The Return of Vaman - A Scientific Novel (9 page)

Dear Urmila

Our correspondence has been going on for several months. You may accuse me of being lazy—you would be justified too, for I write one letter after receiving four of yours! Nor are my letters ever as long as yours.

The fact is that I simply don’t have time. Unlike you (consigned to a quiet life in the wilderness), I am in the thick of a busy housewife’s routine. With just Jayaram and myself, a family of two, what keeps me so busy? You may well ask! The answer is ‘a steady unending stream of guests’.

Jay likes people, whether they are artists, musicians, litterateurs, journalists, scientists or academics—even politicians of all parties. Jay loves to chat with them all for hours on end while poor I have to supply food to keep them going. Tonight he is bringing two film actors for an overnight stay. I have just finished cooking dinner and am snatching a few minutes to scribble this to you. Well, Urmila, I have important news to report. The D-Day is around December 20. This means I have to slow down and employ some regular domestic help in due course. Aren’t you lucky that you have a gardener and a woman who cooks? You tell me that they are the spies employed by that Major of yours. Well, I have no use for a gardener in our eighth floor flat but could certainly do with a cook (so I envy you!). Even Jay has registered the news in his busy mind and is talking of reducing the flow of guests. I will believe that when it really happens. Meanwhile I have just sighted Jay’s car, presumably containing the dreaded guests.

So I will close for now. My best regards to Laxmanan (when you see him!) and to you—I will also add those from Jay, whom I can now hear at the door.

Lalitha

‘When you see him!’ How right she is, thought Urmila as she read the last paragraph. For she rarely saw Laxman these days. He would come back late at night and, on his strict instructions, she had stopped waiting for him for dinner. She would be fast asleep when he came and helped himself to whatever was kept on the table. And by the time she woke up he would be gone. On some nights he would grab a stale sandwich from the canteen and sleep on the bench in the lab.

Urmila sighed and looked out. Jeevan, the gardener was busy weeding the lawn. But, Urmila knew, he was alert for anything unusual. Her other shadow, Rakhee, was putting finishing touches to a lunch of rice and sambar. Though Urmila did not need or want a cook, she had one courtesy of Major Samant—in case something unusual happened.

It did! Masculine arms were round her and she was lifted and whirled round the room. Her instinct to cry out was suppressed by surprise at finding that the arms belonged to her absconding husband.

‘Let go, Laxman, let go! What will Rakhee think?’ Urmila managed to extricate herself with great difficulty.

‘I bet she has been trained to ignore such demonstrations’ said Laxman who looked obviously excited. ‘Umi, I have finally done it!’ he added.

‘What have you done, Laxman?’ Urmila asked. Some of the excitement had already rubbed off on her.

‘I have, shall we say, completed the jigsaw puzzle I was trying to put together for so long.’

‘What puzzle?’

‘Ah, there you have me. I shouldn’t tell you really—but to hell with security—I will. Umi, the computer is working. It’s fantastic, decades ahead of the finest supercomputer on this planet. But having said that, I must shut up. And, Umi, keep it to yourself.’

‘Congratulations, darling!’ Urmila could not decide whether she was more pleased at Laxman’s success or because there was now the likelihood of his finding more time for her.

The excitement had all begun with the first trial run, when Arul had produced a programme for the computer….

‘What programme is this?’ asked Laxman.

‘Back in 1976 two mathematicians Appel and Haaken used this programme to solve the long-standing four-colour problem’, said Arul as he handed the floppy disc to Laxman. As Laxman went over to put the disc into the new computer, Arul had second thoughts on the matter. He added, ‘Laxman, you wanted a long-running programme; but let me warn you that this one took nearly 1200 hours on IBM-360 … Do you want something more modest to start with?’

‘No Arul, I will take it as a challenge. I could have tried shorter and simpler problems—but they won’t give a real indication of its capability. Let me first put the disc in to translate the programme language to one which this computer understands.’

‘What is this business of translating languages?’ asked Navin.

‘This computer has been designed as per specifications totally alien to us. Even our own computer systems in the initial stages did not readily adopt a common system of programming. So one had to design a translator to change one programming language to another. I designed one that this computer understands. That is why it took me so long to make this computer work. Of course, in due course we must get used to the computer’s own language: then this delay won’t occur’, Laxman said as he anxiously watched the flashing light. It would change over to a steady red light if the computer did not understand some instruction in the programme.

