Prasad thinks back to his younger years, spent on his paternal grandfather’s estate in their ancestral village. Thathaiyya had still been the overlord of several thousands of acres of agricultural land. They had lived regally in what was nothing short of a palace. They wore nothing but silk, used silver cutlery and had innumerable servants at their beck and call. His princely life had, however, been cut short in his early teens when he had to move to Delhi to live with his parents. Unlike his landlord grandfather, Prasad’s father was an academician. An Oxford graduate in History and Economics, he had taught in UK for many years before moving back to India and joining the Economics department at St Stephen’s College. It was because of this that Prasad had spent many of his formative years with his grandfather.
His life underwent a sea change after the move. No longer the spoilt prince, he had to get used to attending to his own chores, although they did have some household help. His father had turned socialist in UK and lived the life that he preached. He actively participated in protest marches to highlight social causes and was associated with an NGO that worked in rural development. In an effort to shape Prasad’s outlook, his father would take him along to several rural camps organized by the NGO. Although initially resentful about having to subsist on basics or less for even a few days, Prasad had slowly awakened to the reality that this was the life of the majority in this country. He often fancied himself akin to Prince Siddhartha, whose exposure to the harsh realities of life had made him renounce life and evolve into Gautama Buddha. His mindset went through even more of a change when he returned to his grandfather’s home for the holidays. The poverty, oppression and lack of access to opportunities and resources that the villagers suffered from moved him to a point where he started experiencing a deep guilt for the excesses that he and his family enjoyed. He started feeling that the only way to assuage that guilt, even to a small degree, was to give back to the people who had been denied so much by his family over generations.
After graduating with a master’s degree from Oxford University, Prasad briefly worked with an American investment firm. He had then surprised friends and family by giving it all up and moving back to India to work with an NGO called Madhya Bharath Vikas Sanstha. The SAMMAAN Microfinance programme assumed a new strategic direction in 1999, in the wake of the submission of his PhD dissertation on bottom of the pyramid strategies at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor.
He put together a dedicated team of development professionals and spent a significant amount of time on the field during the growth phase of SAMMAAN. After studying various successful microfinance models across the world, like the Bangladeshi Nobel laureate, Mohammed Younus’s Grameen Bank, he had come up with a model that imbibed the best of them all, while addressing the specific concerns of SAMMAAN’s target clientele.
As a result of his personal standing and connections with Wall Street institutions, the apparent success of SAMMAAN’s operations, as well as the media hype around them, SAMMAAN enjoyed significant support from the international financial markets. The company and Prasad’s own growth thereafter had been dizzying.
Once the first flush of success abated, Prasad slowly began to realize that success was a double-edged sword. While more inflow of capital led to more growth, greater extension of credit and wider coverage, it also meant stiffer profit targets. The investors, while seemingly impressed with SAMMAAN’s work in a sector intended to plug the gaps in financial inclusion for all, had been quite vocal in their expectations of high returns. Prasad found his situation akin to that of a man riding a tiger. Having accessed capital and extended his client base, he had to now necessarily continue to service their needs and achieve sufficient growth to offer attractive returns to his investors. After a point, in the quest to maintain a semblance of a healthy and growing portfolio and boost investor confidence, the targets had gone from stiff to ridiculous.
Once they started down the path of commercialization, Prasad felt that they were best off going the whole hog. An enterprise dedicated to bringing financial inclusion and ensuring sustainable growth had therefore evolved into a business operation that would stop at nothing in the pursuit of profits. Best practices fell by the wayside as they hurtled further down a path to no return.
Prasad had brought in a professional banker Venkatmurthy as CEO to accelerate the pace of institutional growth. And when Venkatmurthy had proved to be a stickler for adherence to set practices, a power struggle had followed. One that still remained unresolved and threatened to rock the foundations of the world that he, Prasad, had so painstakingly created.
While the reports on debt-driven suicides had merely disturbed the aura of complacency and self-righteousness around him, the fire at the SAMMAAN office had completely shaken Prasad. He had been genuinely fond of Sri and took the news of her death very hard. Privately, he blamed himself for the incident and felt extremely guilty, particularly in the presence of Sri’s husband and infant son. It had been a wake-up call that roused him from a mindless quest for growth and a messiah-like sense of power.
How can a messiah admit that he has erred? How can he let the edifice that he has painstakingly built crumble?
How does he stand by and watch the uncovering of a sham that is partly of his own making? And how can he admit that he has gone horribly wrong, despite the best and most honourable of intentions?
The increased bustle in the room alerts Prasad to the fact that his uncle is about to join them for breakfast. He is almost thankful to be spared the strangling effect of his own thoughts.
“So…how are you, Prasad? Sorry I could not meet you last night. There was a meeting at the PMO.”
Prasad jumps to touch his uncle’s feet.
“Namaste Mamaiyya, I know you are extremely busy. I’m glad you had some time for breakfast with me.”
Both of them know it is a meaningless charade that they are playing out for the benefit of Krishnaveni. The truth is, Prasad had arrived on the summons of his uncle. Nageshwara Garu knows that he has to have this talk with Prasad in their joint interest.
