Race Course Road

by Seema Goswami

  A surprised and embarrassed Asha mumbled her thanks, and the meeting began.

  Karan took the lead by congratulating Sukanya on the amazing performance of the Poriborton Party in the polls. He knew that she still hadn’t forgiven him for his trespasses in the last general election. And that he needed to mollify her at the get-go to make sure that this meeting proved more successful than the one he had had with Didi Damyanti.

  Sukanya responded with a tight smile, and offered him her own congratulations for having led his party to victory, even though both of them knew that he hadn’t done anything of the sort. If the LJP had actually won, then Karan Pratap Singh would be in Rashtrapati Bhavan now, being sworn in by the President of India. He wouldn’t be sitting opposite her, at the head of an LJP delegation, asking for her support.

  But no sooner were the pleasantries over than Sukanya dropped her bombshell. She was willing to ally with the LJP to form the new government. But only so long as Karan Pratap was not at the head of it. He could become the leader of the United Front they formed along with their minor allies. But the Prime Minister’s post had to go to Sukanya.

  Karan couldn’t believe his ears. The audacity of the woman! With her sixty MPs, she thought that she could lord it over him? That she could drive him out of government? Deprive him of the Prime Minister’s post?

  Well, that was never going to happen.

  Controlling his temper with effort, Karan broke the stunned silence in the room. ‘You can’t be serious. The Prime Minister’s post always goes to the leader of the largest party in the combine. You know that as well as anybody else in this room. And that means that I get to be Prime Minister.’

  Arjun added, in more conciliatory tones, ‘But we can promise you the deputy prime ministership.’

  He knew he hadn’t cleared this with anyone, and Karan would probably give him hell later, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And right now, anything that would placate the Poriborton Party leader—short of making her Prime Minister—would do, no matter how much it angered his brother.

  The moment the words were out of Arjun’s mouth, the entire LJP delegation turned as one to gawp at him. And then swivelled around to see how Karan had taken his brother’s offer.

  Every single person in the room was well aware that the LJP’s negotiations with the Dalit Morcha had collapsed on just this issue: Karan Pratap’s refusal to give Didi Damyanti the title of Deputy Prime Minister in the new government. So, why on earth was the party leader’s younger brother making exactly the same offer to Sukanya Sarkar?

  But surprisingly enough, Karan didn’t look surprised at this new development—or even raise any objections. Clearly, at some unspecified point, he had made peace with the idea that he would have to give that title to Sukanya Sarkar.

  As a matter of fact, Karan had been berating himself for losing his temper so spectacularly at his meeting with Damyanti. Surely, if his father had taught him anything, it was to never reveal his emotions in public. The less people knew how you felt, what was going through your head, the better control you had over proceedings.

  Much to his own chagrin, though, Karan had broken that cardinal rule during his meeting with the Dalit Morcha. He had allowed his annoyance at the temerity of a two-bit Dalit leader (he really should stop referring to Damyanti in those terms in his head; one day that phrase would slip out in public, with disastrous consequences) dictating terms to him to push him into losing control. He had allowed his anger to propel him out of that meeting.

  Once he had walked out, though, there was no going back—not without losing face. And that was something that Karan was not prepared to do

  He could, however, salvage something from this meeting with Sukanya. So, in his mind, Karan had made peace with offering her the deputy prime ministership, holding it out as a carrot if the negotiations got difficult. But he hadn’t bargained for the Poriborton Party leader upping the stakes like this.

  Maybe this was just a bargaining ploy. Ask for something completely unreasonable so that the opposing party feels pressured to offer you the thing you were really looking for. Maybe Deputy Prime Minister was all that Sukanya wanted. She was just asking for the moon so that they would offer her the stars without protest.

  But no, Sukanya Sarkar remained unmoved by Arjun’s offer.

