by Satyajit Ray
We had just begun to spot a couple of stars in the sky when there came a sudden scream. This was followed by the sound of an explosion that made Crole lose control over the steering wheel, landing the car in a ditch near the road.
Both sounds had come from the rear of the car.
When I ran down the passage and reached the rear I saw Thorneycroft holding a revolver and Dexter standing pale-faced against a door, looking down at the floor. And Fielding, with his face distorted with pain, was sitting on the floor, with some sort of liquid sprayed over his spectacles.
Dexter was staring at yet another cobra, its head smashed. This breed of cobra was different from the one I had encountered the previous night. This cobra is native to Egypt too but it's called a spotting cobra. Instead of striking with his fangs he sprays his victim with poisonous saliva. If not death, then blindness is inevitable. Fielding had escaped thanks to his glasses. And Mr Snake had been killed by Thorneycroft’s weapon.
We now stopped the car in order to take care of Fielding. A drop of the poison had touched the corner of his left eye; I applied my Miracurol ointment on that spot.
Matters were now reaching a crisis point. I felt it had nothing to do with any curse whatsoever; somebody was clearly up to some mischief. The snake must have been slipped into the car through the window when we were drinking coffee at that cafe. The one who accomplished this task must have come from Cairo.
When we started our journey dusk was on its way. Baoyiti was another 100 kilometres from here. The map indicated no roads beyond this point but if need be the car could proceed on a flat road.
After driving for another ten minutes we came across both humans as well as animals.
A fifteen-year-old boy was approaching us with a stick in his hand, followed by a herd of donkeys. Spotting our car, he slowed down his pace, raised his hands above his head and began to wave them.
‘Eestop, eestop, sahib! Eestop!’
Left with no choice, the road being blocked by the animals, Crole stopped the car.
What was the matter? In the glare of the headlights, the eyes of the boy were shining and the herd of donkeys looked restless.
He signalled us to come out. ‘Permit, Sahib, permit.’
That the boy was terribly excited was evident from his heavy breathing and his expression. But surely there could not be a pyramid here?
He gestured towards our left.
‘But those are rocks—limestone rocks. Where’s a pyramid there?’
Yet the boy repeatedly pointed us in the same direction.
‘Crole asked, “Is it behind the hills?’” The boy nodded his head to say that it was indeed so.
I looked at Crole questioningly. Meanwhile the three others had also joined us. I explained everything to them. Fielding said, ‘Ask him how far away it is.’
When asked once more, the boy again repeated that it was behind those hillocks. It was pointless to further interrogate him about the distance as I have noticed that farmers all over the world are devoid of any idea about distance. In other words the pyramid could be two kilometres from here or even twenty.
‘Here.’ Thorneycroft took out some small change from his pocket, handed it over to the boy and patted him on his back, indicating that he should now leave us.
Looking happy the boy continued on his way with his herd chanting, ‘Permit permit.’
We drove on. The sky was now dotted with lights but we were yet to spot a moving beam. We were all scanning the horizon; I know that all three pairs of eyes belonging to those sitting at the back were glued to their windows. Only poor Crole couldn’t take his eyes off the road.
When we emerged from behind the hills, we did indeed see a pyramid. How far away it was or what size it was could not be fathomed but no doubt was left about its shape. There was certainly a pyramid behind those rocky limestone mounds.
Even if one hasn’t seen most Egyptian sites, this much can be understood: this was an unlikely location for a pyramid and for it to emerge out of the blue was not customary either.
Crole suggested that however bad the road was one must go and take a look at it. There were still about eight hours for the spaceship to land.
Cautiously, the Automotel began to proceed towards the pyramid, travelling across sand and uneven road.
After covering another hundred metres or so, I realized the pyramid was much too small as compared to those in the renowned pyramid complex of Egypt. Its height wasn’t more than thirty feet.
When we got closer, we noticed that the pyramid was not built of stone but of some metal which gleamed a shade of copper in the Automotel’s headlights.
Crole stopped the car and switched off the headlight. All of us stepped out. Fielding began to proceed towards the pyramid.
We followed him.
Crole whispered into my ears, ‘Keep your hand on your gun. This may be our spaceship.’
Such a thought had crossed my mind, too. However, though we had been scanning the entire skyline for hours, we hadn’t seen the spaceship land.
Fielding paused and raised his arms. I understood why. I too could feel some heat in my body. It was obvious that the heat was emanating from the spaceship.
But why was there such complete silence?
Why was there no light?
Why hadn’t we heard any noise of their landing?
Is the heat being generated because they want us to come near them?
But that wasn’t so. The heat was now reducing at a remarkable speed.
We once again started moving towards the pyramid, one step at a time. Above us, we could see the galaxy covering the entire sky. The night sky in any desert area is a subject of great wonder to me.
‘1-3-7-11-17-23 . . .’
Fielding had started mumbling the prime numbers. In awe we saw countless spots of light appearing on the pyramid. In reality these were small holes—the lights inside the spaceship were being turned on and we could now see those lights through the holes inside the pyramid.
