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By Root 1081 0

December 6 at five o’clock in the morning, a Gulfstream II twin-engine jet plane landed at Bombay’s Santa Cruz airport. No one took any notice of the three initials engraved on its crest, yet they belonged to the American company that had just inflicted death upon the country. Suffering from the flu, exhausted after the twenty-hour flight, Warren Anderson traveled discreetly to the luxurious Hotel Taj Mahal opposite the symbolic arch of the Gateway of India, where a suite had been reserved for him. The two Indian gentlemen there to welcome him, Keshub Mahindra, President of Union Carbide India Limited, and V.P. Gokhale, its managing director, brought him up to date with the latest figures from the accident. By then people were talking about three thousand dead and two hundred thousand people affected. Fortunately, the two Indians also had some good news: Arjun Singh, the chief minister of Madhya Pradesh, and Rajiv Gandhi, head of the country’s government, had agreed to see Carbide’s chairman. That was one source of satisfaction for Anderson; he could at least convince them that his company was ready to compensate the victims,

starting with at least five million dollars’ worth of emergency medical aid.

In an effort to be discreet, Anderson and his two partners flew to Bhopal the next day in the Boeing 737 of a regular Indian Airlines flight. The company jet would rejoin the chairman in Delhi to take him back to the United States.

On landing, the American noticed a small group of policemen on the tarmac. “How tactful of the local authorities to have sent us an escort,” he thought. As soon as the staircase was in position, two officers climbed on board and a voice came over the cabin address system. “Mr. Anderson, Mr. Mahindra and Mr. Gokhale are invited to leave the aircraft first.”

Ah, the wonders of Indian hospitality! Police Chief Swaraj Puri, who on the night of the tragedy had watched his policemen flee, was at the foot of the plane in the company of the city’s collector to welcome the visitors with warm handshakes. All that was missing was the traditional garland of flowers and a pretty hostess to give them a welcoming tilak. Anderson and his companions took their seats in an official Ambassador brought to the foot of the steps. The car took off like the wind and left the airport via a service gate to avoid the pack of journalists waiting in the arrivals hall. The police chief and the collector followed in a second car.

“Thank you for having gone to the trouble of fetching us,” Anderson said to the uniformed inspector sitting beside the driver.

“It’s standard procedure, sir. There’s considerable tension in the city. It’s our duty to look after your safety.”

Despite the tragic circumstances, the American took pleasure in being back in the city, the beauty of which he had so admired when the factory was inaugurated four years earlier. The minarets of the mosques casting their reflections in the waters of the lake, the numerous parks brimming with flowers, the picturesque old streets bustling with activity; everything seemed so normal that he found it difficult to believe that the city had just been through so dreadful a nightmare.

The car climbed toward the Shamla Hills, entered the grounds of the research center and stopped in front of the company’s splendid guest house. Anderson was astonished to find two squads of policemen assembled on either side of the door to the establishment. An officer was waiting on the steps. As soon as the three visitors got out of the car, he stepped forward, came to attention and saluted. Then he announced, “I regret to inform you that you are all three under arrest.”

Anderson and his partners started with surprise. The policeman continued, “Of course, this is a measure primarily for your own protection. You are free to come and go about your rooms, but not to go out or use the telephone, nor to receive visitors.”

At that moment the police chief and the collector arrived. They were accompanied by a magistrate in his distinctive black robe. The American felt reassured; certainly