Raaz Mahal - The Palace of Secrets

By Neal Nathan

Agra, India - the city of the Taj Mahal. The Bureau of Archaeology (BoA) receives a bizarre petition under the Right-To-Information (RTI) Act, demanding the bureau disclose authentic historical evidence for the legend of the World Heritage monument. The bureau dumps the case on Vijay Kumar, a brilliant but maverick archaeologist, who discovers t

• Language: English
• Publisher: GNOS Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737264217

Neal Nathan

Neal Nathan studied Engineering, Information Systems, and Public Policy. He has had a long career in Information Technology and Management consulting in the public sector, working for technology, consulting, and advisory firms. He likes to read and has, over time, developed a keen interest in ancient, modern, and contemporary history and linguistics. He lives in the Washington D.C. area with his wife and daughters. 'Raaz Mahal - The Palace of Secrets' is his first novel writing venture. He can be reached at NealNathan.com.

Book preview

RAAZ MAHAL

The PALACE

of

SECRETS

A Novel

By

NEAL NATHAN

GNOS Publishing

TITLE VERSO

GNOS Publishing

All characters in the story are fictitious, and any

resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is

purely coincidental. The documentary references

in this novel are accurate and duly attributed.

Raaz Mahal – The Palace of Secrets

Copyright © 2020, 2021 by Neal Nathan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used

or reproduced without written permission except

in the case of brief quotations with attribution.

Copyright enforced internationally under

the Berne Convention for the

Protection of Literary and Artistic Works

The cataloging-in-publication data is on file

with the U.S. Library of Congress.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021910167

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7372642-0-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-7372642-1-7

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-7372642-3-1

Cover and interior design by

GNOS Publishing associates

Map illustrations by D. Dutta via Fiverr.com

Front cover background image, courtesy of

Carpenter/Library of Congress via Pingnews

Back cover background image, courtesy of

Maryna Khomenko via unsplash.com

DEDICATION

To two brilliant researchers,

without whose monumental work,

we may not ever discover the truth.

Purushottamaayach Vaasudevaay namaah

(Sanskrit)

To the supreme being

that dwells in all creation.

To my parents, the epitome of kindness.

To COVID-19 warriors,

my wife being one of them

EPIGRAPH

"Do not believe in anything merely because it is said so, nor in inferences drawn from some haphazard assumptions we have made, but we are to believe when the writing, doctrine is corroborated by our own reason and conscience."

Bhagwan Gautam Buddha

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The great scientist, Sir Isaac Newton, said, "If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." A few years ago, I stumbled upon some lesser-known but brilliant historical research works. Fascinated, I explored several actual documentary references myself and began to share what I learned from those with my family and friends. This novel was born out of those explorations and conversations. First and foremost, my sincere thanks to those researchers and well-wishers.

I am grateful to my wife and daughters. Without their encouragement, support, involvement, and cheerful help with reading and editing, commencing and completing this book would not have been possible. I cannot thank enough AE, HB, and TS for the superb editing of the manuscript and many valuable suggestions and SB for general consultations. I am also grateful to close acquaintances and colleagues—SF, SS, and ZN —for helping me understand certain Persian words and translating Persian texts. To that end, the reader might appreciate the company of non-English words provided at the back of the book. I would also like to acknowledge the beta-readers—AB, CK, KK, SB, and SS—for their valuable time and objective feedback.

My sincere thanks to the U.S. Library of Congress, the Government of India, the British Library, London, U.K., the University of Virginia Library, and The Internet Archive for digitizing and making some of the world’s fascinating historical documents and reference material available and accessible via the internet.

Neal Nathan, 2021

PROLOGUE

The dark tunnel seemed endless. The man struggled to keep going. How much longer? He was becoming impatient. He glanced at the torch in his hand. It looked as if it would die any moment. Oh no! I must find the grave chamber soon, he said to himself and quickened his pace, but his foot struck something, tripping him. In an instant, he was lying flat on the floor of the tunnel, his back hurting. His only light source had slipped from his hand, flown, hit the tunnel wall, and died. What am I going to do now?

