Free The Taj Conspiracy by Manreet Sodhi Someshwar Page A

of murder. I guess you are here with regard to your project work—anything I can help with? You may need to lay off the Taj for some time, but in a week or so it’ll return to normal.’
    ‘I doubt that,’ Mehrunisa said.
    Raj Bhushan raised his brows. ‘Really? Could you elaborate?’ He popped a fresh mint in his mouth and slid the case towards Mehrunisa.
    Declining, she proceeded to explain her recent trip to the Taj Mahal and the changes she’d seen in the calligraphy.
    Raj Bhushan’s face was impassive as he listened. When she finished there was a long silence before he spoke. He adjusted his spectacles and studied the floor. ‘This ... change,’ he said, his right hand quizzing the air, ‘how certain can you be? I know you are literate in Persian and Arabic, but the contemporary Perso-Arabic script—the one you would be familiar with—is nastaliq. And the script used in the calligraphy of the Taj is not nastaliq.’ He crossed his leg, his mouth arching upwards in some semblance of a smile. Momentarily, Mehrunisa was distracted by that smile.
    ‘Hmm?’ Raj Bhushan queried, as he stroked his boxed beard.
    ‘Mumtaz’s epitaph is written in Persian, the court language of the Mughals, and styled in naskh. The Quranic verses on the top and sides of the cenotaph are in Arabic, the language of the Holy Book, and written in sulus.’ Mehrunisa paused, trying to assess the directorgeneral’s response. If there was one thing that irritated her, it was a patronising tone. Now, she drove her point home. ‘Contemporary Persian texts, ninety-nine per cent, are published in a typography that is based on the naskh style. Nastaliq has become popular with its recent computer implementations. But it has readability issues, so its usage has been limited to school books on Persian literature.’
    Raj Bhushan sat still, his index finger resting vertically across his lips. To Mehrunisa, it appeared as if he was trying, albeit unconsciously, to shush her. Now, he tapped that finger against his mouth a few times before clearing his throat and speaking. ‘Kaul has trained you well.’
    For the briefest instance Mehrunisa thought she saw something like concern in his eyes. But he was shrugging as he said, ‘You will have to forgive my ignorance—I am not a scholar of either language, Persian or Arabic.’
    ‘But you have a basic understanding?’
    ‘Very elementary.’ Again that smile. ‘Nothing to rival yours. However, learned as you are, my dear, I still have my doubts as to the alteration. It seems like too much effort, and for what? Nobody who visits the Taj gets close enough to the tombs to read the calligraphy. That is, if they could read it in the first place. Then why bother with such a change?’
    Quietly, Mehrunisa said, ‘Because of its implication. The illumined tomb versus the counterfeit tomb.’
    Raj Bhushan’s neck recoiled in incredulity. ‘Forgive me, dear, but this sounds like a conspiracy theory. The alteration in the calligraphy, if indeed there is one, will be investigated right away. I have in my department a bright young fellow who would be up to the job. In the meantime, I’ll request that you treat it as a curious occurrence—harmless, really.’ With an elegant shrug he held out his palms.
    Mehrunisa shook her head. ‘I think it’s more than that, especially when you consider that it’s one of a series of incidents: the supervisor’s murder, his body vanishing from the morgue, and now someone has changed the epitaph...’
    The director had a solicitous expression on his face. ‘You seem rather distraught over the murder of Toor?’ His eyes studied her.
    Once again, Mehrunisa felt something—something she could not put a finger on. It was almost as if the director were watching her.
    ‘He was a friend.’
    ‘But of course. Listen, I personally do not see a link between the murder of Toor and the,’ his fingers wiggled the symbol of inverted commas in the air, ‘ altered