City of the Yeti Page 6

  It was hard to believe. Next was a practical question. “Why did Uruk bring us here?”

  Nineveh pointed to the stone necklace hanging around my neck. “Uruk knew that the ancient traditions must be upheld.”

  “Traditions?” I asked.

  “Every generation or so, we invite a human to live with us and exchange knowledge. By tradition, our guest eventually returns home and picks a young apprentice to repeat the experience. The selection process involves transferring a stone inscribed with one of our sacred texts. A man named Dorje, who once stayed here, seems to have chosen you in this way.”

  I looked at Rachel and asked, “Are you hearing all this?” She nodded. Her eyes were glassy, but she wasn’t scared. I was proud of her for showing courage in this bizarre situation. I took a sip of water from a clay cup sitting in front of me. It tasted normal, so I encouraged Rachel to drink as well.

  “But why was Uruk so upset?” I asked. “He almost hit me.”

  “Uruk’s group was returning from a visit to another Sramana village. Along the way, they encountered human hunters. The hunters shot at them, killing two, and wounding Uruk. One of those killed was Uruk’s son, on his first trip beyond the mesa. As vengeance, Uruk was ready to attack the first human child he saw, and that happened to be you. Our culture does not approve of such action, but sometimes passion overtakes reason, even in us. Yet he could not kill you once he saw the sacred stone.”

  That explained the two extra horses in Uruk’s group. I turned the stone around in my hands again, admiring the carved letters. “What does it say?”

  “It’s from an ancient set of Sanskrit hymns called the Rigveda, written by my ancestors thousands of years ago. The hymns explore philosophy, religion, and other questions of life. The translation is: ‘What thing I truly am, I know not clearly; mysterious, fettered in my mind, I wander.’”

  “Did you see Dorje when he was here?” I asked.

  “Yes. In fact, I was one of his teachers,” Nineveh replied.

  “Really? Well, if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

  “One hundred and twenty-four,” he said, with pride in his voice.

  I wanted to ask how long they lived in general, but he turned his head toward the entrance. Two new individuals entered and approached quietly. Had he summoned them? They wore long, silk robes stitched with intricate patterns. The smaller one lacked facial hair, showed no baldness, and had long hair that was braided. I assumed this one was female. They bowed slightly, and then walked out, apparently having received Nineveh’s orders.

  Nineveh returned his attention to us. “I think you should meet Uruk – formally. There is something he needs to say. My assistants will look for him.”

  “Can’t you just summon him here with your mind?” I asked.

  “Thought transfer does not work over long distances,” he explained.

  We waited in silence, sipping water. Soon a tall Sramana walked in, wearing cotton pants and shirt, with a dark wool vest. He had a fresh scar down one side of his face – probably the injury from the hunter’s gun. Now I understood why he’d covered his face during our trip.

  Uruk continued standing in front of us rather than sitting. He appeared to start a private conversation with Nineveh. Both were frowning slightly, as if arguing.

  Next I heard Uruk’s voice. It was different from the elder, but not in a way I could describe. “I am sorry for frightening you in the cave, and for bringing your sister along.” He avoided eye contact while speaking, and his apology sounded forced.

  Remembering the cave incident, I asked, “You stopped my uncle from firing his gun. Besides reading our minds, can you influence our actions?”

  “To some extent,” Uruk replied. “But it is not easy, and requires long training and intense concentration. Such abilities are used only as a last resort.”

  I hesitated to ask the next, obvious question. To my surprise, Rachel asked for me – her first stab at mental communication. “Couldn’t you have stopped the hunters from shooting?”

  “The hunters were too far away, and used rifles,” Uruk said.

  “Oh, I see,” she responded, looking sad.

  I too felt sorry for Uruk’s loss, and hoped he could sense it.

  “Is my uncle all right?” Rachel asked next.

