The Krishna Key

by Ashwin Sanghi

  ‘Careful, you’ll be having dry biscuits for the rest of your life if there’s no tea to dunk it in,’ admonished Radhika. Within minutes they were back on the couch, but this time their passion did not manifest itself as a waltz so much as a delicious tango.

  As they showered together later, Saini asked, ‘What say we take a romantic trip—just you and me?’

  Her eyes lit up. ‘Oh yes! That would be wonderful. Which destination was on your mind?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘I’m told that the Taj Mahal is very romantic at this time of the year,’ he said smiling.

  The birth of Parikshit brought back joy to Yudhistira because he now knew that the Pandava lineage was secure. He decided that it was time to perform the Ashwamedha Yajna. A royal horse would be set loose and would be allowed to roam freely for a year. Kingdoms that allowed the horse to pass through would automatically accept Yudhistira’s suzerainty. Those kingdoms that did not would have to battle Yudhistira. The horse wandered through many lands, including those of Shakuni and Jayadhrata, and was not stopped. Even though they had been enemies of the Pandavas, they were now allies. In Manipura, Arjuna was welcomed by its ruler—Babruvahana—who was actually Arjuna’s son from Princess Chitrangada. Arjuna chided the young man. ‘This is not warrior-like, my son! Fight me. Don’t make it so easy for me to overrun your kingdom!’ Babruvahana not only fought but also succeeded in piercing Arjuna’s heart with his arrow. Arjuna was revived by the power of a magic,’ replied Sir Khanprison on the Kaliyugaal gem provided by Babruvahana’s stepmother, a Naga princess, Uloopi. Arjuna eventually returned to Hastinapur, along with the sacrificial horse, bringing even greater power and glory to the Pandavas.

  Arriving at the entrance of the tomb complex and the imposing thirty-metre-high gatehouse, Saini

  and Radhika walked hand-in-hand through the ornamental Charbagh gardens of the Taj Mahal. The first sight of the Taj Mahal was breath-taking in every detail—the glorious central dome, the forty-metre-high minarets at each of the four corners, the River Yamuna flowing behind the Taj, the colourful floral inlays, and the exquisite marble latticework.

  Saini and Radhika were content. They had each other and they were strolling through the gardens of the Taj Mahal—the eternal symbol of undying love. The romantic mood was temporarily shattered by the buzzing of Radhika’s telephone.

  ‘It’s Rathore for you,’ said Radhika, handing over the phone to Saini.

  ‘The gates which are on display at the Agra Fort are replicas, not originals,’ said Rathore to Saini dispensing with customary pleasantries.

  ‘How can we be sure?’ asked Saini.

  ‘They’re made of local deodar wood from the province of Ghazni, not sandalwood—the material used in the original Somnath doors,’ replied Rathore.

  ‘Was carbon-dating carried out on them?’ asked Saini.

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ replied Rathore. ‘The Islamic calligraphy was evident on the doors, hence carbon-dating was redundant. The doors were not from Somnath. But I did find out something rather interesting from the tour guide.’

  ‘What?’ asked Saini.

  ‘In 1842, Edward Law, who was the First Earl of Ellenborough, issued the Proclamation of the Gates,’ said Rathore. ‘In this proclamation he ordered the British troops in Afghanistan to bring back the sandal-wood gates that had been taken away by Ghazni from Somnath. The regiment that was responsible for bringing back the gates was the Jat Regiment.’

  ‘Okay, so the Jats wanted the doors back and they got them back. What happened to the doors after that?’ asked Saini.

  ‘Well, the gates had apparently been reinstalled in Ghazni’s tomb. After lengthy debates in the British House of Commons, the gates were removed from Mahmud’s tomb and brought back to India, but they turned out to be replicas instead of the originals. They were kept in the Agra Fort where they continue to sit till today,’ said Rathore.

  ‘Thanks for the update. We’re just about getting started on our tour of the Taj Mahal. If you like you can come here and join us,’ said Saini, hanging up. He and Radhika continued walking towards the Taj Mahal.

  As they neared the monument, Saini stopped for a moment. He looked up at the central dome of the Taj Mahal and continued to stare. Radhika nudged him and said, ‘I thought that you only had eyes for me.’ Saini continued to stare at the dome. Realising that something had caught Saini’s attention, Radhika asked, ‘What is it, Ravi? What have you suddenly seen?’

