Conspirator

by RV Raman

Genres: Crime Fiction

Synopsis

A YOUNG REPORTER dies a dramatic death. A VETERAN JOURNALIST investigating paid news is murdered in his hotel room. A BUSINESS TYCOON tries to seize control of a large media group. In the midst of a private party hosted by a media mogul in Coorg, murder strikes, sending shockwaves through its influential guests. When Inspector Dhruvi Kishore arrives at the scene, she finds, to her consternation, that some of her suspects ? prominent politicians, businessmen, a blackmailer and a purveyor of fake news ? have fled. She pursues them to Delhi, only to find herself drawn into the bewildering world of fake news, paid news and tailored news. Fighting against forces trying to shut down her investigation, Dhruvi struggles to weed out the truth from a web of well-constructed lies before time runs out. Revealing a world where ethics are scarce and lucre is abundant, Conspirator weaves a thrilling tale about how the people who uncover others? secrets often have the most to hide.

Release date: March 24, 2018

Publisher: Hachette India

Print pages: 316

Sample

Chapter 1

SYBARITE II, COORG; FEBRUARY 2018

Wearing a spotless white half-sleeved shirt over dark grey trousers, Nihir Seth stepped into the sitting room of his presidential suite at the high-end resort. He was about to engage in the daily conversation he had been having for over twenty years. It was a conversation that took place at 5 p.m. IST every day, except when he was in a time zone where that was not feasible. It was a conversation that had shaped the fortunes of many over the years.

Awaiting the media mogul and the virtual owner of the National Media Group – NMG for short – was Sanyal, his secretary and the closest he had ever had to a confidant. The two men could easily have been mistaken for brothers or, at least, cousins. Both were of average height, spare of build and had indistinguishable complexions. They styled their greying hair in similar ways, accommodating their receding hairlines. They both preferred simple attire that belied their wealth and power. Over the years, the secretary had ended up dressing like his master and even speaking like him.

The major difference between the men was in their facial expressions. While Sanyal’s poker face hid every thought and emotion, Nihir’s eyes behind his rectangular, steel-rimmed glasses were benign, even affable. The unassuming, guileless visage made him look more like a kindly uncle than a man who liked to control destinies.

‘Good afternoon, sir.’

Dressed like his employer, except for his half-sleeved shirt which was in a light shade of cream, Sanyal rose and smiled as he uttered his customary greeting. Before him lay a sheaf of papers. In his hand was an iPad mini.

‘Good afternoon, Sanyal. What do you have for me today?’

‘Nine matters need your attention, sir. It shouldn’t take long. Shall I begin?’

Though it was early in the day for it, Nihir poured out three fingers of Lagavulin 25 years and dropped a couple of ice cubes into it. If Sanyal noticed that his boss’s fingers were not as steady as usual, he didn’t comment on it. Both men knew how important the evening was. Nihir nodded without looking up from his glass.

‘P.V. Singh has been calling frantically,’ Sanyal began. ‘He is anxious, as he hasn’t seen anything on TV or in the papers of what you had promised – and the state elections are two weeks away. His social media misinformation campaign is already in full swing.’

‘Tell him not to worry. Let him know that the sting will be aired ten days before the polling date so that the ruling party has no time to recover. Is everything in place?’

‘Yes, sir. The investigation will be unveiled in three instalments on both Hindi and English channels. On the first day, there will be no mention of political linkages. On the second day, details will be divulged about the involvement of the chief minister’s son. On the third day, two Cabinet ministers will be named. On the three mornings following the TV exposé, our newspapers – both Hindi and English – will carry the full details. The raw footage of the sting will be made public on the fourth day. Scanned documents will be posted on our websites. WhatsApp messages with photos and videos will be circulated from the first day and peak on the fifth.’

‘And the talk shows?’

‘On the fourth and fifth evenings. Primetime, of course. And on YouTube. You have to decide which anchors you want for the shows.’

‘Megha – for both.’ There was no hesitation in Nihir’s voice.

‘Both, sir?’ Sanyal’s pen paused for confirmation.

‘Yes. Hindi first, then English.’ Nihir lapsed into silence to sip his drink. His expression was thoughtful. ‘She would be the best anchor for this – she’ll come across as objective and unbiased. Tell her to pick the talk show guests with care and to make sure they understand what is required of them.’

