‘So 786 is sacred in Islam because of the Abjad value of the first Qur’anic verse?’ asked Radhika.
‘There is another explanation offered by Vedic scholars about the Islamic 786,’ answered Saini. ‘As you know, the modern numerals that we use in the Western world are commonly called Arabic numerals. What is often forgotten is the fact that Arabic numerals originally started out as Hindu numerals. What the world uses today—including the zero—was the numeral system developed by Indian mathematicians in which a sequence of digits could be read as a number. Persian mathematicians in India adopted the Hindu numeral system and passed it on to the Arabs further west. The Arabs shared the system with Europe during the Middle Ages, and hence, the system came to be known as Arabic.’
‘So the numerals that we commonly use today across the world—zero through nine—are actually Hindu numbers?’ asked Radhika.
‘Yes, absolutely. Now if I take the three digits—7, 8 and 6—and write them in Hindu numerals, what do they look like?’ asked Saini, as he took out a pocketbook and pen and noted down the three digits.
‘Now, see what happens when I bring these three numerals together,’ said Saini. Radhika looked on in amazement as he combined the three digits together in a formation that looked very familiar.
‘You will notice that the three digits—7, 8 and 6—when brought together resemble the Hindu Om. Actually, they represent the mirror image of an Om,’ amended Saini as he continued drawing. ‘Finally, flip around the mirror-image Om and you get the Hindu Om that we are all familiar with, a small earthen plate—around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide. m on the Kaliyuga’ he said, proudly displaying his artistic skills.
‘So what’s the connection between 786 and Om?’ asked Radhika, puzzled even more by this further demonstration.
‘It’s impossible to say. Theories abound. Purist Islamic scholars denounce 786 completely. Their view is that the Prophet Mohammad was completely against astrology and numerology. The practice continues to be popular in most of south Asia, though, with many Muslims choosing to make 786 part of their vehicle’s licence plates or phone numbers. Many of them write the number 786 on the top of important agreements and letters, almost in the manner that Hindus draw the Om symbol on top of documents—with a view to invoking God’s blessings,’ said Saini.
‘You still haven’t told me how the three digits 894 mentioned in the Sanskrit inscription relate to all of this,’ said Radhika, who was by now quite weary of numbers.
‘It’s simple. The Taj Mahal represents the age of Akbar, Jehangir and Shah Jahan, when Hindus and Muslims had begun to learn to live with one another,’ replied Saini. ‘The fact that prominent Hindus such as Raja Man Singh, Tansen, Birbal and Todar Mal were among the navaratnas of Akbar’s court is testament to that fact. Akbar contributed to building Man Singh’s Vrindavan temple. Man Singh’s family contributed their property in Agra to Shah Jahan to build Mumtaz Mahal’s tomb. The number 894 is simply the addition of 108 and 786! The Taj Mahal represents Hindu-Muslim creative energies at their very best!’
Balarama knew it was time to return to the heavens. He sat under a tree and meditated and gradually allowed his life to slip out with his breath. Some moments later, I saw a serpent emerging from the inert body of Balarama. My brother had returned to his original form of Lord Sheshnag. I knew that it was time for my departure from earth, too. I sat under a banyan tree, crossed my left foot over my right one and absentmindedly shook my foot, as I revisited vignettes from my life. Seeing my shaking foot through the bushes, a hunter called Jara mistook it for the ear of a deer and shot an arrow in its direction. The arrowhead was made from the only iron piece that Balarama had been unable to grind down. Thrown into the sea, it had been swallowed by a fish and Jara had found the piece in its belly. The poor nervous hunter, upon realising what he had done, could not believe the heinous act that he had committed, but I blessed him and told him not to grieve—he had simply been an instrument in fulfilling my destiny. The second part of Gandhari’s curse—that I would die like an animal at the hands of a hunter—had also come true. I allowed the poison to wash through my body, permitted my praana to slip out, and returned to Vaikuntha. My sojourn as Krishna—Vishnu’s eighth incarnation on earth—was over.
