The Mahabharata Secret

by Doyle, Christopher C

  There was a knock on the door. She jumped to her feet. Was it Vijay? She shook her head to dislodge the thought. It could be any one of the others, as well.

  She opened the door.

  To her shock, two men with guns stood there. Behind them was a pleasant-faced man with a smile on his face.

  ‘Miss Radha Shukla?’ he enquired amiably. ‘I’m Farooq Siddiqui. Surely, you’ve heard of me. Please come with me. There’s no point resisting or raising an alarm, unless you want to end up dead.’

  Radha knew she had nowhere to run.

  The Agenda Revealed

  Imran didn’t stop to wonder how long Bheem Singh had been standing there observing him or why he had returned. His training took over and he automatically reached for his Glock, holstered at his waist. Barely had his fingers touched the weapon, however, than he felt a jolt run through his hand, like a mild electric shock. Instinctively, he jerked his hand away.

  Almost simultaneously, he felt his mobile phone vibrate and Vaid’s voice spoke into his ear through the hidden earpiece.

  ‘Kidwai? You called for me?’

  Imran stiffened. ‘Kidwai? Can you hear me?’ Vaid repeated.

  ‘I wouldn’t try being a cowboy, if I were you,’ Bheem Singh said calmly, as he toyed with the steel wristbands he wore. ‘That was just a demonstration. I’ve now set these at a level that can stun you right as you stand there.’

  Imran recalled the conversation he had overheard between Buckworth and the Maharaja. Bheem Singh had taken off his watch to demonstrate a weapon to the US Vice President. Wrist bands. He now understood the nature of the weapon. Somehow, these wristbands were capable of delivering an electric charge across a distance. What their range was he couldn’t guess, but he was sure that they could pack a powerful punch when required.

  What technology was this? And where had it been developed? He clasped his hands at his waist where Bheem Singh could see them. The Maharaja smiled. ‘That’s smart. My security has obviously failed, if you’ve made it this far. It’s a good thing after all that I forgot my watch and came back for it. You made it in. That was the easy part.’ He turned sideways and, grasping the handle of the door, turned it in an anticlockwise direction. The wall that Imran had been studying moments ago dropped away, revealing the entrance to the stairway that led to the subterranean chamber.

  Vaid had fallen silent after his first words. Had he hung up or was he listening? Did he realise Imran’s predicament? Imran could only hope that Vaid had recognised Bheem Singh’s voice and stayed on the call.

  ‘This is what you were looking for, isn’t it?’ Bheem Singh was saying, pointing to the door handle. ‘You didn’t think I’d make it easy for anyone to find this, did you? State of the art biometrics. Only I have access to this vault.’ He motioned Imran down the staircase and followed him.

  Imran found himself standing in a large rectangular room, flooded with the deep blue light, bordering on purple, which he had seen seeping out of the room earlier. It reminded him of a nightclub. The walls of the room glowed white and he saw two thick pillars that divided the room into unequal portions.

  He realised that the room was illuminated by ultra violet light and the walls probably had fluorescent paint on them.

  Even in the dim blue light, he could see that the walls were deeply gouged in places. To his right, along the length of the wall, ran a shelf that glowed white like the walls, on which were displayed a variety of metallic objects in different shapes and sizes. None of them were even vaguely familiar to him, but from what he remembered of Buckworth’s reaction, he surmised they were all weapons of some kind, like the wristbands Bheem Singh wore.

  On the other side of the room stood large mechanical devices, ranging in height from three feet to seven feet. A few of them looked like large metallic archer’s bows mounted on platforms with wheels. Again, he couldn’t guess what they were, though he could guess their purpose.

  Where had Bheem Singh got these from?

