KALYUG (37 page)

Epilogue

Temptation.

I woke up suddenly, startling the old man sitting next to me. ‘Sorry,’ I said, noticing his expression. He shrugged and turned his attention back to the magazine he held in his hand. I adjusted myself and looked out of the window. We were at cruising altitude, roughly an hour into the flight, almost a couple more to go.

The clouds formed a white carpet underneath us, as if insulating us from a world of trial and temptation. A world that made a little more sense to me now.

His visitor arrived right on time and the major-general appreciated that. Not that he had anything else planned for the rest of the night, but it was always a pleasure dealing with someone who knew the value of time. When you spend a lifetime serving the Army, you start putting a lot of value on those little bits of discipline.

‘There is no doubt in our minds that we can avoid this confrontation altogether,’ his guest told him, accepting the drink Qureshi offered. ‘Turn a lose-lose into a win-win, as it were.’

The major-general sat down in his favourite chair. ‘I will admit I am flattered, but on principle, I disagree with this course of action. What you are asking me to do is a perversion of our Constitution. I will never do it.’

‘But . . . imagine the legacy, Major-General. You would bring everything we need to the table. Your accomplishments are undeniable and inspirational. You are a Muslim who has no need to prove his patriotism –’

‘Neither do a lot of other Muslims,’ the major-general interrupted, ‘Or Hindus or Christians. Or people of any other faiths.’

‘My apologies, Major-General. I did not mean to offend. What I meant is that you have risen in your career on merit, not on the crutches of reservation or influence. And you continue to be a strong advocate of empowerment and meritocracy over affirmation.’

‘Is there a point to all this flattery? I’ve already conveyed my decision to you and your organization.’

‘Imagine what you could do for the Army, Major-General. You would finally be in a place to look after your men the way they deserve to be taken care of.’

‘What you have suggested is treason. And the only reason I’ve not lodged an official complaint against you so far is because I do not want to give your fantastic ideas any more publicity than they deserve. There are too many journalists around who’ll take a routine troop movement and turn it into a fucking coup, just to sell a bigger headline!’

‘How interesting that you should bring up that point,’ his guest replied, setting down his glass, ‘What would you say if you knew that it was, really, a dress rehearsal for what we have in mind? What if it had truly been a test of our defences against such an eventuality?’

The major-general shook his head emphatically. ‘If you are saying what I think you are saying, then that makes up my mind even more strongly – if that were possible – against being a part of your scheme. The Indian Army is not anybody’s plaything. Not yours. Not the government’s.’

‘You could even find out once and for all who authorized the hit on your wife,’ the guest said slowly, staring at the passionate face of the soldier in front of him. ‘Perhaps even ensure that your son gets the promotions he’s been denied all these years.’

The major-general did not reply for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained.

‘Get out of my house right now,’ he said, ‘and don’t ever – ever – let me see you again. And just so we are clear, your plans will never work. I will see to it that you fail. That’s my personal promise to you.’

The guest stood up. ‘I am sorry you feel that way,’ he said, smiling humourlessly at the major-general. ‘But let me tell you one last thing before I leave.

‘Kalyug is going to happen whether you like it or not. Sure, we would have preferred it if you became the president – but even if you don’t, there are enough people out there who will find the opportunity lucrative.

‘And when that happens, we will come after you first, and everyone you hold dear. Because we simply can’t risk you becoming powerful enough or influential enough to speak up against us. And you will not have a choice then. There is no middle ground. You are either with us, or against us. You have forty-eight hours to give me a final answer.’

‘I don’t need forty-eight seconds,’ the major-general said quietly. ‘I know my answer, and so do you.’

The man shook his head sadly, almost pityingly. ‘As you wish, Major-General Qureshi. But remember that you are giving up a legacy that is yours for the taking. Security for your family and your beloved Army, versus letting someone else – a far less worthy individual – take up the mantle, just because of some misguided principles. Those are your choices, Major-General. I am sure you will make the right one.’

I closed my eyes but the scene wouldn’t go away. Major-General Iqbal Qureshi and INSAF. Dr Faustus and the Devil.

