20

Asha Devi boarded the plane back to Delhi, and settled into her seat with a sigh. But it was a sigh born of relief rather than exasperation. She had just seen the new Bihar Cabinet sworn in, occupying pride of place in the front row next to Didi Damyanti. As sundry LJP MLAs strode up to the stage to take their oath of office as ministers, Asha had luxuriated in an unusual feeling: a sense of quiet satisfaction.

Not only had she managed to get into a power-sharing agreement in one of the more important states in the country, she had achieved this with minimal effort on her part. It was Damyanti who had made the initial overture, it was Damyanti who had bent over backwards to accommodate her every demand, and it was Damyanti who was trying her best to ingratiate herself with the Prime Minister.

Asha knew what it was about, of course. Now that they were allies at a state level, the Dalit Morcha leader wanted to take their alliance to the next logical step: an alliance at the centre.

And that’s exactly what Damyanti had suggested when the two women sat down to have a cup of tea after the swearing-in ceremony was over.

For once, Damyanti had decided to forswear the large entourage that always surrounded her at such meetings. And in deference, Asha had asked her aides to stay outside as well. If Damyanti wanted a one-on-one meeting, that’s what Damyanti would get.

Once the two women were alone in the room, Asha spent an inordinate amount of time choosing her tea-time snacks, loading her plate slowly with a chocolate biscuit, a soggy cucumber sandwich and a few spoons of namkeen, allowing the silence to stretch to uncomfortable lengths.

If Asha had learnt anything from her father, it was to be comfortable with a pause in the conversation. Don’t rush to fill the silence in a meeting, Baba always used to advise her. Make it work for you. Don’t feel pressured to initiate a line of conversation, allow the other person to do so. Not only will this give you an insight into their minds, but it will also grant you time to gauge what your response should be.

So, Asha settled comfortably in her armchair, plate perched on her lap, and chewed slowly on a biscuit, offering Damyanti nothing more than a beatific smile.

But that was all the encouragement that Damyanti needed. Taking a quick sip of her masala chai, she began, ‘Asha ji, before we go any further, I just wanted to clarify any misunderstandings you might have.’

In answer to Asha’s raised eyebrows, she continued, ‘You know how it is. On the campaign trail, in the heat of the election, one has to say many things. And I admit that I said many things about you as well . . .’

Asha, who had crystal-clear recollection of every insult that had been heaped upon her, of every name that she had been called, of every slight thrown in her direction, nodded neutrally but refused to say a word.

After a pregnant pause, Damyanti went on, ‘I just wanted to clarify that it was nothing personal. Election kay time pey yeh sab toh karna padta hai (You have to do all this at election time). I hope you didn’t take it to heart.’

Damyanti looked at Asha questioningly, but all the Prime Minister gave by way of answer was an enigmatic smile.

The Dalit Morcha leader went on valiantly. ‘Asha ji, I just want to assure you that I have nothing but the greatest admiration for you, both as a woman and a political leader. You have come back from impossible odds to lead this country. And you have done a stellar job . . .’

Asha finally decided to put Damyanti out of her misery. Holding up her palm as a signal to stop, she said, ‘Damyanti ji, please, you’re embarrassing me. Of course, I know how this game is played. And I know better than to take anything politicians say on the campaign trail seriously. Believe me, there are no hard feelings at all.’

Damyanti beamed in response, and reached across to squeeze Asha’s hand. ‘I am so happy to hear that. Because believe me, Asha ji, if the two of us get together, we can achieve amazing things for this country.’

And with that, Damyanti laid out her master plan. Sukanya Sarkar had proved to be a completely unreliable ally for Asha. She had belittled the Prime Minister in the media, she had made her dissatisfaction with the central government clear to the people of India, and she had publicly broken with many crucial decisions that Asha Devi had taken.

So, why did the Prime Minister feel obliged to stick with such an ally?

Look at her own experience, Damyanti urged Asha Devi. The SPP had humiliated her in just one instance, and rather than ignore it, she had taken the bold step of breaking the government and ditching Satyajit Kumar completely. That was the only way of dealing with unreliable allies. You just had to get rid of them.