Panic struck him as he felt something slithering over him. It has to be a snake, he thought. He lay still, holding his breath and praying as sweat trickled from his forehead. Then he felt the creature creep away and breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes were now becoming used to the darkness, but he knew it would be impossible to make it through the tunnel without the torch. Desperately searching for it, he ran his hands over the floor, finding it after a couple of blind grabs. He took the matchbox out from his pocket and tried to ignite the torch. Why is this thing not lighting? Fear gripped him again. Then, he saw a soft bluish-white glow coming from the other end of the tunnel and wondered what it could be.

Then, he saw her. She was wearing a shimmering white gown. She smiled at him, or so he thought. From a distance, she seemed incredibly beautiful. Who is she? What is she doing here in the tunnel? As if reading his mind, she crooked her finger, beckoning him to follow. She turned around and started walking. He stood up and followed as she almost glided over the tunnel floor.

He kept following her. Every few seconds, she would glance back to make sure he was keeping up. He wanted to catch up to her, but somehow, she maintained the distance between them.

Soon they were in a large, round chamber that had a majestic sky-high dome. What is this place? He wondered, scanning the chamber. He was now closer to the woman. Even from behind the thin veil, the woman appeared beautiful. She had gone around the two graves in the chamber and pointed to a grave as if asking him, Weren’t you searching for this? Of course, that was what he was after.

He stepped onto the platform, walked over to one of the graves, and tried to lift the lid but it would not move. Perplexed, he stepped back. The woman smiled at him, and the lid opened slowly, with a smooth, gliding sound. The woman climbed onto the platform and moved close to the grave. What is she doing? She stepped inside the grave and descended, as if laying down. He could not see her now.

He stepped onto the platform again, slowly walked over to the grave, and peeked inside. Huh? All he could see was glittering gold and jewels. He wanted to touch the gold but wondered, where did she go? Then, a beautiful slender hand protruded through the glittering gold that he felt the urge to touch. Hesitantly, he put out his hand. In a flash, the hand protruding from the grave grabbed him and pulled him violently into the grave, through the glittering gold and jewels into an endless tunnel.

The man thought his heart had stopped, and his end was coming.

Vijay Kumar screamed.

Part I - The Legend



Picture 4

CHAPTER 1

SOME 400 YEARS AGO

CIRCA JUNE 1631 C.E.; ZI-IL-QUADA 1040 A.H.

BURHANPUR, CENTRAL INDIA,

650 MILES SOUTH OF DELHI

Burhanpur, a rustic town, lies at the fault line between north and south India. Situated on the northern bank of the river Tapi, Burhanpur was a bustling trading post in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Traders dispatched spices, yarns, and other goods in boats over the Tapi to points west and all the way to the coastal towns and ports on the Arabian Sea. Burhanpur offered a strategic location and a resting place for the advancing armies of warring kingdoms from the north and south.

Mughals—the Mongol-Turkic descendants—had gained control of Burhanpur in the latter part of the sixteenth century. However, for the past several years, the Mughal army had been unable to advance much beyond the Tapi. The river had become the de facto boundary between the northern parts of India—or Hindostan—then mostly ruled by the Mughals, and the Deccan to the south. And thus, Burhanpur became the Gateway to the Deccan.

It was the month of June. Just a few months ago, the Mughal ruler Khurram, who had assumed the title of Shahjahan, had descended from the capital Agra in the north to Burhanpur. One of the Deccan commanders, Khan Jahan Lodi, had revolted against the Mughal rule. Shahjahan personally led the military expedition to curb the revolt. Yet, the large Mughal army had not taken up a major offensive against the enemy for a while, becoming lethargic.

In Burhanpur, Shahjahan lodged at the Shahi Qila or the Royal Fort. Built by the native Yadav dynasty originally, the fort strategically overlooked the Tapi river to the south. The Mughals had won this fort from the Faruqui rulers, who in turn, had captured it from the Yadav kings.

