Inside the vault room was an analogue clock. Each time that the second hand moved forward it made a clicking sound. It was the only sound inside the vault room besides the laboured breathing of Radhika. After a few minutes she gave up the struggle—it was no use. The duct tape had been wound too tight. She suddenly felt a warm sensation along her thighs. Looking down she saw that Saini’s pool of blood had spread towards her and had begun to drench her own clothes.
Draupadi wailed when she was told she had lost all her children. Long before her tears had dried, all she wanted was revenge. I stepped in. ‘This endless cycle of an eye-for-an-eye cannot be allowed to continue. Let’s send the scouts to look for Aswatthama and find a way to neutralise his Brahmastra. He is the son of Drona but has neither the qualities of a Kshatriya nor of a Brahmin.’ When Aswatthama was finally cornered, he hurled his Brahmastra towards Abhimanyu’s widow—Uttari, hoping that it would eliminate all the unborn descendants of the Pandavas. I stepped in front of her in order to absorb the impact. By now, I was furious, I uttered a deadly curse, the only curse that I had ever uttered. ‘O, Aswatthama, you shall be unable to die for three thousand years. Your wounds will fester with pus, and boils shall torment every part of your body!’ I declared, leaving him to wander the earth for three thousand years in misery.
Throwing the promised additional two hundred rupees at the cabbie, Rathore leapt out of the taxi. The entrance gate of South Delhi Safety Vaults was locked. Something is bloody wrong, thought Rathore to himself. All safety vault companies retained the services of armed guards outside the premises even on days when they were shut. Today was neither a weekend nor a public holiday, yet the gate was shut and there was no armed guard outside.
He hastily dialled the Delhi Police control room and asked for backup. He then lifted a rock from the landscaped garden near the entrance and began smashing it at the lock of the gate. Rathore knew that any tampering would set off a security alarm and sure enough, within a few seconds the air was pierced by a deafening noise as the alarm screamed disapproval. It was a matter of minutes before the security chief of the company would arrive. He silently prayed that they would get there fast enough.
About two minutes later, he heard the wailing of a siren as a security van screeched to a halt outside the premises. Rathore hastily pulled out his identification and introduced himself. ‘I’m Sub-Inspector Rathore, and I believe that my colleagues are trapped inside. Please have this gate opened immediately,’ he instructed. Within fifteen seconds, the security chief had opened the gate with his own master key. Rathore whipped out his gun and stealthily made his way down the stairs, backed up by the security chief.
They saw the security guard lying near the base of the steps. He had been kno,’ replied Sir Khantierme Rcked out cold by the chloroform combined with the hasty dispatch down the stairs. ‘Open the gates to the vault,’ ordered Rathore. The security chief looked at him. ‘I can’t do that by myself,’ he explained. ‘I need authorisation from the branch manager. Let’s check for his key.’
The security chief headed to the administration office and tried the door. It was locked. He punched in a sequence of digits and the door swung open. Within a minute, Mr Raval had been freed, along with the CBI Special Director. Both men maintained a cautious silence about the role of the CBI Director. For the moment at least, Garg was as much of a victim as anyone else on the scene.
‘Hurry,’ said Rathore as Raval and the security chief got the vault door opened. Rathore rushed inside and had to steady himself to prevent slipping. Looking down, he found himself standing in a large puddle of blood. It seemed to flow from Saini, and from Radhika, who lay bound and gagged opposite him.
Rathore turned very quickly to Radhika. Her terrified eyes registered relief as soon as she saw Rathore. He ripped off the duct tape that covered her mouth and began searching for the source of blood. ‘Don’t waste your time, Rathore, it’s not from me. They’ve killed Saini,’ she said, pointing in the direction of the prone body and the shloka written above his head.
‘Damn!’ muttered Rathore. He crawled over to where Saini lay, and placed two fingers under the angle of Saini’s jaw to check the carotid pulse. ‘It’s faint, but we still have a pulse,’ yelled Rathore exultantly. The security chief nudged Rathore aside. The police control room had sent armed officers and an ambulance.
