The Krishna Key (24 page)

The reason that no one had been able to help Abhimanyu could be traced to Jayadhrata
—
the brother-in-law of the Kauravas. He had gathered reinforcements and had blocked the entry of Yudhistira and others into the Chakravyuha. Arjuna took a terrible oath: ‘I swear that if I do not eliminate Jayadhrata before sundown, I will
immolate myself!’ Drona was delighted to hear of this. ‘All we need to do is to protect Jayadhrata and Arjuna will have to set himself alight by tomorrow night!’ he said. The fourteenth day dawned and battle commenced. The entire Kaurava a,’ replied Sir Khanlaerme Rrmy positioned itself between Arjuna and Jayadhrata and throughout the day Arjuna was frustrated as all his attempts to reach Jayadhrata were foiled. The sun disappeared and the Kauravas rejoiced. Arjuna prepared to immolate himself, but I told him that I had covered the sun with my own hand to create the illusion of sunset. With the Kauravas having let down their guard, Jayadhrata would be undefended. ‘Just listen carefully for his laughter and shoot your arrow accordingly,’ I instructed. As soon as Arjuna’s arrow met its mark, I released my hand and the sun shone mightily once again.

‘What happened to the Syamantaka after the Rajputs returned to India from Ghazni?’ asked Priya.

‘The stone moved from one secret location to another within the various Rajput kingdoms,’ said Sir Khan. ‘The usual choice for hiding it was always in the temple dedicated to the
Kuldevi
or
Kuldevta
—the family deity—of the royal clan in whose kingdom the stone happened to be. The problem was that hundreds of temples were being demolished by successive Muslim rulers in the early days of Islam and hence the stone had to be shifted very regularly.’

‘And this strategy was successful?’ asked Priya.

‘For the most part,’ answered Sir Khan. ‘The last Rajput ruler who had possession of the stone was
Raja Man Singh who was the king of
Amer
—later known as Jaipur. Man Singh ruled from 1550 to 1614 and had made peace with the Mughals. He was one of the
navaratnas
—the nine jewels—of Akbar’s court. Man Singh’s aunt, Jodhabai, was married to Emperor Akbar.’

‘Man Singh brokered a deal with the enemy,’ spat Priya. ‘It could very well be that he handed over the Syamantaka to Akbar. After all, he was Akbar’s vassal.’

‘That could be one possibility, indeed,’ said Sir Khan. ‘But bear in mind that Raja Man Singh was one of the most ardent and committed Krishna devotees ever. He financed the construction of a grand seven-storeyed temple dedicated to Krishna in Vrindavan. It is said that the cost of construction was ten million rupees. By today’s standards that would be hundreds of millions! It seems unlikely that such an ardent Krishna devotee would let go of something as precious as the Syamantaka.’

‘So where could it have gone?’ asked Priya.

‘The answer is to be found in the Krishna Key—the four seals that were found in Dwarka, Kalibangan, Kurukshetra and Mathura,’ said Sir Khan. ‘The four seals could also be placed like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle on a ceramic baseplate. The baseplate had continued to be handed down from generation to generation even though the seals had remained hidden under the sands of time until archaeologists discovered them recently. The baseplate was also in the custody of Raja Man Singh and it is said that he had a Sanskrit inscription engraved on it and installed it in the Krishna temple that he built in Vrindavan.
His intention was that only devoted Krishna bhakts would ever be able to discover the Syamantak.’

‘I have the four seals,’ said Priya. ‘Where is the baseplate that you speak of?’

‘Before I answer that, look at the four seals closely. You will find that all of them have a square peg at the back,’ said Sir Khan.

Priya took out the four seals from her handbag and placed them on the coffee-table in front of the sofa. Indeed, each seal seem aside hatred and learn to d caped to bear a square peg on the reverse.

‘Such a peg used to be provided on ancient seals so that one could run a ring or string through them. But with these four seals, there is no hole for a ring or thread. What this means is that the pegs are simply meant to secure the four seals firmly to the baseplate. The baseplate had four squarish holes that corresponded to the four square pegs on the seals. Something like this,’ said Sir Khan, quickly sketching what the baseplate had looked like for Priya.

‘That still doesn’t answer my question. Who was the last owner of the baseplate?’ asked Priya.

‘I was,’ said Sir Khan simply.

For the first time, battle continued through the night. An angry Drona said, ‘If Krishna can make day into night, we are free to treat the night as day!’ I decided that we needed Ghatotkacha
—
the rakshasa son of Bhima. Rakshasas were ideally suited to fighting at night. Ghatotkacha came immediately upon being summoned by his father and killed Kauravas by the thousands. Duryodhana rushed to Karana and asked him to
use his spear—the one gifted by Indra. Karana was reluctant because he wanted to use it on Arjuna but he was compelled by Duryodhana to do as he said. Ghatotkacha let out a bloodcurdling scream as the spear plunged into his chest. ‘Don’t fall on the Pandava forces,’ I shouted. ‘Increase your size to the maximum extent possible and then fall on the Kaurava formations. Even in death, you shall be serving your father!’ Ghatotkacha followed my instructions perfectly, and thousands of Kaurava warriors died as he fell on them. Bhima was wild with grief, but I was relieved. Indra’s spear was no longer available to Karana.

