Authors: Ranjini Iyer
The Colossus (5 page)
There was an awkward silence for a few seconds.
Julian McIntosh sighed and folded his arms. “So how can I help?”
Max put her finger on the Swastika. “This doesn’t disturb you?” she whispered. “My grandfather must have carved it there.”
Julian looked at the Swastika and made no comment. He turned the seal back to its face, glanced at it, and looked again at the picture in the book.
“It isn’t like any of the other Indus seals, is it?” Max said sadly.
Julian’s face grew animated. “It isn’t and that
is
odd.” His eyes were doing a little dance. “Clever of you to spot such a minute difference.”
Minute.
Really!
“The Colossus’s seal is different in a very intriguing way.” Julian gave her a delighted smile. “I almost missed it.” He dashed to his desk and returned with a magnifying glass, which he handed to Max.
She looked through it. The seals looked identical. Except for the Swastika.
“Ms. Rosen, how very rude of me. Please do sit down.”
“Max,” she said softly.
Julian went to his chair. Max sat opposite him.
“Not many experts would have noticed the difference,” Julian said. “The Colossus’s seal has a giant urn in front of the animal. Not this incense burner as is in the seal in the book. Whoever was the owner of this seal—and yes, all Indus seals had unique owners—was probably a maverick of some sort; that urn probably was significant to him,
which is why he put it on his seal instead of an incense burner.” Julian ran his fingers through his curls. “Very unusual!” he murmured.
Max looked at the pictures. The urn and incense burner did look kind of different. But not much. “How do you know it’s an urn and not just a different type of incense burner?” she said.
“The commonplace urns of the period are exactly like that,” Julian said, sounding a tad pompous. “Archeologists found dozens everywhere. Squat ones, plain. With those small handles. Look at the incense burner—they rest on a pedestal, they always have markings or decorations. Urns are jars. No pedestal, plain. Different? Absolutely. Significant? I don’t know. But I believe that image on your Colossus’s seal is an urn, unless I’m quite mistaken, which I am usually not.”
He gazed into the distance and continued. “Question is, why did he make his seal so subtly and yet obviously different than the ones of his time? This is a true copy of the Colossus’s seal, isn’t it?” He examined it once more.
“Opa Samuel—my grandfather—told me it is a true copy.”
“Sounds like there’s a story here.” Julian looked at her with great expectation.
Max lifted her palms, “Well, there’s a journal. My grandfather’s.”
Julian’s eyebrows rose a little.
Max sighed. “I wanted to research the seal before I read it. I also thought it would be better to have an expert around to ask questions once I read it. Now that I’ve found the Swastika, I don’t feel like touching the journal. But the truth is, I
have
to read it.” She turned away. “It’s very involved…” She pulled on a lock of hair. “I’m sorry I’m taking so much of your time.”
Julian waved at a clock behind him. “It’s not a problem. I’m expecting a call in a bit, but right now it’s fine. Please go on.”
Max gave a little cough. “My grandfather was a chemist. He worked for a German pharmaceutical company in the twenties and thirties. He was even forced to do work for the Nazis while he was there. Then suddenly, he was sent away to a concentration camp. He was Jewish. That’s why I was so shocked by the Swastika. I only noticed it today.”
Julian gave her a wry look. “Your grandfather did work for the Nazis, but not willingly, right? Besides, the angle of this Swastika isn’t right for Nazi symbolism. Those dots in the gaps are very Hindu. I believe some Indus artifacts have been found with Swastikas on them. It wasn’t unreasonable for him to put it there, given where he got it.”
Max was not convinced. “But—”
Julian held up his hand. He pulled out a thick red book from an over-burdened bookshelf, checked the index, opened it, and handed it to her with a flourish.
Max began reading aloud. “
The Swastika is an ancient Indian symbol of prosperity.
Su
means “good” in Sanskrit.
Asti
means “to be.” It is widely misunderstood the world over due to the fact that it was adopted by the Nazis. The symbol has been in existence for over 3,000 years.”
She looked up, gave Julian a relieved smile, and continued reading. “
Widely used to signify prosperity and goodness in China and Japan, even in Judaism! Indians use it in several places.
