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  Sheila had to admit, the old man had a point. One despot could not do the same damage as ten despots in the same arena. At least with one despot there was a fighting chance. If the lawmakers themselves are criminally accused, what chance did the people have?

  The Minister sighed heavily. Then he said, ‘Go ahead with your tests Sheilaji. Let me talk to my colleagues. I don’t understand all that you’ve said but let me see how I can convince them. If need be, you might have to present your findings. How long will you take to conclude your tests?’

  ‘Sir, it should take at least two days.’

  ‘So...what do you think I should tell them?’ the Minister asked a little uncertainly.

  Sheila took a deep breath. ‘Sir, something down there has unprecedented energy levels. If we find out and are able to exploit the potential of this power, we could well be on our way to being the super power for all times to come.’

  The Minister blinked. ‘Thank you, Sheilaji.’

  After Sheila had left the room, Choturam picked up the phone, ‘Is the Home Minister in office? Hmmm...find out. I need to talk to him.’

  Choturam dialled another number.

  ‘Get me an appointment with the Prime Minister,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 9

  SHANTI was silent, as always.

  She recalled the days after her divorce. It was a happy memory. Those years of freedom were something she cherished; working with her father for the Indian Culture Party, taking part in the various party programs, the debates on the party’s future and what it needed to do to change the perception that it was a party of zealots.

  Most of the ideas to give the party a moderate face had been hers. Those were without doubt the most satisfying years of her life. That was the time many of the senior party members considered her to be a risk to their position because she was too involved with it and far too smart for them. Brijmohan Dalmia, her father, was after all the leader of the party and president for life and they knew that unless they removed her as a possible heir, they could not hope to gain much.

  They saw an opportunity when a young politician from Rajasthan was making inroads in developing the party. A selfless man, they called him. They rallied around the young politician against Shanti.

  Something else happened to defeat the writ of the party heads. The young politician proposed marriage to her. Brijmohan was delighted that with one stroke the marriage would secure Shanti’s life and also allow him to keep the party control. Shanti could never think of denying her father. She agreed to marry Govind Kiromal. The rest was history.

  Her first marriage had ended after a difficult two years when she realised that her husband was more attracted to men than to women. The beautiful dark haired woman would have continued with him in order not to ruin her father’s chances in public life. Brijmohan Dalmia, on the other hand, had a different opinion.

  He did not waste much time to arrange a divorce and send the man packing with enough money to last him a life time. Shankar Sukhdeo, her ex-husband, was an angel compared to her current husband. Getting her divorce was not her mistake, neither was it her father’s. Falling for the wiles of an ambitious and strange man who was the epitome of morality at one level and a secretive power hungry predator on another; that was the mistake she had made. Marrying Govind Kiromal was her life’s biggest mistake. Brijmohan did not realise his daughter’s predicament till the end and when he died, Govind was already party head.

  The fact that she was a divorcee already was a decisive factor against her, Shanti mused. If she had brought her husband’s strange and inexplicable behaviour to her father’s notice, he would have not only kicked the man out of her life but ousted him from the party.

  Yet, anything done on those lines would have destroyed her father’s political life. The other wolves in the pack would have ousted him out of power. They would have destroyed her father by tagging her as a wild woman, maybe even a whore, and that would have not only ruined her father, it would have killed him. After all, he had brought her up with every care and love ever since her mother died when she was still quite young.

  Shanti therefore suffered in silence. She did not reveal the fact that during the entire period of her married life, her husband had been in her bed thrice and that too at pre-ordained times. She did not disclose the fact that he had lost interest in her, physically and emotionally, after she conceived their child.

  He was more interested in their son, Shakti, and forcibly took the boy on his nocturnal visits to cremation grounds and strange rituals. He was a man obsessed with only one thing, acquiring power. Not that he had been in anyway unkind to her, on the contrary, he had taken great pains to ensure that her every need and desire was fulfilled, all except one which was to have conjugal rights with her spouse. He shunned her in bed.

  Party President Govind Kiromal worked like a mad man. He strengthened the party’s position in places in which they were present; he was personally responsible for the growth of the Indian Culture Party down south, where the party did not have much of a presence. His strategies were never wrong, he always made the right moves and at present, three of the four States in South India were ruled by the ICP. Tamil Nadu was the only State resisting the grip of the party because of its own love and hate relationship with the local parties.

  When the ICP won the general elections as the single largest party with a thumping majority, all heads had turned towards the man who had made it possible, Govind Kiromal. Instead of assuming the position of Prime Minister, Govind had appointed General Bakshi to the position. The retired army general and good friend of the late Brijmohan Dalmia, became the Prime Minister. A man of integrity who had been in the thick of the fight in two wars, General Shreekant Bakshi was lauded as the man to lead the country. Govind had settled for the home portfolio, taking upon himself the onerous task of maintaining the internal security of the country as his responsibility. A thankless job no doubt, but one that gave him limitless power to do what he pleased.

