The Krishna Key (33 page)

‘Your place or mine?’ asked Radhika lightly, as she settled into the driver’s seat. She was staying at the same hotel where Rathore had booked himself in, whereas Saini’s house was fifteen minutes away. ‘Mine,’ said Saini absolutely seriously, staring into her eyes.

‘And this time I promise that I will not search the premises or take away anything as evidence,’ she said with a straight face.

As they entered Saini’s home, they fell together on the couch, and Saini kissed Radhika on her lips for the first time. She held on to him tightly almost as though she wanted to consume him and, in turn, be consumed by him. Their lovemaking was gentle but passionate, almost like the graceful and unhurried movements of a slow waltz. After they had made love on the couch, they went upstairs to Saini’s bedroom and lay on the bed side by side, with Radhika’s head nestled against his chest. Saini felt a sensation of wetness on his chest and looked down to see Radhika
crying. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said softly, ‘it’s just that it’s the first time that I’ve been with anyone since Hari died’.

In the morning, they went down to the kitchen only to find that the refrigerator was mostly empty. Fresh milk had been left by the milkman at the entrance though and they made tea. A packet of oatmeal biscuits came to the rescue and breakfast consisted of those dunked in tea. Radhika, who rarely drank tea, given her propensity for whole milk and almonds, kept losing her biscuits in her tea. She finally gave up. ‘Women do not know how much and for how long to put it in,’ teased Saini. ‘That’s why God assigned the job to men.’

‘Careful, you’ll be having dry biscuits for the rest of your life if there’s no tea to dunk it in,’ admonished Radhika. Within minutes they were back on the couch, but this time their passion did not manifest itself as a waltz so much as a delicious tango.

As they showered together later, Saini asked, ‘What say we take a romantic trip—just you and me?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Oh yes! That would be wonderful. Which destination was on your mind?’ she asked eagerly.

‘I’m told that the Taj Mahal is very romantic at this time of the year,’ he said smiling.

The birth of Parikshit brought back joy to Yudhistira because he now knew that the Pandava lineage was secure. He decided that it was time to perform the Ashwamedha Yajna. A royal horse would be set loose and would be allowed to roam freely for a year. Kingdoms that allowed the horse to pass through would automatically accept Yudhistira’s suzerainty. Those kingdoms that did not would have to battle Yudhistira. The horse wandered through many lands, including those of Shakuni and Jayadhrata, and was not stopped. Even though they had been enemies of the Pandavas, they were now allies. In Manipura, Arjuna was welcomed by its ruler
—
Babruvahana
—
who was actually Arjuna’s son from Princess Chitrangada. Arjuna chided the young man. ‘This is not warrior-like, my son! Fight me. Don’t make it so easy for me to overrun your kingdom!’ Babruvahana not only fought but also succeeded in piercing Arjuna’s heart with his arrow. Arjuna was revived by the power of a magic,’ replied Sir Khanprison on the Kaliyugaal gem provided by Babruvahana’s stepmother, a Naga princess, Uloopi. Arjuna eventually returned to Hastinapur, along with the sacrificial horse, bringing even greater power and glory to the Pandavas.

Arriving at the entrance of the tomb complex and the imposing thirty-metre-high gatehouse, Saini
and Radhika walked hand-in-hand through the ornamental
Charbagh
gardens of the Taj Mahal. The first sight of the Taj Mahal was breath-taking in every detail—the glorious central dome, the forty-metre-high minarets at each of the four corners, the River Yamuna flowing behind the Taj, the colourful floral inlays, and the exquisite marble latticework.

Saini and Radhika were content. They had each other and they were strolling through the gardens of the Taj Mahal—the eternal symbol of undying love. The romantic mood was temporarily shattered by the buzzing of Radhika’s telephone.

‘It’s Rathore for you,’ said Radhika, handing over the phone to Saini.

‘The gates which are on display at the Agra Fort are replicas, not originals,’ said Rathore to Saini dispensing with customary pleasantries.

‘How can we be sure?’ asked Saini.

‘They’re made of local deodar wood from the province of Ghazni, not sandalwood—the material used in the original Somnath doors,’ replied Rathore.

