Don't Tell the Governor

by Ravi Subramanian

  ‘Did you manage to read my note? We need to decide on this, one way or the other,’ he said to Aditya.

  ‘Do we have a choice?’ Aditya asked him, even though he knew the answer.

  ‘Look, Mr Kesavan,’ Chakravarthi said. ‘I am surprised the newspapers have not caught up with this yet. But it is only a matter of time. The match-fixing saga is so juicy that they haven’t looked beyond it, but once they start digging, this will only get messier. And if we take a decision after the media has dug the matter up, it will reflect very poorly on us.’ He walked up to the table and sat down on the chair. ‘Despite your relationship with … those involved, we need to take the right call.’

  Aditya reflected on this for a minute. He walked to the window in his room and looked out at the docks, the container ships and the sea beyond. He was worried, but he knew there was no choice. He had to take the right decision. He turned back and walked towards Chakravarthi.

  ‘Let’s do this,’ he said.

  As Chakravarthi exited the room, the signed release in his hand, something he had said came back to Aditya. ‘Despite your relationship…’ he’d said, and not just today. He’d made an allusion to this on Friday too. Were people aware of what was going on with him and Pallavi? Or did they just mean the friendship between him and Vicky? There was no real way to find out, apart from asking Chakravarthi to explain himself. Aditya let it go for the moment.

  Within the next hour, the RBI put out a press note. In the note, it referred to Suyog Gold as a quasi-deposit scheme that had not been approved by the Reserve Bank of India and consequently banned the scheme. It prohibited Suyog Gold and its promoters from collecting any more money from gullible clients and instructed Suyog Gold to repay all its depositors/investors within the next ninety days. And that was not all. The note also instructed all banks to freeze the accounts of Suyog Gold and only release payments against specific refund orders.

  A guilt-ridden Aditya wondered if he should call Pallavi. She deserved an explanation from him, but he didn’t know how to face her. He wasn’t sure if she would be able to recover from what he had just done. But he couldn’t avoid her forever. He picked up the phone.

  Back in Pallavi’s residence, Kangana walked up to her sister and handed her the phone. ‘Finally he has called. Wonder why he is calling on my number?’ she said.

  ₹

  Aditya stayed in his room the entire day. He had not had the courage to speak to Pallavi after all. The guilt at having had to sign the death warrant for Suyog Gold was eating at him. The media had gone wild about the notice. Vicky Malhotra, the poster boy of entrepreneurship, had now become the most talked-about villain of modern India, taking over the mantle from Ranvijay Malya.

  Late in the evening, as Aditya was shutting down his laptop, a harried Chakravarthi walked into his room. ‘The problem might be bigger than we had anticipated, sir,’ he said.

  Aditya looked at him, eyebrows raised.

  ‘We have got the report of reconciliation for Suyog Gold’s bank accounts.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘As of now, against a ₹328-crore collection which was deposited into the account, there is only ₹5.36 crore left. Everything else has been withdrawn.’

  Aditya sat down abruptly. He was shocked on two counts. He distinctly remembered Pallavi telling him that over six hundred crore rupees had been collected, which meant that almost half of that hadn’t even made it to the bank accounts. And secondly, even the half that had had been siphoned off.

  ‘I think we need to apprise the Finance Minister of the implications. While six hundred crores is not that big a sum, the fact that it has come from hundreds of thousands of middle-class people will make it a very big problem. Unless handled properly, this matter can blow up in our face,’ Chakravart said, his voice grim.

  Reluctantly, Aditya pulled out the phone and dialled the Finance Minister.

  ₹

  ‘Now that you say it, I do recall all those advertisements about this scheme. Why couldn’t the RBI have acted earlier on this?’ Pande demanded from Aditya.

  ‘Sir, we were of the view that since it was a customer-supplier issue involving a private company, it would not be in our remit. We thought that possibly SEBI would look into it, or maybe the Company Law Board. It was ambiguous, sir. We took action at the first available opportunity,’ Aditya explained.