  Shanti watched her husband rush home that day, it wasn’t even midday yet and he was already back. It could mean only one thing. He was on his way to Rajasthan. But that was not to be. All that Govind did was pick up the phone.

  ‘Uncleji, what the swamiji said a few days ago is happening. I just had a word with Choturamji, you know, the Defence Minister. This is the big chance we were waiting for. It was hidden from us all this time. The tantrik is not too clear about it. I can’t make any sense of his ramblings. Anyway, the good news is, we are closer to our victory.’

  Shanti, who was alongside the wall in the inner room, pressed her head against the wall to listen to Govind’s conversation. He was in the tastefully decorated visitor’s room.

  ‘That’s right uncleji, they are calling the God of Agony an unexplained phenomenon. As we speak, scientists are at work to find out what it is. The army is lending them satellite facilities...yes, all of this is necessary, its part of the plan. I know exactly what to do. I’ll keep you informed.’

  Shanti moved away from the wall and made to enter into the room. Govind turned towards her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Should I pack your clothes, ji?’ she asked softly.

  ‘No, not yet dear. Don’t worry about it. Great things are afoot and I promise you that you won’t be disappointed anymore that you married me.’

  Shanti looked at him, startled. Govind laughed aloud, a deep hollow laughter that did not seem entirely his own.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE Special Forces cadets landed in Ganavaram, an airstrip about forty klicks from Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, late in the afternoon. Trotting majestically from the helicopter with their cargo held in small crates between them, they made for the four unmarked Mahindra Xylo SUVs. The shiny dark vehicles with their dark window tints screeched away down the road to Eluru with the cadets in them. They had to cross Eluru to reach Gudem.

  Expected travel time to Gudem was four hours. It would be well past sundown by the time they reached the outskir
ts and that was fine by them. Their mission depended on stealth. The cadets started to unpack their cargo. Four crates, taped and sealed in each of the SUVs were meticulously pried open. After all, the equipment had to be repacked again.

  The cadets eased out matted black rod-like scanners that looked like batons, about four feet in height, from the cargo boxes. Each scanner had three layers of very powerful sensors embedded into the circular protrusions at one end. It appeared like a space gun without a butt because the other end was bulbous with a red beacon light.

  The sensors in the circular protrusions were covered with flexi-glass shields that protected them when inserted into the ground. When they were done, the erected scanners would protrude two feet from the ground. The red blinker on the other end of the rod was a powerful signal transmitter to the satellite high above them in the night sky. It would send information from the subterranean sensors that penetrated at least a hundred feet into the ground in all directions through infrared technology.

  As if that was not enough, the scanners could emit sound at levels so high, human ears could not hear them. The sound could penetrate even crevices and holes and send back signals to the sensors. Something like sonar. There were five scanners in each carton making in all forty of them in a ten kilometre radius around the village of Gudem.

  Once activated, the scanners would be allowed to gather and transmit information for two hours. After the two hours were up, the detectors would be uprooted, replaced into the crates, and flown back with the cadets to army headquarters in New Delhi. By midmorning, whatever data they threw up would be analysed.

  It was nearly seven in the evening when the SUVs came to a halt about ten kilometres from Gudem. The cadets stepped out stealthily, one from each car. They immediately set up a perimeter watch against intrusion. Once signals of a secure perimeter were given and received, the rest of the cadets melted into the fields like silent wraiths. The winter night had driven the villagers back into their dwellings. The guards of the memorial hall where just around it, huddled together, gulping down cheap country liquor.

  It was chilly, that night. A heavy kind of chilliness interspersed with gusts of hot air. There was fear in the air. Nameless. The cadets had the distinct impression they were being watched by a predator mightier than all of them by far. Every cadet felt it. No one said a word about it. They were trained not to panic or spread panic unless there were orders to that effect.

  They wore thick black clothes, dark sweaters, matted Kevlar body armour, and dark cargo pants with flapped pockets. A side arm was strapped smartly around the waist. A Glock 21 machine pistol. Other than that, they had a fully loaded INSAS assault rifle strapped to their backs. An overkill for a country visit no doubt but that was their standard gear and in the army it was all about standardisation. Control without standardisation is a pipe dream. The cadets went about their work with precision. After each installation they flipped a red switch on the side of the rods.

  The red light blinked ominously in the night, indicating that signals were being transmitted to the satellite hovering above the Earth. The cadets were spread out, two of them for every two kilometres. They sat down at a distance of twenty metres from the detectors so their body heat would not intermix with the readings from underneath the Earth. By eleven in the night they had completed the installation.

  By one in the morning they commenced the dismantling operations. They were relieved when it was over because the dread inside was growing by the moment, like a tidal wave. If not for their training, each of the cadets would have broken down with fear. As it is, a few of them tried hard to cover their hands shaking imperceptibly while removing the transmitters.

