KALYUG by R. SREERAM Read Free Book Online

inferior materials for their protection against the fading winter of Kashmir. Seventeen good men had perished because the fatigues supplied to them had torn in the cold climate, rendering them completely helpless against chilling winds and the snow. His report was proof that corners had been cut by the vendor – and he was determined to stop more fatalities from happening.
    His last order before leaving for the meeting had been issued to his commanding officer in charge of the Himalayan Corps, a division that was now guarding the northernmost state against invasion and terrorists. The quartermaster was to recover every fatigue manufactured by ViFite Pvt Ltd and re-equip the soldiers with older, tried and trusted fatigues.
    The rot went deeper than the fatigues however. ViFite supplied most of the equipment that was used in the northern theatre – including ammunition, MRE rations, transport, housing and early-warning systems. A rot in one product typically meant the rest was also suspect. And an Army that could not depend on its tools was a sitting duck for its enemies.
    He had no doubt about the outcome of his meeting with the joint secretary.
    An even deeper inquiry would be ordered, perhaps into all of ViFite’s dealings; an audit would happen simultaneously to ensure that everything the Army had fell within acceptable tolerances. Quantities and qualities would be re-examined, perhaps re-configured to stricter standards. The prognosis was ugly, but, in his opinion, a necessary medicine for a better equipped force in the near future.
    He arrived at the offices of the Ministry of Defence and was waved through after a cursory check by the police guards manning the entrance. Despite his devotion to the uniform, Major-General Qureshi couldn’t stop himself from muttering a contemptuous, ‘Civilians!’ at the lackadaisical attitude. The most important building where the security of the nation was concerned, and you could walk in with a bomb in a suitcase. Almost.
    As he pulled out his mobile phone to switch it off, it rang. The caller ID was blocked, as was normally the case when he got a call directly from the joint secretary, and so he assumed that it was a call to check on his ETA. ‘I’m almost there,’ he said without preamble. ‘I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.’
    ‘You won’t, if you want to keep everything you hold dear,’ said the voice at the other end. Major-General Qureshi froze in mid-stride as the voice continued, ‘Turn around and walk away right now. Throw that report into the dustbin on your way out and go back to your office. A new report will be
wait –’
    ‘Who is this?’ thundered the major-general, causing a lot of heads to turn in surprise. He whirled around in a complete circle, suspecting that he was being watched, looking for anyone who looked even slightly out of place. Their momentary curiosity sated, the bureaucrats and other civil servants had already returned to their respective concerns. Major-General Qureshi had just completed a full turn when he caught a glimpse of Raghav Menon walking away from him.
    ‘Hey, you,’ he shouted, going after Raghav Menon.
    ‘A new report will be waiting for you, Major-General Qureshi,’ broke in the voice on the phone more insistently. Qureshi paused again, confused. He could see Raghav Menon ahead of him – and he could also see that his quarry did not have a phone with him, nor the tell-tale bulge of a Bluetooth headset. At the same time, as if on cue, Raghav Menon turned around and gave Qureshi a clear view of his front.
    No wires. No mic. Even as Qureshi took in Menon’s closed lips, the caller warned him one final time. ‘Do not pursue this, Major-General Qureshi. I would hate for something bad to happen to such a decorated officer of this country.’
    The line went dead.
    16th September. In the air over central India.
    I stared at Raghav Menon with the triumph of one who has the right answer. He stared right back at me as if