In the Name of God

by Ravi Subramanian

  As he stood at the window looking out into the distance, he couldn’t help but wonder at what all people were willing to do in the name of God.

  71

  The next morning as Vikram Rai was entering the temple complex, he saw a crowd beside the southeastern end of the outer boundary wall of the temple. Over fifty people were huddled over something; a few of them were leaning against the outer wall of the Padma Teertha Kulam. That was the area where some workers working for a private security company were digging trenches to instal electro-hydraulic bollards and other security equipment as mandated by the Supreme Court. The installation was to be on the road leading to the northern entrance to the temple.

  Vikram and his security entourage walked up to the epicentre of the commotion and summoned the security in-charge who was keeping the crowd at bay.

  ‘The workers have stumbled upon something which looks like steps leading down,’ the executive engineer replied when he was asked the reason for the commotion. ‘The workers from the security company were digging a trench when they hit red bricks and large blocks of laterite just below the tarred surface of the road. They look like the remains of some old building; it might be an underground chamber or even steps leading to one. We stopped the digging. The Archaeological Survey of India has taken over.’

  ‘ASI?’

  ‘Yes. They monitor all the digging activity around all heritage buildings and buildings of historical significance. Since this is right next to the temple complex they had come in the beginning. Over a week ago.’

  ‘When will we know what it is?’ Vikram asked. There were signs of worry on his face. He was also a bit upset that they had not noticed the ASI intervention on site, and the same had not been discussed or mentioned to him. But that was the way the various departments worked. Very limited coordination between them.

  ‘We have written to the government asking for permission to excavate. We can begin only after our request is approved.’

  ‘All right. Be careful. Keep the crowds away. Keep the area secure. And make sure temple property is not damaged.’

  ‘Yes, sir, we have been very careful. The entire process is supervised day and night. Even when people are not working this area is monitored to prevent anyone from playing a prank.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Vikram, walking back into the temple.

  When he reached the vault, a pensive-looking Nirav and the retired chief secretary were overseeing the work. Soon after, Rajan and Ranjit arrived.

  ‘Do you think the structure they found this morning are steps? If they are, where do you think they lead to?’ Vikram asked Rajan the moment he saw him. ‘Could they lead to some corner of these vaults? An escape route maybe?’

  ‘Do you remember the hissing noise you heard when you put your ear to Vault B?’

  ‘Yes. Although it was unclear whether it was the hissing of snakes or the swishing of waves,’ Vikram recollected. ‘But why?’

  ‘Underneath the town of Thiruvananthapuram lies a complex maze of drains. No one knows the extent of these drains. A few of these are believed to extend below the temple too. Whether this network can be accessed from within the temple, nobody knows. According to legend, there is an underground tunnel that connects Vault B to the sea.’

  ‘Are you saying that these steps that have been discovered could lead to that?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Rajan shrugged.

  ‘If there is an access . . .’ Vikram trailed off as if he was contemplating something. ‘If there is an access, and the access is inside Vault B, it would pose an enormous risk to everything that is inside the vault.’

  ‘Why do you think I have been shouting myself hoarse about opening Vault B? I was completely opposed to having the Devaprasnam. Allowing them to organize the Devaprasnam was asking for trouble! But you took that call anyway.’ He began to walk away, then stopped and said, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the granite steps discovered last night are in fact an ancient access to the underground tunnel, or maybe to the drain. Whichever it is, it spells doom.’

  72

  It was Nirav Choksi’s turn to be summoned for questioning that afternoon. The police were not calling it an interrogation. Yet.

  ‘So Subhash Parikh was a close friend?’ Kabir Khan asked him as they sipped green tea in Krishnan’s office.

  ‘Not a very close friend. But a friend nevertheless. I had known him for over forty years. He too lived in South Mumbai, in the same neighbourhood. He moved overseas, I stayed back. Still, we ended up in similar businesses. He built a large set-up in Antwerp and the US. Antwerp for his diamond trade, and the US for his antiques business. We stayed in touch over the years. It’s hard to cut off someone who has been a part of your growing-up years. There’s a lot of history. My father had saved him from being sent to a juvenile remand home years ago. That sense of gratitude was still intact.’

