Revolution Twenty20

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘Put them up in the front room,’ I said.

  We finished the move by ten in the morning. My first guest, I had planned, would be the person who made this possible – Shukla-ji. I had invited him for lunch. I hurried the hostel chef. The gas stove at my new home didn’t work, and the chef wanted to go to the hostel kitchen to prepare the dishes.

  ‘Bring the stove here!’ I shouted. ‘MLA sir is coming. I can’t trust the hostel cooking.’

  Of course, I also wanted Aarti to be one of my first guests. However, I had promised myself that Aarti would come to my new house as my girlfriend, not someone else’s girlfriend having a parallel affair with me.

  She SMSed me: ‘How’s the move gng? When do i c the place?’

  I replied: ‘U can come anytime but i won’t let u leave. Let me meet Raghav first.’

  ‘R u sure? Am so nervous about u meeting him.’

  I was composing a reply to her when my phone rang. I picked up Shukla-ji’s call.

  ‘Sir, we are making puris. Come hungry, okay?’ I said.

  ‘Come home, Gopal,’ he said.

  ‘I am home. My new home. I mean, this is also your home.’

  ‘I’m screwed,’ Shukla-ji said, his voice unusually tense.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come to my place. Your fucker friend, I won’t spare him. Come right now.’

  ‘What happened? We have lunch …’ I was saying but he cut the call.

  The chef arrived panting at my house, carrying the heavy stove on his shoulders.

  ‘It will take only an hour,’ he said reassuringly to me.

  ‘Lunch has been cancelled,’ I said and walked out of the house.

  My phone beeped. Another SMS from Aarti.

  ‘U should let me decorate the house. After all, hotel industry & all.’

  I sent her a smiley and kept the phone back in my pocket.

  ‘MLA Shukla’s place,’ I told the driver.

  MLA Shukla’s men stood in a circle in Shukla-ji’s verandah. They looked mournful, as if someone had just died. Pink-coloured papers lay strewn on the coffee table.

  ‘Where’s Shukla sir?’ I said.

  One of his party workers pointed to his office. ‘Wait here. He is on an important call,’ he said.

  ‘What happened?’ I said. The party worker did not respond. He looked pointedly at the pink papers. I picked one up.

  Revolution 2020, said the masthead, as pompous as ever. A miniature map of India, showing the so-called command centres of the revolution, was the logo.

  ‘MLA makes money by making holy river filthy!’ said the headline. A poor quality, black and white picture of Shukla-ji occupied a quarter of the page.

  ‘₹25 crores sanctioned for Dimnapura Sewage Treatment Plant. MLA pockets ₹20 crore,’ said the sub-headline.

  ‘These are all old, done to death, bullshit allegations, right?’ I said. Raghav liked to stir things up, but surely nobody would give a fuck about his rag.

  No one in the room responded to me. Half the party workers couldn’t read the paper anyway. The others seemed too scared to talk. I read on.

  Early Monday morning in Navabaga, a group of children walk towards their school waist-deep in sewage water. It is a gut-wrenching sight to see filthy water everywhere. Stink pervades the air. People of the neighbourhood don’t know what happened. They do know that this hadn’t happened before the government implemented the Ganga Action Plan (GAP). Yes, the same plan meant to clean up our holy river has ended up spreading more filth around our city.

  How? Well, because none of the projects meant to clean up the river were implemented. The Navabaga flooding apart, the river is filthier than ever. To give you an idea, the presence of fecal coliform, a form of bacteria, should not be more than 2,000 units/litre. At the ghats, the fecal coliform levels are 1,500,000 units/litre. Not only is our river dirty, we are living with serious health hazards.

  I saw Shukla-ji come out of his office. I rushed to him. He signalled me to wait and I saw that he was still on the phone. He picked up a few files and returned to the office. I continued to read.

  Revolution 2020 found many truths about the GAP scam. However, the most shocking one is about MLA Raman Lal Shukla’s Dimnapura Sewage Treatment Plant in Varanasi. Built at a cost of ₹25 crores, the plant remained dysfunctional for years. When finally made operational, it never cleaned the water. We have startling facts, with proof, on what happened inside the plant.

