"I salute to the spirit of success...," as Aditya began, the reverberation went on to crescendo. "Success is the life-force; it is the prime-mover of the spirit of a man and the invigorator of his morale."

"My dear friends, success glorifies your existence. When you are successful, you're heard, your ways are noticed, your ideas are valued, your dreams are cherished and your goals are respected. Success brings you friends and earns goodwill. You get recognition in society. Your lost friends reappear and your critics are silenced. With success, you are loved, envied and held in awe. You are watched, monitored, discussed, debated, analysed and emulated."

"Oh, Devanjali! Now tell me straightaway - Did you see Vikram Thapar there at DC?"
"Yes, I did."
"Did he make an offer?"
"Yes... He did."
"What was it?"
"He wants me to join as the Editor-in-Chief of a new news channel which he's planning under the ‘Newswire Group' ... something to be called...umm...‘The Mirror News' which he's planned around me."
"What? He offered you a job in the ‘The Newswire Group'? What did you say?"
 "I said ‘yes'..."
"Don't tell me! You accepted to work with Vickey?"
"What's wrong...? After all, the ‘Newswire Group' is the biggest media house of India, isn't it?"
"And most hated, too."
"That way, it will be interesting to work with Vickey," she had giggled.
"Well ... you must have weighed the consequences."
"Hey..." She egged on, "Newswire is the biggest media house of the country offering the best packages in the industry. To get an offer from Newswire Ltd. is considered to be a huge break. Isn't that a good enough reason to join it?"

"But, that can't be your reason." He looked at the arriving waves on the shore and smiled.

The jam was cleared. His father jerked the car ahead. Aditya saw a mysterious expression on the face of his father - an expression that was a homogenous mix of happiness, pride and deprivation. Happiness because the son of his friend got through IAS, pride because a boy from a small town achieved so big and deprivation that such a moment was not his own. His father could sense the pride the boy's parents must be having over their son's achievements.

 

Is getting into IAS so glorifying? Why so? Maybe because it is the passport to entrance into the elite civil service of India and that way it's a gateway to a sudden prosperity. It entails a sudden change of status in society - from being nobody to being somebody who counts; from a humble student to a power player in the corridors of the government. It catapults the shiftless boy next door into a power situation, where he would get the authority to lord over the lives of millions and to shape their destinies. A dreamer of yesterday gets into a dream situation. For a small town common man, IAS means a lot - there can't be a dream loftier than this; there can't be a model for upward mobility better than this; there can't be a situation more honourable than this.

The door of the room opened to a gap in a slow delicate movement. Shalini appeared, fitting herself in the gap. She waived at Aditya and others. Aditya smiled and jerked his brows up in acknowledgement. Holding the door she looked back and signalled somebody to follow her in. Then she silently made her way to the back of the room not intending to interrupt Aditya or to disturb his flow of ideas. Aditya's eyes slipped from her and glued on to the gap of the door, in anticipation of someone about to appear. A girl, clad in a pair of faded jeans and cotton kurta, appeared. She waved at everybody and, closing the door behind her, made her way to the back chairs following Shalini. She looked indifferent to the number of eyeballs set on her as if she was used to it; as if, to her it didn't matter.

‘Who is she?'

Those present there found enough reasons to turn their heads for her. She possessed a constitution which the aspiring models vied for themselves - a tall figure consummated by an oval face, blessed with all the features that go to make a woman bewitching. Had her eyes been done with eyeliner, had her lips been touched with lip gloss, had her eyebrows been set in delicate arches and had her hair been let loose to hide or show her values, she would have been on the cover page of any of those upmarket fashion magazines. But, it seemed she didn't aspire for any of it.

Her hair had a middle parting pushing her bangs to the back and leaving a few strands of it hanging by her temples, to which she put back gently behind her ears at intervals. She was sitting on the chair listening to Aditya's discourse. Whenever she concentrated on a point, her eyebrows contracted and her lips rounded to open into a gap which increased or decreased with her level of involvement into the discussion. She had a distinguished air of sophistication and refinement around her. Her charm quotient was compounded with the element of intellectuality and elegance that she displayed through her demeanour.

To the people around, her presence was unsettling. Despite her unpretentious mannerism, there was a telling audacity in her appearance, something which often poses a silent threat to people around, challenging their existence.

‘Who is she?'

"Which claws and fangs are you referring to and why a civil servant would need any of it?" Aditya looked clueless.

"The claws and fangs mean your abilities to manipulate, manoeuvre, counteract and strike. These implements are needed not only for surviving among your peers but also for improving your chances in your career."

"Hey, all my seniors are nice people ... maybe you've seen some black sheep and generalized your opinions on them." Aditya said with disapproval.
Devanjali took a deep breath as she said - "See, the problem is that in a pretentious society like ours you can't display your savage overgrowths; you have to keep your claws and fangs well-cloaked under the thin veneer of civility to be used at an appropriate and opportune time. In society, you only look nice and civilized."

In your garb you are so decent, in your nakedness you're so vile.

Aditya was shocked at her cynicism. He said with disbelief - "I don't think things are so murky, Devanjali."

"They surely are, Aditya; only you are too woolly-eyed to recognize it. The fact is that in student days you happen to be so insulated from the real world around you that you confuse your bookish world with reality. Your text books never teach you this reality. For knowing this reality you've to first unlearn your text book knowledge. Once you've done that, you'll understand the benefits and relevance of the claws and the fangs in your professional life. You are respected, feared and admired because of your ability to strike, destruct and destroy and because of your ability to rule the real world with your acquired skill-sets." She lay back on the chair looking at him.

Aditya looked shocked and overawed. He asked with disbelief - "But why should one do all these? Why to strike and destroy and why to manipulate circumstances? Civil Service is still a good place to be in."

"Ha...ha...ha... it's a good place of course, if you wish to enjoy the life and to enjoy the privileges and the accruing collateral benefits..." She bent forward on the chair resting her left hand on her knees while her right hand did the talking - "If you wish to enjoy the fear embedded in the eyes of your sickeningly servile army of subordinates or if you wish to enjoy the envy emerging in the eyes of the successful middle-class of the city who find their Honda Civics and Corollas stymied in the presence of the grand Ambassador flashing beacon lights at the parking slots of the swanky malls and multiplexes, you've got the right job Mr Aditya. To that end, this is the most rewarded status among those culturally-determined achievement statuses. But, don't associate the service with any of those lofty ideals you so blissfully ascribe to the Civil Services in India."

By the evening, the result was out. It was sensational. Aditya Srivastava was declared the new All-India topper in the IAS. He had got a grand entry into the IAS hall of fame and that too with flying colours! Now, he was the member of one of the most prestigious and elite civil services of the world called the Indian Administrative Service.

The achievement was awesome. Aditya couldn't believe this. Though he had expected to get through it but to get the ranking of All-India No.1 was something he had never imagined. It was just his first attempt at it.

Gwyer Hall broke into an instant jubilation. Calls had started pouring in from everywhere. Soon, friends and seniors from different places started gathering in the hostel and celebrations started. Aditya found himself mobbed by a boisterous crowd of friends and acquaintances who cheered and danced incessantly. The celebration got on to become wild and he was carried on to the roads outside. Aditya was already a popular figure in the university and in this part of the world called the north campus.

The media had got the news. Soon the zealous horde of media men invaded him as if the ancient Huns were invading the wealthy village temples; each and everyone in the horde wanted to have the biggest pie. Cameramen, reporters, correspondents and interviewers from all tribes gathered in the lawns of Gwyer Hall. Within no time Aditya was on all news channels and his photo and stories were on the front page of all newspapers next day.  Just as a winning century of Tendulkar was analysed by experts with all possible graphics and details in TV studios, his rise to success and fame was described from all possible perspectives in the media.

That fine evening he found himself famous!

That evening he got his most waited call.

"Congrats Aditya..." It was Devanjali on the line, "I saw the result on the internet." - "You have proved yourself."

"Thanks. I know I have disappointed you Devanjali." - Aditya smiled.

