The Krishna Key (21 page)

On the eve of the war, sage Vyasa visited the palace of Dhritarashtra. The sage told him, ‘Terrible days lie ahead. I have seen terrible omens in the
skies
—
a conjunction of Saturn with Aldebaran, retrograde Mars before reaching Antares and also a lunar eclipse near Pleiades. All your sons and the kings supporting them shall soon be dead. It is ordained, so there is no need for you to feel sorry. If you wish, I shall grant you eyesight so that you can observe the battle.’ Dhritarashtra was shocked by the candid words of Vyasa, and requested that he be left blind so he wouldn’t have to see the carnage that was about to follow. The sage bestowed Dhritarashtra’s charioteer Sanjaya,’ replied Sir Khan is Saini and Radhika with perceptive vision so that he would be able to keep the blind king informed of all the events that were happening on and off the battlefield.

‘Why are we going to Agra?’ asked Radhika sitting inside the guesthouse in Nepalgunj on the Indo-Nepal border. They were now on the final leg of their return journey from Mount Kailash to India.

‘There must have been a very good reason for Mahmud Ghazni to carry doors bearing the symbol of Shiv-Shakti back to Afghanistan. We must have a look at them,’ replied Saini as he stretched back on the sofa.

‘But why aren’t we considering other locations? Mathura, Gokul and Vrindavan are places associated with Krishna’s early life. Isn’t it possible that one of these places may hold the clue?’ asked Radhika.

‘Honestly speaking, I believe that a great deal that is written about Krishna’s early life is fabrication,’ replied Saini. ‘Krishna was a great statesman and strategist. He probably led a rather serious life—with much of his early life devoted to studying under Sage
Sandipani. The tales about his being a playful and naughty cowherd were added on much later. Mathura, Gokul and Vrindavan have much more tourist value than historical.’

‘You can’t simply write off these locations as parts of myth,’ exclaimed Radhika.

‘There isn’t a clear answer in such matters,’ said Saini. ‘I visited Mathura a couple of years ago. My tourist guide took me to the
Krishna Janmasthan
temple—supposedly located at the very spot where Krishna was born. There is a narrow passage that leads to a tiny room, which is possibly the prison cell where Krishna was born. The funny thing is that, just a short distance away from the temple, is a fort that lies in ruins. It is called
Kansa Quila
and it is possibly the place from where Kansa ruled Mathura. Raja Man Singh of Jaipur had the fort rebuilt in the sixteenth century to duplicate the original Kansa Quila. It was always my understanding that Vasudeva and Devaki were imprisoned within the dungeons of Kansa Quila, and hence the existence of a separate temple to mark the birth location of Krishna struck me as odd. To add to the confusion, there is a second Krishna Janmasthan temple that claims to be the real one. You see my point?’

Radhika nodded. ‘Is it a similar situation at Gokul?’

‘Actually, the situation is even more complicated in Gokul,’ said Saini. ‘Gokul lies around fifteen kilometres south-east of Mathura. Driving from Mathura to Gokul, one has to cross the Yamuna, and one can see the exact spot where Vasudeva would have supposedly crossed the river, holding Krishna above his head in a basket. The problem is that there are
two towns located two kilometres apart. One is called
Mahavan
and the other is called Gokul. Both Mahavan and Gokul claim to be the original Gokul—the village where Krishna was left as a baby with Nanda and Yashoda. Each town has a
Putana Mandir
to mark the spot where the demon Putana was killed by Krishna. Both towns have a
Nanda-Yashoda Bhavan
to indicate the house where Krishna’s adoptive parents lived.’

‘I imagine that Vrindavan also holds no clues?’ asked Radhika.

‘The reality is that Krishna-devotion is so deeply entrenched in most of the region that it’s virtually impossible to distinguish history from myth,’ replied Saini. ‘Most of the Krishna story, in art and music, revolves around the Krishna and a black-masked commando carrying a spbmef Radha romance. But Radha is not mentioned even once in
Srimad Bhagavatam.
One can’t find her name anywhere in it! The earliest text to mention Radha by name is the poem
Geet Govind
by the poet Jayadeva in the twelfth century—more than four thousand years after the life of Krishna!’

