Agniputr

by Vadhan

  Kant was still lost in his daydream world of the sanctum sanctorum of the temple. He had seen his share of life or so he had assumed but that one glimpse of Balaji had changed his view. He wished more than ever that Krithika and the kids were there.

  He promised himself he would head back to the temple one day with his family, even if that was the last thing he did.

  He delved onto darker things, like Kiromal and his yet undisclosed personal agenda. The magic man with him had called the Sutram a God, was that what it was, if so, what was Balaji then, he wondered. What did they want with the Sutram? Did they think they could control it? That was it, of course, but what for? What could they get out of a thing like that? Power, control surely. Dominance.

  Kiromal was a politician if anything; he wanted control above anything else. It was not as though the man wanted money, he had more than enough of it. Kiromal was lusting for power for its own sake and that was dangerous. He had to be stopped at any cost. Kant noticed Sheila hugging Raghu. The worry lines on her face said it all. Raghu was equally perturbed. All of them were.

  Realisation dawned all of a sudden on Major Kishant Kant. He was meant to be here. At this very moment. He was meant to take on the politician. All his training, his entire life’s work was for a reason. He had to stop Kiromal, even if he had to kill the politician. It had to be him. Kant knew it with such clarity that it left him breathless.

  Poti was not thinking of anything at all. Which was why he noticed the car following them. Two things about the vehicle caught his attention. First, one of the headlights of the car was out of focus. It angled up ever so slightly into the skies. Second, the car was always two vehicles behind them. Not closer, not further away. It swerved out gently once in a while just to make sure they were still there.

  Was it the assassin or just Kiromal’s sleuths tailing them? He did not know and therefore did not want to take chances.

  Poti veered towards the left of the road, at the same time he cut speed steadily. All of a sudden he veered completely to the left and braked to a halt on the dirt track alongside the road. The truck behind them lumbered past, then another and the car was almost upon them before the driver realised Poti’s move. He had no choice but to overtake them.

  ‘What is it?’ Kant asked, instantly alert.

  ‘See that car speeding away? It’s been following us now for close to three hours,’ Poti said.

  ‘Are you sure? It could be just traffic, you know,’ Raghu asked.

  Poti gave him the benefit of a glare through the rear-view mirror. The car was now out of sight and probably parked a little way off so they could pass it again. Poti engaged the gear and the MUV surged forward. Poti kept to the left, off the road. He overtook a few cars in a cloud of dust, unmindful of the protests of outraged drivers until he saw the tail lamps of the parked car. The driver recognised the MUV hurtling his way and cranked the engine. He switched on the headlights and Poti could make out the light from the unfocussed head lamp veer at an upward angle.

  ‘Put on your seat belts,’ Poti ordered and engaged the car on a higher gear. He floored the gas pedal. The vehicle surged forward like a juggernaut. The driver in the other car saw what was about to happen. Wheels spun out mounds of dust as he fought to gain momentum, Poti was almost upon the car when he swerved a little to the right and then swerved hard to the left to hammer the smaller car on its right rear door. The driver lost control, the car wobbled a little and swerved down a diagonal incline at least fifteen feet below. It came to a clumsy halt in the freshly laid paddy fields adjoining the highway. The Toyota Innova zoomed away into the night.

  Amit stepped out of the Swift and examined himself. Except for a scratch on his head and bruised limbs, he was fine. He stretched himself to relieve his cramped body. He noticed a few cars had parked on the road and people had stepped out to help. He could not afford to be seen. He was only good until he was a ghost. He jumped back into the damaged car and drove on through the paddy fields until the incline to the highway reduced to about five feet. With a burst of speed, he climbed onto the road. He throttled the groaning Swift towards the airport. He had a plane to catch and a new plan to hatch.

  CHAPTER 34

  THE palatial house in Banjara Hills, Hyderabad, was heavily guarded. Even an ex-governor needed security. State secrets did not fade away with a term of office. It was late in the evening that harbingered early winter dusk.

  ‘Babu Garu,’ Ramaya observed, ‘you look so much like your father. I was privileged to have spent good time in his company.’