  ‘What am I going to do with a meaningless title? What does Deputy Prime Minister even mean? It is just a sop that you can offer to people like Damyanti. But I am not interested in being a deputy to anyone. If I am going to join the government, then it will be as Prime Minister. Or else, my party will sit in Opposition. And you are free to make alliances with whoever else you please.’

  Radhika cast a worried look at Karan. She could see that he was the end of his tether. And it wouldn’t take much to make him lose control and say something unforgiveable.

  Laying a calming hand on his forearm, she smiled at Sukanya. ‘I know that you and Karan have had your differences over the years,’ she said. ‘But surely we can work through whatever misunderstandings exist between the two of you and work for the good of the country.’

  ‘There is no misunderstanding,’ snapped Sukanya. ‘I understand your husband perfectly. And I am under no illusions as to what he was trying to achieve in Kantapara. He was trying to cause a communal riot to win an election…’

  This was too much for Karan. Forgetting all the injunctions he had laid upon himself to stay calm and carry on, no matter what the provocation, he was overcome by a sudden flash of temper. Accusations of being communal always touched a nerve in him; surely everyone knew that some of his best friends were Muslim?

  Brushing off Radhika’s hand, he rose to his feet. ‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I was trying to cause a communal riot? What an outrageous thing to say!’

  Arjun tried to pull Karan down into his seat, as Asha looked on aghast as how quickly the meeting had deteriorated into a shouting match.

  ‘Let’s all calm down and take a minute,’ said Arjun, looking helplessly at Abhik Ghosh, signalling him with his eyes to make some effort to calm his boss down. But Ghosh refused resolutely to make any eye contact. He knew better than to intervene when Sukanya was in the midst of a full-fledged tantrum. He valued his own life far too much.

  So, it was left to Arjun to soldier on. ‘Can we please put the past where it belongs? In the past! We need to move on into the future. It is no point holding on to old grudges when we can accomplish so much together.’

  ‘We can accomplish nothing under the leadership of your brother,’ responded Sukanya sharply. ‘The only way we can make progress is if I am at the head of the government.’

  Karan, who had subsided into his seat momentarily, got up again. ‘Then, there is no point in taking his discussion any further. We are done.’

  With those words, he walked out of the room. And after a moment’s stunned silence the LJP delegation followed him. Sukanya Sarkar looked at their retreating backs with a satisfied smile on her face.

  What on earth was she playing at, thought Abhik Ghosh, trying to gauge her expression. Surely, she knew as well as anyone else that she could never be Prime Minister at the head of this combine. That job, by rights, belonged to Karan Pratap Singh, the leader of the LJP.

  So, what did she really want? What was Sukanya Sarkar’s endgame here?

  Well, he guessed they would find out in good time.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Matters now stood at a complete impasse. Both Sukanya and Karan were locked into their positions, Jayesh Sharma had effectively taken himself out of the running, and Damyanti had flown back to her home state in a huff. So, two days after the results had been announced, there was no sign of a government, and no hope that any new combination would emerge any time soon

  The media were not sure whom to direct their ire at. There were just so many villains in this scenario. There was Jayesh Sharma, currently enemy number one, who had dragged everyone into the mud with him. There was Didi Damyanti, wh
o had let her ego stand in the way of finding a reasonable resolution to the mess the country found itself in. There was Karan Pratap Singh, whose ineptitude and lack of political nous had resulted in all doors closing in the LJP’s face. And then, there was Sukanya Sarkar, the megalomaniac who thought that she was more important than India itself.

  Gaurav Agnihotri’s anger was primarily directed at the Karan–Sukanya combine. In his view, they had been in the best position to give the country a stable government. And the only reason they had failed was because both had oversized egos, and each was more unreasonable than the other.

  Everyone knew that Sukanya had a historical grudge against Karan Pratap but surely she could have forgiven him his past trespasses to secure the country’s present? As for Karan Pratap, what made him believe that he had some sort of divine right to the Prime Minister’s chair? Being the son of the previous Prime Minister didn’t automatically grant him the right to become Prime Minister himself!

