The Paradigm Shift

Wednesday, 3rd August 2008

Wednesday, 3rd August 2008

Afternoon - The Andaman IslandsThe twin-engined Lear jet circled the islands in the Indian Ocean before commencing its descent. The weather was reliably good at this time of year and through the clear skies, Balan Khrishnumurthy had a picturesque view of the beaches skirting the Andaman Islands below him. The flight from Orissa on the east coast of India had taken just over an hour and he was the only passenger aboard the government-owned executive aircraft. Balan was fifty-five years of age and a long-serving pillar of the Indian government. A man of medium height and build, he rejected his country’s traditional dress in favour of the well-cut suits he had made for him by from his Piccadilly tailor. His half-moon spectacles rested on his nose and with his full head of greying hair, he had a well-educated, scholarly air, which automatically commanded respect among his fellow statesman.

Balan was well known in international circles. Earlier in his career he had been India’s representative to the United Nations and before that he had held the prestigious posting of Indian Ambassador to the United States. However, over the past eighteen months, his career had changed course at the insistence of the Indian Prime Minister. As a consequence he had taken the difficult decision to forego the luxuries of a western posting and resettle on Indian soil. After spending the previous fifteen years abroad serving the government loyally as an eminent diplomat, he returned to Delhi as the second most powerful man in India; he was the Special Envoy and Chief Advisor to Krishna Banerjee, the Prime Minister of India.

Struck by the view outside the window, Balan removed his reading glasses and replaced the papers he had been examining back in the leather wallet on the table in front of him. Across the hillside, he could see the lush green tea plantations from which the Andaman State government derived most of its income. The intercom buzzed and he heard the pilot announce that they would be down in about five minutes. Continuing its steady descent, the plane was not landing at the Islands’ main airport but at an infrequently used landing strip on one of the outer islands. The location had been chosen as a meeting place specifically because of the need for secrecy. Partially due to neglect, and partially due to the rarity of flight traffic to and from the island, the runway had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Despite this, the experienced pilot negotiated a comfortable landing before taxiing down the runway towards a dilapidated two-storey wooden building. They had arrived on one of the Nicobar Islands.

Normally, the area surrounding the runway would be deserted but that was not the case today as the pilot made the last manoeuvres before bringing the plane to a standstill. Sitting down close to the runway’s grass verge, were two enormous black military helicopters circled by uniformed soldiers positioned in a defence formation. The Lear jet’s pilot opened the door and the five-step ladder dropped to the ground. Balan Khrishnumurthy stooped under the door’s frame as he made his exit down the steps and, crossing the tarmac, entered the derelict building, its door being held open by one of the armed guards. Inside, the room showed its decay; window panes were cracked and there were pieces of broken furniture lying on the floor amongst the dirt and the rubble. Out of the shadows in the corner stepped a man wearing the uniform of a high-ranking military officer. The rows of ribbons and the gold braid that lined his jet-black tunic left no doubt about the General’s seniority. As he continued forward his face came into view and he broke into a smile as he stretched out his hand to greet his old friend.

“It’s good to see you again,” said the General, as Balan took his hand and they embraced each other warmly.

“My leader’s asked me to convey his personal regards to you,” continued the General as he stood back.

“Thank you General, please tell him that I look forward to returning his greetings in person one day.”

Still smiling, the General motioned towards the door with his outstretched palm.

“This building’s decayed more than we thought - and the air in this room’s rather unpleasant. Why don’t we walk outside?”

“Why not,” agreed Balan, making his way back to the door.

Balan had convened the meeting in a hurry and the information available about the runway had been scant but, at this stage of his Prime Minister’s plan, security came before comfort. He was glad to escape the darkness and dust of the shack for the afternoon sunshine outside. Passing the armed guard surrounding the helicopters, Balan and the General strolled towards the grassy field lining the runway’s fringe.

“Balan, we’re impressed with the way you’ve escalated tension along the border without incurring interference from the US and the United Nations. It would seem everything’s progressing according to your leader’s plan?”

Balan looked across at the General. Since their countries had cemented their pact, they had met regularly over the previous months carrying out the instructions of their respective leaders.

“So far, yes. The only problems we’ve encountered have been with the underground storage reservoirs, but that’s behind us now,” replied Balan, remembering the wrath of his leader at the minor setback.

The engineers and government officials tasked with the construction of the gigantic reservoirs had met with an array of unforeseen problems. As a consequence, they had been summoned to a meeting with the Indian Premier, Krishna Banerjee, to explain the barriers to the project’s completion. After ten minutes of listening to the self-imposed bureaucratic hurdles, Banerjee’s irritation with proceedings exploded and the senior government official on the project was taken away by the Indian Secret Service for “questioning”.

Ashraf Nawani was the Premier’s trusted lieutenant in charge of the notoriously brutal Secret Service known as RAW because they operated from the government department called the Research and Analysis Wing. Everyone in the meeting understood that “questioning” was a euphemism for torture. This man would probably not see his family again. The remainder cowered as they were told that failure to meet the deadline would mean life imprisonment in Nawani’s custody.

“Everything else has gone according to plan. We’re eight weeks away from starting the final step of our strategy,” Balan confirmed, and watched the General nod his head in acknowledgement.

Balan was pleased. He was meticulous in detail to the point of obsession. It was one of the traits Banerjee saw in him early on when he was singled out for high office and promoted above his envious contemporaries. He glanced sideways at the General.

“It’s imperative that no links can be established or traced between our countries... Later on this won’t be so important but the longer we can maintain secrecy the better.”

This would be the last time they would meet before the plan was put in action. The General looked back at him; the words were unnecessary but he had become accustomed to Balan’s need to make a pronouncement on every aspect of the plan.

“That’s clearly understood - remember, we too have much at stake,” the General responded sharply, revealing his mild irritation.

His tone softened as he realized that Balan was seeking further assurances.

“Be assured, Balan, my country will remain loyal to our pact. Once the plan begins we’ll observe the protocols as agreed.”

As the sun began to fade in the late afternoon, they continued walking along the grassy path discussing the finer details of their modus operandum in the coming months.

After two hundred yards they turned and headed back towards their aircraft in front of the dilapidated building. Balan noticed that the helicopter blades were already rotating in slow motion as they prepared to leave.

“Have you brought the documentation for me?” Balan asked as they approached the steps to the Lear jet.

The General smiled and snapped his fingers at one of his subordinate officers, who immediately rushed forward carrying a leather case.

“Please go ahead and check it,” the General said, pulling out a folder and handing it over to him.

Balan unzipped the side and peered in at the bound document. He flicked quickly through the papers until he saw the General’s Prime Minister’s signature with the country’s seal stamped across the page.

“I’m satisfied,” he breathed, closed the case and, smiling, held out his hand. “This world will be a different place when we next meet, General.”

“I look forward to meeting you in that new world,” replied the General, raising his voice over the last few syllables as the clatter of helicopter’s blades grew louder behind him. Releasing his two-handed grip on Balan’s outstretched hand, the General turned and, ducking slightly, hurried away beneath the helicopter’s blades.

Balan watched as the military helicopter’s door slid open and the General climbed inside. The last two armed soldiers followed him on board. Seconds later, one after the other, the helicopters with the bold red ensign on their sides lifted off the ground and headed out over the mountainous skyline towards the sea to the north.

Ten years ago nobody would have believed our two nations could ever become allies, mused Balan, as the helicopters disappeared over the line of trees on the hillside. Holding the folder, he turned and mounted the steps to the Lear jet. Minutes later he was airborne and reading the contents. His next task was to prepare himself for a meeting with his Prime Minister, Krishna Banerjee.