by S Venkatesh
Sam brought her up to speed on the verses and the presumed location of the Gupt-Kandara.
Damini did a quick calculation in her head. From her location in Mumbai, she would take at least six hours to catch up with Sam.
She did not have the luxury of that much time. The cricket match in Delhi was to start in ten hours.
She could not use the ACG’s resources openly, so she could only discreetly rely on contacts with other agencies, such as the Army. Her best bet was for Sam to go ahead and find the Gupt-Kandara and Prativisha before she caught up with him.
Sam was, to use ACG lingo, her asset, and she needed to use him carefully.
Somehow, the words rankled in Damini’s head.
***
‘You’ll need permits to get to the protected areas in Sikkim,’ Damini said. ‘I’ll have somebody speak to the government department there to expedite it. Do you want some Army folks to accompany you?’
‘No need,’ Sam replied tersely, squirming. If the Army got involved, the control would slip out of his hands. He could not afford that, especially if Ananya was in the Maestro’s clutches.
Damini sensed Sam’s discomfiture. Sam was obviously keen to avert the Delhi Demo. But if he had a chance to barter the Prativisha with the Maestro in exchange for Ananya, would he yield?
Either way, she would have to ensure that Sam’s feelings did not get in the way and botch this up.
‘We need to have a chat on what you do once you find the Prativisha,’ Damini said.
Sam fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘Let’s find the goddamn Prativisha first.’
Damini did not prod further. Maybe this was not the best time to rake up this issue. Over years of manipulating assets, she possessed the tact required to handle them.
CHAPTER 36
ACG office, Mumbai, Wednesday, 8.50 a.m.
Damini got off the phone with the folks at the Army base in north Sikkim.
She had been very specific in her request.
The surveillance would have to be very discreet. Only one well-trained Army person could shadow Sam. She was certain the Maestro, too, would be following him and she could not risk alerting him.
The Maestro was the fish that she wanted to catch. Sam was only the bait.
She again felt a stab of guilt, but she quickly quelled it.
After all, she had a job to do. She needed to save tens of thousands of lives in Delhi.
The greatest good of the greatest number.
She hated that it had to turn out this way, but what had to be done had to be done.
We become what we repeatedly do.
***
Delhi, Wednesday, 10 a.m.
The International Cricket Stadium erupted in a flurry of activity as final preparations were underway for the match of the century between the Indian team and the Dream Combo XI. The pitch was being inspected, and the staff fervently hoped that the game would not be marred by rain. It was not yet time for the monsoons to reach Delhi, but the rains had hit Mumbai rather early this year; thus, the staff were understandably nervous.
The choice of a cricket match was an exercise in smart politics. The US wanted to demonstrate its ‘pivot’ towards Asia, and that it wanted to keep China’s political ambitions in check by aligning with India. There was no better way to make a statement of political affiliation with India than through a cricket match.
The GSS would conclude by 4 p.m., after which the foreign delegates, including the heads of state, would be escorted to the International Cricket Stadium. The match was to start at 6 p.m., and would probably finish around 9 p.m.
Yash double-checked the timings and sent an encrypted message to Sylvan. The message was clear and simple: ‘Demo on track.’
***
Gangtok, Sikkim, Wednesday, 9.45 a.m.
Despite the sharply winding mountain roads and the continuous, albeit light, rain, the hundred twenty kilometres from Siliguri to Gangtok were covered in three-and-a-half hours, thanks to Dev’s Land Rover and the skilled driver, Bikash.
Sam could not help but enjoy the view. The majestic mountains, the lush valleys, the roaring rivers, the rich local legends and the vibrancy of the local culture combine to make Sikkim a veritable Shangri La.
Bikash stopped briefly in Gangtok to fill some forms and pick up their permits.
Damini had clearly put in a word to the folks at the government department. Sam got the paperwork completed in ten minutes and Bikash and he were on their way to Chungthang, the next halt on their route.
