Three days after the board meeting, news came through that Vasu had been taken to the hospital after suffering from a sudden paralytic attack. Agra Narayan rushed to the ICU. The team of doctors said Vasu had suffered from conversion disorder, an unexplainable condition caused by sudden rage or distress.
‘He is suffering from uncontrolled tremors, numbness and paralysis. There is no explanation or source for such a sudden and debilitating illness,’ explained the head of the neuroscience division. ‘In Vasu’s case, it may have been caused by a devastating incident he recently experienced. His son’s injury is the most likely explanation.’
Samba confirmed the doctor’s hypothesis. ‘On the day Vasu was admitted to the hospital, both he and Kanu were in the Sathyamev office. Kanu was playing computer games when suddenly the monitor fell on him. Vasu saw his son soaked in blood, buried under the weight of the device,’ said Samba.
Rana’s version was similar. ‘We heard a noise and rushed into the room to see Kanu injured and Vasu suffering a panic attack. We tried to revive Vasu, bring him back to consciousness. The security team arrived at the scene and also tried to help Vasu. Instead of waiting for paramedics, we rushed them both to the ambulance, which had arrived downstairs,’ he explained to his sister, Ketki.
Ketki believed everything Rana and the team of doctors said. But the attending nurse’s verdict was the most difficult to bear: ‘Unfortunately, the stroke has left your husband incapacitated. He cannot speak or live normally, and he has lost all bodily functions.’
In this sudden turn of events, Vasu was held captive in his hospital bed, and along with him, his wife Ketki too was caught up, nursing him. And thus, Rana got what he wanted – complete control over Sathyamev.
SEVEN
24–25 December 2006
I
t was Christmas Eve, but all Darshu could do was stare glumly at her phone. She was supposed to be out on a date with Kanu, but it had been more than two days since she had last seen him. Her three phone calls and five text messages had gone unanswered, and now she feared the worst.
Instead of calling him again, she took pre-emptive action. She began to make a mental list of the reasons why she shouldn’t be bothered about what clearly appeared to be the sign of a break-up. Initially, she had thought Kanu had just been busy with work. Of late, she’d had more worrying thoughts: Is he busy with some college girl in his cyber café? Why is he unavailable? Why?
His unresponsiveness only made her want him more.
She looked at her phone again. Memories of better times overpowered her as she collapsed on to her bed and fell asleep.
The next morning, Darshu didn’t bother to wait for a call. Instead, she went straight to MNR Cyber Café. The shop had its shutters down. ‘Is he playing the hard-to-get game?’ she thought.
Darshu felt tears sting her eyes, but she refused to believe it was all over. She called Ritika and they decided to meet at Kamat Restaurant in Secunderabad.
Slouching on a sofa at the restaurant, Darshu held a glass of sweet lime juice in her hand. She was staring off into the distance, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. Ritika sat opposite her, stirring her coffee and looking around for people she knew.
‘I’d definitely not hurt anyone like this. You know, among my few dates, there was this boring PhD student who took me out to dinner, picked me up from college, took me to a temple – made me feel almost like his sister! But I was so caring. You know,’ said Ritika, ‘I took him to the gaming zone, ordered a pizza and told him he was more like a brother to me!’
‘At least he could have called me …’
‘Yeah, this sucks!’
‘I think he is playing a hard-to-get dude. I read it in Cosmo. At first he is caring. And then next thing you know, he’s gone. I almost fell for this guy. I feel so stupid.’
‘Yeah, on a day like this.’
‘I went to his shop twice. Even that poor guy Bansi doesn’t know anything. I feel so stupid!’
‘Don’t worry, it’s a phase.’
‘I think I’ll have some vodka.’
‘Now?’
‘At the party. Can I join you?’
‘But you don’t like our parties.’
‘I know. I’m just saying – never mind. You’re right. I don’t enjoy the company of your office friends.’
‘Seriously, but you’re most welcome to come join us. Know what? You must come to the party and –’
‘Nah, I’ll just go watch TV. That’s what I do every Christmas.’
