‘At that time I noticed a few things. The temple was not being maintained. Probably because there was no one to oversee. There were cobwebs in the corners. Exposed beams, textured by time, were cracking. The air was very musty, unhygienic even. The ceiling was sagging. It was almost as if the temple would collapse if not repaired immediately. Thankfully the event passed off without any untoward incidents.’
Kabir was listening intently. He had always thought that temples were overflowing with wealth. Yet Madhavan was telling him about a temple which had not been maintained and was on the verge of collapsing.
Madhavan continued: ‘I came back to Chennai and lodged a request with the HR&CE asking them to do something about the condition of the temple.’ There was anger in his eyes. ‘But they didn’t do anything.’ He paused. ‘And then came the killer bees.’
‘Killer bees!’
‘Three months after the harvest celebration, the entire village came under attack from giant hornets. Some claimed they were poisonous, others disagreed. Whatever the case may be, over one hundred people in the village fell ill, forcing the government to take notice. As an indirect consequence the condition of the Shiva temple came into the public domain. The government was forced to act. They shifted all the idols to the Varadaraja Perumal Temple in the neighbouring village. The idols have since been locked away behind iron gates and are cared for by the local village staff. The idol we recovered from the container in Chennai is one of the idols that was brought from Suthamalli. In fact it is the principal one.’
‘How did it make its way to the container?’
‘Who knows!’ a concerned Madhavan replied. ‘But the main question is,’ he sighed deeply, ‘is it the only one?’
They reached the Ariyalur HR&CE, under whose jurisdiction both the temples were, by mid-afternoon.
‘Impossible!’ The man in charge of the Ariyalur subdivision vehemently denied that the idol could have been stolen from the temple. ‘We visit the temple once a week to check. The idols are all locked away. From the time they were shifted to the Varadaraja Perumal Temple, they haven’t been brought out even once.’
Kabir Khan didn’t show an iota of emotion on his face. ‘Can we check the storage facility?’
‘There’s no storage facility. It is just a room in the temple which has been locked.’
‘And who has the key?’
The officer pointed to himself. He walked to a glass key cupboard and took out a bunch. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘You can see for yourself.’
The Varadaraja Perumal Temple was some distance from the admin office. A broken path wound round the village, past old mud-walled huts and randomly wandering cattle, to a quiet structure which in its glory days would have been the heart of the village. Weeds had overrun the pathway that led from the main road to the temple. The lack of funds had severely affected the temple’s upkeep and only certain portions of the building were regularly maintained. The main door of the temple stood open, a stone warrior standing guard on either side. The gopuram rose majestically for over fifty feet. It desperately needed a coat of paint though. To the left of the temple door stood a statue of Ganesha. An old statue which looked almost green in colour, thanks to the moss that had gathered on it. It was the rainy season and no one had cleaned the temple thoroughly in ages.
‘Can we go in?’ Kabir asked. He was beginning to lose his patience.
‘You!’ scoffed the officer before turning to Madhavan. ‘He can come in?’
‘Why? Is there an issue?’ Madhavan asked.
‘He is not a Hindu!’ exclaimed the in-charge. ‘Non-Hindus are not allowed.’
‘Who will know?’ asked Kabir
‘God will!’ was the indignant answer.
‘That is,’ Kabir ridiculed, ‘if he is still inside.’
‘He is only here to help. I don’t think the lord will find that objectionable,’ Madhavan declared. ‘Let’s go.’
The HR&CE officer reluctantly led Madhavan and Kabir through several dismal corridors to a room in the rear of the temple where the Suthamalli statues were stored.
‘See? It is locked,’ he said triumphantly, pointing to the lock on the door.
‘Open it.’
When the officer hesitated, Madhavan stepped forward and took the keys from him. The moment he touched the lock, it sprang open. Someone had opened it, and then just put it back in a locked position. Horrified, he looked at Kabir.
‘What the hell!’ Kabir exclaimed. Both of them looked at the HR&CE officer. ‘Didn’t you say the door was locked?’
