Who Painted My Money White Read online

  Over the next few months, he fully justified the faith his party leader had placed in him, even routing important government files to her for an opinion. He was dubbed an ‘accidental prime minister’ by sections of the media and he repeatedly proved them right. Ministers close to Dipika soon found to their relish that they could arm-twist him, and they openly proclaimed that their loyalty lay more with the party chief than the country’s Prime Minister. Maida was one of those ministers. The Prime Minister was aware of the many controversies that his Finance Minister was involved in but he could do little about it. Maida had direct access to the party supremo.

  Having covered his tracks – and rather well – Maida took a moment to relax in his office chair that was actually a recliner, fitted with high-end massage settings. Using yet another phone, he dialed a number. “So Laila, are you free tonight? The usual place, of course.”

  Earlier, he had had a long chat with his son on the LEPE affair, but cut short his wife, who lived in their hometown, with a curt, ‘I’ll call you later on.’

  While Maida was ‘busy’ at his office, Prime Minister Dhillon was still at his official residence, having settled down for an early lunch. He was seventy-five and certainly looked much older. He had no strength to push himself too hard. After lunch, he would be chauffeured to his office in South Block, where he would work for four hours, post which, he would either return home or attend scheduled functions. Jagat was morosely considering a plateful of salad, which his daughter Harminder Kaur was persuading him to have. She was a professor of Ethical Studies at one of New Delhi’s leading universities and understood well the pressures her father was functioning under. Jagat had been briefed by his staff in the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO) about the growing menace of counterfeit currency, allegations of fraud against some of his ministers and all sorts of financial wrongdoing. And this was apart from negative media reports on the policy paralysis his government had sunk into. His image was taking a beating and he could do little about it. He knew for certain that there were leaders within the party and the government, who were taking delight in his diminishing stature.

  His thoughts went back to the days when he was a star of the academic world. He taught Economics at prestigious global universities and was held in high esteem by the best minds in the field. His intellect was such that he did not have to bend or bow before anyone. He was highly respected for both his grasp on the subject and his personal integrity. Even when he was appointed Governor of the Reserve Bank of India, he held cordial relations with his colleagues and superiors in the government, without any compromises. As the country’s Finance Minister a decade earlier — and solidly backed by the then Prime Minister — he had demonstrated his worth, pulling the country from the brink of economic collapse. The deterioration in his stature began after he assumed prime ministership, picked personally as the candidate by Dipika.

  Harminder Kaur gently steered him back from his thoughts and said, “Dad, why can’t you take action against these people in the government?”

  “What can I do?” the Prime Minister wrung his fingers in desperation.

  “Your name is being sullied. You need to tell Madam that action has to be taken. The image of the government is at stake.”

  “I can do that, but she will ask me to exercise restraint. It’s not that I have not tried before, but Madam is not in favour of moving against these ministers.”

  “Why? How come they have such hold over her?”

  Prime Minister Dhillon did not reply. He pushed the plate aside, sighed and got up from the magnificent dining table. On his way to office, he decided to take a detour and follow his daughter’s advice. Once more, he was enroute to meet and take up the matter with the party president.

  CHAPTER 6.

  Government of Scams

  With every new scam coming to the fore, the Prime Minister wondered if he was heading the government of India or a body of scams. And nearly everyone involved had direct or indirect connections with the Finance Minister. He had raised the matter with Maida a few times with as much authority as he could muster, which was not much. Expectedly, he received evasive replies and assurances that nothing was amiss. Jagat was also told that the rumours of wrongdoing were actually spread by the government’s detractors. The Finance Minister was a smooth-talker and nothing seemed to disrupt his composure. On one occasion when the Prime Minister pressed harder, Maida had said, “Let the dogs bark and let sleeping dogs lie.” The Prime Minister had just been instructed by his minister to lay off.

  The corridors of power and the media were abuzz with the exposure of a scam of monumental proportions, concerning the sale of spectrum for telecommunication and coal blocks. By some accounts, they amounted to more than Rs.3 lakh crores. The Telecommunications Minister belonged to one of the alliance parties, while the Coal Minister was from the Freedom Party. Both decisions involved financial implications and Maida was in the thick of it. These scandals could have a disastrous impact on the government, but for now, some people were having fun. Such was the environment of audacity that when members of the opposition raised the issue involving the misappropriation of a smaller amount of public funds in a different case, a ruling party member of parliament dismissed the allegation on the ground that the amount concerned was too small for the party to get their hands dirty with!

  The spectrum rip-off would not have made it to the public domain, but for the tenacity of an opposition party leader, Govindan Ramaswamy, the Comptroller & Auditor General of India (CAG), and a section of the media which latched on to the issue rather relentlessly. Govindan was a maverick, a one-man army within his party. He had studied Economics at some of the best institutions in India and abroad and was a self-trained lawyer as well. Though he had no license to practice law, he did intervene as a citizen of the country in cases that fancied his attention. Once he got interested, he would pursue the issue with a doggedness that surprised his fellow party men and made his targets squirm. Govindan could not be bothered with political correctness when it came to the pursuit of justice. He had smelled a rat in the spectrum allocation issue and had launched himself with full force, collecting material and building a case for the courts. There were times when he had to cross swords with his colleagues over his aggressive conduct, but the fact is that his party benefited from the activism and even his detractors secretly admired his tenacity. Govindan was convinced that the Finance Minister was steeped in corruption all the way and needed to face the law. And soon.