  ‘The opposition has done this,’ one party worker said to another. I sat down to finish the article.

  When untreated water reached the plant, eighty per cent of it was diverted downstream into the Varuna river, and dumped right back without any cleaning. The remaining twenty per cent of water was released at Dimnapura plant’s own exit, untreated. When the inspectors took the input and output measurements at points before and after the plant, it showed an eighty per cent drop in pollutants. Meanwhile, the water dumped into the Varuna river met the Ganga a few kilometres later. The net effect – no treatment of water at all and the river remaining as polluted as ever. Shukla took credit for the plant showing an eighty per cent drop in pollutants. The construction company, AlliedCon, is owned by the MLA’s uncle, Roshan Shukla, who made fake invoices for pumps that were never purchased (scans below).

  ‘We will kill this newspaper,’ a party worker whispered in my ear as he saw me read with such concentration.

  The bottom of the page had several images. These included fake invoices for pumps amounting to ₹15 crores. However, the actual site pictures showed no such pumps installed. A scanned letter from the pump manufacturer showed they never supplied the pumps. The ownership structure of AlliedCon confirmed links to Shukla-ji’s family. Finally, the paper had a picture of the Varuna river, with a dot to show the exact point where the effluents were released.

  ‘The CM is coming down from Lucknow,’ a party worker announced and worried murmurs rippled around the room.

  I could tell Raghav had worked hard on the story. He had suffered earlier for doing a story without evidence. This time he had left nothing to chance. The fake invoices, contractor-MLA link, and the audacity to dump the dirty water right back into the revered Ganga didn’t spell good news for Shukla-ji. Locals would be livid. A politician stealing is bad enough, but to rob from the holy river is the worst sin.

  ‘It’s not even a real newspaper,’ Shukla-ji’s PA was discussing the matter with someone. ‘Couple of thousand copies, nobody will pay attention to it.’

  The low circulation of Revolution 2020 had become the MLA’s only hope. Party workers had removed as many copies from the newsstands as they could. However, Revolution 2020 came free, like a brochure inside newspapers. It would be impossible to get rid of it completely.

  Aarti was calling. I stepped out to the lawns.

  ‘Saw R2020 today?’ she said. I didn’t know the paper had an acronym.

  ‘I have it in my hand,’ I said.

  She breathed audibly before she spoke again. ‘Is it too much?’ she said.

  I sneered, ‘It’s Raghav. When is he not too much?’

  ‘It is shocking, isn’t it? They dump the dirty water elsewhere in the river and claim to have cleaned it!’

  ‘He is taking on big people. He should be careful.’

  ‘But he is only speaking the truth. Someone has to stand up for the truth.’

  ‘I just said he needs to be careful,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t want him to be in trouble,’ she said, scared.

  ‘He doesn’t like to stay out of it,’ I replied.

  ‘Is he in trouble?’ she said, pausing after every word.

  ‘How would I know?’ I said. I heard the noise of traffic outside the house.

  ‘C’mon, Gopal, you and MLA Shukla …’ she said and paused.

  ‘I’m not involved in any scam, okay?’ I screamed.

  Horns blared outside as I walked towards the gate.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ she said softly.
‘I just don’t want Raghav to be in danger. I may not be faithful to him, but I don’t want him to get hurt.’

  ‘Hold on for a second, Aarti,’ I said.

  I came to the gate. My eyes popped as I saw the scene. Six vans from different TV channels had parked themselves outside the house. The guards were struggling to keep the reporters out, as they stood there airing live with the MLA’s house as backdrop.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked the guard.

  ‘They want to come in,’ the guard said. ‘They know the CM is coming.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ Aarti asked anxiously on the phone.

  ‘Yeah, so far.’

  ‘Promise me Raghav won’t get hurt.’

  ‘It’s not in my hands, Aarti,’ I said, exasperated. ‘I don’t even know what will happen. It’s a small paper. Maybe the story will die.’

  ‘It won’t,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘All the mainstream newspapers and channels are in Revolution 2020’s office,’ she said.

