The Return of Vaman - A Scientific Novel (5 page)

Laxman read the telex once again and reluctantly reached out for his phone. Reluctantly, because he was afraid to face the reaction at the other end. He dialled.

‘Umi … Laxman here. Look, something has turned up.’ He came straight to the point. The expected reaction also came.

‘Whatever it is, you have to come on time … we are going out at eight sharp.’

Laxman grew more uneasy. He knew how shattered Urmila would be by his upsetting the programme—their first wedding anniversary. But he could do little to calm her and decided to get it over with.

‘Umi … you have to forgive me, but that is off. I have to go to Bangalore by the evening flight.’

‘Oh no!’ he could almost sense the imminent breakdown. He spoke rapidly. ‘You read this morning about the container found at Gauribidnur, didn’t you? Well I have to rush over there to investigate.’

‘But what have you got to do with it? You are no archaeologist.’ Urmila’s tone was a mixture of anger and despair. Laxman persisted. ‘No, this case is very unusual. They may need my skills to decipher the contents of this box … Look, Umi, shall we leave it open tonight? … I will settle it with interest when you join me there.’

‘Join you? So it is going to be a long drawn out affair! And what am I to do in that god-forsaken place all by myself, while you are busy with that wretched container?’ Sniffles at the other end warned Laxman to be ready for the explosion. He produced what could be a trump card: ‘Listen, Umi, I am on my way home now. On the way I will pick up that sari you set your eyes on—OK?’

Urmila’s response was distinctly modified. She had wanted that expensive silk sari but had not expected it even on her wedding anniversary.

‘Trying to bribe me, aren’t you? Well, we will discuss everything then. So you will come for lunch—that will be a change! Come soon.’

As she hung up, Laxman knew that he was forgiven. He began to put the finishing touches to his work before leaving his office. That Dr Gupta, the Director General of Archaeology, should have asked him to join the task force reflected on his keen perception of Laxman’s ability. A PhD from MIT in computer software development, Laxman had had a bright post-doctoral career at Caltech. His research papers had made him internationally known and he could very well have joined one of the multinationals. But he always felt that his roots were in India and he had come back to take up a post specially created for him by Hind Electronics at Hyderabad. He was allowed full freedom to do his research and to go anywhere at any time if it suited him, and his contributions to R and D had amply vindicated this unusually liberal policy. Even his rivals in the field acknowledged his superiority.

But Dr Gupta’s request to go post-haste to Gaurbibidnur convinced Laxman that there was more behind the short news item he had read in the morning. If this box turned out to contain technologically advanced relics of the past, one might have to modify the accepted history of human progress. He had read and dismissed as speculative a highly readable paperback which purported to show that an extremely sophisticated prehistoric civilization had once existed on Earth. If this container was genuine, it might contain evidence that could not be ignored. Laxman eagerly looked forward to his new assignment.

The telex informed him that his ticket could be collected from the ariline’s office at the airport. So he had about forty-five minutes to pick up the sari on his way home to lunch. He closed his briefcase and made his way to his old and decrepit car in the car park.

The British Airways jumbo from London landed at Sahar at 3.20 a.m., precisely at its scheduled time of arrival. Most of the passengers were bound for the Far East and Australia. Of the few who got off at Bombay, a hefty white man seemed to know the airport well enough to make his way quickly out of the hold-ups at immigration and customs. Even so, by the time Karl Shulz came out of the arrivals hall it was nearing quarter to five. Making his way through the melee of passengers from the Gulf states and their enormous cases, Shulz walked along the long pavement by the terminal building. He had only a small hold-all; he never believed in travelling with checked-in baggage. The crowd thinned appreciably as he walked a hundred metres, avoiding or turning away unauthorized taxi drivers and hotel touts. His brisk walk turned to a saunter and finally he came to a standstill almost at the end of the pavement. He was whistling the signature tune of ‘Dallas’.

‘I heard there is a new actress playing Miss Ellie now … I am Mahesh Doshi. Call me Mahesh.’

The speaker was an Indian of average height and build, looking almost diminutive beside Shulz. Shulz stopped whistling, handed his hold-all to Doshi and followed him to a red Maruti standing in the car park.

‘Call me Karl’, he said barely managing to squeeze into the front seat.