  ‘This is why I have been always advocating that we need to have a unified financial services regulator. Bring the RBI, the stock markets, the IRDA, everyone under one roof. But all you guys have massive egos. Now you see the problem this can cause? Had we had a unified regulator, this issue would not have risen at all,’ the FM said, shaking his head.

  ‘Not sure if that would have helped, sir. Because we did refer it …’ Aditya tried to argue, only to be cut short by the FM. ‘That’s what you think, Mr Kesavan. You are so focused on your area that you fail to see the big picture. I think I am going to take up this unified regulator issue with the PM again. Meanwhile, on this specific issue, I will also talk to the Home Minister to get the Enforcement Directorate involved. After the Ranvijay Malya episode, we cannot afford to have one more guy scooting from the country with billions. Or we’ll soon become known as a nation of looters and scooters.’

  ₹

  Things were getting messier for Aditya, especially given his relationship with Pallavi. The conversation with the Finance Minister had not gone well and now, it looked like things were only about to get worse.

  For a fleeting moment, Aditya contemplated dissociating himself from Pallavi. Any further association with her could prove to be his downfall. But, the thought was immediately repugnant to him. He had connected with her the way he’d never connected with anyone else. There was no way that he could abandon her.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang. It was an unknown number.

  ‘Aditya?’ said a voice he didn’t recognize.

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘This is Kangana.’ There was not even a semblance of warmth in her voice.

  ‘Oh, hello. How is Pallavi?’ he asked, the guilt rising to the surface again. His phone had not shown the name, as Kangana had called from a payphone.

  ‘My sister tried to commit suicide today,’ Kangana said, and after a deep sigh, added, ‘Thanks to you.’

  ‘Oh my god!’ Aditya felt his blood run cold. ‘How did that happen? Is she fine?’

  ‘I will save the details for later. But you almost killed her today, Aditya. As if Vicky’s behaviour was not enough, what you did today was terrible,’ Kangana said, her voice shrill and angry.

  Aditya realized what she was referring to. ‘I didn’t have a choice, Kangana. There is a team of people involved in taking a call like this, and I alone couldn’t have done anything,’ he explained.

  ‘You could have at least warned her; told her what was coming her way.’

  ‘I… I…’ Aditya didn’t know what to say. What Kangana was saying did make sense, but he’d been a coward. And now, because of him, Pallavi had tried to kill herself. ‘In any case, I just thought you should know,’ Kangana interrupted his thoughts before hanging up.

  That night, Pallavi had been admitted to Mumbai’s Lilavati Hospital for suspected drug overdose. The entire media spectacle immediately shifted from Pallavi Soni’s residence to the hospital.

  Aditya couldn’t sleep that night. He was pacing up and down in his room when his phone rang. He recognized

  the number.

  ‘Mr Kesavan,’ the person said. Already, Aditya didn’t like the man’s tone, which sounded almost smugly festive.

  ‘To what do I owe this call, Mr Khosla?’ Aditya queried. ‘It is quite late at night.’

  ‘To your indiscretion,’ came the prompt reply.

  ‘What?’ Danish Khosla’s tone and manner irked Aditya. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You must realize, Mr Kesavan that you are a very popular man. The country knows you,’ Khosla said in a silken voice.


  ‘I’d appreciate it if you come to the point, Khosla.’

  ‘You must never talk to maids, Kesavan,’ Khosla said mysteriously. ‘Well, to be specific, you must never talk to other people on their maid’s phone. I thought you’d be smart enough to know that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Aditya asked confidently, but his blood was running cold.

  ‘I think you know exactly what I mean.’

  Aditya was stunned. He had been speaking to Pallavi only on her maid’s phone ever since the story broke out. But how did Danish Khosla know this?

  ‘You must realize, Mr Kesavan, that when one phone in a household is tapped, all phones in that household are tapped, whether it is the madam’s or the maid’s. At your level, you are expected to know that, sir,’ Khosla said.

  ‘You have been hearing into the conversations?’ Aditya asked, his voice hoarse.

  ‘Well, let’s say, I have been making sure that no one else hears them. So, for now, you are safe.’