  ‘Fuck,’ I said, as a fleet of white Ambassador cars approached the house. Photographers went berserk as they took pictures of everyone around, including me.

  ‘Will Raghav be okay? Promise me.’

  ‘Aarti, I have to go.’

  I jogged back to the house.

  32

  Everyone stood in attention as the CM entered the house. The aura of power could be sensed along every inch of the MLA’s bungalow. Shukla-ji came running and greeted the CM with folded hands.

  ‘Who called the media?’ the CM said, his voice purposeful.

  ‘What?’ Shukla-ji said, as clueless as anyone else in the room.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ the CM said. The two leaders disappeared into MLA Shukla’s office. The CM’s minions mixed with the MLA’s minions in the hall. Even the minions maintained a hierarchy. The CM’s minions stood with their heads held high, while the MLA’s minions looked at the floor. I didn’t fit in anywhere.

  I sat on a wooden chair in the corner of the room.

  ‘Gopal,’ Shukla-ji’s booming voice startled me. I looked up. He asked me to come into his office.

  Once in, the MLA shut the door.

  ‘Gopal, sir. He runs my college, my trusted man. Bright and …’

  ‘You know the person who did it?’ the CM asked me, with no interest in my qualities or capabilities.

  ‘Raghav Kashyap, sir. Friend once, not anymore.’

  ‘You couldn’t shut him up?’ the CM said.

  ‘We had him fired from Dainik. He started his own rag after that,’ I said. ‘Nobody cares about it.’

  ‘The media has sniffed it out. The rag doesn’t matter much, but if he gives interviews or provides all the evidence to the media, it is going to be bad.’

  ‘He is already doing that,’ I said.

  Both of them looked at me with accusing eyes.

  ‘My sources told me. I am not in touch with him,’ I clarified.

  ‘We can’t handle him?’ the CM asked. ‘How can you open a college without handling people?’

  I understood what he meant by ‘handling’.

  ‘He can’t be bought, sir,’ I said. For a second I felt proud of Raghav. It felt like a good thing to be – someone who can’t be bought.

  ‘What do you mean by can’t be? Everyone has a price,’ the CM said.

  ‘He doesn’t,’ I said. ‘I have known him for years. He’s mad.’

  ‘Well, he does want to live, doesn’t he?’ Shukla-ji said. I noticed his eyes were red.

  I looked at the CM. He shook his head.

  ‘Shukla-ji is not in the right frame of mind,’ he said.

  ‘No, CM sir, I will not …’ Shukla-ji began.

  ‘Calm down, Shukla-ji,’ the CM said, his voice loud. ‘Do you have any idea what has happened?’

  The MLA looked down.

  ‘You didn’t even make a plant? Ten per cent here and there doesn’t matter. But what were you thinking shoving the dirty water into Varuna? This is Mother Ganga. People will kill us,’ the CM said.

  I offered to leave the room but the CM told me to sit right there.

  ‘We have elections next year. Raman, I have always respected your space and never interfered. But this will take us down.’

  ‘I will fix it, CM sir,’ Shukla said, ‘I will, I promise you.’

  ‘How? By killing the journalist?’

  ‘I said it in anger,’ Shukla-ji said, his tone apologetic.

  ‘Anger makes people do a lot of unpredictable things. It makes voters throw out governments. I know when a scam report has teeth, and when it doesn’t. This one does.’

  ‘Tell me what to do, sir,’ Shukla-ji said, ‘And I will do it.’

  ‘Resign,’ the CM said and got up to leave.

  ‘What?’ Shukla-ji said, his face looking bleached.

  ‘It’s not personal. Resign with grace and maybe you will come back.’

  ‘Else?’ the MLA said after a pause.

  ‘Don’t make me fire you, Shukla. You are a friend,’ the CM said. ‘But the party is above friendship.’

  Realisation slowly dawned on Shukla-ji. He clenched his fists in anger.

  ‘It happens. You will be back,’ the CM said.

  He then walked out briskly with his minions. The press was waiting outside for the CM to give a statement. I followed the CM’s workers to the gate.

  ‘I came for a routine visit,’ the CM told the reporters.

  ‘What is your view on the Dimnapura Plant scam?’ a reporter shouted hoarsely.