A white Ambassador car was ready in the portico with the chauffeur in white uniform. The vehicle was fitted with innumerable accessories including a flashing beacon light and a siren. Deependra ji along with Aditya sat on the back seat. A security commando sat on the front seat with the driver. A pilot vehicle with police men was ready at a distance which started moving ahead of the Ambassador.

Aditya looked outside. At no place socialism was more visible in the world as it was on the roads of Anantpur; all types of traffic moved on roads with equal rights. The motor cars, the tongas, the tempos and the rickshaws all competed and vied for available space with absolute equality. In that din and bustle, the horns in the vehicles were as useless as fishing rods in the Thar Desert; yet, under bout of morbid optimism people never stopped honking the same.

 

But, the socialism on road evaporated as soon the DM Sahib arrived. The tongas, the cyclewallahs, the rickshawallahs, the stubborn tempowallahs or the people on foot all shifted to the wayside as the pilot vehicle blared its siren; it sounded as if sahib was in great anger. The gunmen on the pilot vehicle waved everyone to pull aside. People obeyed because they knew that DM Sahib was on way to the Collectorate. For this small town there couldn't be anything more important and urgent than this!

"Well, Ms Devanjali what do you think of me?" He was abrupt and pointed in his question.

Devanjali looked at him trying to understand the orientation of his question. She said - "Well, people think of you as a successful media magnet who..."

 

He interrupted her half-way - "What do you think of me? Honestly. Shed your inhibitions."

 

She looked at him and on the face of his stare, said - "Well, I think you're a man with a great sense of marketing skills but with least sense of journalistic abilities; someone who knows how to sell his news without understanding what the news actually means."

 

"Ha ... Ha ... ha. You're virtually boasting of my success."

 

"A success people hate to look up to."

"That's the envy, young woman. People are jealous of my success. Mankind is blessed with the wonderful ability to camouflage its jealousy and envy under a more acceptable social emotion called hate. People express their hate through one of those many saleable virtues called ethics, values and morality."

Devanjali looked at him and listened silently with her side wisps waving slowly in the morning breeze coming from across the Potomac. The beauty of her oval face was more accentuated as she looked at Vickey with slanted head, listening to his defence.

"The more they envy, the more I prosper because, I understand that, at the root of their jealousy lies the sense of their own inferiority..."
She asked, head still slanted - "Well, how does it matter what do I think of you?"

He smiled at her and took a long breath - "It matters; well, to be specific, I want you to join my group and to work with me."
Now, her head was straightened. She looked startled.

"I want you to join the ‘Newswire Group' as Editor-in-Chief of a new TV news channel in English - ‘The Mirror News', which I have been planning now in India."

Before she could open her mouth to say anything, he added - "Well, it's my pleasure to remind you that as per our management policy we pay the best in the industry and better than the best someone like you could imagine for herself."

For any journalist in her position, the offer was breathtaking.

"Why do you want me to join ‘The Mirror News'?"

"It's because of the opposites we share." He grinned - "Well, I think of you exactly the opposite of what you think of me."

She raised her brows.

"I think of you as a woman with great sense of journalistic abilities but with little sense of marketing skills; someone who understands news better than many of her colleagues twice her age, though, she might not be sure how to sell it."

"So, you want to make a team?"

"It makes a great journalistic sense, doesn't it?"

"Say commercial sense, Mr Thapar."

"We can make it synonymous."

Devanjali fell silent.

A man who symbolized many ills that the media was afflicted with; a man who transgressed the inviolable codes of ethics, a man who violated each and every tenets of journalism, and a man who was anti-thesis of everything she had held to be sacred and imperative in her profession was sitting in front of her, asking her to team up.

The main campus of the Harvard University is spread across an area called the Harvard Yard that falls north of River Charles in the city of Cambridge in Greater Boston. The Harvard Square, which is situated on the confluence of three main streets of Cambridge, is the most important shopping plaza of the area. The place that falls in the vicinity of academic buildings, university departments, libraries, administrative offices and a majority of freshman dormitories of the Harvard University is naturally the main shopping area for the students. With streets abuzz with shopping outlets, book stores, multi-cuisine restaurants and theatres, Harvard Square happens to be a prominent shopping, dining, cultural and entertainment centre of Cambridge.
Siddhanta was hardly seen ambling around the Harvard Square. But that day, the wonk was sauntering along the Harvard Square to see a girl.
Siddhanta had found her smiling at the Harvard Book Store. As far as lunch was concerned, both decided to give their meeting an Indian flavour. Thus, giving a miss to the sushi, cheese sandwiches and salmon, they walked to Brattle Street to savour their lunch in an Indian restaurant.
Inside the restaurant, they took a corner table and waited for the steward. As he arrived, they placed their orders.

"Are you single?" She asked.

"Yes."

"Are you seeing somebody?"

"No."

"You didn't find anyone?"

"I didn't need anyone."

"You never dated anybody in your life?"

"No, I didn't ... before."

"That way, I'm your first date!"

"Yeah, and most unusual too."

"Why?" She looked puzzled.

"Because, here we're to talk business ... your business." She frowned as he said with a grin.

"Yes ... democracy means people's government..." Arpit Kumar, a young student, who studied in a school in town, said - "Abraham Lincoln had said that democracy means a government which happens to be ‘for' the people, ‘by' the people and ‘of' the people..."

"Absolutely correct, Arpit, I'm proud of you." Siddhanta praised Arpit Kumar and saw him blush as everyone clapped at the supposedly precise answer.
Purohit ji nudged Lallan Ojha who was sitting beside him and asked in a hushed tone - "Who is this Abraham Lincoln?"

Lallan Ojha had just taken in his tobacco. He bent his head back and made a pout with his lower lips to hold back the saliva inside as he said - "Oh, he must be the boy's headmaster in the high school."

He closed his lips and savoured the saliva; he didn't look further interested in the question. Purohit ji looked unwillingly convinced.

Siddhanta said opening his both hands - "You see; as Arpit said, the answer is right in front of you - ‘for the people, by the people, of the people' - now what does it mean? It means that democracy is a people's government - a government for you people, by you people and of you people." He looked at everyone around; the village men seemed to be getting his point.

"You noticed the point? It's a government ‘by' you people. What is the implication of this term?"

"It means in democracy the government is chosen by we the people through election." Another college going student, encouraged by the encomium showered on Arpit, replied in a diffident voice.

"And...?" Siddhanta looked asking for more.

"And that we've a duty to elect the government by voting. We must go out and vote." This time he looked more confident.

"Sure you must. But, what after voting?" Siddhanta persisted.

"After voting? What can a person do after voting? Nothing is in our hands after we have cast our votes..." Lamented Chowdhry chacha - "Before the elections, the leaders pose like our servants but after winning election they behave like our masters."

"...An unapproachable and invisible master who is arrogant and indifferent." Baldeo Singh added.

"Right; once we've voted the politicians into power there's nothing that we can do further  irrespective of whether they fulfil their promises or not." Sarpanch ji said.

"But, we can; we can do a lot after we've voted them into power Sarpanch chacha." He looked at the crowd and said - "A government ‘by' the people doesn't simply mean that you've a right to vote. Friends! Voting is your fundamental duty, and more than that, it is your sacred duty. But, under democracy this is not your only duty. Sarpanch chacha, your real duty as a citizen starts after you've voted."

"How, son?"

"By participation."

Purohit ji and Sarpanch ji were seated on cots wearing grumpy scowls. Some 15-20 other elderly men were sitting around them on other cots and chairs. They had also worn tough looks. They were flanked by 25-30 men, mostly upper caste and intermediate caste youth. Devendra Pandey, Vinod Singh and others stood near their fathers and stared at him in defiance.

"Oh, I didn't expect to meet with so many of you here. It's a great pleasure."

"Siddhanta..." Sarpanch ji gave him a stern look and spoke in a firm tone "We appreciate your efforts towards development and progress in our village. It's heartening to see that your efforts have galvanized the youth of the village and now these idle, unemployed yokels are looking like organized, disciplined trainees. But..."

Siddhanta stared into his eyes as if trying to gauge the traces of emerging aggression in it.