The royal zanana, or harem, accompanying Shahjahan on this expedition, boasted the beautiful Aliya Begum, one of Shahjahan’s many wives. The royals were expecting, and for over a day, Aliya Begum had been in labor; it was her fourteenth time.

The air seemed quite tense and anxiety-filled at the Shahi Qila that evening, while a tent in the corner of the military camp a quarter of a mile away from the fort was abuzz with activity. Wazir Khan, the commander of the Mughal forces, along with a few other Mughal soldiers, was being entertained by a beautiful Arabian dancer. The group was having a good time, feasting, drinking, and cheering the dance.

Suddenly, a royal messenger rushed into the tent interrupting the dance. The cheering soldiers fell silent, and the dancer paused.

"Aadaab, commander Khan, the messenger said, offering salutations. Jahapanah Shahjahan wants to see you immediately." The interruption irritated Wazir Khan as the event had just gotten exciting. Why would Shahjahan want to see me at this hour? Wazir Khan wondered.

Wazir Khan looked at the messenger, nodded, and got up reluctantly. You men carry on, he told the people gathered. He eyed the dancer once more and swiftly left the tent. The rowdy soldiers returned to their drinking and dancing.

Wazir Khan mounted his Arabian horse and reached the Shahi Quila in a matter of minutes, finding an attendant waiting for his arrival. As Khan dismounted his horse, the attendant took the reins and directed the commander to a shamiana or tent. The tent was specially set up in the Shahi Qila premises for Shahjahan for the summer days, with an outer wing connecting it to the fort. Wazir Khan briskly walked to the tent. Entering the outer wing, he saw Satunnisa, a striking middle-aged woman and the head of the royal harem. She and a maid were helping a beautiful young woman walk out of the tent into the fort through the connecting wing. That must be the Jaipuri Begum, the newest addition to the royal harem, Wazir Khan thought but pretended he had not seen anything. He then noticed a familiar man sitting at a low desk outside the main quarters of the tent. That was Abdul Hamid Lahori, Shahjahan’s royal chronicler, ordained to scribe the Badshahnama.

As Wazir Khan approached, Lahori glanced at him.

"Aadaab, Janab Lahori," Khan offered salutations.

"Aadaab, Khan sahab," Lahori reciprocated. He nodded, allowing the commander inside the main quarter of the tent.

Wazir Khan entered the tent and cleared his throat. "To Jahapanah, the world conqueror!" He offered salutations to his master.

Shahjahan was sitting on the edge of an elegant bed adjusting his clothes. He avoided looking at Wazir Khan, which he knew meant the king was not too happy. Shahjahan clapped to summon a servant and waved to him to bring in Lahori.

I really don’t want Lahori listening to any military plans, Wazir Khan thought but had to make an effort to hide his displeasure, but he also knew that even though Lahori was only a chronicler, he commanded respect and was a confidante and advisor to the king.

Commander Wazir Khan, the military campaign is not going well, Shahjahan complained coldly, now looking straight into the commander’s eyes. And the mighty Mughal army has become quite sluggish.

That is a bit unfair and accusatory of Your Highness, Wazir Khan thought. He looked around. Lahori was expressionless, taking notes in the corner of the tent.

"Jahapanah, I understand your concern, but I would like to assure you there will be progress soon, and we will defeat the rebellion of Khan Jahan Lodhi in a few days."

What is our plan, commander? Shahjahan asked as he spread a papyrus map on an ottoman. They both sat on low stools around the ottoman. Wazir Khan pointed to a specific area on the map. He glanced at Lahori who was busy scribbling.

The town of Zainabad across the Tapi and areas to the south are strategically important, commander, Shahjahan said.

"Certainly, Jahapanah, Wazir Khan agreed. However, we cannot risk waging a battle there. The enemy will receive additional forces and supplies from further south. We need to find some other means of getting a stronger foothold there.

Shahjahan, still staring at Wazir Khan, asked, What are you thinking, commander?

All of a sudden, a woman screamed in pain. The two men exchanged looks.

A worried Wazir Khan asked softly, "Jahapanah, how is Aliya Begum Sahiba’s health? And any news of the baby?"

