There was an awkward silence in the room as the old man paused flashing another broad smile of glistening gums before finally answering.
“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”
As if his answer was to conclude the meeting, he sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. Alex swallowed. Was this a test of some kind, she thought. Not quite knowing how to respond, she cleared her throat and made another attempt.
“Thank you, Sir, however, it is imperative we know if indeed there was another Urn and more-so, where we might find it. We would really —“
The old man raised his pale hand to stop her from speaking further.
“There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.”
Alex felt defeated. Nothing this old man said made any sense.
“Sir, I wholeheartedly agree with your statement. Thank you. Could you, however, be just a tad more precise and direct us to where you think the urn might be?” She was losing her patience. Perhaps her irritation lay with Ollie for leading them on. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that they had flown all this way to South-East Asia and was nowhere nearer to finding the Golden Urn.
The monk turned sideways and said something to his caregiver who promptly bowed and left the room. Sam looked at Alex who looked as dazed and confused as he did. She wasn’t sure what was going on either but decided to probe even further.
“Venerable Sir. We were hired to retrieve the Urn, but in almost a month, we are nowhere nearer to finding it. There has to be something you remember that might assist us?”
Alex elbowed Ollie, who sat next to her, in a silent cry for help. He ignored her, so she nudged harder. It was like elbowing a statue. The man didn’t even flinch. She felt her blood boiling with irritation as neither Ollie or Roshi spoke a word or did anything to help her. It was several minutes of total silence before the old man finally spoke again.
“Patience is key. Remember, a jug fills drop by drop.”
Alex bit her lip so hard she was certain she tasted a drop of blood. This was ridiculous. A waste of time. This man, as wise as he apparently is, will bring them nothing but useless pearls of wisdom. He is nothing but a toothless bag of bones speaking in parables. She was just about to get up and leave when the caregiver returned. Sam who sensed her unrest, pulled her down by her arm and watched the young monk walk across the room and hand the old man a rolled up red cloth. Instantly Alex’s eyes lit up. Her heart gave several beats, and it took immense effort to stay seated. Sam gave her arm a squeeze. Perhaps this was it. Could it be the original Golden Urn, or possibly the clue they have been waiting for? Both Alex and Sam’s eyes were fixed on the red cloth in the old man’s lap. Even Ollie and Roshi straightened up. The painstaking process of watching a hundred-and-two-year-old man unwrap something was worse than watching paint dry. Alex glanced sideways at Sam’s clenched hands in his lap. His white knuckles were proof enough that he too needed to restrain himself from jumping up to help. Both Ollie and Roshi, on the other hand, sat calmly with eyes closed. Were they praying for him to finish faster or genuinely as disciplined as they looked?
It felt like an eternity when the last knot was untied to reveal a flat wooden box that was polished to a brilliant luster. The old man looked up and handed Roshi the wooden box who placed it in front of Alex on the floor. Alex could barely contain herself. It wasn’t considered sanctimonious for monks to hand anything directly to a female so this she understood. But was she allowed to open it up, she wondered.
“Go on Sheila. You were ready to bolt five minutes ago, yet here you are. Open it up.”
Even Ollie’s sarcasm bounced like arrows off her back. She couldn’t be bothered. The excitement was far too sweeping to be snuffed by anything. She slowly opened the latch and lifted the lid. Inside lay a perfectly preserved scroll tied in place by a yellow ribbon.
“Remember, not getting what you want, is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck,” said the old man.
“Can I read it?” Alex replied in a barely audible voice to which he smiled another toothless smile and nodded.
Her hands were shaking. She had opened up many clues in her young life, but this one seemed to take the cake somehow. Perhaps it was because she sensed danger and secrets around finding an artifact that decidedly had more significance than just being a religious symbol. The knot in the yellow ribbon was tight and required quite a firm tug at it to unravel. Careful to not damage the paper she gently pulled the trimming off and extended the slightly yellowed paper.
“How old is this?” she asked.
“As old as the sun and the stars,” the old man replied with yet again another answer with many words but no meaning.
The relic looked at least a hundred years old, but it was in pristine condition. The paper was a pale yellow in color and much thicker and firmer than ordinary white Xerox paper or Papyrus. Sam joined in by gently rubbing the sheet between his fingers.
“Remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he commented.
“That’s because it is palm leaf and not paper,” Ollie added.
“Yes, Marut. You remember well,” the Senior monk rendered toward Ollie causing Alex to look at him questioningly before glancing at Sam. She was intrigued now more than ever as to how Ollie knew all this.
“But it looks just like paper,” she ventured further to establish just how much this Aussie knew.
His inflated ego led him to fall hook, line, and sinker for it.
“Well, it’s quite a craft, Sheila. There were very few who knew this skill. The paper came from the Buong trees which were quite rare in itself and only found in isolated mountainous areas. The young leaves were cut and dried in the sun before it was cut up into strips. A scribe employed only by the king used a pointed iron tool to carefully carve out each letter and word. Can you imagine the precision and hand control? It’s bonkers.”
Alex and Sam examined the document with great interest. The carvings under her fingers felt like braille.