‘It was locked. I’m sure it was,’ he mumbled.
‘God knows how long it has been like this!’ Madhavan said.
The officer entered the room, and froze. He turned back and looked at Kabir and Madhavan.
‘Gone?’ Kabir Khan asked nonchalantly. ‘I knew it. Didn’t I say, Madhavan, that god might take offence if he is inside? But obviously he isn’t.’
Madhavan turned to the officer. ‘When did you last see the statues?’ he demanded angrily.
‘This room hasn’t been opened since the time the statues were brought in.’
‘And that was over five years ago.’
‘Yes.’
‘So the statue could have been stolen any time in the last five years.’
The HR&CE officer looked lost. He had no idea what was going on. His team had visited the temple week after week for the last many years. They had merely seen that the room was locked and gone back assuming the statues were safe.
‘Do we know what all was there in the Suthamalli temple?’ Kabir asked.
‘I know,’ Madhavan volunteered. ‘Apart from the statue that we found in the shipment in Chennai, there was a large, five-foot-tall statue of Nataraja, called the Lord of the Cosmic Dance. It’s centuries old and worth a fortune.’
‘Stealing a five-foot statue would mean bringing a truck to shift it from here. It would have been very difficult to move without the help of the local authorities.’ He looked at the officer. ‘Would you have a picture?’
‘Back in the office, for sure.’
‘There is nothing left here. Let’s go,’ said Kabir.
The moment they stepped out of the temple, flashbulbs went off. The press had got wind of the story.
‘Who the hell told these guys?’ Kabir demanded furiously. In such situations, it always helped to conduct the investigation secretly. The involvement of the press invariably ruined matters. Kabir knew that it was only going to get worse from here.
The next morning, the story about the theft of antiques from the Varadaraja Perumal Temple in Suthamalli was front-page news in most of the dailies in south India. A few creative reporters had even managed to get old pictures of the statues from the villagers.
In Commissioner Iyer’s office in Chennai, a furious Kabir flung the newspaper away and looked at the commissioner. ‘Is there a way we can stop the media from covering this?’
‘Not without an injunction from the court. And for that we have to prove that the media writing about this will hinder the investigation.’ He walked up to Kabir and patted his shoulder. ‘You know how difficult it will be to prove something like that in court.’
27
SINGAPORE
It was midday in Singapore when stories about the Suthamalli temple theft came out in the newspapers in India.
Monna Yates was updating her blog chariotsoffire.com when a beep signalled a new mail in her inbox. Monna was one of the most popular bloggers writing about antiques, sculptures and religious artefacts. Considered an expert in this space, she had a huge readership amongst people who cared for and had an interest in history and architecture.
The mail in the inbox was an innocuous Google alert. She had set an alert for news items related to artefacts and their sale, theft, smuggling or transfer of ownership, especially in the Asia-Pacific region.
The Hindu’s story on the theft of artefacts from the Suthamalli temple had made it into her inbox. She read through the article
with bated breath. At the bottom was a small image of the statues that were missing. Monna had been closely tracking a number of transactions that had taken place in the region over the last few years and suspected that they were all smuggled from south Indian or Sri Lankan temples. This was the first time when the actual source of the artefacts had been identified, though their destination was not known.
Monna decided to get to work. She had to find where the statues stolen from Suthamalli had gone.
28
MUMBAI
Two hundred people had gathered at a prayer meeting in the Sofitel Hotel in Bandra. On the stage, smoke from the incense sticks curling in front of it, was the giant picture of a man who had died in one of the bomb blasts—the one in the taxi outside the airport.
The entire diamond and bullion fraternity had assembled to bid him farewell One by one the mourners spoke about him. Lauded his foresight. His business acumen. And above all his compassion for his colleagues. He loved his manager as much as he cared for his driver, they all said.