  ‘Any business dealings between—’

  ‘Us?’ Nirav finished Kabir’s question. ‘None.’ He glanced at Krishnan. ‘As I said, though both of us belonged to the jewellery trade, our constructs were very different, so there were no business dealings between the two of us. And because I deal with exclusive clients, there were no common clients on the jewellery side.’

  ‘In the last two weeks that you have been here, did Mr Parikh seem stressed, worried, or anxious about something? Did you notice anything that you thought was abnormal?’

  ‘No, nothing! In fact he was an extremely jovial, happy-go-lucky kind of a person. It is sad that something like this happened to him.’ The rapid blinking of his eyes indicated to Khan that he was fighting back his tears.

  ‘Do you know if he had any enemies?’

  ‘No, he never mentioned anything or anyone that might have been bothering him. And why would someone track him all the way here and kill him?’ Nirav nervously wiped the sweat on his forehead with his hand.

  ‘Why are you sweating, Mr Choksi?’ Khan asked him, casually offering him a napkin to wipe his forehead.

  He swallowed anxiously. ‘Could I be next in line?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Mr Choksi. We have increased security in and around your hotel, and along your route. And needless to say, the temple is now a fortress.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a relief!’

  They spoke for some more time, Nirav answering all their questions confidently and without any hesitation.

  ‘Last two questions,’ Kabir said, rising from his chair and walking round the table to the other side. He opened a folder kept on the table and handed a photograph to Nirav. ‘Do you know her?’

  Nirav looked at the woman in the photograph. He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve never met her?’ Krishnan asked. ‘Ever?’

  ‘You heard me. Never,’ Nirav replied testily.

  ‘As expected,’ Kabir muttered. He slid a chit pad across the table to Nirav. ‘Can you give us Subhash Parikh’s number?’

  Nirav looked at him, slightly amused by the question. ‘You don’t have his number?’ Realizing the futility of his comment, he pulled out his phone and copied down a number on the pad.

  Kabir Khan looked at it and asked him, ‘Is there another number?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Choksi,’ Krishnan said at a glance from Kabir. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  When Nirav left, a motorcade of three cars followed him all the way back to the hotel. Krishnan had been serious when he said that they had increased the security cover provided to the entire team.

  ‘What do you think?’ Khan asked him the moment he returned to the room.

  ‘Think? As in?’

  ‘Do you think he is lying?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘We’ll know soon,’ said Kabir.

  He sat down at the table and opened an app on his laptop. In no time they were watching the video recording of the conversation with Nirav, recorded with the help of a camera affixed on the ceiling, right above Nirav’s head. Kabir quickly f
ast forwarded the recording to the point where Nirav had turned on his phone to copy Subhash’s number. At the point where Nirav set the phone on the table while he wrote the number, Kabir paused the video and zoomed in until the only thing visible on the screen was Nirav’s mobile phone and Subhash’s contact card.

  There were two numbers on the screen.

  73

  Slumped in the back seat of the Toyota Innova that was taking him back to the hotel, Kabir was lost in thought. He had a call scheduled with Director Inamdar in half an hour. His phone rang. It was Krishnan. Wondering what could have necessitated the call, considering he had been with Krishnan till about twenty-five minutes ago, he took the call.

  ‘False alarm,’ said Krishnan the moment he heard Kabir’s voice.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The second number on Nirav Choksi’s phone is an old number, which Subhash had till about four years ago, when he switched service providers. It hasn’t been operational since.’

  The car stopped outside the Lotus Pond. Kabir got out of the car and entered the hotel.

  ‘So Nirav was telling the truth. He genuinely doesn’t know about Subhash’s second number.’

  ‘Looks like it. We can talk about this when you come back in the evening for Ranjit’s interview. He’s coming at 5 p.m. You need to be back here by then.’

  ‘Absolutely! Let me just get rid of some clerical stuff,’ Kabir said and hung up. The call with the director would begin in twenty minutes.

  He had barely stepped into his room when his phone rang again.

  ‘What?’ he barked into it, irritated with the consecutive calls.

  ‘Well, hello to you too.’ It was Madhavan.

  ‘Oh sorry,’ Kabir apologized. ‘I was preoccupied.’

