The Return of Vaman - A Scientific Novel

by Jayant V. Narlikar

  ‘Good morning PL! Karl here. Don’t you Indians get up early in the morning? Get up, man! It’s bright and sunny over here.’

  ‘Surely you are not calling with the intention of providing a weather bulletin?’ Pyarelal’s voice was quite friendly now.

  ‘No. Just to report. Number One is interested. The Jap will pay the first instalment.’

  ‘Good! Well done! How much did you ask?’

  ‘That is none of your business, old man. They will pay more for further information, of course. I will pay you what we agreed upon. But please arrange for more details on the computer.’

  ‘Will do. Bye.’

  As Pyarelal replaced the receiver, a click could be heard somewhere down the line and a tape recorder was automatically turned off.

  4 The Wiretapper

  ‘Go on, Mr Singh. You must have something really important to have called me here all the way from Gauribidnur.’ Major Samant eased himself on to the sofa as he spoke.

  Kamala Prasad Singh had a first class M.Sc with statistics, but had somehow got diverted to the police department. As a police officer he was something of a misfit, being too urbane to lead riot squads against unruly mobs. So he was diverted again, via the C.I.D. to the Intelligence Bureau, where he had found his niche.

  ‘Take it easy, Samantji! Here, I will play a tape for you’, Singh said in his polite Hindi.

  Singh was a lover of music and was known for his stock of tapes and LPs of classical Indian music. But the tape he played on this occasion was somewhat different. Still, Major Samant liked it so much that he called for a replay, which he listened to carefully.

  ‘Technically illegal of course—but we have to do this from time to time’, said Singh almost apologetically.

  ‘I recognized Pyarelal’s voice right away. The caller’s voice was not so clear, but fortunately he identified himself … Good you called me, Mr Singh.’ Samant was clearly very excited.

  ‘On rare occasions we catch gems like this out of a whole lot of junk’, Singh said modestly.

  ‘Can you work out where the call came from?’

  Singh was hoping this question would be asked. For this is where his analytical mind revelled.

  ‘This call came when it was four-thirty in the morning, Indian Standard Time. That makes it midnight in London and Western Europe because it is summer, seven in the evening in New York and four in the afternoon on the West Coast of the United States.’

  Singh paused to let all this sink in and then continued.

  ‘Of course, in summer it can be bright and sunny even at seven p.m. in New York. So I got the Met office to give me satellite weather charts over the United States. Fortunately for me, there were low pressure areas almost all over the country.’

  Singh fished out a sheaf of maps from his desk and placed them before the Major who immediately said ‘Right you are. All states except California and Arizona seem to be under heavy cloud cover.’

  ‘Taking that with reference to the computer, I homed in on Silicon Valley in California. Our friend was negotiating with somebody high up in Number One.’

  Major Samant was still peering over the maps as Singh produced lemonade from his desktop fridge. He was a strict teetotaler.

  ‘There can be no doubt about which is Number One, especially after reference to “the Jap” in the conversation’.

  ‘Who is the Jap?’ asked Samant.

  ‘Chushiro Yamamoto, born in Osaka, age forty-five, Ph.D. from Cambridge. Got mentioned for his exceptional thesis on computer hardware. Had many lucrative jobs waiting for him in the USA and Japan but preferred to do post-doctoral research for a few years, where he went from strength to strength. Then he started his own company. Judged the market right when the demand for personal computers rose and rose. Then sold out just before the downhill started and joined a top class multinational in an important policy-making post, where he has been since—now a force to reckon with. I have managed to get a couple of photographs of him, too.’ He placed a few magazines on the small table in front of Major Samant.

  ‘You certainly have done your homework, Mr Singh.’ Major Samant glanced through the article in a leading computer journal from the West, wherein Yamamoto’s achievements were highlighted. Singh grinned with satisfaction.

  ‘Thank you, Major! I might further add that his company has given Yamamoto carte blanche to use whatever methods he deems fit to bring it to Number One place and keep it there. Industrial espionage is one of his specialities.’