***
En route from Gangtok to Chungthang, Sikkim, Wednesday, 10.45 a.m.
As the Land Rover sped along the winding mountain roads, the temperature fell noticeably, and so did the visibility. A thick layer of fog covered the road like a shroud.
Sam was acutely conscious of the ticking time. The GSS would conclude by 4 p.m., and the cricket match would start by 6 p.m.
He would have to get to Chungthang, then to Lachung, and then to Yumthang, all by road. After that, it would be an arduous trek through tough mountains and treacherous weather to locate the Gupt-Kandara.
He needed to get the Prativisha—the antidote—before people in Delhi started dying.
But he also needed to figure out how to free Ananya. How would he do that? Would he need to bargain with the Maestro? Maybe hand over the Prativisha to him?
But that would clear the last obstacle for the Maestro to unleash worldwide mass devastation.
Would it be morally right to condemn millions to their deaths for the sake of saving Ananya? Was Ananya even alive?
Sam remembered her eyes, and the smile that went all the way to her eyes, and his heart fluttered and sank at the same time.
He hoped fervently that the burden of making the choice would be taken away from him.
Anyway, it was already 10.45 a.m. It all seemed like a hopeless quest.
‘Faster, dada,’ he egged Bikash on.
Bikash did not acknowledge. He was already driving way faster than what was prudent in the narrow, winding mountainous roads. The fog was getting thicker by the minute, and visibility was dropping rapidly. One wrong turn, and their Land Rover would hurtle down many hundred feet to the ravine below.
***
En route from Gangtok to Chungthang, Sikkim, Wednesday, 11.15 a.m.
As they reached a small village en route to Chungthang, Bikash stepped on the brakes. The Land Rover screeched to a noisy halt.
It turned out that they had passed a small outlet selling momos—dumplings with an assortment of stuffings—staple fare in the Sikkim Himalayas.
‘Dada, we are in a hurry,’ Sam said.
‘I’ve been driving non-stop through this,’ Bikash said, gesturing at the fog outside. ‘The least you can do is let me have breakfast.’
‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘But no more than ten minutes.’
CHAPTER 37
En route from Gangtok to Chungthang, Sikkim, Wednesday, 11.17 a.m.
The momos at the roadside eatery looked delicious, but Sam knew what the treacherous mountain roads and hairpin bends could do to a stuffed stomach, so he chose to abstain.
Sam started to look at the fifth to tenth verses which dealt with the Great Agonies and gave clues on how to overcome them.
Verse 5
The Worthy Heir shall reach the sanctum
Only after enduring the four Great Agonies
Through faith, fearlessness, stillness and silence
Shall the Worthy Heir conquer the Agonies.
Verse 6
You lose your faith once, it will slow you down a bit
You lose your faith twice, you still have a chance
If you lose your faith thrice, the doors of heaven
Will be closed to you forever.
Verse 7
The human race spends a lifetime running from fear,
That is not the way of the Worthy Heir
He who stares fear directly in the face
Shall pass gracefully from
one world to the next.
Verse 8
He who is still in the face of the most intense motion
He who observes the flow of the universe with equanimity
For that person, the waters shall not pose a danger
He shall reach his destination without much effort.
Verse 9
He who survives the torrent of fear and gets past the ocean of despair
Keeping at bay the ever-lingering insanity
He shall find the rhythm of stillness
And finally hear the sound of his heart.
Verse 10
Silence is the language of the gods
Silence is the deliverance of the soul
What is inaudible to a layperson
Is audible to the seeker who is one with the silence.
Sam’s heart sank. This stuff seemed really abstract. What had he gotten himself into? Did this Kandara place really even exist? Or was he on a wild goose chase, believing in some crazy fantasy of a madcap historian when Ananya was possibly already dead somewhere?
He had to call Bani. This was bullshit.
His mind agitated, the momos seemed even more irresistible to Sam now. He ended up gorging on them.