  “Yes, of course,” Uruk said, seemingly offended at the implication Uncle Colin was ever in danger. “Your uncle will not remember what happened that night, but he should be able to find his way home, using his skills as an outdoorsman. He will know that you two are alive, even if he cannot explain this knowledge.”

  There it was again, about people not remembering. “Do you have the power to affect our memories?” I asked them.

  “Yes,” Nineveh replied. “We can erase selected memories from humans.”

  Of course! I now realized. That explained why encounters over the centuries had never led to exposure of the Sramana. I thought back to my conversation with the lama. “Dorje couldn’t remember much about his time here. Were his memories erased before he left?”

  “Dorje’s case is complicated,” Nineveh said, squirming slightly. “The young monk was eager to understand our culture, and proved to be a good learner. But he was racked with guilt over atrocities he had committed as a soldier, and felt unworthy as our human representative. He decided to leave, but first asked someone to clear his memory, in order to safeguard the city.”

  Nineveh paused, and then resumed after a long sigh. “I tried to intervene, since I wanted Dorje to remember us, but I was too late. He returned to the monastery with only fragmentary knowledge of his stay here. Still, we gave him the stone, just in case he remembered enough to pick a successor.”

  Nineveh slid his chair back. Apparently he’d reached a stopping point. Uruk marched out of the room without saying goodbye.

  “I guess Uruk still hates us,” I muttered.

  “It’s not you personally,” Nineveh said. “Uruk feels that all humans are the enemy, and not to be trusted. There are many Sramana who share his view.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” I said. “Are the Sramana behind our stories of the Yeti? I can see now that the legends are all wrong.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nineveh hesitated, and I wasn’t sure he would answer, but finally he did. “So many questions, and on the first day! But that’s a good sign. Let me just say this: The Sramana are able to create terrifying images in the minds of humans, in order to drive them away and conceal our real appearance.”

  “Those images scare some of us away, but attract others,” I said, and he smiled.

  Nineveh stood up slowly, gesturing for us to walk with him. He hobbled slightly, reminding me of my grandfather. We exited onto a large balcony overlooking the city. It was comforting to stand beside this towering but gentle figure. I could see residents in the streets, going about everyday business, not much different from those in a human town.

  Nineveh offered his final thoughts. “Danny, Rachel, either of you would make an excellent human representative, since you are inquisitive and intelligent. But you are still very young. In the past we have accepted only adults for this role. Also, I’m sure your parents are very worried, like anyone with missing offspring. I’ll arrange for you to be taken to a Buddhist monastery in a nearby village called Jang; it’s a two-day ride. The monks there know about us, and won’t be shocked to see your Sramana escorts.”

  I was relieved that we wouldn’t be forced to stay, but also annoyed at being considered under-age. Nineveh seemed to understand my feelings. “You’re welcome to stay here a few days and observe our ways. Hopefully that will motivate you to return in a few years, for a much longer visit.”

  I glanced at Rachel. She nodded enthusiastically, and I didn’t need to read her mind. But she made an important request: “Is there any way we can
let our parents know we’re safe, without telling them our location?”

  “In the past we’ve used carrier pigeons to relay urgent messages to the Jang monastery. I’ll write a note saying you are safe and will arrive at the monastery by the end of the week. However, it may take a while for the information to reach your parents.”

  That was good enough for me. I wondered what was next.

  “I know a home where you’ll be comfortable during your stay,” he said. “They are part of my own family.”

  Nineveh’s assistants appeared again, and asked Rachel and me to follow. We waved to Nineveh, and then walked down a stone staircase leading to an underground passageway, one of many radiating outward from the castle. This allowed locals to reach distant parts of town in any weather conditions. Our footsteps echoed loudly on the slate-tiled floor. Lighting came from oil lamps, mounted on stands every few yards.

  On the walls of the passageway hung framed paintings – portraits! And why not? Why should humans have a monopoly on art? Most of the paintings depicted some noble-looking Sramana, perhaps royalty or a local hero. But a few of the faces were clearly human visitors from centuries past, given their dress and hairstyles. I fantasized about my own portrait appearing here someday.