Finally Nirav went up to speak. ‘This is a tremendous loss for the diamond trade. Gokul Shah Bhai was an extremely popular member of our community, and one of the most respected. Relationships, for him, were far more important than money. He loved everyone in the trade. In fact, the trade was his family. He lived for all of us. He was so passionate about the diamond business that he dedicated his life to it. He never married. I have lost two friends in these bomb blasts. Akhil Bhai, my neighbour of four decades, and Gokul Shah Bhai, whom I admired greatly. May god punish the perpetrators of this heinous act. Only then will the souls of those whom we have lost rest in peace.’
He passed the microphone back to the person who was managing the proceedings and stepped down from the stage. He had barely taken a few steps when Gokul Shah’s brother, Jinesh Shah, confronted him.
‘My brother would have died a happy man, had all of you moved to the Bandra Kurla Complex Diamond Bourse. As promoter and chairman of the bourse, he wanted to see the entire diamond community united and in one location. He wanted to make this one of the largest and most prestigious diamond trading bourses in the world. Had all of you moved here, his dream would have been realized. But you, like a jerk, refused to budge from Zaveri Bazaar. Not only did you not move, you did not let others shift either! Never before has this trade been so divided. And all because of one person. You! Nirav Choksi!’
Nirav was taken aback by this onslaught. He could feel the rage in Jinesh’s eyes. Divya started to say something in response, but Nirav held her back. ‘This is not the time to talk about this. We can discuss this later,’ he said in a calm voice that belied his anxiety. Most of the people present at the venue were traders who had moved to the BKC bourse. Their loyalties clearly lay with the deceased and his family. And in situations like these passions tended to rise and logic took a beating.
Within moments, many of Gokul Shah’s supporters had joined in.
‘Zaveri Bazaar is unsafe—’ claimed one.
‘No security there. Crowded—’ said another.
‘Home to many unsavoury elements—’
‘What are you waiting for? A bigger terrorist attack? More death—is that what you want?’
A few of the women sitting in one corner of the hall became nervous. They didn’t want this to deteriorate into a street fight. One of them quietly walked up to Jinesh Shah and, unbeknownst to anyone, whispered something in his ear.
Nirav had consciously kept quiet all this while. He didn’t want to get into an argument. The people who continued to work at Zaveri Bazaar had stayed back despite knowing that the BKC Diamond Bourse had better infrastructure, was safer and easier to operate from. Obviously, they had their own reasons for making the choice.
‘Let us talk about this in a few days. Now I need to go,’ he said and walked towards the main door with Divya. Suddenly in his peripheral vision he noticed something coming towards him. He stepped to the side instinctively and took the blow of the lathi on his shoulder. The knock upset his balance and he tumbled forward.
Divya turned and challenged Jinesh Shah, the aggressor. She had seen the lathi in the woman’s hand a few moments before she handed it over to Jinesh.
‘What is wrong with you?’ she yelled. Her voice rang through the hall.
What was intended to be a peaceful prayer meeting was quickly deteriorating into a madhouse. The woman who had spoken to Jinesh Shah moments ago was now on the phone. Divya suspected that the woman was up to some mischief and tapped Nirav on the shoulder. ‘You need to leave. Now!’ she insisted, before turning back to the crowd.
‘You are so taken in by the entire issue that it is clouding your judgement,’ she said. ‘You’re all making it seem that the BKC bourse is tottering because some businesses stayed back in Zaveri Bazaar. Come on! Had all of them moved to the bourse, would Shah Bhai still be alive? Don’t forget, the blast that killed Shah Bhai was outside the airport; not in Zaveri Bazaar. In what way is Zaveri Bazaar responsible for his death?’ A note of hysteria had crept into her voice. ‘Is this the time to discuss this?’ she yelled.
Just then Aditya rushed into the hall. He had accompanied Nirav and Divya to the venue, but since he was not family, he had chosen to wait for them in one of the hotel’s cafes. However, the raised voices and gathering crowd outside the hall had caught his attention. Seeing what had happened, he walked up to Jinesh Shah. ‘You guys have gone crazy. It’s almost as if you are using Shah Bhai’s death and the Zaveri Bazaar bomb blast to convince merchants to move to the BKC bourse. If that’s what you want to do with Shah Bhai’s death, it is unfortunate.’ He turned away from them and took Divya’s hand. ‘Come, let’s go.’