All conversation during the meal is centred on family gossip, with both men following Krishnaveni’s lead. Prasad enquires after the welfare of his cousin, Supraja, who settled in the US after marrying a software engineer in the Silicon Valley. Nageshwara Garu talks with great pride about his son, Arjun, a graduate student at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government. It is his fond hope that Arjun will inherit his political legacy and take it to greater heights. The older son, Mahesh, handles their business interests in Visakhapatnam.
“Are you seeing Aarthi Shetty?”
Prasad is blindsided by his aunt’s sudden query in the middle of a discussion on the family’s steel plant in Vizag. His personal life has always been a topic of speculation for the family, more so since his divorce. Given that his choice to marry Tracy Summers, who was American, had been a cause for lament within the family, one would have thought they’d welcome the divorce. But it ended up upsetting them even more since there hadn’t been a single divorce in the family until then. So what if the couples were plain unhappy or even having extramarital affairs on the side. Prasad’s decade-long marriage to Tracy had ended when she walked out on him two years earlier, taking their son, Udayan with her. He had often wondered if her disillusionment with the power broker that he had evolved into had been the cause of the breakup. Their relationship had, after all, stemmed from her deep admiration of his commitment to social transformation.
“Atha, what is this? Where did you get that idea?”
Krishnaveni gives him a knowing look.
“Although I live in Delhi, I have enough friends in Mumbai. I heard from a friend that you were with her at the success party of her latest film.”
Prasad rushes to clarify.
“Atha, it is true that I was at the party, but I was not plastered to her side like your contact told you. I know the financier of the film. I happened to be in Mumbai and he invited me to it”
“I didn�
�t know you hobnobbed with film folks too!”
Nageshwara Garu decides to end the conversation by dropping his napkin on the table and prepares to get up.
“Krishnaveni, will you please have coffee sent to the study? Prasad and I have to catch up on some business matters. You’d get bored out of your mind.”
Nageshwara Garu rises from the table and walks toward the door; Prasad follows him.
“I don’t need to listen in, as long as you remember that Chinna is my favourite nephew—more like a son—and I want his interests protected at all costs!”
Krishnaveni’s astuteness is not surprising, given that she has been married to a businessman-turned-politician for more than three decades. Besides, royal families are most often hotbeds of intrigue.
Nageshwara Garu gives her a curt nod and walks out of the room. Prasad gives his aunt a hug before quickly following him out.
Once they are settled in the study, and the bearer who brings them coffee leaves, Nageshwara Garu loses the final thread of patience that he has been holding on to.
“What the hell is going on, Prasad? How did you allow things to get to this point?”
Prasad feels like a child called into the headmaster’s room for an explanation. He can’t help feeling a little irritated by the unfairness of the situation, considering that in their case, the headmaster is almost as culpable as he.
“Mamaiyya, you know how it is. These things just happen all of a sudden, and the media just loves such stories.”
“Didn’t hear you complain about the media last year when you were hailed as one of the top influential personalities in the country’s social sector!”
Prasad is mildly amused. His uncle is clearly not happy about the spotlight being on him.
“Mamaiyya, there is trouble brewing. And we need to find a way to get out of this mess.”
Nageshwara Garu responds with an incredulous look.
“You tell me this when Rajendra Panisetty has tabled a motion in parliament to discuss this ‘mess’ as you call it! We are coalition partners with the party that is in power in Andhra Pradesh too, just in case you have forgotten.”
Prasad runs his hand through his hair, beginning to feel tired.
“I am sorry, but, as you know, SAMMAAN is not the only MFI that is in a mess. The entire sector is in the midst of crisis.”
“Possibly, but SAMMAAN is the largest of them all, and the only MFI with a huge public issue...and the only one that is headed by my nephew—which makes me directly answerable!”
Prasad lets out a heavy sigh.
“Mamaiyya, this is getting us nowhere. And more importantly, I have some bad news of my own. There is an internal crisis brewing...something that could blow up in our faces. Venkatmurthy is all set to stage a coup.”
Nageshwara Garu’s face darkens in anger.
“What are you talking about? How could you allow that to happen?”
Prasad’s face turns deep red.
“I am sorry, it was a miscalculation on my part. He was giving us more trouble than support. But I really did not expect this kind of resistance from him.”
Nageshwara Garu glares at him.
“Clearly timing is not your strength these days, as proven with the fire!”
Prasad looks stricken.
“Mamaiyya… that will remain the greatest regret of my life.”
“Your regret is of no consequence, it changes nothing. What is the status of the investigations? I hope everything is being taken care of!”
Prasad merely nods. A sense of recrimination has clogged his throat. The intent, the consequence and then the cover ups—he is growing increasingly tired of it all. Would it be such a bad thing to let the tiger swallow him after all? He wonders if the clients who were driven to suicide had felt something similar.
“I cannot afford any scandal now, Prasad. There is talk of cabinet expansion, and I am pressing for a cabinet elevation. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and I don’t want anything spoiling it now.”
