Race Course Road: A Novel

by Goswami, Seema

  ‘And you think doing something like that is beyond the capacity of a man who has the entire government at his beck and call? Karan is the Prime Minister. He can do anything!’

  ‘Amma, you need to calm down. Getting so agitated is not good for your blood pressure,’ said Asha, despairingly. ‘Let’s first find out what’s going on before we get all worked up…’

  Asha paused as there was a knock on the door. It was one of her mother’s ladies-in-waiting. Karan, Arjun and Radhika had dropped into 3, Race Course Road to see Asha and Sadhana Devi. She had deposited them in the main drawing room and come to relay the message.

  Exhorting her mother to remain calm and let her do the talking, Asha led the way into the drawing room. Karan and Arjun had been deep in conversation when they entered, but they stopped talking the moment they saw the two ladies. Asha was immediately transported back to her childhood when her two half-brothers would lapse into silence the moment she entered the room. And once again, she felt the same alienation, the same sense of being shut out, of being a stranger in her own family.

  Asha told herself to get over it. She was no longer that needy little child who wanted the approval and love of her half-brothers so desperately. She was a grown woman with a life of her own, a political career of her own. It was time she acted like it.

  But then, as Karan began to brief them on the case against Madan Mohan, Asha’s fury rose as she realized that she had yet again been kept out of the story of her own life by her brothers. All this time they had known that Madan Mohan was the man behind the conspiracy to kill Baba but they hadn’t thought it worthwhile to share that information with their sister. She was still a second-class citizen in their world, half-relative, faux-family, an interloper in their ranks, who didn’t quite rate. She was not entitled to the facts. She didn’t merit full disclosure.

  But while Asha struggled with these feelings in silence, Sadhana Devi cut into Karan’s narrative to voice the anger and frustration she felt. ‘Why wasn’t I told about this, Karan?’ she asked her stepson. ‘This was an investigation into the death of my husband. Why wasn’t I kept informed? Don’t you think I had a right to know that someone whom I considered a friend—a brother even—was conspiring to kill my husband?’

  This little speech broke the dam of Asha’s patience as well. ‘And why didn’t you tell me? You knew that I was close to Madan uncle. You must have known we were in touch. And yet you kept me in the dark. Have you any idea how I feel now about staying in touch with him, asking for his advice, seeking comfort in him after Baba’s death? My skin crawls when I think about it…’

  Karan was allowing the recriminations to flow over him, but Arjun wasn’t quite as reticent. ‘Please don’t blame Bhaiya for this. When all this happened, we were all trying to cope with the fallout of that scandal that you caused. Both Bhaiya and Bhabhi didn’t want to upset you any further when you were in such a fragile state. And this is the thanks you give them?’

  Radhika stepped in to play peacemaker. ‘I’m sorry Asha. And Amma, I understand your anger completely. But please don’t blame Karan. I was the one who asked him not to share all this stuff with you. Both of you were already hurting so much. I didn’t want to burden you any more until we were sure of our facts.’

  Asha had to admit that Radhika had a point. And in any case, recriminations were useless at this point. What was important was to make sure that her father’s assassins didn’t get away with it.

  ‘So, where do we go from here?’ she asked, turning to Karan. ‘Madan Mohan has clearly fled the country. With the kind of money and resources he has, it is unlikely that we will ever find him. And if we do trace him, I’m sure it will impossible to get him back to India. So, how do we ensure that he is punished? What is your plan?’

  As it turned out, Karan did have a plan, in case they couldn’t find Madan Mohan and bring him back through conventional means. It involved working covertly with the US government to use their surveillance technology to track the fugitive down wherever he may be hiding. And then, using a special rendition team from R&AW (which had been trained by Mossad) to kidnap the former Defence Minister and bring him back to face justice in India.

  But it all depended on his getting to be Prime Minister once again. And with every passing day, that was looking less and less likely.

  ▪

  Jacob Fernando had been biding his time. He needed matters to reach the point of no-return before he showed his hand. That was the only way of ensuring that the next Prime Minister of India remained in his debt.

