon as it had come.
Ajit Karmakar nodded slightly to acknowledge the appreciation. Obviously, there was more to the conversation. Dhule wouldn’t have called him to give a pat on the back for a mission from two decades back. Dhule seemed to read his mind.
He shifted in his chair. “But this time, we are dealing with something far more catastrophic and far more complex.”
“I understand that, sir,” he said. “But we’ll have to rely on conventional solutions. You do know that I cannot travel anymore. Even if I wanted to.”
“I know...I know...” Dhule replied a little impatiently. “You can’t... you have already done so much and that is why I wanted to see you personally.”
Ajit was at a loss. There seemed to be an uncharacteristic hesitation from Dhule.
Dhule opened his mouth to say something more, but then pulled out a small chip from his pocket and inserted that into a small slot on the table. Tables on the both sides of the glass wall turned into a digital screen and several documents and scientific drawings flashed. Ajit swiped through them rapidly, pausing at the images of the nuclear blast. As he reached the last part of the report, his heart sank as he looked at the pictures of a young boy at various stages of his life.
“You want to activate Project Möbius?” said Ajit with a surprise. “B... But, the boy isn’t ready yet.”
“I know he isn’t. But we don’t have any other option. If he succeeds we may just avoid a full-scale nuclear war.”
Ajit realized why Dhule was hesitant.
“But you know what this means for him,” Ajit blared. “He is just fifteen and we have already taken so much from him.”
“I know Ajit but you’ve to get hold of yourself. If there is a small chance to save millions of lives in exchange for one, I am willing to take it. You know how it goes, right?”
Ajit’s eyes looked in thoughtful silence. His mind raced to consider all the possible ramifications of the proposal. He looked at the images of Iqbal still flashing on one corner of his screen. He looked so innocent… so full of life. He moved his shivering hand to caress the image. He had tried to prepare for this day for the last few years and yet, when it was time, he felt a sense of remorse for what he had done to Iqbal in the process.
“Ajit, you have my orders to activate Project Möbius. I’ll be meeting the Prime Minister in a few hours and I will inform him in person. But as usual, this will be done out of the books.”
This was far worse than what Ajit had imagined. The operation was ‘out of the books’ – that meant Iqbal’s mission will only be his own. He’ll not only have to fight the bombers but also the police and even RAW who’d know nothing of his mission or his powers. He thought of protesting, but he knew the answer. The burden this unique power brought along with it, could only be shouldered by the one bearing it. He nodded without looking up. Dhule pulled out the chip and the flashing images went away. Ajit straightened himself and emptied the glass of water.
“So, the boy needs to be brought here. And I believe that the Professor and the Doctor have been informed then?” Ajit asked.
“All of them are already here.” Dhule pointed towards a small room that seemed to be hanging in air only supported by one wall. The door was closed but Ajit could make out shadows of people as they passed in front of glass walls. In the middle of the room, there seemed to be someone lying down on the operation table with an oxygen mask on the face.
“You already have Iqbal here?” Ajit asked, with a surprise.
“Yes, we had to act fast, Ajit. We had a team dispatched as soon as we got to know about the nature of the crisis. And in-time too. He was stuck in the riots and police was shooting at him. We barely extracted him with just one bullet wound. However, we couldn’t save the girl, Shazia. She had suffered fourth degree burns on her body and our teams were asked to prioritize Iqbal. I heard he was close to her.”
Ajit gave a slight nod.
“I am so sorry, Ajit,” Dhule said, sincerely.
“It’ll be alright, sir,” Ajit said. “This was just the first iteration. Now that we’ll activate project Möbius, things should get better. It was only the first time that the blast happened from his perspective.”
Dhule was startled. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because we’d be having a very different conversation about project Mobius had it not been the first time,” Ajit said. “And he’d not be on a stretcher.”
It was difficult to make someone like Dhule, who was bound by linear time, to understand the labyrinths of time and alternate realities. He wondered how he’d explain it when it is other iterations. But Dhule understood. Age had slowed him down physically, but his mental faculties were as sharp as ever.
“One more thing, Ajit. I know you’ve been sending me your reports regularly, but I have to ask you this.” Dhule adjusted his gaze. “Did you see others again that you had told me about during Kargil?”