‘Bravo!’ shouted Laxman with delight as the flashing light stopped and a series of beeps came out. The indicator light had turned to green. The computer had understood all the instructions. Laxman took out the floppy disc and pressed another button.

‘The computer will now examine the programme for its internal logic’, he added.

‘While it is doing so, can you explain to me the four-colour problem?’ Navin asked Arul.

‘It is one of these conjectures which are simple to state but difficult to settle one way or another’, said Arul. ‘Suppose on a geographical map you want to depict countries by different colours. The condition is: adjacent countries, that is, those sharing a boundary, must have different colours. What is the least number of colours needed to paint the map?’

‘Wait a minute! That looks simple enough’, Navin went to a desk and pulled out a paper. He drew several maps to check his guess and finally said. ‘Four colours ought to be enough’.

‘Right! That is the four-colour conjecture. But can you prove it? Can you show that, no matter how you draw the map, four colours will suffice?’ Arul asked.

‘Well … now you are asking! May be there is some map cleverly drawn that might need five colours … let me try a little more.’ Navin started drawing a few more maps.

‘You can save yourself the trouble! People have been at it for over a century. Some thought that they had proved the conjecture but their proofs contained fallacies. Nor could anyone find a map that needed at least five colours.’

‘There must be maps and maps. Unless one exhausted all kinds of maps that can be drawn, one cannot really settle this issue’, Navin said.

‘Well, as a rule mathematicians look for a general proof that covers all cases without having to specifically deal with individual examples. Take the Pythagoras theorem about right-angle triangles. You don’t need to draw each and every right-angle triangle to show that the theorem works. You construct a general proof’, Arul explained.

‘What a proof! It was enough to turn me away from mathematics at school’, Navin confessed with a wry smile.

‘A simple proof it was, if only you had good teachers to explain it to you, Navin! For the four-colour conjecture, no compact analytical proof was forthcoming. So Appel and Haaken did something that pure mathematicians rarely resort to. They went to a computer for help. They had already classified maps into different categories depending on their complexity. But there were far too many categories and far too many maps in each category to be within the range of a human brain to verify. As I said earlier, even a fast computer could not settle the matter easily.’ Arul glanced anxiously at Laxman who was watching the console intently.

‘So what Laxman is doing to his computer is like asking a toddler to break an Olympic record.’ Navin now began to appreciate the immensity of the problem. Would they have to wait for fifty days to get the answer?

‘Good … good … good! The computer has accepted the programme’ Laxman shouted suddenly. ‘Shall we start it?’ He pressed the ‘execute’ button without waiting for their concurrence.

‘How long should we wait for an answer, Laxman? Hope not 1200 hours’, Navin asked jokingly.

‘I estimate it to be less than an hour—at a conservative guess’, Laxman said.

‘Come, let us have a cup of tea while we wait.’ Arul dragged the other two, Laxman especially, to the canteen. He felt that Laxman could hardly bear to wait there in suspense.

Even in the canteen Laxman could not relax. He kept thinking of the computer he had put together according to the instructions found in the container. It had been a long haul. For this he had had to commission components from R & D labs which had never encountered this type of technology before. It had meant trial and error until the specifications laid down so clearly in those instructions were met. And all this had been done in total secrecy. One lab did not know what the others were doing. Within the same lab, different scientists were assigned non-overlapping jobs, all classified.

Would it work? Laxman could not imagine the consequences of a failure.

‘Shall we go back and have a peep?’ he asked suddenly.

‘It’s hardly been fifteen minutes … you wanted an hour’, Arul reminded him.

‘All the same, let me check and see if it is still working.’ Laxman did not wait for the others to finish their coffee. He pushed aside his cup and got up.

The computer was not working. His heart sank as he saw the red light. How would he face Arul and Navin now? He could hear their steps behind him….

‘Your toddler appears to have collapsed!’ Navin’s voice was soon heard from the doorway. He too had seen the red light. What would Arul say? That he had been too ambtious in asking for such a long programme for a first trial?

Surprisingly, Arul was silent. He was staring at the monitor located a few feet away.

‘Laxman, come, have a look! I can’t believe it’, he finally blurted out. Laxman dashed over to his side and looked at the screen. The following sentences had appeared.

Summary of conclusions:

The computer had far surpassed all the expectations of Arul and Laxman. When they were completely satisfied with the results they informed Delhi.

