Where Angels Prey

by Ramesh S Arunachalam

  Bob and Chandresh are, of course, suitably impressed by Lindvquist’s exploits but are also impatient to know how all that could be relevant to the Tejasvi Enterprises trail. Maarten, meanwhile, rambles on about another case that he has worked on closely alongside Tomas.

  Bob decides to steer him back.

  “Wow, this is all just amazing. In fact I think The New York Post would be very interested in profiling Tomas. We could do an in-depth interview...but, getting back to the issue at hand, Tomas, do you have any hunches on Tejasvi?”

  “Hello Bob and Chandresh, pleasure to connect with you guys. I’m glad to be of some help. As for Tejasvi, the trail extends from Luxembourg to the US. The holding company, Tejasvi Imports, is incorporated in the US, in California to be more precise.”

  “Oh really! I assumed from the name that it wasn’t an investment firm. What does the company import? And who are the principal investors?”

  “No, it is not an investment firm, really. While they seem to have an import license for Indian spices, I don’t see them actually importing very much...unless you count money— there are huge money transfers taking place at regular intervals. And the majority stakeholder is a man called Pradeep Vangal—does the name ring a bell?”

  Bob looks at Chandresh, who indicates that he has no clue.

  Tomas watches this silent exchange.

  “One other thing—much of the money is coming in from India, from Hyderabad to be particular.”

  “Vangal is a common surname among the Reddy community, so I can get the Hyderabad connection, but it does seem like an incredibly roundabout way, don’t you think? Crisscrossing through three continents to invest in your own backyard?”

  Tomas nods in agreement before offering his own take. “Well, not so roundabout if the idea is to cover your

  tracks. See, it took us three days to get to the source, or almost three days, and that too because we were looking.”

  Chandresh nods his head thoughtfully.

  “I agree, and the fact that the company has no apparent connections to the microfinance sector, not even as an investment firm, makes you wonder how and why the interest in the sector. What do they even know of it? And what is it that makes them invest in MFIs across the world?”

  Bob nods.

  “That is indeed key—their inordinate interest in the sector that has nothing to do with their stated line of business and, of course, the Hyderabad connection. I would like to track the inflows back to their source, see if there is any connection with any of the big bosses back here.”

  Chandresh doffs an imaginary hat to Bob.

  “Excellent, that is exactly what we must do now!”

  Maarten and Tomas smile.

  “So Bob, Tomas will be sending me some documents on this that he has managed to collect. I will share them with you, of course. Do keep me posted on the news at your end. This is turning out to be a cracking story—Wall Street and European pension funds making huge profits out of lending to the Indian poor!”

  After the Skype conversation comes to an end, Chandresh turns to Bob.

  “So, did Prasad Kamineni’s office get back with a time?”

  “It seems he’s not in town. His office claims they don’t know when he will be back.”

  Chandresh raises his eyebrows.

  “That is surely strange. But Prasad’s PR skills are impeccable...even when he knows you are not going to write a puff piece!”

  Bob looks thoughtful.

  “I wonder if it has anything to do with the proposed action that you mentioned earlier.”

  Chandresh ponders over Bob’s words.

  “It’s possible. Maybe he got wind of something? Not surprising considering his connections in high places. You know his uncle is a union minister, right?”

  “Good for Prasad. Chan, we need to track down this Vangal chap. How are we going to do this?”

  Chandresh thinks for a minute before responding.

  “Ask Google maybe?”

  Bob half snorts.

  “Things can’t be that simple!”

  “Sometimes they are. The answer is right under our nose, just where we are sure not to look.”

  Chandresh runs a search on his laptop.

  When Google does not yield much, he signs into his Facebook account to continue the search. They come across two Pradeep Vangals in the Silicon Valley, one of whom has three common friends with Chandresh. After checking the time, Chandresh calls one of them. He informs Bob that she is his cousin.

