Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Ashwin Sanghi entrepreneur by day, novelist by night has tetraedge.info: The Krishna Key: Book 3 in the Bharat Series of Historical and Mythological Thrillers eBook: Ashwin Sanghi: Kindle Store. Read for Free .. The other thing that weighs down this book is the average writing. Five thousand years ago, there came to earth a magicalbeing called Krishna, cover image of The Krishna Key. The Krishna Key. by Ashwin Sanghi. ebook. Dec 22, Just follow this link and you can find his books - Ashwin Sanghi Archives - Read A Lot. MyPustak has endless number of FREE BOOKS for you people to read, which can be delivered across any Are the facts mentioned by Ashwin Sanghi in the book The Krishna Key real? Where can I get a link to download ebooks?.
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1 J p #L if* Uw westland ltd THE KRISHNA KEY Ashwin Sanghi's first novel, The Rozabal Line, was self-published in Saini looked down at the map that Varshney was holding. I also caused the gates of the prison to swing open, allowing him free passage. Ancient Atomic Bombs; Jason Colavito; eBook, I read The Krishna Key recently and it was my first book from Ashwin .. Shelves: i-own, purchased, indian-author, my-favs, adventure, free-review-copies. By Ashwin Sanghi (Author); Description Five thousand years ago there came to earth a magical being called Krishna who brought about innumerable miracles.
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The protagonist, the antagonist, the sidekick, professors well, that's what professors do.. After a point, i found it a bit tiring. The other thing that weighs down this book is the average writing. The dialogues, choice of words, all look a bit odd at many places, especially in the initial portions of the book. Can't shake of the feeling that Mr. Sanghvi has written this book primarily for an international audience.
At the end of it, its what the title says. A well researched, great plot, average writing, yet immensely readable. One person found this helpful.
This is the first novel by the author that I read. It did not disappoint! The storyline and plot is extremely imaginative, though I could not help seeing similarities between this work and Dan Brown's the da Vinci Code. Obviously, it is not to say that this is in anyway unoriginal. The storytelling and narrative is extremely fast paced, taut and smooth, and the book flies. The way the author has juxtaposed ancient Hindu scriptures and believes into modern day notions of science almost beguiles the reader into believing this fictional tale!
It is an excellent mix of sci-fi, fantasy, action and adventure, something like Dan Brown's writings. The research into ancient scriptures and Indian mythology is deep, unlike many newbie authors who end up being shallow in such departments.
The gist of the plot is succinctly captured in the blurb, so I am not going into any of it here. Instead, I must comment on the style of writing of the author; the approach that the author seems to have taken in writing this novel. It becomes apparent the author has written this novel with an international audience in mind. There are many instances where I couldn't help smile at the result of this deliberate attempt to 'belong' to a wider audience and mostly US audience at that.
For instance, there is a narrative that describes an Indian police officer arresting an important character. At the time of arrest, the officer informs the accused that a certain Article of the Indian Constitution gives him the right against self-incrimination, and that he may wish to engage a lawyer.
This style of presentation is alien and made-up. It does not happen in India this way. Police officer comes and arrests - simple. That's how it happens in India. This is clearly an attempt at making the novel more international, since audiences today are fed an overdose of Hollywood movies "you have the right to remain silent", etc A 'petrol pump', which is the standard term used in India, instead becomes a "gas station". Characters have sandwiches and coffee at a road side eatery, rather than standard Indian dishes.
There are various other smaller instances likewise where I couldn't help get a similar feeling. Another thing the book lacks is character development. As with many other high octane adventure centric plots, the emphasis is on the thrill of the moment rather than in-depth characterisation. Finally, the end is rather abrupt, sudden and a bit of an anti-climax. These hiccups do not take away from the inherent attraction of the novel, though.
It is intended to be a thriller, and that it does! Good quality entertainment. Perhaps there was a compelling plot here, but it was weighed down by the writing.
I'm Indian-American, so maybe it wasn't written for me. Clearly a lot of research went into it and it has some compelling moments I was going to give up after the first chapter but decided to give it a bit more of my time , but the editor should have caught a lot of what went wrong here. Where to begin I appreciated the coauthorship with James Patterson on another book and read the great reviews on this author himself so I dived into this book.
Found myself irritated and struggling to make sense of layers upon puzzling layers of "clues" which then left me clueless while the actual characters in the book drew inane and nonsensical conclusions. The characters did not seem very fleshed out and they were killed off quickly I saw this book being read by a friend and read the first chapter The pace is really fast and the cast of characters is rich and varied.
The author seems to have done a lot of research and creates a plausible storyline. However, in certain places the story seems to lose the pace. Like the the main characters coming out of dangerous situations rather smoothly, and the main villain committing crimes too easily without much resistance etc.
So far as explanations of the historical and mythological contexts are concerned, there are far too many facts explained and sometimes feel disjointed from one another. I would have preferred the author to stick to fewer historical artifacts and weave the story around them with greater detail. All in all however, it is an entertaining read, even for people with prior understanding of Indian history and culture.
I would recommend it just for the fact that it is a new genre from Indian English literature and hope to see more world class output from Indian authors. See all reviews. Amazon Giveaway allows you to run promotional giveaways in order to create buzz, reward your audience, and attract new followers and customers. Learn more about Amazon Giveaway. This item: The Krishna Key: Set up a giveaway. What other items do customers buy after viewing this item?