The Container Committee duly met in Delhi and studied the report. Most members felt that this extraordinary computer provided unique export opportunities and that the country could and should now go in for manufacture of the prototype. Most, that is, all except Arul and Laxman! They were not interested in the manufacturing aspect. To them the prototype was just the beginning. It was an invitation to study and evolve artificial intelligence, culminating in the von Neumann machine. But they could not express these views openly as the idea of the machine was known only to them and to Professor Kirtikar.

It was Kirtikar who recognized their difficulty and suggested a way out. He proposed that they be allowed to use the prototype for their research for one year while the government set in motion all the legislation and the infrastructure for manufacture. After a year Dr Laxmanan would supervise the production, for he alone knew all its intricate details.

As the chairman was about to conclude the meeting, Navin spoke up.

‘Sir! We have to do one important job still. This new baby deserves to have a name.’ Navin’s suggestion was seconded by others.

‘My own inclination is to give it a name of Indian origin, reflecting our tradition, our culture’, the chairman said.

Several names were suggested and discussed. Finally, it was Probir Ganguly whose suggestion hit the mark when he said: ‘This computer will teach us a lot; so why not call it “Guru”? A name that is simple, yet reflecting our respect for the teacher.’

‘Done’, said the chairman, noticing the favourable reaction all round. ‘May this Guru make us wiser.’

‘Amen’, said Kirtikar to Arul who nodded in agreement.

As the meeting concluded and Navin stepped out, there was a pat on his shoulder. It was Major Samant.

‘A friend of mine is anxious to meet you, Dr Navin. He won’t take no for an answer.’ He pointed to a waiting car.

Without a word Navin followed Major Samant.

The Guru of Gauribidnur.

Yesterday a high level committee of scientists, technocrats and administrators decided in New Delhi to go ahead with the fabrication of a photonic computer, it is reliably learnt. The manual for building this super-supercomputer was reported to have been deciphered from the data found in the excavated container at Gauribidnur. Experts rate this computer generations ahead of anything available in the advanced countries of the West. The Prime Minister, who is taking a personal interest in the Gauribidnur project, is believed to have given top priority to the completion of the computer and all being well the first model may see the light of day within a year. However, this crash programme being top secret, no one can be found to brief the press on it. Both the Electronics as well as Science and Technology Departments have kept mum on the project.

This UNI release was, however, sufficient to generate excitement amongst the knowledgeable the world over. Karl Shulz alias Joseph read it in Zurich, while Chushiro Yamamoto saw it in California as he was flying in his private plane.

‘Joseph?’ Yamamoto was never one to lose a moment. He had called the secret number given by Joseph.

‘Who is it?’ was the cautious counter-question.

‘Chushiro.’ This was the pass word agreed between them. The voice at the other end relaxed significantly.

‘Joseph here.’

‘Have you read the news?’

‘I have … don’t worry, Chushiro. Everything is under control. It won’t take long.’

‘Long is a relative measure of time’, Yamamoto spoke in his even tone. ‘I need absolute estimates, especially where time is money … In your case delay reduces the value of the information, I need hardly add.’

‘OK. Message registered. One month’, Joseph replied.

‘That’s too long.’

‘But considerably shorter than a year … And with your multinational advantages you can easily make up for a month’s lead.’

‘One month, Joseph, and no more.’

As Yamamoto hung up he pondered. Yes. The red tape and slow style of functioning of Indian projects would ensure that his one month of delay was of no consequence. As to the computer’s capability, Joseph had certainly provided ample proof.

At the other end, Joseph picked up the letter just delivered to him by one of the international couriers. He reread the most important part:

‘…Navin has managed to collect most of the manual instructions and I will get a package to you within a week. It will contain everything except the data on the Central Processing Unit. The information on the CPU is heavily guarded … only Laxman knows it … but Navin is optimistic.’

Joseph cursed softly at the letter writer. If Pyarelal were asked to stage Hamlet, he would arrange for everything except the Prince of Denmark.

On his return from Delhi, Laxman took up the challenge of making the von Neumann machine. The clues were all given in a highly intricate programme which could not be understood without Guru’s help. Not even Arul could get to first base in understanding what was involved. So Laxman struggled along all on his own.

‘What research keeps you busy, Laxman, now that you have delivered the Guru?’ Navin tried to prod him in the canteen on one occasion as they were having lunch.

