In the Name of God

by Ravi Subramanian

  ‘It is all right. He is a strong believer in the lord. At his level and position, one doesn’t have a choice. Even if you don’t want to, you will have to believe.’

  Khan ignored the explanation. ‘Parikh’s phone holds the key. I need to find out who his contact in Mumbai was. Once we get to that person, we might be able to unearth some more information about what our guy was up to.’

  ‘There is an easier way to find out whom he was meeting in Mumbai,’ Krishnan said mysteriously. ‘Let me make a few calls.’

  57

  The investigation into the non-working of the CCTV cameras and the absence of housekeeping staff on the floor occupied by the audit team led to a dead end. The police could not pin the responsibility on any individual. Background checks were done on all hotel personnel, but they were all found to be clean.

  ‘All of them are sympathizers,’ Kabir complained.

  ‘Sympathizers?’ Madhavan asked.

  ‘In this state, not many support the vaults being opened. There is a huge difference between what is right and what is considered right. Opening the vaults is the right thing to do. But does the public at large think so? Maybe not.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘That’s why no one has come forward with any information.’

  Kabir’s phone rang just then. It was Krishnan. He was waiting in the hotel lobby.

  Within the next two minutes, Khan was with him.

  ‘I think we have some info on the person who Subhash Parikh was to meet in Mumbai,’ Krishnan told him as he led him to a quiet corner of the lobby. Beyond the glass facade Kabir could see a throng of media personnel waiting to get a sound byte from the people in the know. Confusion reigned supreme.

  ‘Oh wonderful. That was fast.’

  Krishnan rifled through his files and pulled out a photograph. ‘Here is your guy.’

  Kabir looked intently at the balding, middle-aged man dressed in a grey safari suit in the photo. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘This is the man who came to the airport to receive Subhash Parikh. CCTV footage at the arrival gate shows him holding the placard with Parikh’s name on it.’

  ‘Impressive!’ Kabir Khan complimented.

  Krishnan acknowledged the compliment with a grin. ‘I told you I had to make a few phone calls. Mumbai Police has been informed. Everyone is looking for him. We even got his vehicle number from the parking lot.’

  ‘Do we have a fix on where all Subhash Parikh went the night he died?’

  ‘Yes. The mobile phone company was able to give us his location pings. Contrary to his normal routine, he didn’t move around much that evening. You see, he was quite the explorer. Every evening he would go out and come back late. But, on the evening in question, he stayed in the hotel only.’

  He handed over the papers to Kabir. As the DGP had mentioned, the document which traced Parikh’s whereabouts on the night he died didn’t show much movement. However, he seemed to have done a fair bit of travelling the night before that. One of the places he had visited was just six kilometres away. Apparently he had spent a few hours there and returned to the hotel. Why would he do that, Kabir wondered.

  ‘Any idea where this place is?’ he asked Krishnan.

  ‘It is some place closer to the sea. Near Kovalam.’

  ‘Why would Subhash go there at night?’

  Krishnan shrugged. ‘A team has been dispatched to investigate. We will know in a while . . . ’ He realized he was talking to himself. Kabir had disappeared. ‘Where has he gone?’ he asked Madhavan, who was equally perplexed.

  Within five minutes, Kabir was back in the lobby, clutching a folder.

  ‘Sorry!’ he said, pulling out a sheet from the folder and placing it on the table, next to Subhash Parikh’s mobile phone tracking record. ‘See?’ He looked at both men and pointed to the two sheets. ‘He followed him. Everywhere!’

  ‘Who followed whom everywhere?’ Krishnan was confused.

  Kabir let out a little huff of breath. How could they not see it, he wondered with a touch of exasperation. ‘This one, the one on the right is Subhash Parikh’s mobile tracking map. The one on the left is identical, except for the time stamps. They are just about twenty seconds apart, give or take a few. It’s as if Subhash Parikh was trailing the person on the left all evening.’

  ‘Whose is the data on the second sheet?’

  ‘Kannan’s,’ Kabir answered. ‘The moment I saw the tracking data for Subhash, I knew I had seen it earlier.’