‘What do you suggest we should do?’ asked Radhika.

‘Well, if we can’t find the Radha and Krishna love story in Vrindavan, we will definitely find the Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan love story in Agra. Let’s get there and see those Somnath doors,’ said Saini conclusively, as Radhika’s phone began to ring.

On the first day of battle, the odds favoured the Kauravas. On the second day, they favoured the Pandavas. By the third day, Bhishma had decided that it was necessary to incapacitate Arjuna so that the Kaurava forces could move towards a decisive victory. Bhima, Arjuna, Abhimanyu, and Ghatotkacha
—
the finest Pandava warriors
—
proved to be helpless before Bhishma. The problem, as I saw it, was Arjuna’s soft corner for Bhishma. He was doing everything possible not to hurt the old man. It was then that I decided to step in. I told Arjuna that since he was incapable of destroying Bhishma, I would do it myself. I assumed the form of Narayana
—
the destroyer—and stepped off the chariot, running towards Bhishma. Seeing me in all my glory, Bhishma put down his weapons and bowed before me. ‘What greater glory can I hope for? To be killed by your Sudarshan Chakra guarantees my liberation!’ he said. I had no intention of stepping into combat, but my desire was to motivate Arjuna to take the war seriously. Arjuna came rushing after me and begged me to preserve my vow of not bearing arms and promised that he would fight with new determination.

‘Is it possible to speak with Mr Ravi Mohan Saini?’ asked the voice.

‘Yes, he’s here,’ replied Radhika, handing over her phone to Saini, wondering where she had heard the
voice before. She struggled for a moment before giving up.
I must be mistaken,
she thought to herself.

‘Hello? Is that Mr Saini?’ asked the voice as Saini took the phone.

‘It’s me,’ replied Saini.

‘Mr Saini, I have been trying to track you down for the last several days,’ continued the voice at the other end. ‘My name is Rajendra Raval and I am the manager of South Delhi Safety Vaults Ltd, here in New Delhi.’

‘What can I do for you, Mr Raval?’ asked Saini, a little disoriented.

‘One of the safe deposit boxes here belongs to a company—VSKBC Heritage Ltd. The authorised signatory for operating the box is Mr Anil Varshney. A few days ago I received word that Mr Varshney had died,’ replied Mr Raval. Varshney’s words from the Kalibangan visit came flooding back into Saini’s head:

These four seals also have a base plate
—a
ceramic plate that can hold them together. The plate came up for auction in Sotheby’s recently and I was able to convince my employers
—
VSKBC Heritage Ltd
—
to bid for it. We succeeded in buying it for a rather large sum of money. It’s now,’ replied Sir Khanorrohttp://kailaibala.blogspot.in/ in a safe deposit box. The instructions to the vault management are that if anything should happen to me, they are to contact you and apprise you of the contents.

‘Yes, I do recall Varshney mentioning the safe deposit box,’ said Saini after a moment’s pause. ‘When may I come in?’

‘This particular branch of South Delhi Safety Vaults Ltd is located at New Friends Colony. We are open seven days a week from ten in the morning till eight at night,’ replied Mr Raval.

Saini made a note of the name, address and operating hours of the establishment.

‘You will need identity proof so that we know that you are who you say you are,’ elaborated Mr Raval.

‘Sure, I’ll bring along my passport,’ said Saini. He tried remembering what Varshney had told him about the contents of the box.

The base plate was handed down through generations even though the seals were lost in antiquity. The base plate eventually reached the hands of Raja Man Singh who was a great Krishna devotee in the sixteenth century. Raja Man Singh had a Sanskrit inscription engraved into the plate and installed it in a Krishna temple that he built in Vrindavan.

‘See you tomorrow in Delhi,’ said Saini.

‘Yes, see you tomorrow,’ said CBI Special Director Sunil Garg, staring at the trembling manager, Mr Rajendra Raval, who had remained frozen in his seat throughout the conversation.