‘Elevate the bleeding foot!’ shouted the medical officer. ‘We need him to be lying down so that we reduce the blood flow’ His assistants jumped to action and pulled Saini from a sitting position down to a flat one on the floor, while raising the leg from which the scalpel was protruding. Snapping on a pair of gloves, the medical officer eased the scalpel out of Saini’s foot and handed it over to his assistant. ‘There’s no way that we will be able to halt blood flow from the foot until it is operated on,’ he said. ‘Just apply pressure behind his knee and groin. The main arteries that supply blood to the leg are located there,’ he commanded as one of the assistants prepared to move Saini to a stretcher and into the waiting ambulance.
As they transferred Saini into the ambulance, Radhika saw Sunil Garg. He smiled at her and introduced himself. ‘I came here because I had been tipped off that this crime was likely to happen, but I was overpowered by the assailant,’ he said, brushing dust off his shoulders.
So, this is the familiar voice that I heard on the phone, Radhika thought. It wasn’t Raval calling for Saini. It was Garg!
Gandhari and the blind Dhritarashtra, assisted by their hundred daughters-in-law, searched the now silent battlefield for the corpses of the Kaurava princes. The Pandavas saw their mother, Kunti, also wandering there. ‘Who do you seek, Mother?’ they asked. ‘Karana,’ she replied. ‘Why seek the charioteer’s son, Mother?’ asked Arjuna. ‘Because he was your eldest brother,’ she said softly. Arjuna’s anguish had no limits. He had not only killed Bhishma and Drona, but also his brother, Karana. Kunti told them enclosed within a circle.alerme Rthe story about how she had tried out the boon while unmarried, and how Surya had given her Karana. She told them about how he had lately discovered that he was a Pandava, and how he had nevertheless chosen to stay loyal to Duryodhana, while ensuring that five brothers continued to live. The Pandavas recalled how he had spared their lives on each occasion when he had the chance to finish them off. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asked Arjuna. I replied on behalf of his mother. ‘If she had told you, would you have been able to fight him?’
The old Radha Govinda temple in the centre of Vrindavan, along the Mathura-Vrindavan road, had seen the best and worst of times. Constructed by Raja Man Singh in 1590, the temple had received cartloads of pink sandstone for its construction, the entire money for the raw material having been personally donated by Emperor Akbar himself. Less than eighty years later it had been attacked by Aurangzeb and the seven-storeyed structure had been reduced to just three after the ferocity of the assault. The temple had remained empty ever since. A replica idol had been installed in a newer although smaller temple located behind the original one.
Priya and Taarak entered the cathedral-like structure, which was in a state of decay and disrepair. A Sanskrit inscription on the temple confirmed that Raja Man Singh had built it. Just below the inscription was a square inset that had four protruding square pegs within. ‘Give me the ceramic plate,’ said Priya hurriedly. Taarak took it out of his belt bag and handed it over to her. She gently placed the plate into the inset. She had to slightly nudge it into place but it was a perfect fit. Raja Man Singh had indeed installed this baseplate in his own temple.
‘This was obviously a rather important construction of its time,’ said Priya as she pulled out the baseplate from the groove and held it in her hands. ‘The benevolent Akbar is said to have made a pilgrimage here and this was one of four temples that were constructed in honour of his visit. Many thousands of labourers and craftsmen toiled for over five years to complete it.’
Priya and Taarak quickly began to comb the ruins. The plan of the temple was in
the shape of a cross with both length and breadth of the nave equal to around a hundred feet each. Every square inch of the walls bore intricate decorations and fine carvings. Seeing the decaying state of the temple made Priya’s blood boil.
‘How can we be sure that it’s this particular temple, Mataji?’ asked Taarak.
‘Didn’t you hear the translation that Saini provided?’ asked Priya. Caste aside hatred and learn to love, Man Singh says to you. Search my temple of seven floors, and you will find me too. This was a temple of seven floors and was constructed by Raja Man Singh. We’re exactly where we ought to be!’
‘But what about the sentence that says: When creation and destruction are unified, And 894 reigns supreme; Where coconuts and lotuses adorn my crown, by the river I shall be,’ asked Taarak.
