by Vadhan
Kant refused to budge, ‘With all due respect Sir, I take my orders from General Singh, not from the Home Ministry. I will not leave here until such time that the...’
‘If that’s how you want it.’
The Major stormed out of the room. He noticed Sheila limp across the courtyard and into a waiting car, on her way to the hospital. He watched her car speed away and smiled to himself.
DOCTOR Murali Krishna had willingly given up a lucrative career in a large hospital chain because he thought that he would make a difference to himself and to his profession through providing medical services in small towns. Born into a family of doctors, Murali’s decision to move back to Eluru, his home town, from the bustling metropolis of Hyderabad was something his parents had not expected or, for that matter, accepted.
They had invested in their son and just when they could have reaped the benefits of his eligibility as dowry from a rich and suitable girl, the lad had fled to Eluru under the spell of misconceived ideals. His father, a paediatrician, refused to speak to Murali and his mother, a surgeon, was furious.
Murali had applied to the Surya Medical Trust in Eluru for funds to replenish the almost empty medicine chests at the local general hospital. To his amazement, the Trust had responded almost immediately. But things were terribly wrong as he soon found out. Medicines were sold in the grey market to smaller clinics and private practices at about three times their cost.
His efforts to apprehend the culprits did not meet with much of a success. Apparently, the money from the stolen medicine went all the way to the top management of the hospital and to the local administrative machinery as well. In a short time, the hospital ran out of medicines for its own patients. Well-paid touts, most of them hospital employees, directed disgruntled patients to private hospitals.
Disgusted with the system and without further recourse, the young doctor had set up a single room clinic. His clinic had grown into a qualitative if modest hospital in a matter of five years. Patients favoured him to the uncaring attitude of the general hospital and the expensive private practitioners.
His quest for funding to introduce new medical disciplines and bring in expensive equipment was addressed when he presented his business plan to the Surya Medical Trust. The Trust sanctioned his loan, turning his hospital into a facility that catered to some of the varying medical needs of many villages and towns. The only rider from the Trust to the grant of loan, other than timely repayments, had been a detailed implementation plan and periodic audit by its experts. Murali had readily agreed.
In a way, Murali satisfied his parents too. Because of his success, his parents were able to marry him off to a rich industrialist’s daughter, herself a dental specialist. He had turned down money from his father-in-law, either as an investment into his hospital or as cash deposits for himself, because he knew that the money would curtail his independence, a costly price.
But that was one of the many things that really impressed Hema, his wife, about him. Hema worked with him at his hospital. They were busy at the hospital from eight in the morning to eight at night after which, the newlyweds reserved time for themselves.
It was a busy Wednesday morning and Murali was already knee deep in work when a fresh bunch of out-patient and consulting history records for his appointments were placed on his table by the orderly. The doctor did not bother to look at the names. His attention, on the other hand, was on the tall, well-dressed man who followed the orderly into his consulting room. He appeared to be in the pink of health, but then, anything could have been the matter with him.
‘Yes... Veerabhadra Rao...is it? What can I do for you?’ Murali queried, peering at the name on the history card on the top of the pile.
‘I am here to ask a favour of you doctor,’ the man said in English. Which was surprising, since Veerabhadra Rao, according to the history card, was a farmer. Most farmers of the older generation were semi-literate. The doctor was naturally suspicious of men who walked in for favours. It was either for an abortion for a girlfriend or a mistress or to keep his venereal disease secret from his family until he was cured of it. Judging by the looks of the man, it appeared to be the former.
‘What is it?’
‘I have to be you for a few minutes. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s important.’
Murali was surprised. That was a new one. The man was well-spoken; his English in fact was exemplary, hardly small town material. It occurred to Dr Murali that the man could be mentally imbalanced.
‘Why do you think you want to be me...?’ The man placed his visiting card on the history sheet. ‘Mr....Surya...’ Murali rose from his chair, ‘Raghuram Surya...are you the same...?’