Sanyal made a quick note. Megha Barua was the chic editor-in-chief and star anchor of Pulse TV, the media group’s flagship news channel. She conducted TV shows in both languages.

‘The second matter,’ Sanyal continued, moving on to the next item on his list. ‘Doshi Senior called. The family is planning to liquidate a large part of its stake in the holding company over the next few months. He wants help in pushing up the share price.’

‘What is the current market capitalization?’

‘₹16,700 crores. He wants it up by 30 per cent to 50 per cent.’

‘His offer?’

‘15 per cent of his gain compared to Nifty or Sensex.’

‘Ask for 25 per cent. Don’t settle for less than 20 per cent. Inform Samit. Next?’

‘A young bureaucrat wants help. He is a forty-year-old IAS officer, currently posted in Ahmedabad. He was found in a compromising situation night before last.’

Nihir’s whisky glass stopped halfway to his lips. His eyes flicked to Sanyal.

‘First time he’s calling us?’

‘Yes, sir. A new relationship. Potentially.’

The whisky glass resumed its journey to Nihir’s lips.

‘Details?’

‘A rave party with drugs and alcohol was busted. An orgy, too, by some unconfirmed accounts. He was caught in the company of a Bangladeshi model. A preliminary report has been written, but not yet formally submitted.’

‘Alcohol and drugs in a state where prohibition is in force?’ Nihir shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Careless. His background?’

‘His name is Arora. Belongs to a reputed Chandigarh-based family of civil servants. Between his father and uncles, there’s one IFS and two IAS officers. The family is very well connected in bureaucratic circles. Wife is an IAS officer too, currently stationed in Delhi. Two children.’

‘What does he want?’

‘He was told that you help people in need.’

‘Hmm… Ahmedabad… What’s that DIG fellow’s name? The one who wants help with his daughter’s college admission?’

‘Rathod?’

‘That’s right. Does this fall under his jurisdiction?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Sanyal had anticipated his boss’s line of thinking and obtained the details in advance. A pleased smile creased his usually deadpan face.

‘Good. See if Rathod can replace Arora’s name with another one before the incident report is submitted. Arrange for the daughter’s admission in one of the Delhi colleges, a prestigious one. Rathod will be useful. We need people in that state. Oh, get a copy of the incident report as it stands now, with Arora’s name in it. And any photos. For future use.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Ask for nothing in return from this IAS officer. Make sure he knows that it took effort. Exaggerate, if required. Make it clear that he is in deep trouble now, that he ought to be grateful to come out unscathed, with his career and marriage intact, after such indiscretion. Next?’

‘A film star – ’

Nihir let out a soft groan. ‘Which one now?’

Over the next fifteen minutes, they covered all the nine matters that needed Nihir’s attention. Instructions and vetoes would now go out to the relevant editors and anchors across the media group – to newspapers, TV channels and websites. Headlines and copies would be modified or dropped.

One investigation would be completely blacked out until further notice, much to the ire of the editor and reporters who had spent hours pulling it together.

Samit Sengupta, the editor-in-chief and main anchor of Capital TV, the NMG’s business channel, would be tasked with creating a plan to drive up Doshi’s stock price. The plan would involve Raghuveer Sengupta – Samit’s father and the owner of a chain of stockbroking firms across the country – in no small measure. In addition, stock-market ‘experts’ would be primed.

Conversation over, Nihir ambled across the room and drew aside the curtains covering its wide French windows. His suite, the most spacious in this exclusive Coorg resort, overlooked a sprawling garden with a wide lawn at its centre. At a distance, beyond the unmarked boundaries of Sybarite II, lush green hills undulated away to the west.

Preparations for the evening’s party were nearing completion on the central lawn. While there were about fifty guests at the resort at that time, twice the number of garden chairs had been arranged in small and large clusters. Several pairs of chairs dotted the periphery of the lawn to facilitate discreet conversations away from unwelcome ears.

This was the annual three-day getaway that Nihir organized every February in one of the many resorts he owned. The guests, handpicked by him, cut across political and business lines. Arrivals and departures were discreet; no check-ins and checkouts were required. Very few were privy to the guest list before or after the event. No registers recorded names and addresses of invitees or their companions. No bills needed settling. Everything was on the house.

