westland ltd
THE KRISHNA KEY
Ashwin Sanghi’s first novel, The Rozabal Line, was self-published in 2007 under his pseudonym, Shawn Haigins. The theological thriller based upon the theory that Jesus died in Kashmir was subsequently published by Westland in 2008 in India under his own name and went on to become a bestseller, remaining on national bestseller lists for several months.
Ashwin Sanghi’s second novel, Chanakya's Chant, a political thriller with roots in ancient Mauryan history, shot to the top of almost every bestseller list in India within a few weeks of its launch. The novel went on to win the Crossword-Vodafone Popular Choice Award 2010, and film producer UTV acquired the movie rights to the book. The novel continues to dominate the fiction charts.
The Krishna Key, Ashwin’s third novel, is a furiously paced and riveting thriller that explores the ancient secrets of the Vedic age and the Mahabharata.
Ashwin is an entrepreneur by profession but writing historical fiction in the thriller genre is his passion and hobby. Ashwin was educated at the Cathedral & John Connon School, Mumbai, and St Xavier’s College, Mumbai. He holds a masters degree from Yale and is working towards a Ph.D. in Creative Writing. Ashwin lives in Mumbai with his wife, Anushika, and his son, Raghuvir.
To connect with Ashwin on email or social media please visit his website at www.sanghi.in.
westland ltd
Venkat Towers, 165, P.H. Road, Opp. Maduravoyal Municipal office, Chennai 600 095
No.38/10 (New No.5), Raghava Nagar, New Timber Yard Layout, Bangalore 560 026
Survey No. A-9, II Floor, Moula Ali Industrial Area, Moula Ali, Hyderabad 500 040
23/181, Anand Nagar, Nehru Road, Santacruz East, Mumbai 400 055
4322/3, Ansari Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi 110 002 explorationrcVishwakarma
First published by westland ltd 2012
Copyright © Ashwin Sanghi 2012
All rights reserved
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN: 978-93-81626-68-9
Typeset by Art Works, Chennai
Printed at Manipal Technologies Ltd., Manipal
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, circulated, and no reproduction in any form, in whole or in part (except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews) may be made without written permission
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am obliged to my wife Anushika and my son Raghuvir, who ungrudgingly tolerated my persistent absence from their lives while I was writing this book. They are my inspiration, my life and my very breath.
I am beholden to my parents, Mahendra and Manju, who supported me in all my endeavours, including my writing. Also, many thanks to my brother and sister, Vaibhav and Vidhi, who picked up the slack, at work, and at home, while I was working on this project.
My aunt, Aparna Gupta, is my eternal friend and guide, but has never hesitated to critique my work. I am thankful to her for playing the role of sounding-board while this novel was a work in progress.
I am grateful to my editor, Prita Maitra, and my publisher, Gautam Padmanabhan, without whom none of my novels, including this one, would have emerged from their manuscripts. In addition, I am thankful to Paul Vinay Kumar, Renuka Chatterjee, Anushree Banerjee and Satish Sundaram at Westland who have always supported me wholeheartedly.
Gunjan Ahlawat and Kunal Kundu deserve special mention for the beautiful cover design as also Vipin Vijay for putting it all together. My thanks to Rupesh Talaskar for the illustrations inside the pages of this novel. My gratitude, also, to Vishwajeet Sapan for the key Sanskrit translations.
A big thank you to Ameya Naik and Kushal Gopalka who helped create the audio track of the central shloka of this novel. Finally, a special thanks to Hemal Majithia, Shalini Iyer and Saurabh Sharma from the ‘Think Why Not’ team who helped create the video trailer.
I am thankful to various authors and producers of original or derived works. A separate acknowledgements section at the end of the narrative lists these in detail.
I am fortunate to be the grandson of the late Shri Ram Prasad Gupta and grandnephew of his brother, the late Shri Ram Gopal Gupta. Their blessings move the fingers that hold my pen.
Finally, I am deeply aware of the fact that when I sit down to write, the words that flow from mind to matter are merely through me, not from me. How do I convey my thanks to the real writer—the formless, shapeless and endless Almighty—for his blessings?
