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  ‘What exactly is an electromagnetic field?’ Bakshi postulated.

  Sheila cleared her throat, ‘It’s a little technical. Let me make it as simple as possible. An electromagnetic field exerts force on electrically charged particles and is affected by the motion of the particles, sir. Therefore, a changing magnetic field will produce an electrical field and vice versa. It can be present everywhere but is not visible to the human eye. Since one can produce the other it’s called an electromagnetic field. Einstein developed his theory of special relativity based on Electromagnetism. Electricity transformers and generators are based on electromagnetism.’

  Bakshi nodded blankly. Sheila did not think he understood much of what she had said.

  ‘If the anomaly is the size of ten football stadiums, as you say it is, wouldn’t it dislodge the Earth there, I mean, wouldn’t there be major earthquakes?’ Bakshi posed.

  ‘It doesn’t appear to be entirely solid, sir. Some parts closer to the surface do appear to be solid or semi-solid but most of the globule is energy. It’s like an electrical blanket. An earthquake is inevitable, given its size, but we haven’t heard of any in that region. At least not in the recent past. However, we should have more answers when we take a closer look,’ Sheila answered.

  ‘Meaning, it could have been present for many years and if there was an earthquake, we won’t know when it happened.’ Bakshi posed.

  ‘That’s right sir.’

  ‘How powerful exactly is this Go...err, phenomena, Ms. Sheila?’ Kiromal asked her.

  ‘Let me give you an instance, sir. In 2015, India has an installed capacity to generate 276,637 Mega watts of electricity’ said Sheila, referring to her report. ‘The globule at present generates more than ten thousand terawatts of electrical energy. A megawatt is a million watts of electricity while a terawatt is a trillion watts. I can tell you that if we are able to harvest the energy in the globule, we can have uninterrupted electrical energy for the whole world without tapping into even ten percent of its power. However, if it can generate that kind of electrical energy, it must be consuming fuel. So, what is its fuel? Is it safe to even allow this thing to continue? Will it implode or explode and destroy the planet? These are just some of the things we need to figure out.’

  Govind Kiromal managed to keep a straight face, but Sheila could see his eyes dancing with anticipation. He was like a little child who could not wait to get his hands on the expensive toy he was promised.

  Why is he so kicked up about it?

  ‘It can do much more than just provide electricity Ms. Sheila. You’ll see, soon enough,’ Kiromal said softly.

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  ‘Never mind. You now officially head a team of scientists to investigate this affair. You will report directly to me. You will need a cover; we don’t want our friends and enemies inside or from across the border to know our little secret.’

  He pulled out an envelope from his briefcase and handed it over to Sheila.

  ‘You’ll find all the details in there. It saves you time if you simply read the contents of the envelope.’

  ‘But what’s in the envelope,’ Choturam cried. ‘Why all this secrecy?’

  The Home Minister sighed, ‘In a nutshell, Sheila’s team will pose as corporate trouble shooters out to set up a joint public/ private power project in Andhra Pradesh. The State government will co-operate. It’s imperative that we are careful about this. If it works, we will be a super power like none other and if it does not, well, we do not want anyone to know what damage this globule has caused the country and the environment.’

  Sheila gawked at the Home Minister, perplexed. He made it all sound very plausible but she still did not understand the reason for the subterfuge. The Indian government had every right to investigate anything on Indian soil. Sheila understood now the reason for the constipated look on Kiromal’s colleagues. Bakshi and Choturam were not happy about it and for some reason were unable to oppose Kiromal; Hell, she hardly knew the man and she was compelled to accept his directives.

  ‘As you wish, sir,’ she murmured uncertainly. Choturam was startled. He could not believe the fire-brand scientist he knew had turned docile.

  ‘It is for the greater good Ms. Sheila. Congratulations and all the best with your project.’

  Kiromal wanted to size her up; that was the only plausible reason Sheila could discern for the meeting, otherwise the instructions could have been sent to her by courier, e-mail or by word of mouth. Sheila quickly left the room, only too glad to be out of the strangely magnetic control of the Home Minister.