Nestled in the hills of Coorg, an hour and a half away from Mysore, Sybarite II – the venue of this year’s getaway – was tucked away inside Nihir’s coffee estate that spanned a couple of thousand acres. As usual, guests were motored in directly to their cottages and discreetly taken away when they were ready to go. Some didn’t even meet other guests; they restricted their social interactions to meeting Nihir privately.

No prying reporters or cameras intruded upon the exclusive gathering. It was also clearly understood that nobody – guests, hosts or resort staff – would use their phone cameras while on the premises. If staff members happened to recognize a celebrity, they were expected to be subsequently afflicted by conveniently selective amnesia.

Nihir, of course, knew all his invitees by sight, though he often didn’t recognize their companions. As a result, there was no single person present at the getaway who knew all the guests. If an intruder stole in, nobody would be any the wiser, as asking a guest for his or her name was prohibited.

For a couple of minutes, Nihir silently sipped his drink and watched a bunch of men in the archery zone that lay to one side of the central lawn. Except for two, he recognized none, although all were, presumably, his guests. They were taking turns at shooting at two targets and missing more often than not – but for one man, who seemed to be hitting the bullseye every time. Nihir wondered who he was. A companion to one of his invitees? From experience, he knew that most male guests arrived with female companions, while most female invitees came alone. Then who was this man?

At length, Nihir turned to face his secretary, who was waiting for him. Something in Sanyal’s manner had caught his attention.

‘Something bothering you, Sanyal?’ he asked softly.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Get it off your chest then. What is it?’

‘Kaushik, sir.’

Kaushik Kalari was the editor-in-chief of the NMG’s flagship newspaper, National Pulse, which was one of the country’s leading dailies. A highly respected veteran journalist, Kaushik was of the old school of thought that held editorial independence inviolate, fiercely resisting any attempts by the owners to influence his newspaper’s content.

‘What about him?’ Nihir asked distractedly, pouring himself another shot of his staple single malt.

‘He continues to blatantly disregard your suggestions, sir. He doesn’t follow a single instruction from your office.’

‘Therein lies his value, Sanyal. Don’t you see? By openly mocking me and wearing his independence on his sleeve, he brings invaluable credibility and neutrality to the newspaper’s image. He is held up as the ideal, fearless editor and that is one of the main reasons why National Pulse enjoys such a stellar reputation.’

‘But, sir – ’

‘What does he do with his precious independence, Sanyal?’ Nihir seemed totally unruffled. ‘He writes his editorials, throws his weight about at editorial meetings and blusters around the office. Let him. Who reads editorials, anyway, apart from the intellectual elite and some others who have equally entrenched opinions? These are not people who are easily influenced. I am not interested in them.

‘I am interested in people I can influence through my newspapers – through tailored headlines, placement of selected articles on appropriate pages and other forms of calculated emphasis. What matters is how regular news is reported and how headlines are worded. Not editorials.

‘The media’s greatest intangible asset is the ability to influence people – be it the masses or the moneyed. But influence by itself is of little consequence if it can’t be monetized.

‘What percentage of voters reads editorials?’ he continued, passion making him increasingly voluble. ‘Vanishingly small! How many stock market investors read them? How many businessmen and office-goers? Voters, investors, housewives, office-goers and businessmen – they are the ones who matter to us commercially. Not intellectuals with calcified convictions.

‘I continue to get the headlines and spins I want despite Kaushik’s intransigence. As far as I am concerned, he is welcome to his precious editorials. It’s a small price to pay for our credibility.’

‘Yes, sir. But hasn’t he gone too far this time?’

Nihir slowly returned to the French windows. For a long moment, his eyes followed the arresting figure of Tanya Joseph, a young reporter, cutting across the rose garden below with an envelope in her hand. She looked very much like Megha had, twenty years ago, when he had discovered her and brought her into the world of media. The short blue dress Tanya was wearing was similar to the ones Megha preferred. Megha had always dressed in a manner that demanded attention, albeit in an understated way. Nihir’s mind went back to the dresses he used to get for her from exclusive stores abroad. The electric blue one he had brought from Paris, somewhat similar to the one Tanya was now wearing, had been especially effective in drawing every gaze to Megha. Not that she had ever needed help in that department. A silent sigh escaped him. That was so long ago! He was sixty now.

With an effort, Nihir brought his mind back to the present and to Kaushik Kalari.