  ‘Do you see the pinnacle?’ asked Saini.

  Radhika nodded. ‘Sure. It has the familiar Islamic crescent on the top. What’s bothering you?’ she asked.

  ‘Look at it closely,’ said Saini. ‘It’s not merely a crescent with stars, as is the usual Islamic symbolism. Yes, the crescent is indeed present, but above it is a water pot containing bent mango leaves with the leaves supporting a coconut. Do you see what I am saying?’

  Radhika gasped as she peered at the pinnacle with greater focus. For years, she had assumed that the symbol was entirely Islamic but had never paused to study it carefully. ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ she asked.

  ‘Look at the building itself. Does anything strike you about its shape and design?’ he asked, continuing to stare at the monument.

  ‘Well, it has four towers at the corners and a bulging dome in the centre,’ said Radhika, keeping her voice light.

  ‘No, no, forget the towers—or the dome—for the moment,’ said Saini, impatiently. ‘Just look at the shape of the structure! We all think that the Taj Mahal has a square layout but that’s merely an illusion created by its square base and four corner minarets. When you observe the structure carefully you will see that it has eight facets—it’s an octagon. Look at it again!’

  ‘Why is the fact that it is octagonal so important?’ asked Radhika, slightly confused by Saini’s new obsession.

  ‘The number eight is sacred to Hindus because it represents the four cardinal and four ordinal directions. But why should eight sides be of any relevance to a Muslim tomb? Look up again, Radhika.’

  Radhika obeyed his instructions for fear of hurting his feelings, but she wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted her to see. ‘See the main dome?’ he asked, pointing to it in the distance. ‘That is not a naked dome. On top you have an inverted lotus flower—again a Hindu symbol!’

  Saini suddenly caught Radhika by her hand and pulled her towards the main entrance arch of the monument. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, as she trotted briskly to keep up with Saini, although he was limping.

  ‘Look up,’ he again commanded. Radhika indulged him once more but with some irritation. ‘See the apex of the entrance arch? Sitting atop the arch is a red lotus!’

  ‘Enough of the outside, let’s go in,’ said Saini, almost dragging Radhika along. They walked up the steps of the marble plinth on which the Taj Mahal stood and headed towards Mumtaz Mahal’s cenotaph. As they approached it, Saini urgently whispered, ‘Look at that. Do you see what I see?’

  ‘What?’ asked Radhika, now thoroughly disoriented by the rapid-fire questions and answers.

  ‘Look at the enclosure that holds the cenotaphs of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan,’ urged Saini. ‘Notice the shape. It’s an octagon—eight sides yet again! This preponderance of Hindu features in a Muslim shrine is incredible!’

  ‘Why are the tombs off-centre?’ asked Radhika. tell us anything about the enbmef

  ‘Because the central one is that of Mumtaz Mahal,’ replied Saini. ‘The Taj Mahal was never planned with a view to accommodating Shah Jahan too. So, when Shah Jahan’s cenotaph was eventually placed side-by-side with that of Mumtaz Mahal, the graves began to look off-centre. The more important fact to note, though, is that these aren’t the real tombs.’

  ‘What do you mean? Who lies buried there if not Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal?’ asked Radhika with some of her old asperity.

  ‘What I meant was that the tombs one sees here on this level are merely decorative. The real graves lie one l
evel below, and that is the next greatest mystery of this structure,’ said Saini, pulling up a small sketch of the vertical layout of the Taj Mahal on his phone.

  ‘To get from the garden level to the main terrace of the Taj Mahal we walk up steps that take us four feet higher,’ explained Saini. ‘We then climb the steps of the marble plinth. These steps ascend almost nineteen feet. We then ascend four more steps outside the cenotaph and two more steps in the doorway. This takes us up a further four feet. In all, we ascend twenty-seven feet from the garden to the level of the cenotaph. But to go down to the real grave chamber beneath the decorative cenotaphs, we have to walk down twenty-one steps—approximately sixteen feet. It means that the real grave chamber is almost eleven feet above garden level. What lies in those unaccounted eleven feet?’