That was all very well, responded Asha, but she had a country to run. She could not afford to plunge all of India into chaos just because Sukanya Sarkar was up to her usual tricks. She had to be the adult in this relationship, because Sukanya clearly was an impetuous baby.

But why should she indulge Sukanya’s temper tantrums, asked Damyanti, when she had a perfectly good alternative available? Asha could simply ditch the Poriborton Party and ally with the Dalit Morcha instead. And as for the shortfall in numbers, it would be simplicity itself to win over some Independents and smaller parties and be home and dry.

For form’s sake, Asha pretended to give this proposal due consideration, assuring Damyanti that she would think about it and get back to her in a couple of days. But in her mind, she was clear.

Yes, it made sense to ditch the short-fused Sukanya Sarkar, and she had to do that before the PP leader went berserk on some non-issue and pulled the plug on her government. But only a fool would agree to substitute one mercurial, high-handed, bad-tempered, unreliable ally for another.

And whatever else she may be, Asha Devi was no fool.

* * *

Ever since the news broke that Asha Devi’s LJP was going to ally with the Dalit Morcha in Bihar, Sukanya had been in a massive strop. When the first murmurs began humming along the political hotlines, Sukanya had immediately called Asha on her mobile, only to find that the number was switched off.

Sarkar’s office had then begun the excruciating—and in the end, embarrassing—task of tracking down the Prime Minister. They had tried her direct line at the PMO, but the phone rang out without anyone responding. Then, they had dialled Asha’s direct line at RCR, but had no luck there either. Finally, they had been reduced to leaving increasingly desperate messages with the PM’s various aides, asking that she call Sukanya Sarkar back as soon as possible.

The longer it had taken to track Asha Devi down, the worse Sukanya’s temper got. And it didn’t help that in a couple of hours it became clear that the Dalit Morcha and the LJP were going to be partners in the Bihar government, with both Damyanti and Asha releasing statements confirming the new arrangement.

Watching this on television, Sarkar had felt as if her head would explode. Asha knew perfectly well how Sukanya felt about Didi Damyanti. The two leaders of the Poriborton Party and the Dalit Morcha had been sworn enemies for years now. And as Sukanya had made clear to Asha’s half-brother, Karan Pratap, when they were negotiating to form the central government, there was no way Sarkar would ever consent to being part of the same alliance as Damyanti.

So, how could Asha conceivably think that she could get away with allying with Sukanya Sarkar at the Center, and with Didi Damyanti at the state level? Surely, she should know better. And if she didn’t, well then Sukanya would lose no time in setting her right.

But in order to do that, she had to get the Prime Minister on the phone first.

It wasn’t until early the next day, though, that Asha returned Sukanya’s many phone calls. Sukanya, who had spent the night seething sleeplessly, cut through Asha’s pleasantries and commenced battle immediately.

‘I am shocked, Madam Prime Minister, I am absolutely shocked by your behavior,’ she began . . .

‘I am so sorry Sukanya ji,’ Asha cut in calmly, ‘I simply could not get back to you sooner. I was stuck in meetings all evening yesterday. I am really sorry about that . . .’

‘That’s not what you should be sorry about, Asha ji,’ interrupted Sukanya angrily. ‘I am not bothered about how long you take to call back. I am insulted by the fact that you have entered into an alliance with Damyanti without bothering to check how I feel about it. You seem to have forgotten that we are allies. And that we need to consult each other before we take decisions like these.’

Asha was prepared for just such an argument. Affecting great surprise, she responded, ‘We should consult each other before such decisions? But Sukanya ji, just last month you entered into an alliance with the Bhartiya Socialist Front (BSF) and joined the state government in Orissa. I don’t remember you calling me and asking permission before doing so? So, why would I call and check with you before joining the Bihar government? Frankly, I am astonished that you would even expect that. Why should this even be an issue between us?’

Sukanya knew that this was a bald-faced lie. Like everyone else in the country, Asha was well aware of the history between Sukanya and Damyanti. Having begun their careers as budding political leaders in the SPP, the two had soon fallen out as they vied to be the chosen favourite of their party leader. And even after both had left the SPP and set up political parties of their own, that enmity hadn’t withered and died. On the contrary, it had become even more entrenched.

