“Ah, here we are!” the trove-keeper announced. She helped the tyro set the items down on the coffee table. He departed wordlessly, allowing Dee to act as hostess.
“No coffee for you today, Madame Pythia,” she joked. “Kerala is one of the major tea-producing regions of India so you have to try one of our local specialties. White tea.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” Cassie said as Dee poured them all cups of the pale liquid.
“It’s a different harvesting and drying process. The flavor is more delicate than black tea.” She passed around a plate of cakes. “And try some of these.”
Aside from almond cookies, there were fried pastries that looked like a cross between an apple fritter and a muffin.
“They’re called unniappam,” the trove-keeper said. “Made with sweetened rice and coconut.”
Cassie bit into one. It was doughy and sweet with a hint of a spice she couldn’t identify.
“Cardamom.” Dee anticipated her question. “Kerala was famous for its spices centuries before it became famous for its tea plantations. Most of the local cuisine is flavored with things like chili peppers, cardamom, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, and turmeric.”
The trove-keeper’s assistant returned with another tray containing small dishes of what looked like rice pudding.
“And, of course, you must sample a little of the payasam.” Dee dismissed the tyro. She unloaded the tray and placed a dish in front of each of her guests. None of them needed any urging to dive in.
The payasam didn’t taste as bland as any rice pudding Cassie had eaten before. It too was flavored with coconut and a complex array of spices. “Yum,” she murmured.
Her teammates were too busy eating to comment.
***
It wasn’t until half an hour later when the tea things had been cleared away that they all settled back comfortably in their seats and turned their attention to business.
“So why is there a trove here in Kerala anyway?” Cassie began. “From everything I’ve seen, Kochi is a totally modern city. What’s the Arkana’s interest in this particular corner of India?”
Dee and Griffin exchanged knowing looks.
The Scrivener spoke first. “Because this area bears the distinction of successfully preserving traits of the matristic culture which once existed everywhere in India before the overlords arrived. It’s much like the Basque region of Spain— a matriarchal anomaly in an otherwise rigidly patriarchal country—and for much the same reason. Kerala’s geographic isolation protected it. Bordered on one side by the Arabian Sea and on the other by a coastal mountain range, it was a singularly difficult area for Aryan horsemen to conquer. Horses provide no tactical advantage over mountainous terrain nor are they very helpful when staging an attack by sea. This part of India was able to retain its customs long after the rest of the country had succumbed to overlord ideology.”
Erik chimed in. “I remember hearing that people in Kerala trace lineage through their mothers instead of their fathers. Up until the beginning of the twentieth century, they lived in big family groups that reckoned kinship from a common ancestress.”
“Marriage was also an offhanded affair,” Griffin added. “Couples could marry and divorce at will since preserving a patriarchal bloodline was meaningless.”
“That’s all quite true,” Dee agreed. “In the old days, the eldest female was the head of the family and her oldest daughter was the second in command, like a prime minister. A man’s primary affection was for his mother’s family more than for his own wife and offspring. Families lived in large groups, sometimes as much as a hundred individuals all related by blood through the female line. Males who married into the family made overnight conjugal visits but otherwise lived in their own mother’s compound. Everyone in a family shared all the resources in common. The eldest brother of the head of the family acted as a steward to manage the family’s property.” The trove-keeper sighed and shook her head. “Of course, that all changed once the overlords arrived.”
“You mean the Aryans?” Cassie asked.
“Not simply the Aryans. It’s a little more complicated than that,” Dee countered. “You have to remember that Kerala is a coastal state bordered by the Arabian Sea. As far back as 3000 BCE it was already active in the spice trade and attracted traffic from everywhere. There’s a long history of foreign presence here—some peaceful, some aggressive. Aryan Hindus, Arab Muslims, Semitic Jews, Chinese explorers, Dutch, Portuguese and English merchants. All of them left a trace of their own overlord traditions behind. Over time, the Malabar Coast changed. While the matrilineal inheritance laws continued, patriarchal customs crept in and took over. The eldest uncle was no longer a steward for the family’s resources. A legal system which increasingly favored males over females allowed him to become a dictator who arranged marriages and controlled the family’s riches. The only vestige of a bygone time was that the senior uncle couldn’t sell the family property outright without the common consent of all its members—both male and female.”