‘41-47-53-59 . . .’
It was a human voice but it did not come from any of us. The source was from within the pyramid.
Breathlessly, we watched, listening and trying to comprehend this entire scenario.
Now the voice spoke again:
‘After a gap of 5000 years we have once more descended on your planet. Please accept our good wishes.’
Fielding had switched on his cassette player. Dexter and Crole were holding their cameras ready. But nothing worth photographing had happened yet.
More words were spoken in perfect English. The pronunciation was flawless.
‘We learnt about the existence of your planet some 65,000 years ago. Then we understood that there was not much difference between your planet and ours. Only after discovering this detail did we journey to your planet for the first time and ever since we have been making trips every 5000 years. Each time we came with the same mission in mind. We wished to push human civilization a bit further. Far beyond the atmosphere of the earth, a satellite of ours has been keeping a close observation over your people for the last 65,000 years. Whenever we visit, we do so only after ascertaining the exact condition of the earth. We do not come to cause any harm. We have no self-interest in mind. We do not want colonization. We come only to solve problems faced by humans and after offering our aid we will return. Modern Homo Sapiens, in a way, are our creation, including the special design of your brain. We have taught you agriculture, architecture, mathematics, astronomy and medical sciences.
‘However, we had no control over how man has utilized this knowledge. We never thought it was appropriate to go beyond giving some hints and explaining principles for advancing civilization further. We never taught man the techniques of war, colonization, class difference and superstitions—these are all your own creations. That people are now marching towards destruction is chiefly because they haven’t learnt to be selfless. If they were not selfish, then they would have been capable of solving their o
wn problems. What we have come to bestow now will help the human race enhance their lifespan. However, before we explain it further, we would like to know if you have any questions to ask.’
‘Yes, we have,’ shouted Crole.
‘Then please ask.’
‘Whether you look like us humans or not is what I’m curious about,’ said Crole. ‘If the atmosphere of your planet is like ours, then I guess there can be no harm done if one of you steps out.’
Crole was ready with his camera.
The reply came.
‘That’s not possible.’
‘Why?’ asked Crole, curious.
‘Because this spacecraft contains no living body.’
All five of us were rendered speechless for several seconds.
‘There’s no living being inside?’ asked Fielding ‘Does that mean—?’
‘Let me explain. Within a single year there was a devastating earthquake followed by a collision with a huge meteor which led to the disappearance of all beings on our planet. Now what is left are a few laboratories and some equipment—one of which is this spaceship. Ten years before this turmoil was to occur, and knowing about its impending arrival, our scientists pre-planned all the arrangements for this expedition to earth. This journey was possible due to instructions delivered by the machineries. I myself am a machine. This is our last journey.’
Now I asked a question.
‘May I know the aim of this last journey of yours?’
The voice from inside the pyramid replied: ‘We’re leaving with you the solutions to four problems. One—the ability to change the weather according to your own free will. Two—the capacity to cleanse the polluted air of a city. Three—instead of electricity, the use of solar power for various activities. Four—the habitation of people on the seabed with a possibility of food production undersea. At the rate in which the population is expanding, in the next 500 years it will no longer be possible for anyone to exist on land . . . Other than these four offers, for the enhancement of human knowledge we are donating you the historical account of the last 65,000 years of human race.’
‘Are these solutions and descriptions available in written form?’ asked Fielding.
‘Yes. But to document this we took help of miniaturization. Since the mishap on our planet seven years ago, our wavelength with the earth has weakened. I hope in these few years you have considerably progressed in the art of miniaturization?’
‘Yes, indeed we have!’ uttered Crole. ‘The calculator which we use for complicated arithmetic is not more than the size of a human palm.’
‘Very well. Now notice that a door will open in the spacecraft.’
We saw that about a couple of metres above the ground a triangular door was sliding open along the wall of the pyramid.
The mechanical voice continued:
‘Inside the spaceship there’s no other furniture apart from a table. You will find some equipment lying there in a transparent box. This contains the solutions to the four challenges and also the history of the human race in the last 65,000 years. Any one of you can enter the spacecraft and take possession of the article. The spacecraft will immediately leave for its return journey thereafter. But mind you, these solutions or remedies are for the benefit of the entire human race. If this object falls into the wrong selfish hands then . . .’
The voice stopped.
As we stood rapt, a shadow had appeared from the darkness and rushed into the spaceship. Within seconds it stepped out and disappeared as quickly into the darkness.
And then we saw the triangular door close and the pyramid leave the soil of Egypt with a thunderous screech. All five of us explorers watched dumbfounded as it turned into a square piece of light and then disappeared amidst the countless stars in the galaxy.
All this seemed to happen in a split second. We only came back to our senses when we heard the noise of a car starting and being driven away. The car was not ours. It sounded like a jeep.
‘Come along!’ Crole’s command sounded like a whiplash. He was running towards his Automotel.
Within a minute our car too began to race through the rocky desert.