‘Poor thing! This is why I’ll never leave Ritwik.’
‘Yeah, don’t ever do that. Your names also match.’
That evening Darshu was sprawled out on the couch, watching her favourite programme, Bollywood Biggies, when her cellphone lit up: Sorry I cud nt reply. Can u meet me pls? I am at ISKON mandir.
Kanu was listed as ‘Hacker’ on her cellphone. She re-read the message and looked up at the ceiling aimlessly. Three days of no reply and now this? Why did he write PLEASE?
She messaged back: ‘k.’
The Hare Rama Hare Krishna temple was not far from her place. As she walked down the street, her yellow-green salwar-kameez made her skin glow in the dingy streetlight.
Darshu walked into the temple and folded her hands, palms together. Make me successful, she prayed. She surveyed the length of the temple, searching.
Kanu wasn’t there.
She decided to look for him outside. Far away, she glimpsed him sitting on a bench all by himself. She wanted to go at once and meet him but decided to stand among the waiting devotees to accept prasadam.
How well Darshu remembered the first time she had seen Kanu. He had been holding a cable in one hand and a toner in another, that eternally cheerful smile pasted across his face. She liked his attitude towards the students, always ready to take on any challenge. But on this day, he sat in a corner, looking desolate. He had wrapped himself in a dusty shawl and was shivering from the cold.
‘Hi! Are you okay?’ she asked.
He looked at her, stunned, as if he had lost his voice. She knew at once something was wrong. With the back of her hand, she felt his temple.
‘You’re burning up! You have a fever. What are you doing here?’
‘Nah, it’s nothing.’
‘Here, prasadam.’ She offered him part of the khichiri and ate the rest of it. ‘You should have told me you weren’t well.’
‘I promised I’d take you somewhere on Christmas.’
‘No, let me take you to a hospital.’ She held his arm tightly, forcing him to stand. ‘You need medical care.’
‘I am fine. I am fine –’ He sat back again. ‘It’s just – I can’t feel anything – I’ve been unsure of what to do.’ His voice began to choke as he spoke. ‘I don’t know what I am doing.’ A crease formed between his brows. He swallowed and glanced down at his hands. He bowed his head, fighting back tears.
‘What happened? Is something wrong?’ She sat alongside him. ‘It’s okay. Tell me what happened.’
‘I don’t know if I should tell you –’
She knew something was wrong. Did someone commit suicide? She had experienced the suicide of a family member and she had acted at the time much like Kanu. ‘Kanu, what happened?’
‘That story you wrote in the Deccan Courier … and then they forced you to issue a clarification on Sathyamev? Do you know who those people are? Whose company it is?’
‘No.’
‘That’s the company my father built.’
‘Sathyamev?’ she gasped. ‘Really? Rana Rajput is your fa …’
‘No, he is my uncle. My father, Vasu Kumar, built that computer firm. I remember those early days when he worked night and day. I used to visit him in his small office. We were very ordinary people … a very middle class family … my father, my mom and me. My father was a programmer. He built the company and my uncle snatched it away. They put him in a wheelchair – imprisoned him for life.’
‘
No way!’
‘They came to my home two days ago. They said they’ll do to me what they did to my father.’
Darshu had no words to console him. ‘You’re shivering.’ She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him protectively against her body. She thought for a moment and stood up. ‘Wait, I’ll bring a blanket from the temple.’
‘I am fine, you don’t ne –’
But before Kanu could finish Darshu was on her way towards the temple. She came back with a coarse blanket and draped it around his shoulders.
‘Don’t worry, you will be fine,’ she assured him.
‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Shh … you just stay calm. I know how you feel.’
‘I was a little boy … I couldn’t stop what was happening to my father. There were two doors separating us. I could see them – my uncle – through the glass door, but I couldn’t open it!’ His brow furrowed, his fists clenched.