  ‘I’ve heard that you are one of the bright sparks at the IB.’ Bheem Singh was regarding him with pity. ‘Too bad you insisted on sticking your nose in matters that are none of your business. I tried to make it easy for you. I turned you away when you wanted to interrogate me. I put pressure through the Home Minister. But you have a nose for trouble. And what do you do? Break into my house. I don’t know how long you’ve been here and what you’ve seen or heard, but I really can’t allow you to leave now. And I don’t think I can afford to keep you alive either. Too much bother.’

  Imran’s blood ran cold at these words. Hoping that Vaid was still on the call, listening in, he decided to try and get the Maharaja to talk.

  ‘So you think these toys will help you in your plan to assassinate the US President and install Buckworth in his place?’ He stared defiantly back at the Maharaja.

  Bheem Singh looked at him for a moment then laughed, his teeth glowing in the UV light. Imran knew that he had struck the right chord.

  ‘So you overheard my conversation with Buckworth.’ The Maharaja chuckled. ‘And you think this is all about making Buckworth the US President. Why would I want to do that?’

  Imran decided to play dumb. ‘Commercial reasons. You are a businessman and your consortium has global interests. What better way to increase your influence in global commercial activity than being a kingmaker for the economic engine of the world economy? Despite the recession, America is still important for global commerce and trade.’ He was betting that the Maharaja had a king-size ego and would be goaded into boasting about his true intentions.

  Bheem Singh appeared to consider Imran’s words. ‘I guess it won’t hurt,’ he said, finally, ‘to tell you the truth. After all, you’re not going anywhere.’

  Imran smiled inwardly. He was right about the Maharaja’s ego.

  ‘This is much bigger than the US. By wiping out the leaders of the G20 countries and installing our own men in their place, we will control the most economically powerful countries in the world. This will give us unprecedented access to business opportunities across the globe and therefore global domination. Unhindered’. He beamed at Imran, visibly pleased with his own forecast.

  ‘And just how do you intend carrying out your plan?’ This was exactly what he and Blake had surmised earlier.

  ‘Let me start with a discovery made by my ancestor, the first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh, 1,500 years ago.’

  Bheem Singh explained the discovery of his ancestor and its link with the Mahabharata; informing Imran about a celestial secret weapon that had been lost in the mists of time and erased from public memory. While building a new fort, a book written in stone was discovered. It was remarkably well preserved and the inscriptions told a tale from the Mahabharata. A tale that was missing from all recorded versions of the epic.

  When he had finished his story, Imran looked sceptical. ‘How can you believe in a legend that goes back thousands of years? The Mahabharata is mythology. There may have been some truth about a fierce war fought thousands of years ago, but fanciful descriptions of weapons from the gods? Surely you can’t be serious?’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Look around you. What you see are some of the so-called celestial weapons from the Mahabharata; ancient designs used to create modern weapons in modern factories. Whatever the truth behind the Mahabharata and its historical authenticity, those weapons existed; including this particular weapon that was described in the stone book. You see, my ancestor also made another startling discovery.

  ‘Asoka the Great had unearthed the location where this weapon had been hidden away and cobbled together a secret brotherhood to conceal its location and ensure that no one ever found it. My ancestor’s court astronomer was a member of this brotherhood. Unfortunately, however, before my ancestor had a chance to interrogate him and learn more, the astronomer disappeared and was never seen again. Until, eleven years ago, by an amazing turn of events, his bones were discovered in Afghanistan, along with texts that gave clues to the loca
tion where the weapon was hidden.’

  ‘And you have found that location and plan to use this amazing weapon to further your plans.’ Imran couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

  ‘Not really. We haven’t found the location yet. But our partners are on the job. We already have a prototype of the weapon with us. The texts found in Afghanistan led us to another hidden location where we found more details on how to build the weapon. We’ve been assembling the prototype for the last three years. Unfortunately, those texts were incomplete. The prototype isn’t perfect. We need a sample of the original weapon to complete it and make it fully operational.’

  A sudden realisation dawned on Imran—Vijay Singh and his friends. Somehow, they were involved in this. So that was what Farooq wanted from them—the location of this weapon. But how had Vijay Singh come by this knowledge?

