Curse of Surya

Dev Prasad

Description

Sangeeta Rao, a beautiful, feisty reporter at Channel 7 TV in Singapore, rushes to Agra on a special assignment after an early-morning phone call. At the Taj Mahal, she meets Alan Davies, a charming Welshman. But a terrorist attack on Mathura's renowned Krishna temple turns them into fugitives from justice and the duo must decipher a series of complex cryptographs and unearth the illustrious Shyamantaka that belonged to Surya, the Sun God, to prove their innocence. Joined in their quest by an elderly Frenchman, Anton Blanchard, the duo race against time in helicopters, motor boats and yachts. In hot pursuit are the brilliant and daring SP Nisha Sharma and the most ruthless terrorist organizations. Before she realizes it, Sangeeta is trapped in a world of betrayal, deceit and horror. Fast-paced and gripping, The Curse of Surya will keep you hooked and on the edge of your seat while you unravel one of the biggest mysteries in 5000 years.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
• Date de parution: 24 mai 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788184007046
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

DEV PRASAD

THE CURSE OF SURYA
RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
Contents
A note on the Author
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
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16
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19
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25
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30
31
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57
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59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
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75
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
A Note about the Book
Follow Random House
Copyright
A Note on the Author

Dev Prasad is a senior IT professional currently working in Bangalore. He has held senior management positions at various European and American multinational corporations.
His debut book, Krishna: A Journey through the Lands and Legends of Krishna , was longlisted for the 2010 Vodafone Crossword Award. His second book, Pitch It! , won the second prize at the prestigious ISTD Book Award in 2014. It was also shortlisted for the Tata Literature Live! Business Book of the Year Award in 2014.
Dev is passionate about working for underprivileged children and loves cricket, badminton, table tennis and chess. He can be contacted at [e-mail] .
Prologue
Mathura 19 January 2015, 1.30 p.m.
I need to close all the doors and the main gates before I head home. Why can t these people leave sooner? wondered the head priest of the Krishna Janmasthan Temple as he looked at his watch impatiently. He needed to be back at the temple by 4 p.m. after lunch and his siesta to open it once again for the evening tourists.
It was 1.30 p.m., well past the closing hours but the temple complex was still crowded. Some visitors had just entered and were at the Keshav Dev Temple. Some were standing in the middle of the prison cell , possibly wondering if this was really the place where their god was born thousands of years ago.
The Krishna Janmasthan Temple in Mathura is one of the most famous and illustrious temples in India. As the name indicates, this was the place where Lord Krishna was born more than five thousand years ago. Located around fifty metres above the ground, on a small hillock, this is not a solitary temple but a vast expanse that houses three temples. Visitors had to climb a steep ramp at the entrance to reach the complex. The famous prison where Krishna was born has been converted into a temple and it stands in the centre of the complex. It is flanked by the ancient Keshav Dev Temple on the left and the modern Radha Krishna Temple on the right.
The head priest walked towards the gigantic brass bell hung at the other end of the courtyard. He caught the coir rope tied to the bell and began to tug at it. As the bell began to boom across the courtyard, the security guards got up from their seats and dispersed in different directions, asking the tourists to leave. Reluctantly, the tourists made their way down the ramp, towards the huge metallic gates at the exit.
The head priest sighed with relief as he shut the main door. This had become a daily ritual. None of the tourists left the complex unless the security guards chased them out. He walked past the prison cell on his way towards the Radha Krishna Temple. The prison cell was the most sacred and austere-looking portion of the temple complex. It was rarely closed because it had neither jewels nor gold-covered deities. The head priest quickly made his way to the Radha Krishna Temple and closed the main door facing the altar, descended the ramp and headed for the exit.
A few metres away, Tenzing got up from his hiding place. He was crouching below the stone slab in the prison cell. Since this room did not house any deities, the temple priests and security guards rarely checked for any tourists at closing time. Tenzing dusted himself and looked around. Everyone had left. He looked at his watch. 1.45 p.m. He had approximately two hours to complete his task.
His mind went back to the events of the past few days. None of his colleagues knew that he was an active member of the banned Tibet Liberation Front. When his manager asked him if he was willing to travel to India to cover an important event at Agra, Tenzing grabbed the opportunity with both hands. He was well aware that Agra was just fifty kilometres from Mathura, the town that he had been planning to visit. He could not have got a better opportunity than this. The timing too had been perfect. Its location will be revealed to the whole world tomorrow. If I manage to find it today and donate it to the Tibet Liberation Front, we will no longer have to depend on other countries to fund our freedom movement.
