KALYUG Read Online Free Page B

public facade – and Karamchand Patil knew that his insistence for this meeting had not gone down well with her. Despite his own importance, he knew he had to tread carefully.
    Then again, the voice on the phone had left him no choice. They knew enough to destroy him. They were the ones who were forcing him to get Mrs Pandit to this farmhouse, a place he had considered a tightly-held secret. He had had no choice in the matter – he would explain it to Mrs Pandit if and when he was finally allowed to. You do not piss off one of the most powerful women in the world without trying to repair the bridges. Mrs Pandit was the first person to break the silence after they had been left alone by the staff. ‘Well, Karamchandji. Here we are . . . once again. What’s it going to be this time?’
    Karamchand Patil smiled. It was a benign expression, something that had always soothed his supporters and made them think he was genuinely sympathetic towards them; it was also an expression that often preceded his most devastating blows. Almost everyone who had dealt with him had been intimidated to the point of deference; the lady standing in front of him was one of the few exceptions. There was mutual respect between them, perhaps more from his side than hers, for she had built up her own fiefdom within a tenth of the time it had taken him to build his own. Granted, her surname had helped her significantly – but Karamchand did not attribute her successes solely to her fortune of having been born into the right family.
    ‘Madamji,’ he began graciously, pulling out a chair for her to sit on. It was purely a cosmetic gesture, a psychological gambit to make her play the role of a grateful female to his alpha male. As he’d expected, she ignored it and continued to look at him. ‘The word on the street is very loud. No one trusts your government anymore. They want to see it gone, they want change. I owe it to my party – and my nation – to see destiny being fulfilled.’
    ‘Cut the crap,’ said Mrs Pandit sharply. To the millions who followed her party, the outburst would have seemed uncharacteristically rude; yet, as those who knew her intimately could testify, there were times when the godmother of Indian politics reverted to her Western upbringing. ‘You know I’ve got the numbers to last us till the next general elections. And that’s not going to happen anytime earlier than 2014. You know that, and you know there is nothing you can do about it.’
    ‘You are absolutely right,’ said Patil, completely unruffled. This was how they had always played their game, even when the roles had been reversed and she had been sitting in his chair. She was the one who blustered; he was the one who cajoled. They had won as many points as they had lost to each other. Compromise was as much a part of their relationship as politics. ‘But that doesn’t stop people from wanting somebody’s head on the chopping block. It’s better to sacrifice someone yourself rather than have somebody else do it for you.’
    For her part, Pandit knew exactly why Patil had no desire for an early election. His party would tolerate his leadership only so long as they were in the opposition – a temporary peace that was certainly a precursor to a bloody war to become the next prime ministerial candidate. Patil was the elder statesman no one wanted to see at the next election.
    ‘Let me see what I can do,’ she said. ‘Call off your blockade of the Parliament tomorrow and we have a deal.’
    Patil shook his head patronizingly. ‘Ah, but Madamji . . . then I would run the risk of looking like a fool if you throw out someone minor, like a minister of state . . . I am afraid, if the defence minister does not submit his resignation by one o’clock in the afternoon tomorrow, I might have to take this to the next level. Ask for a CAG probe into party earnings.’
    ‘You know very well that CAG cannot probe political parties,’ she retorted, winning a small