  Towards the end of its first term, the Freedom Party led coalition government initiated the sale of spectrum for telecom use. The Telecommunications Ministry fixed a cut-off date and time for the submission of bids from private players. Barely hours before the deadline, the ministry advanced the time of submission, thus leaving many bidders stranded. But there were a select few who had been told ahead of the change and promptly given their bids within the revised time limit. The abrupt change in schedule and other procedures that were subsequently followed, raised a storm. Prime Minister Dhillon wrote to his minister asking him to ensure that the license allocation was done in a fair and transparent manner.

  This was the only step that the Prime Minister took by way of intervention. The Telecommunications Minister wrote back assuring that all processes had been followed. He knew the Prime Minister would not — could not — pursue the matter further and he was right. The Finance Ministry came under the scanner too, since the decision had financial implications. The Finance Minister did not red flag the matter. Everything was being done in the ‘interests of boosting the country’s telecom industry and benefiting the end customer.’

  The licenses were eventually awarded to bidders on a first-come-first-serve basis, who had bid ridiculously low amounts to secure the spectrum. Some of them later sold the spectrum to a third party for much larger sums. The rip-off to the public exchequer was huge. So were the benefits accrued by the Telecom Minister and Finance Minister for their complicity.

  Unfortu
nately for the Freedom party, the scandal could no longer be brushed aside. Some non-governmental organisations approached the Central Vigilance Commission, which in turn asked the country’s premier internal probe agency, the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), to inquire into the matter. On his part, Govindan kept up the pressure, appearing before the media and hammering home the point of the grand loot of public money. CAG too stated that the entire process of allocation of spectrum had lacked fairness and transparency. Eventually, the matter reached the Delhi High Court. The court rejected Govindan’s plea to direct the Prime Minister to sanction prosecution of the Telecommunications Minister. But that did nothing to smother the stench. A bunch of petitions had made their way to the Supreme Court, and the country’s highest court asked the government and the Telecommunications Minister to respond to the allegations.

  Things had begun to move fast by now. Govindan had taken his petition to the apex court, seeking directions to the Prime Minister. The Enforcement Directorate, specialising in money-related crimes, had also got into action since there were issues of foreign exchange violations as well. The CAG submitted its report to the Dhillon government, claiming a loss of nearly Rs.2 lakh crores to the exchequer — a claim that was quickly rubbished by the government’s senior leaders. One of them, who also happened to be among the country’s most reputed lawyers, derided the CAG report and said that there had been ‘zero loss’ in the deal. The Supreme Court did not concur, asking the CBI to expand the framework of its investigations to cover the corporate houses that had gained from the rigged bidding process.

  Months later, various players including the Telecommunications Minister and beneficiaries from the corporate sector were charged, arrested, jailed and later released on bail. The Supreme Court ordered the cancellation of all licences. There were more than a hundred. While the court maintained there was no prima facie material to prove that Maida had benefited from the spectrum sale, the relief was token. Along with the Telecommunications Minister, he had ended up with his image irreversibly sullied in the public eye. The Prime Minister had remained a mute spectator all along while the government’s reputation was torn to shreds. All that he could say by way of defence was: “I have not personally benefitted from the deal.” Many openly proclaimed that he may have had a clean image but since he had allowed the scam to flourish in his regime, his own reputation too was tainted.

  Had the spectrum scam been a one-off case, the Dhillon government and the Finance Minister could have perhaps got away with some deft manipulation with the media and other opinion-makers in the private domain. But they were hit by another storm - irregularities in the allocation of coal block. A draft report of the CAG accused the government of wrongful allocation of coal blocks during the five-year period of the Dhillon regime, leading to a windfall gain of Rs.7 lakh crores to the allottees. The ruling dispensation’s initial reaction was predictable. The Prime Minister stated that he would quit public life if found guilty. The government rejected the claim, stating that the loss was merely presumptive and not real. That said, the charges were too serious to be ignored and the CBI was roped in. Meanwhile, a public interest litigation filed in the Supreme Court demanded the cancellation of all coal block allotments. The court took up the task of monitoring the CBI probe, thus tightening the noose around the government.

  There was more trouble in store, though. A parliamentary panel report on coal and steel said that the coal blocks were distributed in an unauthorised manner. It recommended that allotments in places where the mining process had not begun, be scrapped. Meanwhile, there was a twist to the story. The Law Minister was caught reading the CBI’s investigation report before it was submitted to the apex court and he had to submit his resignation as a consequence. It happened after the CBI admitted to this fact in an affidavit filed before the court. The minister’s explanation was that he had merely read through the report to review it for grammar. Critics were quick to ridicule this and wondered when he had turned an English prof.

