by Vadhan
‘We’ll talk about that later, Sheila. Right now, I want you to focus on the work at hand. Are you satisfied that this would work?’
‘Yes...sir,’ she said, ‘Provided we have the syllable. Now I understand how important the syllable is.’
‘That’s right,’ said Eshwar.
‘May I keep this formula?’
‘Yes of course,’ he said. He scribbled something on the back of the sheet and gave it back to her.
Sheila threw him a quizzical glance as she slipped the paper into her purse.
‘Good,’ said Eshwar. ‘Now the only way to start the fusion was to find the one syllable that won speech. By now, you know what the sentence means and what the syllable is. I offered to tell your father the syllable. He refused my help. He said he’d rather find out himself. He needed to convince himself about many things and also rid himself of beliefs that he had till that time.’
‘So you knew the syllable all along. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You know the syllable don’t you? How does it matter how you came to know it? Does not the fact that you went through so much hardship for it give you the drive to see this whole affair through? If I had given you the syllable, you would have doubted it as you have doubted me.’
‘How do you know that we doubted you?’ Sheila asked as a pang of guilt crept through her.
‘Anybody in your position would not have trusted a total stranger. It’s quite natural,’ said Eshwar.
‘Ok...’ said Raghu tentatively. He really did not know how to tackle Eshwar’s line of thought. ‘My father wanted to confirm a few things for himself. What were they?’
‘If I was who I claimed to be.’
‘And who are you?’
‘Later. Suffice it is to say that I was convinced your father could do it, just like I am convinced now that you can. In fact, you are far more resourceful than your father was.’
‘Thank you.’
‘One question. If you could use the word, why didn’t you go ahead and do the fusion yourself?’ Sheila asked.
P. Eshwar said, ‘I cannot. Only a Surya can do that. You see, the Sutram is a Surya...’
‘What are you saying?’ Raghuram cried, shocked.
‘The core of the Sutram contains your grandfather’s blood and viscera. That was why the tantrik poisoned him.’
‘Why my grandfather?’
‘Actually, it was just bad luck. It could have been anywhere or anyone. The tantrik was in Gudem at that time. Your grandfather’s concubine wanted him dead. She engaged the tantrik and he used your grandfather’s blood to create an anomaly through which he wanted to gain many things, one of them being immortality,’ Eshwar said.
‘As simple as that, huh?’
‘Yes,’ said P. Eshwar.
‘Continue.’
‘I was away on business somewhere else. I was under the impression that your father would manage things on his own. I was not wrong; I was just not prepared for deceit by someone who was so close...to your father.’
Raghu was frowning when he asked, ‘You knew Ramaya Shastri, didn’t you?’
‘He was working for me for a while. In any event, Shastri gave your father the wrong word. The fusion did take place, the method I had taught him to adopt, worked. He created an anti-person of himself. They are two repelling forces intent on destroying each other. Like day and night or life and death. The trick is to use the syllable just as they clash. But when Surya Prasad used it, the experiment failed. The quarks were not empowered and the anti-person destroyed your father.’
Raghu lowered his head. ‘He couldn’t even run. He was helpless.’
‘Yes,’ said Eshwar. ‘One of his servants, Valaneni, died trying to protect him.’
‘Did he suffer too much pain?’ Raghu asked in a quavering voice.
‘Not for long, but it must have been intense,’ Eshwar conceded.
‘Couldn’t you help?’ he asked Eshwar accusatorily.
‘I reached there the moment I realised something was wrong, but I was too late. I was only able to save the third member of the team, Rathaya. He lived, but parts of his dormant brain were activated. It was a gift and a curse as well. He felt no pain or hunger from that day on but the only problem was that he saw things his fellow humans could not understand. He saw the secrets of the universe.’
‘You couldn’t help him too?’ Raghu asked vehemently.
‘Help? Rathaya was happy the way he was. He did not want to go back to his former life.’
‘So the experiment failed. My father died and Rathaya turned super nova and that thing in the hall survived.’
