He handed his iPad to Jayesh, who began scrolling down quickly to get a sense of the numbers. It was even worse than he had feared. If the polls were held today, the LJP would make a clean sweep, winning well over 300 seats. (That was well short of 404 mark that Rajiv Gandhi—who had come into power riding on the sympathy wave generated by his mother’s assassination—had achieved in 1984, but then the political landscape had changed so much since then.)
Unlike the last general election that had been conducted over nine phases, all of them a few days apart, the Election Commission had decided to go with another formula this time round. It had reduced the number of phases to five but had decided to leave a gap of ten to fourteen days between them. This, the argument went, would reduce the stress on the security forces who would otherwise be spread too thin.
The first phase of polling was scheduled for 15 July, the second on 28 July, the third on 10 August, the fourth on 22 August and the fifth and final on 6 September. Of the 543 seats in play, 89 would go to the polls in the first phase, 90 would be decided in the second, 80 in the third, 117 in the fourth, and the remaining 167 seats in the fifth and final phase.
Jayesh scrolled down to another chart. In each phase, and in every state, the LJP was way ahead of the competition. Clamping down on the depression that threatened to engulf him, Jayesh shut the tab and opened the one that would show him the polls results for his own constituency. Thankfully, the numbers were still holding firm for him. At least the people of Khewat were still on his side, even if the rest of the country was under the spell cast by Asha Devi.
But what good would that do? What purpose could he possibly serve in Parliament if all he had were hundred-odd MPs on his side?
And, given all that, was there any point in even campaigning any further?
▪
Pretty much the same figures were on Karan Pratap’s desk as well, as he arrived for another day of work at the PMO in South Block. His party, the LJP, was all set for a clear victory. But he couldn’t take much joy from the polling numbers because of the other file waiting on his desk: the progress report on the enquiry into Birendra Pratap’s assassination.
Or, more accurately, the lack-of-progress report. With a sigh, he put down the papers and asked Kutty to allow the waiting delegation of intelligence chiefs into the room.
They filed in silently, and were led to the adjacent conference room by Kutty. One of them sat down, and then realizing that the others had remained standing until the PM joined them, hurriedly stood up as well.
Karan Pratap made them wait while he annotated some papers on his desk. Finally, after a good five minutes, he stood up and strolled across to the conference room. Acknowledging their greetings with a nod, he sat down abruptly and started with a brusque: ‘I hope you have come with better intelligence than the stuff you sent me last week.’
Suresh Shastri, the head of the IB, was the first to break the silence that ensued. ‘Sir, we understand your frustration but these investigations take time. And we are trying our very best.’
Karan cut him off. ‘Enough with the excuses. I’ve heard them all. Now, do you have any new information or don’t you?’
Anil Bhalla, the chief of R&AW, spoke up: ‘I do have an update. As you know, we have been making enquiries with the intelligence agencies of other countries about the likely origin of the poison pen that was used to kill the PM. And we finally have the names of a few North Korean manufacturers who are believed to make the product. But it is next to impossible to trace who these companies have been doing business with. Or to work out who could have bought the one used on the Prime Minister.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Karan. ‘Don’t we have any resources in North Korea? And, if you don’t, can’t our cyber unit hack into these businesses and get some information?’
‘We have been trying all of that, sir,’ said Bhalla. ‘But the firewalls these companies have are impossible to breach.’
‘Don’t we monitor the phone lines to North Korea? Have we checked if there has been any suspicious contact there? Are there any Indian nationals or organizations who have been in touch with these firms? Or just in contact with anyone in North Korea?’ asked Karan.
‘Yes, we have looked into that aspect as well, sir,’ said Bhalla. ‘But it only turned up people who had legitimate business in North Korea, with legitimate companies.’
‘What about electronic chatter? Have we picked up anything on the jihadi networks and sites you monitor?’ asked Karan.
‘Well, there is chatter, certainly. But nobody is claiming credit or even giving credit to any jihadi organization. There is some jubilation that the Prime Minister is dead. But they also seem rather mystified as to who did it.’
An exasperated Karan turned to Balvinder Singh, head of the National Investigation Agency (NIA).