‘This particular Sanskrit inscription on the base plate by Raja Man Singh was already available with your friend Varshney. Why did he send us off on a wild-goose-chase to Mount Kailash and Somnath if he knew that the secret was to be found right here in the Taj Mahal?’ asked Radhika.
‘But was Varshney really pointing us towards either of those places?’ asked Saini. ‘I’m not so sure. L tell us anything about the a on the Kaliyugaet’s review Varshney’s note again, shall we?’ He flipped back to the page where he had rewritten Varshney’s gobbledegook in reverse order. Varshney’s cryptic message said:
Redraw numeral swastika, smart but stressed pupils! Keep stats, no animal parts. X on left-top at tip. Lived, laid, relaid in X. Kalash or Kailash it is? Raja surrender. Six are tips in a star. And blue water beside. Shankar elated.
‘The first step was to redraw the swastika as a mathematical magic square and eliminate the images while keeping the numbers. He then asked us to look at the left-top tip. That gave us the number eight. Because we were so obsessed with Somnath and Mount Kailash, we imagined that Varshney was either referring to the number of times that Somnath had been rebuilt or to the number of monasteries built around Lake Mansarovar. But in the sentence Lived, laid, relaid in X, Varshney was referring to the tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal that had been buried within eight walls—eight walls of the cenotaph and eight walls of the octagonal Taj Mahal itself! I was a fool to not see it sooner! Similarly, with the line Kalash or Kailash it is? Varshney was pointing us in the direction of the pinnacle that could pass off either as a kalash or as a pinnacle. We ended up thinking that he was referring either to the kalash of Somnath or to Mount Kailash.’
‘But what about the line where he says Raja surrender?’ asked Radhika. ‘There was no battle over the Taj Mahal, as in the instance of Somnath or Tibet. What surrender is Varshney speaking of?’
‘Varshney is alluding to the fact that Raja Man Singh’s family had to surrender the property—the land and structures on the banks of the Yamuna—to the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan,’ explained Saini. ‘The rest of Varshney’s message fits in perfectly with what I’ve just shown you. Six are tips in a star—you just observed the six-pointed star in the floor tiles of the Taj. And blue water beside—the Taj is built on the banks of the Yamuna.’
‘But the final line, Shankar elated, does not fit in. The Taj Mahal has nothing to do with Shankar—or Shiv.’
Saini smiled. ‘Don’t you want to know what Raja Man Singh’s palace in Agra was called?’
‘What?’ asked Radhika, completely perplexed.
‘It was called Tejo Mahalay,’ replied Saini.
‘Tejo Mahalay? What does it mean?’ asked Radhika.
‘It literally translates to the Great Abode of Tej. The Rajput and Jat kings of the time used to call Shiv by the name Tejaji,’ explained Saini. ‘Hence the name of the palace meant Great Abode of Shiv. Calling a palace the residence of a deity was fashionable among Hindu royalty. Even today you can visit Udaipur and drop in at the Shiv Niwas Palace—again literally meaning the very same thing—the Abode of Shiv.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that the name Taj Mahal is derived from Tejo Mahalay and not from Mumtaz Mahal’s name?’ asked Radhika.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ replied Saini. ‘Read the Badshah-nama. Her real name was Arjumand Banu Begum also known as Mumtaz-ul-Zamani. The term Mumtaz Mahal was not used even,’ replied Sir Khan—
‘How?’ asked Radhika.
‘The temple on the palace grounds of Raja Man Singh was dedicated to Agreshwar Mahadev Nagnatheshwar. The city derived its name from Agreshwar—yet another name for Shiv,’ replied Saini.
‘And if the name of this place was indeed
Tejo Mahalay, then it follows that Varshney’s clue about Shiv was absolutely accurate,’ murmured Radhika softly, almost to herself. ‘But why would Man Singh’s family give up a palace property—possibly bearing a temple dedicated to Shiv—to the Mughals for a tomb?’
‘I can assure you that they gave it up willingly and enthusiastically,’ said Saini, smiling slyly.
