‘Call me Amita,’ she said pleasantly as she met them outside the gates of the temple. ‘So, shall we start the grand tour?’
The men nodded. ‘Lead on,’ said Chhedi grandly.
‘I figure that both of you are already familiar with the number of times that this temple was built and destroyed so I shall not go into details of that,’ began Amita. ‘Let me just say that after the 1706 destruction, the present mandir was not reconstructed until 1951. After Indian Independence in 1947, a committee was constituted with the objective of rebuilding the temple
at the very spot along the seashore where the original temple had stood. Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel played a critical role in spearheading the project and that’s why you see his statue right here at the entrance.’
‘Is this temple similar to the one which was destroyed in 1706?’ asked Chhedi.
‘Good question,’ replied Amita. ‘The present temple was completed in 1951 and, for the most part, duplicates the original structure. The stone façade appears golden at sunset, which is very much in keeping with the Somnath legend. As you can see, the present mandir is built in traditional design, and is a symmetrical but sinuous structure. It has a fifty-metre-high tower that rises in clusters and can be observed from great distances. Vedic architects from all over India contributed to the reconstruction. Here’s a picture of the ruins of Somnath as sketched in 1869.’
Rathore and Chhedi gasped. Looking at the ruins, one could picture the extent of the onslaught that Somnath had faced from attackers down the ages. ‘Here’s a picture of the present structure that you are now looking at,’ said Amita, handing over her album to the men.
‘What about the Shiv lingam inside? Is that new or is it the original?’ asked Rathore.
‘The Somnath lingam has always been considered the most important of the twelve Jyotir lingams in India,’ replied Amita. ‘The ancient lingam was believed to be Swayambhu—or self-born exploratione. b. Unfortunately, it was smashed to pieces in the year 1026. All the lingas that were installed thereafter ended up getting destroyed by a succession of attackers. The present lingam is the largest of the twelve in India. It’s a greyish granite block about a metre high and around sixty centimetres in diameter. During an archaeological excavation in 1940 by the Archaeological Survey of India, the original slab on which the lingam rests was discovered and the new lingam was fixed on this.’
‘There was something I recently read about the doors having been taken away by Mahmud Ghazni and being returned to the temple later,’ remarked Chhedi.
‘Ah. Yes, in 1842, Edward Law, the First Earl of Ellenborough, issued the Proclamation of the Gates. In this proclamation he ordered the British troops in Afghanistan to bring back the sandalwood gates that had been taken away by Ghazni from Somnath.’
‘I had heard about how Krishna was shot in his foot by a hunter near Somnath. Does the Somnath temple commemorate the spot where he died?’ asked Rathore.
‘No,’ replied Amita. ‘The Somnath temple existed many hundreds of years prior to Krishna. In fact we know that Krishna reconstructed the temple during his own lifetime also. Hence, the Somnath temple does not commemorate the spot where Krishna was killed. Just north of Somnath—on the way to Veraval—is another temple called Bhalka Tirtha. It is this particular temple that is located on the site where Krishna was shot. Very close to the temple is a cave known as Baldev Gufa. According to legend this is the cave where Krishna’s elder brother Balarama gave up his body and went back to his Sheshnag form.’
As the trio walked along the temple pathway, a priest with a gentle face appeared. He appeared to be headed towards the Dwarakadheesh temple. Around his shoulders was a saffron shawl bearing innumerable impressions of a single chant, Hare Krishna. He was bald, except for the Brahmin’s lock at the back of his head. From his shoulder ran a sacred thread diagonally across his chest. On his forehead was a simple tilak and around his neck were sacred beads. ‘Hare Krishna,’ he chanted. The trio folded their hands and the holy man smiled and conveyed his blessings. ‘I know what you seek,’ said the pujari cryptically. ‘Remember one thing though… the philosopher is more important than the stone.’
It was then that I decided to tell Arjuna the truth about myself—about my divinity. ‘I take on a human manifestation and the fools do not recognise me as the supreme one. I am the creator of your universe. I am the objective of meditation, ritual and prayer. I am the stuff that makes the soul of all beings. I am the beginning, middle, and end,’ I said as I took on my universal omnipotent form. Arjuna was now able to see me as divinity and said, ‘I am now convinced of the truth that you speak. I shall no longer doubt you. Instead, I shall fight, because that is my duty!’
Radhika awoke to find Saini sleeping on the chair next to her bed. She felt vaguely that she was in some sort of hospital or infirmary, but her mind was hazy. The hypothermia had taken its toll. She stretched out her arm and tapped Saini’s shoulder. He awoke with a start but was pleasantly relieved to see Radhika smiling at him.
‘You scared the living daylights out of me,’ he said to her. ‘Inside the cave, I really thought that y,’ replied Sir KhanM1 on the Kaliyugaou were a goner.’
‘It’s not that easy to kill Radhika Singh. I’m like the proverbial bad penny—I keep returning,’ she joked. ‘Let’s get out of here. This place will make me sicker than I already am.’
Saini nodded. Getting Radhika there had been stressful, and waiting for her to recover had been even more so. He was fed up of the hospital and was keen to return to the search as soon as possible. Chhedi had spoken to him on the phone earlier in the morning and had told him that Somnath had thrown up a few clues but no major discovery. ‘Any idea where Priya Ratnani and Taarak Vakil are?’ he had asked.
‘No idea,’ replied Saini, describing to Chhedi the encounter that Sherpa Dorji had with Taarak and the avalanche that followed, leading to them being trapped inside the Saptarishi Cave.
Chhedi was dumbfounded. ‘Listen, Roger, you had better get back to base. We’ve had too much death around us, we don’t need any more,’ he tried to reason.
Saini laughed it off. ‘Listen, Dumpy, you mentioned something right now about the doors of Ghazni’s tomb. Where are they?’
‘You mean the sandalwood ones brought back from Afghanistan by the British?’ asked Chhedi.
‘Yes—the ones that turned out to be replicas of the original ones. Where are they presently located? Those doors may hold the key,’ said Saini into the phone.
‘Well, the gates were removed from Mahmud’s tomb and brought back to India. They were then kept
in one of the storage rooms of the Agra Fort where they continue to sit till today,’ said Chhedi.
‘Do you recall seeing an illustration of those doors?’ asked Saini.
‘Indeed I do. The six-pointed stars were rather prominent,’ replied Chhedi.
‘Not a six-pointed star, my friend. It’s a symbol of the union between Shiv and Shakti,’ corrected Saini.
‘So, what do you want me to do now?’ asked Chhedi. ‘I have Rathore with me and we’re ready to move from here.’
‘Go to Agra. We’ll meet you there. I think it’s important for us to see those doors,’ said Saini. ‘Given that we are in Tibet, it may take us a little longer to get there than you.’
‘What do you want us to do till you arrive?’ asked Chhedi.
‘Well, besides checking out the doors in the Agra Fort, maybe you and Rathore ought to visit the Taj Mahal—rather romantic by moonlight, I’m told.’
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 w
as 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?’