“So it was like a democracy. Everybody had a say?’ Cassie asked.
“Yes, a democracy several thousand years older than the Greek version which is the only one anybody ever hears about.” Dee’s voice was sarcastic.
“Just like the IVC inventions,” Erik observed. “Overlords are never shy about claiming credit for stuff they didn’t create.”
The trove-keeper laughed grimly. “In spite of the erosion of maternal authority in Kerala, just enough of the old ways remained to safeguard women in these parts. The Malabar Coast escaped the worst atrocities of overlord culture in India.”
Cassie sat forward. “What do you mean by atrocities?”
Dee sniffed with disgust. “Female infanticide, for one.”
“Yes, selectively killing female babies simply because they are female is an appalling practice that happens to this day in some parts of the country,” Griffin explained.
“Yeesh!” The Pythia shuddered involuntarily.
Dee continued. “And if infanticide isn’t bad enough, there’s the hideous custom of suttee.”
Erik turned to face Cassie. “That’s burning widows alive on the funeral pyres of their dead husbands. Supposedly, the suicide is voluntary but most of the women are coerced. The idea of slaughtering widows wasn’t invented in India. It started with the Kurgans. Of course, the Kurgans usually slit the widow’s throat, or bashed her skull in. Burning her alive, that’s a whole new twist on a nasty ritual.”
“I know what suttee is,” Cassie replied. “I just can’t believe that anybody with an ounce of empathy would stand by and let it happen.”
“It’s amazing what people will tolerate when it’s sanctioned by religious tradition.” Dee’s tone was solemn. “A more recent variation is when the in-laws of a new bride set her on fire if her dowry is too low. Not surprisingly, most cases of bride-burning, infanticide and suttee occur in the northwest part of the country. That was the Aryan stronghold when they first arrived and, to this day, the greatest number of crimes against women are committed there.”
“I believe suttee never caught on in Kerala though,” Griffin remarked.
“Yes, you’re right,” the trove-keeper affirmed. “It was outlawed here from the start. With inheritance through the female line, women still held a certain value as something more than two-legged livestock. Their property rights were a bargaining chip that kept them out of the fire.”
Griffin chuckled unexpectedly.
The others stared at him in shock.
“I never would have pegged you for insensitive.” Cassie scowled at him. “Til now.”
“Forgive me, everyone,” the Scrivener said. “I was just thinking of an amusing story related to the practice of suttee.”
“Hard to believe there’s anything funny about widow-murder but go ahead.” Erik waved him on.
Griffin glanced up at the ceiling, apparently trying to recollect the anecdote. “During the 1840’s Sir Charles Napier wa
s the Commander-In-Chief of British forces in India. A delegation of Hindu priests came to him to complain that the colonial government had outlawed the practice of suttee. The priests claimed that the British were interfering with their religious customs. Napier heard their arguments calmly and ended by telling them to prepare a funeral pyre in accordance with their customs. Then he informed them that his nation also had a custom. When men burned women alive, it was a British custom to hang them and confiscate all their property. He said his carpenters would construct gibbets on which to execute all the parties who had a hand in burning the widow. His last words were, ‘Let us all act according to national customs’.”
“I’m guessing no widows got burned that day,” Cassie observed archly.
“Amazing how fast a blood sacrifice gets shelved when it’s the priest whose neck is in the noose.” Erik grinned sardonically.
“As I am a countryman of Sir Charles’, I humbly accept your thanks on his behalf.” Griffin made a small bow.
They all laughed.