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Amazon Advertising Find, attract, and engage customers. Amazon Drive Cloud storage from Amazon. There was no traffic at this hour. He pressed the power button of his car's audio system to activate the music and the vehicle's air-conditioned interiors were soon drowned in a Sanskrit chant. It was the same verse that he had painted on Anil Varshney's wall. The sign outside simply bore the name of the business— Sambhala Stud Farm.
His father, Dr V. Sharma, had started the business of breeding horses with five mares and a stallion after completing veterinary training in the Sixties. It had been an uphill struggle that had eventually paid off. Sambhala now bred the finest derby winners in the country and was among the top two hundred listed companies on the Bombay Stock Exchange.
Taarak drove down the winding road and passed the equine viewing gallery, the automated horse-walkers, exercising turf tracks, veterinary clinic, and stables. Sambhala had grown from a couple of acres to India's largest integrated horse-breeding infrastructure, spread out over an area of just under a hundred acres. The BMW X3 sped past the gentle incline of the road until it reached the parking space designated for it just outside the sprawling country home. He turned off the engine, took the belt bag off the seat, got out of the vehicle and ran directly to a side-entrance that led to his suite of rooms.
It allowed him to come and go as he pleased without having to use the main entrance used by his parents. His mother had not been too happy with this arrangement but his father had stood up for his son's right to privacy.
If you love your children, you must let them sprout wings and fly,' Dr Sharma had said to his wife. He no longer uses the name that we gave him at birth— Sampat Sharma— and instead goes by the ridiculous name of Taarak Vakil. I never know when he comes or goes. Sometimes I don't see him for weeks at a stretch, and you want me to give him wings? He's still at the very top of his law class, isn't he?
Our son is a gifted and exceptionally intelligent young man.
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Taarak walked into his room, entered his bathroom and locked the door. He peeled off all his clothes, including his underwear, and placed them in a front-loading washer-dryer built in to one of the tiled walls, a burst of sudden emotion but ancapHis upper torso was a veritable maze of tattoos— his muscular chest having turned blue from the intricate symbols that could not be individually discerned. However, at the centre of the various other images, was a large blazing sun.
He stepped into the shower cubicle where he allowed pressurised jets of steaming hot water, helped by generous quantities of antiseptic soap, to remove any traces of his nocturnal activities. Emerging from the shower with a towel around his waist, Taarak headed directly to a walk-in closet within which was an electronic safe.
Punching in a sequence often digits, he opened the vault, and noticed the brown leather tray inside that contained several identical gleaming Swann-Morton surgical scalpels— each bearing the initials 'R. No need to worry. There's enough stock for the future. From his belt bag, he carefully took out the plastic specimen bag that contained the seal that he had stolen from Varshney's residence. He placed the belt and the plastic specimen bag separately inside the safe and then locked it.
He would examine the seal later. Still wrapped in his towel, he made his way to the living area of his suite. In one corner was located a contemporary brushed-steel oversized birdcage that had only one occupant —his pet parrot, Shuka. Pleased, his master changed the water and the birdseed inside the cage. Putting on a pair of jeans and a white cotton tee shirt, he locked the door to his suite and walked over to the stables.
The gate marked 'Deedee' was the one that he was headed for. He loved horses, having grown up on a stud farm. His father had presented him with Deedee when he was just fifteen. He would spend hours exercising, grooming, and feeding the horse. The stud farm's eight-times champion had sired Deedee. The champion had produced over two hundred winners and over a thousand wins, earning stakes in excess of several millions at the derbies.
Ensuring that the stirrups had been run up the leathers before starting, he placed his saddle so that the pommel was over the horse's withers. Walking around to the other side, he attached the girth and, reaching under Deedee's belly, he tightened it just enough to be snug. Having bridled the horse, he swiftly mounted him, caressed his mane lovingly and said 'Let's go, Deedee!
The husky female voice that answered simply asked 'Yes? Has the first one fallen? Do you have them? He should have had four— from Dwarka, Kalibangan, Kurukshetra and Mathura.
Unfortunately, I only found one seal inside his house,' gulped Taarak. There was a pause at the other end. Taarak was nervous. Those shall also be ours. Did you find the base plate? The phone conversation continued until all one hundred and eight names of the Almighty had been duly recited.
Even though the prison was duly fortified, they were bound with chains to the walls under Kansa's orders. Some months later, my mother gave birth to her first son. Kansa knew that he had nothing to fear from the first seven children but the mischief-making Sage Narada paid him a visit and confused him. If one counts backwards, the eighth could very well be the first Blood and gore spattered my parents as they looked on in shock and despair.
Blood and gore spattered the walls and floor. Inspector Radhika Singh looked at the corpse without any hint of emotion though.
She had seen too many dead bodies over the years in her job. Her eyes mechanically scanned the lifeless form lying in a puddle of blood. She noticed the little wheel-like symbol on the victim's head as well as the Sanskrit shloka written on the wall above him.
She stared at the Swann-Morton scalpel custom- engraved with the initials 'R. Radhika Singh had begun her career as a teacher of history, geography and civics at the Mayo College. Born in small-town Ajmer, she had been heart-broken when her husband, a commandant in the Border Security Force, had been shot dead by two Jaish-e-Mohammed terrorists. Not only had Radhika courageously attempted to defend her husband, she had also succeeded in stabbing one of the assailants, thus leading to his capture.
Widowed at the age of just thirty, Singh had been seething with anger at the blows life had dealt her. Awarded the Kirti Chakra for her bravery by the President of India, Singh chucked her lecturer's job at Mayo and joined the Indian Police Service, one of the first few women to do so.
