by Sudarsan S
He remembered the early morning wait in Bangalore station. There was no roof over the head now, but this was better. There was a home to go to and get fed, there were loving people waiting for him. The flowing river running unpolluted. The river is like its people’s minds, he thought. When former becomes dirty, it reflects in the latter, he thought of the capital.
Slowly the day broke some time after the tea-shops had opened. At the town’s bus-stand, a few buses had already started. Ananta sat in the bus that was sure to stop in his village, knowing the answer he would get if he were to ask when it would leave. The bus left before it was half-full. It would be overflowing with school-goers and local workers on its return and the management didn’t mind the loss of revenue during this trip.
The village, at last! The potter’s son spotted him alighting by the pipal tree and had run through the back-lanes to inform Ananta’s people. The boy had spotted grandmother in the cow-shed and shouted, “Old lady, your grandson is here” and ran back before she could say “Cow dung cakes”.
In a trice, the house was abuzz with activity. A babel of voices spoke at once. Ramanujam’s father asked them to clam up and speak one by one.
“The boy said the grandson is here”. Grandmother.
“What happened to Ananta, then? My lord, Ananta!” Ananta’s mother feared the worst.
“Why, what would have happened to him?” Ananta’s father queried nonchalantly.
“Rama was not to return without Ananta. If he is here without him, then ...”
Ramanujam’s father spoke. “In a few minutes, whoever he is, will be at our door-step. If we can all assemble at the front entrance with a semblance of control, it will be good for us.” While the others headed for the front porch, Ramanujam’s father pretended to be detached from the proceedings and continued to rinse his clothes.
For those at the front, anxiety heightened. They could make out one person at a distance.
“Ananta”, said his mother softly and let out a sigh of relief. A few seconds passed.
“Indeed, it is him. He is safe”.
“Where is Rama, then?”
“Let him come”.
Ananta’s uncle and father walked towards the boy and took his bags off mumbling something about not knowing about his return. The boy himself was smiling from ear to ear.
“Glad to see you, Ananta. Grandmother was worried”.
“Weren’t you?”
“We all were. Where is Rama?”
“Will you let the boy come in and then ask your questions?” As usual, grandmother was annoyed with her sons.
Uncles and aunts made way. Ananta removed his footwear, rubbed his feet on the door-mat and stepped in. “In the capital. He has to go to the university and finish his formalities of joining back.”
Ramanujam’s father was wringing his clothes. That act afforded him the silence to listen while pretending to be not too bothered.
“You were under instructions never to leave his side, Ananta”, his father remonstrated.
“What could I do? Rama insisted that I should not keep you waiting any longer. For him, it is only a matter of time, but there are no guarantees.” Ananta looked down and sighed over the ominous nature of his words. Hope floats.
Rama’s mother was used to his absence for long periods, but this seemed like a case of almost here, but not yet.
“Ananta, can you tell us when he is likely to come?” she asked quietly. Her husband turned to their direction to listen to the answer.
“He should be here any time soon, going by what he said”.
CHAPTER 28: The End of the Beginning
“He should be here any time soon, going by what he said”.
“Will he, Yadav?” The politician was dressed in off-colour clothes and a cap to avoid immediate recognition.
“He is a man of his word, Pyare Mohan. And, that is where the problem lies”.
“Learn to relax, Yadav. My men are out there outside your esteemed campus. In case you haven’t noticed, even the security guard is mine. If your boy sets foot in the campus, it is for us to tackle him. Suppose he suspects the presence and avoids this meeting?”
The sharp knock on the door was followed by, “May I come in, sir?”
“It is him, Pyare Mohan”, said Dr. Yadav in a hushed tone. “Come in”.
The door opened a little and Ramanujam let himself in. He saw another person with the professor.
“Sorry, sir. If you are in a meeting, I can come back later”.
“No. no, Ram. This time is as good as any. Sit down.”
Ramanujam sat down in the same seat as the previous day and set the medieval mobile phone in front of him. He seemed a little nervous in being closeted with two senior people.
“Not the old mobile trick again, my young friend”, asked Dr. Yadav stretching his hand for the phone from across the table. The other person looked on standing near the window sill, one hand resting on it and the other stroking his smooth chin.
