Race Course Road: A Novel

by Goswami, Seema

  Attar Hussain took his life into his heads and butted in at this point. ‘You may be right about that. But let’s not forget that Birendra Pratap’s death has placed his son, Karan Pratap, in the Prime Minister’s seat. You may not be able to target the father, but surely the son is fair game.’

  Aarti winced. ‘Are you suggesting that Karan Pratap should bear responsibility for things that happened in his father’s government? That hardly seems fair.’

  Attar was adamant. ‘Well, if Birendra Pratap’s guilt is established somewhere down the line, then yes, I would expect Karan Pratap to stand down as Prime Minister.’

  Gaurav was having none of this. He turned towards Hussain, his expression a peculiar mixture of incredulity and exasperation. ‘Why should Karan resign as Prime Minister for something his father did? What nonsense is this? A son cannot be punished for his father’s sins. Not that we know at this point whether Birendra Pratap sinned at all.’

  Turning to Aarti Saxena, Gaurav asked, ‘What is your take on all this? Does the payoff go all the way to the Prime Minister’s Office? And is Madan Mohan merely a scapegoat who is being made to take the blame?’

  Having taken the measure of Gaurav’s attitude towards Karan Pratap, Aarti decided to play it safe. She needed the money that NTN paid her every month as a retainer; and the profile that appearing on the channel gave her. ‘I would be very surprised if Birendra Pratap Singh was found to be involved in this,’ she said, choosing her words very carefully. ‘He was known for his scrupulous honesty. In fact, he came to power on the twin planks of development and fighting corruption.’

  After another ten minutes of this back and forth, Gaurav Agnihotri turned to face the camera. ‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll have to leave it there for today. Thank you for tuning in for this special coverage of the L’Oiseau scandal and Madan Mohan’s resignation. The news coverage continues after the break. Keep watching.’

  While all hell was breaking loose in TV studios across the country, Manisha Patel was trying hard to catch a few winks in her business class seat on Air France. She had decided to eschew the usual ‘heated debate in studio’ format of news programming and take a more investigative approach to the L’Oiseau story. So, she had booked the first flight to Paris—taking along her trusty cameraman (or rather ‘video-journalist’, as she never remembered to describe him as), Subhash Tulli—with the intention of reporting from ground zero.

  She landed early in the morning at Charles de Gaulle airport, still groggy from the after-effects of the sedative she had washed down with two (okay, nearer four) glasses of white wine, to the news of Madan Mohan’s resignation. As she drove into Paris, a city she knew well from her years as a graduate student at the Sorbonne, Manisha began to wonder if she had, in fact, played this all wrong.

  The real story now seemed to be in Delhi, where the fallout of Madan Mohan’s resignation would affect the next round of polling. And here she was, stuck in Paris, working the L’Oiseau angle with the help of her Paris correspondent, Nandan Bakshi, who had already set up a series of interviews.

  But tamping down on her doubts, she drove out early the next morning to the headquarters of the AFA in the 15th arrondissement of Paris. She had an off-the-record briefing with Jacques Plage, the officer in charge of the L’Oiseau investigation. Ten minutes into the meeting, Manisha knew that she was not going to get anything from the man that he hadn’t already leaked to the media.

  The only thing he was ready to confirm was that Sagar Prajapati was in the custody of the French authorities. No, he could not say on what evidence Sagar had been arrested. Yes, there was no doubt that kickbacks had been routed to Indian players in the L’Oiseau deal. But no, he could not possibly give her any names—no, not even off the record.

  And so it went, one obfuscation after another, until Manisha was ready to tear her carefully-highlighted hair out. Finally, after twenty-five fruitless minutes of this endless back-and-forth, she gave up and bid Plage goodbye.

  At best, this trip would prove to be a useful exercise to reassure herself that her French was as flawless as ever. But sadly, she was no better informed than any of her Indian contemporaries when it came to the biggest arms scandal to hit India after Bofors. All she had, she reflected bitterly as she set up for her first piece to camera, was a better backdrop to report from.

  There was something magical about Paris, especially in the soft morning light. But no matter how lovely Paris looked, even its beauty couldn’t make up for the fact that she simply had no story.

