Once on dry land, Erik scanned their surroundings. “So where to now?” he asked.
Griffin pointed to a train standing on the pier beside the ferry. Narrow gauge tracks led all the way to the end of the long dock and beyond. “We could either walk to the first cave or take the train.”
“Let’s take the train,” Cassie urged. “How often do we get to do that?”
The three of them climbed aboard. Each car contained two benches facing one other for a total of four seats.
“I hear that Santa’s workshop has a choo-choo just like this,” Cassie quipped.
No sooner had they gotten settled than the engine jerked into life and the miniscule train departed. After skirting the shore and winding up a tree-lined hillside, it deposited its passengers at the bottom of a stone stairway which presumably led to the first cave.
Cassie eyed the stairs warily. “How many are there?”
“Let me check.” Griffin pulled a small guide book out of his pocket. “It says there are one hundred and twenty steps though if you’d prefer to ride...” He motioned toward a series of chairs that had been lined up beside the stairs. Each chair was fitted with two wooden poles. Anticipating Cassie’s next question, Griffin added, “These chairs are called palanquins. I think the chaps lounging nearby would be happy to convey you to the top for a price.”
Cassie smiled and shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll walk.”
They began the trek upward. The stairs were bordered on either side by stone retaining walls and trees which Griffin identified as mango and tamarind. More than a few merchants had set up stands along the way to sell votive statuary and souvenirs.
Midway through their climb, Cassie began to feel as if she was being watched. She turned to look behind her and realized for the first time that there were monkeys everywhere. Hanging from the trees, scampering up the stairs, sitting on the walls. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention, but the monkeys were keeping close tabs on the tourists.
As they trudged upward, Griffin continued to scan his guide book. “Oh, I say, this is amusing. It says here to watch out for the—”
“Hey!”
A monkey had jumped onto Erik’s backpack and was attempting to work open the zipper. The paladin turned, trying to shrug one of the shoulder straps loose. In the meantime, another monkey grabbed the bottle of water dangling from his free hand.
“What the hell!” Erik shook off the first monkey and ran after the second who had hopped onto a stone wall and was unscrewing the cap of the bottle.
Cassie and Griffin dashed after him.
Erik was about to snatch the bottle out of the monkey’s paws when it reared up on its hind legs and bared its teeth at him.
Cassie put a warning hand on his shoulder. “Dude, unless you want to go home with a case of rabies, I think you should let the fuzzy bandit keep the water.”
Erik scowled, first at the monkey and then at his teammates who were struggling to keep straight faces. He removed his backpack and clutched it to his chest protectively. “At least if they try the zipper again, I’ll see them coming.”
“Yes, very wise of you,” Griffin agreed solemnly.
From somewhere above them on the stairs, they heard a yelp of surprise. A few seconds later a monkey scuttled past them gripping a candy bar.
“As I was about to say,” Griffin continued. “The guide book advises that we should beware of the Rhesus monkeys which populate the island. They are highly adept at snatching food and drink if you are unwise enough to display those items in plain view.”
“Already got the memo.” Erik gave a wry smile.
They resumed their climb, careful to give the monkeys a wide berth.
When they reached the top step, a broad courtyard opened out before them. The cave to which it led was unlike any the trio had encountered before. It was an immense square aperture that had been hollowed out of the hillside. Massive stone columns supported the weight of the roof. In addition to the main entrance facing north, the east and west sides of the cave opened out onto courtyards, allowing natural daylight to illuminate the interior.
Griffin referred to his guide book once again. “The artwork in this temple was supposedly carved sometime between the fifth and eighth centuries. Nobody is sure who the artists were or why they chose this spot. The figures depict the various manifestations and acts of the Hindu god Shiva. All the images are painted basalt—or rather they were painted until most of the color wore off.”
Two huge bas-reliefs flanked the north entrance to the cave. Each one was over ten feet high.