  ‘All is fair in love and war, eh?’ the Major said jokingly. But already his cautious mind was estimating the consequences. That Yamamoto was interested in the Gauribidnur computer was bad enough. His joining forces with an international criminal like Karl Shulz added another dimension to his worry.

  ‘It is high time we took in Navin Pande and Pyarelal. We simply cannot let this leak go on any more’, he said in decisive tones.

  Singh’s deprecating cough told him that such precipitate action was unwelcome.

  ‘Hardly what I expected of you, Major.’ Singh elaborated, ‘What will that do? May be those two will get a few years in jail. But what about the big fish, Shulz? Will you let him go? Remember, he will carry on with someone else instead.’

  ‘I will have to do so Mr Singh, much though I regret that alternative. My main concern is to protect our project at Gauribidnur. I cannot compromise on that.’

  ‘Suppose you catch Shulz without compromising your project?’ Singh asked.

  ‘How? In what way?’ the Major asked hopefully—for he could see that his companion’s face was shining with excitement. From past experience he knew that Singh had got one of his brain waves. And waves from such a brain as his could not be ignored.

  ‘Let me explain’, Singh added, replenishing his glass with more iced lemonade.

  ‘Time to go, Runa’, Navin said, looking at the bedside clock.

  ‘Not yet, darling … can’t you spare even a single night for your Runa? For two months I have missed you’, Runa pulled him back to bed and gave him a long hug.

  Normally, this should have been enough incentive to keep him back—but not today. Navin had a flight to catch—the first flight to Bombay. He gently extricated himself and got up.

  ‘Runa, love, much though I hate it, I have to leave. Otherwise I will miss this wretched flight … But I promise you another rendezvous within a month.’

  ‘A tall promise! And no doubt your bodyguard will be there too? I bet he is waiting outside.’

  Navin looked out of the window. A solitary figure in plain clothes could be made out vaguely, sitting near the gatepost of the apartment building. It was indeed hard to do much under this constant shadow, for which he heartily cursed the absent Major.

  ‘Runa, you and I have to put up with this for may be a year, until I unravel all the treasure in that container. It’s an archaeologist’s dream, Runa. And it’s a challenge to me.’

  As Navin rapidly dressed, Runa made another proposition. ‘How about taking me to that god-forsaken place?’ Navin laughed at the suggestion.

  ‘You! In Gauribidnur! What would a party girl like you do in that monastery. You will want to quit in two days!’

  ‘I know why you don’t want me there, Navin. You have acquired another friend.’

  Navin suddenly turned serious. His moment had come. Like a magician, he produced a jewel box from his pocket and opened it to take out a ring.

  ‘Give me your second finger of the left hand.’ Even before Runa knew what he meant he had slipped the ring on it. She stared at the brilliant diamond, half dazed.

  ‘What is this for?’ she asked, impressed but hardly able to believe the implications.

  ‘I thought even a muddle-headed one like you would know! It happens to be an engagement ring … Runa will you marry me?’

  ‘I can’t believe it! A casanova like you asking that question?’

  ‘Well, what is the answer, my love?’ asked Navin, taking her in his arms.
/>   Before Runa could answer, however, the door bell rang, followed by loud, decisive knocks.

  ‘Curse it’, muttered Navin as Runa went to open the door. It was still too early for the taxi to the airport that he had ordered.

  ‘Who is it?’ he heard Runa ask before opening the door. Then he saw her look through the peephole and open the door in some trepidation.

  He caught a glimpse of Hajarimal, his ‘bodyguard’. But the figure behind him made Navin stiffen.

  Major Samant was standing at the doorway in full uniform.

  5 The Computer

  Dear Urmila

  Our correspondence has been going on for several months. You may accuse me of being lazy—you would be justified too, for I write one letter after receiving four of yours! Nor are my letters ever as long as yours.