  But, as the red light lit up on the camera, her instincts as a journalist kicked in. Manisha smiled confidently into the camera and began: ‘As another day dawns in Paris, the headlines are yet again about the biggest arms scandal of all: the L’Oiseau sale of fighter jets to India. While the deal has already claimed one big scalp in India, with Defence Minister Madan Mohan Prajapati resigning from the government, heads are soon going to roll in France as well. Madan Mohan’s nephew, Sagar Prajapati, is now in French custody and my sources tell me that he is looking to cut a deal in which he gives up the big fish in exchange for a lighter sentence. And that can’t be good news for Karan Pratap Singh’s government, which is gearing up for the second phase of polling in the general election.

  ‘The day is just about breaking here and we expect plenty of developments to follow. And I will be right here, in front of the AFA office, where it is all happening, to bring you the latest updates. This is Manisha Patel, reporting live from Paris, France.’

  ▪

  Having wrestled Madan Mohan’s resignation out of him, an emotionally-drained Karan Pratap headed to 7, Race Course Road for a drink with his brother. As always, Arjun Pratap was freshly showered and shampooed and all dressed up for a late night out. This evening, he was resplendent in a pair of metallic silver trousers, paired with a black silk shirt embellished with a sequinned collar.

  Karan cringed on the inside when he laid eyes on his brother’s ‘outfit’. But tonight, he didn’t have the energy to remonstrate and get him to ‘tone it down’. Tonight, he had more important matters to discuss.

  Now that they were finally rid of Madan Mohan, might this not be an opportune moment to get rid of his little protégé, Asha, as well? Without his patronage and money to give her ballast, Asha was at her weakest now. Why not strike before she had the time to regain her equilibrium and before she could make fresh equations with other power brokers within the party?

  Thanks to Madan Mohan, she had already made considerable progress in winning over certain key leaders in the LJP organization. Why allow her to consolidate these gains? They should push her out before she ate even further into their support base in the party.

  Arjun saw the point immediately. But being a subtler creature than Karan, he didn’t think they should show their hand quite so plainly. Why antagonize Asha when they could just as easily neutralize her in a more diplomatic fashion?

  How would they do that, asked Karan. Arjun poured a glass of champagne out for his brother, topped up his own and settled down to explain exactly how they could accomplish that. And as before, his plan involved Radhika and the kids.

  Thus it was that three days later, Asha and Sadhana Devi arrived at Race Course Road from Bharatnagar to find a note from Radhika awaiting them. She was out to pick up the kids from school, but once they got back could they all have tea together?

  Sadhana Devi, who had missed Kavya and Karina enormously while she was in Bharatnagar, brightened up immediately at the prospect of spending time with them again. Asha, who could have done with some alone time after the rigours of campaigning, saw her mother’s wan face light up at the thought of spending time with the girls, and couldn’t bear the thought of denying her that little pleasure.

  So, at 5 p.m. sharp, Kavya and Karina bounded into the Number 3 drawing room, dressed in identical pink trackpants with matching T-shirts which had the words Pretty Baby sequinned on the back. Asha was just thinking how adorable they looked, with thei
r squeaky-clean faces and freshly-shampooed hair pulled back in high ponytails, when Radhika entered wearing exactly the same ensemble as her daughters (right down to the high ponytail!)

  Honestly, thought Asha, with a burst of irritation, why did that woman have to dress her daughters like mini-mes? Or, more to the point, why did she have to dress like a ten-year old herself?

  But that irritation soon dissolved under the adoring watch of her two nieces, who had an entire store of stories to tell Asha bua. As Sadhana Devi plied them with samosas and bread pakoras, with the promise of double chocolate cake to follow, the girls giggled delightedly at being allowed treats that were denied in their own house. Deep-frying and Radhika did not go well together.

  As Kavya and Karina settled down on either side of their Daadi to show her the latest viral video they had seen on YouTube, Radhika drew Asha out of earshot of the group bundled together on the sofa.

  ‘Don’t you think Amma has lost too much weight?’ she asked Asha bluntly. ‘Has she been eating at all since Baba passed away?’