‘Maybe,’ he said, once Tanya was out of sight. ‘Maybe he has gone too far this time. I’m actually a little surprised at him. With all his experience and wisdom, one would have thought he’d know better than to meddle in certain affairs.’ Nihir favoured his secretary with a sidelong glance.

‘Tell me, Sanyal. Is there any truth in the rumours about him and Tanya?’

Chapter 2

A few rooms away from Nihir’s suite, Kaushik Kalari opened his laptop and sat back, waiting for it to start up. This might well be the last time he was attending a Nihir getaway, he thought. The conflict, both simmering and manifest, between the two media veterans had reached a level where it was beginning to bother Kaushik day and night. He found himself reacting more sharply than he used to. Until last year, he had taken the owner’s interference in the newspaper in his stride and had even enjoyed the fencing and shadow-boxing. He would laugh it off later over the habitual three pegs he had every night; and the next day would be a new day.

Not any longer. He often lay awake, tossing in bed, with the day’s iniquities gnawing at him like persistent mosquitoes on a humid summer night. Upping his intake to five or six drinks hadn’t helped matters. It had only brought nasty hangovers in the morning.

He was now convinced that he had to move on from the National Pulse. But where to? Where did editors enjoy the freedom and independence that had once been enshrined in the tenets of journalism? Here, at least, the credibility his reputation lent to the newspaper was highly valued.

Should he consider Piyush Gorvin’s clandestine offer to join him to set up a rival media empire? The Gorvins – father and son – had been steadily buying into media houses for the past two years. With most of the media houses privately owned, the gradual change in ownership wasn’t common knowledge yet. Of course, there had been whispers about the Gorvins’ plans to control Indian media.

Kaushik had resisted Gorvin’s approaches over the past year, but Gorvin had made it clear that the offer was open for him to accept at any time he chose. There was little doubt in Kaushik’s mind that the Gorvins would want to exercise editorial control, just as Nihir did. Moving from Nihir to Piyush could well turn out to be a case of leaping from the frying pan into the fire. Abhoy Mazumdar, the noisy anchor of Comet Media whose fan following rivalled Megha’s, was said to be joining Gorvin in exchange for a sizable stake. The NMG and Comet Media were not just competitors, but bitter adversaries.

Alternatively, if Kaushik wanted true independence, he could strike out on his own and do something different. Like a media start-up, for instance. There was so much happening in this new era of smartphones and the web, while the traditional media companies were still stuck in a rut. Money was the least of his problems. He came from a well-to-do family and even if Mini finally asked for a divorce, the alimony wouldn’t be significantly more than the amount he was already spending on her maintenance in a separate flat.

An expression of sorrow deepened the lines on his face, making him look older than his fifty-five years which he wore well, but for the white moustache and salt-and-pepper eyebrows that stood out starkly against his dark skin. He and Mini had enjoyed a wonderful run for over twenty-three years. She had always been volatile and quick to jump to conclusions, but it was her very impetuousness that had attracted him in the first place. Whatever her faults, she was fun and always good company. God, how he missed her! After living with her for over two decades, his love for her had turned into something deeper, something for which he didn’t have words.

Till today, he hadn’t figured out why she had left him. There had always been implicit trust between them, an unshakeable confidence in each other. But something had happened after twenty-three years of marriage to drive a wedge between them. Suddenly, he had sensed her wariness around him. Suspicion had replaced trust. Her ease of manner had given way to a hardening in her stance, a certain watchfulness in her expression that kept him at arm’s length. For what reason she had changed he didn’t know; and she wouldn’t tell.

It eventually transpired that she had, somehow, got it into her head that he was cheating on her. How could he ever be unfaithful to her? Didn’t she know that? The mere thought still seared his heart. Once the damn notion had entered her head, he couldn’t dislodge it, however hard he tried. It was so firmly entrenched, like a termite infestation, that there seemed no way of getting rid of it. Nothing he said or did to disabuse her seemed convincing enough in her eyes. And the malicious rumours emanating from the NMG had not helped.

When Mini had announced her decision to move to the other flat, Kaushik was too disheartened to protest. He had submitted to it without comment or contest. She had mistaken his silence for relief and that had deepened her angst.

Today, a year and a half on, he still fondly harboured the hope that she would return. He expected, somehow, to wake up one morning and find that the last two years had been nothing but a bad dream.

Thankfully, they were still on speaking terms. His mind went back to the last conversation he had had with her.