  Eventually we stepped out into a narrow street, lined with buildings constructed of large, cubic stones covered by plaster. After knocking on a thick wooden door, we were greeted by a Sramana couple who didn’t seem the least bit surprised to find two human children on their doorstep. The male wore a knee-length sleeved shirt that tied at the side, with pants underneath. The female wore a long, dark brown, sari-like dress. They welcomed us inside, and explained that they were Nineveh’s grandchildren, now fully grown and parents themselves. As we entered the living room, furnished with oversized chairs and tables, I felt like a shrunken Alice in Wonderland.

  The father went on to describe how, when very young, he had known Dorje, since the monk had lived in his home. Nineveh’s family tree had a long tradition of sponsoring human visitors. Next, they mentioned that their children, younger than us, were playing in the back room. I was eager to see some Sramana closer to my own size.

  But we were in for a surprise. These children were a foot taller than us. They were Nineveh’s great grandchildren: Lothal – the boy, and Harappa – the girl. Again, these were names of ancient human cities, this time from the Indus Valley. The kids wore simple, dyed-wool outfits consisting of a sweater, pants, and fur-lined leather shoes.

  Understanding Lothal and Harappa’s thoughts was more difficult than with adults. Telepathy was something mastered while growing up, like humans learning to read and write, so young Sramana often used their vocal cords. Even adults here spoke aloud in situations involving large distances; it just made things easier. Their vocal language was like a blend of Tibetan and Chinese, and sounded very musical. I hoped we’d have a chance to learn some of it.

  Without one of the elders like Nineveh around, Rachel and I couldn’t hear each other’s thoughts, so whenever we formed a mental question for the Sramana, we also spoke in English, to communicate between ourselves.

  Dinner at this new home was similar to our meals in human villages on the horseback trip. Their food, and its preparation, reminded me of the simpler lifestyle found throughout the foothills. We ate grilled meat that came from animals penned outside the walls, and munched on vegetables grown in nearby gardens. Fresh-baked bread was made from local flour.

  Rachel and I talked to both parents: Mehrgarh – the father, and Amri – the mother. They eagerly shared facts about their city, as though we were already the official representatives. Amri boasted how their everyday conveniences, from the stoves used for cooking and heating to the aqueducts used for fresh water and sewage, were similar to those found in ancient Rome. And she was right; I’d seen pictures of Roman houses excavated in Italy.

  The next morning, a citywide horse riding competition was planned. We walked with our host family to the edge of town. The air was chilly but the sky was clear. Rachel and I borrowed Sramana jackets and kept our hoods drawn, so as not to distract residents. These coats, used by Lothal and Harappa years before, were so big on us that they dragged along the ground. Eventually we reached a large field that had been cleared of brush and surrounded with wooden spectator stands.

  A loud trumpet sounded, and a group of riders on large horses entered one end of the field. The muscular animals pranced about and finally lined up side-by-side. Each rider carried a long bow and a quiver holding a dozen arrows. Their style of dress – colorfully embroidered suits of animal skin – reminded me of nomadic warriors from the steppes of central Asia, or even North American Indians. I saw both male and female participants.

  One at a time, the riders sped off down the length of the field. At one end, a round leather target about four feet in diameter was suspended in the air. While still fifty yards away, each rider stood in the stirrups and fired a series of arrows, reloading at a speed I didn’t think possible. The competition was a test of how many, and how precisely, arrows could be delivered without slowing down. After straining to see the result, I could scarcely believe my eyes; most of the arrows found their mark.

  Lothal sat beside us, equally excited to watch. “We learn to ride at an early age, and have very strong bows,” he said. “Each bow takes months to finish, using wood and animal horn. Each arrow has a small iron tip that’s very sharp and can pierce metal armor.”

  Whose armor? I wondered. Was he talking about the distant past?