“So which king wrote this?” Sam questioned Roshi.
“It is believed to have been king Norodom. He passed it to his brother, king Sisowat who took over his reign in 1903.”
“So it is in fact over a century old! That’s astounding but what does it say?” Alex asked passing it to Ollie; much to her reluctance.
“No bloody clue, Sheila. None of us know. Those squiggles aren’t French, Khmer or Mandarin. It’s some sort of a code or something. It’s been locked in that box for years. Apparently came with the Urn you’re after.”
“You had better not be messing with me, Ollie,” Alex warned only to be interrupted by Rhoshi clearing his throat urging her to keep her voice down. She bowed apologetically and pulled her camera from her bag.
“May I, please Sir?”
Accepting the quick nod in agreement from the elderly monk she snapped several photos of the opened leaf scroll in Ollie’s hand.
“If you are facing the right direction, all you need to do is keep walking,” the senior monk whispered before looking to Roshi with a nod.
“It’s time to go, Miss Hunt,” Roshi prompted and swiftly tied the scroll and placed it back in its box and wrapped cloth.
“Thank you Great Venerable. It was an honor,” Alex bowed in gratitude and turned to follow Roshi and the others back to the foyer.
Barely outside the room, Alex shrieked in elation. “Can you believe it, Sam? How magnificent was that scroll? Not to mention that we met the Great Senior Patriarch of Cambodia! How many archaeologists can record that? Do you know how many would kill to have their hands on this information?”
“You bloody believe it!” Sam replied. “Have you forgotten someone already tried? We need to keep a tight lid on this, Alex. If word gets out about the scroll’s existence, th
ose thugs might just come back for us. We have no idea who they’re working for or why they’re after us, so we have to be cautious, ok?”
“Ok, Debbie Downer. Piss on my battery all you want. This was one helluva meeting, and I can’t wait to flip my laptop open to find out what that scroll says.”
“You’re welcome, Sheila,” a smug Ollie interrupted. “I guess it pays to have me as an ally, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, yes ok. You win. Thank you.”
“See, now that wasn’t so hard was it, Sheila?”
“I wish you would call me Alex, please? Besides, we still need to find out what is written in that scroll. It might be nothing of significance whatsoever.”
Ollie exclaimed a loud laugh. “Tell you what, Sheila. If there’s nothing of significance in a scroll only about ten people in the entire world ever lay eyes on, then I’ll never eat a bear again. Deal?”
“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Sam laughed. “On the other hand, Ollie, I would gladly frighten a bear straight into your arms for a plate of your bear stew right now.”
The two men’s laughter echoed through the monastery’s courtyard as they made their way back down to the secret tunnel and through the secret entrance. Once outside in the forest, they bid their farewells to Ollie and Roshi who insisted Ollie had to stay another night. The two men quickly disappeared back through the veil of shrubbery leaving Alex and Sam to find their way back to their motorbike that was still parked under the tree.
“All right then, Alex. One thing about these monks rising before the sun is up. It’s only now time for breakfast where we’re heading. What do you say we go hunt down a proper English breakfast and a shower back at the hotel?”
“Hell yes, Dr. Quinn. Just what the doctor ordered.”
Chapter Seven
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Back at the hotel, Alex and Sam freshened up and met downstairs in the restaurant. As usual, the dining area was filled entirely with exhilarated tourists. It was a bustle of clanging cutlery and irrelevant chatter. Sam, who got to the table first, recognized several British and Australian tourists with a few Dutch patriots scattered in between. Oblivious to the world around him, he tucked into his plate that brimmed with fresh waffles and bacon drenched with maple syrup and bananas.
“Are you feeding an entire army off that plate?” Alex commented as she sat down opposite him.
Sam’s mouth was stuffed from cheek to cheek. “You bet! An army of starved cells in my body yes. What you got there?” noticing a brown manila envelope in her hand.
“I had the pictures of the scroll printed at the front desk. There has to be some way of decrypting it. I mean, I get that it was written over a hundred years ago, but someone has to know how to read it, right? I figured we start with Mr. San Yeng-Pho. Perhaps he knows of someone who can help us understand what it says.”
Alex reached over and snatched a piece of crispy bacon of his plate. Her laptop was already open as she frantically searched the web for any possible match to the ancient writing. She flipped through website after website, image after image, and nothing.
“Damn it! There’s nothing anywhere. I’ve traced it back to all the Royals who reigned in Cambodia at the time and nothing.”
“Try the French archives. Remember, the French tried to take over Southeast Asia and forced the king to comply with French protectorate over Cambodia. Perhaps something similar was communicated between them and landed in France.”
Alex stared in amazement at him over her coffee cup.
“Well, aren’t you in top form today? Did you swallow the history books last night?”
Sam chuckled proudly as he stuffed another forkful of food in his mouth.
“I think you’re right. We need to try and timestamp the exact period of the scroll’s origin. Am I right in remembering Roshi said it was passed from king to king?”
“Hundred percent. I recall him saying it was handed from king Norodom to king Sisowat.”
She frantically thrashed out some keys on her laptop and then paused with a puzzled look on her face.