  Yudhistira ruled his kingdom according to the precepts laid down by dharma. Parikshit grew up to be a handsome young man. Dhritarastra and Gandhari continued to live in Hastinapur and Yudhistira did everything possible for their wellbeing. Eventually, the old blind king thought that it was time to give up the comforts of the palace and retire into the forests. ‘Let’s go, Gandhari,’ he said to her. His half-brother, Vidura, decided to follow, and so did the Pandavas’ mother, Kunti. Yudhistira tried to stop them but they were determined. One day, when they were resting in the forest, a fire broke out. ‘Run!’ shouted Dhritarastra as soon as he discovered that a forest fire had started. ‘Why?’ asked his wife. The old king considered the fact that they were at the end of their lives anyway. The elders thus continued to calmly sit in the forest, allowing the flames to consume them.

  ‘What could be within those eleven feet?’ asked Radhika, now visibly excited.

  ‘Before we explore what could be there, let’s just step back for a moment and understand the history of this structure a little better, shall we?’ asked Saini, adopting his professorial demeanour.

  Radhika smiled. ‘Sure, Professor, why don’t you enlighten me?’ she said teasingly.

  ‘In the Government of India’s National Archives lies a document. It is called the Badshahnama—the official history of Shah Jahan written by the emperor’s chronicler, Mullah Abdul Hamid Lahori.’

  ‘And what does it say?’ asked Radhika.

  Saini smiled and said, ‘It says that upon the death of Mumtaz Mahal, Raja Man Singh’s palace in Agra

  —at that time owned by Raja Jaisingh, his grandson—was selected for burial of Arjumand Banu Begum alias Mumtaz-ul-Zamani—Mumtaz Mahal’s real name. The Bads a small earthen plate—around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide. mab scriptureshahnama says that although Raja Man Singh’s family valued the property greatly as an ancestral heritage, they were agreeable to part with it gratis for the Emperor Shah Jahan. However, out of scruples that were so very essential in matters of bereavement and religious sanctity, Jaisingh was granted a piece of government land in return.’

  ‘Are you telling me that this was a Hindu raja’s palace at one time?’ asked Radhika.

  ‘Well, some of it,’ responded Saini. ‘We can’t tell which parts are original and which were added on later. What we do know is that it belonged to the family of Raja Man Singh and that it was given to Shah Jahan so that he could create a final resting place for his queen.’

  Radhika was quiet. Her head was reeling with all the information Saini had thrown at it. ‘Come with me to the river bank,’ said Saini. They quickly left the Taj complex and went to the riverbank.

  ‘Ravi,’ complained Radhika. ‘You’re dragging me around all over the place!’

  Saini pulled out the notebook and read aloud from it.

  Seek Shiv at the highest point, Seek Vish by the sea; Give up your quest, for they are one, only your heart can see. When creation and destruction are unified, And 894 reigns supreme; Where coconuts and lotuses adorn my crown, by the river I shall be. Cast aside hatred and learn to love, Man Singh says to you. Search my temple of seven floors, and you will find me too. You seek the stone that turns lead to gold, but verily do not find; search instead for the faithful stone that can truly transform your mind.

  ‘Where coconuts and lotuses adorn my crown, by the river I shall be! You just saw the dome of the Taj—it has an inverted lotus. The Islamic pinnacle on top also has a coconut and kalash. Here, we are standing right by the river—along the banks of the Yamuna. The inscription was not pointing us towards Vrindavan, but towards the Taj Mahal!’ said Saini, by now thoroughly electrified.

  ‘But the Taj Mahal is not a seven-floor structure,’ argued Radhika.

  ‘Radhika, you are making the same mistake that all casual observers make. See, from here you now have a riverside view of the Taj Mahal,’ said Saini pointing to its dome.

  ‘The marble structure that we call the Taj Mahal is apparently three-storeyed—to the casual observer. But if we add the grave level below the ornamental cenotaph, as well as the large hall in the dome, we can recalculate that the structure is actually five-storeyed. Below the plinth are two more storeys that reach down here to the river level. Behind this row of arches are twenty-two sealed rooms. They were sealed during Shah Jahan’s times and have been never opened since. The point I am making is that the Taj Mahal is actually a seven-storeyed structure! Cast aside hatred and learn to love, Man Singh says to you. Search my temple of seven floors, and you will find me too!’

