All the Right People by Priyanka R. Khanna

Author:Priyanka R. Khanna [Khanna, Priyanka R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789354928314
Published: 2022-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

The phone call lasted over half an hour and while most of what Tara had been saying had been incoherent, the conversation rattled Shaan. Given the intense scrutiny on this case and the probability that calls were being monitored, they’d only exchanged a few messages so far. This had been different. In between hysterical sobs, Tara had come out and literally begged Shaan to help.

‘Only you,’ she’d hiccupped, ‘can convince your dad. He has to do something. Please Shaan, I will do anything, I beg you . . . He’s not a bad man, you know him, Shaan. He’s made mistakes but I know, I know, he’ll find a way to make sure it’s all okay.’ Shaan heard her blow her nose through the receiver.

There was a long pause before Tara spoke again, clearing her throat.

‘During your wedding, when the first piece came out . . . he’d mentioned that it was a business vendetta. Could he,’ her voice faltered. ‘Could he be framed? I know my father, Shaan. He is not all the horrible things they are saying he is.’

She’d started crying again, for several more minutes, and Shaan, at a loss for words, tried to offer up some weak platitudes.

Tara said softly, ‘I feel so helpless. He’s done everything for me and the only way I can help is to ask you. I know, this is such a big thing. But wouldn’t you do the same? I really don’t have anyone else to turn to,’ her voice broke, and Shaan found herself choking up.

Tara cleared her throat and composed herself. ‘You are my oldest friend. We’ve been through so much together, and now I beg you, please, help my father, help my family, help me. Promise me, promise me, you’ll help. He won’t make it otherwise . . .’

Shaan stared at the receiver in her hand, tears rolling down her cheeks. What could she say? Shaan thought miserably. How did you make a person feel hopeful, in a situation that was so far gone?

How could she come out and tell her oldest friend that there was nothing, in anyone’s power, that could help her father now? And even if Shaan could ask her father to intervene, it would be political suicide.

In her years with Singh Saab on the campaign trail and even at his home office, Shaan had encountered some of the most heartbreaking stories—of missing children, financial ruin, families facing acute hunger, caste and communal violence destroying lives and homes. She’d grown more and more aware of her privilege, waking up in her plush bed in her air-conditioned room and looking out at throngs of people waiting to meet her father, outside the gate, for hours, in the heat. She’d seen grown men and women, children, lying prostrate at his feet, begging for help and mercy.

And for days after Shaan would not be able to get those images and stories out of her mind.

‘How can you sleep, Papaji? Hearing all these stories . . . and not

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