  Another thought struck him. He had heard Bheem Singh tell Buckworth that he had instructed Farooq to take Vijay and another person hostage. The woman. He remembered her from his visit to the fort. She and Vijay were in danger!

  ‘I still don’t see how this ancient weapon will help you,’ Imran persisted. ‘After the announcement by LeT, you don’t have a hope in hell of carrying out your plan.’

  Bheem Singh smiled, and his teeth glowed again. ‘Wrong again. The weapon will actually help us carry out LeT’s threat. Let me show you the prototype and you’ll see what I mean.’ He gestured to a corner of the room.

  Imran stared, unimpressed, at the device that stood there. ‘This is it?’

  Bheem Singh flicked a switch and suddenly the room was flooded with cool white light from compact fluorescent lamps.

  Imran stared at the device he had seen in the ultraviolet light and sucked in his breath sharply. He couldn’t believe his eyes now that the UV light had been switched off. This, then, was how they intended carrying out their plan.

  The Maharaja was right. If they perfected this weapon, nothing could stop them from succeeding in their mission.

  28

  September 2001

  Bamiyan, Afghanistan

  Winter was upon them again and Baran opened up the trunk in which their winter clothes were stored.

  He pulled out the simple robes, cloaks and shawls and dumped them in a pile by the side of the trunk.

  As he pulled out a brown shawl something fell from within the folds of the cloth. It was a package which had been stored away for safekeeping.

  He recognised the package as the one containing the metal disk and the texts he had discovered a few months ago, when the statues had been destroyed. He had forgotten about them.

  A thought struck him. Mohammed Bin Jabal had arrived a few days ago. He had been introduced to him at one of the gatherings that had been held to facilitate the Al Qaeda leader. The destruction of the World Trade Centre in New York two weeks ago had created a buzz within the Taliban and respect for Al Qaeda and Bin Laden had risen by several notches.

  Bin Jabal had come to review the operations of the Taliban in this part of Afghanistan, as rumours swirled fast and furious that America was planning to launch military operations in Afghanistan with the objective of flushing out Bin Laden.

  But it wasn’t the purpose of Bin Jabal’s visit that Baran was now thinking about.

  He had been told by one of his Taliban comrades that Bin Jabal was also an Al Qaeda expert on antiquities and a trader on the international black market. It was one of the means Al Qaeda employed to raise funds for its activities within Afghanistan and outside.

  Baran looked at the package again. The novelty of the discovery had faded with time. Even as a souvenir, it had hardly matched up to the rocks—fragments of the fallen Buddhas— that Baran had brought home with him. Was there any further use of keeping them with him?

  He made a decision. He’d speak to Bin Jabal and show him the texts. Perhaps he could read the script and determine if they were of any value. Surely Bin Jabal could help him get some money for them?

  Money would be good. They needed new clothes for the winter. He strode out of the house purposefully, the package tucked under his arm, the pile of clothes at the side of the trunk totally forgotten.

  29

  Present Day

  Day 8

  Patna

  For a moment, Vijay stood there, frozen, unsure if he should try something. Then, realising that the odds of succeeding were stacked against him; he sighed and slowly put the rock ball on the ground and straightened up, his hands in the air.

  The two gunmen approached him cautiously. Farooq had instructed them to take him alive. They had been shooting at him only to deter him from trying any attacking manoeuvres and were taking no chances after his last escape from their clutches.

  One of the men put the rock ball back into the bag, hefting it over his shoulder. The other man prodded Vijay in the ribs with the gun and together, the three walked away from the hawker market.

  Vijay was surprised at how well the men seemed to know their way around the town. They were definitely not locals, by their accents or looks. The only other possibility was that they had done a thorough virtual recce of the area, which meant that they were well equipped with maps and GPS equipment. Whoever these men were, they were well-funded. And able to carry their guns with them wherever they travelled. He didn’t know how they had managed to pull that off but the fact that they had was a scary thought.