‘This was a temple that was created and destroyed within the very same century. This wonderful structure was created by the generosity and religious tolerance of one Muslim ruler and was destroyed by the iconoclasm of another. It very much signifies creation and destruction at one place,’ said Priya.
‘Where coconuts and lotuses adorn my crown, by the river I shall be. What about the lotus, Mataji?’ asked Taarak.
‘Look at the ceiling,’ said Priya, pointing upwards. ‘It has a sculpted lotus weighing several tons.’ Taarak followed her gaze and saw the magnificent flower.
‘And the coconuts?’ asked Taarak.
‘See the carvings? You will see the lotus motif and coconut symbol in several places. Before you ask, we are in Vrindavan—along the banks of the River Yamuna—so the condition that talks about the temple being by a river is met.’
‘Yes, but what does the number 894 signify, Mataji?’ asked Taarak.
‘I have no idea, but it’s hardly relevant, given that most of the other conditions are perfectly satisfactory,’ replied Priya. ‘This is the place that we need to search.’
‘But it’s an ancient temple and it’s rather large. Where should we start?’ asked Taarak.
‘I would say that the most likely place would be the garbhagriha,’ said Priya.
‘What’s a garbhagriha?’ asked Taarak curiously.
‘The garbhagriha is the sanctum sanctorum—the innermost sanctum of a Hindu temple where the idol is placed,’ answered Priya. ‘In Sanskrit, garbha means womb and griha means chamber or house. So garbhagriha means the womb chamber. It is the most sacred spot in the temple. Only the temple priests were allowed inside and hence it would also have been the most secure spot to store anything precious.’
‘Where is the garbhagriha of this particular temple?’ asked Taarak.
‘That’s the problem,’ said Priya. ‘What is now the inner sanctum of this temple was not the original inner sanctum.’
‘But I thought that all temples were constructed according to the principles of Vaastushastra. How could a critical location like the inner sanctum change?’ asked Taarak.
‘The temple had to be slightly remodelled by the British when they began repairs. During Aurangzeb’s attack, his demolition men had begun from the roof and worked their way downwards. According to historical accounts, when only three floors remained it seems that the ground began to tremble violently and Aurangzeb’s squad had to run for their lives because they were worried that the temple would come crashing down on them.’
‘Do we have any records that show where the original inner sanctum was?’ asked Taarak.
‘None,’ replied Priya. ‘The first one was constructed by disciples of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, the ardent Vaishnavite from Bengal. These disciples became the very first priests of this temple. Sadly, no trace of that garbhagriha remains. We know that this layout is in the shape of a cross so the best guess should be the centre of the cross.’
They walked briskly through the dark interiors towards the core of the temple. Taarak switched on his flashlight because light from outside was non-existent towards the centre. Priya gasped as they reached the geographic centre of the temple. Right at the spot where the idol would have once stood, was a three-foot-wide crater—a pit large enough for two people to descend into.
‘Someone had the same idea as us,’ muttered Priya angrily as they stood at the edge of the pit and peered down. Whoever had dug the pit had done a professional job of it a burst of sudden emotion but or sai. It went down more than twenty feet, and rough edges along the circumference had been smoothened out to prevent injury. Mounds of dug-up earth lay piled along the edges. From the ceiling hung a thick rope that went deep into the hole. ‘Whatever was there has probably gone,’ cursed Priya. ‘Let’s have a look anyway.’
Both Mataji and her pupil made their way down the knotted rope, Taarak holding the flashlight in his mouth as he spiralled downwards, with Priya following. As their feet touched terra firma, Priya got down on her hands and knees and began frantically running her hands over the muddy earth floor.
At that moment there was a flash of light from above. Priya and Taarak looked up in alarm. It was difficult to discern the face but the voice was unmistakeable. It was the raspy voice of CBI Special Director Sunil Garg. Before Priya and Taarak could reach for it, he cut the rope that hung down into the pit. They now had no way of getting out. ‘It is always a pleasure to see old friends,’ said Garg amiably. ‘I figured that both of you have had far too much activity and stress recently. A nice, cool and dark place like this one will help you relax and unwind.’