The scrivener read, “The figure to our left seated in a meditative posture is a depiction of Shiva as the Lord of Yoga. And to our right is Shiva as Lord Of The Dance.”
“Lord of the Dance, huh?” Cassie’s voice held a note of mischief. “You mean he’s the ancestor of the scary Irish tap guy?”
Griffin rolled his eyes. “Very amusing. The Dance refers to the Cosmic Dance of creation, not Celtic step-dancing.”
Erik walked up to the relief and squinted at it critically. “I can’t see him dancing anywhere since both his legs are missing. A couple of arms gone too. Good thing he had about ten to start with.” Directing his question to Griffin, he asked, “Did somebody vandalize this temple?”
“That would have been the Portuguese,” the scrivener informed him. “When they first came to rule the area in the sixteenth century, they engaged in target practice in this cave. The Christian Europeans saw no reason to treat the statuary of heathen idols with respect.”
As they advanced into the interior, Cassie noticed that many of the figures which decorated the walls were missing arms or legs. In some cases, the facial features had been chipped away where bullets had struck them.
Midway through the cave, the trio paused before a free-standing stone chamber. Each of its four sides held an open doorway guarded by sculpted gatekeeper figures. Inside was a dome-shaped black rock.
Before his companions could ask, Griffin said, “That would be a Shiva lingam. The rock represents the power-center of Shiva. Many Western observers have described linga as phallic objects, but some are egg-shaped. The majority are made of meteor rock.”
“Meteor rock?” Cassie echoed in surprise. “Then these linga are baetyls like the Sage Stone?”
“Yes,” the scrivener agreed. “Just as the Minoans revered the Sage Stone, and as Muslims make pilgrimage to kiss the black stone at Mecca, Hindus would regard objects made from meteorites as epiphanies of the divine.” He paused to study the short round pillar. “Of course, I’m not sure of the origin of this particular lingam, so I don’t know whether it’s a meteor rock or not. In any case, the intent of the shrine is to venerate the stone as a manifestation of Shiva.”
They moved past the cell and turned their attention to the carvings on the back wall of the cave.
“At least this one’s intact,” Erik remarked. “No missing parts.” He pointed toward an enormous bust of Shiva.
It stood at least twenty feet high. Unlike the other statues, the bust had not been damaged. The figure possessed three faces. The central face looked forward. The two others were seen in profile on either side of the head. Each face bore a different expression.
“This is called the Trimurti sculpture.” Griffin read from his guide book. “The three heads represent the three aspects of Shiva – creation, protection, and destruction.”
Cassie folded her arms and scowled at the statue. “This is getting complicated. I think I need a refresher course in Hindu mythology. I’ve heard the names of some of their gods and goddesses, but I don’t know much about the religion. What do Hindus believe?”
Griffin chuckled. “That is a very tricky question because the Hindu pantheon is extraordinarily intricate.” He paused as a thought struck him. “Do you remember our conversation this morning about Indian culture?”
“What conversation?” Erik asked.
“Th
e one we had while you were getting your beauty sleep,” Cassie retorted. Turning to Griffin, she said, “Sure I remember. You were saying that India is like the United States if the States were run independently and everybody spoke a different language.”
“Exactly so,” the scrivener concurred. “The Hindu religion operates on much the same principle. There is no dogma—no central religious authority like a Pope to enforce conformity. There is only local practice which encompasses a dizzying number of divinities—too many to mention or even remember.” He gave a helpless sigh. “Based on my research, there are a few concepts that seem to be generally held. At the top of the religious hierarchy is Brahman. He is essentially an abstraction because he is... well... everything. He infuses all of his creation while at the same time being limitless and formless. Brahman is truth and reality.”
Cassie raised skeptical eyebrows. “Makes it hard to direct a prayer at somebody when he’s everywhere and nowhere at once. That’s not exactly a warm and fuzzy god. At least Zeus had a toga and thunderbolts.”
Erik grinned appreciatively but offered no other comment.