Perhaps this book will analisto-reg;" a
WARNING
This book uses several images to explain details within the story. Flipping to the back of the book prematurely may result in your inadvertently viewing some images that could act as plot-spoilers, hence this is not advised.
DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of fiction and should be read as such. No claim regarding historical accuracy is made expressly or implied. All names, characters, places and incidents used in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Historical, religious or mythological characters; historical or legendary events; or names of places are always used fictitiously. Best efforts have been made to attribute historical, mythological or theological material at the back of this book in the Acknowledgements & References section. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, past events or historical locationk rel="styles
Who really knows, and who can swear,
How creation came, when or where!
Even gods came after creation’s day,
Who really knows, who can truly say
When and how did creation start?
Did He will it? Or did Henk rel="styles
I was present in Drupada’s court the day Draupadi’s Swayamvara was held. I was also there when Arjuna returned to his mother and told her that he had won a grand prize and asked for her advice on what he should do with it. ‘Whatever it is, you must share it equally with your brothers,’ Kunti commanded. Hence, Draupadi ended up wedded to all five brothers in an instance of polyandry. I felt that this was the appropriate time to introduce myself to my aunt. I fell at Kunti’s feet and said, ‘I am your nephew, Krishna. I am your brother Vasudeva’s son, and your sons are my cousins. It shall be my duty to protect them and Draupadi!’
The road from Jodhpur to Chandigarh was an almost perfect south-north route that would take them via Jhajjar, Rohtak, Panipat and Ambala to Chandigarh. Having stopped at a gas station for a quick top-up of the fuel tank, they headed out to State Highway 22 that would eventually bring them to National Highway 71.
A short distance from where the State Highway started, they saw a police check post blocking traffic. All vehicles were being stopped and checked. ‘Stop the car,’ hissed Saini to the driver. Even though Taarak knew why he was being asked to stop, he feigned ignorance. ‘Why should we stop sir? This is the correct route to Chandigarh,’ he said.
‘Find a way to avoid the police checkpost,’ said Saini reluctantly, unaware of the fact that Taarak wanted to avoid the cops just as much. The owner of the Tata Safari at Abu Road Station was lying dead in a ditch. Taarak had quickly donned the dead taxi driver’s clothes and had assumed his new role, offering a twenty p,’ replied Sir Khan" aid="7K4 on the Kaliyugaercent discount to Saini in order to ensure that he was hired.
‘Yes sir,’ retorted Taarak smartly as he took a sharp left at a chemist’s shop in order to avoid the check post.
‘I’m not too familiar with Jodhpur roads so I will need to get down and ask for directions,’ said Taarak as he parked the car on the side of the road and got out. He had a short chat with a taxi driver in the distance and re-joined them. ‘He said that we should go first to Mandawar. From there, a road will take us via Laxmangarh to the Na
tional Highway. It will help us avoid the police check post,’ he said as he turned the ignition. Saini nodded while Priya and Kurkude, seated in the back of the car, remained absolutely quiet.
Within ten minutes they were out of Jodhpur and on their way to Mandawar. As the hustle and bustle of the city gave way to sand dunes and unending vistas of the Thar desert, Taarak settled back in the driver’s seat and allowed himself to relax. His mind wandered for a while before focusing on his childhood once again.
‘Taarak, this is Pushpendraji. He shall be teaching you Sastravidya,’ said Mataji.
‘What is Sastravidya?’ asked Taarak.
‘Our Indian scriptures—particularly the Ramayana and Mahabharata—contain descriptions of the ways in which combat was conducted in ancient India. This included both armed and barehanded strategies. The Mahabharata provides detailed descriptions of the intense battle between Arjuna and Karana, in which bows, swords, trees, rocks and even bare fists were used. An encounter in the Ramayana shows how two fighters used boxing manoeuvres with clenched fists whilst simultaneously incorporating kicks, head butts, finger strikes, and knee strikes. The result was the development of sixteen key principles of Indian martial arts. These are the only sixteen principles that you shall need to learn. Having learnt these, you shall be a master of Sastravidya and it will be impossible for the uninitiated to fight you,’ explained Pushpendraji.
