The Price of Truth

The moment Chunmun Singh transmitted the encrypted file to Minister Gavi Shankar’s secure server, a quiet thrill coursed through him—a patriot’s pulse, steady and resolute. He had breached the impenetrable, cracked open the digital vaults of Switzerland’s financial titans, and extracted a ledger of secrets: names, addresses, and staggering balances tied to Indian citizens. The screen flickered as the upload completed, each byte a testament to his skill, each line a potential spark for justice. He leaned back in his chair, the faint hum of his overworked laptop mingling with the distant honks of Bangalore traffic filtering through his window. This was his gift to the nation, the culmination of the "India Against Corruption" dream—a chance to reclaim what had been siphoned away.

Days passed in tense silence, the air thick with anticipation. Chunmun imagined headlines blazing, Swiss accounts seized, billions flowing back to India’s coffers. He pictured Minister Gavi Shankar, a weathered warrior of the anti-corruption crusade, wielding the list like a sword on the parliamentary floor. The minister’s gravelly voice had once rallied millions; surely, he’d rally them again. Chunmun refreshed his inbox obsessively, awaiting confirmation, a thank-you, anything. The silence stretched, a void that began to whisper doubt.

Then, the rumors slithered in—soft at first, like the rustle of leaves before a storm. A contact in Delhi, a junior aide with nervous eyes, let slip a chilling tale over a crackling phone line: Gavi Shankar hadn’t taken the list to the courts or the press. Instead, he’d turned it into a bargaining chip. The first name—Chaddi Chandan, a Bangalore tycoon with a penchant for garish silk shirts—had been summoned to a discreet meeting. The demand: 20 crore rupees, a fortune in crisp notes, to bury his Swiss secret. Chandan paid, the aide said, but he didn’t stop at silence. He wanted blood—the source of the leak. And Gavi Shankar, in a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade, handed over Chunmun’s name.

The fallout crashed over Chunmun like a monsoon flood. Chaddi Chandan’s influence roared to life, a shadowy network of favors and fear. Vineeta Nair, a steely HR operative at InfoCys, received a call—Chunmun’s overseas assignments vanished overnight, his travel plans dissolving into cryptic emails about “policy changes.” The office air turned frigid, colleagues sidestepping him as if he carried a plague. Whispers of “troublemaker” followed him down sterile corridors, the fluorescent lights buzzing like judgmental insects. He resigned before they could fire him.

He was now adrift, marked by an enemy he had unwittingly created.

Chinmoy M