Soon, Singh had found herself absorbed into a fifteen-member team that was focused on preventing and solving crimes against women. A year later, Singh, along with around fifty women from various divisions of the IPS, signed up to undergo commando training. Thirty of them were shortlisted and went through a harrowing twelve-week training course. Besides basic physical training, firefighting and martial arts, the women commando trainees had also been tau a burst of sudden emotion but s Balaramaight off-road driving, horse-back riding, sand running, swimming, parasailing, unarmed combat, wall-scaling, rowing, and rock-climbing.
They had also been given training in handling AKs and light machine guns. Other elements of the training programme had included bomb detection and disposal, and hijack and hostage handling. Back on the job three months later, Singh had won the gold medal in the state police shooting championship, beating policemen and male commandos in the process.
Now a veteran in the police force, Singh was usually referred to as 'Sniffer Singh' among her colleagues for her beagle-like ability to follow a scent to its source. Not only was she extremely bright, she also had the doggedness of a mule and the strength of an ox.
She could persevere on a search for days on end while young men who were half her age would give up out of sheer exhaustion. Forty-three years old, Radhika Singh had the body of a Rajput warrior queen but the analytical mind of a Tamil engineer. Her staple diet consisted of almonds, whole milk and cigarettes. At the oddest of times she would reach into her pockets and pull out a handful of almonds to chew slowly and thoughtfully. The smoking was a habit from her combat training days but she genuinely seemed to believe that the almonds and milk were adequate detox agents for the nicotine.
Judging by her appearance, the almonds and milk seemed to be doing their purported job. Radhika had a perfectly trim figure that belied her age. Singh's early marriage had been an arranged one but she had eventually fallen in love with her husband, unlike in most arranged marriages where love was optional. Her world had shattered into millions of tiny shards on the day that he died. From that day on, she had chosen to take on a new spouse— her work.
It was almost as though the pursuit of criminals was her way of paying tribute to her husband's departed soul. Her aloof behaviour attracted disparaging remarks from male colleagues but Singh was beyond caring.
Her only care seemed to be to aggressively pursue criminals and to bring them to justice. In moments of melancholy or despair, she would count prayer beads and meditate to the chant of Hari.
In a police force known only for its apathy, incompetence and corruption, cases assigned to Radhika Singh rarely remained unsolved for long.
Also check to see if the shloka on the wall is written with the same blood. His body was identified by the servant who reported to work at his usual time at eight in the morning,' replied Rathore to his boss.
Do we have a time of death? Varshney was a symbolist who was working on a project at the archaeological dig at Kalibangan. According to the servant, Varshney had a visitor over for dinner.
The servant was told that he could leave after washing up the dishes. Ah, and yes, find out for me what that shloka on the wall means. In the meantime, find out who this visitor was.
It seems that he was the last person to see Varshney alive. He could well be a psychopath for all we know and I have no intention of letting him get away so easily. Upon the arrival of each child, Kansa would visit the dungeons and instantly murder the newborn. Devaki was mentally and physically worn out. To see six sons murdered in quick succession was like a nightmare without end.
In the meantime Lord Sheshnag— who had incarnated as my younger brother Lakshmana in a previous era when I had been born as Rama- entered Devaki's womb so that he could take birth as my elder brother Balarama, Devaki's seventh child.
Through divine intervention, the foetus was transferred to the womb of Rohini, Vasudeva's first wife, who was living in Gokul, and the result was an apparent miscarriage of the seventh child for Devaki. Ravi Mohan was in the classroom, reading the note that his friend Varshney had handed over to him during their visit to Kalibangan.
He had tried reading and rereading it several times but still could not make any sense of what his friend was trying to say. Damn the linguist in you, Varshney, for making everything so complicated, thought Saini.
D'etale r'aknahs! Rats anispiter. Axis Red Nerrus ajar! Sitih saliak roh salak. XNI dialer, dial, devil. Pitta pott Felnox. Strap lamina on stats.
Peek slipup desserts. Tub trams. A kit saw slarem. Un warder! Fed up with Varshney's gobbledygook, Ravi Mohan Saini put away the note in his pocket and began reviewing the previous day's material with his students, when his class had unexpected visitors.
You may also consider engaging legal counsel if you wish. Please come with us. The shocked students began excitedly whispering among themselves. Saini epitomised the refined and gentle academic. It was ridiculous for anyone to imagine that he was capable of murder.
Anil is dead? He was alive and well. There has to be some mistake! You were the last person to see him alive, which also means that you are our chief sus a small earthen plate— around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide. I between ipect.
I think that it's better that we carry on this conversation in custody. Digesting the news of his best friend having been murdered was bad enough; he was now being accused of murder, and dragged to prison in front of an entire class of students. Could things possibly get any worse? Priya, seated as usual in the last row, stood up. She walked up to Radhika Singh and asked, 'Do you have a warrant for his arrest?
Saini was too dazed to read it and blindly handed it over to Priya who scanned it carefully. Mr Saini shall have to come with us to Jaipur where he shall be placed in custody and interrogated at Central Jail. His lawyer may apply for bail before the Chief Judicial Magistrate within twenty-four hours of his arrest,' explained Rathore. Priya nodded.
Turning to Saini, she said, 'Don't worry, Prof! As you know, my father— Sanjay Ratnani— is a leading criminal lawyer. I'll ask him to represent you. I'm sure that he'll be able to clear up this mess. For the moment, though, I don't think you have any alternative but to go with them. We do not believe that you're a flight risk and as a matter of courtesy we're not cuffing you,' explained Rathore as he gently led Ravi Mohan Saini— leading academic turned accused murderer— to the police vehicle that waited outside.