"...but you're doing this in a way which is unconventional, illogical and potentially dangerous. Your activities violate the social order and if continued like this, they would disturb the equilibrium of society."

"Yes, they would." The village elders echoed.

"It's not acceptable..." The people shouted.

Siddhanta glanced at Devendra who stood in a combative gesture holding the two hanging ends of the gamchha lying around his neck. He looked in total defiance to everything Siddhanta professed.

Suddenly, Siddhanta chuckled and said - "So, finally you did it. Sarpanch chacha, all of you committed the same old mistake..." He looked behind at the on-lookers and laughed again.

Everyone looked bewildered. Siddhanta knew that this time his opponents were different from those he had in his Harvard class debates; hence he understood that he needed to have a different approach to deal with them where a little bit of theatrics would be of great help.

"What mistake are you talking about, Siddhanta?"

"You are trying to ride two boats simultaneously, chacha..." He smiled - "Can you reach a destination?"

"Yes." Said Chowdhry chacha, his view was echoed by many others. "Agriculture has no longer remained profitable and inclusive." Chowdhry chacha said from his experience.

"Well, because of this our villages in the modern times have become economically unviable resulting in large scale migration of population towards towns and cities. This way, I believe that the villages have become an economic burden on the nation."

"Economic burden on the nation?" Rai Sahib asked with consternation.

"Yes, the only way to rejuvenate and resuscitate the villages in the modern era is to increase their economic potency."

"That's true. But, what's the connection between the economic potency of the village and the occupational mobility, son?" Sarpanch ji looked confused in the concept.

"Well, think of it this way; if there were inter-caste mobility in the village then any individual could take up any profession. Suppose, today, if a barber feels that his job is not economically rewarding in the village then, in the present set-up he doesn't have much choice; he would be eventually forced to migrate to the cities."

"Well, on the other hand, there might be a situation where ironsmiths or carpenters may not be adequate in the village to cater to the local demands. But, due to occupational rigidities, the impoverished barber can't take up the profession of a carpenter or of an ironsmith. But, if each occupation is made open for everyone then the barber or any other occupation-holder, may switch over to carpentry, weaving or cloth-washing and may nicely fill in the gap in the demand-supply imbalance. This would benefit both the individual and the society as the barber will not be forced to go to Delhi or Mumbai to work there in factories. At the other hand, the cities will face less pressure from migrating population."

"Hi!"

Siddhanta was jolted out of his world by the greetings of a person standing in front of him. He looked at the arriving guest - a young man of the same age as his with a face that had a strange ring of familiarity. Clad in a pair of denim and a casual half shirt and sporting a sunglass, he looked suave, urbane and sophisticated. With his lips broadened in smiles and with his hands held out to him for a handshake, he appeared to be a presumptuous man-in-hurry willing to give the courtesy of an introduction an impudent miss.

Siddhanta, shaking hands with him, got up from chair and looked at him with an unfeigned curiosity.

The man took out his sunglasses and asked - "Remember?"

"Oh, you ... Aditya! Aditya Srivastava!!" Siddhanta yelled with joy and surprise.

"Yes, Siddhanta. I'm Aditya."

It was 10:30 in the night. Somewhere in the deep interiors of the district of Ara, a village named Semraon was engulfed in the darkness of night. The sombre darkness of a moonless night and the eerie silence of rural outfields interposed with cryptic chirping of crickets, blended evenly to make the ambience quite grisly. In the middle of this, a shadow was moving towards the village trudging through the dense wheat fields.

In the village, light had been put out in the houses long back and the village looked deserted. Far on the outskirts of the village, a frail point of light twinkled from behind the dense foliage of trees. It came from an orchard, situated on the outskirts of the village. The orchard, which had a temple of goddess of Durga in the middle, had an unplastered, semi-finished three-roomed house with a veranda at the far side. In the village, the house was known as Bangla. A lantern was hanging by the wall in the veranda, which sent its frail light far and wide.

The rooms had their doors closed. However, light was coming out from the door of one of the rooms through thin slits. Inside the room Trikaal Mahto was pacing from one end to the other in restlessness. Other 3-4 people were sitting on the wooden cots with rifles and guns in their hand.

Trikaal Mahto looked at his watch and wondered -"Where is Snake?"

Aditya had bought a bouquet of fresh flowers from the kiosk inside the lounge and stood at the exit gate barricades. A smile was playing on his lips, a big playful smile. It showed he was up to some mischief, to some real big prank. He waited for her to emerge.

A little later, he saw her coming out. As soon she emerged, he took out a placard from inside his coat; it read: ‘Ms Devanjali, welcome home'. He caught the bouquet in his left hand and waved the placard frantically towards her with his right hand.

Devanjali was walking out to the exit gate at a brisk pace pushing her baggage trolley ahead of her. She looked at people flanking the exit railings and holding placards bearing names of visitors; but it was a casual, involuntary look which hardly reflected a purpose.

As she passed by the placard holders, she noticed a placard being waved at her violently; it caught her attention. She found her name on it. Who was the person? She found it strange; the person holding the placard had now hidden his face with it. The man was well-dressed in a formal suit; he didn't look like a driver.

Then, the man took the placard off his face.

"Aditya? Hey, you!" She exclaimed and held his hands over the steel bar as she said in excitement - "I didn't know you were here."

Aditya reciprocated and gave her the bouquet of fresh flowers. She thanked him and pushed the trolley faster to come out in the open lounge.

As she came to him, Aditya found her slipping into his arms. Though restrained, he reciprocated; he knew it wasn't planned, it wasn't voluntary; it was just a reflex action where both surrendered to their overwhelming momentary emotions. He had felt her hold tighter on his body. Maybe, she had felt the comfort of being with her own people - unexpectedly - and in her own country. After all, she had been to India after a long time. He patted her back gently in the embrace.

They came apart. He felt, now she was in control of her responses.

"Hey, you didn't tell me you would be here." She still reflected joy in her tone.

"That would have taken the fun out of it." He replied looking in her eyes.

"It would have added to it, instead." She mumbled.

A young recruit asked from Vickey - "Mr Thapar, how similar or different will be the ‘Mirror News' from the ‘Suchh'?"

"In what respect?" Asked Vickey.

"Well, will it be a symbol of justice, ethics and moralities or it will be..."

"It will be a symbol of news." He cut him short.

"Or that of an evil as is ‘The Suchh'?" He was bolder in his questions.

Vikram Thapar frowned; so did the faculty members and most of the other people present there. Devanjali looked at Thapar with bemusement.

"Do you doubt the fact that ‘The Suchh News' has been a symbol of success?" Vikram asked, his frown intact.

The young man continued, unwavered - "Mr Thapar, People dislike you as well as your news channel and take both as symbols of evil."

Everyone present was stunned. The senior associates of Vickey tried to caution the young man by raising hands, but Vikram  Thapar intervened -"No, no; that's fine with me. I hate people who don't differ with me when they need to. Yes, young man?"

"People think you're trying to destroy everything that is good in society and trying to promote everything that is inimical to it. Well, I'm sorry to say but, Mr Thapar, people hate you and your media policies."

It was an uneasy silence for a moment. No one had ever heard any such thing being said on Vikram Thapar's face.

Devanjali found it interesting. Unlike everyone, she was focussed on Vikram Thapar.

"Do they really?" Vikram's countenance changed from stiffness to amusement - "How many of you present here believe that people hate me?"

No one made any indication to say anything except the young man who still sounded unapologetic - "That's the general perception, Mr Thapar."

Vikram Thapar looked at the boy's name plate - ‘Karan Kartikeyan'

"That's not, Karan." He countered -"It hurts me to see an intelligent young man fooling himself into the belief that the people hate me. It's a ridiculous blunder which millions in this country so blissfully commit - the blunder of judging things at their face value. It's a contemptuous act of misjudgement that stands unpardonable. Dear trainees, it's exactly this kind of misjudgement which we want you to refrain from."

All of his associates nodded in agreement.

