The Prime Minister
a serial novel
by Rattan Mann
Manfred Rupp -- 11juli42b
Go to Part 1, Episode 1
Go to Part 2, Episode 1
Hindi Terms
Lulu: is a useless nut who
can never get anything straight. It is not a name in the usual sense.
Chachi Jaan: is a more respectful
term for aunty. Chacha and chachi mean uncle and aunty and Jaan, meaning
life, adds more honour to the term. It means "aunty, my life". It is not
a name in the usual sense.
Jhuggis: are shanties in
a shanty-town, and jhuggi-wallas are those who dwell in the jhuggis.
Previous Episode
Kumar began a new life by joining
the police as a sub-inspector. In the police he was forced to forget Napoleon.
So to meet the day-to-day challenges of life he turned to Machiavelli.
If he could not become a Napoleon, he would become a Machiavelli in order
to survive. And survive he did - no thanks to the Academy.
Kumar could not read the notes he
had written because his eyes were full of tears. But a few of those tears
were tears of joy. The time to settle scores with the High Command had
come. Gupta’s stupidity had thrust into his hand a stone with which he
could kill two birds at once. He could teach both Gupta and the High Command
a lesson at the same time.
Kumar rubbed his hands to feel the
power that now lay in them, smiled, and said,
"Guptaji, don't worry. I am with
you. You may have lost the mother-of-all-battles, but you have won a brother-for-all-times.
I am willing to give my life for you."
Gupta was still to stunned to notice
that the father-of-all-experiments had begun. With his neck stiff with
pride
and his restless fingers playing with the power that lay in his palms,
inspector-general Kumar began to address professor Gupta in a tone of feigned
modesty and humility.
"Brother Gupta, I don't know how
or where to start but you yourself know what I want to say. But first tell
me why did you do it? Why did you kill your own baby? What was going in
your mind when you started axing yourself? Had you gone temporarily insane?
Anyway, no use crying over spilled milk. Let us think of the future. Think
what will happen now when the High Command comes to know of this incident.
Come to know they will. Not even a leaf can rustle in the wind without
their coming to know it. They will be very angry with you. You will never
become the Joint-Head of the Joint-HQ. How can they appoint somebody who
has been thrashed by a sepoy? What an example will this set? And, brother,
the High Command does like to set examples. I should know. They impale
people on city-gates for others to see and understand.”
"Brother Gupta, ask yourself what
will happen to you now. You have already quit your job at the college.
You can't go back there. Going back will be worse. All sorts of rumours
will start floating. People will start asking all sorts of questions. Where
have you been? Why did you disappear so suddenly and reappear so mysteriously
with a broken skull? What will you tell them? You can't remain silent,
can you? People will start digging into your past. They will find out that
you have been to Dehra Dun and have been torturing an innocent man. Jesus
Christ, blood-hounds will get on your trail. You don't know those Human
Rights Groups. They are worse than your Freudian witches and monsters.
They will put you in prison. They will boil you alive before a cheering
crowd. Your family will be forced to watch you being roasted. Everybody
will spit on your innocent family has nothing to do with your crimes against
humanity. Your family, Guptaji, think of your family. What have you done
to your innocent family, Guptaji? You have killed them with your own hands.”
"Your wife is a very beautiful and
sensitive lady. She wants to live with pride and dignity. Now she will
commit suicide out of shame. Teachers will taunt your daughter in school.
Other children will refuse to play with her. She is even more proud and
sensitive than her mother. She will refuse to go to school. Then one day,
while sitting home like a prisoner, she will go mad, tear her clothes,
and run naked on the street. The whole world will say,
“'Look everybody! There goes professor
Gupta's naked daughter. What a shame? But serves him right because he tortured
an innocent man.'”
"What have you done, Guptaji? For
fame and fortune you killed your own sweet wife and daughter. Did you ever
think of these things when you started your mother-of-all-experiments?
Did a Nobel Prize mean so much to you that it made you blind to everything
else?”
"Open your eyes, Guptaji, please
open your eyes at last. Your brother is begging you on his knees."
Kumar paused to look at the effect
his speech was having on Gupta. For the first time Gupta looked back at
him like a friend. Everything was working perfectly so far. So was time
to change gear.