Saini already seemed mentally and physically worn out. His nightmare without end was just beginning. Ravi's mind struggled with the events that were happening around him as he tried to recall his last meeting with Varshney in Kalibangan. Seeing me in my omnipotent form, Devaki and Vasudeva fell at my feet. I told them that it was time for me to take birth as their eighth son. I also told them that I would make them forget my visit so that they would get to experience the normal joys and pains of parenthood.
In the meantime, Yashoda— the wife of my father's cousin Nanda— would deliver a baby girl in Gokul. My father was commanded by a voice to swap the babies as soon as Devaki gave birth to me. The temperatures had reached forty-nine degrees on the Celsius scale that day. The archaeological site at Kalibangan was a frying pan. One could crack open a raw egg on a rock and watch it cook instantly. Surrounded by miles of sand dunes and occasional thorny babul bushes, the road from Hanumangarh railway station on the Delhi-Bikaner line to the largest prehistoric excavation site in Rajasthan was pock-marked with craters and potholes.
The Mahindra Xylo off-roader vehicle struggled to cope with portions where the road had entirely disappeared. Both men were sitting in the rear of the vehicle while the harried driver a small earthen plate— around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide. Balaramai attempted to navigate the treacherous peaks and troughs. Varshney was playing host to his friend who was on a visit to Rajasthan to attend a seminar.
It had not required too much persuasion to entice him to visit Kalibangan, the oven-like temperatures notwithstanding. Varshney laughed. The evidence from remote earth-sensing satellite pictures is clinching. More than five thousand years ago, a mighty river— commonly referred to in the Vedas as the Sarasvati— flowed through this arid desert and into the Arabian Sea. The nothingness that you see around you was lush vegetation and pastureland five thousand years ago! Kalibangan was part of this great Sarasvati civilisation.
Settling back into the seat of the vehicle, Varshney rummaged through the papers in his leather satchel. After a couple of minutes he was finally able to find what he was looking for. He pulled out a map and opened it out clumsily for Saini's benefit.
Archaeological excavations and geological findings corroborate these pictures. The Indus Valley civilisation was only called by that name because the first few sites discovered were on the banks of the Indus.
The Krishna Key
It's now a proven fact that over two thousand of the two thousand six hundred sites were actually along the once-mighty River Sarasvati. Wouldn't you say it's time the Indus Valley civilisation was renamed the Sarasvati civilisation?
The dried-up riverbed of the Sarasvati was clearly visible. Five thousand years ago, the Sarasvati would have been India's mightiest river with the Yamuna and the Sutlej as mere tributaries. Tectonic movements of the Indian subcontinent had resulted in the Sarasvati migrating west- northwest.
The effect was that its two tributaries, the Yamuna and Sutlej, migrated in opposite directions, the former joining the Ganga and the latter joining the Indus. There was no point hiding anything from Saini. Their childhood friendship meant that Saini could read Varshney like an open book. Varshney folded the map, put it back in his satchel and withdrew from his bag a small cardboard box. He handed it to Saini wordlessly.
Saini opened the lid. Inside the box was a felt-lined casing on which lay a single rectangular seal measuring just 20 x 20 mm. At the back, the seal had a square peg without the customary hole, which was usually provided for a ring band or string.
Saini drew in his breath and felt his heart racing as he looked at it. As per my instructions, Vasudeva walked out of prison carrying me in a basket. In order to facilitate this, I ensured that all the prison guards remained in deep slumber while my father's chains simply snapped open. I also caused the gates of the prison to swing open, allowing him free passage.
It turned out to be a night of torrential rain, and getting from Mathura to Gokul involved crossing the River Yamuna, which was in full spate. With not a single boatman in sight, my father decided to hold the basket containing me over his head and cross the ferocious river unaided.
When Yamuna realised it was I in the basket, she miraculously abated so as to allow my father to cross easily. His team discovered it and sent it to me. They figured that I was probably just the person to make sense of the symbols,' explained Varshney.
These are motifs of a bull, unicorn and goat that have been engraved in an anticlockwise direction on the face of this seal. You do realise the significance, don't you? Saini nodded his head in amazement. It's a purely symbolic animal but is of immense importance. There are references to a very prominent unicorn in the Mahabharata called Ekashringa, literally the one-horned, which appears as a prime symbol of Vishnu-Krishna and the Vedic knowledge he taught.
The unicorn is connected to the Varaha Avatara, or boar incarnation, of Lord Vishnu.. Mudrayaasah gacchantu rajno ye gantumipsavah; Na chamudra praveshtavyo dwaarpaalasya pashyatah Saini laughed. What you've just recited is the exact passage from the Harivamsa— an appendix to the Mahabharata— that contains a reference which says that every citizen of Dwarka should carry a three-headed mudra— or seal— as a mark of identification.
The sentence that you've just quoted goes on to say that it is the duty of the guards to see that every citizen carries the seal and that none without a seal is allowed to enter. But what does this have to do with your excavations at Kalibangan? For years we've been fed the notion that Krishna was merely a mythological figure, a product of our collective imagination down the ages.
We've also been to to track down the bear's cave and retrieve the stone. That's utter nonsense, my friend. The Sarasvati civilisation was not a pre-Vedic settlement.
It was the greatest Vedic community on earth and it was the inhabitants of this great development who wrote the Vedas and the Upanishads.
That's why Kalibangan and Mohenjodaro are so important. We've discovered fire altars in Kalibangan, thus proving the fact that this indeed was a Vedic settlement. In Mohenjodaro we discovered the Great Bath used for ritual bathing, another hallmark of Vedic worship. We've also discovered hundreds of seals containing images of the swastika, a symbol of Vedic origin, in addition to seals depicting yogic meditation.