” Images of garments, paintings, and drawings followed. Max closed the book. “I feel like an idiot,” she said softly. “He
had
said it was his lucky seal. I should have trusted him.”
“He couldn’t have chosen a better symbol.” Julian leaned forward, touching her hand. “And I’m willing to bet that your grandfather added the Swastika for another reason. The Nazis polluted it with their ideologies. He added it for its purity. I would. And yes, of course—for plain old luck.”
Max leaned back in her chair, fighting the urge to reach out and smother this beautiful man with a hug. With a few casual sentences he had dragged her out of her misery. “You must think I’m a fool,” she said. “My mother was Indian and Hindu. I remember learning about Om from her. But she died when I was so young.” Maybe she taught me about the Swastika, too, I don’t remember. I sometimes read from the Gita, and yet I know little about the significance of what is obviously a ubiquitous Hindu symbol.”
Julian smiled. “You can always claim that you read the Gita purely as a philosophical text—thus keeping your mind untarnished by religious beliefs and imagery that might hinder your appreciation of its true meaning.” He twirled a hand in the air.
Max blushed once more. “I try to read a verse as often as I can.” She tried to sound nonchalant. As if remembering her grandfather’s words, she added, “It’s not a holy book but a spiri—”
“Spiritual dictionary,” Julian finished. “Gandhi called it that.”
Max looked at Julian as if seeing him for the first time, except with even more admiring eyes.
Julian nodded. “What’s the matter?” he said.
“Uh, nothing.” She looked at the floor to hide her embarrassment.
Max looked at the diary in front of her. She ought to read it now and see if there was anything in it related to Papa’s research.
What a long, long shot
, she thought wearily.
Julian picked up the diary and stared at the first page with the embossment of the seal. “Do you mind?” he asked. Max shook her head. He read the verse written below the embossment.
“You know Sanskrit?” Max asked. Was there no end to his talents?
“Enough to be dangerous,” he said in a distracted voice. “I studied Sanskrit for a year when I was considering majoring in South Asian history. A million years ago.” He reread the verse. “My Sanskrit is rusty but—”
“Yes?” Max said eagerly.
“There is something familiar about this particular verse.
Kalosmi
meaning “I am time.” That reminds me of something. I think this verse is from the Gita.” He drummed on his temples with his fingertips as he tried to recall the reference.
Max hadn’t quite gotten to this verse yet and even if she had, all she did when she opened the Gita was choose a random page, pick a verse, read its translation, and imbibe some strength from it.
“Never mind,” he said with a sigh. “So the story here has to do with the seal?” His curiosity quickly seemed to turn to discomposure. “Or am I asking too many questions?”
“I am on a quest, I suppose,” Max said in a more dramatic voice than she had intended, and at once regretted her colorful choice of words.
Julian remained unfazed. “What kind of quest? I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” But he didn’t mean it, Max could see. His eyes were
gleaming, his lips pursed in anticipation. If he needed strangers to bring excitement into his life, perhaps he needed to get out more. She should know. The sight of fragrant chives and fresh-picked tomatoes at the farmer’s market were enough to make her dizzy with excitement. Kim would turn to her, aghast, at such times. “Don’t stay in yet another Friday night planning menus and getting high sniffing cilantro and mint,” Kim would say. “It isn’t healthy. Come have a martini with me.”
“I must go,” Max said. “Once I read this diary, I might have more questions. May I come to you then?”
Julian nodded. On his face was an expression so kind, so very full of concern that Max blurted, “Or would you like to read it with me? It’s disjointed since Opa tore a lot of it out. But it might be interesting.”
Julian’s eyes grew animated. “Sure,” he said.
Max felt an ache in her chest. Was he being kind? Or was he truly interested? She looked around and let out a nervous cough.
“Would you like some coffee?” He leaned forward.
“Please.” Max stared into his eyes. There were flecks of dark brown in his greenish hazel eyes. Or were they flecks of a green so dark that—
Silly Max, what are you doing? You’re not a teenager, so stop acting like one
, she scolded herself.