  ‘That’s okay. I do it all the time, so I can understand.’ Madhavan empathized with Khan. ‘Okay, now for the reason I called. I have something interesting for you. The sand-laden truck that was seized in Madurai? The one with the fake registration? We did some digging and we’ve found that a truck with the same chassis number is actually registered in Kerala, Thiruvananthapuram to be precise. Not Tamil Nadu. TPS Transport, under whose permit the truck was plying, is denying any connection with the truck and all the stuff found inside the truck, hidden in the sand. In fact they’re claiming that the truck does not belong to them.’

  ‘Okay?’ It was more of a question.

  ‘Records show that this truck crossed the Kerala border near Nagercoil, two days ago.’

  ‘Go on . . .’

  ‘Right before it crossed the border, it had a Kerala number plate. Once it entered Tamil Nadu, the number plate was replaced with a local Tamil Nadu number plate, probably stolen from a truck belonging to TPS Transport.’

  ‘Send me the details. I will talk to Krishnan.’

  ‘I am coming back there. Tonight. A request has already gone out to Kerala Police.’

  Within five minutes of Madhavan hanging up, Kabir’s phone beeped. Madhavan had sent the details. The moment he saw the name of the transport company, APS Transport Pvt. Ltd, he had a niggling feeling that he had seen it somewhere. Where . . .?

  The phone rang again. It was Inamdar’s office. The conference call was about to begin.

  The meeting with Ranjit that evening went along the same lines as the others. As expected, nothing significant came of it. Ranjit told them again about his discovery of the gold-plating machine in the king’s chamber and his subsequent discussions with Subhash Parikh. He too had never seen Shreyasi before. Nor did he know anything about Parikh’s second number. The meeting took a little over an hour, including the two toilet breaks that Ranjit took.

  Madhavan returned that night along with a few officers of the Idol wing of Tamil Nadu Police.

  74

  The police jeep, in which Madhavan and his fellow officers from Kerala Police were travelling, screeched to a halt in front of an unimpressive-looking building on the busy street in Attingal, the truck transport hub in Kerala. All transport companies and truck owners had offices in this area. Radhakrishnan Nair was in his office, quietly reading a copy of the local Malayalam daily, when there was a knock on the door. Dumping the newspaper on the table, he hitched up his lungi and walked to the door. The moment he opened it, the business end of a rifle was shoved in his face.

  ‘Radhakrishnan Nair?’ Madhavan asked calmly.

  A confused Nair nodded warily. He was promptly bundled into the police jeep and carted away to the police headquarters, where Kabir and Krishnan were waiting for him.

  ‘APS Transport,’ Krishnan began.

  Nair sat on the floor next to the sofa in the DGP’s cabin, his eyes red with rage. He had never been treated with such insolence, certainly not by the police. He had not been offered any explanation whatsoever, and that made him even more furious. ‘What about it?’ he demanded, scratching his armpit.

  ‘Your company?’

  ‘Yes. It is my company. What about it?’ he asked through gritted teeth.

  ‘How long have you been doing all this?’

  ‘Doing what? Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?’ Nair yelled, giving vent to his frustration.

  ‘How long have you been smuggling gold and priceless antiques in trucks filled with sand?’

  Radhakrishnan Nair shot up from his place on the floor, his eyes almost popping out. ‘What? Smuggling? Are you out of your mind!!!’ he shouted. ‘I have lived all my life with dignity. And now, at this age, you are accusing me of smuggling. ARE YOU SERIO—’

  Whack!

  Radhakrishnan Nair lost his balance and fell to the floor, cradling his right cheek in his palm.

  Kabir shook his hand a couple of time to ease the stinging. ‘This was for screaming in the office of the DGP of Kerala Police, and that too in the presence of the additional director of the CBI.’ He looked at Madhavan sheepishly—he had forgotten to mention him. Madhavan grinned.

  ‘Now pay attention,’ Kabir continued. ‘Answer whatever is asked of you. Politely. One more outburst like that one and you’ll end up in some obscure prison somewhere. No one will even know where you are. Understood?’

  Dumbstruck, Nair simply stared back at him. He could still feel the imprint of Khan’s fingers on his cheek.

