The reprieves on these two fronts had left Madan Mohan free to plot how he would get Asha to turn against her brothers. And like the wily old fox he was, he had decided to turn Asha’s tragedy into his advantage.
His accomplice in this plan was his old loyalist, Harsh Gulati, whom he had loaned to Asha to help run her election campaign. Gulati’s brief was simple. He had to convince Asha that the people behind the leak of her pictures were none other than her own half-brothers, Karan and Arjun.
Gulati had been stymied for a few days by the fact that Asha simply refused to see anyone outside of her immediate family. But after giving that interview to Manisha, she had slowly started resuming her normal routine. And as part of that, she had asked to see Harsh to find out how the election campaign had fared during her absence.
Ignoring Madan Mohan’s instruction to straight out accuse Karan and Arjun, Harsh had taken his cues from Asha herself. She looked so fragile, so breakable, that he could not bring himself to add to her woes.
Instead, he had tried to comfort Asha by telling her how wherever he went he was met by people who loved and supported her. How ordinary folk were repulsed by what had been done to her. She shouldn’t go by what the media said, or pay any attention to the vicious trolls on social media. Normal, ordinary people didn’t think any worse of her after the scandal. If anything, they respected her even more for standing up for herself after such a vicious attack.
It was only at his second meeting with Asha, when they met to discuss how she could best ease herself back into public life, that Harsh raised the question that was uppermost in Asha’s mind as well.
How had those pictures come into the public domain? Who had leaked them to the media? And how had it been done?
Hesitating a bit to indicate that this was not something he relished doing, Harsh offered up the theory that he said had been doing the rounds in Delhi circles. This had it that the pictures had been given to Arjun by Sunny—everyone knew that the two of them had been friends ever since they attended Oxford together—and that Arjun had taken them to Karan. The two brothers had then decided that they would use these pictures to humiliate Asha and force her out of politics.
Asha could not believe her ears. No, it simply was not possible, she told Harsh. The Delhi gossips had got it wrong, as usual. Her brothers would not dream of doing anything like that. They may not have always got along, but they were family. They would never hurt her like this.
Harsh had backed off immediately. But he could see the germ of doubt creep into Asha’s countenance. She knew in her gut that Karan and Arjun were not capable of doing something like this. Or did she? Was she just a naïve fool who was willing to believe the best of everyone? How could she be certain that her brothers, who had never wanted her to join politics, hadn’t used the pictures to destroy her reputation?
No, that was not possible, Asha told herself. Karan had been so good to her in the aftermath of the scandal, as had Radhika. And even Arjun had bestirred himself out of his normal apathetic stupor to make supportive noises. No, these rumours were just that: rumours. There was no truth to them.
But what if the brothers had been playing some sort of elaborate double bluff? She knew that Karan had become very jealous of her performance on the campaign trail. And Arjun had resented the fact that she was now seen as Karan’s effective number two in the party instead of him. So, it was possible that they had decided to use the pictures to push her out of the equation.
And yes, Arjun had been close to Sunny for many years. The two of them had spent their years at Brasenose College in a drug and drink-induced haze but had emerged as fast friends. Since then, they had spent many summers cruising on the Mediterranean, skiing the winters away in Switzerland and partying the year round. Their friendship had only cooled after Asha and Sunny became an item. But it was possible that the channels of communication between Sunny and Arjun had always remained open.
But even so, would Sunny really have the temerity to give her naked pictures to her half-brothers? And would they in turn be so utterly shameless as to use them? No, it didn’t make sense.
Harsh Gulati saw these mixed emotions play on Asha’s face as she thought things through. Wisely, he said nothing more, letting the idea take root in her mind. She would be stewing over this for the next few days. And he would be right there beside her, feeding her doubts.
EIGHTEEN
The morning always began very early in TV news studios on Result Day even though everyone knew that the first leads would only start coming in around 8 or 8.30 a.m. And that it wouldn’t be until 9.45 or so that the first trends would be discernable.
But none of that mattered. The coverage always began at the crack of dawn. The argument, apparently, was that the earlier you got going, the more people would start off by watching your channel. And if you did your job well, then they wouldn’t shift to another channel that had kicked off slightly later.
While this sounded good in principle, in practical terms this meant that every channel—not wanting to be stymied by its rivals—started its Result Day programming ridiculously early. While the rest of the country slumbered peacefully and early risers had their first cup of chai, the political pundits were already pontificating at full volume on TV screens across the country.
It didn’t matter that they didn’t have much to say, that there was nothing new to talk about, or even that they could only repeat their exit-poll talking points. Nor did it matter that no sane person would tune in before 8 a.m. at the earliest. No, every TV news anchor worth his or her TRPs was expected to be in his or her chair, all made-up, miked-up and ready to go, by 6.30 a.m., surrounded by whichever panellists could be rustled out of bed at that unreasonable hour.
Manisha Patel, who had never been a morning person, hated this. But she also knew that if she didn’t turn up and take the main anchoring chair first thing in the morning, she ran the risk of losing it to Niharika Bhasin, the up-and-coming AITNN anchor, who was already buzzing at her heels. So, muttering imprecations under her breath, she got up with the alarm at 5.30 a.m. Hurried shower and short car ride later, she was in the make-up room by 6, mainlining coffee in a desperate attempt to wake up.