‘Would you like to come to the getaway?’ he had asked her ten days ago, hoping that he could turn it into an opportunity to thaw her attitude towards him. ‘It’s in Coorg; in a coffee plantation. You’ve never been to Coorg.’

‘What resort is this?’ she had asked suspiciously.

‘It’s called Sybarite II. It’s an hour-and-a-half drive away from Mysore. You’ll have a room to yourself.’

‘Sybarite!’ Her grimace had made her disapproval evident. ‘Do you know what that means? Why would I ever want to go near such a place?’

‘It’s only a name, Mini,’ he had protested.

‘No, thanks! I know only too well what Nihir’s getaways are like.’

‘Come on, Mini! You’ve been to several of them and they haven’t been all that bad, have they? You’re not obliged to indulge in stuff you want to keep away from. We have always done that.’

‘Sybarite!’ she had repeated with distaste, as if she had bitten into a rotten apple. ‘I’m sure it’ll suit Megha and that new girl. Not me. No, thanks. Anyway, you’ll enjoy it more if you’re alone.’

That had been the end of it. He wondered if he would have been successful in persuading her to accompany him if the resort had been named differently. Typical Mini – all she needed was one little factoid to jump to an irrevocable conclusion.

He shook himself out of his reverie at the beep from his laptop and brought his mind back to the present. He had important work to do now, work as important as any he had ever done.

He had started out last year by quietly cataloguing news items from the NMG’s newspapers and comparing them with corresponding articles from other newspapers. He had done so with the intent of proving that Nihir was tailoring news to suit his private interests. His intent was to blow the lid off Nihir’s duplicity before he quit his employ.

But as he compared headlines and news items across newspapers, something interesting had emerged. Nihir, he realized, might not be the only one indulging in deceit. There were other media houses, too, that seemed to be practising similar deceptions. He had expanded his net and had begun studying three other newspapers.

A year down the line, a pattern was beginning to emerge. He had enough evidence now, albeit circumstantial, to convince an unbiased judge that some newspapers were manipulating news and headlines to cater to private interests; and that these private interests were not limited to politics.

In the past month itself, he and Tanya had made a startling discovery when they traced a number of fake news pieces and misinformation campaigns back to a single source. A wealthy socialite and her son seemed to be running a successful business by creating and distributing fabricated reports, bogus interviews, phoney analysis and morphed photographs on social media and websites.

But so far, Kaushik and Tanya had not been able to establish a connection with the tailored news in newspapers and on TV. There was, of course, considerable commonality in the ultimate beneficiaries, but that, by itself, was not conclusive one way or the other.

Just as he was about to begin work, the doorbell rang. It was Tanya.

‘Your letter has arrived,’ she said, walking in.

The twenty-two-year-old was uncommonly pretty in a way that immediately struck you, whatever be your age or gender. Her fine-boned features came together in an exceptionally pleasing combination and her unassuming expression often turned to spontaneous smiles. There was a certain disarming openness in her gaze that put you instantly at ease and engendered trust.

For Kaushik, comparisons between her and a younger Megha were superficial and misplaced. Endowed with large, lustrous eyes set in an oval face, Tanya was a classical beauty, much like the film actresses of old, over whom Kaushik had gone gaga in his younger days. Megha, on the other hand, with her high cheekbones, angular face, slanting eyes, pouting lips and perfect brown-black hair, was distinctly sensual. Her bold gaze suggested that she knew exactly what effect she had on the male mind. Despite her understated elegance, there was nothing modest about her. She carried off her characteristic minimalism in attire with enviable panache. Subtle and arresting at once, she never passed unnoticed. She would have, had she chosen that line, made a fine model.

The two women were very similar in build, however. Five foot five, erect and of assured carriage, they resembled each other from a distance. To Megha’s undeniable credit, the twenty-year age gap between the two women became all but invisible when they were viewed from behind.

‘Thanks,’ Kaushik now said as he took the envelope from Tanya. It was unmarked, except for ‘KK’ printed in capitals on its face. There was no indication of who had sent it. ‘Anyone saw it?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Tanya shook her head. ‘I took it from the driver and brought it straight here.’

‘Thanks,’ Kaushik said again, as Tanya dropped into a chair, kicked off her shoes and exhaled loudly. ‘Tired?’ he asked.

‘Very. Do all young women have to play hostesses at such events?’