  Aditya tried to recollect the conversations he’d had with Pallavi. Thankfully from what he could remember, they were fairly clean. There had been nothing illegal about them. Even if the conversations were subject to scrutiny, he would come clean out of it. However, he also knew that the media would be out to sensationalize the story. He wouldn’t get a chance to explain himself.

  Breaking the silence, Khosla continued. ‘A thank you would be sufficient for now. And once you have made peace with this turn of events, give madam a phone which is not listed. You can then talk to her on that without the agencies getting to know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Aditya muttered, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘For you, any day, Mr Kesavan,’ Khosla said. Just before he hung up, he added ‘In case you want any help in managing this, let me know. I might have some means and contacts that could help.’

  50

  September 2016

  MUMBAI

  The doctors at Lilavati Hospital managed to save Pallavi. They were able to pump out the drugs in time and prevent any serious damage to her health. Thankfully, Pallavi had not consumed them in a quantity that could have proven fatal.

  Aditya was desperate to meet her, but couldn’t figure out a way. He could not visit her at the hospital without raising eyebrows. To make things worse, he had to attend the meeting of the Monetary Policy Committee that day. A few people, including Ranjeet Kumar, had travelled from Delhi specially for the meeting, so there was no way of rescheduling it either.

  The Vicky Malhotra fiasco and Suyog Gold issue dominated the MPC meet, even though the issue was not relevant to the monetary policy at all.

  After the meeting, Ranjeet Kumar came up to the Governor. ‘We need to close the dividend discussion, Mr Kesavan. It’s been pending for too long now. RBI needs to declare an increased dividend of ₹13,000 crores.’ It seemed that no discussion with Aditya was complete without a reference to this subject.

  ‘I will discuss this with the Finance Minister separately,’ Aditya responded. But this time, he wasn’t hostile to Ranjeet. He realized that if push came to shove, he would not have a choice but to comply on the dividend issue. More importantly there was a niggling feeling in his mind that he might need the Finance Minister’s support to bail out Pallavi from the mess she was in. Till then, he could not afford to antagonize anyone in the ministry.

  ₹

  That same evening , Aditya sent his driver to Lilavati with a small handwritten note for Kangana. No one recognized the driver and he was able to contact Kangana unnoticed.

  The note had an instruction for her.

  ‘Go out. Buy a new SIM card. Make sure it is not in yours or Pallavi’s name. And call me. Don’t call anyone else with that number.’

  ₹

  Kangana called him from Pallavi’s room that night and gave the phone to Pallavi.

  ‘Pallavi!’ Aditya exclaimed at the sound of her voice. He was speaking to her after almost thirty-six hours. ‘How are you, Pallavi?’ he asked softly, his voice a caress.

  ‘I wish I had not lived to see this happen to me,’ she said, her voice thick with tears. ‘How will I ever pay back that money? My bank accounts are almost empty. Whatever was left, you have mercilessly frozen. My husband has run away, leaving me to deal with the problems. How do you expect me to be, Aditya?’ She broke down, sobbing.

  ‘I am sorry, Pallavi. I didn’t have a choice,’ Aditya said, close to tears himself. ‘In the past months, there have been so many times that I’ve wished I was not the RBI Governor. But today, more than any other day, I wish I did not hold this office. That I didn’t have to be the one signing off on that circular.’

  ‘Don’t apologize, Aditya. You did what you had to. I am sure you had your reasons. I trust you enough to know that you would not have knowingly put me in this situation. My only worry is how to pay back that money,’ Pallavi said, the despair in her voice apparent.

  ‘We will figure out a way, Pallavi,’ Aditya reassured her.

  ‘How? How will we? It is not one, two or even ten. It’s six hundred crores. I have never in my life even seen that kind of money.’

  ‘First, you get healthy again. We will see what has to be done,’ Aditya said.

  ‘The day I get out of this hospital, I will be arrested.’

  ‘No, you won’t be. You cannot be arrested for Vicky committing a fraud,’ Aditya reasoned. ‘If anyone has to be arrested, it has to be Vicky, the perpetrator. The owner of Suyog Gold. It is his responsibility to pay that money back. Not yours.’

  ‘Vicky is not the owner of Suyog Gold, not on paper. I am.’