  ‘Excellent!’ Kabir said, and gestured to the DGP to carry on.

  ‘So,’ Krishnan repeated, ‘how long have you been smuggling gold and jewellery and artefacts, in sand-filled trucks.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m not involved in any smuggling or illegal activity.’

  ‘Don’t lie to us,’ Madhavan warned. ‘Who are your partners in this?’

  ‘Partners? In what? Smuggling? But I am not involved in smuggling! I’m not lying!’ he said in shrill voice.

  ‘Do you operate from Attingal or do you have a den somewhere else?’

  By this time the initially belligerent Radhakrishnan Nair was in tears. ‘How do I convince you—I know nothing about what you are saying.’

  ‘Maybe this will remind you,’ Madhavan said, thrusting a few pictures at him. Pictures of a truck filled with sand and the loot in front of the truck.’

  ‘This is not even APS Transport,’ Nair protested. ‘The name of the truck company is different! How can it be mine?’

  Madhavan leaned forward and slammed his palm on the table. ‘TPS! Even an idiot can make out that the name painted on the truck is fake. The chassis number of this truck matches a truck that was bought by APS Transport. Your company.’ He looked into Nair’s eyes.

  Something about the man’s expression bothered him. While there was fear in his eyes, it looked more like fear born out of public humiliation, rather than remorse.

  Nair shook his head. ‘There has been a mistake.’

  ‘There has been no mistake, Mr Nair. None at all. It’s just that you have been cornered at last. So out with the truth. How long have you been doing this? And who are your partners?’

  ‘Partners? Padmanabha! W
hat has come upon you? This truck is not mine!’ Nair repeated. ‘Ask anyone in the Attingal market. Everyone there knows me. I have been working in the same apology of an office for the last twenty-two years.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why you thought you would get away with it. Tell me,’ Kabir barked, ‘how many trucks do you have in this trade?’

  ‘None!’ Nair begged. ‘Believe me! I got out of the transport business eight years ago! When my father died.’

  ‘What?’ Kabir Khan retorted in disbelief, wondering why Nair had not mentioned that at the first instance. But then everything happened so fast that he would not have had a chance. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was a business my father started. Over twenty years ago. He was extremely successful. When I took over, I didn’t want to continue it. But the business was so close to my father’s heart that had I closed it down then, it would surely have killed him. I reluctantly ran the business for a time. The year he died, I shut it down. Even his masters, who had funded the business for him initially, didn’t have any objection to it. Because they also knew that I was running it only for my father. Tell me, if I shut down the business over eight years ago, how can I be running trucks and a cross-border smuggling operation?’

  ‘You said partner?’ Kabir walked up to him.

  ‘Masters. I said masters, not partners. They could never be partners. They helped him set up the transport business in return for the loyalty demonstrated by our family. And to show our gratitude, we insisted that they take a small stake in the company. Which they hesitatingly did.’

  ‘Who is they?’ asked Krishnan. ‘And how much stake do they own?’

  ‘When the company was operational they owned five per cent of the company. It was more for optical purposes.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me, Nair?’ Krishnan thundered. ‘WHO IS THEY?’

  ‘Thirumanassu.’

  75

  The discovery of granite steps leading into the ground just outside the temple complex had created a stir in the neighbourhood. Speculation was rife that the staircase was one of the access points to the temple vaults. It also gave rise to innumerable stories about the possibility of the city’s drainage system being linked to this access point. The civic authorities were a worried lot. There were two drainage pipes, three feet by three feet, which ran parallel to the boundary of the temple. Big enough for an adult to get through. Possibly these drainpipes shared a common wall with the vault. No one could say with certainty. Strangely for a well-developed city like Thiruvananthapuram, no blueprints of the underground drainage system were available, except for a few archaic papers kept in the nearby Swati Thirunal Museum. It was estimated that only thirty per cent of the drainpipes that criss-crossed the city were in use at any point in time. Until the recent public debate and media attention on the treasure in the temple, no one was even remotely interested in the drainage system or its history. Now almost everyone wanted a look at the papers. The government had quickly stepped in and banned access to them, stating that they contained sensitive information which might put the temple at risk.