“Is there something—” Julian vigorously wiped the end of his nose. “On my nose? You keep staring at it. So where were we? Ah, coffee. I have a fresh pot here somewhere.” He looked around and found his coffee machine. “It keeps moving.” He poured out two cups and offered her cream and sugar.
He dragged an enormous chair close to his own and invited her to sit. He spent a few minutes clearing his desk and sat down beside her. They looked at each other for a second. Their noses were almost touching. Their chairs were too close. The room was too small. Max felt like she might swoon, overcome by the romantic intensity of the moment. She tried not to look too deep into his eyes.
“The diary,” Julian said, all business-like.
Max jerked her head away. There was an awkward pause. “Uh, I’ll paraphrase what I’ve already read,” she said. “My grandfather was head chemist at Berliner AG. Berliner was one of the fastest rising pharmaceutical companies in Germany. Their main competitor, Farbenfabriken Bayer, had risen to great heights following the release of aspirin in 1900. Um, what else…after that, Berliner and the other German pharmaceutical companies raced against each other to find the next miracle drug.”
Max glanced at the diary. “When Opa started making entries here, many of his colleagues were also on hunts for obscure cures and medicines in Africa and Asia. The idea was to try and translate them into modern drugs.”
Julian nodded.
“My grandfather’s good friend Bernard Baston was in India at the Indus Valley. He was an archeologist. My grandfather was in Bombay visiting a former colleague at the same time, so Baston invited him to visit the dig site. Clear so far?”
“Yes ma’am,” Julian said.
Max turned the page and began reading aloud.
From Samuel Rosen’s diary
Mohenjo-daro—“Mound of the Dead”
Site of the 5,000-year-old Indus Valley civilization
January 6, 1935
2:00 p.m.
Arrived a few hours ago. Hot as hell. Red dust everywhere.
3:00 p.m.
At the Colossus’s grave site.
Abdul, the almost hundred-year-old chief of the Chapar tribe, was our guide. The Chapars have lived in the nearby village of Hakkra for centuries. Abdul was putting me to shame, standing bent but energetic, unaffected by the sun, his piercing dark eyes tucked away in a face that was a mass of leathery wrinkles.
Our group today comprised my friend Bernard Baston (head of a team of archeologists from the Dresden Museum), Abdul Chapar (our guide), Abdul’s great grandson Fardoon (our interpreter). And me.
In the distance stood the remnants of the homes of the Indus Valley peoples. Immaculate brick structures surrounded a citadel, which may have been used as a granary. The bricks were all even, identical, and surprisingly, largely intact.
I followed Bernard to a small hill. There was a doorway in its side. We made our way down mud steps that ended suddenly, opening into a grave about 20 feet by 14 feet and about 6 and a half feet high. Bernard said 11 skeletons were found in the grave.
I walked around, feeling the rough walls under my fingertips, when I spotted some writing. Rows upon rows of beautiful symbols. I asked Bernard what the writings said. He said no Rosetta stone had been found yet. So an accurate translation isn’t possible. But, Abdul could read some of it.
I must have looked skeptical, so Bernard explained. Apparently, Abdul has managed to find quite a few treasures based on other written material. Before he was shown this tomb, Bernard said, Abdul had talked about what they might find in it. And he had been right.
Bernard signaled to Abdul. Abdul began to speak in Brahui, a local dialect. Young Fardoon translated. The underground tomb was built for Abdul’s ancestor Soodhanta—the Colossus of Mohenjo-daro. He was powerful, both in physical stature and status.
I spotted a large collection of urns stacked against the east-facing wall. I asked Bernard what they were. He said they were the reason I was there and handed me a few flat, round green discs, about two centimeters across. Their tribe has long life spans, even to this day, because of that pill, Abdul said.
The Indus people lived thirty to forty years at most. This I knew. So a life span increase even of ten years was a huge leap. It must have seemed as close to immortality as they were going to get. The pill must have worked like some sort of multivitamin, a combination of potent herbs that helped organs thrive longer.
The Chapars were appointed to guard the Colossus’s grave when it was first created. They were given the authority to kill anyone who tried to desecrate it. Bernard told me that Abdul’s family probably saw the futility of holding on to age old, irrelevant secrets. And they saw the power of money. Bernard’s people had offered quite a lot.