Griffin continued. “Quite. That’s where avatars come into play. An avatar is a manifestation of a particular aspect of Brahman. It puts a face to the name. The holy trinity of Hinduism would be Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer.”
Cassie spun around and took a quick survey of all the images carved on the cave walls. “So this entire shrine is devoted to Shiva—the guy whose job is to destroy everything. Do Hindus all have a death wish?”
“Ah, but destruction can be viewed in a positive light. For instance, if a new skyscraper is about to be built in downtown Chicago, someone would have to tear down the old building to make way for the new.”
“Shiva’s the demolition crew?” Cassie remarked doubtfully.
“Yes, and quite necessary to the continuity of life. You must remember that Hindus see time as cyclic. Periods of creation followed by periods of preservation followed by periods of destruction and so on. There can be no creation of the new without a preceding destruction of the old.”
“I guess that makes sense,” the pythia conceded. “But didn’t you just say this Trimurti sculpture shows Shiva as the destroyer AND the creator AND the preserver? Isn’t that the job of the other two gods in the trinity?”
Griffin shrugged. “There are many, many variations to Hindu belief. That would be one of them.”
“Forget I asked.” Cassie rubbed her head. “Just give me the bullet points of the religion.”
“Very well. The three principal avatars of Hinduism all have consorts—female counterparts who actuate their potential. Brahma’s consort is Saraswati, the goddess of learning. Vishnu’s consort is Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth. Shiva’s consort is Parvati, the mother goddess though she also has avatars which are much less maternal. Kali and Durga are two of her more fearsome aspects.”
Cassie stepped over to the bas-relief to the right of the Trimurti which depicted a male and female divinity and their celestial attendants. Directing her attention to the smaller female figure, she stared at it briefly. “So that’s Parvati—Shiva’s little woman.” She turned to address her two teammates. “And I mean that literally. In every one of these carvings where the two of them are together, Shiva is twice as big as Parvati.”
“It was a convention of Hindu art to depict the god as bigger than the goddess,” Griffin informed her.
“Except here,” Erik corrected.
The other two turned to notice what he was pointing at. To the left of the Trimurti was a seventeen-foot-high sculpture of a bisexual divinity. One half was female with prominent breast, curved hip, and lavish jewelry while the other half was male. The male figure rested his arm on the head of a bull.
“In this one, Shiva and Parvati are both the same scale,” the paladin said.
Cassie walked over beside him to study the sculpture. “What is this about?” she murmured.
Griffin glanced at his book. “This is called Ardhanarishvara. The carving is meant to depict the synthesis of the male and female energies which created the universe. There are statues and paintings in many temples in India which show the pair together in one body. It’s also typical to show the animal each deity rides. Here we see Shiva leaning on his mount which is a bull. Parvati’s lion is absent in this carving.”
“A goddess and a lion,” Cassie repeated smiling. “That combination has been around a long time, hasn’t it? The goddess-lion statue I validated in Turkey was at least nine thousand years old.”
“Right you are.” Griffin smiled, apparently pleased that she had seen the connection. “The great mother goddess and her lion were common motifs in paleolithic art throughout Europe and Asia. The image persisted well into overlord times. The Norse Freya riding in her wagon pulled by cats, the Anatolian Cybele driving her chariot drawn by lions. Parvati and her lion mount. Whenever we see an image of a female divinity escorted by a lion or two, we’re dealing with a primordial mother goddess figure.”
“That means Parvati must have predated Hinduism,” Cassie observed.
“Yes,” the scrivener agreed. “Though Hinduism is primarily an overlord religion, it was certainly influenced by indigenous beliefs which preceded it. I suspect Parvati is a vestige of that much older faith. In fact, Hinduism is unique among the existing overlord religions in that one of its branches worships female energy as the ultimate source of creation. Shakti, in Sanskrit, means “power.” Devotees of Shakti believe that she is the supreme Brahman or primordial cosmic energy. While this worship of the feminine principal might encompass all the Hindu goddesses, adherents of this cult principally focus on the worship of Shiva’s consort Parvati. They see Shiva as incapable of acting without the power supplied by his better half. He is only potential energy which she actuates. Shaktism has a very large following in India.”