‘Yes Doctor, I am. Sorry, but...’
Murali thrust his hand out in glee. ‘Mr. Surya, I am sorry, really, that I could not recognise you. I am so glad to meet you. I heard all about that nasty business when you saved a few people and they threw you into prison for your troubles. I, for one, was aghast. Tell me sir, how can I be of service to you?’
Raghu smiled reassuringly at the awe struck medical practitioner.
‘It’s better you don’t know all the gory details Dr. Krishna. There’s a patient scheduled to meet you today, her name is Sheila Pitambar. She’s one of the scientists involved in the...accident. It’s imperative that I talk to her in private for a few moments. You are welcome to be present, though it would not be prudent for you to hear what I have to say to her...’
‘...and you don’t want anyone to know about it?’ Murali concluded.
‘That’s right. I am sorry. It’s nothing illegal, just out of the ordinary. I cannot tell you more...my request must sound absurd. I’ll understand if you refuse.’
Dr Murali Krishna examined his calendar for a moment, ‘She is scheduled to be here at half past one, Mr. Surya. There’s a rest room in here. You can probably relax until she comes along. It would also give me an opportunity to be your host for lunch this afternoon.’
Raghu smiled warmly. ‘That’ll be great, doctor,’ he said.
CHAPTER 29
KANT jumped into his jeep, intending to shadow Sheila. Her trip to Eluru for medical assistance was genuine enough but out of the ordinary. It was strange that with a state-of-the-art hospital in Javaaram where she had been initially treated after the incident at the memorial hall, Sheila switched institutions to get a second opinion from what was considered a hospital for the masses all the way in Eluru.
Though he had not said it to the politician, Kant did not want to take any more chances with the wily scientist. A couple of sleuths were assigned to her, partly for her protection and partly to keep a tab on her whereabouts. In addition, Kant had done exactly what the Home Minister had ordered when he assigned an experienced RAW operative on the Minister and his sinister looking minion. If Kant was being followed around, there was no reason not to mete out the same treatment to those who dealt it on him.
The Major followed Sheila to Eluru because he wanted to be out of the guest house. It had become claustrophobic for him there, especially after he was asked...no, ordered...to abandon his assignment.
Kant reached Eluru from Javaaram in a couple of hours. Sheila’s vehicle, an army Maruti Jeep, was parked inside Dr Murali Krishna’s hospital’s compact parking lot. He drove around the compound once to find a suitable parking space. Eluru, like all small towns, had narrow cement roads with patches to fill up the time eroded parts.
On both sides of the road were open drains, apparently the local waste management left a lot to be desired. The drains were covered at places with rough stone slabs, though in most places, the slabs were conspicuous by their absence. He drove the car around the block and was right behind the hospital when the Major braked suddenly.
He spotted a red pickup truck with the legend Tata Xenon on it. Kant knew whose vehicle that was, the only one of its kind in these parts. The Major managed to park the Jeep near an open septic tank. He clasped a handkerchief to his nose and mouth, partly agai
nst the obnoxious stench and partly to protect himself, and started a brisk walk towards the hospital.
The hospital clock showed fifteen minutes past one when he entered it. He almost walked into Sheila who was in the waiting area, comfortably seated and buried in a medical magazine. He hoped she had not seen him. The state-of-the-art transmitter, hardly larger than a pencil dot, attached to her purse would more than suffice to listen into anything interesting she had to say. He latched on a device that looked like a blue tooth receiver to his ear.
In a few minutes, Sheila stepped into the consulting room.
‘Good afternoon doctor,’ she said. She hobbled to the consulting table and sat down with an effort on a straight backed chair.
‘Good afternoon Sheila,’ Raghu said softly. He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.
‘How are you?’ he asked her.
‘Fine. Listen, I just saw Kant outside. I think he followed me here, I guess I don’t have too much time.’