My father, Vasudeva, heard of the terrible events at Prabhas Patan and died of grief and shock. Dwarka was now a scene of thousands of funeral pyres and wailing Yadava women. Arjuna rushed to Dwarka to look after the women and children that remained, but he was too late. The rains came lashing down and the seas rose. Waves pounded the walls and fortifications of my beloved Dwarka until the foundations melted. Within a short time, the sea was calm again, but there was no sign of my fabulous city, which lay submerged beneath the now calm waters.
‘Willingly and enthusiastically? Why?’ asked Radhika. ‘And if an ancient secret lies buried here at the Taj Mahal, where do we dig for it?’
‘That’s precisely it, Radhika. We can’t dig,’ said Saini. ‘This is now a sacred spot built to honour the dead. One can’t desecrate it. And that’s exactly what Raja Man Singh’s family knew. This was the very reason that they gave up the palace so easily to the Mughal emperor. In an environment where temples could be destroyed on a whim, they concluded that the best way to preserve the secret of the Syamantaka was to have a Muslim mausoleum over it. It was the ultimate insurance policy!’
‘If we can’t dig for direct evidence, is there any corroborating pointer that the Syamantaka lies here?’ asked Radhika.
‘Do you know that the gardens around the Taj Mahal were planted with very specific shrubs?’ asked Saini. ‘Mentioned in the records are ketaki, jai, juhi, champa, maulashree, harshringar and bel. Bel has a radioprotective quality. Harshringar is used for treating respiratory ailments. Ketaki is used for treating blood disorders—these were all medicinal herbs! They were planted at the Taj because the the Syamantaka would have released radiation and these herbs would have neutralised the effects of it.’
For once, Radhika had nothing to say.
‘Another interesting nugget to consider is this,’ continued Saini. ‘In the Badshahnamah we are told that in 1632, a fence of solid gold was placed around Mumtaz Mahal’s sarcophagus. It contained over forty thousand tolas of pure gold. Some years later the fence was no longer seen at the site. Why? Isn’t it possible that the railing had not started out as gold but only transmuted to gold later on and hence needed to be removed for security reasons? Alternatively, isn’t it also possible that the railing was originally gold but transmuted to an alternative metal and was thus removed because i a burst of sudden emotion but heis Saini and Radhikat was no longer in keeping with the richness of the surroundings?’
‘Is there any way to be sure that the transmutation happened?’ asked Radhika.
‘There is one further piece of evidence that points the way—the white marble of the Taj Mahal,’ said Saini.
‘How does the marble tell us anything about the Syamantaka?’ asked Radhika.
‘Marble is the end-product of a process of metamorphosis of limestone under terrific heat and pressure. The purer the original limestone, the purer the whiteness of the marble. Over the last two decades there has been a vociferous debate over the yellowing of the Taj Mahal on account of pollution in Agra as well as acid rain,’ explained Saini.
‘Yes, I heard that many industries were shifted away from the precincts of the Taj Mahal because of this,’ said Radhika.
‘But ask B. B. Lal, a scientist with the Archaeological Survey of India, and you will get a different opinion. He has stated in writing that chemical and petrographic studies have shown that the marble of the Taj Mahal has not undergone mineralogical alteration, nor is there any evidence of chemical weathering. No impact of acidic gases in the air has been detected, as there is hardly any perceptible sulphation of the marble!’
‘If it isn’t particulate matter, it could be acid rain,’ countered Radhika.
‘The National Environmental Engineering Research Institute—or NEERI—published a report on the basis of which polluting industries were ordered to move out of the vicinity,’ replied Saini. ‘Funnily enough NEERI’s claims regarding acid rain were contradicted by its own data. For example, data on rainwater quality showed pH values between 6.1 and 7.7—a perfectly neutral range, indicating that there was no acid rain.’
‘So if it isn’t the pollution or acid rain, what exactly is causing the Taj Mahal to turn yellow?’ asked Radhika. Saini smiled once more.
‘A research study carried out some years ago showed that when marble statues in Europe were cleaned using laser irrsurface colour of the marble underwent a change,’ said Saini.
‘You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?’ asked Radhika.