By the ninth day, I knew that as long as Bhishma remained alive and active on the battlefield, the Pandavas would not be able to win. I decided to use Shikhandi to neutralise Bhishma. Shikhandi had been born a girl
—
Amba
—
in a previous birth. Bhishma had refused to marry Amba and, in turn, Amba had sworn revenge. After practising severe austerities, she had received a divine boon that she would be able to kill Bhishma in her next life. Amba then committed suicide to hasten her reincarnation
—
as the daughter of King Drupada. Fearing an attack by Bhishma, Drupada had exiled his daughter to the forest. During her exile, the girl met a Gandharva who offered to exchange his male form for her female one. Having assumed a male form, Shikhandi had returned and enlisted in the army of Drupada, rising to the rank of commander. I knew that if Bhishma were attacked by Shikhandi, he would not fight back owing to the fact that he viewed Shikhandi as a woman, not man. Just as I had predicted, on the tenth day Bhishma threw down his weapons before Shikhandi while a volley of arrows from Arjuna incapacitated him.

Chhedi and Rathore had taken a flight out of Jamnagar into New Delhi. Having checked into the Qutab Hotel, they showered and headed out for an evening meal to Mehrauli. It was a little past nine at night and they settled down in the lounge of a famous
watering-hole a short distance from the Qutub Minar. They had pre-booked a taxi that would pick them up from their hotel and drive them to Agra the next morning.

‘History is a fascinating game of connect-the-dots and this location is where the Somnath saga ends,’ said Chhedi, taking a sip of his whiskey. ‘The Qutub Minar and its surrounding buildings—the
Quwwat ul-Islam Mosque,
the
Alai Gate,
and the
Alai Minar
—were constructed by the Turk Qutb-ud-din Aibak, the first Sultan of Del enclosed within a circle.ho on the Kaliyugahi in the thirteenth century. But Qutb-ud-din Aibak was himself merely a slave of Muhammad Ghori. Ghori was a descendant of the Ghorid tribes who had defeated the Ghaznavid empire of Mahmud Ghazni—the looter of Somnath. See how the journey from Somnath ends here in Delhi?’

Rathore looked away from Chhedi uninterestedly. He needed more whiskey but couldn’t tolerate Chhedi for another hour. He was fed up of the man’s pompous and self-opinionated behaviour. It seemed that there was absolutely no subject that Chhedi could not lecture on.

‘I don’t know about you, but I need a stroll and some fresh air,’ lied Rathore as he got up from their table.

‘We haven’t ordered our dinner yet,’ complained Chhedi.

‘You go ahead and order. I’m taking a walk and will meet you tomorrow morning in the lobby at seven o’clock for our drive to Agra. Have a good night,’ said Rathore, quickly turning around so that Chhedi could not argue.

He walked out of the restaurant and headed towards the Quwwat-ul-Islam mosque bordering the south perimeter of the Qutub Minar. According to a Persian inscription still visible on the eastern gateway, the mosque had been built using parts recovered from the demolition of twenty-seven Hindu and Jain temples.

Further ahead lay the Qutub Minar itself, soaring two hundred and thirty-eight feet into the sky. It had been built as a victory tower to commemorate the defeat of Prithviraj Chauhan, the last Hindu king of Delhi, at the hands of Muhammad Ghori in 1192 CE. Rathore stopped at a kebab joint near the mosque and ordered a kathi roll so that he would be able to eat while walking. He needed to clear his head. The events of the past few days had left him rather disturbed.

He pulled out of his pocket the fax that had been transmitted to him from Jodhpur. It had been sent by Kurkude’s research centre. Rathore had completely forgotten about Radhika’s instruction to check whether any information had been accessed from Professor Kurkude’s secretary’s terminal. He had remembered it that very morning and had picked up a phone to dial the research lab in Jodhpur. ‘Yes, sir, data was indeed downloaded via the terminal’s USB port,’ said the information technology head. ‘It pertained to radioactivity level readings taken across India by our research teams.’