  FRAGMENT-C

  SURYA

  CHAPTER 12

  RUPAL Sharma gasped. Her eyes fluttered. She swallowed small dollops of air. Her nails dug into the silk bed sheet, she let out a moan and followed it with short and sharp intakes of breath. Her arms flew around the bare shoulders of the man on top of her. She held him tight, her teeth biting into the flesh just above his wrist. She squealed deeply, eyes fluttering some more. Finally, the woman collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily.

  ‘That was the longest orgasm I ever had. You’re the best,’ she exhaled into the man’s ear.

  Raghuram Surya grunted, rolled off her and in the same motion picked up his pale blue jeans. In a couple of minutes, he was completely dressed.

  ‘Hey, don’t do that, I feel like a... I feel bad when you leave like that,’ Rupal complained.

  ‘Yeah well... I am sorry, I have a meeting today, I’ve gotta go,’ he mumbled. He carried his six foot four-inch frame easily in spite of a hint of flab that had surreptitiously gathered around the midriff. His thick pointy nipples protruded from underneath his woollen sweat shirt and they made Rupal warm up all over again.

  ‘What time will you be back?’

  She was a beautiful woman, auburn hair, oval face and pink lips, eyes that were dark and secretive, a long neckline and an hour glass figure.

  ‘Depends, if I come ahead of Harry. What time is he back?’ Raghu asked her in return.

  ‘Oh...by nine,’ Rupal said a little sulkily.

  ‘Hmm... I should be around the same time. Maybe I can catch a drink with him.’

  ‘Sometimes I think you like drinking with my husband better than doing it with me,’ she snapped.

  ‘Sometimes...’

  He did not wait long enough to listen to her angry retort. He helped himself out her back door, hauled himself over the five foot wall that divided her house from his, and stood in his own backyard.

  Raghuram did not care for Rupal Sharma, wife of Captain Harish Sharma. She was a lay, period. Everyone in the gated community knew he was banging her except her husband, the poor sod. Part of Raghu hated himself for sleeping with his friend’s wife. Part of him liked the hunt and the forbidden fun it offered. Harry worked hard to get Rupal her costly fineries and perfumes. And for all that, the woman cheated on him.

  Well, such is life, dark times ahead Harry!

  He eased himself into his house through the kitchen door. The cook was not yet down from her room. Well, that was good, he would have to try real hard to satisfy Kamini after a night with Rupal.

  Kamini was young and energetic and he was already pushing forty-three. It was almost six months since she last took her pay-check, claiming she got all that she wanted from him. Raghu shook his head derisively at the thought, it made him wonder if he was her employer or her whore.

  By the time he had showered, dressed and finished knotting his black tie, Kamini was ready with his breakfast. She started off the day with a staccato burst of complaints in Hindi. As usual they were all about Rupal.

  ‘Us randi ke saath the naa raat bhar? Mujhe maloom hai ji, us aurat ki to aisi ki taisi. Tum bachke rehna, woh tumhe pyar nahin karti, main karti hoon tumse pyar,’ she said vehemently.

  Raghu nodded sagely. It was best to let her rave around. He would set her right tonight. She’ll purr like a well-fed cat by the time he was done with her.

  The telephone ra
ng cutting her verbal torrent short. Raghuram examined his Omega; it was seven forty-five in the morning, too early for business calls. He sauntered into the living room to answer the call.

  ‘Kya baat hai, dulha lag rahe ho! Mera dulha,’ Kamini smiled at him, her eyes glazed and all lusty.

  ‘Chup!’ Raghuram snapped, making her shut up. Kamini made a face at him and went back into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes...’

  ‘Babu Garu andi, nenu, Poti!’

  ‘Tell me Poti,’ said Raghuram in Telugu, pronouncing the name as ‘po-tea’. He was always glad to speak his native tongue. He could picture the short sturdy man in his white cotton shirt and dhoti, holding the phone, the old one with the dial, in the room that once used to be the Durbar of the castle.

  ‘Babu, there’s something strange going on. There are people at the Kota, from the army they are. They want to talk to you.’