“No, sir. You may choose to have it, but I just wanted to inform that in this age of Tehelka exposes, cellphones are the most primitive tools”.
“What is that gleaming thing in your pocket, young man? Can I have a look?” The other man in casual clothes asked.
“It is a pen, sir”.
“Looks good from here. Can you hand it to me? I need to sign a document”, said the wily politico.
“Oh, Ram, in case you do not know, the person asking for your pen is the Minister of Health. We can speak freely in his presence. The pen”.
Ramanujam reluctantly handed over the pen to Pyare Mohan.
“Thanks. Very exquisite. If I open it like this, oops, it is a pen drive. I guess it records audio and video. Very smart. Now that it has been disabled, we can continue our discussion”. Disappointment was palpable on Ramanujam’s face.
“I have been following your story for sometime now and I have been pleased by by your cockroach-like ability to survive. Good attribute for a politician. But, all good things will have to come to an end and yours will be today”.
“Sorry, sir, I think you have confused me with someone else. I just came here, as I did yesterday, seeking some answers to some trifling questions”.
“Of course, you did. We will answer those trifling questions after you answer some of ours”.
“Of course, sir”.
“You stayed one step ahead of us each time, including this one. All my men failed to track you today. Where were you before you came here?”
“In my hostel room since last night”.
“Exactly where we wouldn’t look for you. You exceed yourself. Please accept my compliments, young man. I am pleased to have met you in person and I wish you could live longer for me to follow your travails”.
“I don’t follow you, sir”.
“You won’t stay alive much longer after all the questions you have been asking and what you are likely to reveal”.
“Is that a threat, minister?”
“No, it is a fact. Your trifling questions?”
Looking at Dr. Yadav, Ramanujam asked, “Sir, despite your knowledge of the lack of efficacy of the SARS vaccine, you gave your stamp of approval. Why?”
“Go on, Yadav. Tell him the truth”.
“Well, as you are aware, Ram, the pharma company needed my favour and I needed theirs”.
“You signed it with no pangs of conscience?”
“None that I can remember”.
Ramanujam turned to the minister. “I have had discussions in the past with Professor Yadav about the big pharma mafia. This is one of the things that need to be broken. You, in your position of power, are well-suited to take this action and bring some sense and sensibility in how the practitioners needlessly impose their will and pill on the ignorant patients. There is a lot more that needs to be done and it will take time”.
The minister smilingly interjected. “Lofty, noble ambitions, indeed. Is there anything else I can do for you?”, not holding back th
e sarcasm in his voice.
“What do you think of the streams of medicine that are not considered mainstream? This is a question that I have asked the professor and I am just wondering if I am alone in my opinion”.
“Is that a serious question?”
“Yes, honourable minister, it is”.
“Well, I am a politician, not a man of medicine. I don’t care either way. I cannot afford to take positions. Even if I do, I will change it when the tide changes. My vote bank will decide my position”.
“Suffice to say that you have no principles you will swear by, but you will choose and do what seems appropriate for the moment to get votes or stay in power”.
“Precisely, young man”.
“That was only a euphemism for opportunistic”.
“So be it. Any last wishes?”
“Thanks. I have some to ask of the professor. Sir, since I have reported back from my long leave, I request you to authorise my continuance for the next semester. And, a resignation letter owning responsibility for the SARS vaccine issue”.
“Child, don’t you think the charade is going on for too long? Your hours are numbered and you have the temerity to make ridiculous requests. So much for the two of us entertaining you this long. If you manage to get out of the campus, your body will be found somewhere or you stick to the campus and your body will be found outside. Either way, you are finished”.
“I forgot to mention one thing”, Ramanujam was shaking. Bravado could not conceal his nervousness.
“Amuse us”. It was the politician.
“In the beginning, we agreed that the cellphone is a rather primitive tool for recording. But, in my opinion, it is still an excellent device for transmission”.
“There is nothing you can transmit. What transpired in this room stays here. Outside of these four walls, we will deny even having met you”.
“Possibly. However, this phone has been transmitting our discussion ever since I came into this room to my partner”.
Dr. Yadav moved quickly to seize the phone from the table.
