‘So?’
‘So the key’s in the wrong position! I put it in with Shiva’s head aligned vertically because . . . because that’s what you automatically do. But you’re meant to line it up with the statue.’ She demonstrated, turning an imaginary object in her hands. ‘The words are in the right order, but the wrong places. If you turn the key so Shiva’s head matches the statue, then all the goddesses move round by one position. That’s what we have to line them up with!’
Shankarpa looked between her and the statue. ‘Do you really believe this? Or are you just trying to save your life?’
‘Well, both! But I do think I’m right - I know I’m right. If I’m wrong, then you can throw us off the ledge.’
Eddie raised a finger. ‘Nina, love? Remember how now we’re married, we’re supposed to make big decisions together?’
‘I would also like to distance myself from that remark,’ Kit said hurriedly.
‘I’m right,’ she insisted. ‘Shankarpa, at least let me try. You might have to wait five minutes longer to kill us - but on the other hand, five minutes from now you could be walking into the Vault of Shiva!’
‘You should let her,’ added Girilal. ‘It is the right thing to do.’
Shankarpa shot his father an irritated glare, but acquiesced. ‘Do not fail,’ he told Nina curtly.
‘Yeah, really,’ Eddie added as the guardians, swords still raised, escorted them back to the door.
‘I won’t,’ Nina assured him. She removed the replica key from the central hole, then re-inserted it . . . rotated by one-fifth of a turn. She looked up at the statue. Shiva’s blank stone eyes gazed back at her, the faint smile on the tilted head encouraging her to continue.
Turning the wheels to match the new positions of the goddesses was now a purely mechanical task, taking just a few minutes. She rotated each smaller disc to what she thought - prayed - was the correct alignment. Love, motherhood, invincibility, femininity . . .
Death.
The last word was in place. Silence . . .
Click.
Something moved behind the wheels, a restraint finally released after countless centuries. More clicking, louder, then the rattling clank of chains—
With a swirl of escaping dust, the doors swung inwards.
The guardians let out exclamations of awe, some dropping to their knees to offer thanks to Shiva. Shankarpa was wide-eyed with surprise. Fully opened, the doors stopped with a crunch of stone.
‘So, my son,’ said Girilal quietly, ‘are you going to apologise to Dr Wilde?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘We will see what is inside first - what we are sworn to protect.’ He hesitated before reluctantly saying, ‘Come with me, Dr Wilde.’
Awestruck, Nina followed him into the darkness of the Vault of Shiva.
25
The space behind the doors was huge, on a scale to match the statue guarding it. The echo of Nina’s and Shankarpa’s footsteps as they moved through the entrance quickly disappeared, lost in a vast cavern.
There was something inside the doors. As Nina’s vision adjusted to the darkness, it revealed what she at first took to be two stone blocks, about five feet high and three feet apart, before realising they were merely the ends of larger constructs. Together, they formed the two halves of a steeply sloping ramp that rose a good thirty feet at the far end, dropping almost to floor level before rising back up; the comparison that leapt instantly to her mind was a ski-jump.
There was no snow inside the chamber, though. So what was it for?
An answer came as she and Shankarpa moved further into the cave, the others following. Something was perched at the top of the ramp, slender parts extending out to each side like wings . . .
Not like wings. They were wings.
‘It’s a glider!’ Nina cried, completely forgetting the threat of the guardians as she ran for a better look. ‘Khoil told me about the stories in the ancient Indian epics where the gods had flying machines. I thought they were just legends - but they were true!’
‘The vimanas,’ said Girilal. He laughed. ‘My father told me those stories when I was a boy - and I told them to my own son. Do you remember?’
‘I remember,’ said Shankarpa, amazed.
Nina started to climb the ramp, eager to see the craft at the top. ‘What Talonor said in the Codex all makes sense now. This is why it took the priests one day to get up here, and only an hour to get back - they flew! They released the glider, it slid down the ramp, then hit the ski-jump at the end and flew out down the valley.’ She examined the stone slide; it was smoothly polished, with a small lip at the outer edge to guide a runner on the glider itself.