“Sounds like something matristic survived right in the middle of Overlord Central,” Erik observed.
“Yes, and to a much greater degree than we see evidenced in other overlord cultures,” Griffin added.
The trio contemplated the androgynous figure in silence for several moments until Erik interrupted their thoughts. “That was a great crash course in Hindu religion, but it’s not why we’re here. I don’t know about you two, but I didn’t see any lily symbols while we were looking around.” He gave Cassie a quizzical glance. “You get any hits, toots?”
The pythia shook her head regretfully. “Not a one.”
“Oh dear,” Griffin frowned. “I was so hopeful. Of course, there are four other Hindu caves on the island and two Buddhist caves. None of them are carved as elaborately as this one, but we may find something. Failing that, there’s Cannon Hill. It’s situated at the top of the island and might be the tower referenced in the riddle.”
He glanced hopefully from one of his teammates to the other.
“I don’t know.” Cassie hesitated. “Ever since we set foot on the island, I’ve gotten the feeling that there isn’t anything here for us.”
“We might as well check out the rest of the caves and the hill just to be sure,” Erik urged.
“That’s fine by me,” the pythia agreed uncertainly. Turning to Griffin, she asked, “But if we don’t find anything here, what’s our next move?”
The scrivener hesitated. “Well, it’s a bit off our line of latitude, but Mohenjo-Daro may be our best hope.”
“I don’t know much about Indian history, but even I’ve heard of Mohenjo-Daro.” Erik nodded approvingly. “Good call.”
The two men turned to walk back toward the north courtyard.
Cassie trailed behind. “What’s Mohenjo-Daro?”
“It’s what this part of the world was like before the overlords arrived,” Erik replied.
Chapter 11—A Moving Site
It was late afternoon when Leroy Hunt found himself on the doorstep of Miz Sybil’s antique shop having a bad
case of “been there, done that.” This place had thrown a monkey wrench into his plans one too many times. First off, its original owner, Miz Sybil, had stopped him from nicking the preacher’s granite key. Then its new proprietor, Miz Rhonda, had set up a smokescreen to keep him from drawing a bead on little Hannah. When he doubled back to pummel some proper intel out of Miz Rhonda, she vanished herself right out from under the watchful eye of his surveillance cameras. Her disappearance had cost Leroy his last living link to the preacher’s runaway bride. He disliked this shop, and everybody connected with it. It was surely jinxed.
Today as he stood peering through the plate glass window with a disgruntled expression on his face, nothing had changed in the two months he’d been away. The place mocked him with its emptiness. Everything gone. Lock, stock, and barrel. No new tenant. Still no “For Sale” or “For Rent” sign in the window.
Hunt swore under his breath and turned down the alley. He made his way to the store’s loading dock, intending to pick the lock and take one more futile look around inside. As he approached the rear entrance, he was startled to realize he wasn’t alone. An old man was curled up in a corner of the bay, cradling an empty wine bottle and snoring loudly.
Leroy walked over for a closer look. The bum was dressed in a stained army fatigue jacket, ripped blue jeans and canvas sneakers so badly frayed that his toes were poking out the sides. His long gray hair was as straggly and greasy as his beard. The old wino’s nap came to an abrupt end when he choked on a snore and jerked upright, coughing and spluttering.
“Whoa, there friend.” Leroy put a hand on the bum’s shoulder to steady him.
“Get your hands off me, you filthy cop!” The old man swatted at him petulantly. “I got a right to be here!”
“I ain’t no copper,” Leroy protested in an injured tone. “Just a Good Samaritan tryin’ to keep you from tumblin’ over and crackin’ your skull. That’s the thanks I get?”
The old man squinted at him through bloodshot eyes. “You’re not a cop?”
Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2 Page 7