  ‘I am not fully aware of the situation. It looks like a smear campaign. Our party is clear on corruption. Even if there are allegations, we ask our leaders to step down.’

  The CM jostled past the reporters and sat in his car.

  ‘So will MLA Shukla resign?’ one of the reporters managed to jam the mike close to the CM’s face.

  ‘That is for him to decide,’ the CM said, hinting at the inevitable.

  The CM’s car left. I wondered what would happen to my GangaTech. I went back to Shukla-ji’s room.

  ‘We will destroy the newspaper office,’ a party worker was saying to Shukla-ji.

  Shukla-ji did not respond.

  ‘Tell us what to do, Shukla-ji. What did CM sir say?’ another minion said.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Shukla-ji said. Party workers got the message. They scuttled away within seconds. Soon only he and I remained in his big house.

  ‘Sir?’ I said. ‘Do you need me?’

  Shukla-ji looked at me. He no longer had his trademark ramrod posture. He slouched on the sofa, elbow on the armrest and face in his palm.

  ‘The CM is a behenchod,’ he said.

  I kept quiet.

  ‘When he needed his election funding, he came to me. I did his dirty work, distributing liquor all over the state. Now he screws me.’

  ‘You will come out of it, Shukla-ji, you always do.’

  ‘Nobody gives a fuck about cleaning the Ganga. Everyone made money on that plan. So why me?’

  I didn’t have an answer. I felt a tinge of guilt. Maybe Raghav did it to Shukla-ji because he wanted to get even with me. Or maybe it was my imagination. Raghav would expose anyone he could.

  ‘You run GangaTech properly, okay? I don’t want any mud from here to reach there,’ he said.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you are here, sir. We have big growth plans.’

  ‘They’ll lock me up,’ he said calmly, decades in politics making him wise enough to forecast events.

  ‘What?’ I said, shocked.

  ‘Once I resign, I have no power. Many MLAs have made money in the GAP scam. Before it spreads, they will lock me up to show they have taken action.’

  ‘You are the MLA, Shukla-ji. The police cannot touch you,’ I said.

  ‘They will if the CM asks them. I will go in for a while. Pay my dues if I ever want a comeback.’

  The thought of my father-figure and mentor going to jail u
nsettled me. I had very few people in life I could call my own. Shukla-ji counted as one of them.

  ‘Wait here,’ Shukla-ji said and got up. He went into his bedroom and returned with a set of keys.

  ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘I can’t be seen with such flashy stuff.’

  I picked up the keys. They belonged to the black Mercedes.

  ‘Your new car? I can’t.’ I placed the keys back on the table.

  ‘Keep it for me. You are like my son. I will also move some money into the trust. Make the college big.’

  ‘Alone? How can I do that alone?’ I said, my voice choked. ‘You haven’t even come to my house.’

  ‘I can’t step out of here. My relatives are waiting outside with their cameras,’ he said.

  Shukla-ji spent the next hour explaining to me his various bank accounts and businesses. He had his people running them, but he was telling me in case of an emergency. ‘GangaTech is my cleanest business, and can aid my comeback one day.’

  He wrote out his resignation in front of me and asked me to fax it to Lucknow.

  The fax machine beeped as the transmission started. ‘He fucked us, eh?’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘Who?’ I said.

  ‘Your friend. I had him fired. He got me fired.’

  ‘He tried to ruin my life. I will ruin his life,’ I vowed.

  33

  Every newspaper of Varanasi city carried the Dimnapura Plant scam story on the front page the next morning. Shukla-ji, whose resignation became public, had become the new villain in town and Raghav Kashyap the new hero. Everyone spoke highly of the stupid pink paper. Local television channels covered the scam for hours on end.

  I flicked through the channels on my new forty-inch LCD television. I paused when I saw Raghav being interviewed.

  ‘It took us two months of secret work to get all the evidence on the scam. Everyone knew this MLA was shady, but there just wasn’t proof. Our team did it,’ Raghav said smugly. He had lost weight, and looked sleep-deprived with his unshaven face and dishevelled hair. Yet, he had a glint in his eye.