The Sarasvati was the living river on the banks of which Duryodhona and Bhima fought their last grim duel of the Mahabharata war. What you are holding in your hand is a relic of Krishna's ancient passport system for his kingdom of Dwarka that is described in the Harivamsa!
Varshney looked at Saini. One day you will realise that this statement is not a burst of sudden emotion but is based on logic. I know your genetic makeup, my friend! What I've just shown you is the seal that was discovered off the coast of Dwarka.
The Krishna Key by Ashwin Sanghi
This seal shall be returned to Dr Nikhil Bhojaraj, the one who discovered it. What I'm about to give you for safekeeping is an almost identical seal that I discovered in Kalibangan. A third seal was discovered in Kurukshetra and I have handed it over to yet another friend, Professor Rajaram Kurkude who has his research laboratories in Jodhpur.
I shall tell you about his cutting-edge nuclear research over dinner tonight,' said Varshney, lowering his voice in a vain attempt to evade the hearing of the driver who was occupied with keeping the vehicle from rolling over. The one who rigged the school principal's WC to explode as his rear touched down? He's still a rascal, but now gets paid for his scientific experiments! Varshney looked into his friend's eyes and whispered, 'Because the four of you are the only people that I can trust.
I cannot afford to have all four seals kept together. The risk of losing them together is far too great. There's greater safety in numbers. I believe that these four seals together point us in the direction of Krishna's most prized possession. We succeeded in buying it for a rather large sum of money. The instructions to the vault management are that if anything should happen to me, they are to contact you and apprise you of the contents,' said Varshney.
Raja Man Singh had a Sanskrit inscription engraved into the plate and installed it in a Krishna temple that he built in Vrindavan. I am sending to you by email photographs of all four seals. If something should happen to me, do everything within your power to bring these four seals and the base plate together. The two men sitting at the back did not notice that the driver seemed to be the owner of a rather expensive mobile phone and that that the voice memo-recorder of the phone was active and blinking.
Unknown to my father, Lord Sheshnag had been behind us throughout the Yamuna crossing and had spread his protective serpentine hood over my basket against the pouring rain. My simple father realised that this was a night of unending miracles.
He quickly made his way to Nanda's house, placed me in Yashoda's bed and picked up Yashoda's daughter. He then made his way back to the prison in Mathura where he placed the baby girl next to Devaki. I made the chains snap back on his wrists; I made the gates lock shut and I made the guards wake up to the sounds of a crying infant. The expensive mobile phone was in his hand and was playing back the conversation that had been recorded at the phone's maximum permissible volume.
As the conversation ended, he clicked off the phone and grinned sheepishly at her. She placed her hands on her lower back and allowed herself to arch backwards until she heard the familiar crick. Having stretched herself, she straightened up and tossed him a sealed bundle of crisp thousand rupee notes.
Om Shri Prithvi Raskshakaaya Namah, she mentally recited as she counted the first bead. One who is protector of the earth. One who bestows purity. The driver lowered his eyes to avert her gaze. I'm your humble servant and shall obey your orders without question. It's just curiosity on my part. One who bears the power of performance.
The exact opposite energy of Vish is Shiv. While Vish, creates and preserves, Shiv destroys. Do you know what the symbol of Shiv looks like? A phallic representation of Lord Shiv, right? The operative was confused. Why was Mataji giving him a crash course in Hinduism? He nodded vigorously in order to humour her. That is indeed what we've been taught,' he said.
Mataji nodded appreciatively. Now let us examine the salient features of a Shiv lingam, shall we? It's made up of two parts.
The first is a cylindrical structure made of polished stone. The second is the surrounding coils or grooves ending in a spout.
In Shiv temples, a pot of water hangs over the cylindrical structure, allowing water to continuously drip on it at regular intervals. This water then empties itself out through the spout,' she explained, pointing to each of the constituent elements as she described them. The dutiful driver looked at the image, his confusion only heightening with every passing minute.
Mataji pulled out a second picture from the same manila folder. Notice the parallels between the two pictures? The similarities were strikingly obvious! Mataji laughed as she saw his reaction. She let him hold both illustrations so that he could scrutinise them closely. She had already counted her way to the fiftieth bead. Om Shri Munistutaaya Namah— the One who is praised by sages and seers. The cylindrical structure that you see in the picture of BARC is the core nuclear reactor.
It's only in a Shiv temple that the water flowing from the lingam is not consumed as holy water. The water from a Shiv lingam is not drunk for precisely the same reason as the water from a nuclear reactor is not potable— it is charged water. Why are most Shiv temples always found near a source of water, say a river or lake? That's because Shiv lingams— just like modern-day reactors— need water for cooling the core.
Do you know that no one is allowed to cross the spout of a Shiv lingam during pradakshina— the circumambulation of the lingam during worship? People have to turn back as soon as they approach the spout because the spout represents irradiated water. What I'm trying to tell you is that the Shiv lingam is not a representation of some god called Shiv.
It's an ancient symbol to represent a supreme force, an energy that our ancestors chose to call Shiv. This energy was the exact opposite of another energy form called Vish. The people of the Sarasvati civilisation knew these forms of energy.