“Nope. There’s no record of how it came into the hands of king Norodom. He ruled Cambodia from February 1834 to April 1904; seventy years! That’s practically his entire life.”
Sam dropped his fork and pushed his plate away. “That’s it. I can’t fit another mouthful in.” He reached for the manila envelope and pulled out the printed copy of the scroll to study.
“Is this even writing? It looks like the squiggles we learned in Kindergarten; a bunch of wave drawings with dots on. From what I can see there aren’t any numbers on either. No dates, names or anything,” pausing before commenting further as he turned the paper upside down. “What about the actual paper? Can you find any information on the paper? Ollie said it was some kind of palm leaf.”
“Good point,” Alex responded excitedly before moving her fingers over the keyboard again.
“Ok. Here’s something. The medium dates back to just over a hundred years old. Definitely, a leaf from the Buong tree, as Ollie said. Before this, they used stone or bamboo planks to write on. It doesn’t add up. Norodom was on the throne until 1904 so this substance only came into being after he seized his reign.”
“It is entirely possible that the ‘over a hundred years’ fell within the last years of his reign,” Sam added to which Alex nodded in agreement.
“True,” tapping away on her keys again.“
Moments later the porter came to their table requesting that Alex follow him to the foyer for a telephone call.
“A telephone call? Be right back, Sam.” She followed the porter to the front desk where the receiver lay on the counter.
“Hello?”
“Good day, Miss Hunt. Please hold for a call from the Commissioner,” the female voice announced on the other end of the line.
A cheery Mr. San Yeng-Pho spoke seconds later informing her that they had found their stolen vehicle twenty miles north of Oudong. There was no evidence to indicate who the thieves were and that they had returned it to the rental company.
“That’s great news, Mr. San Yeng-Pho, thank you. As it happens, I wanted to run something by you. We found a lead that might help us find the Golden Urn in question, or at the very least dispel the legend that it wasn’t the original one. It is roughly a hundred-year-old sacred document made from Buong leaf and passed between kings; it may carry some valuable information to aid us in our quest. The only problem is, it is written in a language not known to the layman on the street. It doesn’t appear to be Khmer or Mandarin. Could you by any chance point us to someone who might have the ability to comprehend the written matter, please?”
There was a brief moment of silence on the line before the Commissioner spoke with a tone Alex couldn’t quite distinguish. She scrambled for a piece of paper and pen from the front desk and took down the name and address he gave her before returning to their table.
“And? What was that all about?” Sam queried as Alex took her seat.
“It was Mr. San Yeng-Pho. They found the car. He also gave me this name and address in Tri Ton and said this man will be able to help with interpreting the information on the scroll. Apparently dried leaf inscriptions were mainly used to record Khmer prayers and descriptions of historical events so if two kings communicated with it then the information would be encrypted and of great significance. He said that there is a pagoda in another town called Soc Trang which is said to have over a hundred of these Buddhist prayer books preserved. The documents are also known as Sa-tra in the Khmer language.”
Sam took the piece of paper.
“Excellent work, Miss Hunt. Then that’s where we’ll start isn’t it?”
Sam pulled the map from his backpack on the floor. “Let’s see. Tri Ton, Tri Ton, Tri — Got it! It’s in the An Giang Province which is South from here just inside the Vietnam border. Guess we’re going to Vietnam,” an elated Sam announced folding the map back into his bag.
“This excites you d
oesn’t it, Sam Quinn? It seems the Archaeology bug has bitten good and proper,” Alex smiled.
“Are you kidding? Something tells me that scroll was far more important than we know for it to come out of the woodworks now. I’m always up for a little adventure.”
Tri Ton, Vietnam
Forty-five minutes later the two had checked out of their hotel and were in a hired car making the three-and-a-half hour trek to Vietnam. The smooth drive took them past several rice fields laced with workers harvesting the rice. They drove through smaller traditional villages where the kids came running up to the car waving and shouting hello. Colorful local markets displayed fresh vegetable stalls, and bright colored clothing and fabric stands crammed with tourists. Outside the villages, lush green scenery prevailed for most of the trip.
It was early evening when they arrived in Tri Ton. The town buzzed with locals on their scooters. Bright neon lights lit up the umpteen bars and clubs located in every street and corner. It was nearly impossible to drive the car through the hoards of commuters rushing home. Deciding it was best to leave the car parked and set off on foot, Alex and Sam pulled over on the outskirts of the town and set off toward downtown Tri Ton on foot.
Ladies of the night paraded the curbs looking to earn a living off the libidinous male tourists who window shopped to their heart’s delight. Some ‘ladies’ looked deceivingly more like men in wigs plastered with make-up and artificial nails. Loud American music filled the streets from all angles in an attempt to compete with each other in attracting business. The energetic atmosphere was the exact opposite of what one experienced during the day. It was very much alive and almost electric.
As dusk fell and it became night time, the commuters died down and left nothing but crammed bars, flashing lights and pole dancers in their wake.
ALEX HUNT and The Golden Urn_An Archaeological Adventure Thriller Page 7