"Guptaji, I didn't want to frighten
you. I just want your best. Who am I to lecture you? You are my Guru. Who
am I to teach you anything?”
"Guptaji,let bygones be bygones.
Everybody makes mistakes. Nobody is perfect. We can't do anything about
the past, but we can still do something about the future. I swear I will
pull you out of this shit. But for heaven's sake from now on listen to
me and let me handle things my way.”
"I have a plan. I assure you we
will emerge out of this situation unscathed. God willing, we will come
out stronger because of it all. You don't know me Guptaji, you don't know
who I am. I am that man who defeated Napoleon in a sky-battle. To turn
defeat into victory is my speciality."
Kumar looked at Gupta again. Gupta
was as quiet as a wet cat and listened as carefully as a new student. So
it was time to change gear again - time to start bull-dozing Gupta.
"Well then, what are you waiting
for? Get up and bring paper and pencil and take my dictation. But first
bring me a glass of cold water. And see to it that the glass is clean."
The look of friendship in Gupta's
eyes took a somersault. He felt like choking Kumar and then committing
suicide. That would put an end to his agony. At times it is better to die
than be saved by brothers like Kumar. What a fall it was! A future Nobel
Laureate was reduced to the status of a stenographer and a peon. Death
was better than that. But only in principle.
Gupta was no martyr. He did not
believe in dying for any cause. So he swallowed his pride, turned a blind
eye to the humiliation and brought a glass of water for Kumar. Then he
sat down with paper and pencil in hand, ready to take notes. Time was not
on his side, but he knew how to remain silent and lie low instead of committing
hari-kari when times were unfavourable.
After clearing his throat many times,
not because there was a lump in it, but to show who was on top, Kumar began
in an authoritative voice.
From
Inspector-General Kumar,
Forward Command,
56 Army Post Office
To
The Most Honourable Prime Minister
and his Cabinet,
The High Command,
New Delhi
Most Gracious and Honourable Sirs,
I wish to bring to your attention
a date which will live in our history in as much infamy as the bombing
of innocent men and women in Pearl Harbour four score and seven years ago.
Yesterday at midnight, while we
were sleeping peacefully in our field-cots at the Joint-HQ, we were suddenly
and most unjustly attacked by a lawless gang of terrorists, rapists, and
murderers of innocent men, women and children. We had done nothing to deserve
this.
We were utterly caught by surprise
and out-numbered by ten to one. The Joint-HQ was set on fire, and equipment
worth millions was destroyed. But my men and I fought wild cats. I immediately
took charge and rushed to the rescue of everybody who called for my help,
and thereby saved hundreds of innocent lives.
The battle lasted all night. The
last bullet that shook the sky was from my pistol. Several bullets pierced
my body, jaws, and head, but I kept on fighting like a man possessed. I
myself do not know from where I got this super-human courage. But in the
end I succumbed to my injuries and fell unconscious.
I am at present lying in the military
hospital, unable to move or speak. I am dictating this letter through signs
to professor Gupta, who, I am very sorry to say, did not demonstrate any
qualities of leadership when they were needed.
The lawless gang of thugs, dacoits,
terrorists, and drug-traffickers belongs to a well-known criminal called
Lulu alias Lal Singh. He has recently declared himself the prime minister
of India, and formed a parallel government in the Himalayas. He commands
a private army of a million strong well-equipped with tanks, missiles,
jets, and according to some, even nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons.
He has created a reign of terror not seen upon this earth since the days
of Genghis Khan. If he is not destroyed immediately, he will destroy mankind.
I beg the High Command to grant me the unique honour of destroying him.
Know thy enemy, they say. So I have
done considerable research on this new menace to humanity. But unfortunately
hard facts are hard to come by.
Nobody has ever seen Lulu alias
Lal Singh, the prime minister. There are no photos and no witnesses who
can testify to his existence. No wonder, some even doubt that he exists.
But I know he does. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing to you.
Not much is known about the people
who surround him either, except a few names and a few sketchy facts.
His mentor and guru is an old and
asthmatic woman called Chachi Jaan. She controls him through witchcraft.