Dee grew pensive. “Women in Hindu culture have always been the expendable sex. Mahatma Gandhi once wrote that the way India treats its women is an indicator of its barbarism. I find it interesting that the divergent legacies of overlord barbarism and matristic humanism are being played out side-by-side in India to this very day.”
“How do you mean?” Erik shot her a quizzical look.
“Kerala is the only state in India that maintained any semblance of female influence down through the centuries,” the trove-keeper explained. “As compared to the rest of the country, this state is a beacon of progress. Let me quote you some interesting statistics. Of all the states in India, Kerala has the highest human development index, highest life expectancy, highest literacy rate, highest sex ratio because baby girls aren’t killed and highest GDP. Now for the lows. Kerala has the lowest homicide rate. The city of Kochi is the safest port on the Arabian Sea. We also have the lowest government corruption rate, lowest birth rate and lowest population growth. Low population growth is a good thing in a country as overcrowded as ours. In addition, there’s surprisingly little religious intolerance here in spite of the state’s ethnic diversity.”
She paused to let those facts sink in, all the while intently searching the faces of her listeners—compelling their attention. “Compare that with the crime, overpopulation, political corruption and sectarian violence of the rest of the country. Those woes are the legacy of patriarchy. Kerala today is only an echo of its matriarchal past and it still surpasses the rest of India by leaps and bounds in promoting the welfare of all its citizens.”
“That’s why we do what we do, isn’t it?” Griffin remarked quietly. “The Arkana is trying to preserve what remains of that humanistic legacy of matrism. To remind people that there is a better way to treat one another.”
Dee nodded in agreement. “Speaking of which...” She rose from her chair abruptly and rifled through a desk drawer, searching for something. Returning to her seat, she held out an object so the trio could see it. “This is why I called you here. It might help in your efforts to nudge the world back into balance.”
Chapter 21—Say It With Flowers
“Oh, my goddess!” Cassie exclaimed, peering at the object in Dee’s hand.
“It’s one of the Minoan lilies!” Griffin’s tone was equally excited.
Erik shook his head in amused disbelief. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Dee beamed at them. “I thought you’d be pleased. All the trove-keepers have been alerted that you’re looking for sculpted lilies. I was contacted a few days ago by a private collector who wanted to sell me this artifact. When I received it, I remembered to compare it to the photos of your Minoan lily and it was a perfect match.”
The flower was unmistakably identical to the carvings they’d encountered several times before in their quest. It was inscribed on a stone whose irregular shape and sharp edges indicated that it had been hacked away from a much larger piece of rock. The fragment that remained was slightly bigger than Dee’s hand.
“But where did it come from?” Griffin asked.
The trove-keeper shrugged. “That’s just the problem. I don’t know. The collector mentioned that it had come from one of the Indus Valley sites but he wasn’t sure which. I was planning to send it on to the IVC trove-keeper for identification but since you were already in the country I contacted you first.”
“So you’ve no idea where the Minoans left this.” Griffin appeared nonplussed.
A cloud of gloom settled over the little party.
Dee seemed unaffected by the dampened spirits of the trio. “Why the glum faces?” She stared pointedly at Cassie. “You can read the artifact, can’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” the Pythia said sheepishly.
Her teammates traded concerned looks.
“Cassie, do you think that’s wise?” Griffin objected. “You don’t know what sort of history this object has picked up since the Minoans carved it.”
“Remember what happened in Turkey?” Erik hinted darkly.
“Guys, it’ll be alright. I already have a hunch that there’s no bad juju attached to it.” She held her hand out toward Dee. “Lay it on me,” she said simply.
The trove-keeper complied.
The rock vanished from her hands. She was standing on a hill next to an abandoned city. It looked strangely familiar, like Mohenjo-Daro, only this wasn’t Mohenjo-Daro. She could tell that the surrounding landscape was different—mainly scrubby green bushes and scorched grass just beyond the city walls. As she gazed farther in the distance, she saw what looked like snow on the open plain encircling the town. It didn’t feel cold enough for snow. In fact, it felt downright sweltering. A strong wind was blowing in her direction. When the breeze hit her face, she could taste salt clinging to her lips. So it wasn’t snow out there on the flats. It was salt. An entire desert of salt? She knew she wasn’t in Utah.
