The Mahabharata Secret

by Doyle, Christopher C

  He looked up from the books to the man who sat on the other side of the desk.

  Farooq Siddiqui beamed at Vikram. His guess had been correct. The texts were important.

  ‘This is amazing!’ Vikram’s eyes shone with excitement.

  ‘Can you read the script then?’

  ‘Of course. It’s in Kharosthi. An ancient language of India.’

  Farooq leaned forward. ‘And what do they say?’

  Instead of reading the text, Vikram explained how the texts and disk had gone missing with an astronomer in the court of the first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh.

  ‘The first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh? You mean the same Rajvirgarh that Bheem Singh’s family ruled?’ Inwardly, Farooq was smiling. So this is how Bheem Singh and Van Klueck had known about the Nine.

  Vikram nodded. ‘The same. The first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh was Bheem Singh’s ancestor and started the dynasty. According to the legend, his court astronomer vanished one day. The Maharaja launched a search for him but it was like he had disappeared off the face of the earth. With him were lost some of the most secret texts of the Nine and one of the two metal disks that were part of the puzzle that the Nine had created to hide the location of their secret.’

  ‘You mean a metal disk like this?’ Farooq reached within his bag and drew out a circular slab of metal.

  Vikram’s hands trembled with excitement as he took the disk from Farooq. He placed it on the desk next to the texts and studied it. Suddenly, he looked up.

  ‘Where did you get these from, Farooq? The texts, the metal disk, it’s almost as if you met the missing astronomer and got these off him. These artefacts have been missing for 1,500 years. How did they suddenly re-surface?’

  ‘They aren’t fake, I assure you.’

  ‘I know they aren’t fakes. I’m just curious where you got them from.’

  ‘Oh, I ran across a dealer in antiquities in Afghanistan,’ Farooq replied, nonchalantly. ‘He had these with him and didn’t know their value. The moment I laid my eyes on them, I figured they were important. But I couldn’t read the script, so I brought them to you.’

  ‘These are in very good condition, for their age.’ Vikram handled the strips of bark with a pair of forceps so as to not damage them. ‘The only reason they have survived since the sixth century ad is because they’ve been written on the bark of the bhoj tree, which is resistant to decay and decomposition. And if they were found in Afghanistan, then the arid conditions and freezing winter temperatures would have helped preserve them.’

  ‘And what do they say?’ Farooq pressed.

  ‘Lots of things. There’s a list of the names of the original members of the Nine. There’s a mission statement, the purpose for which the brotherhood was formed. There are also some instructions that look like directions to a hidden location.’ A tremor entered his voice as he spoke the next words. ‘And it has the lost book of the Mahabharata, the Vimana Parva, which was never documented officially. It describes the secret of the Nine.’

  Farooq was astonished. ‘You mean they documented all that? Why?’

  Vikram shrugged. ‘It’s not like anyone could read this. Even if you knew Kharosthi, it would seem no more than the narration of an ancient myth and the story of the Nine. Even the Vimana Parva wouldn’t be recognised by anyone not aware of its existence or familiar with its contents. The texts are in the form of verses. Few people would be able to interpret their true meaning.’

  ‘You’re well qualified for that, I know,’ Farooq grinned. ‘So, is the hidden location described in these texts the place where the Nine concealed their secret?’

  Vikram shook his head. ‘Can’t be. That wouldn’t make sense. Why would the Nine go to great lengths to devise a puzzle to protect the location of the secret and then document its location?’

  ‘So, what’s the secret of the Nine?’

  Vikram smiled at him. ‘Do you think you are ready and prepared for the answer? To know what it was that Emperor Asoka thought could pose such a great danger to the world?’

  Farooq stared back, his face serious now. ‘I believe I am.’

  Vikram leaned forward and fixed him with his gaze. ‘Then, I’ll read you the Vimana Parva. Prepare to be amazed as I reveal to you the secret of the Nine!’