  As the case proceeded, the CBI filed cases against several allottees, some of which were eventually dropped by the probe agency. Later on, the Supreme Court was to cancel all the dubious allocations. But before that could happen, the government's image had suffered yet another body blow, and questions were raised on how the Finance Ministry under Maida had approved of the allotment when the irregularities were patently obvious. The Prime Minister’s already weak stature had been further sullied by his failure to act against his ministers.

  Jagat had sought for and received an appointment with Dipika. It should ordinarily have been the other way around, but from the day he assumed charge, Jagat reconciled to this equation in which she was superior to the country’s Prime Minister. On the agenda was the discussion on the two scams and also the persistent attempts by certain ministers to bypass his authority. He had decided to give in his resignation if this is how things remained. His press advisor, a well-known media professional, couldn’t emphasise enough that he was losing credibility faster than the speed of scams that were piling up.

  Dipika received him in her office within the residential complex. Two of her cohorts were hovering around with no signs of leaving. Jagat was uncomfortable in their presence but could do little. He then began to brief her on the scams, but she cut him short.

  “I am aware of these issues. They have no substance.”

  “But Madam, they are destroying our credibility. We must act.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “I cannot paper over these developments. I prefer to quit.”

  “Don’t overreact, Dhillon ji. Such troubles don’t last long.”

  The Prime Minister then poured out his other grievance. He seemed on the verge of tears. Madam seemed more amused than concerned. She said softly, “You should not be so sensitive. These things happen.”

  “But they are happening because these ministers have your protection. They are undermining the office and authority of the country’s Prime Minister.”

  “Who made you the Prime Minister? Can you not handle these matters with a bit more tact?”

  Jagat felt more fatigued than exasperated. He realised that the conversation was not going anywhere. His signature composed smile appeared involuntarily, masking his helplessness. After finishing the proffered cup of tea – that tasted as bitter as his prime ministership – he rose and left. The media had gathered outside and mics appeared promptly in his face. After a few weak attempts at dodging them, he finally said, “My discussions with Madam were routine, all to do with affairs of the party and governance. I will resign if any charge is proved personally against me. The government is working fine. There are people who want to discredit us, but their efforts will not succeed.”

  His media advisor, who heard the remarks on television, sighed. Once more, the Prime Minister had demonstrated a lack of gumption. If only he had quit, he would've bowed out with some dignity left intact. Elsewhere, Maida Damodaran chuckled. Madam had prevailed yet again, and he would remain safe.

  CHAPTER 7.

  The Three Strangers

  The erstwhile bicycle puncture repairer and now rich Imtiaz lived close to the beach on Kerala’s coastline. These days, he walked down to the shore early in the mornings to soak in the quiet of daybreak, punctuated only by the sounds of the lapping waves. He would unfailingly thank Allah for the turn in his fortunes. The better part of the day would be spent hanging around with friends, some of whom were new as a consequence of his recently acquired wealth. He made daily household purchases, most of which were unthinkable in the pre-sudden-money days but had turned into essentials now.

  It was mostly to escape the gnawing fear at the back of his mind to host the three strangers in his house, per the instructions of the man at the mosque, that he came to the beach every day. Strangers who had to be fed and boarded and whose instructions he would have to follow. He comforted himself with the thought that it would be only for a week that they will stay in his house. He now looked for
ward to the event; the earlier it was done with, the better.

  It turned out that his wish was granted in the next few days. He received a message that the three men would be arriving in exactly seven days. They were to be received by him at an isolated stretch of the beach at two in the night and taken home. And from then on, for the rest of the week, he would be told by the guests to run certain errands, which he would need to oblige. The important thing, the caller emphasised, was that Imtiaz should not be inquisitive; he would work on a need-to-know basis. If he got curious, the consequences could be disastrous, he was firmly warned. He had no inclination to rock the boat. He wondered though, whether the disaster meant all the money being taken away from him. But something told him that it could mean something far more sinister.

  At the appointed hour a week later, Imtiaz was at the beach. Before leaving, he had ensured that one of the rooms was ready for the guests, and his family was safely cloistered in the rest of the house. Family members had been strictly forbidden from interacting with the new arrivals. It was a moonless night and the shore was a patch of dark. But Imtiaz made it to the spot comfortably; he knew this stretch from the time he was a boy. As he stood there, his eye picked a motorboat closing in from a distance. It barely made a sound, and he soon realised why. The boat had sails fitted, which had been put into operation while the motor had been switched off. Once it docked at the shore, he saw three men get off and approach him. The boat was left at the shore.

  No words were exchanged except the As-salaam-alaikum greeting. The three guests were young — probably in their late twenties — and clean-shaven. They were well built, not muscular but fit, like seasoned soldiers. They carried a backpack each, which appeared to burst at the seams with whatever was stuffed inside. The four began to walk in silence, with Imtiaz leading the way. Within ten minutes, they were home. Imtiaz unlocked the main door and led them to their room, which had been equipped with three mattresses spread on the floor. One of them politely told Imtiaz that they needed nothing else for the moment and softly shut the door. It was just three hours before daybreak and as he retreated to his room, he found his wife and children wide awake. He told them that he brought the guests home. None of them could sleep, troubled by the uncertainty that lay ahead. His family was generally apprehensive, but he was wondering about something more immediately specific.