‘Karl, it is now nearing five. Your flight for Bangalore leaves at seven. Shall we have a drink at the Centaur?’ Mahesh glanced at his watch as the little red car sped along the road to Santa Cruz.

‘Let’s go to the coffee shop.’

The coffee shop, open for twenty-four hours, was nearly empty … apart from two sleepy Russians and an Indian family; the latter were obviously from the USA, judging from the complaints of the two children speaking in American accents.

‘I told you not to go by Air India … it is always late!’ The mother had evidently not forgotten her native Marathi. ‘Come on Neela, you exaggerate. We had no better experience with Pan Am last time. And our travel agent offered the best deal on Air India … Remember we saved four hundred dollars, more than five thousand rupees.’ The husband justified their choice of airlines.

Mahesh smiled … it was characteristic of NRIs to convert to rupees, even after several years abroad. The children, however, were rooted in America.

‘Maa…mmy, I want coke! I don’t like this substitute’, the older one complained.

‘When canna have Kentucky Fried Chicken, Mommy?’ the younger one, a five-year-old, asked. He had already decided that he had had enough of the Indian delicacies showered on him by grandparents, aunts, and uncles.

‘Generation gap!’ muttered Shulz and then turned to Doshi: ‘I bet you are waiting for your green card.’

Mahesh smiled with some embarrassment. Shulz had guessed correctly. He was waiting to follow his two brothers and sister to the land of hope and glory.

‘Coffee for me; black, without sugar’, Shulz ordered. Mahesh asked for a cold drink. They had selected a secluded corner.

‘My names may change, but my taste for black coffee remains the same’, Shulz smiled as he recalled the many aliases he had used.

‘To come to business, Karl: we have fixed you up in the Royal Manor, as you wanted’, Mahesh began. ‘You can rest in the afternoon to sleep off the jet lag. But do you really want to pay a visit to Gauribidnur tonight?’

‘Of course, I must. What’s new there that I must know?’

Mahesh was dreading this question. He hesitated before replying.

‘Nothing to report, I’m afraid. We just can’t penetrate the tight security. Now they have got the C.S.F. patrolling the site, inside and out.’

‘C.S.F.?’

‘The Central Security Force! And besides, there is strict censorship on all news from the Science Centre. Even the labourers who found the box have been replaced … they have been taken to god knows where!’

‘And Raghavan?’

‘He is still there, very much in charge. But totally beyond reach … But if I may hazard a guess, they will soon open the container.’

‘I want facts, not guesses.’ There was only a passing shade of displeasure across Shulz’s face, but it would have been enough to give some indication of the real person that lay beneath that suave exterior. Mahesh missed it as he sipped his cola.

‘My guess is based on facts … supplied by Navin a couple of days back.’ Mahesh felt himself on firmer ground here. Navin was the chink in this armour around the container, their only hope.

‘Aach! Navin, of course! Haven’t seen him since we flew together from Bombay to Delhi. Must renew our friendship’, Shulz muttered softly. ‘Mahesh, please arrange for me to meet Navin tonight.’

Although prefaced by ‘please’, Mahesh realized that it was an order. He felt out of his depth.

‘I will do my best’, he said uncomfortably.

‘That’s not good enough, my friend! You have to ensure that it comes about … come let’s go.’

As Shulz’s heavy hand fell on his back, Mahesh shuddered. It would not do to make this man angry, he realized. He gulped down the drink and got up.

Karl Shulz reached Bangalore on time. Making his way through the mob at the exit of the arrivals lounge, he found what he was looking for—a man holding up a small board with his name on it. He followed the man to a black Ambassador in the car park. Its black number on a white plate told him that it was hired from one of the private taxi firms in the city.

‘Royal Manor, please’, said Shulz, although he knew that the man had been properly briefed beforehand.

‘Yes, Saar! Pyarelal Saab wait you, hotel … lunch.’ The driver managed to convey the information across the language barrier.

Skirting the golf course the car made its way to the imposing pseudo-British building. A spacious suite was reserved for Shulz. He lost no time in refreshing himself with a long, cold shower. When he came out of the bathroom, he put on a kurta-pyjama made to measure. The outline of his well-built body was noticeable through the semi-transparent Lucknavi kurta.

The bedside phone rang.

‘Shulz’, he acknowledged, speaking into the receiver.

‘Welcome, Karl!’ Pyarelal here. Hope you got my message for lunch. Is it OK?’