‘Do you have any new leads? God knows you tap the phones of half the population. Have you picked up nothing at all?’
Balvinder, in true bureaucratic style, had come with a folder, which he now opened with due solemnity.
‘Oh God, please don’t tell me you are going to read out your entire report!’ snapped Karan. ‘You really think I have time for this? Just give me a bloody summary!’
The summary, of course, gave him no joy. The NIA had cast its net far and wide, but had failed to come up with a single incriminating conversation. If the Prime Minister had been targeted by a domestic terror group—either Islamic or Maoist—its members knew enough tradecraft to keep off the airwaves.
‘So, basically, we are no better off than when we started this investigation. It’s now two months since my father’s assassination and we still don’t have the first clue as to who killed him. Do you chaps really think this is acceptable?’
Arunoday Sengupta stepped in to calm the PM’s temper. ‘Sir, we understand your frustration. But please believe us when we say that the entire resources of the government are being devoted to this investigation. We just need one break, and I am sure that it will come soon.’
‘And what is the basis for this confidence?’ asked Karan. ‘So far, you haven’t come up with even one decent lead!’
He turned to Suresh Shastri. ‘What about all the people you detained from the rally grounds? The ones who were milling around my father when he went down? Have you cleared all of them?’
Shastri nodded grimly. ‘Yes, we have done thorough background checks on all the people we detained. Nothing seems to stand out.’
‘And of course, you’ve found no trace of the poison pen itself,’ pointed out Karan bitterly.
‘Sir, it all happened so fast. And until the autopsy, we didn’t even know what we were looking for. There was so much confusion on the rally ground; it was the easiest thing in the world to get rid of a pen. Nobody would even look at it with suspicion,’ said Shastri.
‘For all you know,’ added Bhalla gloomily, ‘the assassin just palmed it and walked it right off the ground. Or worse, some kid picked it up and took it home without even realizing what it was. Anyway, we are unlikely to find it now.’
‘So, gentlemen, what do you suggest I do?’ asked Karan. ‘You have given me nothing to go to the people with. And yet, I will have to give the public some sort of update on the assassination investigation in the next week or so. What on earth shall I say? I can hardly tell the people of India that our intelligence agencies are so brilliant that between them they don’t have a single idea as to who could have killed our Prime Minister!’
Anil Bhalla was moved to protest at this. ‘That’s not true, sir. We are convinced that Pakistan is behind the attack. But rather than use their usual actors and methods, they have tried to muddy the waters by pointing a finger at China—hence the North Korean poison pen. But I am willing to bet my career on the fact that Pakistan activated a sleeper cell for this operation.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve heard all that before,’ said Karan. ‘But where is the evidence? You haven’t presented a single piece of proof that points the finger
at Pakistan.’
‘That’s true, sir,’ interjected Kutty. ‘But when it comes to public consumption, that is a theory that always plays well with the people.’
‘You want me to lie to the people of India?’ asked an incredulous Karan.
‘No, not lie, exactly,’ said Arunoday Sengupta, cutting in. ‘Let’s just say you can be a little economical with the truth. I mean we may not know that Pakistan was responsible. But equally, we do not know that Pakistan was not responsible. After all, it does have the most to gain from destabilizing India. So, you wouldn’t exactly be lying if you pointed the finger of suspicion at the Pakistanis.’
Grateful for the intercession, Anil Bhalla added, ‘Arunoday is absolutely right. There is enough circumstantial evidence to support this view. The ISI have been in bed with the Chinese for decades. And there is evidence that Pakistan helped North Korea with its nuclear programme. So, it wouldn’t be impossible for it to access a poison pen and deploy it against the Indian Prime Minister.’
Karan thought about this theory for a moment. It made a certain amount of sense. And he could see himself selling it to the people of India as well. But for some reason he couldn’t fully understand, he couldn’t bring himself to buy it.
