Feet of Clay-1

Smita Amit

In the vibrant, ever-awake city of Mumbai, Anil Awasthi's name resonated with a certain kind of reverence. The CEO of a sprawling conglomerate and a patron of myriad social causes, he was often portrayed as the quintessential Indian success story. His ascent to the zenith of success was nothing short of a Herculean odyssey. Born into a modest family in a tranquil village, he was instilled with the values of honesty and perseverance by his father, a humble schoolteacher. With these values etched in his soul, he ventured to Mumbai, armed with colossal dreams and an indomitable will.

Years unfurled, and his relentless effort bore sweet fruit. He forged an empire from the dust of dreams, earning admiration and accolades from every corner. His face graced the pages of newspapers and magazines, captured at charity galas and business conclaves. To the world, he epitomized the self-made man, a luminary of hope and inspiration. But beneath this veneer of perfection lay a different story. In his unyielding quest for success, Anil had navigated through murky waters.

The lush verdant greens, the wildflowers, the undulating green tapestries that he had mercilessly usurped, exploited by greasing palms of the corrupt and the countless helpless men he had trampled upon, during his ascent , bore witness to his wrong doings  . The higher he soared, the deeper he sunk into a quagmire of ethical ambiguities, securing lucrative deals by defying laws many a  times. One stifling monsoon evening, as the city braced for an impending deluge, an unexpected knock echoed through the grand halls of Anil's South Mumbai mansion.

Meera, a journalist famed for her fearless exposes on corruption, stood at the threshold. “Mr. Awasthi, we need to talk," she said, her tone resolute and unyielding. Startled by her unannounced presence, he motioned her in. They settled into his opulent study and she handed him a folder.

Trepidation and unease welled inside him as he saw what was in there. Was she there to destroy him? Could he still get through it all by pulling strings? His heart pounded like a war drum, echoing through his chest with fierce intensity. A surge of fear and shame washed over him. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, mingling with the pitter-patter of rain that was now lashing against the glass doors in a steady staccato.

"I want you to wield your power and influence—do it for your own soul.", so saying the young Journalist walked off into the rain.

The monsoon rain lashed unabatedly against the windows and sleep eluded him that night. He thought of his father, the values he had imparted, and the man he had once aspired to be. Should he confront his feet of clay to become something far more precious—a man who, despite his flaws, had the courage to seek redemption and inspire others to do the same—or should he continue with his ascent unabated?

There was so much to lose and course correction was a distant possibility for the present. It can wait, maybe one day, not now, he decided.

Putting on the veneer of indestructibility as he had for the past many years, Anil shook off the cobwebs of his past—there were many things there which he did not want to revisit. He called his subordinate Sanjiv and asked him to fix a meeting with Meera.

(2)

The ‘date’ between the two warring parties materialized in a dimly lit restaurant situated in a shady part of the city. Courageous Meera did not baulk at the prospect of going there. As an investigative journalist for one of the most prominent newspapers in the city, she had a knack for uncovering the truth, no matter how deeply it was buried. When she confronted Anil with all the evidence, she knew that she had driven him into a corner.

Anil's past was a quagmire of intrigue that had endangered countless lives. Her heart pounded with a familiar mix of excitement and apprehension, only this time it was mixed with pain, as the investigation of a corrupt businessman had brought the agonizing memory of her innocent sister, Aarti, known for her beauty and grace.  Arti’s, whose laughter was like the tinkling of anklets and whose presence never failed to bring warmth to all who knew her. She was the pride of her family and the heart of the quaint village of Aravan, where the fragrance of jasmine intertwined with the melody of temple bells.

Both sisters had lived a charmed life with their loving parents. Their father was the local priest, much revered and respected. But then fate had struck in the form of love for Aarti, and nothing remained the same.

Sitting across from Anil in the shady restaurant, the weight of her accusations hanging heavily in the air between them, she could only feel sadness. Though he was the owner of many large conglomerates and a man of power and influence, to her he was a pauper.

She quelled her feelings and said in a steady voice, "I have documents, testimonies, and transactions that all point to your involvement in illegal activities," Meera said, her voice steady. "Money laundering, bribery, and exploitation of workers—it's all here. It's time to come clean and make amends."

Anil’s face remained calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease as Meera once again laid out the evidence of his wrongdoings. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Meera, you think you can come here and threaten me? You have no idea who you're dealing with."

Meera's eyes narrowed. "I'm not threatening you, Anil. I'm giving you a chance to repent and redeem yourself. Think of all the wrongdoings of your past. Admit your mistakes and work to fix them. It's not too late."

But Anil was not a man who backed down easily. His rise to power had been paved with ruthless decisions and a willingness to crush anyone in his path. He had no intention of letting a journalist, no matter how determined, bring him down.

"You should be careful, Meera," Anil said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. Walk away now, and maybe I'll forget this ever happened.". there was not much to say and Meera collecting herself . marched off the restaurant

Walking home along the hibiscus-lined road, Anil’s low but menacing words reverberated in her mind. "I won't let him intimidate me. I have to keep pushing forward," she thought resolutely. Suddenly her phone buzzed. Though she had a gut feeling that it would be bad news, she opened it hesitantly. It was a video link.

“You can’t hide forever, Meera. Back off, or you’ll regret it.” A deep, eerie voice was on the other end. Her face hardened. "I won’t be scared off that easily, Anil. You have many past sins to pay off," she thought. She had faced adversities before, and she was determined. She kept her editors informed though, as in the coming days the threats only escalated, and the tactics grew more aggressive: her bank accounts were frozen, and her personal information was leaked online.

As days passed into nights, the saga continued. Meera was determined and resolute, Anil was ruthless and angry. She continued to publish stories, exposing Anil piece by piece, striking a nerve with him.

To be continued