  The ex-governor of Andhra Pradesh was a magnificent example of a Mughal emperor, most probably Akbar the Great. Raghu had been at the recent screening of the Hindi classic Mughal-e-Azam. Ramaya paralleled the late actor Prithviraj Kapoor, who had played Emperor Akbar, at least in appearance and girth. The deep nasal voice, the walrus moustache, the shock of snow white wavy shoulder length hair, the regal face, almost instigated Raghu to call him Jahanpanah. Added to that was his semi-formal attire, a long flowing white embroidered kurta and a dhoti. He walked pompously, as though he was fully aware of his power and he chose to downplay its effect. His three companions were as dazed by the ex-governor’s charisma as Raghu was.

  ‘What was this man doing as a priest; he is a natural born politician!’ Poti whispered to Kant. The Major stifled a smile and nodded tightly.

  ‘I am honoured that you agreed to meet with us, sir. I am honoured that my father kept such august company,’ Raghu said.

  ‘What are you saying? I...we, anyone who met your father was enthralled by his charm, Babu. He was...so handsome, as fair in his habit as he was by appearance. But tell me...the boy from Tirupati said you wanted to meet me about something and I wonder how I can be of service to you.’

  Raghu introduced Ramaya to his friends; he was as flowery in welcoming them as he was with Raghu. After they were seated comfortably in the spacious and richly furnished living room and tea had been served, the ex-governor smiled at Raghu paternally.

  ‘Ask me what you want, Babu,’ he said.

  ‘Sir, my father was...experimenting on something...before he...died,’ Raghu said hesitantly. ‘I believe he met you about it and you were able to help him.’

  Ramaya stared blankly at Raghu. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I did not meet your father for almost three years before the experi... I mean, before he passed away.’

  ‘But...sir,’ Sheila said, ‘according to...’

  ‘Sheila here is a scientist, sir,’ Raghu interrupted her, ‘she is working on a project in Gudem and we came across some information. Somebody told us that my father had met with you. I just wanted to know if it was important.’ He gave Sheila a warning glance which she acknowledged.

  Ramaya did not miss the look Raghu had thrown at her. ‘The lady was saying something, what is it, my child?’

  ‘Raghu,’ Sheila said, ‘we must trust the governor; after all he was a friend of your father’s.’

  ‘A friend? I was a humble servant,’ Ramaya assured them.

  ‘Well, the fact of the matter is that an old man, Pichi Rathaya, said that Raghu’s father had met with you and that you had given him some crucial advice,’ Sheila lied. ‘He was on his death bed when he said this. We were quite taken in by the man’s fervour. We just wanted to find out if it was anything important.’

  Ramaya sighed audibly. He frowned deeply as though deciding the pros and cons of waging war against the Rajput clans. He curled the tips of his moustaches thoughtfully. Then he shook his head decisively. ‘I am afraid I cannot be of assistance to you,’ he said, ‘I don’t recall if your father and I met before he passed away.’

  ‘I see...then we’ve wasted your time sir. Thank you for your hospitality,’ Raghu was already up and walking towards the door before the others smiled their embarrassed thanks to the ex-governor and hurried after him.

  ‘Babu, wait!’ the ex-governor hurried behind them.

  Raghu halted. When he whirled ar
ound with flourish to glare at the hefty ex-governor it was as though he was ready to sink his teeth into the old man.

  ‘It is true Raghuram; I never did meet your father before his death. He did not discuss anything important with me. Of course he called me on the telephone once and asked for something innocuously silly and I was more than willing to help him.’

  All four of them said, ‘What was it?’ in unison.

  The surprised ex-governor stood rock still for a moment. ‘He...asked me for a particular word in a scripture. I...please come in my son. Please...all of you. I owe my life to your father. I am forever indebted to him. Please, don’t hurt an old man further.’

  Raghu’s heart melted. He clasped the old man’s hands in his. ‘I am sorry, Sir,’ he said.

  The first high calibre rifle bullet shattered the rear window of the sitting room and ripped straight through Kant’s back, missed all internal vital organs and came out of his stomach. The Major fell to the ground like a stone. A pool of blood started forming around his body.