Vikram came to his point - "People don't hate me, Karan. The fact of the matter is that they're envious - they're envious of me, they're envious of you and they're envious of what we all are. Dear friends, in our society envy is considered uncultured; but whining is not especially when it comes to whine against a successful person like me, it's more of a social act; it wins you friends. That's why people whine."

Karan Kartikeyan wore an expression of infelicity.

Within next 15 minutes, Aditya and Devanjali were sitting in the Shankar Dhaba. He was sitting in the last corner row, facing the wall, literally hiding himself from the world around him while she sat opposite him facing the full ambience of the Dhaba. She enjoyed the stare of her fellow diners; she knew many of them were dazed by her appearance.

As the dinner time was in full swing, the place was choc-a-block with people, mostly with students of the area. The crowded Dhaba was a scene of great confusion. The tables and chairs were placed in close rows and columns leaving a brazenly narrow walk way between those columns through which hordes of bearers ran in flurries for attending to the shouting customers. People struggled to make their way through them. The small chairs collided back to back as people shuffled positions. Aditya had never been to such a crammed place since long.

Both of them looked as incongruous in the ambience as Fidel Castro would ever look in the New York Stock Exchange.

Aditya looked at the table and the eating wares. The supposedly sky blue top of the table had acquired a repugnant shade due to being rubbed and wiped regularly with sticky wet cloths. The stainless steel water jug was dented from all sides, and like Indian democracy, had lost its lustre long back; now it was no longer stainless, it was only stained. Two glasses, lack lustre again, made their arrival felt with a confident bang on the table, as if two wayward children had jumped on it.

"Well, Kushagra, what do you think of the ‘Suchh' news?" Thapar asked

Kushagra looked hesitant.

"Maybe you'll say its mean, horrific and disgusting, won't you?"

"Do you think so?"

"People think so. They think the "Suchh" news is plainly rubbish. But, I say it's intelligent ... truly intelligent."

Kakatiya raised his brows.

"You know why? Simple ... see, here we cater to the vernacular audience and here what rules the market is the mass not the class. The target audience of the ‘Suchh' happens to be the common man in the street - the lesser educated and lesser provided men and women who work in factories, workshops or drive taxis and auto rickshaws or those who own petty shops and merchandise or are engaged in petty entrepreneurship. You can call them ‘lower' and ‘lower middle' class to which you can add half of the educated middle-class as well; this way, they become the biggest audience group in this country. You know what they want?"

Kakatiya smiled indicating he only wanted to listen.

"They want entertainment. They're hell worried about journalistic principles and media ethics. They love gossip, drama and sensational stories about high people and their unethical relationships; they enjoy all sorts of trivia associated with it. They've strong appetite for sleaze, sex, and vulgarity and they relish voyeuristic intrusion into the private lives of celebrities. A scandal involving celebrities happens to be the biggest news of the day. They want juicy stuff, Kushagra."

Kakatiya thought not only of the ‘Suchh' but also of ‘The Indian Mirror' newspaper which carried shrieking headlines about many of such juicy stuffs.

"I know you'll disapprove as you rarely publish such stories in "The Indian News" or even if you do, it would be there in small columns at page 14 or 15. I asked my men to put it on the front page. Maybe that's why my men brought ‘The Indian Mirror' to No.1 from nowhere."

Kakatiya enjoyed the irreverent audacity with which Thapar had broached the rivalry issue; he knew that Thapar's drink had got the better of him.

"Dear Kushagra believe me, today I'm not your rival but a friend. I just want you to understand the true nature of the audience. Basically, our audience is hypocrite; publicly they all decry sleaze, sex and unethical relations but secretively they admire it and fantasize situations. They want the hidden perspectives and the meanest details. I give them all of it, done with music and theatrical adaptations. They call it news. It makes both of us happy - they get their news and I get money. Isn't it intelligent?"

"I'm glad that your creativity is paying you back." Kushagra was enjoying the discussion to the hilt.

"O' yes, it has won me many new audiences. Believe me, I get higher audiences than those prime time family entertainment channels and reality shows. Now, the women don't see any of those family dramas rather they prefer to see the ‘Suchh' news, where they get to see everything - sensation, drama, gossip and sex involving real characters and real situations. Also, this gives them an exalted feeling of doing a noble job - of watching news."

The man went out and returned with a woman in her mid-20; she had worn salwar-kameez through which her figure looked curvaceous and sporty. The brilliance on her face and the radiance in her eyes made her countenance enthralling and went to adequately compensate for her average looks.
She gave a red salute to the guests.

"Comrades, meet comrade Seema. She's joined us about a month back."

The two comrades turned to her. The member of the zonal committee scanned her thoroughly and returned the salute.

"She's been a great enthusiast and is highly motivated to our cause. She'll be joining your training camp very soon. She'd been very keen to see you."

"Excellent." He softened his voice and looking at her, mumbled -"The hope is still alive."

She sat on a chair. They talked on the revolution for the next 10-15 minutes. After that, Trikaal asked her to wait in the adjoining room.

When she left, he went out in the veranda and called one of his men - "Serve fish curry and rice to these gunners and take these drunkards to the rooftop to sleep. Tell them to take rest till the comrades depart in the wee hours."

He called the second man, the one who had accompanied comrade Seema and took him aside to whisper - "Ask her to freshen up ... the bitch smells like a dead fish in the middle ... you know the comrades are very upset today."

Aditya saw her coming down the stairs in a cotton sari; it was a candy pink floral print sari done with a little bit of sequins and patch work. She was coming down slowly holding the falling pleats of her sari with her right hand and watching her steps in her medium heel shoes; her untied, neatly done hairs were making waves on her shoulder at her each step. In her dazzling skin tone she looked every bit chiselled.

He stood bedazzled. He felt as if Aphrodite and Venus, the Greek and Roman goddesses of love, had momentarily joined bodies and had draped themselves in a sari to redefine beauty.

Aditya felt breathless. He couldn't have imagined what a sari could do with her chic quotient!

‘Whose lands of dream did I talk of?' He murmured within himself.

Halfway down the stairs she said - "See, I'm ready. Now, you won't say I didn't tie it well ... honestly, this is the best I could've done."

He noticed she had tied it very well and was carrying it nicely. Her beautiful figure had got a new shape.

Aditya wondered can there be any dress better than a sari for a woman!

A sari is the most decent, yet most sensuous dress, which may work in innumerable ways for a woman. It's nasty yet elegant, teasing yet chaste, revealing yet decorous and provocative yet honourable; it is outrageously exposing yet it is downrightly respectable. You get to show off your oomph by exposing your carved waist-line, tight curves, silken tummy and the erotic depression of a navel in its middle - all respectably through the revered dress of a sari!

A Sari is quintessentially Indian - bewitching, yet dignified.

The post of Prime Minister had come to Mr Agya Pal Singh because of Mrs Roselyn Sarvapriya. When the party returned to power after remaining long in the wilderness, Mr Rohan Sarvapriya was too young to don the mantle. Then, Mrs Sarvapriya was made to convince herself that instead of becoming a Prime Minister herself it would be far more honourable to become his boss. Therefore, an innocuous, soft-spoken, gentlemanly ex-bureaucrat, Mr Agya Pal Singh, who was considered too benign to be accommodated anywhere else in the party, was chosen for the top job by Mrs Roselyn Sarvapriya.

The points that scored high for Mr Singh were few, but heavy - first, he was found to be the highest on personal loyalty quotient of the Sarvapriyas and was believed to be someone who was too gentlemanly to lead a coup against Mr Rohan Sarvapriya's chances in the future. Second, during his decade-old political career, he was never required to fight a single election. The fact that he didn't ever have to suffer the nuisance of electioneering, he was considered untouched of the corrupting influences of electoral politics. Therefore, the man was considered incapable of the political manipulations or of any form of moral turpitude vis-a-vis his masters.

Thus, Mr Agya Pal Singh became the Prime Minister and Mrs Roselyn Sarvapriya became his boss.