‘Where?’ Shulz did not believe in talking too much on the phone.

Pyarelal named a leading Bangalore restaurant. ‘Be near the reception. A car will come to pick you up.’

‘When?’

‘Twelve noon … OK? … Bye!’

There were no outward signs of fatigue on Shulz’s face as he sat opposite Pyarelal, devouring Tandoori chicken. It was characteristic of the man that he could will himself to be in good physical condition whenever the occasion demanded. His working phases of iron self-discipline alternated with those of relaxation when he let himself go, which is why he declined alcohol, and came straight to the point.

‘I am upset by what Mahesh told me.’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘That you are unable to penetrate the veil of security around the container.’

Pyarelal’s face had an enigmatic smile. ‘Karl, in these matters it won’t do to rush things … I have hopes in Navin.’

‘Hopes! What can Navin do?’

‘Navin is silent because he is awaiting developments. Believe me, he will find a way of communicating once he has something to report.’

‘Or is he having pangs of conscience?’

‘He has had them before’, admitted Pyarelal, ‘but I cured him of those.’

‘Well, I was planning to meet him tonight.’

Pyarelal’s face fell as he heard this announcement. ‘Karl, I need you to be incognito, at least as far as the Science Centre lot are concerned’, he added. ‘In Bangalore you would pass off as a tourist—but in a small place like Gauribidnur …’

‘I will stick out like a sore thumb, won’t I?’ laughed Shulz.

‘And, besides, you might lose your temper. Navin needs to be handled delicately, especially if he is passing through a mental conflict.’

‘Anyway, I will visit the site tonight, for sure. In deference to you, I will not see Navin—but I’m sure you cannot object to a nocturnal visit by me?’

‘Who am I to object? I will arrange for you to be collected tonight at ten. Then it is up to you.’

Shulz glanced at his watch, which still registered 8.30 a.m. GMT. He made a mental calculation—it was now two in the afternoon. He had about seven hours of sleep ahead of him. … Fortunately, he could sleep at will anywhere, any time. His job demanded it.

He nodded and got up.

‘What do you think, Laxman?’

Arul’s question came nearly an hour after the discussion had started, an hour during which Laxman had hardly spoken. Take any committee and you will find its discussion dominated by two or three members, and it is not usual for such people to have something relevant to say. Today’s discussion was essentially a monologue by Navin, which frequently took off in a tangential direction. Arul, who vainly struggled to control the situation, finally had to appeal to Laxman, knowing that he rarely saw eye to eye with Navin.

‘I agree with Navin.’

Laxman’s reply surprised everyone, not the least Navin. To elaborate further, Laxman continued, ‘We have spent enough time examining the container from outside. We are not the least bit wiser. Now we are wasting time discussing the possible dangers of opening it. The scientist in me says “Open it—and to hell with the consequences”. Those who left the container behind clearly intended the finder to open it and examine its contents. Otherwise, what was the purpose in leaving it at all? If you people are afraid to be around at the time of opening, leave the job to me.’

‘Well spoken mate’, Navin added as he rose and shook Laxman’s hands. ‘I for one volunteer to be with you when it is opened.’

‘I too’, said Arul.

‘But how are we going to open it? We have not yet found even traces of a lid.’ The question, of course, came from none else than the practical Raghavan.

All the attempts so far to discover the container’s lid had indeed been unsuccessful. The container had been taken out of the deep well where it was found and placed same side up in the large hall of the workshop. All manner of detecting instruments, including electronic devices, had failed to reveal any discontinuity on its smooth surface. Brute force, in the sense of explosives, was ruled out as it might damage whatever was inside.

The committee’s discussion thus turned to the practical issue of opening the container and it was Arul’s turn to remain intriguingly silent. But an idea had occurred to him. Indeed, so quiet was he that nobody noticed when he left the conference room. Thus, it came as a surprise to all present when he made a dramatic entry, chanting ‘Eureka’.

‘Gentlemen! I think I have the solution to Raghavan’s problem.’ He smiled at the profound effect this sentence produced on the group. He continued:

‘We could not open the cube because we were ignoring the most obvious clue.’

‘Nonsense! We have examined every inch of that wretched surface as minutely as we could.’ Laxman’s rebuttal found sympathetic echoes round the room. Arul experienced an impish delight in stringing them along.