So, Asha knew perfectly well that allying with Didi Damyanti was like showing a red rag to Sukanya Sarkar. The rules of the game were quite clear. When it came to Sukanya Sarkar and Didi Damyanti, you had to choose between them. It was either Sukanya or Damyanti. And once you chose one, you had to eschew the other. It was as simple as that.

The whole world knew that when it came to Damyanti, it was personal for Sukanya. But how could she say that to Asha in so many words, without coming off as petty and small-minded? And why should she have to, given that this was common knowledge in all of India?

Livid at the Prime Minister for putting her in this spot, Sarkar resorted to bluster instead. ‘You know it is not the same thing, Asha ji. It is not the same thing at all. The BSF is a small regional party. There is no conflict of interest here if I ally with them at the state level. The BSF is not a rival party as far as you are concerned. But the Dalit Morcha is a direct rival to me. How would you like it if I made the SPP a partner in the Bengal government? Would you still say that as allies we don’t need to discuss these things?’

‘Please be my guest,’ replied Asha tartly, finally allowing a flash of temper to show. ‘I could not care less who you choose to ally with in your state. That is your choice, your decision. Just as it is mine who I choose to ally with in Bihar.’

‘Fine,’ snapped back Sukanya, ‘if that is how you want to play it, that’s fine by me. Satyajit Kumar came to me months ago begging for an alliance and I turned him down out of loyalty to you. But if that is all the loyalty you are prepared to show me, then I will definitely take him up on his offer.’

‘Yes, you should do that,’ said Asha, assuming a tone of faux cordiality. ‘In fact, from this point on, both of us should be clear what our duties and responsibilities are to each other. We are allies in the central government, and there, I agree, we should take all decisions after consulting each other. But other than that, we are the leaders of our own parties, and our parties can decide on what alliances we strike at the state level. I hope we can agree on that.’

And, with very bad grace indeed, Sukanya Sarkar had agreed.

But now, as she sat in her office, watching the swearing-in of the Bihar Cabinet and saw Asha Devi and Didi Damyanti sitting next to each other, talking and laughing together, she felt a fresh rush of blood to her brain.

This was nothing short of an outright insult to her; an insult that cried out for vengeance. And nobody knew how to exact vengeance quite like Sukanya Sarkar.

* * *

The media, innured though it was to the instability inherent in coalition politics, had been taken by surprise at how quickly the Bihar government had collapsed. One minute, Raghubir Yadav was having his shoes taken off by his Dalit PSO and the next Satyajit Kumar had had his neck wrung by Didi Damyanti.

Whatever you might say about the temperamental leader of the Dalit Morcha, there was no denying her decisiveness. Once she decided on a particular course of action, nothing and no one could deter her. Which is why it had taken less than a day for Satyajit Kumar’s humiliation at her hands to be complete.

But as TV news channels went back to their studios after running a live telecast of the swearing-in, the hot topic of discussion was not Satyajit Kumar or even the state of Bihar. The only thing that the anchors were talking about was what this DM-LJP alliance would signify at the national level.

Would the Poriborton Party-LJP coalition government at the Centre survive after Asha had humiliated Sukanya Sarkar by allying with her archenemy, Didi Damyanti?

Manisha Patel, who had a direct line to Sarkar, had tried hard to get her on the line. But while Sukanya was willing to rave and rant about Asha Devi on an off-the-record basis, she resolutely refused to come on air and say what she really thought of the Prime Minister.

This was not the right time to do so, she told Manisha. She needed to strategize with her party leaders on the way forward. Once she was clear on that, she would give Manisha an exclusive interview detailing her plans.

Manisha knew that this was nonsense. There were no party leaders that Sukanya wanted to strategize with. For one thing, she was the only leader of consequence in the Poriborton Party. And for another, she had zero respect for the opinions of others when it came to taking political decisions.

The only reason Sarkar was refusing to go public was because she was not ready to pull the plug on Asha Devi’s government just yet. The decision had probably been made, but the timing was not quite right. No matter, Manisha was willing to wait for the scoop until it finally fell into her lap.