The arrangement worked immensely for the duo. Mrs Roselyn Sarvapriya wielded tremendous powers without having to suffer the burden of accountability whereas Mr Agya Pal Singh, who felt bliss in this usurpation of his powers, brushed the question of accountability aside with a tender smile. He claimed, and rightly so, that he didn't ever hanker for power in his life. The emotional followers of the Convention Party jerked tears and applauded at such an unparalleled instance of mutual altruism.

The nation was struck with awe.

The Mirror News was showing reactions from all across the nation.

"Two hundred professionals threw their jobs?" A man from Delhi was shown expressing his surprise.

"Collectors, Police chiefs, top corporate executives, doctors and teachers kicked their jobs in one go to reform politics?" A student from Bombay University looked dumbfounded.

"Politics sucks but I feel sort of being nuts about the Volunteers..." A girl from a group in the Dilli Haat was shown reacting on camera.

"Yes, we'd like to know everything about the Ara Club; I wonder in which part of the world is the city of Ara?" She wondered while her friends dived into the Google map on their mobile handsets groping for the place.

A young man from Bangalore said - "While watching cricket, I accidently tuned into a news channel and then I came across this news. I just couldn't believe my ears; I remained hooked to it skipping the cricket match... I was floored by their secret work styles."

A man from Guwahati said - "It's a great news; I'm feeling elated. I presume now India will change. They'll certainly bring refreshing changes into the system."

A group of boys and girls outside a multiplex in Hyderabad said - "Oh yes, we've started following political stuff because of the Ara Club people... I was damn pissed at politics but now I think I'm kind of getting drawn to it because of the cool developments."

The reporter asked them - "Well, given a chance, would you like to join The Volunteers Party if you got a call from the Ara Club?"
"O' yes; I'd like to suck it and see. Both Sid and Adi are wonderful guys; they're leading a hell of a team."

"Dear citizens, we believe that democracy is an exquisite system of governance based on the faith and hope of the people - a faith that the political order exists to implement the cherished ideals of liberty, equality and fraternity and a hope that it will ensure justice and peace for them; we believe it's a system of governance where the basis of the sovereign power is people's will - yours and mine will - which means that yours and mine interests will be supreme and decisive. But, if it is so, then why people's patience is thinning out with democracy? Why their enthusiasm is ebbing? Why election after election, citizen's interest in voting is declining?"

The audience found his question relevant.

"The reason is fundamental and it lies in the very structure of our political system. Well, we believe and relish the thought that we live under a system of governance called democracy. But, friends, this belief is a fallacy. I understand that it would be a painful shock to realize that the faith, you're born and brought up with, is a mistaken faith. Yet, I must give you this shock because you're long due for it."

The people looked really eager to understand his point.

"Dear friends, the reality is that we don't have democracy. If democracy is to be judged merely by the provision of electing a government through 5-yearly elections, I agree we've democracy; if democracy is to be judged merely by the provision of a parliamentary system of government to be run by the representatives of the people, I agree we've democracy; if democracy is to be judged merely by a provision of universal franchise enabling each and every citizen to cast a vote, I agree there is democracy; if democracy is judged merely by the right of every citizen to join politics or to fight elections, I believe we've democracy. Yes, all of these are essential pre-requisites of democracy, yet only these don't make a democracy."

The country was watching with silence.

"Democracy is too noble and too exalted a concept to be defined by any of these macro parameters. To me democracy reflects from the emotional infrastructure of society, i.e., from the value-systems, orientation and willingness of the society and its institutions to work for common welfare; it is reflected in the emotional capacity of society to value and respect the basic ethos of liberty, equality and fraternity."

"Friends, just consider this: Today, India is a nation which is second best in economy, third best in military, 6th best in space technology and 6th largest nuclear power in the world. But, do you think our political system and government are the best in the world?"
"No ... Never!!" People shouted from all sides.

"Okay... 10th best?"

"No...!"

"Okay... even 100th best?"

The audience looked unsure.

"Well, I'm equally unsure whether we are even 100th best government on the globe or not. Our politics lacks ethics, our bureaucracy lacks professionalism and our administration lacks sensitivity and commitment. Friends, won't you like to see our government to be among one of the best in the world?"

The intellectuals had gone frenzied; forgetting the decorum of the occasion they raised fists in air and shouted in excitement - "Make this happen..."

Someone else cried - "Only you can do it young man."

Who says demagogues are for commoners; they know the art of seizing even the best minds of society.

Yashraj Chauhan, sitting among the audience looked around with contempt; he found the audience reactions akin to a Ramlila Maidan crowd where the commoners cry in frenzy on emotive speeches of roadside speakers. He felt ashamed to be a part of this audience. He wondered what had gone wrong with the esteemed guests.

Aditya was persistent on his point - "Dear friends, wake up to the reality; this system is anti-citizen and anti-people. The system is not for your welfare."

The loft duplex penthouse had a huge outdoor space that had two landscaped private terraces; a third terrace had an outdoor living room accompanying a furnished kitchen. The living room with pergolas offered great city view around Mall Road and beyond. They went to one of the terraces; it was artistically landscaped and presented an aesthetically lit open-to-sky garden.

She noticed two men, in tuxedos, standing in the garden in postures of attention. As Aditya led her to the garden, both men turned back and pulled a white sheet from over something; a beautiful table, flanked by two chairs, emerged. They put a flowerpot on the table with bouquet of fresh flowers in it.

"Wooow!" She exclaimed mixing wonder, joy and excitement.

The two men held the chairs and waited for them to sit down. After both sat comfortably, one of them took out a candle stand fitted with candles from under the table. They flipped open lighters and, with the rhythm of a symphony, lit the candles. After that, they turned in opposite directions and trotted away as Devanjali looked at them in bemusement. They regrouped at a place and touched something; with the sound of a soft ‘click' all the lights of the terrace and the surroundings went out simultaneously. It left a small candle-lit ambience around them which mixed homogenously with the soft and cool white moonshine coming from the half-moon glowing above them in the sky. She looked above and found the moon smiling at her. Cool easterlies of the summer evening ran gently across her body and face.

Just then, a violinist appeared playing a romantic tune and stood at a distance giving out a soulful rendition.

"Oh, wooow!" Devanjali laughed in a joy-filled awe.

She was stunned at the soul-tickling sequences unfolding themselves one by one in quick succession.

Raghavan, the Mirror News correspondent was showing ‘Democracy 2.0' to the camera as he reported to the studio - "Jayanti, the proposed electoral changes involving numerous constitutional amendments are absolute stunners. Some of the changes are truly revolutionary in their implication."

"Raghavan, can you list the main points of the proposal for our viewers?"

"Sure, Jayanti..." He flipped through the pages of the treatise and said - "The first proposal says there would be no election of individuals in parliamentary constituencies; instead, the election would be fought in the name of political parties. It means the voters would have no candidates to vote for; they would only have parties, such as the Convention, the Janhit or the Communist Party to choose from. Only the independents can fight in their names. The party that wins in a constituency will elect a person to represent that constituency; such person shall be declared to be the representative of the constituency in the parliament.

Raghavan read the modus operandi:

"Each party shall be required to declare the names of 3 probable candidates from the constituency at least 15 days before the election so that the electors could have a fair idea of the persons who would become their representative. The probable ones would file their personal details with the returning officer and thus, would become the nominee ‘designate'. When a party wins election, its Member of Parliament would be chosen from amongst those designated nominees of the winning party through internal voting in which all the registered members of the party within the constituency would participate."

"I'm worried..." Siddhanta took his mike and said - "that this fight against corruption is not going to check the everyday corruption happening in your strides."

The man, who had asked the question, looked puzzled; he asked - "why?'

"Because my fight against that little corruption affecting your daily life takes me to your door steps..." He pointed fingers at people and said - "It forces me to ask questions from you."

The crowd looked puzzled.

He said - "Well, let me ask how many of you dislike corruption?"

Almost all hands went up in air.

"How many times you've been a victim of the corruption?"

People shouted in different voices:

"Oh ... regularly ... almost daily ... each time we visit a government office..."

"And how many times you've committed an act of corruption?"

No hands went up. No one answered.

Siddhanta elaborated his point - "Be honest with you. I just wish to know how many of you have never indulged in any corrupt practice. How many of you never made others do something illegal or unethical for your own benefit? Come on, be honest..."