  31

  January 2004

  The Dorchester Hotel, London

  A tall, man made his way through the lobby of the hotel to the elevators. He had an aquiline nose and silver grey hair. The rimless spectacles he wore added to his stern visage. Anyone encountering him would speculate that he was a rich European businessman and immensely wealthy.

  This speculation would not have been entirely wrong. Christian Van Klueck was Austrian by nationality and a businessman by profession; but his family had been wealthy for generations, having run a prosperous trading business that covered most of the globe. While the Van Kluecks traced their lineage back hundreds of years—some of Christian’s ancestors had counted among the nobility in the Hapsburg court—some rumours went as far as to suggest that some of Christian’s early ancestors were not the honourable men they were made out to be but had surreptitiously indulged in piracy on the high seas, looting and sinking ships, thus adding to their hoard of treasure and riches. Over the last three generations, however, the family had kept up with the times and diversified into businesses that were critical to global business and trade. Through this strategy, they had not only succeeded in multiplying their wealth several times, but they had also strengthened their influence in the political arenas of most of the countries in which they operated. Some said that the influence of the Van Kluecks was stronger than that of the United Nations, though they had never been known to wield this influence in any overt manner.

  Van Klueck rode up in the elevator to the top floor, which housed the Harlequin Suite.

  The door opened to reveal a man who was roughly the same age as Van Klueck and as tall, but broader in the shoulder and bulkier than the European. His mop of grey hair rested atop an aristocratic face.

  Bheem Singh beamed at Van Klueck and motioned for him to enter.

  So, what’s the news’? Bheem Singh asked him once he was seated on the couch.

  ‘I met with Farooq. In Pakistan.’ Van Klueck said, taking a gulp of the fine single malt whisky offered by his host. ‘He wasn’t bluffing. He’s got what we want.’

  Bheem Singh visibly perked up. ‘The metal disk? Finally? You saw it?’

  Van Klueck smiled at the Maharaja’s perceptible excitement. ‘Yes, I saw it. Held it in my hands. And not just the disk. Texts about the brotherhood and the lost book of the Mahabharata and a document with instructions to a secret location. He’s got them all translated. They corroborate the documents you found in your fort. We were right about the secret. And now we have the means to locate it.’

  Bheem Singh settled back in his chair. ‘You mentioned instructions to a secret location. You mean there’s a text that documents where the secret is hidden?’

  Van Klueck shook his head. ‘Farooq doesn’t think it’s that simple. The Nine wouldn’t have created the puzzle if they had a text that gave away the answer to anyone who found it. He doesn’t know what we’ll find in this hidden location but he’s quite sure it won’t be the actual secret. For that, we have to follow the clues. But now that we have the disk, at least we have a starting point.’

  ‘And there’s a catch.’

  ‘I don’t know if you’d call it a catch. But yes, he had conditions.’

  Bheem Singh looked at Van Klueck enquiringly. Van Klueck narrated his conversation with Farooq.

  Farooq looked hard at Van Klueck. ‘Those are my terms. I want the secret. And I know you can’t find it without this disk.’

  Van Klueck thought for a moment. ‘You’re right, we need you—or rather, we need this—to find the secret. But you need us too. Just getting the secret in your hands isn’t enough. You need production facilities, R&D labs, engineers. Where do you think you’re going to get
those from? And even if you do manage to drum up the resources, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.’

  Farooq pondered this. ‘So what do you propose?’

  ‘I’d like to first understand what you want to achieve once you get your hands on it.’

  Farooq hesitated. Should he reveal his plan? But then, he knew he needed the European and his allies to carry out his scheme successfully.

  ‘Fine,’ he said finally. ‘I think LeT’s strategy has lagged behind its ambitions. It wants to be a global terrorist power but is still besotted with targets in India. I want to lead them onto the global stage; stage a disaster so big that the world will prostrate itself at our feet. I’m going to target governments of the world; the major countries, the enemies of Islam. An impossible task, normally. But, with the secret of the Nine in my grasp, it will be child’s play. LeT’s ability to strike terror anywhere, anytime, will finally be recognised. That is when Islam will rule the world.’