  The DGP looked at both tracking maps for a few seconds and then spoke. ‘What is even stranger is the fact that both the trails mirror each other towards the latter part of the evening and then at one point, one of the trails disappears.’

  ‘The Padma Teertha Kulam,’ Madhavan whispered. ‘That’s where Kannan died. Subhash was there when Kannan was killed.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kabir said grimly. ‘Maybe that’s why he was killed.’

  58

  Most of the local jewellers whose help had been solicited in valuing the contents of the vault stopped coming to work, fearing for their lives. Dharmaraja Varma’s reiterations that these deaths were the result of the curse of the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple weren’t helping matters.

  That morning, DGP Krishnan, Kabir Khan, Madhavan and a team of officers descended on the premises of the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple. They wanted to scout around for some clues in the Subhash Parikh murder case.

  Kabir stayed back and explored the area around the Padma Teertha Kulam while Krishnan, Madhavan and the others went in. For once he didn’t make a fuss when Krishnan asked him to stay put; he knew that it was because of his religion.

  Dharmaraja Varma was waiting at the temple gates; he was the only one who had been intimated of the police’s arrival.

  ‘It is unfortunate that you have had to come under such circumstances,’ Dharmaraja Varma said, his words measured, his voice cold and his face expressionless.

  By that time, they had been joined by Vikram Rai and Nirav.

  ‘Who could have killed Subhash Parikh?’ Krishnan asked Vikram the moment they were ahead of the pack, as they took the customary round of the temple. ‘I know we have asked you this before, but now that you have had a chance to introspect . . .?’

  ‘He was quite popular. Everyone liked him. I have no idea why anyone would kill him.’

  ‘Any fights? Any conflicts? Any arguments you are aware of?’

  ‘None whatsoever. Although—’ Vikram hesitated.

  ‘Please! Any information, however inconsequential, might give us our next lead,’ Krishnan begged.

  ‘I . . . He knew about something strange happening in the temple. One of our team members, Mr Dubey, saw something inside the temple and mentioned it to Subhash. I don’t know how relevant it was, but Ranjit thinks that it might have had something to do with his death. He is worried that he is next in line.’

  ‘What was it? What did Mr Dubey see?’

  ‘A gold-plating machine. In the king’s chamber. But when they went looking for it again, it was not there.’

  ‘What?’ Krishnan was surprised. ‘A gold-plating machine. Why does the temple have one? And why didn’t you tell us earlier?’

  ‘And what would you have done?’ Vikram Rai was sarcastic. ‘Precisely,’ he said when Krishnan remained silent. ‘Nothing! You would have done nothing. These guys enjoy political patronage. You can’t touch them, can you?’

  Krishnan’s silence spoke volumes. The two of them kept walking, each preoccupied with his own thoughts. On the way they crossed the temple elephant. It had been freshly decorated; a promotional banner of India Cements Limited hung right behind it.

  ‘I was present when N. Srinivasan came in person and donated this to the temple. It’s been a little over a year now,’ Krishnan remarked. He wanted to keep the conversation going.

  ‘That’s the problem, Mr Krishnan. This temple enjoys immense political patronage. The who’s who of India’s polity and business is a devotee. Anything
that changes the status quo will face huge resistance.’

  ‘You are telling me? All of us know what goes on here, but can do nothing. The state government is in the king’s pocket. They need the votes, so they turn a blind eye to whatever he does. Why else would they give a declaration in court saying they are very happy with the temple remaining under the control of the king?’

  Vikram Rai stopped abruptly and walked back to the elephant. The banner behind the elephant was new, he noticed with interest. ‘Are you saying that this elephant was donated by N. Srinivasan of India Cements?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’ the DGP asked him. ‘In fact, Mr Srinivasan is expected here today. This will be his first public appearance after the match-fixing scandal broke out. We have been asked to beef up security for him.’

  ‘That explains the new banner! The Kerala division of India Cements must have come in to make sure it was put up properly,’ Vikram commented

  ‘Sycophants!’ Krishnan declared.

  As they approached the king’s chamber, they crossed a room on their left that was locked. It was the only locked room on that level of the temple.