Ajit’s face creased. It’d been a mistake to tell Dhule about the others at the first place. Dhule hated not knowing everything, and the uncertainty about the others was an itch he couldn’t scratch.
“I haven’t. Even during Kargil I merely got a glimpse of them. It was very subtle, but I could feel their invisible hand… like an invisible guardian guiding his child in the dark. They were incredibly powerful, and yet the only thing I remember of them is their weird infinity clock insignia.”
“Should we be worried about them? Don’t get me wrong Ajit, I have to account for every factor that might impact this mission.”
“I understand, sir. But whoever they were, they seemed to be on our side.”
“Even so, Ajit, we can’t be too careful. We can’t have them interfering this time.”
“If they’re planning to, then we can’t prevent them. Only he will see them.” Ajit shot a glance at the corner room and the body that lay on the operation table. “And that too when they want him to. We can only hope that they’re on our side this time as well.”
He waited for more questions, but Dhule seemed to be done. Ajit stood up to leave.
“One last thing, Ajit,” he called. His face had dropped its intensity that he had reserved for professional matters and now it bore an almost empathetic look.
“I noticed a few things on the boy’s profile,” he added sincerely, “Thank you for everything. The nation is indebted to you.”
“It’s my duty, sir,” said Ajit as the transparent glass turned black again. “It’s my duty.” He murmured to himself and turned around.
As he walked to the project’s operation room, the silhouette of a boy lying sedated on a stretcher, that he recognized only too well, became clearer. His suppressed emotions gave way to a betrayal as unsolicited tears found their way out of the eyes of Ajit Karmakar, the man of many names, also known as Yusuf bhai on JC street.
###
Tomorrow #1
Time: 5 PM (4 hours after the blast)
Location: Palipuram, Tamilnadu
News always travelled slow to the village of Palipuram. Cut-off from the events of the day, villagers spent their afternoon like any other. Men smoked hukka, chewed betel nut and expressed their worries about yet another drought; elders reminisced about the olden days when everything was better and blamed the ways of younger generation for displeasing the rain Gods; women exchanged household gossip while reeling-in pots of water from the village’s only well; and children, donned in their lone pair of what once was a school uniform—a collared shirt, half pant and oversized slippers inherited from three or four elder sibli
ngs—amused themselves by rolling old bicycle tires with sticks.
The village itself was an ordinary Indian town in every sense. Hundred and fifty miles from southern metropolis of Chennai, it once thrived with prosperity. Located on the fringes of Cauvery delta, also known as the Rice Bowl of Tamil-Nadu, it was blessed with lavish rains and rich harvest. Every season, truckloads brimming with rice left for Chennai and brought back all kinds of wares and merchandise from the city.
Now, however, those heydays were only distant memories. With successive failed monsoons and government apathy, Palipuram has become a skeleton of its previous self. Palipuram of 2020 lived in abject poverty, running water was a myth and occurrence of electricity only as frequent as the elections. Before every monsoon, peasants sowed their seeds with hope, and every harvest a dejected fraction was forced to sell-off their land and cattle and moved out to the city in search of survival.
Palipuram had one small claim to significance though – it served as a storage for nuclear waste that was generated by its more prosperous cousin Kalpakkam. Kalpakkam’s Madras Atomic Power Station generated about 12 tonnes of spent fuel each year from its two 220 MWe nuclear power plants. And it was all dumped on a parcel of barren land adjacent to Palipuram. In essence, Palipuram figuratively and literally was turning into a dump ignored by the cartographers and the politicians alike and, as some village elders joked, wasn’t even worth bombing.
And that was precisely the reason Palipuram was chosen to guard over government’s biggest secret. The “dump”, fenced by the military to presumably protect cattle and curious villagers from radioactive waste, was the emergency headquarters of the Republic of India. Sure, from above it looked like the barren land that it officially promised, but three hundred meters below the surface, surrounded by four layers of bombproof steel and asbestos, the HQ was a miracle of cutting-edge engineering. The underground eight-storey building was capable of supporting one thousand personnel for long periods, without needing to contact outside. It was often called “The Castle” by the handful who knew of its existence. And going by its state-of-the-art weapons systems and an underground airstrip, the name wasn’t a misnomer.
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