  ‘Down Babu, down!’ Poti screamed. He went for his gun and then remembered he had left it in the car. They were at the ex-governor’s house. No weapons were allowed.

  The second shot grazed Poti’s left hand and shattered a clay pot to smithereens. He was already diving for the ground when he saw Raghu push Sheila and the ex-governor to the floor.

  The third shot went through the stomach of the security guard who had rushed in. The guard screamed hoarsely and crashed to the floor, which was when at least a dozen security personnel rushed in through the door. They surrounded the ex-governor and heaved him to his feet. The guards were behind the old man, holding him up so that he was completely exposed to the window from which the bullets were raining in. They held tightly on to his arms and it appeared to Raghu that they had almost propped him for the fourth shot which ripped through Ramaya Shastri’s stomach. The ex-governor fell to the ground with a thud. No further shots were fired. The guards dispersed in different directions.

  Ramaya was confused. His brain had numbed the pain but he was losing blood, resulting in ooziness. ‘It’s a mistake...there’s no reason...to kill me! I only helped, I did all that...I could from the beginning,’ Ramaya said breathlessly, with a hand to his stomach to stop the flow of blood. No one heard it except Raghuram and Sheila who were on the ground, close to the ex-governor. Something Sheila had said came back to Raghu in a flash.

  Betrayal.

  Pandemonium broke out in the ex-governor’s residence but no one bothered with Ramaya. Raghu crawled down to where the ex-governor was squirming in his own blood.

  ‘Why doesn’t someone call the doctor?’ the old man squalled in a shrill voice.

  ‘Because, those were the orders, old man. The master deceiver’s been deceived. You gave him the wrong syllable didn’t you, you dirty son of a bitch? You didn’t allow my father to destroy the Sutram, why?’

  The old man coughed blood, ‘Karan Kiromal...’

  ‘What did you tell my father, you bastard?’

  ‘I...said the syllable was...‘Shanti’!’

  ‘What is the real syllable?’

  The old man gawked at Raghu pitiably. He clutched the lawyer by his collar and pulled him forward.

  ‘BABOON...’ he bawled into Raghu’s ear along with a generous spattering of spittle and blood. Ramaya died with a cinematic expulsion of breath. Raghu wiped his ear and cheek and glared at the lifeless body bleakly.

  ‘Did he just call me a baboon or is that the one syllable that won speech?’

  Raghu suppressed a wild urge to guffaw.

  The doctor who was on standby at all times at the VIP’s residence rushed in. He knelt by the ex-governor’s corpse, examined it and declared him dead.

  Voila!

  Raghu rose to his feet. He loomed large over the doctor. He lifted the medical man by his shirt collar and gave him a teeth rattling shake before shoving him towards Kant.

  ‘Save him or I swear, you’ll travel with him to Hell,’ he growled.

  CHAPTER 35

  DAY One.

  There was an official statement on Ramaya Shastri’s death.

  Naxal attack in the Capital of the twin States of Telangana and Andhra Pradesh. A story more ludicrous than some of the Tollywood movies.

  Nobody was asking the right questions. The police rounded up the usual suspects. Minority parties were screaming outrage. Schools and colleges were closed.

  The people of Hyderabad were used to chaos. They had lived through the chaotic birth of a new State. Mayhem had ruled their lives for the past several years and brought down a city, which had once not long ago captured the attention of the whole world, to its knees. The only ones to gain were politicians. No one bothered about the common man. He was non-existent to the high and mighty political masters.

  No one knew there were four witnesses to the crime. There was no mention of it anywhere. They disappeared without a trace. Of them, three were the unofficial guests of the State. They were stowed away into one of the apartments in the police colony in Banjara Hills. A ‘safe house’. The fourth, Kant, was in an army hospital. The army took care of its own.

  Raghu figured it was not a naxal ploy, it was more like Kiromal’s ploy. His spies must have unearthed the fact that they were after Ramaya Shastri. He had a liability in the form of Ramaya terminated and cornered Raghuram...again.

