Honest Season , livre ebook

Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd. - Kota Neelima

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182 pages

English

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2 political rivals fighting for power1 journalist caught in the battle6 tapes secretly recorded in Parliament1 government with a lot to hideSikander Bansi, an unlikely political heir in Delhi, secretly records politicians in Parliament as they haggle to become cabinet ministers, bag defence contracts, dodge criminal charges and collect corporate largesse. Among them is a rising leader of the People's Party, Nalan Malik, whose success has come through unscrupulous means.When Sikander suddenly disappears, Mira Mouli, a newspaper journalist with an unusual gift for knowing people's thoughts, receives the controversial Parliament tapes along with clues to find him. She is attracted to Sikander's principles and is wary of Nalan's deceit. But her powers of knowing tell her a different story, one that she can unravel only at the cost of her life. From the bestselling author of Shoes of the Dead, this is a disturbing political fiction that reveals why Parliament functions behind gates closed to the public.

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Publié par	Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Date de parution	24 décembre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184007664
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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KOTA NEELIMA

The Honest Season
RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
Contents
A Note on the Author
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Author s Note
Epilogue
Follow Random House
Copyright
A Note on the Author
Kota Neelima has been a journalist for over twenty years, covering politics in New Delhi, India. She is Senior Research Fellow, South Asia Studies at The Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International Studies, Johns Hopkins University, Washington, DC. Her recent academic research in India on perception seeks to develop a structure based on rural and urban voter choices.
Her previous books include the bestselling Shoes of the Dead and Death of a Moneylender, among others. Also a well-known painter, Neelima s works are a part of several collections in India and abroad, including the Museum of Sacred Art, Belgium.
www.kotaneelima.com
To my father
Prologue
New Delhi; July (Six months before the national elections)
It rained in that disinterested Delhi way as if doing a job that would bring neither rewards nor recognition, the same way the government officer in the Free Water department signed an order that afternoon to normalize water supply to areas in south-west Delhi. No one had asked him to expedite the file or delay it by luring him with tickets for the IPL cricket matches or special passes to movie previews. No one even thanked him for making sure that 15,000 households would be pleasantly surprised to find water in taps next morning for the first time in three months. He knew why there had been no supply. The water had been secretly diverted to private businessmen, who had resold it at a profit to the same households. The dry taps were explained to the government by saying that the water supply was affected because of peak demand due to summer heat. No one thought of investigating the matter; the private water lobby ensured that. This informal and hugely profitable arrangement usually came to an end with the arrival of monsoon rains each year, after which there could be no justification for water scarcity. It helped if the rains were delayed, though; people remained thirsty a little longer. This year, however, the rains were on time.
The officer angrily snapped shut the file on his desk and left his room to take a coffee break. The rain that fell listlessly sharpened with sudden focus, and drops found him, choosing their target as he walked to the caf across the lane. Settling down at a table with coffee, he pensively lowered his eyes to his cell phone. He had worked in the department for six years now and had made money every summer; all except this one. That was because of the new director, a man famous for his discipline and efficiency. He was specially brought in one year before the elections next January to ensure that water reached the voters abundantly this summer, enough to make them forget the last four very parched seasons. He was so strict that within two weeks of his appointment six months ago, he had launched a full-scale investigation into reports of water pilferage and threatened to take action against any officer found guilty of collusion with the private water business. The findings were submitted in sixty days, collusion was indicated, officers asked to show cause and businessmen issued summons.
Then the summer began. The water supply was once again cut off to households and privately owned tankers reappeared on Delhi roads to sell water at a premium. But there was a difference this year; no one knew what the deal was. The new director was that disciplined, and efficient.
The officer thoughtfully touched the ID card that hung by a cord from his neck. The informal income he earned every summer supported a lifestyle his family was now used to. It paid for the plasma TV and home theatre, holidays in Lakshadweep and Leh, school trips to Nepal and Bhutan, that expensive and unnecessary watch, and that exorbitant but enticing jewelry. He felt poor and deprived today, enough to justify selling the secret details of a multi-crore-government project to the highest bidder. He decided to make the phone call and glanced around once to check. The caf was never crowded; there was a couple in the corner who hoped no one recognized them, a young man in the front with headphones peered at a screen, a young woman near the windows was immersed in her notebook and a middle-aged woman and her young son at the counter read the menu aloud, deciding.