‘Does Mataji also know Sastravidya?’ asked Taarak.
‘Absolutely. She was trained by me in her school. Why don’t you show dear Taarak your skills, Mataji?’ said Pushpendraji.
Before Taarak knew what was happening, a slim Ninja spike flew from Mataji’s left hand—it had been carefully concealed in her sleeve. It twirled in the air momentarily before it hit the wall just above Taarak’s head. ‘See what training can achieve, Taarak?’ asked Mataji, smiling. Taarak nodded seriously.
‘Here is some vermillion paste. Put a tilak on my head and then touch my feet,’ instructed Pushpendraji. Taarak did as he was told. Pushpendraji then said, ‘Now hold out your right hand please.’ As Taarak did so, Pushpendraji took a bundle of moli—red and yellow thread used by Hindu priests while performing religious ceremonies—and wove it around Taarak’s wrist. ‘You are now officially my disciple. Each day we shall practice Sastravidya for an hour. In a few years you shall be as strong as a bull, powerful as a tiger, fast as a cheetah and clever as a fox! Om Namah Shivaya!’
‘Guruji, why do we use the word “Om” in all our prayers?’ asked Taarak innocently.
‘Let me answer that for you,’ said Mataji. ‘The word “Om” is not enclosed within a circle.Tbmef only used by us, Taarak. It is to be found everywhere. Even in the English language.’
‘Really? In what form?’ asked Taarak.
‘Think carefully. The word “omniscience” means infinite knowledge. It starts with the sound of Om—or Aum. The word “omnipotent”, which means a person who has infinite powers also starts with Om. The word “omnivorous”, which implies the ability to absorb everything also has Om as the starting point. The word “omen”, implying a predictive sign of a future event, also has Om in it. A trusted intermediary between parties, with the authority to award a verdict, is called an “ombudsman”—once again we have Om. Om is an expression of divinity and authority and that’s the reason why Aum is to be found even in the Christian Amen and the Islamic Amin,’ explained Mataji. Taarak digested the information offered, realising that the education that he was receiving from Mataji was priceless.
Taarak snapped back to the present and forced himself to focus on the road. A few hours later, he stopped the car at a roadside restaurant. ‘We still have a long way to go. It’s better that we get a meal,’ he said as he got out. Saini tipped him so that he could buy his meal, which Taarak accepted in chauffeurly fashion.
Upon a signal from Saini, Priya and Kurkude remained seated in the car. ‘I’ll call for our food right here,’ said Saini. ‘It’s important for us to get some time to talk without the driver present. We should discuss our plan of action upon getting to Chandigarh.’
‘I would imagine that our first priority would be to meet Devendra Chhedi and see if he has one of the seals in his possession,’ said Priya.
‘True, but what after that? As of now, I’m probably wanted by Radhika Singh for three murders and a kidnapping. How do I prove my innocence?’ asked Saini taking a bite from the sandwich that a waiter from the restaurant handed him through the car window. The waiter had also brought three cups of coffee. Priya stretched out her arm and gratefully accepted the coffee that was on offer, passing on a cup each to Kurkude and Saini.
‘It’s rather simple, dear boy,’ said Kurkude, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘You were with me in my office for around an hour. My secretary, Miss Gonsalves, was alive when we started the meeting—in fact, she was the one who showed you into my office. Thereafter she closed the door and sat down at her workstation in the outer office. By the time that we ended our meeting, she had been murdered. It’s quite obvious that neither you nor Priya could have killed her. I’m your alibi for the third murder. I’m sure my testimony will help get you off the hook with Radhika Singh,’ he said, as he opened the car door to get out and use the restroom.
I had not imagined that slaying Kansa would result in the creation of yet another powerful enemy—Jarasandha, the king of Magadha. Jarasandha was furious that I had killed his son-in-law, Kansa, and that I was wielding political power in Mathura. He attacked Mathura and the old chief Ugrasena helplessly suggested that we surrender owing to the overwhelming odds against us. Balarama and I decided to take the battle into Jarasandha’s camp and, even though we had much smaller forces, we succeeded in defeating Jarasandha. The defeat only made ,’ replied Sir KhanNBb scripturesJarasandha even more determined to teach me a lesson. He attacked Mathura seventeen times and on each occasion, Balarama and I were able to repel his forces. The eighteenth time would be different though.