Until then, Manisha made do with the usual suspects in her prime-time debate show. The LJP spokesman refused to be drawn on whether the LJP-DM alliance in Bihar meant that the two parties would enter into a coalition agreement at the Centre as well. All he would say is that the government at the Centre was stable and would serve out the rest of its term.

The journalists on the panel were openly scornful of this claim. Rajiv Wadekar, a former editor turned TV commentator, laughed aloud at this claim. ‘If Asha Devi really believes that she can string along both Sukanya Sarkar and Didi Damyanti at the same time, she is not just deluded but foolish. If you ask me, by getting into an alliance with the Dalit Morcha, she has effectively pulled down her government at the Centre. It’s now only a matter of time before Sarkar calls time on this coalition.’

Much the same consensus prevailed in the debate conducted by Gaurav Agnihotri. Only in his case, bolstered by what he fondly imagined to be his ‘special relationship’ with the Prime Minister, the discussion quickly veered into examining the finer qualities of Asha Devi and the political daring, not to mention the chutzpah, she had displayed by displacing Satyajit Kumar and getting her own party into power in Bihar.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said an ebullient Gaurav, ‘you have to admire the sheer suddenness of the maneuver, the sheer unexpectedness of the move, the sheer unpredictability of the action, the sheer audacity of the decision. With this, Asha Devi has proved herself to be a politician par excellence. Today, I can say with complete confidence, that there is nobody in the entire political firmament who can compare with the Prime Minister when it comes to political skill and strategic sense.’

Only one panelist was brave enough to venture a contrary opinion. Surely, he asked Gaurav, this was a move fraught with danger. And was it really worth risking the survival of the national government just to get into power in one state? Did that make any political sense at all? Surely the move was, if anything, suicidal.

Gaurav fairly snorted in contempt by way of answer. And then, with a sneer on his face, he replied, ‘That is exactly what real leaders do, my dear friend. They take risks, because they believe in pushing the envelope. They take risks because they have confidence in their decision-making. And in the end, it is only those who take risks who survive in politics. As the saying goes, nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

Reeling under the fusillade of clichés emanating from Gaurav’s mouth at the speed of a sub-machine gun, the hapless panelist mumbled something unintelligible in agreement and retreated into silence. Gaurav looked challengingly around his horseshoe-shaped table to see if anyone else had the temerity to challenge him on this.

He nodded in satisfaction as everyone else stayed quiet, and then, with a triumphant flourish, turned to the camera to do his customary closing.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid that’s all we have time for now. Thank you for watching. And thank you for choosing News Over Views.’

And with that little kick to irony, Gaurav Agnihotri signed off for the night.

* * *

As her motorcade drove into the Race Course Road complex, Asha made a snap decision. She was not going to watch any of the evening’s coverage of the events in Bihar. She had had enough of the media’s constant sensationalizing of every event, not to mention the endless editorializing that followed. And she was tired of being bashed by TV anchors on a daily basis, no matter if she deserved it or not.

By any objective standard, this was one of those rare evenings that marked a triumph for the Prime Minister. But Asha knew that even on such a day, the loud-mouthed anchors of TV news channels would find an angle to pummel her yet again.

So, rather than punish herself by watching more of this nonsense, Asha would spend the evening with Alok Ray, who was already at Number 3 RCR, waiting for her to arrive. They would crack open a bottle of wine, have dinner, snuggle on the sofa, watch a bit of Netflix and then, well, chill.

Asha broke into an involuntary smile at the innuendo implied in that oft-repeated slogan. But jokes aside, if there was one thing she needed, it was an evening off from politics. She needed to spend a few hours away from the demands of her job or risk going insane.

She walked into the drawing room to find that Alok had already read her mind. The TV was switched off, and Ray was busy pouring red wine from a decanter into a couple of glasses. His eyes lit up the moment she walked through the door, and abandoning the wine, he strode up to Asha and took her into his arms. As she nestled against his wide chest, she could feel the tension leave her body. It was almost as if his touch was a magic potion that miraculously calmed her nerves, no matter how high her stress levels.

She raised her face for a kiss and it was duly bestowed upon her. But she could feel that Alok’s heart was not in it. Asha broke away from his embrace and cast an enquiring look at him.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘That wasn’t really your best work. Is everything okay?’