  Van Klueck looked thoughtful. ‘Brilliant idea! But there’s a flaw in the execution.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘In order to sustain the fear and awe you wish to evoke as a global terrorist organisation, you need to have governments, law and order, peace in these countries. If you bring the governments down, your plan becomes anarchist and creates chaos. You are then competing with their internal chaos as a power to be feared and terrified of. Surely you don’t want that?’

  ‘And what is your solution?’

  ‘That’s where we come in. We help you find the secret. But, rather than hand it over to you, we use it productively. We develop the technology you need to execute the plan. And we have powerful allies in these countries. We can have standby governments ready to take over as soon as you wipe out the existing governments. Needless to say, the new governments will be more compliant, more supportive and more useful to you. It’s a win-win for both of us.’

  ‘What’s in it for you?’ Farooq was curious.

  ‘Why, profit, of course. We get preferential terms for business, trade and commerce. We get government support for our investments and better conditions for business in all these countries.’

  ‘That does sound like a good plan,’ Farooq admitted.

  ‘But I’m curious. How do you propose to take down all these governments? You are talking of 20 or 30 countries.’

  ‘Simple. Bomb them. A plane carrying a payload that is targeted at the parliament or seat of government of each country,’ Farooq responded confidently.

  ‘I see. I can see where the secret fits in. So, do we agree on this?’ Van Klueck extended his hand.

  ‘Agreed.’ Farooq shook hands with the Austrian.

  ‘We have to begin preparations immediately. We’re looking at early next decade as the target and there’s a lot to do,’ Bheem Singh noted after hearing the details.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we’ve got four years to the 2008 US presidential election. Buckworth is just another Senator. He needs to start working on his image, his positioning as a future running mate for the President so he can become VP in 2008. We then have four more years to ensure that things go well and the President gets re-elected in 2012. It’s the same for the others. They need a few years to establish themselves, build relationships that will help them when the time comes to place them. Also, we’ll never be able to complete the search and build the factories in time. We need to find the secret, build the prototype and test it before beginning production. That’ll take us to 2010.’

  Van Klueck put his glass down. ‘You’re right. It will take time. We need to talk to our friends in these countries. It will take them a few years to build their profiles and position themselves appropriately.’ He looked at Bheem Singh. ‘Except in India, of course. That’s all yours. Finally.’

  Bheem Singh’s eyes flashed. ‘My dynasty has waited 1,500 years for this moment. Right from Rajvir Singh, the first Maharaja of Rajvirgarh, we’ve nursed the ambition of planting our dynastic flag on the map of India. Bringing back the glorious days when one king ruled over the entire country. God knows this country needs a king. Democracy doesn’t work here. Grubby politicians, distasteful bureaucrats—you have no idea how I hate working with them—what they need is a king to rule over them and direct the affairs of the country as only a Maharaja can.

  ‘You know, when I first found those texts in the secret chamber at the fort, I was disinclined to believe their contents. It all sounded too absurd. Then, you found Beger’s diary.’

  Van Klueck reminisced. ‘If I hadn’t bumped into that American whose father had been at Nuremberg during the war crimes trials, I’d never have come across that diary. The idiot thought I was German and proudly showed me the trunk of Nazi documents that his father had brought with him from Germany.’

  ‘You killed him, didn’t you?’ Bheem Singh tried to recall the events of 14 years ago.

  Van Klueck shook his head. ‘Never. I don’t get my hands dirty. I had Cooper take care of it.’

  Bheem Singh murmured, ‘It’s taken 14 years. Destiny is finally with us.’ He laughed and Van Klueck joined him.

  32

  Present Day

  Day 8

  Gurgaon

  Imran stared at the device in Bheem Singh’s hand. The Maharaja had first inserted his index finger into a hollow cylindrical metal tube which he held upright, and then inserted the tube through a hole in the centre of a circular disk with a serrated edge. As he withdrew his hand, the disk began spinning with the tube as its axis, somehow balancing without falling off or even touching it.

