Digital God

by Nikhilkumar Singh

  ‘Why do you want me to cover this story on Sathyamev? If it’s a negative story you want, why don’t you ask Darshu to do it?’ Ayesha said.

  ‘No, not negative. I said, critical. And we are not going to publish the story either. We only show them we have all the necessary information to do such a story. Consider this: Sathyamev promised to double their ad spending in our publication if we don’t run a critical story about it. Imagine what would happen if we start digging out all the murky details. I have prepared a note on Rana Rajput using all my contacts. I want you to read it.’

  Ayesha took the piece of paper he held out.

  Rana Rajput was born in Hyderabad forty-nine years ago. His father, Agra Narayan Rajput, was a rich farmer who owned massive swathes of farmland in and around the city of Hyderabad.

  From his youth, Rana’s dream was to develop an integrated township project on a family-held twenty-acre plot in Hyderabad. But, sensing Rana’s disruptive, unusual plan, Agra Narayan forced his son to pursue a management course overseas.

  Two years later in 1977, Rana returned to India with an MBA degree from Ohio University. With an international degree under his belt, he hit the ground running, launching the Dhananjay Heritage Hotel by converting an old colonial building, owned by the family, into a twenty-two-room boutique hotel. Unfortunately, his venture turned sour within six months, and he was forced to sell the property to pay off depositors.

  But in 1982, luck smiled on him in the form of Andhra Pradesh’s new industrial policy. The newly formed Andhra Pradesh Urban Industrial Development Corporation (APUIDC) invited bids for a state-sponsored assistance programme to create a robust manufacturing-based economy in Indian cities.

  Rana, with the help of his contacts in government offices, obtained a subsidy of fifty lakh rupees from APUIDC for his Shrishasatyam Spinning Mills – Employment for City Youth (SSM-ECY) initiative. As per the terms of the agreement, within one year SSM-ECY had to set up a massive yarn mill on the family land that could employ hundreds of local workers.

  In reality, the reported factory was nothing more than an iron structure, with machines that were either obsolete or in a non-working condition. On completion of the project, SSM-ECY started making low-quality yarn that had no market.

  Rana bribed auditors to validate the project and write a favourable completion report.

  Three months from the day the assets were transferred to Rana, SSM-ECY was closed down, reportedly due to a ‘massive fire in the factory’. The factory remained closed and the machines were either sold off or returned to the original manufacturers.

  Rana benefited from this ‘deal’ tremendously. Instead of paying a high interest rate on the money he had borrowed from a private bank, he was sitting on a big pile of cash procured through subsidy. Rana invested a part of his gain to purchase more land and set up subsidiaries under the SSM brand.

  ‘But what about Sathyamev?’ Ayesha said, puzzled.

  ‘That again is not Rana’s creation. Here, read this.’ Gaurav passed on another note.

  Computer programming in the 80s was a hotbed of nerds. The idea behind many IT start-ups was to offer low-cost solutions to the clients in Western countries. Sathyamev was among the first Indian companies to recognize the potential of the highly skilled, educated and cheap Indian workforce. But between 1987, when the company was founded, and 2000, when Y2K hit the scene, Sathyamev saw several change of guards. In 1992, when the company went public, it was reported that Vasu Kumar, who was one of the founders of the company, had a falling out with Rana. The conflict ended in the two co-founders parting ways. Vasu had to quit Sathyamev and face a three-year ban on starting another IT company of his own.

  Following Vasu’s exit, Rana solidified his leadership position within Sathyamev’s management structure. Then, in May 2001, Sathyamev’s American Depository Receipt (ADR) was listed on the New York Stock Exchange, raising 140.8 million dollars or about 753 crore rupees. He channelled part of this money into a more complex investment deal with his Mauritius subsidiary by exploiting international mismatches that allowed companies to make investment and avoid taxes. He also structured the operations in Mauritius in such a way that investments and profits from the US and other countries flowed into Mauritius.

  ‘You know so much about Rana. Why don’t you do the story yourself?’ Ayesha asked.