‘You were in school …’
‘I was eight. I was studying in class three,’ Kanu said as a tear rolled down his cheek. ‘I used to go to his office to play games. There was this red-carpeted computer room where my dad used to work. He left me there with the computer. He must have gone to a meeting or something, but he didn’t come back. The second the game was over, I started looking around for him in the other rooms. There was no one in the building. Then I saw my uncle walking back and forth in the corridor. My father was in the other room. Two doors separated us –’
She moved a little closer and held him tight, as if to say: ‘You can let it go.’ But she did not interrupt.
‘At first, it seemed like my uncle was having an argument with my father. Then I saw him pushing my father and tying him to a chair. I saw my father being tied … it must have been painful … I saw my dad throw up … I think he called for help. Finally, he fell asleep.’
Shivers ran through Kanu’s body as he continued. ‘The door was locked. I tried hard, but couldn’t get through. I started calling for help, but no one came. I went back to my room to find something I could use to break open the door. I tried pulling a keyboard. It was then I think that the monitor fell on me … I don’t know what happened next. When I regained consciousness …’ His voice broke, and he could not continue.
Darshu stared at him wordlessly. Kanu looked into the distance.
‘My dad was lying in the hospital, awake but lifeless. He would never walk again. Or talk …’
The blanket was falling off. She took one end of it and wrapped herself with it and held him tight.
‘I told my mom. I told my Nanu. No one believed me. My mom believed her brothers. There was only one person who wanted to help me – my brother, Bala. But he was far away, at a boarding school.’ He paused for breath.
‘Eventually, I couldn’t take it any longer,’ Kanu continued. ‘Watching my dad being dragged in a wheelchair … It was painful. He couldn’t move without assistance. Looking at people expectantly was all he could manage. So I ran away … no one knew except for my Nanu. I stayed with our driver uncle … and then with Nandu Uncle.’
Darshu felt his pain. She could only imagine how, as a kid, he must have spent the better part of his life without the care of his parents. Nothing could be worse than being forced to flee home at the age of eight.
Kanu continued speaking, breaking into sobs. ‘I used to come to this temple when I was small. I was helpless. Nanu understood me. He wanted to keep me away from my uncles. He wanted to –’
Darshu tried to reassure him. ‘It’s not your fault. Don’t let it overpower you …’
‘Not being believed, that’s the hardest thing. I know I couldn’t have done anything. At least they could have believed me. I am sorry I get emotional sometimes. You are the only one who I could call –’
‘Any time.’ Darshu tried to smile. ‘Everyone’s pain is different,’ she added. ‘You must remain strong.’ She touched his temple again. ‘God! You’re running a high fever! We must go to the hospital right away.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ he said, shaking his head from side to side. ‘I’m fine. I’ll call Bansi.’
Kanu pulled out his mobile and dialled Bansi’s number, but when Bansi answered, Darshu snatched it away. ‘Bansi, this is Darshu. Listen, Kanu has high temperature. He is shivering. Can you come right away?’
Bansi arrived in less than three minutes. ‘Ah! You’re in a bad shape, Kanu. I’ll hire a car to take you to the hospital.’
‘Should I come?’ asked Darshu.
‘I’ll take care of him,’ Bansi assured her. He promised to see an emergency doctor at Yashoda Hospital.
After they left, Darshu went up near the temple door. She put her hands together again and closed her eyes. ‘Please make him strong,’ she prayed.
Later that night, Darshu turned on her computer and typed in a search for ‘Sathyamev’. It brought up about a million listings. As expected, the top results threw up some familiar information. She picked up a pen and started taking notes: Sathyamev – established 1987 – co-founded by Rana Rajput and Samba Rajput – Employs 36,000 – IPO in 1992 – Market capitalization of Rs 23,200 crore –
She then entered more search terms to know about Rana Rajput’s business interests. One blog story written in 2003, among the many search results, interested her. A stockbroker had analyzed the phenomenal growth of Sathyamev. She read the article with interest:
Call it Rana Rajput’s magic or call it Sathyamev, the results don’t lie. Sathyamev Computer Services has yielded a compounded annual growth return of 68 per cent every year for the past ten years.