I don’t know when my brain first made the leap, but there was no going back once it had. The logic was indisputable. Perhaps it was the ease with which Nelson and Jagannath had replaced GK with Karamchand Patil that led me to realize that GK himself could have been the second choice after someone else. That someone else could only have been the major-general, until he had martyred himself.

Gyandeep Sharma had, to the very end, maintained that neither he nor his minions had met the major-general on the day of his death. He had had no reason to lie; in fact, from what I had seen of that man, if he had indeed pushed Qureshi to his death, he would have been only too proud to admit it.

That left only INSAF as the other candidate for the eight o’clock assignation. Other than Powerhouse, they were the only ones who could have tempted the major-general with anything worth his while.

Who, then, from within INSAF would have dared to corrupt him? It had to be Nelson or Jagannath – or even, as unlikely as it seemed given how closely they must have gotten to know each other, Raghav. If I had to bet, though, I would put my money on Jagannath rather than on Nelson.

Because Nelson did not have that audacity. From everything that I had heard about the major-general, an attempt to corrupt him – for that was what the offer, in its most naked sense, was – required both guts and amorality. In spite of everything, I had the feeling Nelson was too . . . respectable, too careful to let his sleeves be sullied. Jagannath, on the other hand, would have walked in and blithely offered the presidency, and not even flinched when the major-general threw him back out on his ear. Nelson would have let him.

After his visitor left, Major-General Iqbal Qureshi sat down on his favourite chair. He kept staring with unseeing eyes at the spot where his visitor had sat, the words playing back in his mind over and over again. And he knew even more, plans that didn’t need to be spelt out for him. Kalyug was unstoppable, his visitor had told him. He could not dispute it. One way or another, with him or with someone else, Kalyug would come to fruition. Everything else was in place.

Why walk away? That thought came unbidden, surprising him, shocking him. If it was inevitable, then why should he refuse? Did he not believe that he himself could be the president that India needed? Could he not accept INSAF’s offer, and yet remain true to his principles?

No! screamed another part of him. He had spent his entire life living for one idea of India. Good or bad within, he had protected it from every danger from without. That was who he was. Not a thief who stole the crown.

But the power. The chance to do the right thing. The right things. Many right things. How many times had he railed against the idiocies of his elected masters, how many times had he told his wife he would have done it differently, he could have done it better . . . how many times had he disagreed with those in power even as it killed him to obey them?

It was in his grasp. It was his for the taking. His legacy could be the biggest gift to his Motherland.

If he could only find enough courage to betray her. To betray the one thing that defined her, the one thing he had sworn to defend. Her Constitution.

All he had to do was say Yes. And the nation would be handed to him on a platter. His for the taking.

Temptation.

I finished writing, in my head, that scene as I imagined it. The words had formed themselves with an intensity that came from a certainty that it must have happened this way. Jagannath had said that we needed to find the truth, that we owed him that much. And we did, didn’t we? A man who could have had that power and had turned it down instead, choosing to sacrifice himself rather than his principles. A man who had stood up for what he believed in. But what do I do when that truth led me right back to the man who had been instrumental in tasking me with it?

What could I do now? What I knew would not suffice for a court of law – you need evidence, not gut feel. That ruled out the media too, for the story would be quashed too easily the moment it whispered of INSAF’s involvement. I was sure of that. Besides, why would they bother? Qureshi was already a forgotten story, relegated to an occasional mention in the light of GK’s assassination and the more recent shenanigans of popular celebrities.

Who else? An avenger, perhaps? Someone with the might to take on the two heads of INSAF?

I knew only one who would care enough. Major Nawaz Qureshi. His father’s son, Raghav had said. But I paused. Did I have the right to point the major in that direction? Did I know enough to condemn those two men, and perhaps even the major himself? Was there a chance I could be wrong?

And even as I finished asking myself those questions, I was suddenly ashamed because I knew what I would eventually do.

Nothing.

I would excuse myself with the rationalization that I had no evidence. I would repay Major-General Iqbal Qureshi’s sacrifice with my silence. I had paid the price for speaking out once in a democracy I had believed in; I wasn’t prepared to do it again in a dictatorship that I no longer had the energy to disbelieve.

This was Kalyug, but I am no Kalki. I don’t need the hassle.