  But now, he thought, his time had come. So even as the country watched agog as an international manhunt commenced for Madan Mohan Prajapati, Jacob picked up the phone to make a few quiet calls of his own.

  It took a few tries but he finally tracked down his quarry: Sharat Aggarwal, the reclusive Calcutta industrialist who was the primary financier of Sukanya Sarkar and her Poriborton Party.

  Despite his vast wealth and influence, Sharat chose to operate in the shadows. Not for him the front page interviews in the Economic Times or the cover story in Forbes. That kind of profile only invited scrutiny. And scrutiny invariably led to trouble. Sharat would much rather stay out of the limelight and do his business on the quiet. It was a bad idea to raise your head above the parapet in this country; there was a good chance it would get shot right off.

  So, unlike his fellow industrialists, Sharat steered clear of such organizations as the CII and FICCI and refused to have any truck with business journalists. Only a handful of people had his mobile number, which he answered sparingly.

  Jacob was one of the few people who could call Sharat on the mobile at any time. And that’s because the two men went back a long time. They had met in St. Stephen’s College when both had signed up to study Economics. Sharat, a Calcutta boy who had been feeling like a fish out of water in Delhi, was grateful when Jacob—who knew just about everyone and everything—took him under his wing.

  Since then, this unlikely friendship had flourished, even as the two men went on to build flourishing careers of their own. When Jacob had started his PR firm after putting in a stint as a political reporter, Sharat’s companies had been among the first to sign up, keeping him afloat in those early days when he didn’t have too many clients on the roster. And Jacob had more than paid Sharat back by stepping in to rescue him when one of his mining companies ran into trouble with some tribal activists in Orissa, working all his political contacts for his old friend.

  That incident had jolted Sharat into a realization of how vulnerable a businessman was in the Indian system. And since then, he had started discreetly donating vast sums to political parties across the spectrum. Over the last decade, though, Sharat had put his considerable money power behind Sukanya Sarkar, believing that only she could pull West Bengal out of the morass it had fallen into.

  So, Jacob knew that if anyone could wield any influence on the Poriborton Party leader, it was Sharat Aggarwal. If there was any one person that Sukanya would listen to it was Sharat. Not because she valued his opinion, but because his money was invaluable.

  Sharat may require a bit of persuasion to intercede. But in the end, Jacob was sure, he would agree to talk sense into Sukanya. After all, Aggarwal had already lost millions as the markets fell further and further every day the country went without a stable government. It was in Sharat’s own interests to bring an end to the current political instability.

  Once he finally had the industrialist on the line, it didn’t take Jacob more than ten minutes to get him on board. Sharat would fly into Delhi that very evening on his personal jet and head straight to Abhik Ghosh’s house to have a word with Sukanya Sarkar. And, who knows, maybe by the end of the day, India would have a new government.

  That optimism seemed rather far-fetched when Sharat finally came face-to-face with Sukanya later that evening. He could tell by the mutinous set of her mouth that he was in for the long haul. But he also knew that he held the trump card in the negotiations. Th
e State Assembly elections were only a year away and the Poriborton Party needed every one of the millions he planned to pour into its coffers. Having alienated every other major industrialist in the state, Sukanya only had Sharat’s money to fall back upon. If he bailed on her as well, she would be in big trouble. And she knew that.

  What Sharat did not know, however, was that Sukanya was also well aware of why Sharat had flown down to see her. Her state agencies had been tapping Sharat’s mobile for years now. So, she knew that Jacob Fernando had called Sharat, had asked him to intercede, and Sharat had agreed.

  She could have challenged Sharat about it, dismissed him as a dishonest broker, asked where his allegiance really lay. But by now, Sukanya was ready to climb down from the maximalist position she had taken. And it suited her to allow Sharat to think that he had got her to do it.

  So, after some ritual raving and ranting, Sukanya pronounced her final offer. She would agree to withdraw her demand for the PM post. The LJP could have the prime ministership for itself. But on one condition. Karan Pratap could not be Prime Minister. Nor could Arjun Pratap. The only member of the Pratap Singh family she would accept was Asha Devi. To be fair to Sukanya, this had always been her endgame. Not just because she felt some sort of female solidarity with Asha, but also because this was the best way to wind her old enemy Karan up.

