The Krishna Key (22 page)

‘Could you tell me, in brief, what those readings were?’ Rathore had asked.

‘Better still, I can send you a map of the locations where we found that the readings were elevated,’ said the IT chief. True to his word, he had faxed to Rathore
the map derived from the radioactivity readings—the very same readings stolen by Taarak. Rathore looked at the fax as he ate his kathi roll.

Analysis had never been his strong point and Rathore folded the map and put it back in his pocket as soon as his kathi roll was consumed. He looked at his watch. It was past eleven. Time to head back towards the hotel for much needed sleep. He decided to take a quick round of the Qutub complex before heading back.

In the distance he could see the famous Iron Pillar of Delhi. The pillar that weighed more than six tons
had been fashioned sixteen hundred years previously by Emperor Chandragupta Vikramaditya of the Gupta dynasty. The pillar had initially stood in the centre of a complex comprising twenty-seven temples that had eventually been demolished to build the mosque,’ replied Sir Khan name sai and the tower. The pillar had always been a source of fascination to metallurgists who had been unable to comprehend how ancient Indian blacksmiths had succeeding in creating an iron pillar that had stood corrosion-free for hundreds of years.

As Rathore approached the pillar he noticed that a beggar seemed to have fallen asleep within the steel fence that surrounded the pillar. He ignored him and headed over to the Alai Minar—an incomplete tower that Alauddin Khilji, the most powerful of his Turkic-Afghan dynasty, had started to build to rival the Qutub Minar. Rathore turned and took a walk along the perimeter of the Qutub complex, looking appreciatively at the tombs of Muslim rulers of Delhi that dotted the boundary. He was soon back near the Iron Pillar.

Out of curiosity he looked at the base of the pillar where the beggar had fallen asleep. What he saw made his hair stand on end. Lying on the circular wooden platform at the base of the Delhi’s most famous pillar was no sleeping beggar but the lifeless body of Devendra Chhedi. ‘Damn!’ cursed Rathore to himself as he ran forward. ‘I should never have left him alone.’

At this time of night the area was deserted and Rathore called up the number of his counterpart in Delhi to seek assistance. Reaching the pillar, he climbed the steel fence that barricaded it from unruly tourists and knelt down beside Chhedi. He quickly placed two
fingers in the hollow between Chhedi’s windpipe and neck muscle. He pressed lightly, praying that there would be a faint pulse but was out of lu taken the leisurely stroll along the perimeter circuit he might have been in time to save Chhedi.

He stepped back from the body and surveyed the scene of the crime. Chhedi was seated with his back to the pillar and with his legs stretched out before him on the circular wooden platform that surrounded the pillar. Stuck in his left foot was a surgical scalpel from which blood had poured out in copious quantities to form a massive puddle within which Chhedi sat. On his forehead was the impression left by a rubber stamp. It was a mace, the fourth symbol of Vishnu.

Around halfway up the pillar was a Sanskrit inscription in Brahmi script. It indicated that the pillar had been erected as a standard in honour of Lord Vishnu by a valorous king—Chandragupta Vikramaditya. Below the engraved inscription of sixteen hundred years was another Sanskrit one written sixteen minutes previously in Chhedi’s blood—also in honour of Vishnu.

Mleccha-nivaha-nidhane kalayasi karavalam
dhumaketum iva kim api karalam
kesava dhrita-kalki-sarira jaya jagadisa hare.

Rathore continued talking on his mobile phone as he coordinated with the Delhi police to reach the spot. From the distance, Taarak Vakil watched the scene unfold as he dialled Priya’s number on his iPhone.

As Bhishma fell, Arjuna created a bed of arrows on the ground so that Bhishma could rest on them and decide when he would give up his mortal frame. Arjuna shot a couple of more arrows into the ground from which fresh water sprang up to quench the old warrior’s thirst. Karana would now join the war and Drona would take over the command of the Kaurava forces. Unlike Bhishma, who simply wanted to push the Pandavas back without necessarily harming them, Drona wanted at least one of the key Pandavas to fall. The battle strategies became much fiercer in response to this change.

Priya saw her phone sc exploratione is Saini and Radhikareen flash. It did not make a sound as it was on silent mode. She was in Mumbai, seated in the luxurious study of Sir Khan along with her father. She picked up the phone, heard Taarak’s information and put the phone down. Looking up at Sir Khan she said, ‘Chhedi is dead. All four have been eliminated as per your instructions.’

‘This makes it easier to take our quest to finality,’ said Sir Khan.

‘I have done whatever you wanted me to because I thought it would help me find Krishna. I have travelled the length and breadth of this country, including braving the snowy slopes of Mount Kailash, but still have no idea what I’m looking for,’ said Priya. ‘Is it a nuclear Brahmastra or is it ancient DNA left behind by Krishna?’

‘Should I put an end to your confusion? Should I tell you once and for all what it is that I hope to find?’ asked Sir Khan.

‘Please,’ begged Priya. Her face was flushed and her heart was beating rapidly. It was the moment that she had been waiting for.

‘I am searching for a stone,’ replied Sir Khan. ‘It’s not just any stone. In Western literature it has been called the Philosopher’s Stone, but in Hindu mythology, this stone had a very specific name.’

‘What is that?’ asked Priya, breathing heavily in anticipation.

‘It is known by the name
Syamantaka,’
declared Sir Khan, releasing a puff of Cuban cigar smoke from his mouth to add dramatic effect to his words.