  Asha nodded. There was no denying that her mother, the hollows in her cheek even more pronounced, had lost weight. ‘She hasn’t been eating very much,’ she conceded quietly. ‘She keeps saying that she has no appetite.’

  ‘It looks to me as if she hasn’t been eating at all,’ said Radhika. ‘Her maid was saying that she’s taken to skipping breakfast and having just a glass of milk at night.’

  ‘I know,’ responded Asha despairingly. ‘I try and coax her into eating properly, and she does that for a day or two. But as soon as I leave, she goes right back to refusing all her meals.’

  The two women gazed on Sadhana Devi for a while. Her air of fragility was genuinely heartbreaking, thought Radhika.

  ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, Asha,’ she began, ‘but don’t you think you should ease up on your travels a bit and spend more time with Amma? She needs you now as she has never needed you before. And you are the only one among us whom she listens to. If there is anyone who can help her out of the depression she’s sunk into, it’s you.’

  Even as Asha bristled at the unspoken condemnation of her neglect of her mother, there was a tiny voice within her telling her that there was merit in what Radhika had said. But she was far too much her father’s daughter to concede ground so quickly.

  ‘Actually, the only ones who can help Amma out of her depression are the girls,’ she said lightly, pointing to the trio on the couch. By now, both Kavya and Karina had their heads in Sadhana Devi’s lap, their limbs sprawled across the sofa on either side of their grandmother, listening intently as she told them a story from the Panchatantra, one of the many in her mythological repertoire.

  ‘I’m serious, Asha,’ persisted Radhika. ‘I’m really worried about Amma. I spent a weekend a Bharatnagar when you were travelling and I could see how lonely and depressed she was. If I were you, I would cut down on my travels and spend more time with her…’

  ‘My travels?’ Asha interrupted sharply. ‘Why do you keep calling it “travelling”, Bhabhi? It’s not as if I am abandoning my mother to go on holiday. You know as well as I do that I’m not “travelling”. I am “campaigning” for the party. And I consider it my duty to Baba and Amma to do so.’

  Radhika could see that Asha was on the verge of losing that hair-trigger temper she had inherited from Birendra Pratap. So, she laid a calming hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Asha, I didn’t mean it like that. And I agree that you have a duty to the party and to Baba that you have carried out beautifully. All I am saying is that now that things have settled down a bit, you should reduce your workload a bit as well.’

  ‘What do you mean? You think I should stop campaigning and stay home and look after Amma? Did Karan bhaiya ask you to tell me that?’ Despite herself, Asha could feel a querulous note entering her voice. Just when she was establishing her presence in the party, her step-siblings wanted her to step back. Typical.

  ‘No, he did not,’ said Radhika, maintaining an even tone with effort. ‘And in any case, it is not for either of us to tell you what you should do, Asha. You’re a grown woman now. You can make your own decisions.’

  ‘And that’s exactly what I have been doing. I really don’t see why you are laying a guilt trip on me for doing what is my duty,’ said Asha. Even to herself, she sounded more like a sulky teenager than a grown woman with control over her emotions.

  As Asha struggled to get her equilibrium back, the room was suddenly filled with the sound of childish laughter as Sadhana Devi’s story reached its punchline. Despite the tension quivering between them, both Radhika and Asha found themselves smiling along; such was the infectious nature of those giggles.

  Taking advantage of the momentary lightening of mood, Radhika pressed on, ‘Asha, please don’t misunderstand me. All I am saying is that the internal polls have us way ahead at this point. The areas in which our party was weak have had their election in the first round. The next two rounds of polling are in our traditional strongholds—Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra and Gujarat. So, nobody would take it amiss if you cut down on your campaigning and stayed home with Amma. Everyone knows what a traumatic time this has been for her.’

  It’s been a traumatic time for me as well, thought Asha to herself. But not one of you has bothered to spend time with me!

  An instant later, she felt deeply ashamed of herself. What was wrong with her? Why was her first reaction to anything one of self-pity and self-regard?

  Radhika may be an airhead but in this instance, she was absolutely right. At this point, her mother needed her more than anybody else ever had. More than Baba. More than the party. Amma was the one who needed her.