‘The experiment may have been a failure but it was only half a failure. He managed to imprison the Sutram. It could not expand beyond the boundaries that existed before the fusion. To destroy it altogether, you need the Agniputr,’ Eshwar explained.
The airhostess appeared at their side towing a food cart.
‘Dinner, ma’am, sir?’ the airhostess asked them, a plastic smile pasted on her face.
‘No thanks,’ said Raghu. Sheila declined. The airhostess dragged her wheeled cart away, the plastic smile still intact.
‘The way I see it, the Sutram first came into existence in the nineteen forties when my father was a boy. The Tantrik could have controlled the Sutram any time before nineteen seventy-one when my father set out to destroy it. Why didn’t he do it?’ Raghu asked Eshwar.
‘The Sutram was a mere seed in the nineteen forties. It had to grow, garner enough power for the tantrik to use. Your father set out to destroy it just as it was ripe for the picking. So they killed him.’
‘So its time now to control the Sutram, is that it.’
‘It’s too powerful now, I am afraid. It cannot be controlled. For a while, your father may have succeeded in imprisoning the Sutram. But, he did not destroy it. All he managed was to fasten a bandage over an open wound. The tantrik thought the experiment had failed because the bandage hid the Sutram from him. After all this time, the Sutram has managed to break free because it has reached its zenith. Quick-fix solutions don’t solve problems, you know. Thus, the Tantrik was able to rediscover his creation. I think he manipulated Govind to harness the Sutram. Govind’s lust for power is driving him into a very dangerous place.’
‘I don’t care if the Minister rots in Hell. The tantrik who warned my father about the Sutram back in the day, who was he?’
‘A disciple, a novice who was used by his master as a scapegoat.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before?’
‘You weren’t ready. Now, you are prepared to know the truth.’
‘I see. One thing that’s bugging me is, what is your interest in all this?’ asked Raghu acidly.
‘My team and I want the Sutram destroyed. We have our reasons which I cannot disclose right now. Rest assured, we mean you no harm. We know that only the fusion can destroy it, nothing else can. You must get into the memorial hall, this time at night. You will find your answers there,’ Eshwar said.
There was an announcement from the flight deck requesting all passengers to fasten their seat belts because the flight had begun its descent into Hyderabad.
Eshwar rose, nodded to them, ‘I’ve got to take my seat, we’ll be in touch.’
Sheila shook her head viciously all of a sudden, ‘No, there has to be some other way. We are not going in there with the Sable Parch and the Sutram running loose,’ she declared; her arms firmly around Raghuram’s as though Eshwar could physically snatch him away from her and throw him into the memorial hall from the airplane.
Eshwar leaned down towards the couple, he looked Raghu in the eye and truth be told, Raghu could not manage to hold eye contact with the man.
‘You have nothing to fear, Surya,’ he said, ‘After all, the Sable Parch is your father.’
Before the shocked couple could think of anything to say, Eshwar was gone.
‘My father...’
‘The anti-person...’ Sheila whispered
hesitantly.
‘It is my father’s convoluted mirror image.’
CHAPTER 40
AS they got off the plane in Hyderabad, the couple searched for the man known as P. Eshwar at the terminal. He was gone. As usual. Either he had alighted from the plane earlier to them or he was still on board. In the departure lounge, the bereaved Home Minister and the tantrik were given VIP clearances. They were driven by an airport car to the waiting aircraft which was readying itself to return to Jaipur.
Raghu and Sheila watched the breaking news on television at the airport. The famous politician and industrialist and the Home Minister’s uncle, Karan Kiromal, had passed away at the age of seventy-nine just one month ahead of his eightieth birthday. The footage showcased the Kiromal Haveli and the people streaming in to pay their last respects to the departed leader. Prominent among them were the Prime Minister, various Chief Ministers, industrialists and other personalities.
‘An unexpected twist’, Raghu mused. The couple got on the next flight to Vijayawada.
When they reached Gudem late in the night, the vigil to guard the memorial hall from Govind and his tantrik was still on. On Raghu’s instructions, Poti thanked the crowd and bade them to disperse. There was no danger of the Minister coming back to Gudem that night. Moreover, the master of the castle had returned.