‘The Syamantaka? But surely that’s just myth,’ began Priya.

‘You are mistaken,’ interrupted Sir Khan. ‘The Syamantaka was not a jewel as claimed in mythological texts. It was a stone that had almost magical properties. It is said in the
Vishnu Purana
that the Syamantaka originally belonged to Surya—the sun god. The stone had specific alchemic properties and was capable of producing eight
bharas
of gold daily. The modern
equivalent would be around a hundred and seventy pounds of gold each day!’

‘What happened to the Syamantaka?’ asked Sanjay Ratnani.

‘The story about the Syamantaka stone goes like this,’ began Sir Khan. ‘Satrajit, a Yadava chief, prayed to Surya devotedly. When Surya appeared before him and granted him a wish, Satrajit asked for the Syamantaka, which Surya generously bestowed upon him. Satrajit presented the stone to his brother Prasenajit.’

‘So the stone became the possession of Prasenajit?’ asked Ratnani.

‘Only for a short while,’ replied Sir Khan. ‘Prasenajit was attacked by a lion. Having killed Prasenajit, the lion made off with the stone but was himself attacked by Jambavan—the king of bears. Krishna was known to have had his eye on the stone and thus he was suspected of having killed Prasenajit. Krishna was able to track down the bear’s cave and retrieve the stone.’

‘Krishna kept the stone thereafter?’ asked Ratnani.

‘No. Krishna returned the stone to Satrajit who felt terrible for having wrongly accused Krishna. As recompense he offered his daughter Satyabhama’s hand in marriage to Krishna along with the Syamantaka. Krishna accepted the hand of Satyabhama but refused to accept the stone.’

‘What happened next?’ asked Ratnani. a black-masked commando carrying a sal sai

‘Some time later, Krishna was on a journey away from Dwarka when a plot was hatched to kill Satrajit,’ said Sir Khan. ‘Another Yadava by the name of
Satadhanwa killed Satrajit, took the Syamantaka and left it with Akroora—the one who had helped Krishna by warning him of Kansa’s intentions. When Krishna heard of it, he tracked down Satrajit’s murderer and killed him. Then Krishna called Akroora and forced him to confess. Akroora told Krishna the truth about the conspiracy. Krishna allowed Akroora to remain the custodian of the stone on one condition: the stone was to always remain in Dwarka.’

‘Did
the stone remain in Dwarka?’ asked the old lawyer.

‘Neither the
Puranas
nor the
Mahabharata
talk about what happened to the Syamantaka after Krishna’s death and the inundation of Dwarka, but we do know that Krishna and his Yadava clans were in Prabhas Patan—modern Somnath—when Dwarka was inundated,’ said Sir Khan. ‘Krishna was killed accidentally by the hunter Jara in Prabhas Patan. Just think about it, isn’t it possible that the Syamantaka was kept in Somnath after Krishna’s death? More specifically, isn’t it rather likely that it was kept
inside
the temple for safekeeping?’

‘Let’s assume that you are right, how can we be sure that the Syamantaka was an alchemist’s stone?’ asked Priya.

‘When Mahmud Ghazni attacked Somnath, he took away virtually everything that he possibly could,’ said Sir Khan. ‘There were several solid gold and silver idols inlaid with precious gems. It is said that the estimated value of the loot was twenty million dinars. It’s impossible to calculate the equivalent in modern exchange rates. What we do know is that Mahmud Ghazni and his army carted off around six and a half
tons of gold. Based upon the historical chart of gold prices maintained by the Bank of England, the modern-day value of Ghazni’s gold would have been around two hundred and sixty billion dollars! Before returning to Ghazni, Mahmud demolished the temple and set fire to whatever remained. If we open up our minds to the possibility of alchemy, isn’t it a reasonable hypothesis that much of Somnath’s gold may have come from an alchemical process?’

Priya was stunned into silence.

Sir Khan spoke once again. ‘Isn’t it also possible that the Syamantaka was not really a stone but an ancient alchemical isotope that was capable of nuclear transmutation? Isn’t it conceivable that the Syamantaka was stored within the lingam and that it was this Syamantaka that created the magnetic field that allowed the lingam to hover off the ground?’

‘But a lingam cannot be hollow,’ argued Priya.

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said Sir Khan. ‘There are some very interesting accounts of Mahmud Ghazni’s attack on Somnath. According to Firishta, a Persian historian who lived in the sixteenth century, Mahmud approached the Shiv lingam with his mace, ready to destroy it. Firishta says that the temple priests offered to put together a huge ransom if Ghazni would spare the sacred symbol of Shiv. Ghazni apparently declared that he wished to be remembered as a breaker of idols rather than as a seller of idols. Having said that, he swung his mace down on the lingam. It is here that Firishta’s account gets really interesting. Firishta says that some stones came pouring out from the lingam when it was shattered.’

‘And it’s your view that Firishta’s account is accurate?’ asked Priya.

‘Most modern historians have dismissed Firishta’s account of this incident because lingams are usually solid stone blocks,’ replied Sir Khan. ‘But what if Somnath was different? After all, there is no Shiv temple anywhere in the world that has a magnetically suspended lingam even today. If Somnath could have one several hundred years ago wouldn’t it have been even more likely that the lingam would have been kept hollow to reduce its weight? Then why is it impossible that the lingam may have yielded the Syamantaka stone that lay inside it?’