He never does anything without her blessings. They say that her guru-dikshna
(offerings to the guru for her teachings) is a glass of human blood everyday
to cure her asthma.
His right-hand man is a woman called
Kali. She is married to a gun, they say. She sleeps with nobody except
an AK-47, they say.
His military commander is a young
Sikh called Balwinder Singh Mann, and his deputy commander is a former
sepoy called Layak Ram who absconded from the army after raping and killing
a lady-officer.
Finally, his financier is one Rattan
Singh Mann, an international smuggler and drug-trafficker, who is hiding
somewhere in the mountains of Norway to avoid extradition to India. In
a recent interview Rattan Singh Mann claimed that he is just a penniless
thinker and writer with a Masters degree in physics from Oslo university.
Investigative journalists have found
that his degree is a fake and that he has not written a word in his life.
But he does look like a thinker - a thinker of everything evil on this
earth.
Most honourable gentlemen, these
are the Huns who are knocking at the gates of our civilization.
Recently I organized a secret meeting
with Balwinder Singh Mann. In it I convinced him to become a double-agent.
In fact, yesterday's attack was planned in this meeting because I wanted
an excuse to start my war against criminals, drug-traffickers, and terrorists.
As the High Command can see, I have
already done more than my share to make my country a safer place to live.
Now gentlemen, the ball is in your court. Please stand by me in this hour
of need. I need three things - money, money, and money. I need Rupee to
fight Rattan Singh Mann's Krone. I am facing a new type of enemy armed
with new weapons.
Past wars were fought with soldiers
against soldiers, tanks against tanks, and planes against planes. Future
wars will be fought without soldiers - with money against money, yuan against
the dollar, rubble against the euro, and the rupee against the krone.
Capture of terrorist Rattan Singh
Mann, dead or alive, would be a classic example of my First Law of Modern
Warfare. My line of attack would be in Norway, at the very door-steps of
terrorist Mann. My line of defence would be in my own porch in Dehra Dun.
And to flush out Mann, I would flood Norway with rupees.
This is the strategy I have been
trying to teach the Indian Army for the past twenty years. But it looks
as if they can't learn anything new. They are trigger-happy with 19th century
text-books describing frontal attacks by the cavalry and the infantry.
For wars that may require soldiers
I intend to raise a counter-insurgency division and capture Lulu, Balwinder,
and Kali in the very near future.
Thus I am conducting my war on two
fronts with two strategies - on the internal front with soldiers and without
the First Law, and on the external front without soldiers and with the
First Law. The Future is desperate to know which strategy is superior.
So please send me enough money to
save the world.
Postscript:
By God, I hate to mention this,
but it is my patriotic duty to do so. Yesterday, as soon as the battle
started, professor Gupta ran away and hid in the hills. He returned in
the morning with a few scratches on the face and a cock and bull story
about him being kidnapped by Lulu. This is not the behaviour of a leader.
But I forgive him. And I urge you to do the same. What he did was very
human, and nobody should expect from Guptaji the courage, will-power, and
leadership that are second nature to me. Again I request that he be not
court-marshalled for this. I am mentioning this just because I do not want
you to hear about it from other sources.
Finally, I beg all of you, including
Guptaji, to devote your life to the study and practice of Truth, because
only by following the path of utter Truth can a man become like me.
Satayam av Jayate - long live Truth.
Your most devoted servant,
Inspector-General Kumar.
Kumar stopped dictating and
so Gupta stopped writing. Both fell utterly silent. Kumar was stunned by
his own audacity and genius, while Gupta writhed under the impact of blows
that Fate was showering on him. He was cursing himself and Layak Ram. He
could have done a much better job than Kumar even in fooling the High Command
if only Layak Ram had not let him down so badly.
"Oh these dammed soldiers and prisoners!
When will they learn discipline and respect for authority. When will they
learn that theirs is not,to ask why, theirs is to do and die - die even
for a wrong cause." Gupta's heart was screaming but his lips were sealed.
But for the first time in their
lives Gupta and Kumar were in complete, albeit silent agreement, on one
thing - the immediate danger to their careers was over, no thanks to anybody.
to
be continued...
Copyright 2005 Rattan Mann
Oslo, Norway
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