The Mahabharata Secret (25 page)

He pulled out the simple robes, cloaks and shawls and dumped them in a pile by the side of the trunk.

As he pulled out a brown shawl something fell from within the folds of the cloth. It was a package which had been stored away for safekeeping.

He recognised the package as the one containing the metal disk and the texts he had discovered a few months ago, when the statues had been destroyed. He had forgotten about them.

A thought struck him. Mohammed Bin Jabal had arrived a few days ago. He had been introduced to him at one of the gatherings that had been held to facilitate the Al Qaeda leader. The destruction of the World Trade Centre in New York two weeks ago had created a buzz within the Taliban and respect for Al Qaeda and Bin Laden had risen by several notches.

Bin Jabal had come to review the operations of the Taliban in this part of Afghanistan, as rumours swirled fast and furious that America was planning to launch military operations in Afghanistan with the objective of flushing out Bin Laden.

But it wasn’t the purpose of Bin Jabal’s visit that Baran was now thinking about.

He had been told by one of his Taliban comrades that Bin Jabal was also an Al Qaeda expert on antiquities and a trader on the international black market. It was one of the means Al Qaeda employed to raise funds for its activities within Afghanistan and outside.

Baran looked at the package again. The novelty of the discovery had faded with time. Even as a souvenir, it had hardly matched up to the rocks—fragments of the fallen Buddhas— that Baran had brought home with him. Was there any further use of keeping them with him?

He made a decision. He’d speak to Bin Jabal and show him the texts. Perhaps he could read the script and determine if they were of any value. Surely Bin Jabal could help him get some money for them?

Money would be good. They needed new clothes for the winter. He strode out of the house purposefully, the package tucked under his arm, the pile of clothes at the side of the trunk totally forgotten.

29

Present Day

Day 8
Patna

For a moment, Vijay stood there, frozen, unsure if he should try something. Then, realising that the odds of succeeding were stacked against him; he sighed and slowly put the rock ball on the ground and straightened up, his hands in the air.

The two gunmen approached him cautiously. Farooq had instructed them to take him alive. They had been shooting at him only to deter him from trying any attacking manoeuvres and were taking no chances after his last escape from their clutches.

One of the men put the rock ball back into the bag, hefting it over his shoulder. The other man prodded Vijay in the ribs with the gun and together, the three walked away from the hawker market.

Vijay was surprised at how well the men seemed to know their way around the town. They were definitely not locals, by their accents or looks. The only other possibility was that they had done a thorough virtual recce of the area, which meant that they were well equipped with maps and GPS equipment. Whoever these men were, they were well-funded. And able to carry their guns with them wherever they travelled. He didn’t know how they had managed to pull that off but the fact that they had was a scary thought.

Presently, they came to where two black Ford Endeavours were parked in a vacant parking lot. The place seemed deserted apart from the two SUVs and eight armed men waiting for them.

Vijay’s hands were bound behind his back and he was roughly shoved into the Ford. He wanted to resist but he knew that it would be futile. As he sat there, wondering what was going to happen next, he realised they weren’t moving on.

What were they waiting for?

Moments passed, and he could hear the men talking in guttural tones outside the SUV. He couldn’t understand what they were saying so he tried to focus on keeping his thoughts optimistic. Maybe Farooq would let him off after taking the stone ball from him.

His hopes were rudely dashed to the ground as the SUV door opened once more and Radha, bound at the wrists, was forced into the seat next to him. His heart sank and something inside him seemed to cave in as he saw the terror on her face.

As he gaped at her, horrified at this turn of events, two men slid into the front seats of the vehicle and two clambered into the rear seats, and the SUV lurched forward and out of the parking lot.

Vijay wanted to comfort Radha, but words failed him. His own terror had given way to an inexplicable sense of despondency and all he could do was stare at her as if, by sheer willpower, he could secure her freedom.

Radha said nothing, but stared back, wide-eyed, at him. She knew there was little they could do to get out of this situation. And there was nothing that her father or Colin or White could do to help them either.

They were well and truly prisoners.