  The fact is that I simply don’t have time. Unlike you (consigned to a quiet life in the wilderness), I am in the thick of a busy housewife’s routine. With just Jayaram and myself, a family of two, what keeps me so busy? You may well ask! The answer is ‘a steady unending stream of guests’.

  Jay likes people, whether they are artists, musicians, litterateurs, journalists, scientists or academics—even politicians of all parties. Jay loves to chat with them all for hours on end while poor I have to supply food to keep them going. Tonight he is bringing two film actors for an overnight stay. I have just finished cooking dinner and am snatching a few minutes to scribble this to you. Well, Urmila, I have important news to report. The D-Day is around December 20. This means I have to slow down and employ some regular domestic help in due course. Aren’t you lucky that you have a gardener and a woman who cooks? You tell me that they are the spies employed by that Major of yours. Well, I have no use for a gardener in our eighth floor flat but could certainly do with a cook (so I envy you!). Even Jay has registered the news in his busy mind and is talking of reducing the flow of guests. I will believe that when it really happens. Meanwhile I have just sighted Jay’s car, presumably containing the dreaded guests.

  So I will close for now. My best regards to Laxmanan (when you see him!) and to you—I will also add those from Jay, whom I can now hear at the door.

  Lalitha

  ‘When you see him!’ How right she is, thought Urmila as she read the last paragraph. For she rarely saw Laxman these days. He would come back late at night and, on his strict instructions, she had stopped waiting for him for dinner. She would be fast asleep when he came and helped himself to whatever was kept on the table. And by the time she woke up he would be gone. On some nights he would grab a stale sandwich from the canteen and sleep on the bench in the lab.

  Urmila sighed and looked out. Jeevan, the gardener was busy weeding the lawn. But, Urmila knew, he was alert for anything unusual. Her other shadow, Rakhee, was putting finishing touches to a lunch of rice and sambar. Though Urmila did not need or want a cook, she had one courtesy of Major Samant—in case something unusual happened.

  It did! Masculine arms were round her and she was lifted and whirled round the room. Her instinct to cry out was suppressed by surprise at finding that the arms belonged to her absconding husband.

  ‘Let go, Laxman, let go! What will Rakhee think?’ Urmila managed to extricate herself with great difficulty.

  ‘I bet she has been trained to ignore such demonstrations’ said Laxman who looked obviously excited. ‘Umi, I have finally done it!’ he added.

  ‘What have you done, Laxman?’ Urmila asked. Some of the excitement had already rubbed off on her.

  ‘I have, shall we say, completed the jigsaw puzzle I was trying to put together for so long.’

  ‘What puzzle?’

  ‘Ah, there you have me. I shouldn’t tell you really—but to hell with security—I will. Umi, the computer is working. It’s fantastic, decades ahead of the finest supercomputer on this planet. But having said that, I must shut up. And, Umi, keep it to yourself.’

  ‘Congratulations, darling!’ Urmila could not decide whether she was more pleased at Laxman’s success or because there was now the likelihood of his finding more time for her.

  The excitement had all begun with the first trial run, when Arul had produced a programme for the computer….

  ‘What programme is this?’ asked Laxman.

  ‘Back in 1976 two mathematicians Appel and Haaken used this programme to solve the long-standing four-colour problem’, said Arul as he handed the floppy disc to Laxman. As Laxman went over to put the disc into the new computer, Arul had second thoughts on the matter. He added, ‘Laxman, you wanted a long-running programme; but let me warn you that this one took nearly 1200 hours on IBM-360 … Do you want something more modest to start with?’

  ‘No Arul, I will take it as a challenge. I could have tried shorter and simpler problems—but they won’t give a real indication of its capability. Let me first put the disc in to translate the programme language to one which this computer understands.’

  ‘What is this business of translating languages?’ asked Navin.

  ‘This computer has been designed as per specifications totally alien to us. Even our own computer systems in the initial stages did not readily adopt a common system of programming. So one had to design a translator to change one programming language to another. I designed one that this computer understands. That is why it took me so long to make this computer work. Of course, in due course we must get used to the computer’s own language: then this delay won’t occur’, Laxman said as he anxiously watched the flashing light. It would change over to a steady red light if the computer did not understand some instruction in the programme.