Sir Khan took another puff of his cigar and looked at the old black and white photograph of his father that adorned his side table. His thoughts wandered to his childhood and the happy moments that he had spent with his father in simpler times. For a few moments he forgot about the interesting discussion that he was engaged in with Priya.

Sir Khan had not been born with that particular name. His mother had named him
Kanha
—a name favoured by Krishna-bhakts. She had passed away within a year of his birth. Kanha’s father had been the local tinsmith in the village of
Besnagar,
located in the heart of Madhya Pradesh.

His father, Jagatsingh, would tell him wonderful stories about their ancestors, who had been artisans and craftsmen in Mughal times. ‘Seven generations ago, your ancestors were great builders who constructed the finest temples,’ he would tell his son.

The children would often play near a clearing that had a pillar at its centre. To the locals it was known
as
Khamb Baba
and they would kneel down before the pillar and apply vermillion paste to its base. Besnagar was not a very busy place even though one could easily drive to it from the Buddhist site of Sanchi. Jagatsingh would make the children sit near the pillar and explain its history to them.

‘This pillar has been here at this spot for two thousand years. The local inhabitants of Besnagar knew that this pillar was holy but we did not know why. In 1877, an English archaeologist came here and saw the pillar. His name was General exploration. erme R Alexander Cunningham. He saw the column but did not notice the inscription at the bottom because it had been smeared over the years with successive layers of vermillion that we villagers would regularly apply to it,’ he said as the children listened with rapt attention.

‘Did the Englishman try to steal it?’ asked Kanha.

‘Oh no, he was fascinated by it but was unable to make any sense of it,’ replied Jagatsingh. ‘Around twenty years later another English visitor—one Mr Lake—visited Besnagar. He undertook the task of removing the layers of vermillion that had entirely covered the base over hundreds of years.’

‘And what did he find?’ asked the curious children.

‘He uncovered an ancient inscription. He succeeded in deciphering it because it was written in
Brahmi
—the ancient Indian script that was used during Mauryan times,’ said Jagatsingh.

‘Did the Brahmi inscription tell him who built it?’ asked Kanha excitedly.

‘It turned out to be what would later come to be known as the
Heliodorus column,’
replied Jagatsingh.
‘It had been built and installed by Heliodorus—the Greek ambassador to this region in 113 BCE. King Antialkidas—the Greek king of Taxila, had sent Heliodorus as ambassador to the court of King Bhagabhadra, who ruled Besnagar. Apparently, Heliodorus had been one of the earliest Greek converts to Vaishnavism.’

‘And what did the inscription say?’ asked the children.

‘The inscription on the column said that
this Garuda column of Vasudeva, the God of gods, was erected here by Heliodorus, a worshiper of Vishnu, the son of Dion, and an inhabitant of Taxila, who came as Greek ambassador from the Great King Antialkidas to King Kasiputra Bhagabhadra, the Savior, then reigning prosperously in the fourteenth year of his kingship. Three important precepts when practiced lead to heaven: self-restraint, charity, and conscientiousness,’
intoned Jagatsingh. ‘You do realise what this means, don’t you?’

The children remained silent, confused by the information given to them by their mentor. Jagatsingh took a deep breath before resuming.

‘What this inscription tells us is that Heliodorus—a Greek ambassador—had become a devotee of Vishnu and was fully conversant with ancient texts as well as religious observances,’ said Jagatsingh. ‘It is thus evident that several other Greeks would also have adopted Krishna-worship under the influence of their ambassador. Till then, British historians had held the view that Krishna was simply a corruption of Christ and that legends of Krishna had been absorbed from the Bible. The Heliodorus column proved all of
them wrong. It proved that Krishna-worship and the Vaishnava tradition predated Christianity by many hundreds—if not thousands—of years.’

I knew that we needed to get rid of Drona if the Pandava forces were to gain the upper hand. I asked Bhima to kill an elephant named Aswatthama, which was also the name of Drona’s son. The next day, I asked all the Pandava warriors to loudly proclaim that Aswatthama had died. Drona refused to believe the other warriors, so he turned to Yudhistira, who had the stellar reputation of never telling a lie. ‘Is it true, Yudhistira? Is Aswatthama really dead?’ asked Drona. A guilty Yudhistira nodded and,’ replied Sir Khan5P on the Kaliyuga said, ‘Yes. Aswatthama is dead… maybe it was an elephant, or possibly it was a man…’ but Drona never heard the second part of the sentence. He put down his weapons, got off his chariot and sat down in meditation. ‘Kill him,’ I shouted, but the Pandavas were worried. ‘He’s a Brahmin—how can we kill him?’ they asked. ‘He was the son of a Brahmin but lived the life of a Kshatriya. Let him die as a Kshatriya on the battlefield!’ I shouted. Finally, Dhrishtadyumna
—
the son of Drupada
—
pulled out his sword and beheaded Drona.