  ‘What?’ Aditya was stunned.

  ‘Ninety-nine per cent of Suyog Gold is owned by me. The remaining 1 per cent is owned by some 5-6 people, to take care of statutory requirement. Vicky was operating on my behalf. He smartly set me up and ran away with the money, Aditya. I look like a fool now. I was the face of Suyog. I was the owner of Suyog. It was me all the way!’ Pallavi said, her voice shrill with panic now.

  Aditya hadn’t seen this coming. He was at a loss for words. After a few seconds of silence, he tried to regain his composure for her sake. ‘Don’t worry. We will fix it,’ he said. ‘I will fix it. For your sake, I will fix everything.’

  51

  September 2016

  MUMBAI

  Three days later, lying in her hospital bed, Pallavi glanced at that day’s paper and smiled, experiencing a feeling of déjà vu. Her picture smiled back at her from the front page – a full-page advertisement with Pallavi’s picture on it. The image was the same one that had been used during Suyog Gold’s launch.

  But the promo lines were different.

  ‘Suyog Gold commits to paying back every single customer in sixty days, as against the RBI directive of ninety days,’ screamed the bold tagline on the full-page advert. The problem had been temporarily handled, though she had no clue where the money was going to come from.

  She picked up the new phone from the side table, the one which Kangana had bought on Aditya’s insistence, and dialled a number. ‘Thank you. Only you could have pulled off something like this,’ Pallavi said, her voice grateful and loving.

  ‘I will do everything that I can to see you through this,’ Aditya said in an emotional voice. ‘We all know this was not your fault.’

  ‘I feel like seeing you. When do you think you will be able to meet?’

  ‘I am in Delhi now, Pallavi, at the Finance Minister’s office. I’m back tonight, but I don’t think I can come to the hospital. There’s too much media presence there. But I will be in touch.’ After a brief conversation, Aditya promised to call her later and hung up.

  He turned and walked back into the boardroom in the North Block.

  Seeing him walk in, the tall man with blond hair sitting in the corner of the room got up and walked towards him. ‘Thank you, Mr Governor,’ he said, extending a hand towards Aditya and meeting his eyes. ‘The board of managers of Le Da Spire is very thankful for the concession that you h
ave shown in allowing us to bid for supplying currency printing machines to the new press in Noida.’ Aditya accepted the handshake, albeit with a little bit of hesitation. The rest of the team from Le Da Spire, sitting around the table, now stood up and greeted the Governor one by one.

  Later, when the meeting was over and the Le Da Spire team began exiting the boardroom, Aditya watched them leave, a look of guilt and regret writ large on his face.

  ‘It’s okay, Mr Kesavan. There is nothing to worry about.’ the man standing next to Aditya spoke. ‘You have not done anything which has not been done before. You have only struck Le Da Spire off the blacklist and opened the doors for them to bid again,’ Danish Khosla said.

  ‘Hmm.’ Aditya was thoughtful. ‘But this does not guarantee the contract to Le Da Spire. Why would they then pay the money upfront?’ he asked.

  ‘Mr Kesavan, that is the trust they have in me. Whether they get the contract or not is my problem. I will manage the bureaucrats and the government machinery. The contract won’t go to anyone else. They trust me.’ Khola paused and picked up a glass of water lying on the table, taking a gulp from it before speaking again. ‘I have a request.’

  ‘Go on,’Aditya said.

  ‘Once they get the contract for the security printing press, you must consider them for import of security paper and also give them contracts to print Indian currency at their other presses across the world.’

  ‘That’t a lot to ask. We’ll have to see,’ Aditya was non-committal. ‘Anyway, I hope all this doesn’t backfire.’

  ‘This is not the first time I am doing this, and it possibly won’t be the last. So relax.’ He patted Aditya on the back ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, before turning around and walking towards door.

  ‘Khosla,’, Aditya called out. ‘The payment to the Times of India, for today’s front-page ad?’

  ‘What about it?’ Khosla asked.

  ‘It won’t be traced back to Le Da Spire? Right?’

  ‘Not in a million years. It’s been taken care of.’ Danish Khosla smiled.