Modern man prides himself on having discovered nuclear power. Little does he realise that far greater powers were available to society and civilisations during the Vedic age and the Mahabharata! She was on her hundredth one. Om Shri Mukta Sanchaarakaaya Namah. One who wanders freely from place to place. Mataji stood with her face inches away from that of the operative. He could feel her warm breath on his face. Looking directly into his eyes, Mataji said, 'Oppenheimer, the father of the atom bomb, is said to have quoted the Bhagwad Gita after witnessing the first successful test of the bomb in His words?
I am become death, the destroyer of the worlds. Oppenheimer had learned Sanskrit specifically with the intention of being able to understand the Gita. The passage in the Gita that says what Oppenheimer was quoting is: I am become time to end the world, set on my course to destroy the universe. The clues to an ancient nuclear age are right before us in the ancient Hindu scriptures, my son! As his body crumpled to the ground, she knelt down beside him and whispered into his ear, 'There was a reason why I asked you if you wanted to know more.
Too much knowledge is always a curse, son. She silently mouthed the words. One who bestows completeness to Yoga. She rambled on incoherently as she twisted the knife into his abdomen while gazing into his terror-stricken eyes until his final breath escaped him.
My mother protested. It's a poor helpless girl. The prophecy spoke about an eighth son, not a daughter. Please don't kill her, I beseech you! As he threw her against the wall, she miraculously rose up in the air as Mother Shakti and mocked him. Your slayer is already born and lives safely in a place where you shall be unable to harm him! Get ready to die, 0 evil one! Central Jail was famous for all the wrong reasons, though. In a sensational case, conmen had duped a city jeweller of ornaments worth millions.
Lodged at Central Jail, the crooks had been assisted in their escape by the junior warden, who had not only ensured that the cells were conveniently left unlocked but had also thoughtfully arranged for a taxi to remain on standby for the fleeing culprits. The golden rule of Central Jail was that those who had the gold made the rules. Data from the Rajasthan prison system showed that the number of deaths of inmates due to lack of medical services was ever burgeoning.
One prisoner died every fourth day because of the unsanitary conditions. Prisoners were usually stacked up in cells like sardines, with eight inmates sharing a single blanket, the healthy ones often sharing breathing space with tuberculosis-infected inmates. The toilets overflowed, forcing many prisoners to defaecate directly into open drains.
Inter-gang rivalry, prisoner suicides, torture of under-trials by prison authorities, and extortion were common occurrences. It was in this hotbed of grime and crime that Ravi Mohan Saini was inventoried, fingerprinted, photographed and placed. Seated in one of the interrogation cells that stank of urine, he awaited the arrival of the cops who had arrested him. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back as he sat in the hot, humid and squalid cell, nervously drumming his fingers on the table in front of him.
Next to him sat his lawyer, Sanjay Ratnani— Priya's father. Ratnani had already indicated to Saini that he would stay quiet throughout the interrogation.
No, it's more important to see what she has on us I'll let her talk! Momentarily, the cell door opened and Inspector Radhika Singh walked in holding a file that had Saini's name on it. She sat opposite him and opened the file on the table. We had our colleagues in Delhi search your apartment and they found this ancient seal. She continued, 'We know that it belongs to Anil Varshney because it is documented in his collection of photographs and bears his fingerprints too.
You stole it! It was the Kalibangan seal that Varshney had entrusted him with, identical in almost every detail to the Dwarka seal that Varshney had shown him in the car. Saini gulped nervously. His throat felt parched, but he was reluctant to take a sip of water from a glass that seemed to hold half an inch of muddy sediment at the bottom.
He invited me to Kalibangan to show me the fascinating work that he was doing. Yes, I was at his house. I even had dinner with him. Quite obviously, you are going to find my fingerprints everywhere in his house! But that does not mean that I killed him! Singh scrutinised Saini's expression, almost as though she were hoping that his guilt would be reflected within his eyes.
The only expression that Saini provided was that of extreme discomfort— from the heat, humidity and stench. Measuring her words carefully, she asked, 'And the seal. How do you explain that, eh? It was obviously something very valuable considering the fact that you were willing to kill a childhood friend over it! He gave me the seal for safekeeping.
He said that he would explain the details later. I can assure you that when I left Anil's house he was alive and well. Why don't you focus your efforts on finding the real killer rather than stitching me up for a crime that I did not commit! Singh pulled out a photograph from her file. It was a 6 x 4 glossy close-up of the scalpel that had been used to bleed Anil Varshney to death.
Clearly visible on the handle of the scalpel were the initials 'R. The blood drained from Saini's face and he felt an overwhelming need to throw up. Singh knew she had the upper hand. She quickly flung another photograph towards Saini.
It was a graphic still of Anil Varshney's lifeless body lying in a puddle of blood. Plunged into his left foot was the scalpel; on his forehead was the wheel-like symbol, and above his head on the wall was the shloka written in blood.
Saini recoiled in horror.
It was the first time that he was seeing the manner in which his friend had been brutally slayed. Ignoring the sediment in the glass, he took a gulp of water and regretted his decision as soon as his nostrils picked up the fetid stench emanating from it.
It's called Eau de Sewage! What she did not realise was that in the confusion that followed, his lawyer had picked up the specimen bag containing the seal and had concealed it in his jacket with the speed and dexterity of an experienced pickpocket.
What should I do? We should kill all infants that are less than two months old. This will take care a small earthen plate— around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide. One quickly started oxygen therapy in order to ensure that the heart had to work as little as possible when delivering oxygen to the rest of the body.
The other nurse began monitoring Saini's heart rate and pressure and connected him to the electrocardiogram unit to measure his heart rhythm. Nurse, call for the ambulance immediately and phone ahead to Fortis Escorts to tell them that I'm on my way with this patient.