By the next morning, while Raghu and Sheila were fast asleep in the castle at Gudem, Govind Kiromal was receiving people solemnly at his uncle’s funeral ceremony in Jaipur. The Home Minister appeared drawn and haggard. During the night the household staff had briefed him on what had transpired. It did not take much to deduce who the tall sadhu and sadhvi were.
‘The wily lawyer will pay.’
How did the old man die?
The tantrik was at work in a secluded room all night. Not a murmur out of him. He could well have been dead. At that moment the tantrik hurried to Govind’s side. He drew Govind to a corner, away from his wife and son.
‘What did you find out?’
‘I did my work, my son. It was that meddlesome man, Surya, and his whore, I say, his whore.’
Govind rolled his eyes, ‘That much I can divine by myself, thank you. What else did you find out?’
‘They know,’ the tantrik declared.
‘Pray tell me in clear terms, for once in your blighted life, what do they know?’
The tantrik bristled but did not react. ‘They know the syllable. I say, your uncle gave it to them. There is no time to lose. We must go to Gudem now.’
‘How could Surya just walk in here in some disguise and get away with that kind of information? Uncle was no fool.’
The tantrik shook his head derisively, ‘There is no fool like an old fool,’ he said. ‘He must have thought he was protecting you.’
Govind’s eyes welled with tears. ‘And when uncle realised he was deceived, he breathed his last. What a man. A noble and innocent heart. A simple man. I’ll miss him so much. Surya will answer for this sacrilege. I will make him pay.’
‘My son, now is not the time for revenge but for action. I say, it is time for action. We must leave immediately.’
‘The last rites are at twelve, three hours from now. I want to be out by late afternoon.’
The tantrik shook his head, ‘Too late, we have to leave right now. For all we know, Surya might be in the memorial hall destroying the God even as we speak. Your uncle is gone forever but his dream should live on. You must work towards that.’
Govind had to agree that there was a grain of truth in that. He called an aide to his side. ‘Get a chartered plane ready for me. It is a matter of national emergency. I have to be in Eluru by nightfall. It is imperative.’
Govind keyed a number on his phone. His brother, Surajmal Kiromal, answered it.
‘Bhai... I must go now. Urgent business, it’s breaking my heart but uncle’s last wishes have to be fulfilled. You complete the last rites. Make sure the press doesn’t know of my whereabouts.’
‘But...uncle would have wanted you to perform them, how can I do it...?’
‘There are things more important than family and tradition, Surajmal. Attend to it. My son will represent me. My life is dedicated to a greater cause. Uncle will understand...in fact if he was here, he would have asked me to go,’ Govind said, ‘handle everything.’ He disconnected the phone.
Surajmal smirked to himself, ‘if uncle was here,’ he thought, ‘there wouldn’t be a bloody funeral.’
Govind left the house via the rear entrance where a motorcade was already waiting for him. He fairly jumped into his car and the tantrik was still leaping in when the vehicle surged forward. In exactly twenty minutes he was on the flight and shortly thereafter they were airborne. Where the Hell was the hired assassin? Govind fumed. Surya was running riot all over the place and the so-called best assassin in India was nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER 41
THE black clad figure was part of the shadows. In the twilight, with the shadows eating into the blazing orange sun, he managed to stay camouflaged in open sight.
The assassin scaled the side wall of the castle effortlessly and let himself into the dining room through one of its enormous windows. Crepe soled shoes hardly made a sound on unpolished granite slabs as he flitted from pillar to pillar. He heard voices, Surya’s and a female voice. He would have to kill her too, collateral damage. In his line of work, that really did not affect him, he only wished he had been paid for her too. Every bullet had to pay. There are no free bullets.
He traced the source of the voices to the bedroom. He had to cross the dining room into the sitting room to reach the bedroom. He hugged the wall to avoid being seen by the occasional member of the staff passing through, waiting for the twilight to turn into night. He did not have to wait for too long.
