Chapter 1
We were about ten of us, running, in measured steps, towards the exit. Two unruly dogs, broad chested and thin wooled, dropping a serious glance through their almond shaped eyes, followed us at a brisk pace. Sniffing heavily, they dodged our desperate attempts; we flung, holding by the shoulder straps, our college bags. One of us thought it wise to fling at the dogs, one book after another. It was a narrow pathway; white polished marble floor beneath our feet reflected our troubled gaze. The dogs satisfied that the intruders were cast off at a safe distance away from the treasure house, returned to their post. It was getting dark, and we could only see the massive pillars on either side as we stepped outside. The roof over our head was ornamented with a spectacular chandelier; rows of dragons embraced the chandelier in concentric circles. The roof was so high overhead that we strained our eyes to get a good look at the grandeur of art. The neglected chandelier now housed a honey comb, the massive pillars on both ends of the courtyard were filled with grafitti. Walls were cracking here and there, patches of plaster clung precariously, dusky yellowish in colour. The contours of patches and cracks on walls ran through the walls of the dimly lit hall towards the cobweb inflicted glass chandelier like the veins of one’s eye, across the irises, to pour valiantly into the black pupil at the centre.
The palace, which was presently house to the polytechnic college, stood erect, as a sad remnant of its vivacious past. To reach Wanaparthy, the town which bosomed the palace, one has to drive up the NH7 from Hyderabad. A hundred kilometres down the NH7, a stretch of bi-lane road with scorched rocks and plain paddy fields on either side, takes you to the town.
On the day of the event, July 7, 2014, Chicha, a man of languid eyes, reluctant gait and soporific gaze, visited the palace turned college. He parked his bike under the tall palm trees; the trees embroidered the perimeters of the palace like the hem of a sari. Two very wide stair cases, bow shaped, ascended to meet at the patio upstairs. At the mouth of each, was a lion, squatted majestically, over a raised platform. Presently, kids gathered to sit up the leonine nape one after another. One of the lions’ tails had broken off last year. Under one of the stair cases was a store room where, it is said that the sepoys sat during the British rule. Under the other stair case was a secret underground passage that led, through never ending darkness, into a grand pond, about 300 metres from the palace. The pond was about 100 metres deep, walled all the way from the ground to the floor, by giant rocks. It was a museum of art in itself. The structure was layered, with each layer of rectangular enclosure narrower than the previous one as one descended into the pond.
Standing on the long and wide patio, with massive pillars about 50 metres high behind you, one gets the feeling of an enclosure. It was as though the palace was alive, it heaved through its spiral stair cases that secretly led one into the courtroom on the second floor. Now, the courtroom was turned into a library. The palace confounded its visitors with long and unwinding empty spaces alternated with choking narrow spaces. There were rooms on the second floor, with cross bars on the backside of the doors, and only the skylights to illumine them.
Chicha’s plan was simple. One of the three rooms on the second floor which were denied access to, was a room with double padded windows. In it, was a relic, a machine called ‘Ultra’. The centre was reinstating a Joint Andhra, 4 years after the separation of Telangana. On January 1, 2011, civil unrest in Hyderabad led centre to believe that the issue was slipping out of their hands into the emotive upheavals of the common people. To avoid any further damage, centre announced a separate Telangana. Following the declaration, Telangana began a massive undercover operation ‘Resuscitation’ to cull out tangible articles or intangible ideas to stir public evocation of patriotic fever. For this operation, the torch bearers were the government school teachers and RTC bus conductors. These two professions, leaders of Telangana, believed to be the most accessible to public.
Chicha was a school principal in Kothakota village, about 10 kms. from wanaparthy. It was easy for him to go past the narcissistic authorities of polytechnic college, for he was a student of the college during the years 1984-88. When he found out that the palace, behind its cloak of chimerical artistic majesty, was a machine that oiled its coils with the bloodshed of World War 2, he kept the startling revelation to himself. Chicha had been teaching social science to the ninth and tenth standard students for about fifteen years. In his profession, he was exposed to the cathartic infidelities and mind benumbing conspiracies of the world war 2. He spent the summer of 2011 wondering what he should do. Eventually, he setlled on a dispiriting conclusion-to take the secret to this grave.
Chapter 2
Presently, I was wiping my reeking lips. My courage had cost me two of my front teeth on the lower jaw. I stared into the mirror, in a horror of disbelief, I disfigured instantly with my lips lapping to one side. I tried to burn that image in my memory and close my eyes to check if it was an illusion. On the corner of the mirror was a girl, an attractive one. Behind me, she proceeded to reach out with her hands that were hidden under the blue overall.
Before me were two screens with a “dismiss” button at the centre of one of them. The wide nostrilled machine gum with “magnum” written in bold letters against it was stood up against the other monitor. I took it into my hands, pointed it to the security guard standing by the wall and turned it on. It induced uncontrolled spasms in the guard; I tried to turn the gun down, but in vain. After an agonising struggle, the guard dropped dead on the floor. There were journalists jotting down, fervently, the episode of my gunning down the guard with invisible radiations, as they put it.
With a huge uproar, everyone stepped onto the stage to congratulate on our performance.
Then, I realised it was a dream, it can’t be true. But I was asphyxiated down below, under several layers of dreams. The only way out was to tear open the layers from the outside, so I dug my fingers into the skull and cracked it open form outside.
Chapter 3
“The machine induces hallucinations” chicha told me as a matter of fact “you should be careful. Don’t tweak around with the knobs. Understood?” He concluded in a sombre and serious tone. I obliged. The ‘Ultra’ machine was at the centre of the room, with two magnetic discs pointing skywards on either sides, the central dashboard had one palm sized knob, which I turned, a while ago, giving into curiosity only to plunge into a bottomless pit of hallucinations. The walls were covered with laminated postures, with the newspaper cuttings intact inside.
Chicha explained “wanaparthy raja was a rare scientist; he was working on radiations that could induce hallucinations. The British, in 1937, requested him to develop secret weaponry for warfare. Artillery, unmatched, which Hitler would find distasteful. Upon Prime Minister Winston Churchill’s request, the operation ‘Ultra’ was kept a secret. In the most confounding act of deception, the British planted the dead body of a tramp under the disguise of Major William Martin. The idea was the brainchild of Wanaparthy Raja. The machine ‘Ultra’ was put to action. The tramp’s body was found in a port by the Spanish military. In his pockets were found ticket stubs, mementos and letters from fiancée. Chained to his wrist was a brief case with message form the allied forces identifying Greece as their target. It was a decoy, and Hitler fell for it. He sent an entire division, 90000 soldiers, to Greece. Soon after that, the allies attacked Sicily, eventually led to Mussolini’s toppling from the power and Germans withdrawing a huge offensive against the red army”
“India’s presence in the war was but numerically negligible” I claimed as if to make a point. Chicha continued without heeding me “wanaparthy raja’s invention, Ultra, apart from inducing hallucinations, could decode the enigma machine- the infamous encrypting machine the Germans used throughout the war. It is Ultra’s invention, above all, which hastened the end of the war. But the British had their reasons, to present the machine to the world as an invention by a French man. So you see now. It is absolutely essential that we transport the machine and its contents to a suitable place without the public or the authorities’ or the governments’ knowledge.”
“The reinstating of total Andhra, I have reason to believe, would stir angry protests in the areas identified as possessing patriotic value by the operation ‘resuscitation’. The palace is one of them. And ‘Ultra’, I am afraid, has to find a new home, after 75 years.”
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