  Asha Devi as the new Prime Minister. That was her best offer. And Sharat was free to convey it to his friend, Jacob Fernando.

  Sharat acknowledged the barb with a wry nod and departed to do Sukanya’s bidding.

  ▪

  Jacob and Vidya Fernando drove to Race Course Road in complete silence. There was nothing unusual about that. The couple never ever discussed business matters in the car. Even though their driver, Ram Sagar, had been with them for years, they knew that there was no trusting anyone in Delhi. Who knew whom the IB had paid off to spy on them? The agency had half the drivers and waiters in this city on its payroll.

  That night, though, as they prepared to face Karan Pratap, the silence that stretched between them was tense rather than companionable.

  For once, the husband and wife team were at complete loggerheads. Jacob was insisting that he needed to take Sukanya Sarkar’s offer to Karan. And Vidya was equally insistent that he needed to do no such thing. Karan would never accept Asha as the Prime Minister. And in suggesting that, Jacob would ruin his own relationship with the LJP leader.

  When Jacob had refused to back down, saying that it was his duty to take the offer to Karan, Vidya had agreed to accompany him. But that didn’t mean that she had to like it. So, to indicate her unhappiness, she maintained a sullen silence and shook off Jacob’s hand when he tried to hold hers.

  The Fernandos entered Number 5, RCR, to find Karan and Radhika sitting down to an early dinner with their daughters. Declining the invitation to join them, Jacob and Vidya retreated to the study to wait. Ten minutes later, Karan and Radhika entered the room, Arjun trailing behind them.

  ‘So, what news have you brought me,’ asked Karan, getting to the point in his usual abrupt style.

  Jacob exchanged a nervous look with Vidya, who smiled at him encouragingly despite her own misgivings. Gathering his courage in his hands, Jacob began relating his story.

  At first, it went reasonably well. The moment Jacob mentioned Sharat Aggarwal’s name, Karan cried out, ‘Good God! Why didn’t we think of that?’ When he got to the part where Sharat flew down to Delhi to intercede with Sukanya, Arjun was provoked into an involuntary, “Well done, Jacob!” Even Radhika was beginning to smile happily halfway through the story.

  But the moment Jacob mentioned Asha’s name, it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

  Karan went so red in the face that Vidya thought he was about to have a stroke or a heart attack. Arjun, on the other hand, turned completely white, only the vein throbbing in his neck betraying his agitation. Radhika went curiously still, her eyes fixed anxiously on her husband’s angry face.

  ‘Is this some sort of joke?’ Karan finally exploded. ‘Make Asha the Prime Minister? Has Sukanya Sarkar gone mad? Have you?’

  By then, Arjun had also recovered the power of speech. ‘You cannot be serious,’ he told Jacob. ‘In which world do you think it is appropriate to ask my brother to make place for Asha?’

  Faced with this two-pronged attack, Jacob spluttered, ‘I am just telling you what Sukanya said she’d be okay with. I’m just the messenger here. None of this is my idea.’

  Vidya, sensitive to her husband’s distress, tried to come to his rescue. ‘Jacob was only trying to find a solution to this mess. And you must admit that having Asha as Prime Minister is much more palatable than appointing Sukanya Sarkar PM.’

  Her words had no effect on the tempers of the Pratap Singh men, who continued to rave and rant for a while, while the Fernandos sat listening mutely. It was only after ten minutes of this that Radhika intervened. And she did so only to ask Jacob and Vidya to leave the family alone so that they could discuss the matter among themselves. The Fernandos were only too happy to escape.

  When it was only the three of them in the room, Radhika turned to Karan. ‘I know that you are upset. And quite rightly too. That crazy woman is extracting a high price for whatever happened in Kantapara all those years ago. And she knows exactly what buttons to push as well. The only reason she has forwarded Asha’s name is because she knows that it will be a red rag to a bull.’