Few hands went up.

"One, two, three ... hmm ... indeed there are few such people but negligible, like few odd shrubs standing defiantly amidst a vast arid desert. Well, it gives me the audacity to say that corruption is our personal attribute which is a part of our social life; it's a tool to get our ways in life - a tool that smoothes rough roads of rules, shortens long distances of procedures and brings an air of friendliness in an impersonal bureaucratic order. It makes things easy, it gets things done. It's a ‘good' corruption - a corruption that works for us."

The crowd listened with pin drop silence.

"Well, corruption is a question of opportunities and convenience. A majority of us are born and brought up in an environment where art of getting round the rules or procedures are considered smart. Learning and imbibing such smartness is considered an essential part of our social upbringing; those who are not willing to learn such smartness are considered fools."

No one objected; no one protested. People listened, as if they were listening to their social report card.

"In due course, we're so accustomed to corruption that we get receptive, adaptive and amenable to any corrupt idea coming our way. Corrupt practices become a part of our social lives; it becomes deeply internalized in our conscience and gets permeated to our genes. We indulge into corrupt practices, spread it around and yet we don't feel anything wrong in it. It doesn't shock us. It creates an airtight wall of indifference around our conscience. Am I wrong?"

No answers.

"We want our house-tax under-assessed, our water bills trimmed and our electric meters doctored to show less reading; the businessmen want the sale figures at their shops, restaurants and commercial establishments re-jigged to incur lesser taxes. We don't mind paying odd hundred bucks to a coach conductor in trains to secure an un-entitled berth or paying to a middleman in the transport office for obtaining driving licences circumventing the procedures. You are willing to pay in thousands to the development authorities for approving your unlawful building plan; at traffic violations, you coax the traffic cops to settle the issue by slipping few bucks into their pockets. Am I wrong?"

"Ma'am, are you in office...? I'm coming to see you... I need to tell you about my laptop..."

"Karan...? What's the matter?" Devanjali's voice quivered.

"Ma'am, I'm driving fast, but ma'am ... I suspect I'm being followed ... maybe I'm in trouble ... so, just listen to me ma'am ... listen to me very carefully."

Devanjali had got up from her seat. For the next few minutes her mouth remained opened and her pupils remained dilated. She stood frozen at her place listening to him.

"Yes ... yes Karan, I'm listening ... just a minute ... let me get my pen..."

Karan wanted her to write something very important. She reached for her pen lying in the drawer.

Just then she heard a loud bang on the phone which was followed by 3-4 more bangs, as if someone had fired gunshots on him.

She shouted in panic - "Karan...? Hello ... Hello, Karan ... you wanted me to write ... I'm ready with the pen, hello ... you're okay?"

There was no response. Karan had fallen silent. The car engine was still on.

Maybe he had been fired with gunshots; maybe the phone had slipped from his hand and had fallen down somewhere in the car.

Then she heard banging of the car door as if somebody had opened the car door and closed it hard behind. She wondered who could be it, Karan or someone else.

‘Is Karan safe...?' She wondered.

No!

Siddhanta smiled - "Well, I must tell you I, too, am looking at anarchy..."

Both Prahlad and Shubhankar looked towards one another.

"Well, it's not your type of anarchy that dreams to eradicate the state and to collectivise the ownership of means of production through organized violence. I'm not anti-authoritarian nor do I believe in the dissolution of the state; rather, I believe that state is a human necessity; it is the organization of the rationality, civility and wisdom of the humanity for the collective welfare and progress of the mankind."

"Then, why do you think of anarchy?"

"My anarchy is a different form of statelessness. I don't want dissolution of state; rather, I want its lesser presence in the public life. I believe in the dictum that a state is best governed when it is least visible. Believe me, the best spirit of anarchy can be found only in a democracy."
"Ha...ha; you want anarchy through a democracy?" Prahlad wondered.

"Remember, the true spirit of anarchy can be achieved by the manner of applying the democracy, not by its elimination." Siddhanta said while the comrades looked at one another. He continued - "The next best thing to the notion of anarchy is a well-implemented democracy where the state acts to promote the spirits of modernity, rationalism and the individuals' free-will."

"It's an impossible notion, young man." Prahlad said with disbelief.

"It's very much possible, comrades. It's possible through the active participation of masses in the process of democracy and through political training. My idea of change revolves round this concept."

"That's why we're wary of you, Democrat." Comrade Prahlad said grudgingly.

"If I'm not wrong, you're scared of me." Siddhanta's smiles had widened - "You're scared of my methods and you're scared of my people's power, aren't you comrades?"

Shubhankar's face went red in anger and he gnashed his teeth while he said - "Yes...yes; we're scared of you ... truly we are." His anger reflected a fair admission - "We're not scared of the might of the Indian State but we fear you."

"Why on earth?"

"...Because you've restricted our growth." He said looking away - "You weaned away our cadre from our fold and weakened our movement in many parts of India; our ideologies no longer cast a spell on the poor and the tribals. You've done more harm to us than the Indian state."
"Oh...Ho; I didn't know I was such a bad influence on you, comrades." He smiled.

"That's why you must die young man." Prahlad said in a dreary tone while his eyes gleamed under his glasses - "I know you've been a good man - a peace-loving, non-violent philanthropist. But, on the altar of revolution many good men have to die."

"Yes, gentleman, I'm sorry that you've to die." Shubhankar said in a determined voice - "Now that we've understood your ideas, we see no reason to hold your death anymore."

"Where are the forces now, Mr Sampat?" Aditya asked.

"They're right behind us, sir ... catching up fast." He informed.

Now, they were about 100 metres away from the bridge.

"Look...! There!" The driver shouted.

Everyone looked ahead; they saw a SUV coming from the opposite side of the bridge. Everyone wondered who it may be.
The approaching vehicle was around 300 metres away from the bridge but it was in tremendous speed; such high speed looked unusual on that rural road.

"Something is wrong; maybe someone is trying to flee the village." Mr Sampat said.

The pilot vehicle moving ahead slowed down its speed.

Suddenly, they found the headlights of the vehicle turning on and off in a repeated manner.

"What's the matter?" The driver looked clueless.

"Whosoever is the occupant, he wants to say something." Aditya said.

"Sir, it's a signal for us to stop and to let his vehicle pass that narrow bridge first." The driver said with certainty.

"No, we need to stop the vehicle ... we can't let it pass." Said Mr Sampat and through the wireless asked the pilot vehicle to get in the middle of the bridge - "We'll first get on to the bridge and will stop the vehicle midway to check for its occupants."

The pilot vehicle had increased its speed and Mr Sampat's car had followed it. The two vehicles were still around 50 metres short of the distance. The opposite vehicle had almost reached the bridge, with its headlights still blinking madly.

Soon, the SUV was in the middle of the bridge with its headlight fully on.

Suddenly, there was a huge explosion with dazzling light and a deafening sound. A huge sphere of black smoke rose up in the sky. They felt the tremor of the sound from inside the vehicle.

"Oh, bend forward..." Mr Sampat yelled and hid himself below the dashboard.

Flying over the pilot vehicle, a wheel of the exploded SUV was hurling towards them and landed bang on the bonnet of their car. The impact shook the car and its windscreen went into smithereens.

"Oh my god...!" Devanjali shouted in terror and hid herself behind Aditya's shoulders.

"Very soon you're going to be formally questioned by police." He informed- "In this connection, I wish to show you something which maybe important to you."

He opened a small bag and brought out something wrapped in a paper; they were few photographs - "These are some photograph of the crime scene taken by our men as they reached the spot immediately after the murder. By that time no media person had reached there."

He took out a photograph and handed it to her. It was just like many of those photographs that had appeared on news channels and in the newspapers all these days where Kartikeyan's car was lying crashed with the central median and he was lying murdered on the driver's seat with his seat-belt on.
"I've seen it many times over." She said handing it back to him.

"Yes, but I guess, you might not have seen this..." He brought out another one. It showed the window pane of the driver's seat from close quarters.