  ‘The story may not be entirely true – it’s based on what people I know closely told me about Rana. Read that last line about the Mauritius subsidiary. Well, nobody knows what the Mauritius subsidiary actually does, but many believed that money might have found its way back into India through the back-channel hawala route.’

  ‘Wow! But why don’t we report such stories?’

  ‘We don’t know if it’s true. Even if it is, why not monetize it?’

  Ayesha looked at him, stunned. She had no further questions.

  The following day, Ayesha sat beside Samba Rajput in Sathyamev’s nineteenth-floor conference room under the glow of Rana Rajput’s face, beamed live on a projected screen. Rana’s image seemed like a million tiny lamps of different colours lit all at once.

  ‘Are there any questions, Ayesha?’ Rana asked.

  Ayesha lowered her eyes to the piece of paper in front of her, then looked back at the screen. ‘No, I think I’m done.’

  ‘I have spoken to Gaurav. I know he will guide you. Thanks for coming!’ Rana smiled.

  Ayesha collected her notepad and left the room.

  As the door slid shut again, Samba leaned forward to speak to Rana.

  ‘From the report the SISI men submitted, I can tell he is Kanha. These days he has changed his name to Kanu.’

  ‘How can you be so sure, Samba?’

  ‘The SISI team tracked every detail. They visited every place he had lived in. I’m confident he is the one.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’ asked Rana.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Samba stared anxiously at the large screen.

  ‘Are you planning to give him some kind of protection? Or are you waiting to reward him for stealing our data? Take my advice. Don’t try to protect this kid – he’ll always remain a threat to us.’

  Rana’s voice was shaky, as was his image. The network that projected him was getting disrupted. The sight was as dreadful as it was alarming. Then the connection snapped.

  Kanu followed his usual route to his home in Secunderabad. As he put his Yamaha on its stand and walked out of the parking lot, he noticed two shiny black Mercedes parked in front of his door, along with the two guards staring at him.

  As he drew closer, he saw one guard lean towards a partially open car window. He could see the silhouette of a man inside, but couldn’t make out his features.

  The security guard stepped back and an elderly man emerged from the car. He was thin, dressed in a black suit and leaning on a black cane.

  Is that Nanu? Kanu wondered. The creases had grown deeper and the old man little resembled the grandpa he remembered playing with on his way home from school. Kanu’s grandfather, Agra Narayan Rajput, had been his constant companion along the busy streets of Hyderabad.

  Kanu walked toward his grandpa and leaned forward to touch his feet.

  Just then, another man stepped out of the back door of the second Mercedes. Samba Uncle? Kanu drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Kanha, or Kanu, what should I call you?’ Samba said with a slight grin. ‘Hmm … so, this is where you live. Won’t you invite us in?’

  Kanu stared at his uncle silently for what seemed like a long time. The name Kanha brought back memories he wished to forget. He could feel his heart pulsating.

  Agra Narayan walked towards his grandson. ‘It’s good to know you’ve chosen computer programming as your profession, just like your dad,’ said the old man. ‘I’m sure you must be surprised to see us all here at this hour –’

  Samba did not wait for his father to finish. ‘How long do you think you can remain in hiding, Kanha? Have you ever thought of your mom? She’s
not keeping well … but what do you care?’

  ‘I know what I’m doing,’ Kanu said, turning away from the visitors.

  The old man began again. ‘That’s okay. We’ve come here to talk to you. It’s our duty to guide you. C’mon, let’s go inside. Let’s see where you live.’

  The passageway where Kanu parked his Yamaha led to his house on the ground floor. It was an old construction, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and walls and dust all over the floor.

  Kanu unlocked the door and showed the visitors into his living room, which was devoid of any family photographs or souvenirs. He pulled out the easy chair from behind the computer desk and offered it to his grandpa. ‘Sorry, I don’t have enough chairs. But you can sit on my beanbag, if that’s okay?’ he said to his uncle.

  ‘Not a problem. We are fine,’ Samba said.

  The old man let go of his cane and cautiously sat on the chair. Samba stood near the computer table at a comfortable distance from the others.