  ‘You’re right, Bhabhi,’ she said to Radhika, after a moment’s silence. ‘I do need to spend more time with Amma. She needs my help if she is to get better. I’ll speak to Harsh tomorrow and reorganize my schedule. I am sure it is possible to juggle things around so I spend more time in Delhi.’

  It was a tough task but Radhika managed to keep a triumphant smile off her face. The first part of her mission had been accomplished. Asha would from now on be less visible on the campaign trail. Her face wouldn’t be all over the TV news every night. The newspaper headlines would not be raving about what a splendid speech she had made at yet another mega-rally.

  Radhika had done her bit. Now it was up to Karan and Arjun to play their parts and freeze Asha out of the party organization. The more she was kept out of party affairs, the weaker she would be. And the weaker Asha became, the easier she would be to handle.

  Looking across the room, where her daughters were now snuggled on either side of Asha as she read to them from their favourite Enid Blyton book, Radhika felt a sudden pang of guilt. However Karan and Arjun felt about their sister, there was no denying that Kavya and Karina adored their aunt. And it was just as clear that she loved them right back.

  So, why was Radhika plotting against this woman who had given her kids nothing but unconditional love?

  But even as she asked herself this question, Radhika knew the answer full well. She was doing this for her husband. Not just because he had asked her to, but because she couldn’t bear the thought of Karan being overshadowed by anyone else.

  And most certainly, not by his half-sister.

  TWELVE

  It was true what they say, thought Karan to himself, as his convoy made its way from Race Course Road to the Prime Minister’s Office in South Block. You should be careful what you wish for.

  He had had his way with Asha. After that encounter with Radhika, she had backed off the campaign trail, cancelling her appearances at all but four rallies. And Karan had stepped up in her place.

  Suffice to say, it had not gone well. Where Asha had been greeted with ecstatic, adoring crowds, who could not get enough of her charisma and stage presence, Karan was confronted with an indifferent, lifeless audience which could barely be bothered to raise a few desultory slogans for him. They had been promi
sed the stunning sister and had instead been stuck with her bore of a brother. They were not happy and it showed in the sullen near-silence that greeted some of his best lines.

  Also, there was no arguing with the numbers. While Asha’s rallies attracted between 70,000-80,000 people on an average, Karan could only rustle up 40,000-odd, despite the LJP stepping up its rent-a-crowd methods, paying Rs 30,000 for every busload the local party unit brought in. But even the promise of a slap-up meal afterwards could not keep the audience in its seats until the end; it began drifting towards the exits even before Karan had finished speaking.

  Karan could not make sense of this. Okay, everybody loved watching a beautiful young woman take the stage. And yes, he was not quite the orator that Asha had developed into. But surely, with over a decade spent in politics, he had built up enough support to give his half-sister—political novice that she was—a run for her money.

  But the facts spoke otherwise. Karan Pratap Singh, despite the stirring speeches written for him by a Bollywood scriptwriter hired expressly for this purpose, was bombing at the box-office—and bombing badly, at that.

  The polling figures were proof enough. In the second phase of elections, the LJP vote share had shrunk from 48 per cent to 42 per cent. And this decrease in vote share meant that the LJP’s projected seat count had come down from 54 to 40.

  When these numbers had been presented to him, Karan had consoled himself that this was bound to happen. The second round of polls had come so close behind the L’Oiseau scandal and Madan Mohan’s resignation that a downturn in the party’s fortunes was only to be expected. The LJP would recover lost ground in the third phase, scheduled for 10 August.

  But that date had come and gone. And it was the exit poll numbers for this phase that had truly rattled Karan. The LJP vote share continued on its downward slide, going from 42 per cent to 38 per cent. And its projected seat share in this phase had gone down from 48 to 32.

  So, today, the morning after the third phase of polling, Karan had convened an emergency party meeting at Race Course Road to discuss the LJP’s performance. The party needed to do some sort of course correction if it was going to arrest this downward slide. They needed an effective counter-narrative to parry Jayesh’s anti-corruption spiel. They needed to make the L’Oiseau scandal fade from popular memory before the fourth phase of elections rolled around.