‘No doubt you have read Edgar Alan Poe.’ He spoke quietly.

‘Speak to the point, Arul. Who is this Poe?’

‘Navin, didn’t you ever read mystery stories, the whodunnits?’

‘Of course! Right from Sherlock Holmes to modern-day thrillers—I can claim to be reasonably well informed’, Navin rejoined.

‘But you did not go as far back as Poe, who could be said to have started this kind of literature in modern times … Let me tell you of his story of the purloined letter. A compromising letter had to be retrieved. But the person who possessed it had hidden it very cleverly. The searcher ransacked the entire room looking for secret compartments and drawers—but the letter was not to be found, so cunningly was it hidden.’

‘Where was it?’ asked Laxman.

‘Exactly where nobody would think of looking! It was lying open on the desk.’

‘I see what you are getting at. We have missed an obvious clue … but what?’ asked Navin, exasperated.

Arul laughed. ‘Let me demonstrate it to you! Come to the container.’

Everyone trooped along to the workshop. Raghavan opened the doors with his special key. The container lay there as if defying the collective intellect of the twentieth century.

‘Look at these pictures outside. What do you make of them?’ asked Arul. ‘They are not purely decorative but have a function to serve. Could they not be intended as instructions for the finders of the cube, who would not be expected to know the language of its creators? … This is what I have been trying to work out … especially the pictures on the top.’

Arul led the way to the overhanging gallery erected to provide a view of the container from the top. He addressed a general question:

‘Take that square being pulled by two elephants on opposite sides. What does it convey to you?’

‘Perhaps those people used elephants to drag heavy weights’, Raghavan hazarded a guess.

Arul laughed. ‘If so, why should the elephants be shown pulling the block from opposite sides? And do you expect such an advanced civilization to employ animals for mechanical jobs?’

There was silence. So Arul continued. ‘This square in the picture is, of course, our container. That two elephants on opposite sides are unable to pull it apart is what we are meant to deduce. Our own history had a similar episode except that there were horses instead of elephants.’

Laxman was the first to catch on. ‘Of course … the two hemispheres of Magdeburg.’

Several amongst those present were still blank, so Arul elaborated. ‘Back in the seventeenth century, the scientist Otto Von Guericke joined two hemispheres, evacuated the space in between and then tried to pull them apart with horses. The air pressure on the hemispheres was so great that the two hemispheres just could not be separated.’

‘Which implies in the present instance that the box is vacuum sealed’, Raghavan added. ‘But then, how was the air taken out from within?’

‘Obviously through a small hole which must be concealed somewhere. The pictures again should provide a clue. May I draw your attention to these ellipses?’

Several ellipses with different shapes and orientations were superposed at one corner of the top. There seemed to be no symmetry in the picture. As they tried various conjectures someone remarked: ‘It reminds me of the trajectories of comets in our solar system.’

The remark did not inspire the speaker to any interpretation. But it was Laxman again who burst out, excited:

‘Isn’t it obvious? Like the Sun, which is the common focus of all cometary paths, all these ellipses must have the same focus.’

‘Exactly’, said Arul. ‘While you were arguing I slipped out to look at our photographs of these drawings. Here is one of the ellipses.’ He produced an enlarged photograph, on which he had done some geometrical constructions.

Every ellipse has two focal points. The ellipses drawn in Arul’s diagram had the remarkable property of all sharing one common focal point.

‘The makers of this box did not wish it opened by primitives. They expected some mathematical knowledge on the openers’ part. Thanks to Arul, we qualify.’ Navin’s reasoning appealed to everyone present.

Raghavan procured precise measuring instruments to determine the exact common focal point on the box. This was the point where the evacuation would have been done. However, electrical drills failed to puncture the surface. Arul himself was nonplussed. Was his inspired reasoning to prove a red herring after all?

‘I think the drills we are using are too thick … I will try a very thin needle’, Raghavan spoke as if suddenly inspired.

‘Well done, Raghavan!’ Arul slapped him on the back and sent him to fetch the finest needle available.

And to everybody’s delight the finest of all needles pierced the metal as easily as it would a piece of cork. There was the hissing sound of air entering the container as the needle was withdrawn. The entire top of the container automatically came up by two inches and turned on a hinge.

The contents were covered by a fine cambric-like material. As it was pulled aside, everyone present had the feeling that he was looking at something out of this world.