▪
By the time Jayesh Sharma had disembarked from his campaign plane and driven to his charming little bungalow in the heart of Lutyens’ Delhi, his mood had become even darker. So, when he walked into his house that evening there was nothing he wanted more than to spend half an hour in the company of his children before they were tucked into bed in accordance with Malti’s strict timekeeping. Gayatri’s artless little stories about life in school never ceased to amuse him, and a bit of roughhousing with Aryan was guaranteed to lift the spirits.
God knows he needed some cheering up after the day he had had. But as he walked into the drawing room, Jayesh realized that the day was going to get even worse. Ranged on the sofa were Rajiv Mehta and Anisa Ahmed, both with their heads bent over their laptops. On one of the straight-backed chairs sat Malti, her posture even more rigid than usual, as she poured green tea into ceramic teacups.
Malti’s face softened the moment she looked up and saw her husband. And then, there was an imperceptible shift in her gaze as she registered the defeated expression on his face. Immediately she was on her feet and walking towards him. She pulled him into a hug, and then stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the forehead.
‘You look like you’ve had an exhausting day,’ she said lightly. ‘I think you deserve something a little stronger than tea.’
Jayesh grimaced by way of reply. ‘It’s been the absolute worst,’ he said.
‘Whisky?’ asked Malti.
Jayesh nodded, and then turned to greet Rajiv and Anisa who had been waiting patiently as this little tableau of domestic bliss played out before them.
Malti handed him his whisky just the way he liked it: with a generous splash of cold water. Jayesh raised the glass, sniffed appreciatively at the peaty aroma, took one long swallow and then settled back to deal with the bad news that was writ large all over Rajiv’s face.
And it was very bad indeed. Rajiv took him through the polling numbers (which Jayesh had only glanced at briefly on the plane). And all across the country, the story was the same.
The SPP was holding on to its core vote of 18 to 20 per cent nearly everywhere. But apart from a few pockets in Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan, its vote share never crept upwards of 20. The LJP, on the other hand, was polling around 48 per cent all over India, even in those southern states where it had never made much headway until now.
As for the state-wise break-up, it didn’t make for cheerful reading either. Of the 89 seats that went to the polls in the first phase (in Assam, Tripura, Manipur, Arunachal Pradesh, Meghalaya, West Bengal and Bihar), the projections were that 42 seats would go to the LJP while SPP got a paltry 14. The Poriborton Party (PP), which reigned supreme in West Bengal was expected to get 24 seats while the Dalit Morcha could bag around 7 seats in Bihar, while the remaining 2 seats came under the ‘Others’ category.
In the second phase—which took in the states of Kerala, Delhi, Madhya Pradesh (the Pratap Singh family’s home state) Karnataka and the Union Territories—of the 90 seats in play, the LJP stood to win in 54, while the SPP took 18 and the Dalit Morcha was ahead in 10. The other smaller parties in the fray were in with a chance in 8 constituencies. The Poriborton Party, which didn’t have a presence in these states, was drawing a blank here.
In the third phase (Goa, Sikkim, Maharashtra, Himachal Pradesh, Gujarat) the story was much the same. Of the 80 seats that went to the polls here, the LJP was projected to win 48, the SPP 15, the Poriborton Party and Dalit Morcha 7 each, while 3 went to others.
In the fourth phase (Orissa, Rajasthan, Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Karnataka, Uttarakhand, Punjab), the LJP’s tally stood at 65 to the SPP’s 20. The Poriborton Party was ahead in 12, the Akalis in 7 and the Dalit Morcha in 3 seats, with the ‘Others’ making up the rest.
The fifth and final phase (Tamil Nadu, Jammu and Kashmir, Andhra Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh) made for particularly disheartening reading for Jayesh Mishra, given that it involved his traditional stronghold of Uttar Pradesh, where his family estate was situated. Here the SPP had a paltry 30 seats to the LJP’s 76. In Tamil Nadu the DMK was way ahead of the AIADMK, with the score reading 25 to 12. The Dalit Morcha stood to win around 13 seats with 5 going to ‘Others’. In Jammu and Kashmir, the PDP and National Conference were neck and neck at 3 seats each.