  There is no response at the other end. Just when Chandresh is ready to hang up, the call is answered.

  Chandresh puts the phone on speaker, and Bob can hear a disgruntled, sleep slurred voice snap at Chandresh.

  “Chandrunna, there is such a thing as time difference, you know!”

  Chandresh is not perturbed in the least.

  “Sowmi, this Pradeep Vangal—he is on your FB friend list—who is he?”

  The response at the other end is a snort.

  “Are you kidding me? You woke me up at 4 a.m. for this?”

  “Listen, Sowmi, this is very important. Just tell me who he is. Does he run an import-export business?”

  “Not that I know of. He is a techie.”

  Chandresh is somewhat disappointed.

  “Are you sure? How well do you know him? Do you have his address?”

  “He lives two streets away, and I know him reasonably well. He definitely doesn’t run a business. His family has a restaurant though. They have been living in the Valley for the last 30 years.”

  Chandresh sighs heavily.

  “Okay, Sowmi, sorry to have disturbed you. He is probably not the guy we are looking for.”

  Just as he is about to end the call, Sowmi adds...

  “Don’t know about that, but you may know his family. His wife, Supraja is the daughter of that politician, Nageshwara Reddy. I think he is a union minister now, right?”

  Chandresh pumps his fist in the air as he thanks his cousin profusely for the tip off before ending the call.

  “Have we made a breakthrough or what! Pradeep is married to Nageshwara Reddy’s daughter, the man who is Prasad Kamineni’s uncle and chief benefactor!”

  Bob displays a more cautious enthusiasm.

  “I guess we could be onto something here, but prima facie, all we know is that a certain Pradeep Vangal is the son-in-law of a senior Indian politician, who is also the uncle of one of India’s microfinance messiahs.”

  “Are you serious, Bob? Do you actually believe this is nothing more than a coincidence? That this Pradeep Vangal has nothing to do with Tejasvi or Prasad, or that Prasad Kamineni is not in fact trading in the shares of his own company? Insider trading, damn it! That is what this is called.”

  Bob looks at him calmly.

  “Chan, I am not disputing all that you say. It could all well be true, but what physical proof do we have to nail this? We are only speculating here!”

  Chandresh’s eyes flash in anger.

  “Okay, so we don’t have hard proof yet. But I’m sure your gut—the famous journalist’s gut—says the same thing that mine does, which is that Prasad has his hand in the cookie jar. In fact, I’d say he’s in it right up to the elbow. As for evidence, we will find it. I am not letting this guy get away, Bob. The fraud and deceit lurking behind the veneer of sincerity and commitment...he will have no place to hide before I am done with him!”

  Bob sighs.

  “All of that sounds great, but how are we going to do this? Where do we begin?”

  Chandresh’s phone rings. He looks surprised and then puzzled as he looks at the screen, then quickly takes the call.

  Bob can sense the underlying excitement in his voice while Chandresh tries to sound calm and courteous. He ends the call after agreeing to meet the caller the next evening at the Kakatiya Sheraton hotel.

  As he turns to face Bob, Chandresh’s expression is a mix of anticipation and pure glee.

  “Would you believe it?
There we were, breaking our heads over evidence, and here the evidence practically knocks at our door!”

  Bob looks at him quizzically.

  “That call was from Venkatmurthy, erstwhile CEO of SAMMAAN. He wants to share confidential information with us, on the various misdeeds of Prasad Kamineni!”

  Bob looks startled.

  “Venkatmurthy is no longer CEO?”

  “Apparently not, although the news is not public yet. Clearly he must have locked horns with Prasad...and now he is determined to get his pound of flesh!”

  Chandresh smiles broadly.

  “We have just had a massive stroke of luck, Mr Westwood. Let me take you to Paradise for a treat!”

  Seeing Bob’s puzzled expression, Chandresh starts laughing.

  “The shop that serves the best biryani in Hyderabad if not the world!”