Shahjahan did not say anything. Lahori spoke to the commander in a low voice. "Aliya Begum Sahiba has been in labor for over a day now. Her health is…failing."

An even more concerned Wazir Khan looked at his calm master.

There was another scream, and silence followed. Soon, they heard a baby’s cry. The men looked at each other, holding back smiles of relief. The Hakim, or the royal physician, was let into the tent. He wore a serious expression.

"Jahapanah, we must go see Begum Sahiba immediately," the Hakim urged.

Shahjahan, the Hakim, and Lahori headed to Aliya Begum’s quarters inside the fort, leaving Wazir Khan in the tent by himself.

Seeing Shahjahan, the nursemaid quickly left the room. Lahori waited behind the thin silk curtains as Shahjahan walked into the chamber. From a distance, Lahori could see Aliya Begum struggling to say something to Shahjahan, but he could not hear anything. Shahjahan held Begum’s hand. In a few minutes, Shahjahan glanced over his shoulder and the Hakim rushed inside. He checked Begum Sahiba’s pulse for a few seconds, then shook his head. He knew he should now leave the king alone and stepped out of the chamber, his head hanging. Shahjahan sat there for a while.

Slowly, Shahjahan came out from behind the curtains. The nursemaid tried to offer the baby to Shahjahan. He did not seem very interested but gently touched the newborn. Then he spoke loudly to no one in particular. Please make all the necessary funeral arrangements.

Shahjahan and Lahori walked back to the tent. Shahjahan whispered something to Lahori and commander Wazir Khan. Soon both left the tent.

The next day, a small group gathered across the river from the Shahi Qila in the town called Zainabad. The group included Shahjahan and his son Shuja, Wazir Khan, Lahori, a kazi or a priest, and a handful of servants. They were holding a quiet burial for Aliya Begum as per Islamic customs. The burial spot selected was in a beautiful garden called Ahu Khana or Deer Park.

The kazi recited burial verses as everyone listened solemnly. The burial was barely over when Shahjahan waved some of the people in the group away. After they left, he specifically looked at Lahori and said, "It was Begum’s last wish to have a grand memorial established in her honor."

Shuja thought for a moment and then politely asked, "Exactly, what do you have in mind, Jahapanah?" Shahjahan waved the small group closer and then went on to explain. After listening to him for a few minutes, they all nodded in agreement. His Highness had a plan to fulfill his beloved wife’s wish, or so they thought.

CHAPTER 2

SIX MONTHS LATER

CIRCA DECEMBER 1631 - JANUARY 1632 C.E.;

JAMAT-UL-SANYA 1041 A.H.

AGRA, 150 MILES SOUTH OF DELHI

On a chilly afternoon in Agra, commander Wazir Khan, Shuja, Lahori, a kazi, and two servants had gathered in a sprawling garden on the banks of the river Jamuna. The kazi was checking a few things around. Slightly away from them, a coffin-like box was lying on the ground near a freshly dug grave.

While Shuja, Lahori, and Wazir Khan were busy in a deep conversation, the two servants working nearby spoke in whispered voices.

Hey, this is a rather odd-looking box. Do you know what’s in? Can we see? One of the servants asked, trying to open the box.

Shush! Don’t do that! The other man immediately scolded him. Shuja will kill you… Do your job. Now listen, you stay here. I need to take care of something else. I will be back shortly. The other man got up and moved away.

Shuja was still talking to the group. In the background stood a hazy outline of a large building. The group drifted a bit as they talked, surveying the area.

The nosy servant was now by himself. Seeing that the others were busy and out of sight, he slowly tried to open the box again. Cracking the lid, he peeked in. "Huh?" He turned around to check if anyone had caught him opening the box, but in a split second, a sword flashed shearing his head off. The lid fell with a snap into place and the box shut firmly.

A few minutes later, the box was lowered into the ground as the kazi recited burial verses.

Shuja announced, "Let’s have a grand mausoleum for Aliya Begum Sahiba as per the wishes of Jahapanah."