"You notice something?" He asked.

Devanjali gave a relook at it but couldn't notice anything specific.

"Well there is a message on it ... on the windowpane." He said and asked her to concentrate; she didn't find anything in it, though.

He smiled and took out the third photograph - "Well, this might help you a little more..."

She looked at it. It was the close-up shot of the same windowpane. She found something scribbled on it. They were few faint, asymmetrical letters appearing in mirror-image shapes as they were written from inside.

"It is written with blood which had dried till the time this photo was taken, leaving these stained impressions." He informed.

"What does it read?" She tried to decipher the mirror-image letters scribbled in capitals. In total, they were seven letters where only the first and the last two letters were clear; they read V _ _ _ _ RY; rest of them were dried up and looked unreadable. Maybe for the last two letters he had used fresh blood.
"What does it mean? It doesn't make any sense, does it?" She asked with disappointment.

"Then, look at this..." He took out the last photograph and handing it over, he said - "I think it makes a lot of sense."

She took the photograph and looked at it. She was flabbergasted; it was akin to 440V of current running down her spine.

Thapar was frozen. He shouted - "This is not fair...Oh, I was nourishing a viper in my bosom. I brought you here; I made you so big and you returned this in reward?"

"It was a gross miscalculation on your part, Mr Thapar."

"How can you do this to me?" Thapar groaned.

"How can you do this to Karan?" She had sounded lethal - "How can you do this to the nation? Have a judgement call on yourself, Mr Thapar; how can you do this to others when you find it horrific for yourself?"

Vikram had no immediate answer. He was gaping at her in anger, helplessness and fear.

"You're the biggest rot in the system, Mr Thapar. Media, which is one of the biggest watchdogs of democracy, can't be allowed to become its biggest malefactor. You've been playing with the faith of more than a billion population; you're a culprit of one billion people, Mr Thapar. Imagine! Culprit of one billion people! How do you expect to go scot-free?"

Thapar had fear in his eyes - "You knew me even before the Mirror News happened; then why did you join me? Why did you join the Newswire Group, Devanjali? You didn't join me for the money or the position I offered, did you?"

She smiled curtly - "Many people had asked me this question before, but then I couldn't have answered. Now I can answer. I joined the Newswire because of you, Mr Thapar; I joined your group to destroy you. I always felt that you needed to be destroyed - for the sake of nation, for the sake of democracy."

Thapar had lost his battle and he knew it, yet he was prepared to return fires - "You can destroy individuals Devanjali, but you can't purge the whole of media of this afflicting malady. No one can. Paid news, paid interviews, paid analysis, paid surveys and paid articles - all of these are the order of the day. How many of them can you destroy ... how many of them can you control?"

She listened. He was speaking out from his heart.

"This is so lucrative a market which no one wants to miss out. You get money, you get connections, you get power, you get influences and you get political leverages; the temptation is inbuilt in the mechanism, Devanjali. Today, you might be strong but the caustic milieu around you is equally strong; one day or other it will corrode you. It's so inescapable, isn't it? Where there is power, there is corruption; how media can escape the rule. Corruption in media is an inveterate, ingrained eventuality that can't be destroyed by destruction of one Vikram Thapar."

"You're the symbol, Mr Thapar, a symbol of a deep-rooted malaise afflicting the media industry; it's important to destroy symbols. It's bookish but true; when kings fall, the soldiers give in. Your fall will give a wake-up call to the foot-soldiers of corruption in the media." She said with a smile while Vikram looked at her in disbelief.

"Well, your game is now over, Mr Thapar. Good bye!" She said and got up to leave.

"Hey ... hey..." He raised his hands towards her but couldn't understand what to do. He reached for his drawer and pulled out his pistol and, pointing it at her, he said - "I can't let you walk away. You've ruined me; now you'll meet the same fate."

"I'm really worried about the Ara Club movement." Panic was written over the face of this coalition partner - "They've the support of the media and the civil society, as well."

"Yes," Ratra picked up the thread, "I see a very strong power struggle raging at the sub-surface level between politicians on one side and the media and the middle-class on the other; it's a hidden struggle where the media has a stake. Media is equally livid with the politicians because it thinks that the latter are getting disproportionate privileges from the system. Being an equally important pillar of democracy, it takes envy of many of those privileges."

The venue had turned into a classroom and Inder Ratra had become its proud professor. He continued - "Media understands that it can't divest the politicians of their privileges nor can it claim those privileges for its own, but, it believes it can certainly cut those eternal gods of politics to size. This sub-conscious vindictiveness of the media is responsible for its open support to the movements like the one from the Ara Club. Media wants to inflict damage to the aura of politicians."

Mrs Sarvapriya listened to his analysis with great sincerity and appreciated with a nod. She wondered whether she could give him a space in her regular political think tank.

Mr. Agya Pal Singh winked.

By its second day, the movement had picked up. People, all across the nation, had been overwhelmingly participating in the movement. But, the Ara Club men had laid down strict rules - no common man should suffer because of this movement. The leaders instructed that no patient should die in hospitals; no buses, trains and transport should be halted; no market should be closed and supply of essential or general goods should not be stalled.

They argued that it was a people's movement; hence people must not suffer because of it.

Students, businessmen, lawyers, government employees, corporate workers, intellectuals, housewives, senior citizens, cultural personalities - all of them welled up in the streets to participate in the movement. But, no one had ditched one's work; students didn't leave their classes, lawyers didn't ditch court-rooms, doctors didn't leave patients in hospitals, businessmen didn't pull their shutters down and housewives didn't leave their domestic chores unattended. Everyone went to the movement after attending his and her respective works, duties and responsibilities.

It was a novel concept in the political environment of the nation where shutdowns and bandhs happened on the drop of a hat. The politicians employed goons to enforce shutdown in the cities. Markets, public transports, schools, banks and educational institutions remained closed causing huge loss to the economy and sufferings to the people. People missed their trains, students missed exams, youth missed job interviews, professionals missed business appointments and patients missed emergency treatments in the hospitals; the shops remained closed, trucks stayed away from the roads and essential goods went out of stocks. The black marketeers and hoarders cashed on it and the rates of food, vegetables and essential items went through the roofs. The worst sufferer of all these was the common man hence, the common man hated protests, agitations and shutdowns.

But, this movement came as a real stunner.

A mass movement was on but everyone was at work; each worker was in factory, each shopkeeper was at counter, each truck was on road and each train was on time! Large number of people turned up for meetings, for community services, for oath-recitations and for voluntary labours. Everyone at the agitation, yet everyone at work! Everyone turned up for agitation after attending to the call of their duties.

Next morning, the administration was prepared for the act. When Aditya reached the border of Delhi in the morning along with nearly thousand supporters, he was stopped. The police arrested him and took him away.

But, no one protested as they saw Aditya being taken away. The anti-riot troopers, the water canon vehicles and the police vans remained stood to their place. They heard no shouting, they saw no stone-pelting and they didn't come across any angry faces. The people encircling Aditya gave him special greetings and waved at him while police took him away in its van.

The police watched with baton in hands. People withdrew; they went back to their villages, tehsils and towns to begin their shramdaan or civic works.

The administration and the media looked clueless over this unusual reaction.

Aditya's march was so meticulously planned that each participant knew the dos and don'ts for such eventualities very well.

As the day advanced, there was no sign of any disturbance or protest from any part of the country. The TV kept flashing the news and visuals of his arrest and the peaceful responses of his followers. In the daytime, they showed the shramdaan of Siddhanta and of other peoples all across the nation.
Ganga Singh couldn't believe this.

"How do I smash the movement?" He asked his lawyer colleagues in frustration.

By the fourth day, the movement had become widespread. It had caught the imagination of the Indians. People felt an inexplicable joy in becoming a part of it. Many people said they discovered a new meaning of life in following the path of the Ara Club Volunteers. They found joy in sitting for an extra hour in office doing extra work without remuneration.

A blogger wrote: ‘Now even my wife doesn't ask me to come home on time; she encourages me to sit in the office for extra hours ... it's a wonderful sentiment guys, no? Well, I'm the change ... what about you?'

