City of the Yeti Read online

  Amri ended on an ominous note: “Even some residents of this mesa are opposed to any dealings with humans.”

  “Yes,” I said, thinking back to Uruk. “We’ve already met one.”

  After she sipped some tea that smelled terrible to me, Amri continued, “With increasing human exploration, the two clans must now worry about survival, and not waste time squabbling. The Council of Elders has asked us to rebuild trust, after centuries of bitter separation. A small group of Hedjet traveled here to discuss a way forward; those were the Others you saw. And Uruk made the first, historic visit to a Hedjet village last month. He was chosen precisely because he sympathizes with their views on humans.”

  “The Hedjet and Deshret seem so much alike,” I said to no one in particular. “I don’t understand why they hate each other.”

  Amri smiled. “Not everyone embraces hatred. I’ve talked with the visiting Hedjet families on several occasions, and found them to be quite pleasant.” I sensed that her last statement was transmitted to Rachel and me only, and not to her husband or Lothal.

  “Well, it sounds like building trust will take a long time,” I said.

  “We don’t have much time,” Mehrgarh replied. “Already, we’ve observed – on the distant horizon – the new flying machines invented by humans. None have flown directly over our city yet, but it’s inevitable. After that, we’ll be at the mercy of your advanced weapons, and your greater numbers. We must have plans in place before then. Much is at stake.”

  It occurred to me that my own family, with their newfound ties to the Nepalese government, would probably request aerial searches for their missing children. The Deshret capital would stand out like a sore thumb.

  Chapter Ten

  All eyes were upon us, and they weren’t human eyes. Lothal and Harappa had offered us archery lessons in a large courtyard surrounded by multistory buildings. Locals stood on their balconies and watched the visiting humans with great interest. For some reason, we’d never tried archery before, despite its long history in India.

  Our training bows, though meant for Sramana youngsters, were taller than Rachel. The target, a small bale of hay, was located ten yards away. My first few arrows missed completely. Lothal showed me a better way to hold the bow by drawing the string back with my right thumb, which was the Asian method of archery. Eventually, one of my arrows hit the target, and Harappa let out a little cheer that sounded like singing. Rachel stood nearby, biting her lip, waiting her turn.

  My sister learned quickly. While I could shoot further, her aim was more accurate. Every time she hit the target she would quietly say, “Yes!” After a few hours, we were pretty good at it, in my opinion, but the spectators had disappeared, probably writing us off as hopeless. At one point I noticed Uruk watching from a courtyard opening. His face was expressionless, but at least he was interested enough to stop.

  Our elbows and backs ached from the unusual exertion, so we set the bows aside and twirled our arms to relieve tense muscles. That’s when I saw an old ball lying in one corner. It was slightly smaller than a soccer ball, but not much different in overall appearance. Harappa said it was made from leather patches sewn over a yak’s bladder. Soccer, or football, was a game we played routinely in India, but the Sramana didn’t know much about it.

  Rachel and I dribbled the ball across the court with our feet, trying to block each other, while Lothal and Harappa watched in amazement. We showed them how to play, and soon other young Sramana – boys and girls – entered the courtyard to join in. Before long, almost twenty kids were involved, so I split them into two teams. They caught on quickly, and seemed to relish the competition. I felt we’d made our first serious contact with their culture.

  An hour later, exhausted, we went inside for a snack of dried fruits and nuts, along with some juice I didn’t recognize. Our hosts gave us a more detailed tour of their home. In Lothal’s room, we saw objects that looked like trophies, as well as animal furs hanging on the walls. In Harappa’s room we found stuffed dolls made of embroidered cloth, and also a checkered game board with wooden pieces similar to chess, except that it used an elephant instead of a bishop.

  “The Sramana invented this game long ago,” she said. “The first humans to adopt it were from India, where it became known as chaturanga.”

  Rachel and I sat down near the board, examining the intricately carved pieces.

  “Most Sramana can play,” Harappa added, “but it’s hard for younger ones to hide their strategies from mind-reading opponents. Telepathy is a double-edged sword. Only in adulthood do we learn to block access from others.”