Gaurav Agnihotri had no such problems. He didn’t need—as he never tired of boasting—more than four hours of sleep every day. So, he was always up by 5 a.m. every day to go for a jog in the neighbourhood park. There was no time for that today, so he quickly got dressed and headed straight for the studio. It was going to be a long day, and he intended to anchor every single minute of it.
It was exactly at 8.15 a.m. that the first leads starting coming in from the various states. And they seemed to vindicate the exit polls. The LJP was ahead by a whisker, leading the count in northern and western Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra and Karnataka. The SPP was a close second, with most of its gains coming from Punjab, Haryana, Jharkhand, southern Uttar Pradesh, eastern Bihar, Delhi and, strangely enough, Kerala.
But coming right behind, with a surprisingly strong performance in West Bengal, and parts of Assam, Bihar and Orissa was Sukanya Sarkar’s Poriborton Party. And, much to everyone’s astonishment, Didi Damyanti had improved her tally in the Dalit Morcha strongholds of eastern Uttar Pradesh and northern Bihar, while also garnering a decent vote share in parts of rural Madhya Pradesh and Maharastra, which had been plagued by farmer suicides during Birendra Pratap’s reign.
If the projections based on these early leads were accurate then India was headed for a hung Parliament, with no single party getting an absolute majority.
That potentially messy scenario sent all the TV number-crunchers into overdrive. The many video walls and floor charts that had been created for just such an eventuality were rolled out, accompanied by full-throttle commentary. For once, even Gaurav was goaded into leaving the safety of his anchor desk—behind which he cleverly hid his burgeoning paunch—and heading to the video wall to show viewers the various permutations and combinations that could result in an LJP
government. That was still considered the most likely possibility, though there was no ruling out the SPP, which was gamely holding on to its corner.
Outside of the air-conditioned studios, where the celebrity anchors ruled the airwaves, the more humble TV crews were sweating it out in the sun. There was a virtual scrum of camera crews at the various party offices dotted around Lutyens Delhi, all of them clamouring for a sound bite from the party leaders.
They hadn’t had much luck with the major parties as yet. Both Karan Pratap and Jayesh Sharma were missing in action, choosing to stay incommunicado until the situation on the ground was a bit clearer. In their absence, other senior functionaries of both parties had been trotted out to make the usual meaningless noises. ‘These are early trends, let’s wait for the final results.’
‘It’s not over until the last vote is counted.’
‘We are sure that we will get enough seats to form a government on our own.’
The platitudes flowed thick and fast while the anchors and experts in the TV studios tried their best to make sense of a political landscape that was more confused than ever before.
▪
As the day broke, the Pratap Singh siblings had gathered at Karan’s bungalow at Number 5, Race Course Road. Sadhana Devi had (as was usual for her on Result Day) retired to her puja room to pray for the party’s prospects, aided by the family priest and her retinue of ladies-in-waiting. And knowing how fragile Karan’s nerves got on such occasions, Radhika had taken the kids out of circulation by allowing them a rare treat: the chance to watch Disney cartoons all morning in bed with large mugs of drinking chocolate at the ready.
So, it was just Karan, Radhika, Arjun and Asha at the breakfast table, as the bearers served piping hot idlis and dosas. Not that any of them had much of an appetite. They were too focused on the seat projections being shown on TV to bother with something as mundane as breakfast. It wasn’t long before they abandoned the dining table and its tiny wall-mounted TV for the humungous screen in Karan’s study.
As the hours ticked by, the LJP seat count refused to go much higher—unlike Asha’s guilt, which was mounting by the minute. Even though nobody had said as much, she knew perfectly well that her photo scandal had cost the party dear. And that the seats lost in the process may well be the difference between winning and losing.
She could see from the closed expression on Arjun’s face that he was thinking exactly the same thing. And yet again, the suspicion she had tried so hard to stamp out, rose in her head. Did Arjun have anything to do with the leak of her pictures? And had Karan been involved as well? Did Radhika know anything about it or had she been kept in the dark?
The next minute, Asha was backing away from these dark thoughts. Radhika would not have been so supportive of her if she had been in on it. Nobody, least of all Radhika, could be that good an actress.
And why would Karan or Arjun do something like this in the crucial window before the last round of polls. They’d know better than anyone else that this would boomerang on the LJP itself. Surely her brothers wouldn’t cut off their noses just to spite her face?
Karan felt Asha’s gaze upon him and turned to give her a crooked smile. No, she thought, he could not possibly have leaked her pictures. However badly he may have treated her when they were growing up, Karan had the same innate decency as Baba. He couldn’t have brought himself to hurt her so deeply.
But, however hard she tried, Asha could not arrive at the same certainty about Arjun. There was a ruthless streak to him, a certain coldness at his core. She had always put it down to the fact that he had had to live in the closet all his life. That double life and the secrecy it entailed must have a corrosive effect on the spirit, she had always thought. But would it extend to hurting his sister in so humiliating a manner? And damaging the prospects of his own party in the process? No, that didn’t make sense.