Siddhanta had written a message: ‘Friends, the productivity during your extra working hours and the assets created by you through your voluntary labours is nothing but a pious effort by each one of you to redeem some of the losses that the nation has suffered because of scams made by our politicians.'

There were many people who were voluntarily taking up tough physical jobs involving manual labour. They said, with the satisfaction of doing a socially valuable job in their hearts, they slept at night like never before.

With the widespread involvement of people, the movement was graduating to become a full-fledged social revolution. It had taken strange momentum. Affluent middle-class men and women from metros had been, as per instructions of Siddhanta Sharan, heading towards villages. The blogs and social networking sites like ‘Grapevine' were full of stories of these urban high-end middle-class individuals where they described in details about their inner transformation.

‘Oh yes, I went to the slum area after my office...' An MNC executive from Gurgaon wrote on ‘Grapevine', ‘...and saw a good many volunteers levelling a garbage field to construct a make-shift school. I took off my Armani suit and Italian loafers and slipped into my track suits kept in the car for the gym. I did the spade work for 1 hour and got exhausted ... guys, honestly I never ever felt so relevant in life before. Thanks Siddhanta, I love you.'

‘After office I used to go to pubs with friends and chilled out.' Another one wrote from Bangalore - ‘But, inside I always felt penitent at my self-indulgence. Now, I'm going for social works in the city and I'm feeling good. Siddhanta is great... Aditya you rock, man. Now I can say that I'm the change I look for in others.'

A man from Pune wrote - ‘On weekends, I took my kids to the shopping mall as I wished to see them happy. But, last Sunday, I took them to a dalit village where my kids distributed slates and pencil among the children and taught them on the school black boards; they were so excited and so happy to act like a teacher. There, I found the true meaning of happiness. I want to tell Siddhanta that he's a great thinker ... he's unbelievable.'

A young man from Mumbai was saying on a TV channel - "We're a group of five friends who have taken leave from our work for a week and have come to this village to do shramdaan for a village road. In the evening, we participate in national anthem singing... I never felt anything so meaningful in life..."

One of his other friends said - "Since past three days I've never smoked. My girlfriend, Riya, who is in Chandigarh can't believe this. I've posted the pics of our works on the ‘Grapevine'. Well guys, I and Riya have decided to come to this village on our honeymoon ... now we've so many friends here."

Amidst the reports of celebrations from all across the nation, Devanjali said to her viewers, with her guests on the panel looking on - "Let's get across to our correspondent Ila Bhatt who is reporting from Narayanpur. Ila how is the mood in Narayanpur at the moment?"

Amidst visuals of wide celebrations in the village, Ila Bhatt reported - "Devanjali, Narayanpur is a scene of jubilation as the village is celebrating the victory with the members of the Ara Club, who have been pouring here in great numbers from all parts of the country. The village is swarmed by members of national and international media houses who have been camping in the village since yesterday. The village has emerged as a seat of power, the focal point of the emerging political order in India..."

"Well, have you met Mr Siddhanta Sharan to take his reactions?"

"No, Devanjali. It is really ironical that no media person has been able to see Mr Siddhanta Sharan or to take his reactions as he's not in the village since morning."

"Where is Siddhanta Sharan? What the people at his Centre have to say on his whereabouts?"

"Devanjali, we've been informed that Mr Sharan had left Narayanpur early in the morning for a remote village far away from here where he is scheduled to guide the local villagers on an integrated farming project."

"Thanks, Ila." She turned to face the camera - "Well, here we shall take a break and will come back soon with more reports and analysis on the development."

As the break started, she excused herself from her guests on the panel and left the newsroom leaving her guests wondering. She rushed to the ladies washroom and shut the door from inside. She took out her cell phone and dialled a number. It connected instantly to the other side.

"Hello... Sid...? Hi, Sid ... where are you, man?" She was talking to Siddhanta Sharan on his personal number. She was almost yelling in excitement - "You've created history, Sid. You're a genius ... you've proved yourselves. Right now, the whole world is mad after you ... but, look at you! At a time when you're the most searched man on the internet, you're hiding yourself in a remote village away from the spotlight of the global media! The whole gamut of national and international media is camping in your village just for you. What on earth can be more important than being in your village at the moment and getting the feel of such a glorious moment which is every bit your own?"

He laughed aloud and said, coolly - "Oh, thanks, Devanjali ... it was a prior commitment."

"But you could have put it off for a day or two. The whole of India wants to celebrate it with you... I want to celebrate it with you... Aditya wants to celebrate it with you ... the Ara Club wants to celebrate it with you."

"I appreciate your feelings, Devanjali. Well, celebration is important; but, is outward celebration that much important? Why can't we take success with the same modesty and tranquillity as we take our failures? I cherish equanimity of mind much more than a boisterous celebration in success. If we can't display the capacity to absorb our success how can we absorb our sorrows and misfortunes? I believe in inner celebration which comes to me through my work. I'm no less celebrating this victory, Devanjali but I'm celebrating it my own way- through my work."

Devanjali's eyes widened at the vehemence of his thoughts. She became tongue-tied; she didn't have an answer. She felt she was talking to a man who were many notches higher in his worldly dispositions. He was a thoroughly liberated man untouched with the worldly definitions of humanly emotions. She felt she still hadn't understood him properly. How simple was the man from the outside at the inter-personal level but, how complex from within; maybe, like the modern technology - too easy at the level of human interface but too complicated at inner architecture.

"...I congratulate the indomitable spirit of ‘We', ‘We the People'..."

People clapped and cheered aloud waving placards.

"Today, atop the sinful misgovernance, gigantic callousness and horrendous apathy of the political class, there stands our ‘we-ness'; a ‘we-ness', that remained uncherished, unrealized and un-invoked all these years since Independence. It was the absence of this ‘we-ness' that resulted in poverty, illiteracy and underdevelopment and led to backwardness in nation's health care, education and infrastructure; it was the absence of this ‘we-ness' that created an ideal climate for the evolution and growth of the matrix of corruption; it was the absence of this ‘we-ness' that helped the politicians, the bureaucrats, the business leaders and the mafias to join hands and expand their perilous network within the system."

The crowd was listening attentively; some of them kept waving the placards.

"All this while we remained indifferent and behaved like ‘we the individuals'. Yes, just recall; you were nothing more than stand-alone individuals busy in your individualistic ‘middle-class' pursuits in which you pretended to be happy. The corrupt ones united to bleed you and to sap away your resources; you didn't care, you didn't bother and you didn't react. The matrix of corruption grew bigger and stronger and engulfed the lives of each one of yours. You began to feel the prick and the pain; you felt anger simmering within you. But, you were helpless because you were divided; you were still the ‘individuals' living in your own boundaries which we you had solidified with your hedonistic and materialistic pursuits."

The banners, flags and placards never stopped waving, though the people listened to him very attentively.

"You thought that you had democracy which was the panacea for all the political ills. You believed that changing a government would do the trick; thus over the years, you kept on changing the government hoping that the next one would be the solution; but, they weren't. They couldn't have been the one, because the political system conceived by our forefathers, which equated democracy mainly with voting rights, wasn't conceived to deal with the gigantic moral crises we've been subjected to now. The moral fabric of polity and society 67 years before was entirely different from what it is today. A democratic solution, based on a system of ‘vote and forget', could have worked then but not now. Today, you can't vote your leader into power and forget him; today you need to keep a watch over him and monitor his actions. You failed to do this all these years and you were hit hard with corruption, misgovernance and impious cronyism."

People nodded heavily and raised their both hands to convey their agreement.

"But, we at the Ara Club always felt there was a solution; it was a solution woven around the basics of democracy which entailed invoking the dormant power of ‘We the People' and to make it a combative force to fight the ills of the system. Through the unique post-Gandhian movement, you tested the first success of your ‘we-ness'. You showed to the world that you're no longer the indifferent individuals of the past; now, you're ready to take up your collective responsibilities weaving it well into your individual middle-class goals. Friends, this is your personal victory, which I take pride in celebrating with you..."