She noticed that the doctor had commenced CPR while his assistant had taken out the defibrillator and was hurriedly issuing instructions to the nurse. He pressed the paddles firmly onto the gel pads, applying twenty-five pounds of pressure. Saini's body jerked with the jolt of the current as the doctors stared at the monitor apparently looking for a stable rhythm. As the monitor bleeped, Saini's bed was rolled out— surrounded by medical personnel— towards the waiting ambulance with Priya and the prison doctor running alongside.
She waited for the emergency personnel to load him into the ambulance and then got into the vehicle along with the doctor. The sirens were switched on and the familiar red and blue lights on the roof of the ambulance were activated as they sped towards their destination.
Built on a sprawling six-acre plot, Fortis Escorts was Rajasthan's first super-speciality hospital, located in Malviya Nagar in the heart of Jaipur. If one headed south of the hospital along Jawaharlal Nehru Road and went around the Jawahar Circle Garden, one could be at Jaipur airport in less than ten minutes from Fortis Escorts.
Suddenly, the prison doctor tapped on the screen separating the driver from the rear of the ambulance. The ambulance driver manually slid the glass screen open on the assumption that the doctor had some instructions for him.
Before the driver could observe who had knocked, a punch hit him on the lower left side of his face. It was a powerful uppercut that knocked his head violently towards the windscreen. The ambulance spun out of control as the driver's foot accidentally hit the accelerator. The ambulance lunged forward clumsily and crashed headlong into the rear service gate of the Clark's Amer Hotel, located a stone's throw away from the airport. Punch me hard on my face!
Raate the 'Why? Understanding that there wasn't a moment to lose, she swung her right fist at the doctor's mouth and drew blood. She recoiled instinctively only to see the doctor holding out a plastic bag stuffed with clothes. Inside the bag are dark glasses, new clothes and two photo ID cards issued under aliases for you and Ravi Mohan. A private taxi— a Toyota Innova— is waiting at the main entrance of the hotel.
Get into it. The driver will take you to a private charter aircraft belonging to Titan Aviation. The pilot won't ask you any questions,' explained the doctor breathlessly.
They were terrified that Kansa would find me. The family astrologer, Gargmuni, told them, 'Krishna is a manifestation of God. Stop worrying. He shall protect you and all the citizens of the land from Kansa's wicked deeds.
Ravi Mohan Saini tried recalling the events leading up to his escape as he ran towards Room of the Clark's Amer Hotel. He had been having a nightmare. Saini had felt a little monster sucking on a straw that was lodged deep inside his left foot, and with each gulp of Saini's blood, the parasitic monster became bigger and Saini smaller. Hold the patient down, he's delirious,' shouted the prison doctor as Saini had flailed his arms, ripping off the bandage that held the glucose drip in place on his wrist.
A minute later, Saini had been wide awake and aware that the monster had been a figment of his imagination, probably stirred into overdrive by the photographs of his childhood friend having been bled to death from his foot. As the blurred images became sharper, Saini had become aware that he was lying on a metal-frame bed in the prison infirmary and was surrounded by several people— the prison doctor, a nurse, the prison warden, Priya and her father.
Priya's father, Sanjay Ratnani, was India's highest paid criminal lawyer although he liked to joke that his earnings the previous year had been a measly one thousand nine hundred rupees. The figure was accurate, except for the fact that it had accrued each minute of the year, irrespective of whether he had been awake or asleep, in court or attending a page-three event, in India or abroad, eating breakfast or brushing his teeth.
A maverick to the core, the rebel in Ratnani forced him to take up cases that were lost causes, high-profile crimes, or simply controversial, a small earthen plate— around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide, yame R Ratnani had been brought up in a family of extremely modest means and through sheer grit and determination had succeeded in obtaining his matriculation degree at thirteen. He went on to bag an LLB at the tender age of seventeen. As per the university rules, t for qualifying as a lawyer was twenty-one but a special resolution passed by the authorities had allowed him to start practising at eighteen.
The principle that Ratnani lived by was that good lawyers knew the law but great lawyers knew the judge. They call her Sniffer Singh in the police force.
So why don't you tell me the real story, huh? The prison doctor and infirmary nurse quietly left the cordoned-off bed, leaving the patient alone with his lawyer, his student and the warden.
I would willingly have laid down my life for him. All I know is that he was on the verge of a major historical discovery and that he was very worried that enemies would possibly try to wrest it from him. My instinct tells me that his murder was related to his research,' Saini struggled to say, running out of breath by the end of the sentence.
Your fingerprints were present at the murder site. You were the last person seen at the victim's house. Worst of all is that damn scalpel that has your initials on it. Sniffer Singh has more than enough circumstantial evidence to hold you indefinitely without bail,' said Ratnani cautiously.
What did Varshney do with the other three? The first, Dr Nikhil Bhojaraj, lives aboard an exploration ship that is anchored off the coast of Gujarat. Another friend, Rajaram Kurkude, is a nuclear scientist based in Jodhpur. Finally, there's Devendra Chhedi, a life sciences researcher in Chandigarh,' whispered Saini.
Apparently, he spoke with Bhojaraj and shared his plan with him. His testimony would dramatically alter the case against you. It was put there by my good friend, the prison warden. It had been spiked with Ipecac syrup to induce vomiting. It gave us the perfect excuse to bring you to the infirmary.