***
Sam used the phone at the eatery to call Family Hospital in Kolkata. He managed to get through to the Intensive Care Unit, but hit a dead end there.
‘He is scheduled for surgery later today,’ the attendant at the ICU reception said. ‘Tomorrow would be the earliest that you can get to speak to him.’
Sam grit his teeth as he hung up the phone.
Were the verses really a guide to cracking the Agonies? Each of the verses seemed to demand that the seeker exhibit a specific quality. The sixth verse, for instance, demanded that the seeker exhibit faith.
Did the Yogyaveer use his mechanical engineering acumen to design traps that somehow test these qualities in the seeker?
Sam smirked. The easier explanation was that this was all just a sick joke.
He could not even speak to Bani to vent his frustrations. He was now basically on his own.
***
Delhi, Wednesday, 1 p.m.
The area around the International Convention Centre was abuzz with activity as the GSS began.
Roads around the venue had been cordoned off since the morning as the most powerful people in the world had made their way to the GSS venue.
The Indian TV channels were having a field day, alternating between reporting on the US-China and US-Russia tensions, the stock market crash, the upcoming cricket match and how India was at the centre of everything. A series of news vans were parked outside the security perimeter, and eager reporters were swarming around, hoping for sound bites from any foreign delegates who would care to talk.
Among the reporters was a wiry man with probing eyes, named Yuko. He had a news van of his own, and complete press identification papers. He sat calmly in the van, surveying the scene and reporting to Sylvan.
***
Chungthang, Wednesday, 12.45 p.m.
After crossing the growling Teesta river and passing through spectacular views of waterfalls, a colourful array of fluttering prayer flags signalled that they were at Chungthang, around eighty kilometres from Gangtok, at an altitude of 5,870 feet above sea level. This was the place where the Lachung Chu and Lachen Chu combined to form the river Teesta.
The journey from Gangtok was covered in three hours despite the dense fog, thanks to Bikash’s skillful driving.
‘Well done, Bikash,’ Sam said.
‘Save your thanks, dada,’ Bikash replied. ‘The weather is getting worse. We may have to halt en route.’
Sam sighed. They could not afford to get slowed down.
Sam read out the altitude: ‘5,900 feet’.
Their next stop would be Lachung, at 9,600 feet.
Sam let out a low whistle. Things were going to get tougher.
***
En route from Chungthang to Lachung, Wednesday, 1.15 p.m.
The Land Rover ascended steeply over the next half hour. The weather got colder, the roads got rougher and the surroundings got mistier. The steep ascent, coupled with hairpin bends, started playing havoc with Sam’s sense of balance.
He took out a shawl from his rucksack and draped himself with it. His breathing was beginning to become laboured and his stomach was starting to churn with the winding roads.
They were not even halfway to Lachung when Sam yelled sharply. ‘Stop.’
A startled Bikash stepped on the brakes as the Land Rover swerved dangerously in the middle of a hairpin bend before coming to a halt.
Sam opened the door and rushed out, barely managing to reach the road’s edge as he vomited.
He came back to the car, borrowed a water bottle from Bikash to wash himself, and then sheepishly returned to his seat.
Sam took out a pill and swallowed it with some water. Eating the momos had clearly been a bad idea.
He needed to make sure he did not come down with altitude sickness.
***
En route from Chungthang to Lachung, 1.20 p.m.
As the fog cleared a little, Sam saw a small waterfall giving rise to a stream which gently intersected their road and passed on.
Even in the midst of feeling disoriented because of the steep climb, Sam could not help but admire the view of the valley and the hills. For a few moments, his mind went back to the treks of his childhood, and then his six-month journey through the Himalayas, after graduation.
How much simpler those times had been.
Sam was quickly brought back to reality as the urge to throw up overcame him again.
***
En route from Chungthang to Lachung, Wednesday, 1.30 p.m.
A sulking Bikash slammed on the brakes suddenly, throwing Sam momentarily forward.