‘Was carbon-dating carried out on them?’ asked Saini.

‘Not as far as I know,’ replied Rathore. ‘The Islamic calligraphy was evident on the doors, hence carbon-dating was redundant. The doors were not from Somnath. But I did find out something rather interesting from the tour guide.’

‘What?’ asked Saini.

‘In 1842, Edward Law, who was the First Earl of Ellenborough, issued the Proclamation of the Gates,’
said Rathore. ‘In this proclamation he ordered the British troops in Afghanistan to bring back the sandal-wood gates that had been taken away by Ghazni from Somnath. The regiment that was responsible for bringing back the gates was the Jat Regiment.’

‘Okay, so the Jats wanted the doors back and they got them back. What happened to the doors after that?’ asked Saini.

‘Well, the gates had apparently been reinstalled in Ghazni’s tomb. After lengthy debates in the British House of Commons, the gates were removed from Mahmud’s tomb and brought back to India, but they turned out to be replicas instead of the originals. They were kept in the Agra Fort where they continue to sit till today,’ said Rathore.

‘Thanks for the update. We’re just about getting started on our tour of the Taj Mahal. If you like you can come here and join us,’ said Saini, hanging up. He and Radhika continued walking towards the Taj Mahal.

As they neared the monument, Saini stopped for a moment. He looked up at the central dome of the Taj Mahal and continued to stare. Radhika nudged him and said, ‘I thought that you only had eyes for me.’ Saini continued to stare at the dome. Realising that something had caught Saini’s attention, Radhika asked, ‘What is it, Ravi? What have you suddenly seen?’

‘Do you see the pinnacle?’ asked Saini.

Radhika nodded. ‘Sure. It has the familiar Islamic crescent on the top. What’s bothering you?’ she asked.

‘Look at it closely,’ said Saini. ‘It’s not merely a crescent with stars, as is the usual Islamic symbolism. Yes, the crescent is indeed present, but above it is a water pot containing bent mango leaves with the leaves supporting a coconut. Do you see what I am saying?’

Radhika gasped as she peered at the pinnacle with greater focus. For years, she had assumed that the symbol was entirely Islamic but had never paused to study it carefully. ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ she asked.

‘Look at the building itself. Does anything strike you about its shape and design?’ he asked, continuing to stare at the monument.

‘Well, it has four towers at the corners and a bulging dome in the centre,’ said Radhika, keeping her voice light.

‘No, no, forget the towers—or the dome—for the moment,’ said Saini, impatiently. ‘Just look at the shape of the structure! We all think that the Taj Mahal has a square layout but that’s merely an illusion created by its square base and four corner minarets. When you observe the structure carefully you will
see that it has eight facets—it’s an octagon. Look at it again!’

‘Why is the fact that it is octagonal so important?’ asked Radhika, slightly confused by Saini’s new obsession.

‘The number eight is sacred to Hindus because it represents the four cardinal and four ordinal directions. But why should eight sides be of any relevance to a Muslim tomb? Look up again, Radhika.’

Radhika obeyed his instructions for fear of hurting his feelings, but she wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted her to see. ‘See the main dome?’ he asked, pointing to it in the distance. ‘That is not a naked dome. On top you have an inverted lotus flower—again a Hindu symbol!’

Saini suddenly caught Radhika by her hand and pulled her towards the main entrance arch of the monument. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, as she trotted briskly to keep up with Saini, although he was limping.

‘Look up,’ he again commanded. Radhika indulged him once more but with some irritation. ‘See the apex of the entrance arch? Sitting atop the arch is a red lotus!’

‘Enough of the outside, let’s go in,’ said Saini, almost dragging Radhika along. They walked up the steps of the marble plinth on which the Taj Mahal
stood and headed towards Mumtaz Mahal’s cenotaph. As they approached it, Saini urgently whispered, ‘Look at that. Do you see what I see?’

‘What?’ asked Radhika, now thoroughly disoriented by the rapid-fire questions and answers.

‘Look at the enclosure that holds the cenotaphs of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan,’ urged Saini. ‘Notice the shape. It’s an octagon—eight sides yet again! This preponderance of Hindu features in a Muslim shrine is incredible!’