  ‘Bravo!’ shouted Laxman with delight as the flashing light stopped and a series of beeps came out. The indicator light had turned to green. The computer had understood all the instructions. Laxman took out the floppy disc and pressed another button.

  ‘The computer will now examine the programme for its internal logic’, he added.

  ‘While it is doing so, can you explain to me the four-colour problem?’ Navin asked Arul.

  ‘It is one of these conjectures which are simple to state but difficult to settle one way or another’, said Arul. ‘Suppose on a geographical map you want to depict countries by different colours. The condition is: adjacent countries, that is, those sharing a boundary, must have different colours. What is the least number of colours needed to paint the map?’

  ‘Wait a minute! That looks simple enough’, Navin went to a desk and pulled out a paper. He drew several maps to check his guess and finally said. ‘Four colours ought to be enough’.

  ‘Right! That is the four-colour conjecture. But can you prove it? Can you show that, no matter how you draw the map, four colours will suffice?’ Arul asked.

  ‘Well … now you are asking! May be there is some map cleverly drawn that might need five colours … let me try a little more.’ Navin started drawing a few more maps.

  ‘You can save yourself the trouble! People have been at it for over a century. Some thought that they had proved the conjecture but their proofs contained fallacies. Nor could anyone find a map that needed at least five colours.’

  ‘There must be maps and maps. Unless one exhausted all kinds of maps that can be drawn, one cannot really settle this issue’, Navin said.

  ‘Well, as a rule mathematicians look for a general proof that covers all cases without having to specifically deal with individual examples. Take the Pythagoras theorem about right-angle triangles. You don’t need to draw each and every right-angle triangle to show that the theorem works. You construct a general proof’, Arul explained.

  ‘What a proof! It was enough to turn me away from mathematics at school’, Navin confessed with a wry smile.

  ‘A simple proof it was, if only you had good teachers to explain it to you, Navin! For the four-colour conjecture, no compact analytical proof was forthcoming. So Appel and Haaken did something that pure mathematicians rarely resort to. They went to a computer for help. They had already classified maps int
o different categories depending on their complexity. But there were far too many categories and far too many maps in each category to be within the range of a human brain to verify. As I said earlier, even a fast computer could not settle the matter easily.’ Arul glanced anxiously at Laxman who was watching the console intently.

  ‘So what Laxman is doing to his computer is like asking a toddler to break an Olympic record.’ Navin now began to appreciate the immensity of the problem. Would they have to wait for fifty days to get the answer?

  ‘Good … good … good! The computer has accepted the programme’ Laxman shouted suddenly. ‘Shall we start it?’ He pressed the ‘execute’ button without waiting for their concurrence.

  ‘How long should we wait for an answer, Laxman? Hope not 1200 hours’, Navin asked jokingly.

  ‘I estimate it to be less than an hour—at a conservative guess’, Laxman said.

  ‘Come, let us have a cup of tea while we wait.’ Arul dragged the other two, Laxman especially, to the canteen. He felt that Laxman could hardly bear to wait there in suspense.

  Even in the canteen Laxman could not relax. He kept thinking of the computer he had put together according to the instructions found in the container. It had been a long haul. For this he had had to commission components from R & D labs which had never encountered this type of technology before. It had meant trial and error until the specifications laid down so clearly in those instructions were met. And all this had been done in total secrecy. One lab did not know what the others were doing. Within the same lab, different scientists were assigned non-overlapping jobs, all classified.

  Would it work? Laxman could not imagine the consequences of a failure.

  ‘Shall we go back and have a peep?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘It’s hardly been fifteen minutes … you wanted an hour’, Arul reminded him.

  ‘All the same, let me check and see if it is still working.’ Laxman did not wait for the others to finish their coffee. He pushed aside his cup and got up.