Suddenly, there was a shower of earth and pebbles that hit Priya and Taarak from above.
‘Om Shri Prithvi Rakshasaaya Namah,’ chanted Garg as he shovelled the first scoop of earth down below.
‘Hey!’ shouted Priya angrily. ‘We can make a deal. I think I know where the stone is. Just listen to…’
‘The time for deals is over, Mataji,’ he yelled. ‘You should have thought about it when you left me in the vault to be picked up under suspicious circumstances by the local police! Om Shri Maangalya Daayakaaya Namah,’ recited Garg, as he shovelled another mound of earth from above.
Priya spat out earth that had fallen into her mouth. ‘I may have left you captive but I didn’t kill you,’ she argued.
‘So we’re even,’ yelled Garg. ‘When you were a little girl, I could have arrested you and sent you to a remand home for the murder of your Sarla Auntie’s husband, but I didn’t. Om Shri Maangalya Daayakaaya Namah,’ he chanted as he shovelled even more earth into the pit.
Deep within the recesses of the hellhole, Mataji and Taarak sat down on the floor and began to recite the names of the Lord. They knew their time had come.
I sent the Pandavas to seek the blessings of Dhritarastra and Gandhari. Gandhari and Draupadi hugged each other and cried—both were mothers who had lost all their children. Vidura had advised Gandhari, ‘Please be careful not to curse the Pandavas, or else this land will have no ruling dynasty left.’ Accordingly, Gandhari kept her anger in check. But once she reached the battlefield where the bodies of her sons lay strewn, her anger returned. Having sat there in dejection for several hours, she eventually felt hungry, and smelt the fragrance of mangoes overhead. Desperate for food, she made a pile of stones to climb on and pluck the fruit from the tree. Having eaten the fruit, she realised in horror that she had not used stones, but the bodies of her dead sons, to get to the fruit. She then recognised that it was I, teaching her about the power of illusion. At that instant, she cursed me. ‘You too shall lose your loved ones,,’ replied Sir Khanuserme R Krishna! You shall watch helplessly as your clan self-destructs by turning on one another, and you shall die like an animal at the hands of a hunter!’
The hospital room in which Saini awoke was bright and airy. He had been unconscious for over two days. Outside his room stood Rathore, intent on ensuring that the likes of Priya and Taarak could not enter. Inside the room, Radhika sat by his bed, praying for his recovery. When he stirred, she was absolutely ecstatic. Leaving aside all her reserve, she kissed him on his forehead. It seemed the most natural thing to do. ‘They said that had they re
ached you five minutes later, you would have bled to death,’ she said with tearful eyes while running her fingers through his hair tenderly. Saini smiled weakly. He shifted his body slightly and came alive to the fact that his left foot was tightly bandaged.
‘They’ve put stitches in your foot,’ clarified Radhika. ‘Apparently the gash had cut through your artery.’
Saini laughed weakly. ‘Following the clues of the Krishna Key has placed me in a hospital bed twice and you once. By the time the secret is finally discovered, we shall both have medical qualifications!’
‘I don’t care about the Krishna Key or what it leads to, anymore,’ said Radhika softly. ‘I was pretty certain that I had lost you forever, Ravi. Please, can’t we just give up this quest? They had to pump more than seventy units of blood into you!’
Saini changed the topic. ‘How did I get here after the scalpel was used on me?’ he asked. Radhika told him about how Rathore had been trying to call her phone and how this had led him to the premises of South Delhi Safety Vaults. ‘I shudder to think what would have happened if Rathore had not done what he did,’ explained Radhika.
‘Where is he?’ asked Saini softly. Radhika stepped out of the room and motioned Rathore to join them inside. Rathore was relieved to see that he had been able to save at least one of the intended five victims. He joked about it with Saini.
‘Why were you trying to get in touch with Radhika?’ asked Saini, struggling to pull himself up. Radhika restrained him. Instead, she pressed the electronic button on the side of the hospital bed to raise him a little.
‘When Kurkude’s secretary was killed, some data was stolen from her terminal. We managed to find out what it was,’ explained Rathore.