  Once Gaurav started developing on this theme, it was hard to get him to stop. India was not a monarchy, he thundered. And it was time the country devolved into something more than a dynastic democracy. It was bad enough that Karan Pratap had been made PM by his party after his father died. But why should he assume he was the first and only choice for Prime Minister in the new government?

  Karan hadn’t even led his party to a simple majority in the election, despite the sympathy wave powering him towards the finish line. A political leader who could not win in these circumstances, it could be argued, wasn’t much of a political leader at all.

  Sukanya, on the other hand, had been masterly in the way she had marshalled her forces. She had not only held on to her citadel of West Bengal but she had made significant gains in states like Orissa, Assam and Bihar as well. She was clearly the leader of the future. So, why couldn’t she be given the top job?

  Or, if all else failed, Gaurav persisted, couldn’t they divide the five-year term between them, serving two and half years each as Prime Minister? These politicians simply needed to think out of the box on occasions like this. It wasn’t difficult. If he, Gaurav Agnihotri, could do it, what was stopping them?

  Manisha Patel couldn’t help but laugh as she caught this part of Gaurav’s debate show. He was accusing someone else of being a megalomaniac, of not looking further than his/her own interests? Clearly, the man had no self-knowledge, she thought.

  And have two Prime Ministers dividing the term between them? What kind of asinine idea was that, anyway? Which two politicians would agree to an arrangement like that? And how would it even work? Which one would go first, Karan or Sukanya? And what was the guarantee that whoever went first wouldn’t topple the government once his/her turn was over and head straight for mid-term polls with a clear advantage?

  What on earth was Gaurav thinking?

  And, for that matter, what was Sukanya Sarkar thinking? Manisha had been close to Sukanya long enough to know that her unreasonableness, her sudden rages, her temperamental fits, were all an elaborate cover behind which she plotted her political career with a certain native cunning. It was what Manisha had dubbed the Mad Woman Theory in her own head. By making out that she was a complete nutcase, Sukanya managed to keep her political opponents off balance, giving her an edge in all political negotiations.

  But what she had done this time round made no sense at all. Sukanya knew as well as anyone else that she had zero claim to the Prime Minister’s post. Karan had 190 seats to her sixty; so his party was contributing more than twice the MPs to the government. And Karan had the support of around twenty-six MPs from the smaller parties and four Independents. By any rational reckoning, Karan had the right to head the new government.

  Sukanya, canny political operator that she was, must know that. So, why was she insisting on the Prime Minister’s post in return for her support? She had to know that she would never get it. But here she was sticking to her guns nonetheless.

  There had to be a reason for that. For all her fiery arguments and public breakdowns, Sukanya had a cold rational core to her. She never did anything without good reason. There was always a method to her madness. It was just a question of deciphering it.

  Manisha was just preparing to articulate this position on her debate programme, when the producer whispered the latest installment of breaking news into her earpiece. And for once, this really was a news break. There was a warrant out for Madan Mohan Prajapati’s arrest and a party of cops was on its way to Krishna Menon Marg to arrest the former Defence Minister.

  For a moment Manisha thought she hadn’t heard right. But then, as the channel crashed into regular programming to show ‘Breaking News’ and the camera feed cut to the scene outside Madan Mohan’s Lutyens bungalow, she realized that it must be true.

  With the OB vans of various TV channels forming the backdrop, there was a posse of policemen stationed outside the iron gates of the Prajapati residence. There was some sort of argument raging between the cops and the security guys guarding Madan Mohan’s house. But with various camera crews jostling each other and reporters shouting questions, the noise level made it impossible to figure out what was happening.

  Manisha quickly improvised and brought her viewers up to speed with what had happened so far, relying on the agency copy that had landed on her desk and on the bits of news that the voice in her ear was relaying to her. Frankly, it wasn’t much to go on.

  But as the gates of the Prajapati residence were thrown open to the arresting officers, her correspondent on the scene finally came on the phone line.