Saini laughed outright this time. ‘I’m saying precisely what you think I’m saying. The higher Gieger counter readings in Agra on Rathore’s map were due to radiation. Stones such as granite and marble have natural radiation properties but no one had bothered to check whether the radiation from the marble was within ordinary limits. It is this slightly elevated radiation that is causing the colour change—radiation from a source that lies somewhere within this marble edifice! Let’s call Rathore and tell him to come over quickly,’ said Saini as he dialled Rathore’s number.
At that moment Saini felt the cold steel of a snub-nosed revolver against his back. ‘Do not move,’ hissed the voice, pressing the gun harder into Saini’s back. From the corner of his eye, Saini saw that there was another figure standing behind Radhika too. Mataji and Taarak were back from their muddy grave in Vrindavan! Saini quickly slipped his phone into his trouser pocket.
‘You thought that you could get rid of us by leaving that CBI dog—Sunil Garg—to kill us. It’s now our chance to get even,’ spat a small earthen plate—around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide. e. b Priya as she held Radhika at gunpoint.
‘Where is Sunil Garg? What have you done with him?’ Radhika demanded to know.
‘I have found that corrupt men are the easiest people to do business with,’ said Mataji with a demonic smile on her face. ‘While he was vigorously shovelling earth down the temple pit to bury us alive, I persuasively explained the magical powers of the Syamantaka stone to him. He soon realised it was worth his while to partner us. He was given the job of following you both to see your ultimate destination.’
‘It has been a pleasure getting to know you both,’ said Taarak, ‘but now it’s time for us to bid adieu to both of you. Please start walking towards the riverbank. Do not even think of raising an alarm because Mataji and I shall not hesitate to pull the trigger on either one of you.’
With a sharp nudge, Taarak indicated to Saini that he should move. Cautiously, Saini and Radhika began to walk back towards the banks of the Yamuna with Taarak and Priya following at close quarters so as to prevent the general public from knowing that they were holding guns. Within a few minutes they were back at the lowest point of the Taj Mahal edifice—the red sandstone rooms overlooking the Yamuna. Tourists never ventured to this part of the monument and the stretch along the river was isolated except for a solitary figure who stood in front of one of the massive arches that had been sealed during Shah Jahan’s reign.
Taarak waved at the figure from the distance and the figure waved back. Sunil Garg was awaiting the arrival of high dividend prisoners.
The survivors clung to boats to reach the mainland, from where Arjuna took them to Hastinapur. On the way, they were attacked by wandering thugs. Arjuna raised his Gandiva to annihilate them but was unable to use it. It was only then that the knowledge burst upon him that all his power had emanated from me. He fell to his knees, sobbing like a child. When the tears stopped, he saw a vision of me as a toddler, gurgling for milk. I was reminding him that life continues and that there is always hope for a new day and a fresh start. Arjuna gathered t
he surviving women and children and took them to Mathura—the city from where I had brought the Yadavas to Dwarka. Many years later, my great-grandson, Vajranabhi, would become chief of Mathura.
‘Welcome to the newest prison facility of Agra,’ mocked Sunil Garg as Saini and Radhika approached the archway where he stood.
‘You shall soon be history, Garg,’ admonished Radhika. ‘The world shall soon know that you were working against the interests of the CBI and were part of Sir Khan’s team.’
‘Hmm. History—such a fascinating word,’ replied Garg, ominously. ‘I think that the English dictionary calls it a record of past events and times, especially in connection with the human race. The question in my mind—Radhikaji—is this. Who will write your history? Who will tell the world that besides Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan there are two other people buried inside the Taj Mahal? Who will inform tourists that these two other people are Radhika Singh and Ravi Mohan Saini? Visitors will know of the love between Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal but will never know of the love between Radhika and Ravi. What a terrible shame… all that passion entirely wasted!’
Ravi gulped. Ga,’ replied Sir Khan Sis Saini and Radhikarg, Priya and Taarak planned to lock them alive in one of the forgotten rooms of the Taj!
‘Enough small talk,’ said Priya to Garg gruffly. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Garg pushed the old arched door and it creaked open. The room was one among a network of twenty-two that had remained shut since Mughal times. It was musty, humid and stank of animal excrement. Saini suddenly felt a flutter of wings against his face. Bats! These rooms were infested with bats!