  In the meantime, in Dwarka, my foolish son, Sambha, had decided to play a prank on a group of visiting sages—Vishvamitra, Kanva and Narada. His friends disguised him as a pregnant woman and asked the sages whether the child to be born would be male or female. The sages, angered,’ replied Sir Khans.is Saini and Radhika because they had seen through the deception, cursed all the Yadava clans. ‘Neither male, nor female. You shall deliver an iron bar, one that will spell the final destruction of the entire Yadava tribe!’ they thundered. Gandhari’s curse on me was playing itself out through the sages. Soon, an iron rod emerged from Sambha’s thigh.

  Balarama, who was nearby, panicked, ground it into powder and threw it into the seas along with a small piece that refused to be ground. The powder was washed ashore to Prabhas Patan, where it mutated into reeds that were strong as iron bars, awaiting the final theatre of destruction.

  ‘But the Taj Mahal is not a Hindu temple, it’s an Islamic mausoleum,’ countered Radhika.

  ‘Yes, but it was a palace before it became a tomb. And every palace would have had a temple. Most importantly, this was a property that belonged to Raja Man Singh. The evidence is all there!’ insisted Saini, excitedly.

  ‘But why does Man Singh talk about creation and destruction being unified?’ asked Radhika.

  ‘Did you notice the tiling pattern as we approached the monument?’ asked Saini, hardly apropos of what Radhika had just said.

  ‘How could I have?’ asked Radhika caustically. ‘You were constantly prodding me to look up at the dome!’

  ‘Let’s go back,’ said Saini, and they returned to the Taj Mahal’s gardens. Radhika was quick to spot, this time round, what Saini had been alluding to. The tiling work had six-pointed stars embedded as a pattern within!

  ‘As I told you earlier, the six-pointed star represents the union of Shiv and Shakti,’ said Saini. ‘The coming-together of male and female is the starting point of creation. The symbolism of the Sanskrit inscription is to be found in its entirety at the Taj Mahal. The mausoleum not only represents death—because it is a memorial containing the bodies of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal—but also represents the rising of beauty from the muddy riverbank of the Yamuna. Creation and destruction in one place! When creation and destruction are unified…’

  ‘And 894 reigns supreme…’ interrupted Radhika. ‘You cannot ignore the line that talks about the number 894. How does that fit in with the location?’ asked Radhika.

  ‘You obviously do not know much about mystical numbers,’ said Saini, with a superior air. ‘I’ve had a chance to think about it and this is what struck me. Among Hindus, 108 is considered
the holiest of numbers. You will find that 18, 108, 1008, 10008—and further similar variations—are all considered sacred. The Mahabharata has 18 chapters; there were 18 Yadava clans of Krishna; Jarasandha attacked Mathura 18 times; the Mahabharata war lasted 18 days; 18 armies fought the great battle; there are 18 chapters in each of our Vedas; there are 18 Puranas; there were 18 Maharathi—or exalted—warriors in the Mahabharata war; there are 18 chapters in the Bhagwad Gita…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. But how does 108 relate to 894?’ asked Radhika.

  ‘Have some patience, Radhika,’ admonished Saini gently, but with the same patronising air. ‘All shall be revealed soon. 108 is holy,’ replied Sir Khan69 sai for the Hindus but in the Islam of the Indian subcontinent, the number 786 is considered very holy, almost the equivalent of Allah.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Radhika, befuddled by the mysterious numerical theories being presented to her.

  ‘In Arabic, there is a method known as the Abjad—or ordinal—method. Each letter has an arithmetic value assigned to it from one to one thousand. The very first verse of the Qur’an is Bismillah al-Rahman al-Rahim, and if you take the numeric values of all the letters of this first verse in accordance with the Abjad order, the total is 786,’ explained Saini.

  In the thirty-sixth year after the Mahabharata war, Balarama and I went along with the entire Yadava clan to Prabhas Patan to honour those who had died at Kurukshetra. After the religious ceremonies were over, our fellow Yadavas became drunk on wine, and an argument ensued between the various clans—Vrishnis, Bhojas, Kukuras, Chedis, and Shainyas—regarding the rights and wrongs committed by the parties to the Mahabharata war. Intoxicated and angry, the men turned the argument into a violent brawl in which they plucked out the reeds that had mutated from the iron powder and struck each other. Balarama and I could not bear the sight of our near and dear ones killing each other, and ran into the forests. No one survived. The first part of Gandhari’s curse—that I would lose all my loved ones and would watch helplessly as my clan self-destructed—had come true.