  ‘I’m told you run a pay-per-visit Internet café? That’s good. We also had chains of i-café, you know, providing cheap Internet access and stuff. It was a franchisee model. If you must know, it didn’t work out the way we planned.’ Samba’s voice was cold and flat. ‘We did a background check on you. Seems your Internet business is doing well. What’s your main source of income? Hacking?’

  Kanu remained silent.

  The old man studied Kanu’s eyes, wondering why Samba would raise such a topic. ‘Samba, you requested me to come so that I could talk to Kanha,’ said Agra Narayan. ‘Will you allow me?’

  Samba made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Fine, you speak.’

  ‘It’s been nine years since you left home. We did everything possible to find you. I know you wrote letters to your mom. But that’s not all. You must also be with your mom and your ailing father –’ said the old man.

  ‘Why have you come here?’ Kanu asked, raising his voice. ‘What’s wrong with you all?’

  ‘I know you hated us when you left. Now there’s no point in being a rebel. Look what you’ve done. You’ve started disrupting the lives of others,’ continued the old man.

  ‘Nanu, I know well what you mean, but there’s no point talking about this now.’

  Samba intervened. ‘Think of your mom. She is my sister. Think about your dad.’

  ‘You snatched away his hard-earned work, leaving him on a wheelchair to lead the life of a dead man. How can I not think of him?’

  ‘We never wanted to hurt …’ said Samba.

  ‘You must let go of all things past. I know you must have your reasons not to believe us. But Rana is not a bad person at heart. He still loves your mom more than anyone else in the world … Those were the dark days,’ said the old man.

  Samba was getting impatient. ‘You must get past your feelings. They’re no good … not for you or the family. Even Rana bhai is willing to forgive you. I’ve a message from him …’

  Samba gestured for his security guard to hand over the laptop. As he clicked on the media player, Rana’s face appeared on the screen. Kanha, it’s good to know you live in our city, you wretched little kid. You left my sister crying. Now, come back, and I’ll give you a nice job –

  Samba clicked the pause button. ‘There’s more in the message, but I won’t play it. His messages can be scary at times. I don’t want you to think we don’t care.’ He turned to his father. ‘If you have anything more to add, tell him now. I’m done.’

  As Samba left the room, Agra Narayan looked at his grandson expectantly. Even under the harsh rebelliousness, the old man could see the same, loving grandson he had known.

  ‘There’s no denying that you are immensely gifted, but you must be careful. Your dad was just as talented. But talent alone cannot be enough. You have to be stronger,’ said the old man as he walked towards the door. ‘I feel sorry I cannot offer anything more. But you be strong and do what you must.’ With that, he walked away.

  Kanu stood near the door, lost in his thoughts long after the Mercedes was gone. ‘Your dad was just as talented,’ echoed in his head as he stumbled on to his beanbag.

  The hardest thing for him was to confront his past, his fears of not being strong enough, of not being listened to. He picked up his laptop and powered it on. The lifeless screen lit up and a sepia-coloured image of a young man in his mid-thirties, smiling, while working on the prized computer of the eighties – a monochrome monitor with a block-shaped mouse and a keyboard – appeared.

  Kanu’s father, Vasu Kumar, was a software programmer with a Master’s degree in computer science from MIT. He was his teacher and guide. Even before Kanu started going to school, his father had taught him to power on computers and type passwords. ‘Tell me the password,’ Vasu would ask. ‘V-A-S-U-ENTER,’ the little kid would reply.

  Little Kanu spent most of his time playing Silpheed. By the time he was six, his father had taught him to open files and perform basic computer operations, and he would often take Kanu to his office and let him play games on his computers.

  Kanu’s earliest memory of his dad teaching him computer games went back to an hour of playing shooting arrows to deflate balloons. ‘You must shoot low and release it high to find your target,’ Vasu would say. ‘After all, what is an archer without his arrows?’

  By the time Kanu was eight, he was working on an Intel 486 running on Windows 3.11 with DOS 4.0 at his father’s workplace. While Kanu’s adopted elder brother, Bala, was lucky to learn MS Paint, Kanu was busy learning diagnostic tools and updating drivers.