Alok handed her a glass of wine and gestured that she should join him on the sofa. ‘Everything is fine,’ he said, pulling her towards him so that her head rested on his shoulder. ‘It is better than fine. Today is the day we have been waiting for so long . . .’

‘What’s going on, Alok?’ asked Asha, pulling away so that she could look at his face.

The excitement was apparent on Alok’s face as he gave her the news. Dark Matters had called him an hour ago to say that they were all set to mount the operation to capture Madan Mohan Prajapati. They had managed to infiltrate a couple of their operatives into the close security cordon of Prajapati. Today, the task of escorting Madan Mohan on his morning walk had been assigned to these two men and they were going to ensure that their principal never ever made it back home.

Ray was a bit hazy on the operational details. All he had been told was that the moment Madan Mohan was a safe distance away from the main villa, the two Dark Matters operatives would overpower him and lead him to a vehicle that was waiting nearby. Once he was in the vehicle, they would send a picture to Alok Ray on his private phone to confirm that they had the former defence minister in custody.

From there, Madan Mohan would be driven to a nearby airstrip, where a Gulfstream jet was waiting, staffed entirely by Dark Matters operatives. This plane would take him on the long— fifteen hours or so—journey to Tel Aviv. That’s where the plane would refuel before bringing Madan Mohan Prajapati back to Delhi.

Asha’s mouth went dry as she contemplated all the many things that could go wrong with this plan. They had to capture Madan Mohan, spirit him to a car, drive him to an airplane, make the long journey to Israel, refuel and then fly to India. And every juncture of this journey, there was a real chance that someone could throw a spanner in the works.

Alok hastened to assure her that these people knew what they were about. Dark Matters did this sort of thing so often that they had a whole network of operatives at airports across the world to facilitate their flights. It would be child’s play for them to smuggle Madan Mohan on board and fly him out.

But after her recent experiences with the Jamia Nagar disaster and the Kupwara operation, Asha Devi had lost all faith in the ability of security forces to mount an operation that didn’t result in the death of the principal targets. What if Madan Mohan tried to escape, and was shot and killed instead.

That was never going to happen, said a sanguine Alok. These were professionals, he assured Asha, people who did this sort of thing day in and day out. And their payday depended on their being able to keep their targets alive. There was no way that they were going to kill Madan Mohan in the process of capturing him.

Asha took a huge glug of wine to calm herself. It was finally happening. The moment she had been waiting for so long was here. But it wasn’t until half an hour later, when a picture of that familiar jowly face flashed on Alok’s phone, that Asha finally allowed herself to celebrate.

Strangely enough, her joy manifested itself through tears, which first fell silently and then escalated into loud sobs. Alok said nothing to comfort her, just holding her close and caressing her back until her crying jag finally ended.

Wiping her tears, Asha said in shaky tones, ‘I have to call Amma and tell her. She must be the first to know . . .’

‘No,’ said Alok, shaking his head. ‘You can’t tell anyone just yet. We have to wait until he takes off from Israel before we can break the news to the family.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Alok,’ said Asha. ‘Surely, you don’t think that my mother or brothers will leak this information?’

But Alok was adamant. Dark Matters had insisted that nobody should be informed until Madan Mohan Prajapati was on the India leg of his journey home. And they had to comply with these instructions.

There was, however, one call that Madam Prime Minister had to make. She had to phone the Israeli Prime Minister and ask that the plane carrying the fugitive be allowed to refuel in Tel Aviv.

But she needed Nitesh Dholakia for that, objected Asha. He was the one who had all the contact numbers of world leaders on his system.

Not to worry, said Alok. He had already informed the Israeli Ambassador that Asha Devi needed a secure line to speak to the Israeli PM on a matter of great urgency. Alok would call the Ambassador and he would patch Asha through.

In the end, it took just a couple of minutes for the two PMs to get on a secure line together. And once Asha had laid out the scenario to her counterpart, he didn’t hesitate for a second before granting her request.

Madan Mohan Prajapati would be making a brief stop in Tel Aviv. And then, he would head home to face justice.