‘Only the pretty ones. It’s awful, isn’t it?’

‘It’s so humiliating! Some guests assume that every hostess is an empty-headed showpiece with whom they are free to take liberties. The looks they give me in this out-of-the-way place are of the kind they wouldn’t dare dream of in a city. Somehow, they believe that the remoteness of the venue gives them the licence to cast off all pretence of civilized behaviour.’

‘What with the nearest significant police presence an hour and a half away, we may as well be beyond the reach of the law. Should anything happen, by the time the police can be sufficiently convinced to come here, all evidence of the “crime” would have vanished. And few would testify against Nihir’s guests.’

Kaushik sat back down on his chair and ran his fingers through his thick white hair. His expression was thoughtful.

‘My suggestion is that you ignore them. Sure, it’s easier said than done. But that’s the only practical advice I can give you.’

‘What a tamasha this getaway is!’ Tanya exclaimed. ‘We may as well be back in ancient Rome!’

Discretion was imperative at Nihir’s getaways, because they were unapologetically hedonistic. Almost every craving – carnal or otherwise – that a guest confessed a taste for was pandered to, no questions asked, as long as the activities it involved were discreetly indulged in and didn’t disturb other guests. Some were even arranged for in advance if adequate notice had been given.

To keep the entire affair and its location secret, all travel arrangements were made by Sanyal himself. Even a guest’s secretary or spouse was kept ignorant of the destination to which the guest was headed. Guests often travelled under assumed names and carried fake IDs. Had the outside world known where and when the getaway was being organized, they could have attempted to snoop. The idea was to give them zero chance to do so.

‘I don’t understand why Nihir allows this,’ Kaushik murmured reflectively. His fingers dropped to his snowy moustache as he turned his white-maned head to gaze unseeingly out of the window. ‘Legality aside, this is dangerous, to say the least. If someone were assaulted or – heaven forbid – killed, we wouldn’t be in a position to even inform the police about who all had been in the resort at that time. Nihir and Sanyal may know who the invitees are, but nobody knows the identities of those who accompanied them.’

‘Thanks,’ Tanya said with mock sarcasm. ‘That makes a girl feel really safe.’

‘Better safe than sorry, Tanya. I don’t want you coming to any harm. I know that it is probably not my place to say so, but I’d suggest you get back to your room by 11 p.m. and keep the door locked after that. There is no telling what could happen after midnight. Don’t open the door if anyone knocks. Call me instead.’

‘I think I’ll have work till midnight. After that, I can lock myself up.’

Kaushik took a deep breath and shook his head as if to clear it.

‘What has Megha been telling you?’ he asked, switching the topic. ‘I saw her lecturing you.’

‘Oh, she’s being a big sister to me, advising me on how to conduct myself, how to leverage opportunities and build my career. She sees herself in me, you know.’

‘What exactly did she say?’

Tanya smiled broadly. ‘I don’t think you want to know.’

‘Try me.’

Kaushik’s expression was serious as he continued gazing out of the French windows. He didn’t want to train his glowering stare on Tanya and unintentionally intimidate her.

‘She believes that everyone should make full use of the gifts they have been endowed with,’ the young woman replied. ‘Some have brains; others, a silver tongue; a few have a network of contacts; and still others, an impressive personality. The smart ones use their brains to build a career for themselves. Similarly, an articulate person talks his or her way to success. Everyone cashes in on whatever connections he or she has.’

‘I would agree with that,’ Kaushik murmured. ‘Nothing wrong in it.’

‘Similarly,’ Tanya went on, a trace of laughter in her voice, ‘an attractive young woman should not hesitate in making use of the gifts God has given her. There is nothing wrong in it, she says. Use it, just as others would use their advantages.’

Kaushik’s irate gaze snapped to Tanya’s face. Her eyes were twinkling and the beginnings of a smile were tugging at the corners of her mouth.

‘And?’ he demanded to know.

‘And so, I must use my…well…assets, to use Megha’s terminology, to further my career.’

Kaushik’s dark face darkened further.

‘She would!’ he growled, sounding like an ageing lion. ‘Megha knows all about that. None can know better.’

‘Is it true, then? All that one hears about her?’ Tanya asked, curious. ‘Those rumours about how she reached where she has?’

‘It’s not for me to judge her, Tanya. But all that one hears doesn’t seem inconsistent with the way she projects herself, at times.’

‘Has