There was a knock on the door, and a bearer put his head around to tell Karan Saheb that Vidya and Jacob Fernando had arrived. Karan asked for them to be sent in.
The Fernandos came in, said subdued hellos, and settled down on one of the sofas. Everyone stayed focused on the TV for a minute, where Gaurav Agnihotri was holding forth on how difficult it would be for LJP to form a government. It was now looking as if Karan would need both Damyanti and Sukanya on his side if he were to have a comfortable majority. And everyone knew, Gaurav chortled, that the two ladies would rather stab themselves in the eye with a fork than be seen on the same side of the political divide.
‘It would be rather ironical,’ Gaurav was now saying, ‘if Karan Pratap lost his prime ministership because of three women: Sukanya Sarkar, Didi Damyanti and his own sister, Asha Devi.’
Asha could feel her face burning with shame. Her eyes began to smart as she tried to hold back her tears.
‘Oh God,’ she heard Vidya say, ‘I really can’t stand this guy. He is so bloody obnoxious. I don’t know why anyone goes on his show. Or why anyone watches it.’
Radhika tried gamely to keep the conversation going to spare Asha’s blushes. ‘Everyone in my kitty group hates him. All he does is shout, shout, shout.’ Turning to Asha, she said, ‘You really shouldn’t pay him any attention.’
Asha tried hard to return Radhika’s smile. ‘I guess I’m not his favourite person after I gave an interview to Manisha,’ she said quietly.
Arjun, who had had enough of his mollycoddling of Asha, cut in impatiently. ‘Can we please stay on topic? We are here to discuss political strategy. Not how much everyone hates Gaurav Agnihotri.’
Karan nodded in assent and the TV was put on mute as they began to discuss numbers. They had to plan for the worst-case scenario, he explained. And that meant trying to win over the support of both the Poriborton Party and the Dalit Morcha.
Jacob felt impelled to intervene at this point. There was no way that Sukanya and Damyanti, who had hated each other ever since they had been colleagues in the SPP, would agree to be part of the same government. They had to pick one of them—depending on which one got the maximum number of seats—and then maybe they could break the other party to get another chunk of MPs.
Karan stood his ground. He was quite sure that both women could be won over. It was just a matter of finding out what they wanted and giving it to them. He knew, for instance, that Damyanti had several CBI cases filed against her for disproportionate assets. If they could promise her that those investigations would end and that she would be given a clean chit, she wouldn’t give a damn as to who else was in the government.
As for Sukanya Sarkar, he had her measure as well. It was power that motivated her. If he promised to keep aside the home ministry, the railway ministry and a couple of other plum portfolios for her trusted men, she would treat Damayanti as a necessary nuisance who could safely be ignored.
Jacob, who had helped both women with their image management in the past and knew them well, remained sceptical. ‘I think you’re being way too optimistic,’ he told Karan. ‘You can’t really reason with these two women because, at the end of the day, they are not reasonable people. They are creatures of caprice. They don’t go by logic. They go by instinct. And instinctively, they just don’t trust one another.’
Arjun came down on his brother’s side. ‘You may know these two women,’ he told Jacob curtly. ‘But you don’t know power. And you don’t know what power can do. That’s something my brother understands.’
Vidya knew better than to come to her husband’s defence. So, she turned to Asha and Radhika to elicit their opinion, hoping that one of the women would come down on Jacob’s side of the argument.
Radhika demurred, with a smile. A canny political wife, she knew better than to contradict her husband in public. Whatever she thought about the political situation, she would tell Karan in the privacy of their bedroom. Out here, with other people watching and listening, she would maintain a judicious silence even though her scepticism ran deep.
So, all eyes turned to Asha. What did she think?
With the Pratap Singh family presenting a united front, the Fernandos had no option but to concede defeat. They would, announced Jacob with a weary air, start working on opening communication channels with both Sukanya and Damyanti. And they would get back to Karan as soon as they had something to report.
▪
Malti Sharma had put her foot down. She didn’t want a repeat of last night, when their home had been overflowing with political operatives watching TV with Jayesh, and pumping him full of false certainties. There would be plenty of time to consult with party leaders, pollsters and the like as the day went on. But she wanted her husband to herself that morning before the madness kicked off. And the children needed some quality time with their parents.
So, Malti had told the cook to keep all the prep ready for French toast before she woke up. Throwing on a dressing gown over her pyjamas, she padded barefoot into the kitchen to fix breakfast for her family. In a few minutes she had a thick stack of golden-brown French toast, gleaming with the honey she had poured over it, ready for the table.
As she carried the platter across to the dining room, she could tell from the noisy yells emanating from the room that the kids were up—and bickering already. She could hear Jayesh trying to restore order, but to no avail. God, it was hopeless! He was putty in the hands of those tiny fiends.
The sight of the French toast provided a welcome distraction. Their fight forgotten, Gayatri and Aryan settled down on their seats, holding their plates out for their mother to serve them.
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