  ‘What is in that room?’ Madhavan asked out of curiosity.

  ‘Just some old temple stuff,’ one of the king’s representatives answered.

  ‘Why is the room locked? Anything which is out of the ordinary is cause for suspicion.’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I’ll check,’ was the response.

  ‘Can we see what is inside?’ Krishnan asked in an almost apologetic tone.

  ‘Let me see where the keys are.’

  Madhavan and Krishnan waited for about five minutes and then walked to the king’s chamber, deciding to sit there till the keys came.

  They met with all the jewellers and valuers, who had been specifically called in, one by one. The interrogation process lasted over a couple of hours. Krishnan had offered to have Kabir Khan dropped back, but Kabir declined politely. He wanted to be around and in the thick of things.

  59

  Kabir walked around the Padma Teertha Kulam, his thoughts in a jumble. He wondered what could have caused the deaths of Kannan and Subhash Parikh. Both in different parts of the city, both by different means—one violent, the other peaceful. Yet, instinct told him that the two murders were related. He turned around and looked at the temple. From here, he could see the gopuram. Were the killings related to the happenings in the temple? But then, he thought, religion was made to protect. In every religion, people killed in the name of god. Just that they had got used to blaming him for everything.

  After walking around a bit, he called Madhavan, who was in the king’s chamber with Krishnan.

  ‘Did you ask to see what’s inside those rooms?’

  ‘Not in my jurisdiction. I did tell the DGP,’ Madhavan responded.

  ‘And?’

  ‘At first they tried to stall us, then the DGP asked Dharmaraja Varma. That’s when we were told that the keys are not available; the person who has them hasn’t come in.’

  ‘Break open the locks, man!’ Kabir thundered. ‘I am sure there is something there which the king wants to hide.’

  ‘As I said, not under my jurisdiction. This is Krishnan’s call. I am just an observer.’ He handed over the phone to Krishnan.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Dharmaraja Varma sensed something was amiss. No one responded.

  ‘Yes, Kabir.’ Krishnan walked away from the king’s table as he spoke. He did not want the latter to overhear him.

  Kabir didn’t have to convince Krishnan to break open the lock. ‘You will need court permission, sir. But not the amicus curiae.’ He had read the terms of reference of the job that was entrusted to the amicus curiae. ‘The court-appointed team can check any room they want to. They have unhindered access to every corner of the temple complex. If Vikram Rai asks for it, no one can refuse. It is well within his powers. Powers that have been granted by the Supreme Court.’

  The moment he hung up, the DGP walked up to Vikram Rai and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Mr Rai, may I have a word?’

  Vikram was only too happy to sign the orders to break open the padlock. ‘I don’t have a problem. You are the person who should be worried about the effect of this on public perception. Not me. I will sign the request to open the door under police bandobast.’

  ‘Thank you. I will get the letter ready.’

  60

  Divya and Aditya were still in Thiruvananthapuram. Divya was worried about Nirav and had insisted on staying back till the situation resolved itself. Aditya concurred, not that he had a choice. Over the last couple of days a certain chill had crept into their relationship. Divya was no longer as friendly as she used to be. She had become snappy and would take off on him at the smallest pretext.

  Divya was in her room when she got a call.

  ‘Hello, Aunty.’

  ‘I spoke to you earlier too, sweetheart. Were you able to talk to your father about this property?’

  ‘Oh no! I completely forgot about it, Aunty. Too many things are happening here. You must have read about them in the papers.’ She paused for breath. ‘But don’t worry. I will speak to him. Tonight. For sure.’

  ‘Okay, my love. Just let me know. After Ankit went overseas, your uncle was managing all this. Now that he is not with us any longer, I only have you to turn to.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Aunty. I will speak to Dad.’ She hung up.

  ‘What happened?’ Aditya inquired.

  ‘Nothing important.’ Divya didn’t elaborate.

  ‘Fine!’ Aditya shrugged in frustration and stormed off.

  She was feeling the heat of the past few days and her behaviour was possibly the result of that, he consoled himself.

