The Return of Vaman - A Scientific Novel by Jayant V. Narlikar Page B

information-wise. Like Houdini, he treated fortifications as a challenge and invariably found ways of getting through them. He estimated (and he was always conservative in his estimates) that within a week he would be able to establish a channel of communication with Navin.
    Of course, Shulz thought grimly, Navin must play his part.
    Major Samant was unscrambling the telexes from Delhi. He had warned the telex operator that garbled messages from Delhi did not mean that his machine was out of order, and that he need not try to read sense into the jumble of words.
    There were five separate telexes on his desk. The key to them was in the secret drawer of his innocent looking desk, specially brought from Delhi. Even with the key, each telex by itself would have made no sense. But when all five were brought together in a certain order, they became clear. Their message drew out a whistle from the phlegmatic man who read them.
    11 The Suspect
    March 2
    Dear Lalitha,
    My first letter since the wedding! I realized with a shock that more than a year has passed. You may be wondering if your school friend has forgotten you. Well, I must confess ‘guilty’. Although ours was an arranged marriage, Laxman and I have been very happy—happy enough to forget all others!
    Remember how you and all our group of friends teased Laxman on the wedding day? Perhaps his shyness on that occasion misled you (and me, too!) into thinking that I was spliced to the prototype absent-minded scientist. No way!
    For all his international reputation as a scientist, Laxman is a down-to-earth man who cares about others. He likes to enjoy life—work permitting of course. Others had warned me that he would ignore me because of his work. Until recently I could confidently assert that they were wrong.
    But recently, Lalitha, things have changed. You will notice that my letter is not from Hyderabad. We are at Gauribidnur—a small, quiet place to the east of Bangalore. I know your geography was weak in school (remember how our Tope Miss made you locate places on the map?) but try and find out where Gauribidnur is!
    Laxman is deeply engrossed in the contents of that wretched container found here. You must have read about it a few weeks ago—how it was found accidentally. Apparently, the contents are fantastic—not just for archaeologists whose minds are in the past, but also for my dear husband who is always thinking of the future.
    That’s the trouble. Laxman is so engrossed in making sense out of it all that he has forgotten me. He goes out early in the morning, returns late at night, sometimes not at all. He won’t disclose a word of what it is all about. It is supposed to be highly classified.
    Classified! Secret! Security! These are the operative words where we live, fortified by barbed wire, high walls and armed guards. Major Samant, who supervises all the security arrangements, is a real tyrant. Of course, he is polite and all that—but hard as a nail. Even this letter must go through censorship. But let him read what I frankly think of him. No doubt he will smile and let it through.
    We are not let out of this compound except on rare occasions. Laxman has promised to take me one evening to Bangalore. He has a special pass. But at present that is like a politician’s promise before elections.
    Meanwhile, I must continue in these barracks, the life of a neglected wife, like my namesake in the Ramayana. I am the only housewife around. The other scientists have not brought their families because they have school-going children. There are a few other women here, secretaries, lab assistants and computer programmers. We meet on occasions to gossip …
    Laxman has provided me with my veena so that I may continue to practice. But there is no fun playing music if you have nobody to play to. And, of course, I have books to read.
    Do write. About yourself and the free outside world you live in. Your letters (if they get through our Major’s inspection!) will be