In the waiting area, Kant winced. He wondered why Sheila had told the doctor about him. Unless...it was not the doctor. Kant pressed the listening device to his ear with renewed interest.
‘Then let’s not waste time,’ Raghu said. He passed on the photocopies of his father’s letter and the strip of paper to Sheila.
She read the letter silently. She wanted to remain focused, yet, her thoughts drifted to other things.
Sheila could recall happy memories of her parents, though most times they only managed to form a lump of grief in her throat. Yet, it was those memories that proved she loved them. Memories were her connection to validate her feelings for anyone or anything.
She wondered how it would have been if she did not have a single memory of her parents. Nothing but a blank wall. What would she feel? A hollowness, an emptiness, of not being connected to anything. Of being adrift in an unknown world. Raghu did not know how his father’s voice sounded or how he laughed or how he looked. He had nothing to go with. Zilch.
Sheila figured if she was in Raghu’s shoes she would have at least asked why. But there was no one to answer that question. That was Raghu’s torment. That was his pain. Memories were such simple things. Yet, they were the basis of the greatest cultures on Earth. To be denied memories was cruel. A punishment.
Her grip on his hand firmed. She looked up at him for a moment and smiled. Presently, she gave back the photocopies of the letters to Raghu.
‘What do you think?’
‘Which books did you say he was reading?’
‘Isaac Newton, Einstein, a few others. Some on relativity and others on quantum mechanics and there was even a book called The Secrets of the Universe.’
She said, ‘Raghu, this just got a lot murkier.’
‘What, we need fresh challenges?’
‘In 1956, there was a theory in quantum physics that time passes in a particular direction in our universe which allows us to see the past. For instance, some of the stars in the night sky are not really there now, they were there light years ago, millions maybe, it’d take that kind of time for the light from the stars to reach Earth. Who knows, at present, those stars may have gone super nova, or become black holes or white dwarfs, so when we see stars in the sky, we see the way they were a million years ago. In other words, we’re able to see into the past, literally. It takes approximately eight minutes for sunlight to reach Earth, which means the light we have now is from the past, not from the present. It is eight minutes old. If the sun was to explode today and we’re somehow insulated from that explosion, we’ll have light for eight minutes before the Earth starts to feel the effect of it.’
‘Why’re you telling me this?’
‘Let me finish. That’s the way time flows in the time-space relationship in our universe. But if time could flow in reverse, in theory at least, it’ll be possible for us to see how the stars in the sky are in the future and we might be able to see the sun destroyed before it actually happened. The entire world could appear different. We would not have looked or aged the way we do; the universe itself would operate on a different set of rules.’
Raghu stared at Sheila dumbfounded, ‘What’s this got to do with my father?’
‘Going by your father’s letter, the Sutram appears to be from a universe like that.’
‘Are there other universes?’
‘It’s a theory. Science starts and ends with theories, there are no absolute facts. Anyway, there’s another theory about the anti-person thing.’
‘What’s that, like the anti-Christ, or anti-god, some sort of supreme evil?’
Sheila smiled indulgently, ‘No silly, science has no place for religion, in fact Stephen Hawking says God had no role to play in creation. I tend to agree with him on it. Of course in some circles that’s blasphemy. An anti-person is a mirror image of a person. Your father mentioned quarks in his letter. They are the smallest divisible parts of an atom. The theory is, in the early life of the universe, maybe just after the Big Bang, there was a great battle between the quarks and particles known as anti-quarks, which are the opposites of quarks, one of your biblical wars so to speak. They cancelled each other out but the quarks were more in number than the anti-quarks, why it was so, we don’t know. According to Hawking, it is just as well because the theory is, quarks that were left behind after the ‘battle’ became the building blocks of life as we know it now. That’s why he claims God had no role to play in creation; it is atoms all the way.’
‘Good for them. It’s still not clear to me what my father had to do with all of this.’