Ramanujam continued. “Either the call gets cut without my word or my voice is not heard for a reasonable amount of time, the audio file will be sent to leading news media groups. Attempts to track down the source and recipient of this call will be futile. You and I know that these SIM cards will cease to exist in the next few hours. For comic relief, the SIM in this phone belongs to one Mr. Prakash Yadav, B-2/39, Safdarjang Enclave, New Delhi”.
The professor dropped his plan to confiscate the cellphone and stared at his friend.
“Of course, something could happen to me after I leave the campus or before or anywhere I am travelling or at home. Any mishap of any kind deemed unnatural under the circumstances will trigger the audio file. I hope it is not too inconvenient”.
The politician broke his silence. “You know what we call this in our circles? Blackmail! I didn’t expect a man of ethics to stoop this level”.
“I don’t care what names you attach in your opportunistic circles. In my language, it is called the Struggle for Existence and Survival of the Smartest. I am making a reasonable offer”.
“Which is?”
“An honourable exit for the professor. He will mention the SARS vaccine approval as a slip-up on his part, that he had discovered only now and his conscience does not allow him to continue to discharge his duties in the current position. He will also add a request to the Dean to not consider him for any governmental or quasi-governmental role lest people attribute it to his proximity to the Minister of Health. This way, sir, you go out seemingly on your terms guided by your conscience. To me, I see it as a punishment for the crime – whether delivered through legal means or otherwise. Or, you can choose the route of infamy and my partner on the other end of the phone line will assist”.
The professor stared straight into the boy’s eyes. He had always been a class apart.
“And you, minister, will call off all your troops. None of them are to touch me or my family.”
“Guaranteed”, responded the politician.
“I would not want to interfere in others’ work, but if I see a need for course correction, I will write to you”.
Ramanujam got up, collected his mobile and prepared to leave. In a parallel gesture, the professor got up, moved towards the politician and spoke sotto voce “Are we to let him go on his terms?”
In the same low voice, Pyare Mohan responded, “Do you have an alternative? No? I didn’t think so. I trust he will do as he says. If we accept his terms, we can spend the rest of our lives making news, not being news”.
“Young man, should you ever decide to plunge into politics, contact me. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have known people who walk into a battlefield with an exit strategy for themselves. For a change, you came in with an exit plan for your adversaries. You will do well”.
Dr. Yadav stared angrily at Pyare Mohan who was not oblivious to the stare. “Face the fact, Yadav. We have been bested by a worthy, if not better, opponent and we need to admit the tact. I belong to a business where friendship and enmity are transient. Farewell, young friend”.
“I will have the borrowed pen drive back, please. Good bye, gentlemen. Before I leave, I would like to mention what my grandfather used to tell us: Everything has its consequences, surely”. Ramanujam closed the door to the chuckle of Pyare Mohan and the seething silence of Dr. Prakash Yadav, reminded of the scrawl on the black-board the day the boy was found missing.
Ramanujam was confident that the politician would get the professor to see the writing on the wall. “Ananta, you are now the custodian of our safety. You can drop off”. Ramanujam heard a note of relief from the other side of the call as he disconnected.
“I am glad to see you come out in one piece, son”. The familiar voice sounded from behind.
“Ghafur, it is a pleasure to converse with you freely again. I am glad to have listened to you and fled”.
“So, can I stop locking you inside your room, Ram?”
“I hope so, Ghafur. There is a lot to be done outside”.
“We have time, don’t we? I judge from your looks that your campaign has ended”.
“No, Ghafur. This is just the beginning”.
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About the Author
Sudarsan S is an Information Technology industry veteran, with stints in small, medium and large corporations in India, West Indies and the U.S. Pursuant to quitting IT in 2011, Sudarsan has been dabbling in many things, prime among them being e-learning. Away from e-learning, he has found time to complete his first novel Oath of Hippocrates and is working on a collection of IT short stories based on his experiences with IT life.
Among the unusual things to his credit, Sudarsan has seen marine life 150 ft below sea-level (through a sub-marine cruise off Barbados), test-driven a cycle-rickshaw in Singapore and is currently attempting to ride a unicycle.
You can connect with Sudarsan and add your voice to the discussion at http://sudarsan.scribe.im