That put the projected tally of LJP at 285 (well above the halfway mark of 273) while the SPP languished at 97. If the trends held, this would be the first time that the LJP was reduced to double digits in the Lok Sabha. And that was a conservative estimate at best, given that it was based on an internal poll conducted by Rajiv Mehta’s Poll Vault. In real terms, it was extremely likely that the LJP would hit the 320–330 mark.
Jayesh swallowed another generous glug of whisky as he scrolled down to the next poll.
Who was the most popular candidate for Prime Minister? His spirits sank even further as he saw the results. Karan Pratap: 55 per cent. Asha Devi: 25 per cent. Jayesh Sharma: 15 per cent. Others: 5 per cent.
Karan Pratap’s poll numbers he could understand. But that joanie-come-lately, Asha, was actually 10 points ahead of him? How had it come to this?
Malti, who had already been briefed on the polls, looked a bit worried at how quickly the level of whisky in Jayesh’s glass was falling. Sliding down to sit next to him on the sofa, she discreetly nudged the glass so that it was just out of her husband’s reach.
‘Well, okay, this is how things look today. Or a week ago, when this poll was conducted,’ she began cheerily. ‘So how do we go about changing the numbers by the time we conduct our next poll?’
Nobody spoke to break the deathly silence that followed. ‘Don’t all of you speak at once!’ joked Malti, trying for a bit of levity.
Nobody so much as cracked a smile. But from the corner of her eye, Malti saw Rajiv look meaningfully at Anisa, who shook her head imperceptibly at him and frowned.
‘What was that about?’ she asked. ‘If there is something you guys need to tell us, please do so. It really can’t get much worse than this.’
Rajiv and Anisa looked at one another, but neither said a word.
Jayesh had finally had enough. ‘Come on, spit it out!’ he ordered.
Anisa threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperation. ‘Go on,’ she told Rajiv, ‘tell them about it. It’s on your head, though.’
Rajiv began his story reluctantly but got increasingly animated as he hit his stride. Two days ago, he recounted, he had been sent a mail from an unknown address. This mail had come with an attachment. Initially he had been reluctant to click on it for fear that it was some sort of hack attack. But after his cyber security cell had given the all-clear, he had opened it.
The attachment contained photographs. Many, many photographs. Of
Asha Devi. Some of them were of her alone. And some were with her ex-fiancee Sunny Mahtani.
Jayesh could feel the adrenaline spiking through him. Maybe this wasn’t the absolute end, after all. Trying hard to mask his excitement, he asked casually, ‘What kind of photographs?’
Rajiv turned a little red in the face. He looked to Anisa for help. But she was mutinously looking down at her feet, refusing to engage with him, let alone make eye contact. He was on his own here.
‘Er, they are photographs of an, umm, intimate nature…’ he finally offered.
The air in the room shifted immediately. Jayesh said up straighter in his chair. ‘Do you have them with you,’ he asked. ‘Can I see them?’
Rajiv nodded and began scrolling through his mails to find the attachment. Anisa finally raised her eyes and looked at Malti. She was staring at Jayesh as if he were a stranger who had wandered into her drawing room. And as he reached across for Rajiv’s iPad, she said coldly, ‘You cannot be serious, Jayesh.’
‘What do you mean? What’s the problem?’
‘What’s the problem? The problem is that these are the private pictures of a young girl that have been stolen from her and distributed in an attempt to destroy her life—or at the very least, her political career. Why would you possibly want to have anything to do with them?’
Jayesh had the good sense to look a little sheepish. ‘Well, no harm in having a look, is there? We need to know what we are dealing with.’
‘No, you don’t,’ snapped back Malti, her voice raised higher than Rajiv and Anisa had ever heard before. ‘I can’t believe that you actually said that! How would you feel if those pictures were of me and your political rivals were going: “Oh, what harm is there in having a look?” How would you feel if this happened to Gayatri in a few years’ time? Would you still be saying “What’s the harm?”’
Jayesh knew better than to argue with Malti when she had whipped herself into such a fury. So, he backed off as quickly as he could. ‘I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean it like that. But surely, you understand that if these pictures have been sent to us, they will have been sent to others as well. It’s only a matter of time before they are leaked.’
Race Course Road: A Novel Page 15