  ‘From the army?’ What the Hell was the army doing in Gudem?

  ‘They say they are from a company with a funny name, but I know the army. I was in it.’

  ‘What do they want?’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone broke into the hall a few days ago. We found foot prints, one set, going inside the memorial building. I don’t how the Hell he got out or where he went from there, but I am told he is missing. Some of the village lads found an abandoned motorcycle. They stripped it and tried hiding the parts. Apparently they were caught. I hear the man who’s missing is a local Eluru lad working in Delhi for the CSIR. Now it looks like the government and the army are here looking for him. I don’t know what to make of any of this.’

  Raghuram frowned. Why couldn’t they just leave the memorial hall be? What did they want to know anyway, what was it about locked doors that made people curious?

  ‘Give them my number.’

  It had been twelve years since Raghu had last gone to Gudem. Twelve years of wilderness. Gudem was the one place he truly felt at home. It was his home though he was the only one left of their branch of the family.

  ‘Babu, they have your number, your address, everything.’

  Raghu’s frown deepened, ‘What’s the problem, why the Hell can’t they call me. Why are they searching for me in Gudem?’

  ‘Babu...they want you here as soon as you can possibly make it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They have a piece of very official looking paper requisitioning the memorial grounds for their purposes. They’re saying they want to set up a power generation station, a windmill or wind turbine plant and what not.’

  Raghu sometimes forgot that Poti was once a civil engineer and had worked with the engineering corps in the Indian army. To him, Poti was still the soft spoken young car driver that he’d grown to love. Though Raghu was too young to know it at that time, the family had funded Poti for his education and the man had never lost touch with the family.

  After his voluntary retirement from the army he had returned to Gudem and was now Raghuram’s trusted lieutenant and man Friday. Poti managed the Kota. The Surya castle was the last remaining remnant of a five-hundred-year old royal family, minor royalty compared to the Maharajas no doubt, but well-respected and powerful in their time.

  ‘Do you mean requisition or acquisition?’ Raghu asked.

  ‘The notice says ‘requisition’. What’s the difference?’

  ‘Well,’ said Raghuram, ‘A government can acquire a property for a public purpose and the property belongs to the government from that date. It can requisition the property for a particular purpose where the ownership remains with the original owner of the property and will be returned by the government on the completion of the purpose. That’s the basic difference.’

  ‘Are you coming to Gudem?’

  ‘Hmm...let me see, I can make it to Gudem in about fifteen days. You tell them that. Did they give you a copy of the official looking paper?’

  Poti nodded benevolently, unmindful of the fact that Raghu couldn’t quite see him from Gurgaon.

  ‘Yes, I have a copy,’ he added.

  ‘Fax it to me.’

  ‘Ok Babu. So are you coming in fifteen days? I should get your quarters ready.’

  ‘More like in the next two days but why should they know that. Ask Sudharshan Reddy Garu to call me on my mobile phone. No, don’t do that. Meet him personally and tell him to expect a call from me. Poti, give him the requisition order too.’

  ‘I have to go to Vijayawada to do that. It’s going to take a while by bus, I could take the truck though,’ Poti said expectantly.

  ‘I want you there within the next two hours. Take the Xenon if you have to.’

  ‘Really, can I?’ Poti was so childlike when it came to cars it wasn’t funny.

  Ever since Raghu had sanctioned the decision to buy the off-roader, Tata Xenon, Poti was a new man. He cleaned the rugged vehicle, polished it, drove it around like it was a Mercedes. He had extra fog lights fixed, a powerful stereo system boomed out the latest Telugu movie songs. The vehicle was his latest crush.

  ‘Yes my child, you can,’ Raghu said patiently.

  ‘Should I tell him why you’d call him?’

  ‘No, don’t worry about that. Just tell him to expect my call.’

  ‘Ok Babu, see you in two days.’

  Raghu replaced the receiver. He picked up a roti, dumped a spoonful of scrambled egg on to the Indian bread and rolled it into a frankie. He was munching his breakfast as he walked out the door. He clicked the remote lock and pulled open the door of his maroon E class Mercedes Benz. He slid into the soft leather seat by the time Kamini raced out with his lunch box.