  Presently, they came to where two black Ford Endeavours were parked in a vacant parking lot. The place seemed deserted apart from the two SUVs and eight armed men waiting for them.

  Vijay’s hands were bound behind his back and he was roughly shoved into the Ford. He wanted to resist but he knew that it would be futile. As he sat there, wondering what was going to happen next, he realised they weren’t moving on.

  What were they waiting for?

  Moments passed, and he could hear the men talking in guttural tones outside the SUV. He couldn’t understand what they were saying so he tried to focus on keeping his thoughts optimistic. Maybe Farooq would let him off after taking the stone ball from him.

  His hopes were rudely dashed to the ground as the SUV door opened once more and Radha, bound at the wrists, was forced into the seat next to him. His heart sank and something inside him seemed to cave in as he saw the terror on her face.

  As he gaped at her, horrified at this turn of events, two men slid into the front seats of the vehicle and two clambered into the rear seats, and the SUV lurched forward and out of the parking lot.

  Vijay wanted to comfort Radha, but words failed him. His own terror had given way to an inexplicable sense of despondency and all he could do was stare at her as if, by sheer willpower, he could secure her freedom.

  Radha said nothing, but stared back, wide-eyed, at him. She knew there was little they could do to get out of this situation. And there was nothing that her father or Colin or White could do to help them either.

  They were well and truly prisoners.

  IB Headquarters On The Alert

  Arjun Vaid listened intently, his entire attention on the speakerphone, ignoring the two IB officers sitting across his desk. He had recognised the voice of Bheem Singh, when he’d called Imran, and didn’t have to listen too long to realise that Imran’s hunch was correct. There had been a flurry of action after that, even as he stayed on the call, trying not to miss anything in the conversation.

  The call was now being recorded and Vaid had even called up the Home Minister and patched the call through to him so he could hear the conversation for himself. The Home Minister was known for his integrity and Vaid knew that, whatever Bheem Singh was up to, the Home Minister wouldn’t have known about it.

  A team of commandos had been immediately despatched to Bheem Singh’s farmhouse, with instructions to secure the building and ensure that none of the evidence was destroyed. With Bheem Singh’s influence and political clout, Vaid wanted to ensure that they had enough to guarantee that he wouldn’t get away after this. And he kn
ew that he had a responsibility to get Imran out of this mess.

  As the conversation progressed, the realisation dawned on Vaid that this entire situation was more complex and ran much deeper than any of them had imagined.

  ‘So now you understand,’ Bheem Singh was saying, a hint of triumph in his voice, ‘that this plan is infallible. In a few months, we’ll rule the world.’ He chuckled. There was silence in response. It seemed that Imran had no answer to this boast.

  ‘Enough about me,’ Bheem Singh continued, as if Imran’s response didn’t matter. ‘Let’s talk about you. How do we end this? Let’s see...’ He broke off and there was silence again.

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ Imran said in a strained voice. ‘Even if you kill me, they’ll get you.’

  ‘They?’ Bheem Singh sounded puzzled. ‘Who? Oh, I see, the IB. My dear fellow, how on earth do you think they’ll ever know what happened to you or how I was connected with your disappearance? You don’t think I’m naive enough not to cover my tracks?’ He paused.

  Vaid heard a buzzing sound over the speakerphone, but couldn’t identify it.

  ‘Now this is what Steve Buckworth would call “cool”.’ There was a trace of admiration in Bheem Singh’s voice. ‘An ancient weapon, as old as Indian civilisation itself. Kills cleanly.’

  Vaid looked at his watch. Where were the commandos? Why hadn’t they reached?

  30

  January 2003

  Vikram Singh’s apartment, New Delhi

  Vikram Singh sat at his desk in his study, and gazed with mixed emotions at the strips of bark bound together. A sense of elation swept over him. But his delight was tempered with bewilderment at the mysterious emergence of these texts after their equally mystifying disappearance 1,500 years ago.