Divya and Aditya supported Nirav between them and together the three of them walked out of the prayer session. No one had the courage to challenge them again. Jinesh Shah turned and looked at the crowd. A sinister smile lit up his face. As if he was extremely proud of what he had done.
‘Thanks, Divya. I wonder what stunts those guys would have tried had you not been there.’ Nirav smiled at her once they were out of the hotel. ‘They don’t realize that no one will move from Zaveri Bazaar. We cannot alter our lives just because of the bomb blasts.’ He looked at Aditya and said, ‘Beta, you must stay out of these battles. You are just about to embark on your career. No point taking sides and getting branded even before you’ve begun.’
Aditya nodded mutely.
Divya spoke up. ‘Aditya will be fine, Dad. It’s you I’m worried about. You need to be careful. You could have died!’
‘Those who are protected by God, don’t die so soon, my sweetheart,’ Nirav responded. Divya didn’t understand the context and rolled her eyes.
‘Well, see for yourself.’ Nirav pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and gave it to her.
‘Supreme Court!’ Divya exclaimed.
Nirav looked at Divya and smiled. ‘It came this morning. The media has not yet caught wind of this.’
‘But you must have known earlier.’ Divya smiled and turned her attention to the notification.
From the first few lines of the letter it was clear that this document was related to a case that had been filed in the Supreme Court. Hurriedly she skipped the next few lines and reached the core content of the letter.
The Supreme Court of India, on the advice of Vikram Rai, former Comptroller and Auditor General of India, has decided to appoint you to the committee that will be tasked with conducting a thorough audit of the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple, Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, and its properties. You will be a part of a seven-member team:
Mr Vikram Rai, Former Comptroller and Auditor General of India
Retd Chief Justice Kamal Nadkarni
Mr S.S. Rajan, the Complainant
Mr R. Dalawa, Chief Secretary, Government of Kerala
Mr Subhash Parikh
Mr Ranjit Dubey
Mr Nirav Choksi
Apart from the audit, this panel will also inspec
t the temple’s vaults and be accountable for reviewing the security measures in place to protect the temple and its heritage.
A detailed scope of work is in the annexure.
‘Where is the annexure?’ asked Divya.
‘I haven’t received it yet.’
‘What does it have to do with God protecting you and saving you from the bomb blast?’
‘Well, God wants me to protect the temple. So he saved me from the bombs and Jinesh Bhai’s cowardly attack,’ Nirav said as he got into the driver’s seat of the car the parking attendant had just brought up to them.
29
‘So we finally get to work together.’ Subhash Parikh clasped his hands in glee. He was meeting Nirav Choksi after a very long time. They had known each other for many years. They had grown up in the same neighbourhood, worked in similar professions, but never together. Nirav had stayed on in India to manage the family business and work at acquiring an exclusive client base while Subhash Parikh went overseas, to become a more global, mass player. Focusing more on antiques.
‘Not the most pleasant of assignments, though,’ Nirav countered.
‘Does it really matter, Nirav?’ Subhash argued. ‘The way I look at it, it is just another job to be done. Mind you, it is not going to be easy, but let’s see . . .’
‘True,’ Nirav said. Subhash’s words reminded Nirav of an incident that had occurred years ago when they were teenagers. Subhash had attacked one of their acquaintances for making derogatory remarks about his family. Had it been a normal fight, it would have been fine. But the acquaintance nearly died. Subhash had been arrested and almost sent to a juvenile remand home. Nirav’s father had intervened on Subhash’s father’s request. ‘It’s not going to be easy. Let’s see,’ he had said then, before he used all his clout with the police and politicians to get Subhash released and the records sealed. The Parikhs had moved to America after that, and eventually Subhash had set up his business in New York.
‘When do we have to be there?’ Parikh queried, and then answered the question himself. ‘Next week, right?’
In the Name of God Page 7