The officer made the call.
After the greetings, he had some instructions for the businessman. Please make sure no one calls me after this on my official numbers. You told me this cell phone is safe, so I will call if necessary. Don t use your regular numbers to text me either. Do you understand?
At a distance near the counter, the mother and son chose a latte.
Of course I m nervous. And you better be too, the officer replied on the phone. This is an election year. There could be an inquiry into this deal if a different party forms the government after the elections. The companies involved may have to buy immunity from the new government against scrutiny. But if there are loopholes, and if we are not careful today, the contracts may get revoked and officers concerned could be suspended. So, yes, I m nervous!
He listened to the other side.
I know it s all the same to you, he agreed testily. It doesn t matter which party is in power. He paused to overcome the last tentative tug of his conscience, then said, I called to say that I can get what you want; the entire financial profile of the project.
As he heard the response, he was suddenly upset.
You did what? he demanded a little loudly, and then glanced around, but no one paid attention. He gathered himself quickly. This was an unforeseen crisis; he could sense from the light-hearted tone that the businessman no longer needed him. I don t have a problem if you want to talk to other officers in my department, he said tersely. No one has more information than I do, and that s because of a small detail you seem to have overlooked; I m the head of the Public Commitments section!
Apparently, it was too small a detail. His face stiffened in anger at the businessman s reply.
All right then! he said, miffed. If you believe you want to deal with some other officer, well, that s just fine with me. I would like to see how anyone can get the financial information on this project without my cooperation.
He was interrupted by an explanation that was too brief to be polite.
Yes, I know how much this project means to you and I also know you don t want to fail, he conceded tolerantly. But every big company will compete for this project, and I m just surprised that you want to risk a new source, that s all.
The officer turned as the young man with the headphones exclaimed at something on his computer screen; probably a catch at the boundary or a missed goal.
Of course I will help if a colleague asks me to, but the price won t be the same. The officer retorted in response to a question on the phone. Don t get me wrong, he added nastily, I like the fact that you are trying out others in the department. Very soon, you will discover exactly how considerate I have been with my demands. I have told you this before; I don t do transactions. This is a relationship of trust between a bureaucrat and a businessman. It has to be nurtured.
The detailed response infuriated the officer. Those were not gifts as you call them, he snapped. You gave them to me in return for the information. I earned them.
The reply was candid and the officer frowned. Fine then. I won t compromise on my principles.
There was a surprised cackle on the phone.
Yes, you heard that right. The officer was getting worried by this flippant treatment. We ll always be friends, and you can always call me for any information on any project, he continued with forced composure. But you see, I will have to help other companies as well. And that would include exposing the weak points of competitors, he paused significantly before adding, like you.
There was a sudden silence of realization on the phone and then a swift apology from the businessman.
The officer closed his eyes in relief but said dismissively, It s no use. I have made up my mind . . .
He was once again interrupted by an explanation, this time lengthy and pleading.
I know, he smiled to himself, you never meant to go to anyone else . . .
He paused and relished the panic on the other side of the line, then said, Sure, you are under a lot of stress. He had a sip of the coffee.
All right, calm down now, the officer chuckled. I won t help any other company on one condition. You have to deal only with me, all through and right until the end of the process.
There was rapid agreement.
Meet me tomorrow at the usual place, the movie theatre. Leave the payment in the trunk of the car like last time and hand me the keys inside the hall. The evening show is the new Superman-Batman movie, I think. The officer gently urged, Be there.
He refused a request of the businessman.
Instalments won t do. I strongly advise you to bring the entire payment tomorrow, the officer insisted. I can t meet you again for some time while the project decisions are being made.
The woman who had been sitting at the window walked by his table towards the counter. He was distracted momentarily by her slim, tall figure, until he heard the response on the phone.
No, that s not enough! he lost his patience. We are talking about five officers, one in charge of each step of the contract. Are you sure you can afford this?
He didn t respond immediately to the reply, and then thoughtfully nodded to himself.
Fine then. Two instalments, but no more! I ll wait for the confirmation tomorrow morning. Remember;