  Karan calmed down a little as he listened to his wife, but Arjun remained as belligerent as before. ‘You’re damn right it is a red rag,’ he said. ‘The very idea of Asha as Prime Minister lording over us all, the empress of all she surveys! I would rather die than let that happen.’

  ‘Oh please!’ said Radhika, losing hold on her own patience. ‘Let’s not get melodramatic, Arjun. We have to decide matters with cool heads.’

  ‘Are you really saying that we should accept this offer from Sukanya? That we should make Asha Prime Minister?’ asked Arjun incredulously.

  ‘Well, what option do we have?’ snapped Radhika. ‘Go back to Damyanti, who will now raise even more unreasonable demands because she knows she has us over a barrel?’

  ‘So, what do you suggest we do?’ asked Karan. ‘Just let Sukanya get away with it? I should just give up what is mine by right and hand it over to my sister?’

  Radhika took a deep breath before going on. In the end, she told the brothers, it all came down to one thing: the investigation into their father’s death. Did they want to remain in government so that they could fast-track the process and punish all those responsible for Birendra Pratap’s assassination? Or were they willing to risk jeopardizing all that just so that they could keep their half-sister out of the Prime Minister’s chair?

  Put like that, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

  And anyway, with Madan Mohan out of the way and Asha weakened by the photo scandal, she would be much easier to control. How did it matter who was called Prime Minister so long as they were the ones who really wielded the levers of power?

  It took some work, but Karan and Arjun saw the point eventually.

  ▪

  While all this was going on, Asha Devi was in the puja room at 3, Race Course Road, with her mother. Sadhana Devi had turned to the Bhagavad Gita for solace after her husband died. Every evening, she would gather her ladies-in-waiting around and they would take turns to read aloud from the Gita. Asha was a late entrant in this circle, having joined only after the worst of her photo scandal was over. But of late, she had become a regular, finding solace in the sonorific recitation of Sanskrit shlokas.

  Today, though, she was finding it difficult to concentrate on the words being chanted all around her. Instead, her thoughts kept slipping back to Madan Mohan, the man who had killed her father. Asha kept examining and re-examining all her interactions with her erstwhile political mentor over the past few months. Were there any warning signs that she had missed? Had there been any indication of his perfid
y that she had been willfully blind to?

  But no matter how hard she thought, she could not come up with anything.

  Her reverie was broken by one of the RCR bearers who sidled in with a note from Karan. Could she stop by at Number 5, please? It was a matter of some urgency.

  Asha hastily clambered to her feet and ignoring her mother’s enquiring glance, slipped out of the puja room. On the short drive to Karan’s bungalow, she wondered what this was about. Maybe they had finally traced where Madan Mohan was. And after the little tantrum she and her mother had thrown the last time, Karan wanted to keep his step-family into the loop.

  She entered the Number 5 drawing room to find Karan and Radhika sitting close together on the sofa, with Radhika’s arm placed comfortingly around her husband’s shoulders. Arjun was standing the other end of the room, gloomily regarding a painting.

  Asha sat down opposite Karan and Radhika. For a moment, no one spoke. Finally Asha asked, ‘What is the matter, Bhaiya? Is it something to do with the murder investigation? With Madan Mohan?’

  Karan just shook his head in response. ‘No, there is no new information on that, Asha,’ replied Radhika. ‘But there has been one other development that we wanted to share with you.’

  She looked at her husband to see if he wanted to take over the story from here. But when he showed no signs of speaking, Radhika went on to relate the events of the day: Jacob Fernando’s intervention, Sharat Aggarwal’s trip to Delhi, and finally, Sukanya’s condition for supporting a government led by the LJP. She wanted Asha Devi to be the Prime Minister.

  Asha could feel a hysterical giggle rising within her. Sukanya wanted her to be Prime Minister? Asha, at the head of a new government? As if her brothers would ever allow it!

  ‘But that’s ridiculous,’ she said, once she’d got her breath back. ‘Karan bhaiya is the leader of the party. He is the one who should be Prime Minister.’

  Arjun, who had finally come and sat down beside them, chimed in, ‘Yes, of course he should be. But who is going to convince that mad woman?’