IB Headquarters On The Alert

Arjun Vaid listened intently, his entire attention on the speakerphone, ignoring the two IB officers sitting across his desk. He had recognised the voice of Bheem Singh, when he’d called Imran, and didn’t have to listen too long to realise that Imran’s hunch was correct. There had been a flurry of action after that, even as he stayed on the call, trying not to miss anything in the conversation.

The call was now being recorded and Vaid had even called up the Home Minister and patched the call through to him so he could hear the conversation for himself. The Home Minister was known for his integrity and Vaid knew that, whatever Bheem Singh was up to, the Home Minister wouldn’t have known about it.

A team of commandos had been immediately despatched to Bheem Singh’s farmhouse, with instructions to secure the building and ensure that none of the evidence was destroyed. With Bheem Singh’s influence and political clout, Vaid wanted to ensure that they had enough to guarantee that he wouldn’t get away after this. And he knew that he had a responsibility to get Imran out of this mess.

As the conversation progressed, the realisation dawned on Vaid that this entire situation was more complex and ran much deeper than any of them had imagined.

‘So now you understand,’ Bheem Singh was saying, a hint of triumph in his voice, ‘that this plan is infallible. In a few months, we’ll rule the world.’ He chuckled. There was silence in response. It seemed that Imran had no answer to this boast.

‘Enough about me,’ Bheem Singh continued, as if Imran’s response didn’t matter. ‘Let’s talk about you. How do we end this? Let’s see...’ He broke off and there was silence again.

‘You won’t get away with this,’ Imran said in a strained voice. ‘Even if you kill me, they’ll get you.’

‘They?’ Bheem Singh sounded puzzled. ‘Who? Oh, I see, the IB. My dear fellow, how on earth do you think they’ll ever know what happened to you or how I was connected with your disappearance? You don’t think I’m naive enough not to cover my tracks?’ He paused.

Vaid heard a buzzing sound over the speakerphone, but couldn’t identify it.

‘Now this is what Steve Buckworth would call “cool”.’ There was a trace of admiration in Bheem Singh’s voice. ‘An ancient weapon, as old as Indian civilisation itself. Kills cleanly.’

Vaid looked at his watch. Where were the commandos? Why hadn’t they reached?

30

January 2003

Vikram Singh’s apartment, New Delhi

Vikram Singh sat at his desk in his study, and gazed with mixed emotions at the strips of bark bound together. A sense of elation swept over him. But his delight was tempered with bewilderment at the mysterious emergence of these texts after their equally mystifying disappearance 1,500 years ago.

He looked up from the books to the man who sat on the other side of the desk.

Farooq Siddiqui beamed at Vikram. His guess had been correct. The texts were important.

‘This is amazing!’ Vikram’s eyes shone with excitement.

‘Can you read the script then?’

‘Of course. It’s in Kharosthi. An ancient language of India.’

Farooq leaned forward. ‘And what do they say?’

Instead of reading the text, Vikram explained how the texts and disk had gone missing with an astronomer in the court of the first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh.

‘The first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh? You mean the same Rajvirgarh that Bheem Singh’s family ruled?’ Inwardly, Farooq was smiling. So this is how Bheem Singh and Van Klueck had known about the Nine.

Vikram nodded. ‘The same. The first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh was Bheem Singh’s ancestor and started the dynasty. According to the legend, his court astronomer vanished one day. The Maharaja launched a search for him but it was like he had disappeared off the face of the earth. With him were lost some of the most secret texts of the Nine and one of the two metal disks that were part of the puzzle that the Nine had created to hide the location of their secret.’

‘You mean a metal disk like this?’ Farooq reached within his bag and drew out a circular slab of metal.

Vikram’s hands trembled with excitement as he took the disk from Farooq. He placed it on the desk next to the texts and studied it. Suddenly, he looked up.

‘Where did you get these from, Farooq? The texts, the metal disk, it’s almost as if you met the missing astronomer and got these off him. These artefacts have been missing for 1,500 years. How did they suddenly re-surface?’

‘They aren’t fake, I assure you.’

‘I know they aren’t fakes. I’m just curious where you got them from.’

‘Oh, I ran across a dealer in antiquities in Afghanistan,’ Farooq replied, nonchalantly. ‘He had these with him and didn’t know their value. The moment I laid my eyes on them, I figured they were important. But I couldn’t read the script, so I brought them to you.’