Eddie looked back through the doors, seeing the cliff at the far end of the canyon. ‘They’d have to pull up pretty sharpish when they took off. Cock things up, and you’d smack into that wall.’
Nina shone her flashlight at the glider. It had an organic appearance, the wings formed from gracefully curved wooden spars. The wood itself was dark and glossy, given some kind of treatment to strengthen and preserve it. Between the spars, the fabric of the wings was still stretched taut. It appeared to be a fine, lightweight silk, covered in dust and yellowed with age.
‘This is incredible!’ she said as Shankarpa ascended the other ramp. ‘The ancient Hindus had actual, working flying machines before the Greeks even came up with the myth of Daedalus. And it took until the sixteenth century before Leonardo designed anything similar.’ The glider’s undercarriage was made from the same wood, a trapezoidal frame with ski-like metal runners attached. These weren’t as corroded as she would have expected; the cavern was dry as well as cold. The craft seemed designed to carry at least two people, lying prone on a slatted platform beneath the wing.
Girilal grinned up at her. ‘Well, it is often said that we Indians invented everything.’
‘Who says that?’ Eddie asked.
‘We Indians,’ Kit told him.
Nina directed her light along the ancient aircraft’s fuselage. At the end of the slender wooden body was a fan-shaped tail. There was something affixed beneath it, a long black cylinder protruding out past the end of the glider’s frame. At first she was puzzled as to what it might be . . . before a cord hanging from its end gave her a clue: a fuse. ‘Here’s something else you might have invented before anyone else,’ she said. ‘Rockets.’
‘You’re kidding!’ said Eddie. ‘I thought the Chinese invented them.’
‘I think they’ll be very annoyed when they find out someone beat them to it. They came up with gunpowder around the ninth century, but our friends here were using it thousands of years earlier. It must be how they got up enough speed to launch.’
Below, Girilal walked round the base of the ramp. ‘Look here,’ he called.
Nina aimed the flashlight down to find him prodding his stick at a stack of more black tubes. ‘Careful, don’t poke them! They’ve been here for who knows how long - they might be unstable.’
Eddie had a different opinion. ‘More likely they won’t work at all. Depends how they made the gunpowder - if they didn’t corn it properly, the different ingredients’ll probably have separated by now.’ He caught his wife’s surprised expression. ‘I did explosives training in the SAS - it’s handy to know this stuff if you’re going to blow things up.’
‘Well, either way, let’s not put any naked flames near them.’ She descended the ramp. By now, her eyes had become more accustomed to the low light. ‘Oh, wow. This isn’t the only glider - the place is more like a hangar.’ To one side were several more vimanas. Other mysterious objects lurked in the darkness. ‘This flashlight isn’t going to cut it,’ she said. ‘We need something bigger.’
‘This might do,’ proclaimed Girilal. The old yogi had wandered a little further into the cavern, and was standing by a metal brazier on a stone pedestal. Nina illuminated it - and discovered that a narrow groove had been cut into the floor behind it, leading deeper into the chamber. She followed it with the light un
til it split, and tracked one of the arms until it divided again, eventually reaching another brazier some distance away. There was a liquid at the bottom of the channel, but from Girilal’s excitement she knew it wasn’t water.
She went to him. ‘It’s oil,’ she said, stirring away the covering of dust with a fingertip and sniffing it. ‘A lighting system. Start one fire, and it spreads through the whole cave to light the other braziers.’
‘I thought we didn’t want to start any fires,’ said Eddie, looking at the pile of rockets.
‘We’ll be safe as long as nobody knocks this thing over. Let me get my stuff.’
She retrieved her pack from outside, finding a box of waterproof survival matches. ‘Shall we take a look?’ she asked Shankarpa.
‘Light it,’ he ordered.
She struck the match and touched it to the line of oil. It took a moment to ignite, but when it did the results made everyone flinch back. A line of fire raced away down the groove, splitting again and again at each branch as it spread through the cavern. Something hissed and fizzed inside each brazier in turn as the fire reached it - small packets of gunpowder catching light, the heat spreading to the tinder and coal above them. Flames began to rise.