‘I am guessing here really, but the one way to stop or destroy the Sutram, I think, is to create an equal number of quarks and anti-quarks and let them clash. That’s what I understand from the letter. This can also be depicted as creating an anti-person of himself since we are atoms at a basic level. On fusing the anti-person with the person, in this case, you father, the resultant reaction should cancel out the person and the anti-person. We really don’t know what the outcome of that would be outside lab conditions or how on earth it can manage to destroy the Sutram.’
Raghu thought for a bit. ‘Does it mean my father failed to create an anti-person?’
‘No, we don’t. Let’s focus on what we do know.’
‘We need to learn what the Syllable is Sheila, and we need to find it now.’
‘Why Raghu? Why is it important?’
‘The syllable appears to be centrifugal to the whole thing.’
‘How is it centrifugal? What’s going to happen if we find out what the syllable is?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Raghu emphatically. ‘But that’s the clue for the day and I think we better follow it. What was the name of that man, the one who revealed the syllable to my father?’
Sheila referred to the letter, ‘Ramaya from Tirupati.’
‘Now is a good time to ask for that sick leave, Sheila.’
She nodded perfunctorily.
‘Give me a call later today once you’ve firmed up. I think a trip to the holy mountains of Tirupati would do us a lot of good.’
She nodded, grateful that his sense of humour was back.
GOVIND and the tantrik had the guest house to themselves. Sheila was at the hospital and Kant was not around. They were taking a stroll around the well-maintained grounds of the guest house. The tantrik said to Govind, ‘Be careful of the army man, I say, be careful of him. He serves no usful purpose, yet the stars predict that he could be more than a nuisance. There is danger to you from him. The quicker you get rid of him, the better it is for us. I say, the better.’
Govind acknowledged the advice with a nod.
‘It is nearly time for us to conquer the God for it will attain its zenith shortly and then none can hold it back. It is born of deceit and bred with treachery. The Sutram will turn this world into a bowl of dust and disease unless we bring it under our control. I see a thin veil of power that has held the God inside its prison for a while. We must use that veil of power to con
trol the God before it manages to break free.’
‘What power, Swamiji?’ Govind asked.
‘It is a strange power hued blue and green. Blue and green are very powerful colours, Govind. Red is considered the colour of danger, if so, blue is the power of life, I say life itself. Green is its subsidiary, a vassal of blue, an enabler. The colour of the veil is blue in some places and green in others and it glows red at the fringes, where I think it is fighting the God’s purulence. Yet, the power is weak and we need to move fast, I say very fast.’
‘Where do you see all these colours fighting each other?’
The tantrik tapped his temple gently.
‘Right. What would you have me do, Swamiji? I represent all the power of the Government of India but an insignificant judicial forum is holding me to ransom. If I do anything without the court order being vacated, my political rivals will use that to destroy me. We filed a petition along with Raghuram’s cousins to vacate the injunction order. The hearing is posted for tomorrow. If everything goes according to plan, we can walk in by tomorrow night into the memorial hall.’
‘And yet, you have the talisman, it should not have been so delayed. The talisman should pave the way for you...unless...’ the tantrik closed his eyes, placed the index finger and thumb of his left hand on the bridge of his nose and was still for several moments. All of a sudden, his bloodshot eyes flew open.
‘It...cannot be. How did I not see this?’ he blurted out. The tantrik twisted and squirmed, as though he were at the very end of a long queue outside a public toilet and he could not hold it in any longer.
‘What did you not see, Swamiji?’
‘My child, the Agniputr!’
‘The who?’
‘There was an attempt to bring the destroyer here long ago. We thwarted the attempt. We defeated Surya Prasad Surya. But I sensed not the presence of the Sutram all these years. I thought, we had failed. Now, I know we did not. But then…something masked it. Something hid the Sutram from me all these years. I should have guessed what it was. I should have wondered. I am a fool. I say, I am a miserable fool.’