  CHAPTER 17

  PARVATHAPURAM (RANGA REDDY DISTRICT), 7 OCTOBER 2010

  The sky is overcast. Renuka walks down the narrow path that leads to her village as quickly as she can without disturbing her head load of firewood. Every day, she traverses the five-kilometre distance from her village to the nearby forest in order to collect firewood for fuel. She takes yet another peek at the skies, hoping the rain Gods will have mercy on her. Damp firewood would leave her with no means to cook for her family the next day. She wonders if her husband has remembered to milk the cows. The milk collections agents hate to be kept waiting and she can’t afford to displease them. Lost in thought, Renuka almost bumps into the teenager running towards her.

  “Pinni! Please run and hide...the police are after you!”

  The boy, Ramu, is her neighbour, Champa’s son. He has a reputation for being a prankster.

  “Go away, Ramu, I have no time for your pranks today. I need to get home before it starts pouring!”

  Ramu shakes his head vigorously.

  “Pinni, it is not a prank. There is a police jeep and a red beacon car. The cops are looking for you, I swear!”

  Renuka is genuinely afraid. Why were the cops looking for her? What had she done? Where could she run and hide? How long could she hide anyway?

  Just then, she spots her husband, Krishnaiah cycling towards her. What was going on?

  “Renuka...run quick! They are waiting for you; go as fast as you can!”

  He grabs the load of firewood from her head and gives her a gentle push.

  “What is happening? Who is waiting?”

  “DM Amma is waiting, you idiot. She is sitting inside our house and she wants to meet you. Run along! I will go to the kirana shop on the main road and get some cold drinks.”

  Krishnaiah hands over the firewood to Ramu and cycles off.

  Renuka runs down the path leading to the village. Surely they would not arrest her if DM Amma was their guest?

  A bevy of cops stand at the entrance to the lane leading to Renuka’s house. Two jeeps and a car are parked nearby.

  Seeing her approach, one of the cops calls out to her.

  “Hey, are you Renuka?”

  She nods fearfully, her mouth dry from all the running and the fear that the uniform and baton automatically evokes

  “Go in quickly, DM Amma and SP Ayya are waiting for you.”

  She quickly nods, mops the sweat off her face with the end of her sari, and enters the house. She is astounded by the sight that greets her.

  DM Veena Mehra sits on the best (and only) chair in the house, with SP Vishal Singh standing beside her. But that isn’t what has Renuka taken aback. What astounds her is what the DM is doing—reciting a nursery rhyme along with Renuka’s youngest daughter, four-year-old Subbulakshmi, who goes to kindergarten.

  The girl spots Renuka and promptly rushes to her side, hugging her legs. Renuka’s older daughters, Gajalakshmi and Varalakshmi, remain seated where they are, by the side of the DM, with their books spread around them.

  “Your daughters are very bright, Renuka. I’m impressed!” Renuka beams shyly before looking fearfully at the SP.

  “Don’t worry, Renuka, this is just a casual visit. You have nothing to worry about. And SP Vishal Singh is not an ogre; he won’t eat you up!”

  Renuka is embarrassed and remains silent.

  “I know your name. Do you know mine?”

  Before Renuka can answer, one of her daughters pipes up.

  “DM Amma!”

  Veena laughs and pats the child on the head.

  “That is not my name, silly. My name is Veena...Veena Mehra.”

  Renuka’s lips try to form the name silently.

  “So, Renuka, I belive you are a very famous lady!”

  Renuka looks at her in confusion.

  “I mean, didn’t you have your picture come out in the newspapers? Along with your—what’s his name—Prasad Kamineni?”

  Renuka shakes her head and corrects her.

  “Annaiyya!”

  “Yes of course, Annaiyya. So how did you like the trip to Mumbai?”

  Renuka answers her shyly.

  “It was nice, so much bigger than our village! But I missed my family…and my cows.”

  Veena and the SP exchange smiles.