  The first thing Kanu saw upon entering the passageway was a couple of thick glass doors separating him from the computer room. Behind the doors, his dad was being held against his will. Two men were trying to tie him down to a chair, rocking back and forth. Kanu’s recollections were all fragmentary. His tiny hands trying to open the door, he was screaming and running back to the room where he played computer games – his attempt to find something to break open the glass door, pulling out a keyboard from the monitor to do this, the monitor falling on him, blood splattering on the floor with the broken glass …

  Kanu woke up in a sudden terror, uncertain where he was. Still crumpled on the beanbag, he looked for signs of morning behind the window curtain. It was still dark, a few minutes past midnight, and way past dinner time. He decided to step outside for some fresh air.

  Kanu pulled out his Yamaha and raced toward the Secunderabad station. It was a cold December night, and he realized at once that he wasn’t wearing enough clothes.

  At the Railway Canteen, amidst a bustling crowd of harassed passengers, Kanu had to make an effort to sip hot tea from a paper cup. He was shivering. The masala dosa remained uneaten on his plate. Even among thousands of people, it was as if he sat alone, in a distant world of his own.

  SIX

  26 March–24 June 1992

  I

  n 1991, a new national economic policy liberalized trade regulations in services previously controlled by the government, and Sathyamev Computer Services was set to prosper in the new, liberal, international economy.

  Like most start-ups, Sathyamev began small. But Vasu had a vision for the budding computer company. In less than five years, Sathyamev grew exponentially, competing with the likes of IBMM. It boasted five offices at different locations in Hyderabad, and the growing demand in global software development ensured that Sathyamev was on a path to becoming a major global player in the software industry.

  The rapid growth of Sathyamev convinced Rana to move away from his spinning mill and real estate development business, and take an active interest in the day-to-day affairs of the company.

  Though Vasu was never friends with Rana, the two were destined to collaborate and clash. In Sathyamev’s formative years, Vasu wanted funds to expand his company’s footprint, and Rana was the only willing investor. The two relatives (Vasu was married to Rana’s cousin, Ketki) finally forged their professional alliance, and Rana came on board as a founding
partner of Sathyamev. But five years later, Vasu’s decision to accept Rana’s money weighed on him heavily.

  On 26 March 1992, Rana invited a team of financial professionals to Sathyamev’s board meeting. He asked them to scrutinize the revenue figures, balance sheets, cash flow and investor details so that he could take the company public.

  In the board meeting, Rana explained that listing the company with ‘cumulative’ revenue figures and launching a PR campaign would help them reap rich dividends. His pitch was to raise extra money from the capital market. ‘The end result,’ Rana declared, ‘would make us all, including the new appointees, millionaires overnight.’

  Vasu sat through the meeting without saying a word. He could sense his influence waning in the company he had founded. Earlier that day, he had rejected his brother-in-law’s idea, but they seemed to have many fundamental disagreements, beyond the immediate matter of going public. His brother-in-law’s proposed choice of the new board members, ‘the new appointees’, was unacceptable. The manipulation of workforce numbers made no sense to him. He also detested the new legal and financial team as well as the PR campaign.

  Finally, he couldn’t take it any more. ‘I see so many loopholes in this proposal,’ Vasu said. ‘If the plan is to raise money for Sathyamev by falsifying figures, then I am not in it with you, Rana. We cannot be inducting a new team just for such selfish interests. This won’t work in the long-term. To be honest, I can never be part of this plan,’ Vasu said and abruptly ended the meeting.

  But Rana was persistent. He realized he could not afford Vasu storming out. Later that day, he suggested a deal: if Vasu quit the company and relinquished control, Rana would give him 15 per cent equity shares. It was an agonizing choice for Vasu – he was being forced out of the company he had built from scratch.

  In the following days, Vasu decided to involve his father-in-law, Agra Narayan, and other family elders to settle the dispute. But before they could hold a meeting, he contracted a sudden, inexplicable illness.