  ‘Itni pyar se banayee tumhare liye. Chod ke ja raha hai!’ she complained.

  Raghu gave her his warmest smile.

  Kamini’s was a unique story. Given in marriage to a married man apparently because his first wife failed to bear him children, it was only later she learned that there was nothing the matter with his first wife. Instead, his sperm count was way below mark. Giving a new twist to the term ‘all’s well that ends well’, both wives abandoned him.

  End of story.

  Kamini had not gone back to her treacherous family. Instead she struck out on her own. The impish woman had landed herself in several odd jobs before Raghu hired her as a cook. She took a fancy to him. Within a fortnight the petite beauty had worked her way into his bed, not that the lawyer minded bedding her, especially because her bed was way better than her cooking.

  Raghuram was attractive in a dark sort of a way. He could have played Count Dracula effortlessly. A saturnine face crowned by long wavy hair, dark glinting eyes, a sharp nose and full lips coupled with his preference for black clothes succeeded in giving him a haughtily handsome aura. He was famous for his quick temper and quicker wit. A twist of amorality in sexual liaisons, peppered with quiet arrogance completed the picture.

  The Mercedes cruised into the basement parking lot of his uptown office in Cyber City, Gurgaon. Raghu rode the elevator to his twentieth floor office in relative peace which he knew would dissolve like morning mist the moment the elevator doors opened into his office.

  He was not disappointed.

  The legend in huge silver letters read Kumar, Brinda & Yash Associates. Their offices were in the top five floors of the building. Julia, the pretty receptionist gave Raghu a perfunctory smile, continued to talk on the phone and signed the delivery sheet of the courier guy, all at once. Raghu shook his head in silent admiration of her multi-tasking abilities.

  He swiped his card and within a microsecond the electronic lock clicked open. He helped himself into the office. The twentieth floor was made up of cabins on three sides of its rectangular expanse with four conference rooms next to each other on the fourth wall. The centre of the office was built like a swastika into cubicles for the secretaries and their administrative tools including fax machines, printers and the like. The floor housed the partners and the senior associates.

  Raghuram was scheduled to be the partner of the firm in a matter o
f days. His practice area was constitutional law, which meant he represented clients in the High Courts across the different States of India and the Supreme Court in New Delhi. The other litigator in the firm was Brinda Khanna, a founder partner. Her area of specialisation was corporate and telecom laws.

  Brinda was no longer an active partner in the firm, content with taking care of her two college going children and raking in the profits the firm was making. She did join in for occasional consultations and was known to steadfastly guide junior associates in the telecom practice.

  Raghuram occupied what used to be Brinda’s room. He liked the room. He liked the memories associated with it. When he had joined the firm fifteen years earlier he had spent most of his time in the room with Brinda working on her cases. It was also the room in which he had made love to her. She was a stunningly beautiful, frustrated forty-four-year-old divorcee and he, a good ten years her junior at that time. It was a one-night thing and they did not discuss it afterward. Ever. Their liaison was an open secret in the office.

  The man who had recruited Raghuram was, of course Yash, his partner in crime from Oxford University, England. Ten years earlier, when Raghu was working for the fiery labour lawyer, Raghavan, in Chennai High Court and was completely unhappy about it, Yash offered him a position in the firm. Yash was Yeshwant Kumar’s son and everybody who was anybody knew the famous Yeshwant Kumar, Managing Partner of the firm.

  ‘Sir, Mr. Kumar wanted to have a word with you. He is in the Lord Denning Room,’ Kritika, Kumar’s secretary said as Raghu walked past her.

  ‘Senior or junior? He asked without breaking stride.

  ‘Senior.’

  Kumar usually called him to introduce a new client in litigation though Raghuram pretty much ran the practice as a profit centre.

  ‘Good morning Mr. Kumar,’ he said lightly, as he stepped into their largest conference room. Kumar was seated at the far end of the table, a short stocky man with intense eyes under bushy eyebrows. His French beard seemed to bristle like porcupine quills.