‘These are in very good condition, for their age.’ Vikram handled the strips of bark with a pair of forceps so as to not damage them. ‘The only reason they have survived since the sixth century ad is because they’ve been written on the bark of the
bhoj
tree, which is resistant to decay and decomposition. And if they were found in Afghanistan, then the arid conditions and freezing winter temperatures would have helped preserve them.’

‘And what do they say?’ Farooq pressed.

‘Lots of things. There’s a list of the names of the original members of the Nine. There’s a mission statement, the purpose for which the brotherhood was formed. There are also some instructions that look like directions to a hidden location.’ A tremor entered his voice as he spoke the next words. ‘And it has the lost book of the Mahabharata, the
Vimana Parva
, which was never documented officially. It describes the secret of the Nine.’

Farooq was astonished. ‘You mean they documented all that? Why?’

Vikram shrugged. ‘It’s not like anyone could read this. Even if you knew Kharosthi, it would seem no more than the narration of an ancient myth and the story of the Nine. Even the
Vimana Parva
wouldn’t be recognised by anyone not aware of its existence or familiar with its contents. The texts are in the form of verses. Few people would be able to interpret their true meaning.’

‘You’re well qualified for that, I know,’ Farooq grinned. ‘So, is the hidden location described in these texts the place where the Nine concealed their secret?’

Vikram shook his head. ‘Can’t be. That wouldn’t make sense. Why would the Nine go to great lengths to devise a puzzle to protect the location of the secret and then document its location?’

‘So, what’s the secret of the Nine?’

Vikram smiled at him. ‘Do you think you are ready and prepared for the answer? To know what it was that Emperor Asoka thought could pose such a great danger to the world?’

Farooq stared back, his face serious now. ‘I believe I am.’

Vikram leaned forward and fixed him with his gaze. ‘Then, I’ll read you the
Vimana Parva
. Prepare to be amazed as I reveal to you the secret of the Nine!’

31

January 2004

The Dorchester Hotel, London

A tall, man made his way through the lobby of the hotel to the elevators. He had an aquiline nose and silver grey hair. The rimless spectacles he wore added to his stern visage. Anyone encountering him would speculate that he was a rich European businessman and immensely wealthy.

This speculation would not have been entirely wrong. Christian Van Klueck was Austrian by nationality and a businessman by profession; but his family had been wealthy for generations, having run a prosperous trading business that covered most of the globe. While the Van Kluecks traced their lineage back hundreds of years—some of Christian’s ancestors had counted among the nobility in the Hapsburg court—some rumours went as far as to suggest that some of Christian’s early ancestors were not the honourable men they were made out to be but had surreptitiously indulged in piracy on the high seas, looting and sinking ships, thus adding to their hoard of treasure and riches. Over the last three generations, however, the family had kept up with the times and diversified into businesses that were critical to global business and trade. Through this strategy, they had not only succeeded in multiplying their wealth several times, but they had also strengthened their influence in the political arenas of most of the countries in which they operated. Some said that the influence of the Van Kluecks was stronger than that of the United Nations, though they had never been known to wield this influence in any overt manner.

Van Klueck rode up in the elevator to the top floor, which housed the Harlequin Suite.

The door opened to reveal a man who was roughly the same age as Van Klueck and as tall, but broader in the shoulder and bulkier than the European. His mop of grey hair rested atop an aristocratic face.

Bheem Singh beamed at Van Klueck and motioned for him to enter.

So, what’s the news’? Bheem Singh asked him once he was seated on the couch.

‘I met with Farooq. In Pakistan.’ Van Klueck said, taking a gulp of the fine single malt whisky offered by his host. ‘He wasn’t bluffing. He’s got what we want.’

Bheem Singh visibly perked up. ‘The metal disk? Finally? You saw it?’

Van Klueck smiled at the Maharaja’s perceptible excitement. ‘Yes, I saw it. Held it in my hands. And not just the disk. Texts about the brotherhood and the lost book of the Mahabharata and a document with instructions to a secret location. He’s got them all translated. They corroborate the documents you found in your fort. We were right about the secret. And now we have the means to locate it.’