A single rupee invested in Sathyamev shares in 1992 returned 187 rupees in 2003. How amazing is that?
Let’s see how it panned out for someone who had invested Rs 10,000 in 1992.
- Year 1992: You buy 1,000 Sathyamev shares @ Rs 10 per share in your name.
- Year 1999: The company declares 1:1 bonus, i.e., you have 2,000 shares.
- Year 2000: Stock split 5:1, i.e., you have 10,000 shares.
- Year 2003: Stock is trading at Rs 185 as of 23 December. The value of Rs 10,000 invested in 1992 is now worth Rs 18,50,000.
Now, add to it, the dividends earned in the ten-year period. Your total? Rs 27,920. That total today stands at staggering Rs 18,77,920.
A two-bedroom flat in a Delhi suburb is worth about Rs 12 lakh. Had you invested the small sum of Rs 10,000 in the Sathyamev stock a decade ago, you could have purchased the flat outright. No EMI. Now, what will you do with the left over chillar of Rs 6.7 lakh? How about going for a brand new sedan?
Does this sound incredible? Well, it’s all happening! Right here, right now!
Then she tried a new search on the founders of Sathyamev. The results stated different information about Sathyamev’s founders. In a few, she could spot the name ‘Vasu Kumar’ listed as a founder of Sathyamev. She sat staring at the screen. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she recalled Kanu’s story.
EIGHT
24–25 December 2006
T
he day after Christmas, Atul Ghoshal walked into Sathyamev’s penthouse office to meet Rana without an appointment. A random visit from Ghoshal came once a year, always during the holiday season.
People close to Ghoshal called him Ghodal or a horse-racer, as he was always sprinting ahead of the pack. Ghoshal was the most sought-after trader and stock-market pundit in Mumbai. After running a renowned brokering house until he went solo in 1993, Ghoshal had averaged 49 per cent annual gains for his clients investing in the stock market. Rana had known him since the early nineties, when Sathyamev was listed on the Mumbai stock exchange.
‘Good to see you, Ghoshal.’ Rana rose to shake hands with the visitor. He at once noticed that his guest’s tailored shirt and expensive suit coat couldn’t hide the newfound bulge of a belly hanging over his belt. ‘As I can see, you’re taking good care of yourself.’ Rana pointed to his belly.
‘Festive season, sahib. Can’t help it,’ Ghoshal
replied.
‘So, how is HP? Are you still taking care of his business?’
‘Ah, he is in a prison with all the amenities of a five-star hotel. But let me remind you, I’m not taking care of his business. I’m taking care of my business.’
‘Is that your business or my business, Ghoshal?’
‘It’s our business. We have a word for it. Same-difference!’
‘Yeah, same-difference!’
While they both laughed, the fact remained that Harshad Parekh, or HP, the other golden boy of the stock market, had initiated the bull-run on behalf of Ghoshal. But during the liquidity crunch, HP was nailed and put up on the altar – his name became synonymous with the Madhavpura Cooperative Bank of India scam – while the real players continued with their business.
‘You did well last year. But I must say, there are others who did reasonably better than you,’ said Rana.
‘Sahib, I know you are a hard taskmaster. You have information of our movements, but there’s an adage that fits our generation better than any …’
‘Slow and …’
‘I was about to say relatively fast and steady …’
Rana couldn’t hide his smile. He knew he had a winner in Ghoshal. ‘It’s fantastic to see you again, Ghoshal. Always a pleasure!’
‘Thank you, sahib! It’s with your blessing that we are here.’
Rana drew out a file and placed it on the table. ‘We are going to hit a bump this quarter. I know it’s going to be less-publicized information, but you must know about it to take corrective actions. Have a glance at these figures.’
Ghoshal took out his reading glasses and studied the file carefully. ‘Sahib, you can take over some company to hide this hole. Why make such a big fuss about real business when the market thinks everything is going well? The market will make the correction when it’s required.’
‘I was considering that option. But this time, I think, it’s better to let it go.’
‘You know more than I do.’
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