Now that you're here, we're ready to put the second part of our plan in motion. What's that? As abundant precaution, the prison warden will sign off papers to shift you by ambulance to Fortis Escorts Hospital in Jaipur,' explained Ratnani as Saini's eyes widened in incredulity. I'm absolutely fit, except for the effects of that putrid water that I drank inside that stinking cell! We simply need the cooperative infirmary doctor who is waiting outside to certify that you had palpitations.
It's important that the drama is enacted realistically and that the medical printouts back it up, though. That would be more than enough reason to shift you. Now, will you let me get on with the job of saving your ass? He saw her eyes pleading with him to accept her father's instructions. He sighed. The prison doctor stood quietly outside the curtain to the cubicle, listening to the conversation, clutching a small syringe that was ready and waiting to be used on the patient inside.
He knew what he had to do. No sooner had the cubicle emptied out, the prison doctor moved in. Saini had nodded off, possibly courting his demons once again. The doctor held up the syringe to the light and checked the quantity of fluid inside it. He pressed the plunger to bring a few drops of the liquid to the tip of the needle before stabbing the needle into Saini's thigh. Epinephrine was a commonly used drug for handling emergency allergies.
More commonly known as adrenaline, it was also capable of accelerating one's heart rate. It could be fatal if administered in the wrong dose. But this was just the perfect dose— sufficient to cause the symptoms of a heart attack without actually causing one. I felt it in my gut and now I know for sure,' said Kansa to the demon Putana. The demonic witch, Putana, transformed herself into a beautiful woman and reached my foster-parents' home.
She told my mother Yashoda that she was the wife of a pious Brahmin and wished to breastfeed me in order to bestow longevity upon me. My innocent foster-mother placed me in Putana's lap blissfully unaware that the milk being fed to me was poisoned.
But I— an incarnation of Vishnu— know everything. I bit Putana hard and sucked out her praana from her breast, causing her to die instantly. Upon her death she switched back into her original demon's form while I continued playing carelessly in her lap. The private turbo,' replied Sir Khan of a b scripturesprop aircraft to Jamnagar made Saini and Priya feel like they were travelling in a bullock cart on a potholed road even though the distance from Jaipur to Jamnagar was just a little under four hundred nautical miles.
The pilot gave their ID cards a cursory once-over and then left them alone. One can only hope that Varshney also shared your name with Bhojaraj when he spoke with him,' said Priya to Saini, as the aircraft reached cruising altitude.
His archaeological undersea expeditions off the Dwarka coast are all about proving that the great city described in the Mahabharata did exist. It is his hypothesis that if Dwarka existed, Krishna must also have existed. Varshney's discovery of identical seals at Kalibangan, Kurukshetra and Mathura take the hypothesis one step further— that both Krishna and his beloved golden city of Dwarka would have been part of an evolved settlement, the Sarasvati civilisation,' explained Saini, the professor in him emerging once again.
Modern Dwarka is simply a municipality of Jamnagar district in Gujarat. Krishna's city was called by the Sanskrit name of Dwarawati— the city of many doors. It's possible that the legendary city of Krishna may exist close by but it's certainly not visible in modern Dwarka, which is like any Indian city, helplessly attempting to cope with the usual problems of overcrowding, pollution and traffic. The common belief among local residents is that Krishna's city was submerged six times and rebuilt on each occasion, hence modern Dwarka is supposedly the seventh incarnation of the original,' explained Saini.
Why did Krishna travel this incredible distance to establish a city? Saini thought for a moment about how he should frame his reply. He then installed Kansa's father— Ugrasena— as chief of Mathura. Krishna was a Yadava and his clan was quite possibly the first democratic society ever.
They were a federation of eighteen tribes and each tribe had their own chieftain— like Ugrasena of Mathura— but all of them jointly elected one single Yadava leader as their supreme governor. Krishna was the elected governor of his time and was thus the de facto ruler of all eighteen clans— without the title of king,' he said. So why shift a thousand kilometres? He failed to capture it, owing to the defensive tactics employed by Krishna and his brother Balarama, but on the final occasion Krishna realised that he would have to make a strategic withdr a small earthen plate— around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide, urn on the awal if the Yadava tribes were to make any material progress at all.
It was a decision that would result in Krishna being branded Ranchor— the one who leaves the battlefield— forever. Even today, people in Gujarat refer to Krishna as Ranchor.
Curious, she looked at the yellow notepad that Saini was writing on. Saini smiled. These are dates derived from the planetary calculations that I was presenting to the class the other day. I would like to give these to Dr Bhojaraj and see whether his archaeological finds are in sync with them.
Below them was a vast expanse of water. They were crossing the Gulf of Kutch. A few moments later they saw an extra-long jetty protruding into the waters. The pilot's voice crackled over the PA system: The ship moorings are located fifteen kilometres away from the coast. The moorings are for importing crude oil and also for exporting diesel and gasoline.
Hold on, you'll be able to see the world's largest oil refinery in Jamnagar as we begin our descent The typhoon demon, Trinavarta, was despatched to Gokul to kill me.
Seeing me playing alone in the courtyard, Trinavarta lifted me off the ground and soared high into the clouds. Nanda and Yashoda ran after me, aghast at the sight of their beloved child being carried away by a typhoon.
Depleted of all his energy, Trinavarta was compelled to drop me back on earth and into the waiting arms of my adoptive parents. Dr Nikhil Bhojaraj's assistant was waiting. Tomorrow morning, a launch will take you to our team's exploration ship which is anchored around nine kilometres off the coast.
Once inside the car, Priya noticed that Saini was attempting to keep his excitement in check. He kept referring to his notes and also jotted down further remarks at the margins. Saini was convinced. All his evidence pointed to the great war having taken place five thousand years ago.