Chankya's Chant (12 page)

‘Tell them that their family name will be associated with something charitable. Ask them for a substantial donation to upgrade the facilities and we’ll willingly rename the damned hospitals! They get the label of being benefactors and we get the money to upgrade the facilities.’

‘What if they don’t agree?’

‘Tell them that their tax cases will be pursued with double the vigour.’

‘Gangasagarji, the roads have developed potholes once again.’

‘Ikram, why don’t we impose penalties on the construction firms that executed the job?’

‘They say that the materials used were as per municipal specifications. It isn’t their fault that the specifications were substandard.’

‘Fine. Announce that we’re about to undertake massive road-building projects over the next year. Make a press statement.’

‘But we’re not.’

‘Ah. But they don’t know that. Your potholes will get filled for free by the firms that want future business from us.’

‘Revenue collections are down this year, Gangasagarji.’

‘What are our sources of revenue, Ikram?’

‘Property tax, licence fees and rent on municipal lands.’

‘Increasing property tax or licence fees is not a viable option. It discourages economic activity, and eventually lowers tax revenues. Increase the rent on municipal lands.’

‘But we can’t increase municipal rents—even though they are lower than market rates—because of locked-in tenancies.’

‘Terminate the tenancies.’

‘The tenants will go to court.’

‘Let them. Each tenant will need a battery of lawyers whereas a single government attorney will represent the municipal corporation. Our legal costs will be negligible in comparison to theirs.’

‘But matters will remain tied up in litigation for years. We’ll eventually lose. We’re on extremely shaky legal ground.’

‘Fine. Threaten to sell the tenanted land as-is-where-is.’

‘No one will buy tenanted properties.’

‘My dear Ikram, if I recall correctly, you were a slumlord before you were elevated to the exalted position of mayor, am I correct?’

‘By your blessings and guidance, sir,’ said Ikram glibly.

‘So, ask yourself this. If the buyer happens to be an underworld don, will the tenants be comfortable with the thought of having a don as landlord?’

‘Obviously not. Mafia lords will use every dirty trick in—and outside—the book to vacate the land. Tenants would be terrorised.’

‘So tell the tenants that they have two options. Either negotiate with us for an increased rent or negotiate with a don for decreased life-expectancy. I’m sure they’ll mostly opt for the former.’

‘I’ve signed the contract for the sewage disposal system,

Gangasagarji.’

‘Did you keep five per cent for the party, Ikram?’

‘Yes. As you instructed.’

‘But did you also make sure that the city saves twenty per cent?’

‘Yes. The bidding process ensured that.’

‘Good. I know that our party coffers need strengthening before the state assembly elections but I refuse to do it without saving money for the citizens too. There have been too many evil officers inside the municipal corporation who have lined their own pockets without doing anything for ordinary citizens.’

‘Alas, money is the root of evil.’

‘Yes. And sometimes a man needs roots.’

‘Let’s cut bureaucracy to the best of our ability, commissioner,’ suggested Gangasagar. He was seated in the mayor’s plush office meeting with the newly-appointed municipal commissioner. The commissioner knew that the real political power was Gangasagar. The mayor was the television set but Gangasagar was the remote control unit.

To please Gangasagar he asked his deputies to draw up guidelines on how they could reduce red tape. It was a lengthy document written in government legalese. It was returned by Gangasagar to the commissioner the next day with a short note attached on top. It simply said:

Gayatri Mantra: 14 words
Pythagorean Theorem: 24 words
Archimedes’ Principle: 67 words
The Ten Commandments: 179 words
Jawaharlal Nehru’s inaugural speech: 1,094 words
Your recommendations to reduce red tape:
22,913 words

Ikram, Gangasagar and Agrawalji were in their underwear, sitting crosslegged on the private Agrawal riverbank along the Ganges. Behind each of the men stood a
maalishwallah
. They were all reeking of mustard oil, the preferred lubricant used by Kanpur masseurs. They had drenched the scalps of the three men with warm oil and were vigorously rubbing their customers’ heads. Agrawalji was bald but that didn’t seem to prevent his maalishwallah from polishing his crown enthusiastically. Intermittently, the masseurs would stray from their primary targets—their heads—and manipulate, squeeze and stroke their patrons’ necks, shoulders, arms, and backs. It was an orgy of grease and grunts.

Agrawalji asked, ‘Ganga, do you think we’re strong enough to fight the next state assembly elections?’

‘The moot point is not whether we are strong enough but whether we can make the opposition weak enough,’ replied Gangasagar, blissfully aware of the masseur inserting his fingers into his ears and giving his eardrums the Indian version of vibration therapy.

‘Knowing how you work, I’d say that you already have a plan,’ said Agrawalji, stretching out his arms so that the masseur could give his palms a deep-tissue rub using his thumbs in a circular motion—excellent for blood circulation.

‘I’m told that our honourable chief minister has a few not-so-honourable vices,’ said Gangasagar shiftily.

‘What are they?’ asked Ikram.

‘The more appropriate question is
who
are they,’ replied Gangasagar.

‘Fine. Who are they?’

‘Shall I recite the ladies’ names alphabetically?’ joked Gangasagar.

‘Anyway, how does this help us?’ asked Agrawalji. ‘Our chief minister has a good track record of governance. With him at the helm, it will be difficult to dislodge the current administration. With him out of the way, though, things would be different.’

‘The problem with men who are extremely zealous at work is that they tend to be equally enthusiastic about other pursuits,’ suggested Gangasagar.

‘With elections around the corner, he will be cautious. He will not be easy to trip up,’ said Ikram.

‘Quite often, the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it,’ said Gangasagar quietly.

Gulbadan’s
kotha
near Akbari Darwaza in Lucknow was quietly famous. It was one of the very few courtesans’ residences that had remained frozen in time. The wealthy madam who owned the kotha wore cashmere wool and brocade shawls, smoked from crystal hookahs, drank from jade goblets, walked in bejewelled slippers, spat into silver spittoons and slept on pure silk bedspreads. She slept with only one man, though.

She was extremely choosy. It wasn’t about the money —she had enough of it. It was about power. The only thing that could turn her into a wet and wild woman in bed was the thought that she was in the presence of power. And there was no one more powerful in Lucknow than the state’s chief minister.

The reporter standing outside the door to the bedroom was untidy and unkempt. His shirt was drenched in patches of sweat, his cheap trousers were crumpled and the shoelaces of his right shoe were dangerously undone. His Buddy Holly-style glasses were greasy and his thick dark hair sprinkled little specks of dandruff on his shoulders. Around his neck, however, hung a very sleek Agilux camera—manufactured in England—with an uncoupled rangefinder. The payoff to the reporter had been generous—almost one month’s pay. The tip-off had been perfect—the venue, date and time typed neatly on a slip of unmarked and unsigned paper. It was going to be the biggest scoop of his life.

The maidservant stationed outside the bedroom signalled for him to try the door handle. He gingerly tiptoed to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob and tried it. It was unlocked. Obviously. The maidservant had unlocked it with her own key. The reason for the maidservant’s cooperation lay in his hands—a rather large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It contained a new miracle drug to fight tuberculosis—a drug produced and available only in America at the time.

The private detective keeping an eye on Gulbadan’s kotha had suggested that the girl could be used. Investigation had revealed that the girl’s mother was dying of tuberculosis and that the girl was in financial trouble trying to keep up with medical bills. A new medical breakthrough for tuberculosis patients had been recently discovered and Gangasagar had asked Agrawalji to import the medicine through one of his business contacts in New York. Getting the girl to agree to participate in the sting had been child’s play thereafter.