Sitting inside the cafeteria sipping tea and eating a samosa, Taarak recalled the events at Kurkude’s research laboratory. He had left Saini and Priya at the reception block along with Miss Gonsalves. She had offered him directions regarding how to get to the parking lot but he had ignored those. He had left the car just outside the reception block and had quickly stepped back inside in order to follow the clicking high heels worn by Miss Gonsalves.
Once she had shown Saini and Priya into Kurkude’s office, she had settled down in her own chair and had pressed a key to activate her desktop computer. She had felt the cold steel of a scalpel against her throat within a few seconds but had been unable to cry out because Taarak had clamped his hand over her mouth.
‘Listen to me very carefully,’ he had hissed into her ear. ‘I shall slit your throat if you do not cooperate. I want access to the data warehouse records and will need your password. Log in to the records from here so that I may access them. If you do as I say, you shall live to tell this story to your grandchildren.’
Terrified by the sharp metal pressing against her throat, Miss Gonsalves had quickly entered her user name and password into the login box on her screen. Taarak relaxed a little. This had turned out to be easier than he had expected. He loosened his grip over her mouth for just a moment and she let out a muffled cry. Luckily for him, the thick doors of the office prevented the noise from carrying into Kurkude’s inner office. ‘Damn you, woman,’ he muttered. ‘You have forced me to kill you.’ The slitting of her throat was swift and clean, given the efficiency of the Swann-Morton scalpel. He placed the used scalpel in a handkerchief, which he then put into his pocket.
Taarak quickly inserted his USB flash ddesktop and began downloading the files that he wanted. He counted the seconds while the download happened—he was concerned that he would be caught with the corpse of Miss Gonsalves by a chance visitor to Kurkude’s office. It was also possible that Kurkude or Saini would emerge at any moment from the inner office.
He was relieved when the downlo
ad ended and he was able to pull out the flash drive and head back to his car. Secure inside his pocket was the flash drive. It contained the radiation readings from all the sites that had been surveyed by Kurkude’s team. Retrieving the car, he had slowly driven to the visitors’ parking lot, as originally recommended by Miss Gonsalves. Once there, he had resumed his role as a chauffeur—snatching forty winks while waiting for his masters. He was content.
Taking another bite of his samosa, Taarak looked at the cafeteria around him. He noticed Kurkude in the distance. It was evident that the old man had stepped outside the car to take a leak. Taarak got up from his chair and turned his gaze towards the parked car. Saini and Priya were still inside and seemed to be having a discussion while eating.
He realised that a golden opportunity had presented itself to him.
Having decided that he needed a different strategy if he wanted victory over me, Jarasandha approached my cousin, Shishupala, who hated me. Shishupala suggested to Jarasandha that they form an alliance with Kal Yavan, a neighbouring king, enclosed within a circle. m on the Kaliyuga who had a blessing from Shiv that he could not be killed by any weapon, God or demon. Soon, Jarasandha laid siege to Mathura once again, this time in tandem with Kal Yavan. I knew that the situation was grim, so I decided to walk out of the city gates—unarmed. I challenged Kal Yavan to unarmed combat. The moment Kal Yavan agreed, I began running. Kal Yavan ran after me, calling me a coward. What he did not know was that I was leading him into the cave of Muchukunda. Muchukunda had received a blessing from Indra that if anyone disturbed his sleep, they would turn into ashes. I quickly draped my shawl on Muchukunda. The furious Kal Yavan came rushing in, saw my shawl, assumed that it was me on the floor and kicked the sleeping figure. Muchukunda opened his eyes and instantly turned Kal Yavan into ashes.
Saini and Priya were inside the car, finishing their sandwiches and coffee. In between mouthfuls, Priya decided to play the devil’s advocate. ‘Is there any proof that Krishna actually existed? Isn’t it possible that Krishna was just a character in a fictional story, a product of a great writer’s imagination?’ she asked,
The Krishna Key Page 1