She turned away from the horizon to study the building to her right. All she could see was a featureless partition wall with an archway allowing access to the interior. Cassie felt an unaccountable urge to go inside. She stepped into a dim corridor only faintly illuminated by the sun outdoors. Wandering through a maze of small rooms and dead end corridors, she became more disoriented the farther she traveled from the entrance. After stumbling along in near-total darkness, she turned a corner and saw a glow emanating from a doorway on her left.
Cassie followed the light and found herself inside a circular chamber topped by a flat roof made of wooden planks. She flashed back to the stupa-capped citadel at Mohenjo-Daro. Since all the IVC cities followed the same design, this must be a citadel tower too. As her eyes adjusted to the dim torchlight, she understood why she’d been drawn here. The Minoans stood clustered together watching their carver sculpt the lily emblem onto a stone embedded in the ground. It was one of a series of large rocks that had been laid end-to-end in a line that bisected the dirt floor of the circular room. Cassie noted that the sculptor had chosen to carve the lily on the middle stone in the line. At that moment, her eyes met those of the Minoan priestess. The old woman smiled gently at her and nodded.
The Pythia blinked several times as she came out of her trance. The others were watching her intently, waiting to learn what she had discovered.
“First the good news,” she said. “I think I found the tower in the riddle.”
Griffin and Erik both relaxed visibly.
“Brilliant!” Griffin exclaimed. “A destination at last!”
Cassie continued. “The bad news is that it wasn’t an island tower like the riddle said. The town was out in the middle of nowhere and I couldn’t see any landmarks. I don’t know where the heck I was.”
“Just describe what you saw,” Dee urged. “Maybe I’ll recognize the spot.”
Cassie sighed and dredged her memory for any relevant facts. “Well, for starters I know it was an IVC town because it reminded me of Mohenjo-Daro. I know it wasn’t Mohenj
o-Daro though. Completely different landscape. I saw the Minoans. They were carving the lily onto a stone set into the floor of a tower. I’m guessing that it was an observatory—a circular room, not very high. The roof was less than seven feet above the ground.”
“The observatory had a roof?” Griffin asked in surprise.
“A flat roof made of planks of wood and there was a single hole drilled close to one edge. The design reminded me of a manhole cover but I actually don’t know what the IVC people used it for.”
“Nor do I,” Griffin murmured, his mind clearly turning over possibilities.
“But the strangest thing I saw was outside of the city. At first I thought I could see snow on the ground.”
“Snow!” her teammates exclaimed.
“Yeah. Freaky, right? The ground was covered with patches of white stuff. But then I realized it was salt. I was looking at some kind of salt desert.”
“Salt?” Dee snapped to attention. “You said you saw a salt desert?”
Cassie nodded uncertainly.
The trove-keeper leaped up and dashed to the computer on her desk. She started typing furiously. After a few seconds, she paused, waiting for search results. “Hah!” she exclaimed. “Just as I thought.” She beckoned the trio excitedly. “Everybody, come over and take a look at this.”
They clustered around her monitor. Dee tapped the screen for emphasis. “Cassie, is this what you saw?”
“That’s it!” The Pythia felt elated. “That’s it exactly.”
Erik read the photo caption. “Great Rann Of Kutch.”
“It’s a salt marsh in the Thar Desert in Gujarat,” Dee said.
“Isn’t Gujarat near where the sunken city was found?” Cassie asked.
“Yes, the Gulf of Khambhat is right off the coast of Gujarat,” Griffin agreed. “Northwest corner of India. As it happens, the spot is very close to Karachi which we just left this morning. I don’t see how that helps us though. The riddle specifically mentioned an island tower. Cassie may have located the tower in question but it’s hardly built on an island.”
Into The Jaws Of The Lion (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 5) Page 12