The great chamber filled with a flickering amber light. Objects gradually took on form, incredible treasures; golden statues of gods and men and animals; elaborate carved friezes decorated with jewels and precious metals; beautifully painted frescos and gorgeous embroidered silks showing scenes from the lives of Shiva and his wives. Amongst the artworks were strange machines, as mystifying in the glow from the braziers as they had been as shadows. A giant wheel with dozens of leather pouches hanging from its rim; a great wooden framework, hundreds of glinting metal arrowheads protruding from it; a massive stone roller studded with long, thick iron bars. Not far from the ramp was what resembled a miniature palace, cupolas picked out in gold. Connected to a circular ring around its top was an enormous fabric bag, which stretched away, deflated and flaccid, almost to the Vault’s side wall.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Eddie. ‘Shiva’s got a big garage.’
‘This is amazing,’ Nina whispered. ‘What are all these things?’ She went to the little palace. It had a gate in one wall; she gingerly pushed it open to reveal another brazier inside, as well as several straight-bladed swords in a rack on one wall. ‘It’s like a dollhouse.’
‘Mayayantras,’ said Girilal. ‘“Magic machines”. The Vedas and the epic texts tell of them being used in battles.’
Shankarpa was more specific. ‘This is a sarvato-bhadra,’ he said, going to the great wheel. It was supported on each side by wooden beams. He held up a pouch, which had something heavy, about the size of a human head, inside. The leather had been cut into a shape strongly resembling a slingshot. ‘It throws stones, hundreds at a time.’
‘Everybody must get stoned!’ Eddie cried nasally and tunelessly. All eyes turned to him. ‘You know, Bob Dylan? Okay, you probably don’t know. Forget it.’
‘How did they get them in here?’ asked Kit. ‘None of them would fit through that cave into the valley.’
‘They must have been assembled in here,’ said Nina. ‘They’re exhibits - just as much Shiva’s treasures as any of these statues.’ She joined Shankarpa. ‘These things are all mentioned in the epics?’
‘Yes, and in the carvings in the valley,’ he said. He pointed to the grid of arrowheads. ‘That is a sara-yantra - it fires a hundred arrows at once. An udghatima’ - the stone roller - ‘to break down castle walls.’
Nina looked more closely at the ancient war machines. Stone and metal weights were suspended from chains running through pulleys to their axles. She had seen - and almost been the victim of - similar simple but effective gravity-powered mechanisms before; they were still primed even after the endless centuries. ‘Impressive. Just don’t touch them - they might go off.’ She indicated the ‘dollhouse’. ‘What about this?’
Father and son exchanged looks. ‘A flying palace,’ said Shankarpa.
‘From what was written in the Ramayana, I thought it would be a lot bigger.’ Girilal sounded almost disappointed.
Eddie and Kit, meanwhile, had been examining the interior. ‘You know what this is?’ said the Yorkshireman. ‘A hot-air balloon.’ He rapped the brazier. ‘Here’s your fire, and you’ve got the bottom of the balloon up there.’
Nina regarded the great mound of fabric in wonder. ‘It’s incredible. First the Chinese lose gunpowder to India, and now the French have to give up balloons. There’ll be some very angry historians once word about this place gets out.’
‘If it gets out,’ said Shankarpa, a warning tone returning to his voice. ‘All these are just toys compared to the power of the words of Lord Shiva. We must find the Shiva-Vedas - and then I shall decide what to do with you.’
‘Where would they be?’ asked Kit.
‘In the deepest part of the Vault,’ Nina suggested. ‘Come on.’ She led the way into the cavern, following the flickering trail of oil. They passed numerous other siege machines - some resembling ballistas and catapults, others battering rams shaped to look like elephants and goats, as well as more examples of those near the ramp - before approaching the rear wall.
It was immediately obvious where the Shiva-Vedas were kept. A figure guarded a narrow passageway cut into the rock, a statue twenty feet tall.
‘You know what?’ said Eddie. ‘Looks like Spielberg was right all along.’
Shankarpa was awed by the sight. ‘Kali . . .’ he whispered.