  “Yes, of course, nothing like home. Tell me, Renuka, why exactly did you go to Mumbai?”

  “Bomakka took us. She said there was some meeting. We go sometimes when there are meetings and some big officers come.”

  Veena nods. Vishal shoots a question at her in a stern voice.

  “It was not just a meeting, was it? Did you know that the company that you hold shares of is a listed company that is worth hundreds of crores?”

  Renuka looks at him blankly. Veena gives her a reassuring look.

  “I don’t know about all that. Bomakka just told us that it was some meeting…”

  “That is fine, Renuka. So tell me, have you been paid any money since the Mumbai meeting?”

  Renuka shakes her head in vehement denial.

  “I have three more instalments to repay on my current loan. Maybe I will get another loan after that.”

  “What about the others? Have you taken loans from the others? DevEx, Aashray…?”

  “I repaid another loan six months ago. That was DevEx—it was for building a cow shed. The SAMMAAN loan was to buy a cow.”

  Just then, a cop enters the house with Bommakka in tow.

  Bommakka, terrified to see the DM and the stern looking SP, dives straight to the DM ’s feet and prostrates herself in supplication.

  “Amma, I have not done anything wrong, please don’t send me to jail!”

  Veena asks her to get up and assures her that she is not going to be arrested.

  “Bommakka, Renuka was just telling us about the Mumbai meeting. What do you remember of it?”

  Bommakka gulps before answering in a small voice.

  “Amma, I was just asked to identify three or four members from our district to be taken to the meeting. The elders and the men of the village were not happy, but the office people, Nagalakshmi Akka, said everyone will be safe. She also said something about how we were all owners of the new company...how all of us would benefit…”

  “But Renuka says she has not got any money after that meeting. So what is this about being owners of the company?”

  Vishal adopts the same stern tone that he had used with Renuka and asks about the company and the shares they hold in it. The otherwise bold Bommakka is petrified and answers him between sobs.

  “Ayya...I don’t know...even I haven’t got any money. When my niece got married, I desperately needed more money, so I went to Hyderabad to meet Nagalakshmi Akka, but she said I already had two running loans and that she wouldn’t give me any more. I asked her why she had told us we owned the company. She got very angry and shouted at me. I had no choice but to go to a private moneylender. But he shouted at me too, saying that I had ruined his business by taking all the women to SAMMAAN. It was a very difficult time.”

  Veena tries to comfort her.

  “Okay, Bommakka, stop crying no
w. Tell me, what about all these instances of suicide? Eight people have committed suicide so far in our district, including that fellow, Ramaiyya of Parichemam village. Are you aware of these things?”

  Bommakka nods her head as she responds in a small voice.

  “Amma, one of them is my son-in-law’s aunt. We have all been very upset. But we have accepted it as our fate. Nagalakshmi Akka told me that it is all because of our greed. We took too many loans and now we are killing ourselves because we cannot repay them.”

  Veena’s eyes flash in anger.

  “So why did all of them issue concurrent loans in the first place? Did you not tell them you had already taken loans from others?”

  Bommakka shakes her head.

  “No, Amma. In our village, we have a weekly schedule. SAMMAAN agents come on Monday, DevEx on Wednesday, and Aashray on Thursday. They decided on this in consultation with each other. Often they even use the same collection agents.”

  Vishal turns to her.

  “And have they ever threatened you, or anyone else? Coerced or forced you in any way to repay your debts?”

  Renuka’s eyes instantly fill up with tears.

  “Sir, once I could not pay my instalment on time. I had to pay my children’s school fees. The agents…three men... they came and sat in front of my house and refused to leave. They’d say horrible things to me each time I left the house. My neighbour got very angry with me because a boy’s family was coming to see her daughter the next day and she said it would look very bad if they saw men sitting around like that. So I borrowed the pending amount from my aunt who lives in the next village and repaid them the next day. Only then did the men leave. I felt so ashamed...”