  By two in the morning they were on the way to the airstrip in Ganavaram. They boarded the craft by five-thirty a.m. By then, the dread they had experienced was all but gone.

  By the time the cadets had reached Delhi, showered and were assembled for debriefing, the report from the satellite was analysed, compiled and a preliminary copy was made ready and placed on Sheila’s work-station. The analysis was part of the report. When she walked into her cabin that morning she found three excited faces staring at her.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Ma’am if I may, you must read the report, I mean right away...please.’

  Sheila breezed into her room. She flipped open the report and started with the first page. It took three hours for her to finish reading the report.

  Basically, electrical power is defined by the rate at which energy is converted. It is a combination of voltage and flow. The formula is V = W × A, voltage is a sum of watts and amperes. According to the material on her table, the force of the flow of electrical energy was at levels that could not be measured by any instrument on Earth.

  On measuring the electrical energy, the report found the ‘Watt Hours’ to be almost perpetual. Whatever was under the memorial ground generated its own electricity at voltages higher than anything they could understand. It was upward of ten thousand terawatts according to the report.

  It was a surprise the detectors did not go poof! A terawatt was one trillion watts of electrical power. There was no way on Earth anything man-made could produce that kind of electricity. Disclosing information like this only to find out later that there was goof up would surely not augur well for her at all.

  The next couple of hours were spent in testing the equipment, which was in perfectly good order. Sheila called for the team leader of the Special Forces cadets. After the meeting she knew the team had done exactly as told. Five hours later, much beyond her self-imposed deadline, Sheila picked up the phone to convey the findings. It was time to take the investigation to the next level. After she got off the phone, Sheila had a team meeting. Major Kant was in attendance. It was short and crisp.

  ‘People, its time. I need ground support. Major Kant’s team, Priyanka and Vidush from Paranormal will be with me. Sheetal, you will support me from HQ.’

  ‘Yes ma’am.’

  ‘And people, I want full information on Raghuram Surya latest in three hours, his clients, his firm, love life, choice of clothing, everything else I need to know, clear?’

  ‘Yes ma’am.’

  ‘I am leaving first thing tomorrow morning for Gudem.’

  After Sheila went back to her cabin, Sheetal turned to Pallavi.

  ‘Is she a spook or a scientist for god’s sake?’

  Pallavi smiled kindly at her, ‘Want to ask her?’

  Sheetal shook her head vigorously.

  ‘What I want to ask her is, what about SRK? Everyone’s forgotten him.’

  CHAPTER 11

  SHEILA reached the Secretariat in about an hour. This time she was headed for the North Block.

  Choturam, Prime Minister Bakshi, and Home Minister Govind Kiromal, were seated in the leather sofas in the Home Minister’s office. Protocol required that they should assemble in the Prime Minister’s office, but then Govind Kiromal did not usually follow protocols. Everyone knew he was the boss.

  The Home Minister stared at Sheila hungrily, like he wanted to eat her up. Sheila did not find his interest in her in anyway amorous. It was more like being around a hungry hyena waiting patiently for her to lower her defences. Choturam seemed to have shrunk in size and was lost in his oversized chair. General Bakshi wore his famous buccaneer’s smile under his bristling milk white moustache but Sheila realised that the smile was just as plastic as her toothbrush.

  ‘Sheilaji, the Home Ministerji wanted to talk to you,’ Choturam blurted out half-heartedly. Sheila pursed her lips and remained standing.

  ‘Please sit down Ms. Sheila, make yourself comfortable,’ Govind Kiromal purred. ‘I know you must be a busy person so I won’t keep you for long.’

  In spite of her resolve to stand, Sheila found herself sliding into a leather chair.

  ‘Good, would you want some tea? Yes…’

  Kiromal rang the bell and an orderly stepped in quickly, wearing a concerned expression on his face.

>   ‘Chai for all of us, Bheemsingh.’

  Kiromal probed Sheila with his eyes. He studied her lips, her neck. Sheila shifted in her seat uncomfortably and threw a glance at Choturam. The Defence Minister returned her look with a stricken one. It was as though he was saying, ‘I am as powerless as you are with this monster’.

  The orderly came back with a steel tray bearing elegant gold bordered white cups, full of steaming hot tea. Presently, having distributed his load, the orderly withdrew.

  ‘You wanted some information from me, sir.’

  ‘Hmm...yes. Firstly, what is your opinion of this whole affair?’ Kiromal asked.

  Sheila cleared her throat. ‘Except for the fact that the infrared image shows it as a globule about the size of ten football stadiums, we don’t know what it is. It appears to be composed of electromagnetic fields that help generate its own electrical energy. However, we don’t know what it uses as fuel to generate the energy. The only thing worth observing about the...anomaly is that the power it generates is beyond anything the most advanced technology can do.’