The jet-black goddess was almost something from a nightmare, mouth twisted in fury. Her eyes and protruding tongue were painted blood-red, her naked body adorned with a garland round her neck - not of flowers, but of human skulls. But the most prominent feature was her arms: all ten of them. Most of them clutched weapons, deadly blades shining in the firelight - several swords, a trident, the double-ended club of a huge vajra, even the disc of a chakram. One foot was firmly planted on the floor beside a small opening at the end of the passage, the other suspended threateningly above it as if ready to stamp on anyone trying to pass beneath.
The guardians responded to the sight with great reverence, even fear. Worshipping one Hindu god, such as Shiva, did not preclude also worshipping others, and as both Shiva’s wife and one of the most powerful deities in the pantheon Kali demanded respect.
Even Eddie felt a little intimidated. ‘I see why she’s the goddess of death. Ten arms to kill you with? She’s not messing around.’
‘No, no,’ said Girilal, almost amused. ‘There is much more to Kali than death. Do you see? Two of her hands are empty.’
Nina saw that instead of holding weapons, the thumbs and fingers formed symbols. ‘What do they mean?’
‘That one,’ he said, pointing with his stick, ‘is a sign that she will protect you. She may be fierce, but she is also a loving mother - and a mother will do anything to protect her children. The other means “do not be afraid” - you have nothing to fear if you trust her.’
Kit moved forward, gazing up at the towering figure. ‘So Lord Shiva left Kali to guard his Vault?’
‘Who else but Kali would he trust to destroy all intruders?’ Shankarpa said firmly.
Nina directed her flashlight at the statue for a better look. ‘The question is . . . will she destroy everyone who tries to get the Shiva-Vedas? Do you know how to reach them?’
‘That knowledge was also lost a long time ago.’
‘Swell. So we’ll have to figure this out too.’ She brought the light down to examine one of the statue’s weapons, but Kit blocked the beam. ‘Excuse me, Kit - I need to see.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ He moved away . . .
Into the passage.
‘Kit, wait!’ Nina shouted as she suddenly realised the danger - but too late.
The statue came to life.
The eight arms bearing weapons all moved at once as ancient mechanisms inside the statue ground into action, slashing down into the narro
w tunnel. One of the swords stabbed at Kit. He jumped back in shock—
Not quickly enough. The giant blade’s tip hacked deep into his shin with a spurt of blood.
He screamed and fell, clutching the wound. Kali’s arms screeched back to their original positions and juddered to a stop.
Eddie was the first to risk advancing, pulling Kit out of the passage. ‘Let me see,’ he said, carefully easing up Kit’s blood-soaked trouser leg to find that he had been cut to the bone, a chunk of his calf muscle peeled back like dog-gnawed meat. ‘Shit, that’s deep. Nina, is the first-aid kit in your gear?’
She retrieved it, Eddie putting on a pair of disposable vinyl gloves and starting to clean the wound. ‘This’ll hurt,’ he warned Kit. ‘Sorry, but there’s no anaesthetic. I’ll go as easy as I can.’
Nina held the injured man’s hand. ‘Just try to stay calm.’
‘That is . . . easier said than done,’ Kit gasped through his teeth. ‘My parents always warned me that if I behaved badly, Kali would punish me. But I never imagined it would actually happen!’
‘You haven’t behaved badly. It would have happened whoever went into the passage.’ She looked up at the statue, its red eyes staring menacingly back at her. A booby trap, a last line of defence for the treasures at the heart of the Vault. But there had to be a way past it - the priests who had shown the Shiva-Vedas to Talonor obviously knew it . . .
‘Okay, I’m going to stitch it up,’ Eddie reported. ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘Like the goddess just chopped off my foot,’ Kit rasped.
‘You’ll be okay. Just try to breathe slowly.’ He pushed the needle through the flesh, and Kit’s entire body tensed.
Girilal and Shankarpa moved past to stare in awe at the statue. The old yogi hesitantly extended his stick into the passage, pushing the tip down on the first stone slab of its floor. Kali burst into movement again, the long sword arcing down. The blade chopped through the wood as both men jumped away, then returned to its original position.
‘And this was a very good stick,’ Girilal said sadly, holding up the truncated end of his staff.
The Sacred Vault Page 32