Amit’s Kung-Fu training and a life of living on the edge had sharpened his senses to provide razor sharp signals of danger. His instincts did not reveal danger at the moment. He flitted into the living room and threw himself behind a sofa. He peered from underneath the sofa legs to see if he had been detected, after two minutes, he figured he wasn’t.
Amit raised himself stealthily, without making the least noise. Then he moved like lightning. He was opposite the bedroom door momentarily. He held the door handle, silenced gun in hand, ready to yank it open and fire the two shots he needed to kill the targets before making his escape.
The sitting room came ablaze with light.
Amit did not panic. He never panicked.
Gun in hand, he whirled around to deal with the threat. A surprised Poti, with a pot of tea on a tray, just stared at the assassin. In the moment it took Poti to drop the tray and go for his gun, Amit shot him. The bullet hit Poti on the right side of his chest and threw him against a table with a glass top.
The sound of the breaking tea pot and glass top echoed along the first floor. Raghuram threw the bedroom door open which slammed into Amit’s gun arm. The weapon went flying out of his hand.
Whirling around, he pulled out a knife. Sheila was screaming as she ran towards the bleeding Poti. Raghu swept the room, the fallen Poti, the shriek from Sheila all of them registered somewhere in his mind. His eyes were focussed on the assassin. Raghuram moved into the classic aikido position. Legs spread apart, arms bent, palms open and fingers rigid and apart, like holding a Katana sword, eyes only on his opponent. Amit moved like lightning, struck Raghu on his arm and a red line blotted his white kurta.
Raghu ignored it. Had he not slided to his right, the knife would have found his heart. He removed his sandals slowly, all the time circling Amit.
The assassin moved again, charging for another lightning strike.
Raghu was almost a foot taller than the assassin, his reach was way better. He brought his leg forward in a vicious straight kick aimed at the assassin’s left knee. Amit saw it coming but his own momentum worked against him. Raghu’s foot crashed against his knee bone, breaking it. Amit winced with pain. He fell back and immediately started
searching for his gun.
‘Sheila, pick up the gun,’ Raghu said.
Amit made a lunge for her. Raghu used his leg again. His foot struck viciously. The force of the blow shattered the knee cap and the bone, breaking the assassin’s other leg. He fell to the ground. Amit raised himself on his broken legs and waved his knife at Raghu. Sheila had, in the meanwhile, picked up the gun and handed it over to Raghu. He pulled out the magazine and threw it away. He ejected the shell in the chamber and threw the gun beyond the assassin’s reach.
‘Let’s see how tough you are,’ he said.
Amit pulled out another knife, this one curved. He dived at Raghu, both knives raised. Raghu stepped aside from Amit’s line of attack, caught the assassin’s wrist and pushed it into a vicious wristlock.
Raghu moved diagonally towards Amit, bending the assassin’s palm inward, using the momentum of his own onward motion, rather than brute force, to push Amit’s palm all the way down. With his legs powerless to support him, the assassin could not counter the wristlock. His wrist broke like a twig. Straightening the assassin’s arm, Raghu dealt a crushing open palm blow to the elbow. The bone tore through skin, twisting the hand into a grotesque angle.
This time Amit screamed. Both his knives were on the floor.
He desperately pushed himself away from Raghuram. By this time, most of the staff members had gathered. They carried Poti away into the bedroom.
‘That man was by my side all my life. He is a friend, a mentor,’ Raghu said to Amit through clenched teeth.
‘I hope he rots in Hell,’ said the assassin. He stood unsteadily on broken legs. Raghu moved forward blithely. He punched the assassin right in the solar plexus, using his shoulder and hip to lend as much power as his frame could muster.
The blow expunged almost all the air in Amit’s lungs. He crashed to his knees. Raghu was in a rage. The blood of his feudal ancestors boiled within. He broke the wrist of Amit’s one remaining good hand, then his fingers, and finally his elbow. Amit screamed in anguish. He had not ever experienced this kind of agony in his life. The sense of helpless panic was overwhelming. He lost all control of his senses, his bladder opened up and he defiled the sitting room.