In which direction had the jeep gone? It had to hit the road at some point.
Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting noise of a collision and Crole’s glaring headlights finally picked out the whereabouts of the jeep. The jeep’s driver had been driving at a reckless speed without the lights on. As a result it had smashed into a boulder lying on the road.
Crole very carefully drove his car and parked it a metre away from the jeep. All of us stepped out of the Automotel.
The jeep had turned turtle amid the sand and the boulders and beside it lay the blood-spattered dead bodies of two men.
One was a local fellow, probably the driver, and the other—we recognized him in the light of Thorneycroft’s torch—was the American tycoon and aspiring archaeologist, Gideon Morgenstern! In an instant the mystery of the snake and the vulture were solved. There was definitely a pact between Nahum, the manager of Karnak Hotel, and Morgenstern. Now it was clear as daylight that Morgenstern’s death was not due to the curse of some ancient Egyptian god but a curse showered from a particular planet located in a particular spot in the galaxy.
‘What’s in his pocket?’
Crole took out a fragile piece of paper from his pocket. Needless to say, it was the missing portion of the Manefru papyrus.
I noticed something else.
A blue light was shining through the fingers of Morgenstern’s clenched fist.
Fielding went up and prised his fingers open.
Was this the product that contained the solution to the human race’s four major crises along with its 65,000 years of history?
Between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, Fielding held a shining blue pebble the size of half a pea.
Giridih, 27 November
It speaks volumes of the faith my friends have in me. They felt if anyone could figure out exactly how such an enormous amount of information could be packed within this amazing stone, it was me! For the last two weeks I have run endless research and experiments on this stone in my laboratory, yet I haven’t been able to unravel its mysteries. I need some more time as our science hasn’t progressed to such a height yet.
At this moment the stone is adorning my right hand, embedded in a ring. And when I go to bed at night, I look at the radiant blue halo that reflects from this celestial gem, inspiring me to always carry on the crusade against human ignorance and superstition.
Nakur Babu and El Dorado
13 June
One event this morning has upset my entire work schedule. The work was no big deal really: I was writing an article for the noted Swedish journal Cosmos about my numerous discoveries and inventions. I’ve never taken on such a task earlier despite several requests from various journals across the world because of the sheer lack of time. In the recent past, however, I’ve deliberately cut down on my own research. I am beginning to feel that staying in a city like Giridih and working in my own laboratory with limited equipment one cannot produce much work but nowadays I also strongly feel that there’s no need for me to produce any more work. I must admit though that in a number of countries, the amazing range of work created by many young scientists using the latest equipment under the aegis of different scientific organizations and universities are indeed commendable.
But for what I have produced with limited monetary support and ordinary equipment, the scientific community of the world has always given me full credit. Yet, at the same time, within this very scientific fraternity there are some who don’t recognize me as a scientist at all. To them I’m some sort of magician or witch doctor, that I’ve mastered the art of mumbo jumbo in order to hoodwink the scientists and earned my reputation merely on such powers. Of course, I’ve never let this upset me. I’m well aware that I possess the saintly qualities of serenity and temperance. In one word, I’m a very peace-loving person. In the West I’ve met many le
arned researchers who, on the least provocation, loudly bang their hands on tables, and when there’s no table at hand they thump their hands on their knees. The biochemist Dr Heilbroner, while trying to explain his latest discovery, once slapped my shoulder so hard in excitement that I cried out in pain.
All said and done, I’m being given a good chance to explain one issue in this article—namely, the reason why I haven’t allowed my inventions to be used across the world. My justification is very simple. Out of all my products which are most powerful and beneficial for mass consumption—like the Annihilin gun or the Miracurol medicine, the Omniscope, or the Microsonograph or the memory revival instrument, Remembrain—none can be mass-produced in a factory. They are all handmade products and can be created by one and only person. Trilokeshwar Shonku.
This morning, as usual, after completing my morning walk by the river Usri, I returned home, had coffee and went to my study. Just as I had filled ink into my fifty-year-old Waterman fountain pen and was about to start writing, my man Friday, Prahlad, came in and informed me that a gentleman had come to meet me.
‘From which country?’ I asked. This was a very normal query as eminent personalities from all over the globe have visited me in Giridih. Three weeks back, a world-renowned entomologist, Professor Jablonski from Lithuania, had come here to meet me.
‘I did not inquire,’ said Prahlad, ‘but he is clad in a dhoti and khadi kurta and he spoke with me in Bengali.’
‘What did he say?’ My attitude might seem unwelcoming but I have to confess that I simply had no time to chat with any Tom, Dick or Harry.
‘Well,’ Prahlad said, ‘he said, “Ask your master if he can take a break from his writing for Kismiss and spare ten minutes for me.” He has something to tell you.’
Kismiss? Could he mean Cosmos? But how is that possible? Not a soul here knows that I’m writing for Cosmos!
I got up from my desk. There would be no peace of mind till I solved this problem of ‘Kismiss’.