  ‘What is going there, Priyank?’ asked Manisha. ‘What are the police telling you?’

  ‘Hi Manisha. It’s complete chaos out here. The police are refusing to answer any questions. But they have produced an arrest warrant for Madan Mohan Prajapati and shown it to the guards at the gate. The charge is that of conspiracy to murder the late Prime Minister Birendra Pratap Singh.’

  ‘What? Conspiracy to murder the Prime Minister? Are you quite sure, Priyank? We were given to believe that the arrest was related to the L’Oiseau deal.’

  ‘Well, that’s what everybody here thought as well. But I saw the warrant with my own eyes. Madan Mohan has been charged with conspiracy to murder Birendra Pratap Singh.’

  Manisha’s head reeled as she struggled to take this in. Meanwhile, Priyank was continuing with his on-the-spot report. ‘The guards are refusing to let the police enter, saying that Madan Mohan is out of the country.’

  Manisha tried to get a grip and continue with her questioning. ‘And is that true? Is he really not in India? He was just seen paying a courtesy call to Didi Damyanti!’

  ‘Yes, exactly. The police believe that the guards are lying. So now they have entered the premises to look for Madan Mohan Prajapati.’

  ‘Do you know what the basis for this charge is?’ asked Manisha. ‘What is the evidence that Madan Mohan was behind Birendra Pratap’s assassination.’

  ‘We haven’t been told anything about that,’ said Priyank. ‘But I think there may be a briefing later tonight or tomorrow morning, where we may learn more.’

  Just then, the visual feed showed another commotion at the gates of the Prajapati bungalow, which were now open again. The camera crews and still photographers surged forward to take the first pictures of the disgraced former Defence Minister as he was led away in handcuffs.

  They were doomed to disappointment. The only people seen emerging were members of the police party. There was no sign of Madan Mohan himself. Clearly, the security guards hadn’t been lying.

  Madan Mohan Prajapati had left the building.

  ▪

  Asha Devi could not believe her eyes. Was that really a police party in front of Madan Mohan’s house? Were they really there to arrest him for the murder of Birendra Pratap? Was her political mentor really the man behind the assassination of her father?

  Asha simply couldn’t wrap her mind around these facts. There must be some mistake. There was no way the Madan
Uncle of her childhood, her father’s most trusted confidant, could have conspired to kill Baba.

  And yet, every TV channel was running with the same visuals, with outsize letters spelling out ‘Exclusive’ superimposed on them. She was just about to pick up her phone and call Karan, when the door to her bedroom burst open and a very agitated Sadhana Devi entered.

  ‘Is it true?’ she asked. ‘Is it true that Madan bhai was behind your father’s assassination?’

  Asha took her mother into her arms. She could feel Amma trembling like a leaf, her heart hammering hard against Asha’s chest.

  ‘I don’t know, Amma. I really don’t know. I was just going to call Karan bhaiya to find out.’

  ‘I can’t believe it, Asha. I really can’t. Madan bhai has been a friend to our family for so long. He was the first person to make me feel welcome when I married your father. He doted on you when you were a little girl. And he has been such a help to you since you entered politics. I can’t believe that he could be behind your Baba’s murder.’

  ‘Nor can I, Amma. But we need to get the facts before we make up our minds,’ said Asha soothingly.

  But, for once, her mother was not in the mood to be mollified. ‘Trust me, beta, Madan bhai is being set up to take the fall for your father’s death. Karan has never ever liked him. He always thought Madan bhai was a threat to his position within the party. And he must have hated him even more after Baba died, and Madan bhai encouraged you to join politics. Trust me, this is Karan’s way of getting back at him.’

  Asha, in all her life, had never heard her mother be so vehement about anything. Trying to calm her down, she said, ‘Amma, we don’t know that either. And it’s not so easy to frame someone—especially someone as powerful and influential as Madan uncle for a murder. You have to present evidence in court. A judge has to agree to issue a warrant.’