Sam looked at Bikash and frowned. He did not want a demotivated driver.
As a silent Bikash simply pointed ahead, Sam slowly realised what had happened.
The fog had returned with a vengeance, accompanied by strong winds. They could barely see a few feet ahead.
Sam breathed deeply, struggling to maintain his sense of balance in the low oxygen environment.
He did the math in his head. Considering the weather, they could aim to reach Lachung not earlier than 2.30 p.m., and then they would need at least a further hour to get to Yumthang. He would then have to hunt through the snowy, cold hills on foot, hoping against hope to find the Gupt-Kandara. Thereafter, he would have to attempt to clear the Agonies.
The cricket match was starting at 6 p.m. He had no time to lose.
Besides, they were now at 7,500 feet, and they had ascended pretty quickly, with no time to acclimatise. Even for a seasoned trekker like Sam, it was proving to be difficult to deal with the rarified air and the sharply changing altitude. With a further climb ahead, he had better get to his destination fast before his body gave up on him.
Sam egged Bikash on. ‘Arrey, dada . . . I’m sure you’ve driven through worse.’
If there is a way to kindle a man’s vanity, it is to praise his driving skills. Bikash drove on, albeit reluctantly.
***
The fog got worse as they drove on. Visibility dropped to almost zero as Bikash ended up driving more on instinct than on actually being able to see ahead.
The road passed through treacherous bends with steep drops to the valley below. More than once, Sam held his breath as the Land Rover skidded on the wet road, making screeching sounds.
Bikash valiantly plodded on, but the engine coughed and sputtered as he drove, finally grinding to a halt.
Bikash looked at Sam, shook his head and pointed to the engine.
Sam, meanwhile, jumped out of the vehicle and puked uncontrollably by the roadside.
***
Every man has a limit to his endurance. For Sam, already reeling under the beginnings of altitude sickness, and having had only a few hours of sleep in the preceding three days, that limit s
eemed to have been reached.
He had probably already lost his job. There was no point even bothering to call the office to check.
His photo was most likely featuring on the ‘wanted’ list in dozens of police stations across Maharashtra and Goa.
His vehicle was stranded in the middle of heavy fog on a desolate hill. Making it out of here alive would in itself be a challenge, especially considering the icy winds.
If he chose to follow the crazy riddles in the verses, he was going to land up at a dead end if the professor was wrong. And the trail to Ananya would be over. Finito.
His fate could be worse if the professor were right. He would be welcomed by the Great Agonies, modelled on an ancient Torture Chamber, with only some obscure verses for company.
He had promised himself that he would find Ananya, wherever she was, but he had failed. Once again. Just as he had failed at his education venture.
A farrago of thoughts churned inside Sam’s mind as he doubled up by the roadside. A giant-sized visage of the Colonel seemed to come up in front of him, mocking him, reminding him that he was good for nothing.
Yet, somewhere between the throwing up and the dizziness, another visage came to mind—the earnest face of somebody that he had felt close to. And now missed deeply.
And then there was the thought of the tens of thousands who might die in Delhi.
Sam found himself telling Bikash, ‘Let’s figure out a way to move ahead, dada.’
CHAPTER 38
In a room inside the Mansion, Wednesday, 1 p.m.
Ananya let out a light groan as she stretched herself. Professor Bavdekar looked up from his chair placed opposite her with bloodshot eyes.
They had slept only around six hours out of the last sixty, and that had begun to take a toll on them. Not to mention the emotional roller-coaster of being abducted, blindfolded, transported through bumpy roads, and being holed up in this room for the last two days.
Things could have been worse. By kidnapping standards, the suite they were in was the epitome of luxury. They each had separate bedrooms, albeit small, windowless ones, while the central study area had a table, a clean bathroom and was actually air-conditioned.
At first, this didn’t seem to make any sense. But then, as the abductors had tersely explained what they were after, it all added up.