‘Finding a Guru is not enough, Navin. One must learn from him’, Laxman answered guardedly. No one, least of all Navin, must know what he was up to.

‘All computers only carry out orders. Yours is no exception. Fast, yes, efficient, certainly. But intelligent? No sir! I think we chose a wrong name for it when we decided to call it Guru. It cannot teach us anything.’

‘Wait till you see what this Guru delivers’, Laxman suddenly burst out. Exactly what Navin wanted.

‘Delivers? Delivers what? May we mortals know what supreme knowledge your Guru will eventually deliver?’ he asked in provocative tones.

But he was disappointed. Long before Laxman could answer back, Arul, sitting two places away, suddenly interrupted with a reminder.

‘No more discussion, Laxman … unless you are willing to forego the cricket match … Come, it is high time we were on our way’, Arul almost unceremoniously bundled Laxman away.

‘I had to act, Laxman’, he explained as they were speeding along towards Bangalore. ‘You almost walked into his trap. Remember … Navin is a bad egg.’

‘I got carried away … I admit’, Laxman confessed. But he added, ‘I feel strongly defensive when Guru is under criticism. Of course, I should have remembered that Navin is trying hard to get the information about the CPU. Why do you laugh?’

Arul explained. He was reminded of ogres in fairy tales whose life was safely tucked away in some innocent object like a parrot or a fruit. Ogres, who could not be killed in the conventional way. So the hero had to find the secret of an ogre’s life.

‘The analogy is not quite apt … is it? Here we have Navin the villain, not a hero, trying to find out what makes Guru tick. But joking apart, don’t you think your plan of making a robot cannot be kept secret for long? We will soon need technicians to carry out Guru’s instructions.’ Laxman posed a practical problem.

Arul mused for a while. Laxman’s point was well taken.

‘The correct plan of action, Laxman, lies in our disclosing the truth but not the whole truth. From computers to automation is a natural course of action. Why not disclose that you are making a robot, a robot of the ordinary kind? But, of course, only a handful need know its real nature.’

‘We will raise the matter with the Major today’, Laxman said.

‘Major Samant? Are we meeting him today? Where?’ Arul asked, greatly surprised. The Major seemed hard to avoid.

‘Sorry, Arul, I forgot to tell you’, Laxman sounded a little embarrassed. ‘It was the Major who got us tickets for the one-day international. I like cricket of course, but not to the extent of spending eight hours watching it. As it happens, the match is basically an excuse for us to meet a friend of the Major … from the C.B.I.’

‘Who is this man?’

‘A Mr Kamala Prasad Singh. He is to meet us in the stadium.’

The Karnataka State Cricket Stadium was overflowing with cricket fans. It was the final and deciding one-day match in the five-match series between India and Pakistan. India had won the events in Delhi and Calcutta, while Pakistan had proved superior in Bombay and Hyderabad.

The two scientists almost turned back when they saw the crowds at the gates. But then they discovered that they had special tickets which entitled them to seats in the VIP enclosure. The gate there was well guarded and they could get in without difficulty. Samant was nowhere to be seen and Laxman had half a mind to go out and look for him. But Arul, who had now caught the match fever, refused to budge.

The game started exactly at 4 p.m. It was to go on till midnight under floodlights. Pakistan had the better luck with the toss and put India in to bat. Judging by the state of the pitch and the Pakistan batting line up, experts wanted India to score runs at an average rate of five per over to win.

The game started on a sensational note. The opening batsmen threw caution to the winds and lambasted the bowling to register twenty-two runs in the first two overs. At this rate, argued the optimists, even three hundred in forty-five overs was not impossible. ‘Wait’, said the pessimists; for sooner or later this lack of caution will invite disaster.

It did. The Pakistan bowlers discovered their line and rhythm and before long the scoreboard showed 32 for four wickets in six overs. ‘Will the Indians even make it to three figures?’ wailed a commentator.

‘It all reflects on our lack of match temperament’, someone behind Laxman spoke in Hindi.

Laxman turned round to find that a tall, lean person had occupied the seat behind him. Laxman did not remember seeing him there when they had come in. He had probably come in late.

As Laxman turned back to watch the match, the man handed him a card. It gave the name only as Kamala Prasad Singh. Beneath it ‘PTO’ was written in hand. Laxman idly turned the card. There was scribbled message: ‘Follow me at the drinks interval.’