Bernard said they probably agreed to give them access after all this time because of a supposed curse. For years the Chapars had argued over whether or not to reveal the Colossus’s grave. These days, excavations here have trickled down. Seems Abdul’s people decided to accept the offer on the table before all interest in this place wanes away.
9:00 p.m.
Had fantastic roast lamb for dinner. Must ask for recipe.
It was a cool evening. I leaned back in my chair, and over a glass of red wine, I asked Bernard to tell me about the curse of the pill. The pill was a blessing to some, Bernard said. The blessing has kept Abdul’s tribe well and living long, but the curse is why the other tribes, perhaps the entire civilization, died. But the experts still have no idea why the civilization ended. Drought, flood maybe. Anemia, some experts have said.
I asked him where the Colossus got the pill from. Ikaria, the Greek island, most likely, Bernard said. (N.B: Research the fact that people still live exceedingly long lives in Ikaria. Possible connection to pill since it was acquired there.)
Bernard said the story was that the Ikarian people had refused to sell Soodhanta the pills. He was told that the pill had been beneficial to the Ikarians but had proved fatal outside their land in the past. Soodhanta ignored the warning and stole several urns of them. The curse must be superstition. Why else did Abdul’s tribe live such long lives?
Perhaps it’s like the curse of Tutankhamun’s tomb, Bernard said.
If someone reading this (when I’m dead perhaps!) doesn’t know about the curse of King Tut’s tomb, here’s a short history lesson. In 1922, Howard Carter discovered King Tut’s tomb. Seven weeks later, his sponsor Lord Carnarvon died suddenly. Some say his dog died, too. The writers of the time had a field day with it. Arthur Conan Doyle called it the Pharaoh’s curse. A few years later, others related to Howard Carter’s work also died.
Coincidence is what I would say.
Bernard then said that the Colossus’s grave had other mysteries, too. The first being that one of the people in that grave had been killed. Beheaded. And the second being that tombs in the Indus Valley usually have families buried together—husband, wife, children added to the tombs later. This tomb had eight men and three women, more or less of the same age and, according to the personal objects left there, of different social standing. Siblings, was the presumption. One of them was the Colossus, I supposed. Bernard agreed.
He said the grave is also unusual because of the writings and drawings on the walls. Seemingly only about the Colossus. Other mass graves in the valley found so far have shown no elaborate writings or drawings. This grave showed no signs of a massacre either, which is one reason for a mass grave with unrelated people. So perhaps a mass grave such as this one means they all died of a boring disease.
I asked Bernard what happened when the Colossus returned to India with the pills. To test his claim, he was asked to eat the pills himself and give some to a handful of people who were about forty years of age, ones who weren’t terminally ill but were nearing the end of their natural lives.
Some years passed. Suddenly, Soodhanta disappeared. In time, the elders announced that he had died and decreed it illegal to mention the pills or Soodhanta’s name. Banishment or beheading awaited those who disobeyed.
So what happened to the Colossus?
The story and pictures on the wall seem to indicate that the elders kept him prisoner in his home. But no one knows why, Bernard said. I asked if we know what happened to the others who ate the pill. Sent into the jungles or put to death, Bernard suggested. Most likely because of the curse. The Indus people, likely ancestors of early Hindus, were a superstitious people.
Bernard has given me a copy of the Colossus’s seal and another for my assistant, Lars. It will remain a cherished possession.
Bernard of course had to turn the discussion to Hitler and German politics, much to my irritation. Many Jews have left Germany, he said pointedly. I told him I’m not an everyday Jew, even in the present Germany.
I don’t want to appear arrogant, but I run Berliner’s labs. I am respected. And I’d like to believe that there are some decent Nazis, too. And in case anyone thinks I am naïve, I do also realize that what keeps me safe is the fact I make Berliner a lot of money.
None of that matters, for I am now starting to feel a familiar tingle of excitement. The Indus pill is a sign. Scientist I may be, but I believe in signs. Let the Nazis do what they want. This little pill might, just might have the power to keep my beloved Martha and me safe. Even in Nazi Germany.