  ‘Perhaps you recognise this?’ Bheem Singh looked over the spinning disk at Imran. ‘No? You’ve probably seen artists’ impressions of this and computer generated imagery in television serials. This is the weapon said to have been used by Lord Krishna in his battles; the celestial weapon used by Lord Vishnu. If you were to put a gold plating on this, you’d recognise it as the Sudarshana Chakra. It’s a wonder. Magnetic forces keep the wheel balanced and spinning around the metal axis unless the equilibrium is disturbed by an external force that can overcome the magnetic forces; like heaving it at someone.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve had a bit of practice with this, in this very room. I think my aim is reasonably good now. You won’t feel a thing.’

  Imran’s eyes went to the gouges on the walls. He now understood how they had been created. He braced himself for the inevitable. So, this was it. He wished he knew whether Vaid had been listening in on the conversation or not.

  ‘You wouldn’t kill me here with this thing.’ Imran was putting up a brave front. ‘You’re not going to risk having blood on your floor. Even in this secret room.’

  Bheem Singh smiled smugly. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You, see, no one has ever seen the Sudarshana Chakra work. All that everyone’s seen are artists’ impressions, which invariably show the Chakra severing heads with blood flowing like a fountain. No one could ever guess that the great secret of the Chakra is that it kills cleanly without spilling a drop of blood. It has an inbuilt laser that cauterises blood vessels as it slices through them. Quite advanced for a weapon that is thousands of years old. And, unlike the artists who’ve never seen the chakra at work, we’ve had first hand experience.’

  A horrible realisation dawned on Imran. He recalled reading newspaper reports about the dead scientist’s corpse at Jaungarh. ‘You had Vikram Singh killed with this thing.’ His voice was low and strained.

  ‘Correct.’ Bheem Singh smirked at him. ‘So it’s been tried and tested. The people who designed this weapon knew what they were doing.’

  Bheem Singh raised the spinning disk until it was over his head. He moved his hand back slowly as if preparing to hurl a javelin.

  Suddenly, the staccato sound of automatic weapons, followed by two explosions, came to their ears, accompanied by loud shouts that resounded through the farmhouse.

  Distracted and bewildered, Bheem Singh fleetingly took his eyes off Imran. That split second distraction was all th
at Imran needed. In one swift action, he dived towards the marble shelf, grabbed a round object off it and flung it at Bheem Singh as he hit the floor, hoping he would connect.

  The object missed Bheem Singh but he had to jump aside in an effort to avoid it hitting him and lost his balance. As he stumbled and caught himself from falling, the spinning wheel jerked and detached itself from the metallic cylinder. With no magnetic force to control or stabilise it, the disk fell straight towards the Maharaja, still spinning at top speed.

  Bheem Singh opened his mouth to scream, but the fast spinning disk slashed at his neck severing the arteries, before bouncing to the floor. Imran kicked and propelled himself out of the trajectory of the disk as it came to a rest on the floor.

  He rose and cautiously made his way to Bheem Singh’s prone body, his gun aimed at the corpse. The Maharaja must have died instantly. Despite himself, Imran couldn’t help marvelling at the device. It had severed the arteries but no blood had been spilt. Making his way to where the disk lay, Imran picked it up and examined it. It was hot to the touch. There were really two disks, not one, with a hairline joint between them. And the two blades had serrated edges with the hooks pointing in opposite directions. He winced and dropped the disk. This was for the forensics guys.

  Footsteps rang out as a group of commandos clattered down the secret stairway and grouped before him as they took in the scene. One of the commandos spoke into his throat microphone. ‘Mission accomplished. Round them up.’

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ Imran was grateful. If they hadn’t arrived when they did, it would have been his corpse on the floor.

  A thought struck him. He glanced at his watch. 6.30 p.m. He had two phone calls to make. Vijay Singh and his friend, the woman, were in danger.

  Threat To Kill

  Colin, Shukla and White looked at each other. They had been waiting in the lobby for half an hour, but there was no sign of Vijay.

  ‘Maybe he’s gone up to his room to freshen up first,’ White had suggested.