Hasn’t that been his story too? Not wanting anything to spoil all that he had achieved? In the heady pursuit of success and accomplishment, he allowed himself to be driven further and further way from the ideals that he had started out with.
“There is only so much I can do for you right now, whatever Krishnaveni may say. I also need to save my own reputation.”
Prasad feels a surge of resentment.
“If SAMMAAN and I go down, a lot of other things will too. The loss will be all round...be it reputation or money. I am sure you don’t want that happening, Mamaiyya.”
Nageshwara Garu looks discomfited. His eyes dart around, as if to make sure they are not being overheard.
“I don’t need your reminder, Prasad. I am quite aware of everything!”
Of course he would be, Prasad thinks to himself. Several hundred crores belonging to him and a few of his political colleagues had also been routed via SAMMAAN to several other businesses, including the film industry. It is surely in his interest to bail them all out!
Nageshwara Garu’s phone rings.
“Hello, tell me, Jagadeesh?”
Prasad wonders if it is the party MLA from Warangal, Jagadeesh Eluru.
After a brief conversation, Nageshwara Garu thanks Jagadeesh for alerting him and ends the call. His face looks stormy.
“Prasad, when is your flight?”
“I’m taking the afternoon flight back, Mamaiyya.” “Postpone your return by a few days, and stay inside the
house at all times!”
With that, he rushes out, leaving Prasad baffled.
CHAPTER 15
RANGA REDDY DISTRICT POLICE HEADQUARTERS, 5 OCTOBER 2010
Badri Prakash, the constable taking phone calls at the Warangal Police Headquarters, is in a bad mood. He had requested a day off to visit his wife who was convalescing at her maternal home after giving birth to their first child last month. His superior officer, however, turned down his request on account of a political VIP’s visit to the district. Badri’s wife was very upset that he had not come to see her in over a week. So much so that she had refused to take his calls for the last two days. His mother-in-law informed him that she was suffering from postpartum depression. It hurt him that his wife did not believe that he was just as eager to spend time with her and the child. The shrill ring of the telephone interrupts Badri’s musings about ways to cheer up his wife. Disgruntled, he picks up the phone and mechanically reels out a greeting. It is an inspector from the Parichemam police station, asking to speak to the Superintendent of Police of the district, Vishal Singh. Recalling that the SP is in a meeting and has asked for all calls to be put on hold, Badri informs the inspector of his unavailability. The inspector seems panicked and insists that he needs to speak to the SP immediately on an urgent matter. After some hesitation, Badri puts him through. The SP seems angry at the interruption; the inspector informs him that there has been a suicide in Parichemam village. The SP grumbles about how it has become a routine affair and asks him to collect data on which MFIs the woman is indebted to as well as the loan amount. The DM expects a report with all such information to be submitted to her office. The inspector hastens to clarify that it is not a debt-related suicide—ostensibly, at least. The man who has been found hanging from a tree on the outskirts of the village is a henchman of Bhava Reddy. There is a lot of unrest in the village and the inspector fears a law and order situation.
He is interrupted by some disturbance in the line and the call gets disconnected. Badri Prakash tries to call the inspector back, but to no avail. Meanwhile, commotion breaks out at the police station as the SP strides out of his office, followed by his subordinates. Badri Prakash immediately rises and salutes, even as he knows that the SP has probably not even registered his presence.
While walking out, SP Vishal Singh contemplates the possible law and order issues that could arise as a consequence of the incident.
The police car races down the uneven village road, sprayi
ng mud in its wake. Without waiting for the car to come to a complete halt, SP Vishal Singh jumps off and marches towards the spot where the cops from the local station have been trying their best to control the steadily swelling crowd. Vishal is surprised to see the numbers and wonders if the news has spread to the neighbouring villages too.
The local cops rush to salute him while the subordinates who have accompanied him try to clear a passage through the crowd for him.
After almost a decade of service, nothing much fazes Vishal. He takes in the sight of the man’s body hanging from the banyan tree. The accompanying photographer starts clicking from different angles, while Vishal is briefed on the background of the dead man, Ramaiyya.
Unpopular in the village for being a drunkard and a bully who picked fights all the time, Ramaiyya’s stars had been on the ascendant ever since he joined Bhava Reddy’s band of men almost a decade ago. He slowly rose through the ranks and is said to have led several assignments over the last couple of years. He is survived by a wife and four children.
The body is slowly brought down. Vishal’s sharp eyes don’t fail to notice the matted hair above his temples, clotted with what looks like blood. There are also bruises on his arms and his shirt is torn in a few places.
A group of women start wailing loudly while beating their chests. When one of them tries to go towards the body, the cops hold her back. Ramaiyya’s body is loaded on to a stretcher and carried to an ambulance.
As Vishal prepares to confer with the local inspector on the investigation, he is surprised to see a crowd squatting on the path to the ambulance, blocking its exit. A distraught woman argues with the cops, who try to persuade the crowd to clear the way. One of the cops points in his direction and the woman starts running towards him, while the rest of the crowd refuses to budge.
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