  The next event got underway. Now each mounted rider remained still, and fired a single arrow over a hundred yards. The goal was pure accuracy, and the results were impressive. I could have been watching the first use of the English longbow in the war against France during medieval times.

  Harappa commented, “When human civilizations were just starting, the Sramana rode horses throughout Asia, perfecting the skills you see here. They weren’t interested in conquering human societies, but simply wanted privacy to develop their mental powers.”

  A mighty cheer went up as the winners were announced; Uruk was one. Lothal said he wasn’t surprised, since Uruk was the most accurate archer in the city.

  Next, a younger group of riders appeared on medium-sized horses, to compete in scaled-down versions of the previous games. These riders weren’t much bigger than Lothal, and he watched with even greater enthusiasm. I assumed some of his friends were participating.

  Harappa’s voice continued, “Early on, the Sramana shared their tactics with humans, in exchange for goods that were difficult to obtain, like spices and metals. But that backfired. I’m sure you’ve read about the Huns, who overran most of Persia and Eastern Europe? Do you recall Attila the Hun? Well, he was trained by the Sramana!”

  Harappa walked away and said without turning, “I’m going to compete in the next game, which is designed for children. We ride horses around an obstacle course. I’ve been practicing for months!”

  We wished her well, and then Lothal finished the history lesson. “The biggest mistake of all was training the Mongol tribes seven hundred years ago. One of their leaders named Temujin organized his people and attacked most of Asia. He later changed his name to Genghis Khan. The Sramana were very unhappy with that result.”

  I wanted more details, but our attention was drawn back to the field. Harappa, alongside other youths, appeared on horseback and rode around the perimeter of the arena, jumping over wooden fences and narrow moats, then zigzagging around vertical poles. Lothal cheered her on with a loud yell.

  After her ride, I spotted a small group of individuals standing on the opposite side of the field, isolated from the main crowd. It looked like two families surrounded by a few single males. They dressed in plain clothing compared to most, and remained very quiet, glancing around nervously. I asked Lothal about them.

  “Oh, those are the Others,”
he said, “from a village high in the mountains. They’re strange, and barely know how to ride horses. Unfortunately, the elders invited them to attend.” I looked again. Aside from a different style of clothing, the Others had the same physical appearance as the main crowd.

  When all the activities had ended, the family escorted us back to their home, this time choosing busy streets and encouraging us to show ourselves. They seemed proud to be hosting humans. Lothal and Harappa laughed at the expressions of shock on some Sramana pedestrians. It was all so different from the day Kumar had rushed Rachel and me through the streets of Lucknow toward our home.

  Over dinner, Lothal and Harappa talked with their parents using a combination of thought and voice, reminding me of how Kumar spoke to his parents in both English and Hindi. I remained quiet while the family discussed the day’s events. Finally, Amri asked us for our views. Rachel said she’d like to try the obstacle course, but at a much slower speed.

  However, I was more interested in Genghis Khan. Mehrgarh seemed happy to elaborate. “During the Mongolian expansion, even the Sramana were forced to retreat, but ultimately we were spared. We ended up hiding in isolated regions of Tibet and Nepal. The decision was made to never train humans again. Of course, humans didn’t really need us anymore; they found ways to make increasingly destructive weapons, leading up to the horrors of your recent World War. I suspect your species will eventually destroy itself.”

  Amri shot Mehrgarh a frown, as if he was being too negative.

  I also wanted to know more about the Others. Lothal’s criticism had seemed so arbitrary, reminding me of the caste system in India. Amri described how the Sramana culture had split centuries ago, following long debates regarding outsiders. Some Sramana preferred to live in the foothills, and tolerated limited human interaction. These lower elevation groups called themselves the Deshret, a tribute to ancient Lower Egypt. This city was the Deshret capital. Meanwhile, the Hedjet, named after Upper Egypt, moved to higher elevations with the goal of terrorizing or killing any human intruders. The Hedjet were responsible for creating hallucinations of ape-like monsters, which led to the Yeti legend.