The private jet touched down on the sun-baked tarmac of the state capital airport just as the afternoon heat began to thicken the air. Aradhna stood at the head of the receiving line, her silk saree neatly draped, the pallu pinned with a simple gold brooch, hair tied back in a tight bun that left her neck bare. She was only a junior party worker, twenty-six years old, selected because her face photographed well and because the state leadership wanted a young woman visible when the powerful central minister stepped off the aircraft. The rest of the delegation waited behind her: two cabinet ministers from the state, three MLAs, the district president, and a handful of senior party functionaries. Airport staff in crisp uniforms hovered at a respectful distance.

The aircraft door opened. The central minister, a heavy-set man in his late fifties with a carefully cultivated paunch and a reputation for getting whatever he wanted, descended the steps with the slow confidence of someone who never rushed for anyone. Flanked by his personal staff, he walked straight toward the line. Aradhna stepped forward, palms joined.