  61

  Vikram walked up to the door, one last time, to check the lock. It was a new Godrej seven-lever padlock. ‘We shall break the lock. And if need be, the door too.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ Dharmaraja Varma tried arguing. ‘If you’d wait for just one day, we’ll get you the keys!’

  Vikram Rai was in a confrontational mood. ‘Either give us the keys now, or we will break down the door.’ He glared at the king.

  Varma stared back resolutely.

  ‘So be it,’ Vikram said and in no time, the padlock was hammered into submission by two of Krishnan’s men.

  Vikram pushed open the door and entered the dark room. He ran his fingers along the wall lightly, trying to locate the light switches. The moment he turned the lights on, there was an audible gasp from the men behind him. Vikram was shocked by what he saw. In the centre of the room was a gold-plating machine. On closer inspection he noticed that it was a West Houghten and Blake model. The year on the manufacturers stamp read 2014.

  Ranjit hurried up to Vikram and nudged him. ‘This is the one I saw in the corridor near the bathroom.’

  Vikram looked at Dharmaraja Varma. The king looked utterly composed.

  ‘Why does a temple need a gold-plating machine?’ Rajan asked.

  Dharmaraja Varma ignored the question. He refused to be drawn into a conversation with Rajan of all people.

  ‘Well?’ Vikram asked irritably. ‘The man asked you a question.’

  ‘Oh. It is used all the time. This is one of the largest temples in south India. We have so many smaller temples inside and festivities are held all through the year.’

  ‘So?’ Vikram was getting impatient.

  ‘So during these festivals the deities have to be decked up with jewellery.’ Dharmaraja Varma spoke slowly, as if explaining the intricacies of temple procedure to a child. ‘And because the jewellery tends to get roughed up a lot, the pieces often suffer damage. The gold-plating machine is to make sure that the damaged pieces can be repaired on the temple premises itself.’

  ‘How come I have never seen this?’ asked Rajan, only to be ignored by the king once again.

  ‘Is that why these pieces are here?’ Nirav pointed at a miniature statue of Goddess Lakshmi lying in one corner of the room.
‘It doesn’t seem to be bro—’ He stopped abruptly, walked over to the statue and moved it to the side. Partially concealed behind the statue was a pot studded with precious stones and full of glittering gold coins. Coins which appeared to be centuries old. DGP Krishnan was shocked when he saw the pot.

  Nirav carefully picked up the pot and brought it to Vikram and Rajan. Together they peered at the marking on the pot.

  ‘1648,’ Rajan said, reading the numbers inscribed on the neck of the pot.

  Both Vikram and Nirav looked at each other.

  ‘Which means there were at least 1648 pots.’

  62

  Vikram Rai looked at Dharmaraja Varma in shock. ‘Wasn’t this in Vault A?’

  Varma looked as unaffected as ever. ‘Vault A?’ He chuckled. ‘You must be joking!’ Suddenly his expression changed. His face became red and mouth quivered with rage. ‘Are you insinuating . . . ?’

  ‘I am not insinuating anything, Thirumanassu. I am just asking you a question. The answer to which all of us can see.’

  ‘This pot has been outside ever since I can remember!’ Varma blustered. ‘I don’t know what makes you think that this belongs to Vault A. I have no idea.’

  ‘For starters, it is numbered 1648,’ Nirav began. ‘There are a few hundred of these gold pots and large urns numbered in this manner inside Vault A. Not only numbered in this manner, but the look and feel is exactly the same. If I remember correctly, the largest number I have seen on those pots is 869. If this is pot 1648, there should have been at least 1647, if not more, pots inside the vault. Where are the rest?’ Nirav demanded aggressively.

  ‘Watch your tone!’ Dharmaraja Varma thundered. ‘And lower your voice. No one speaks to me in this fashion.’

  ‘Bullsh—’ Nirav burst out, but Vikram squeezed his shoulder in warning.

  ‘Gold, statues and figurines which should be in the vaults are here in this room. A gold-plating machine of industrial scale is on the premises. What are we to make of it, Thirumanassu?’ DGP Krishnan asked forcefully, yet respectfully.