Everyone nodded in agreement, and soon they all departed.

They had a mission to fulfill.

CHAPTER 3

SOME 60 YEARS LATER

CIRCA 1690S

AGRA

On a dark summer night, two wiry men quietly docked their small boat on the south bank of the mighty Jamuna river behind the majestic Taj Mahal. They anchored their boat to a hook cut in the stone. Getting off, the men moved swiftly. They scanned their surroundings, especially the terrace above, and talked in whispered voices. It was the Taj Mahal’s basement that interested them but they knew there were palace guards who glanced down from the terrace every so often, looking for any suspicious movement.

Soon, they got closer to a thick, locked wooden door in the basement wall. One man whispered, "Shekhu, we shouldn’t be coming here. There is more security since Aurangzeb dethroned Shahjahan, his father. If we get caught, we are dead, and I’ve heard that Aliya Begum’s ghost wanders here in the Taj Mahal."

Mannu, don’t worry, Shekhu said, reassuring him. The royals now don’t pay much attention to the Taj Mahal. I heard Aurangzeb is away somewhere else, and haven’t we been here before? We only took a little bit of gold last time. No one is going to find out, and no one checks these graves and burial chambers. We are going to be rich soon. And you idiot. You know there are no ghosts around here, don’t you?

With a knife, Shekhu removed the glue from a door panel. He gave a little push and took the door panel off. Mannu took it and gently rested it against the adjacent wall. Again, looking around carefully at their surroundings, the two men slipped inside.

It was dark inside the lower basement of the Taj Mahal. Shekhu and Mannu lit a small makeshift torch and pulled out pocket knives for protection. Moving quickly through the dark passages, they made their way to the second floor. They soon reached the burial chamber and moved closer to the smaller of the two graves. There, standing firmly on the mound, the two struggled to move the grave’s large lid. The lid finally shifted, barely enough to put one’s hand inside. Mannu slipped his hand in and slowly pulled out a fistful of glittering gold coins and jewels. He hastily shoved the treasure in a small bag that hung around his neck. Shekhu followed suit.

Mannu wanted to grab some more of the treasure but Shekhu stopped him. Enough, Mannu, don’t be greedy or, he chuckled, "Begum’s ghost will finish you. Come, let’s get out of here. We can try coming back after a few months."

Mannu reluctantly backed off.

As they headed out of the chamber, Mannu turned around for a final look and froze. He thought he saw a hazy figure of a woman dressed in a silky white dress, hovering over the grave. Huh! What is that? He shook his head as if to clear his vision, then ran away blindly following his partner.

Outside and over at the main terrace, two guards were pacing up and down, pointing to the boat. An official-looking man, the marshal of the palace guards, walked up to them, inquiring about what was going on. The guards pointed down below. Alarmed, the marshal commanded a couple of other guards to go down quickly to the riverbank and check.

In a few minutes, the guards located the boat, the door, and the opening. From below, they waved to the marshal and other guards, who were watching keenly, and pointed to the wall where they had spotted something. From the terrace, the marshal gave them instructions. The guards now waited outside, standing close to the wall and ready to pounce on anything that might come out of the opening.

Inside, Shekhu and Mannu were now rushing to find their way out, clenching their treasure. Mannu kept glancing back, dreading the ghostly figure of the woman that might be following them. As they climbed down the stairs to the lower basement, Mannu inadvertently turned left.

Hey, not there, Shekhu hissed. That path goes to the Badal-Garh Fort. He pulled Mannu to the right.

They found their path back to the hole they had originally entered. Cautiously, Shekhu approached the opening, stuck his neck out first, and then slowly stepped out. The palace guards pounced on him and pinned him down. Instinctively, Mannu slipped back inside to attempt an escape. A guard struggled to slip in through the opening to chase the intruder, but Mannu proved to be quicker and more familiar with the interior than the guard. Soon, the guard lost Mannu’s trail and had to turn back.

The guard came out of the hole huffing. That thief got away. I think he knows his way, he told his partner.

A few guards and the marshal were now watching the commotion from the terrace above.

One of