Tenzing quickly pushed back these thoughts and began to concentrate on the pending work. He had his back to the stone slab and was facing the huge grilled door. He guessed that this must be the door to the secret passageway. Tenzing removed his huge gum boots and slid the sole of one of the shoes to reveal a small compartment. It was equipped with the tools required to break open locks. He sat down on the floor and inspected the lock on the grilled door. After studying the keyhole for a couple of minutes, he pulled a key out from the toolkit.
Thirty minutes into the task, Tenzing realized that he had grossly underestimated the effort required. He had tried a variety of keys with different combinations but to no avail. He had even filed portions of a key and altered its shape to suit the lock. It was of no use. There was no sound of levers moving. It appeared as if the lock was just one huge mass of iron.
Does this lock have any levers at all? Is there some other mechanism to open it?
Tenzing s mind was clouded with these thoughts when he suddenly heard a noise. He shot a glance at his watch-it was only 2.15 p.m.
The head priest usually arrives at 4 p.m. So who can it be?
Tenzing felt a sudden rush of blood. He sprang to his feet and darted towards the stone slab fixed on the other side of the prison cell. Just as he tried to crouch below the stone slab, he saw a figure walking towards him slowly.
What are you doing here? the voice asked. Tenzing noticed a gun in his hand.
Tenzing remained silent. He was not a professional robber and was certainly not used to being accosted like this. His mind was filled with trepidation. Is he one of the security guards? What should I reply? Should I run?
The voice repeated the question. This time it was firmer and louder.
Tenzing replied hesitantly, I was not aware that the temple closes in the afternoon. I was in this room when they locked the door. I am trapped inside.
The prison cell is never locked. Not even in the afternoons , the voice replied coldly.
That s true. How stupid of me! Tenzing was still thinking about his response when the voice asked, Are you hunting for the Shyamantaka?
How does he know? Who is he?
He had been told that the temple closed daily for a few hours in the afternoon and there would be absolutely no one inside. Even the security guards locked the main gates and left for lunch.
Breaking the lock open and accessing the passageway would be a cakewalk, his chief had said.
Something had gone horribly wrong. As the man approached him, Tenzing could feel the sweat trickling down his back. He was unarmed except for a couple of pliers and screwdrivers. He looked around in panic for something he could use to defend himself.
This room is barren; it s no use, the voice remarked, as if reading his mind.
I got trapped here by mistake. Allow me to leave . . . please, Tenzing pleaded.
The voice cackled, You came hunting for the Shyamantaka and you will get it.
Tenzing heard the gentle squeeze of the trigger and within seconds a bullet pierced his chest. Clutching himself in agony, he hit the floor inches away from the grilled door. Oh God! I have been shot. I must not die without finishing my mission.
If Tenzing had known what was going to happen next, he would have wished he were dead.
1
Singapore 20 January 2015, 4.30 a.m.
C mon, catch me if you can! You may have long legs but I have the speed, screamed Susan as she climbed the slopes of the snow-clad Alps. Her friend Sangeeta followed in hot pursuit.
Susan took a sudden turn to the left and descended the slope. Sangeeta realized it too late, heading straight. Before she knew it, she had collided with a tree. She could feel herself hurling down the slope. As she tumbled down, she heard Susan roaring with laughter.
The phone rang and Sangeeta woke up with a start. I have been dreaming.
She and her best friend and colleague Susan Lee had planned a holiday to Switzerland. A week in Interlaken and Lucerne. How does that sound to you? Susan had asked her a few days back.
Sangeeta had her doubts, Sounds awesome but not sure if Boss will agree to both of us going on vacation at the same time.
Susan had laughed, The old bear will agree; we have done it in the past. I have bought tickets for next week. It is the Chinese New Year and he knows we won t have much work during that period. The entire city shuts down.
Susan was right. Having lived in Singapore for five years, she knew that the Chinese New Year in Singapore was equivalent to Diwali in India or Christmas in Europe. Everyone went on a vacation. Schools, colleges and offices would be closed for a week. Even the President and his ministers often went on holiday, so there was hardly anything to report.
This was a week back. The persistent ringing of the phone brought her back to the present.
Sangeeta looked at her watch. It was 4.30 a.m. She groaned. It must be Susan, asking me to finish packing and get ready to leave for the airport. We still have seven hours. Trust Miss Methodical to wake me up so early!
Sangeeta Rao had come to Singapore exactly five years ago. Armed with a postgraduation degree in mass communication and journalism, she had landed a plum job as the assistant editor at Channel 7, Singapore s biggest and most prestigious TV network. H