  DAY Two.

  Sheila voiced the possibility that the killer could walk in anytime he wanted, to dispose all three of them. Kiromal could make it look like another terrorist or naxal attack. They were not in a police station, no formal arrests had been made and as a result, there was complete deniability. For all practical purposes they had disappeared from the face of the Earth. Their only hope was if Kant regained consciousness in time. If not, they were done for.

  Raghu’s influence was built on goodwill whereas his enemies worked under political will exercised by the Home Minister of the country. Raghu knew that he did not stand a chance in Hell getting out of their grasp unless he made it appear like he would co-operate.

  He had advised his two remaining compatriots to do likewise. They answered all the questions posed by the police about their reason for being in the ex-governor’s house. Ramaya was Raghu’s father’s friend. They were paying him a courtesy visit. They had a prior appointment to meet him. They had nothing to do with the attack on the ex-governor. Their friend, Major Kant from the Indian army, suffered a grievous gunshot wound during the shooting.

  Co-operation did not result in their freedom. They were kept under lock and key with round-the-clock security.

  DAY Three.

  There was an unexpected visitor.

  Aditya Prasad Surya.

  The cousins stood facing each other in the living room of the modest quarters. Raghu was definitely the taller one but Aditya was better looking.

  ‘Anaya, encheya mantavu?’ Aditya asked.

  ‘You can’t do much, brother. This is hopeless. But tell me, how did you find me?’

  ‘I had to pull a lot of strings just to find out where you were. Then again, a few more very sturdy strings and a large bundle of money got me here. The wolves are out there and they’ve scented royal blood.’

  Raghu laughed derisively.

  ‘They’ll kill you here, you know it and I know it. They’re just waiting for the heat to cool off a little. The bastard, Kiromal, has his sights trained on you.’

  ‘I know. He’s got a killer stalking me if I do make it out of here alive.’

  Aditya thrust his hands into his pocket and frowned ferociously. ‘Is there anything I can do? Think brother, I want to help. It’s time our people stop thinking of my grandfather and rest of us as murderers.’

  Raghu shook his head. Placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, he said, ‘Your grandfather is not a murderer. It was the tantrik who gave your grandfather the poisoned laddu. He could have eaten it instead of giving it to my grandfather. It was simply luck. Your grand
father went mad thinking he had killed his brother. No one realised that.’

  Aditya shook his head. ‘Grandfather did not ever forgive himself. He died a very sad man. Rajah Raghuram’s name was the last thing he said. Anyway, what’s past is past. I can’t change that. How do I get you out of here?’

  ‘Ok, here’s a plan. I need you to call my firm in Delhi. You have the numbers. I need you to explain to them where I am and ask them to file a Habeas Corpus petition in the Andhra Pradesh High Court. They’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘There’s one more thing you need to do. To turn the tables on Kiromal, we need to act like a politician does. You may be able to help me there.’

  ‘Just tell me what you want,’ Aditya said.

  ‘Not me, two thousand villages!’ Raghu said. Aditya’s eyes narrowed and then they brightened.

  ‘Damn, I should have studied to be a lawyer,’ he said. The cousins embraced each other and Aditya left. When Raghu walked back into the bedroom, Sheila and Poti looked up at him enquiringly.

  ‘Now we wait,’ he said.

  Their dinner consisted of instant noodles and an egg each though the refrigerator was adequately stocked with all kinds of goodies. They did not want to be poisoned to death. Poti slept in the living room, Raghu in one bedroom and Sheila in another.

  Late in the night there was a discreet knock on Raghu’s door. He opened it to allow Sheila to slip into the room. She put both her arms around him and hugged him tight. His hands caressed her breasts and his mouth searched for hers. They didn’t talk, not at first. They made love hungrily, biting and scratching at each other and gently thereafter, just because they needed to be close to each other. Later Raghu was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with Sheila nestled in his arms, her hands caressing his chest.

  ‘What’re you thinking?’ she whispered.

  ‘Baboon!’ he whispered back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s what Ramaya said just before he died. He said B...A...B...O...O...N, like that.’