  While Rachel attempted a chess game with Harappa, I wandered into the kitchen, where Amri was cooking. I tried to imagine living with telepathy. What if Kumar and I could sense each other’s feelings instead of using words? It would be easier, but also a little uncomfortable.

  I asked Amri about it. “True,” she said, “there’s little privacy during childhood here, but that leads to less conflict as one grows up, along with a greater ability to empathize as an adult. Telepathy is the foundation of our morality. As a result, we have little need for formal laws. You’ll find no police or courts here.”

  “But surely you have disagreements,” I said.

  “Oh yes, but those are usually worked out. On rare occasions, when a conflict can’t be resolved, the elders are consulted, and their decision is final.”

  “What if a young Sramana knows he’s making someone unhappy, but just doesn’t care?”

  She finished her work and walked closer. “Then he’ll be sent to special classes. Believe me, it’s not fun.”

  I was about to ask what happened if the training failed, when we heard a knock on the front door. A new group of Sramana children stood outside, asking for soccer lessons. Once again, Rachel and I organized two teams, and then sat back to watch. They didn’t always follow all the rules, but we didn’t care.

  Midway through the match, the ball landed near the feet of two youngsters standing with their parents at the courtyard entrance. All the participants in the game looked up, gasped, and stopped playing. Then I heard Lothal’s thoughts: “The two Hedjet families! On a tour of the city! I hope someone’s keeping an eye on the four warriors from their group; who knows what those scoundrels will try to steal!”

  I was still confused. The Hedjet looked essentially the same as others in the courtyard, just paler, and they wore simple jackets with little color or decoration. But weren’t they all Sramana? The Deshret kids showed more repulsion toward the Hedjet than anything I’d experienced here as a human.

  Suddenly, I recalled an event from my early childhood. I’d been playing soccer with some British kids, when I spotted Kumar on the sidelines – the first time I’d ever seen him. I casually invited him over to play, much to the disgust of my teammates. After a short time, however, he learned the game, and was accepted by the other boys.

  I decided to invite the Hedjet youths to join us. One boy was about the same age as Lothal. I walked closer, gesturing for him to step out into the courtyard. He almost did, but his parents pulled him back, horrified at my approach. I concluded that if the Hedjet hated humans so much, then it was simply taught; their children were willing to see for themselves.

  Lothal pleaded, “Danny, come back! We can’t play with them. It could be dangerous!” His words only angered me.

  Finally, their Deshret host showed up – Uruk! He glared at Rachel and me, but didn’t try to stop the game. Instead he ushered the Hedjet families away to continue their tour. The crowd returned to the match, and the courtyard once more filled with laughter. However, my enthusiasm for teaching had vanished.

  After the other kids left, we sat on stone benches built into the courtyard wall, and Lothal shared more opinions about the Hedjet. “I’ve heard that their mental powers are deadly. They can kill humans by stopping the heart, so y
ou’d better be careful.”

  Harappa sat quietly, apparently unconvinced. Rachel was frowning, and I could tell she was skeptical. Lothal stood up, ignoring the girls. “Come on, Danny. I want to show you something.” Harappa and Rachel waved him off and continued relaxing.

  We wandered through an older part of the city, where Lothal pointed out strange nooks and crannies, along with mysterious alleyways that zigzagged wildly. Being ancient, this area had been rebuilt many times, leaving a highly irregular architecture.

  I followed him into an old, gray building perched alongside the city’s main wall. It looked like a warehouse, cluttered with boxes and crates. At the back, a staircase led down to a dark, cobweb-laced cellar filled with musty odors. Here, Lothal lit a small oil lamp, then pulled open a metal door to reveal a narrow passageway. I walked in with ease, but Lothal had to bend over slightly. We followed the tunnel several yards until we reached a second metal door. This one was very rusty, and opened into a ravine located just outside the city wall. We stepped through into warm sunshine.

  “As you can see,” he said, “that tunnel runs under the wall. It was built to allow routine repairs, since the nearest gate is so far away.” Well-worn footpaths led up to the wall, where small holes and cracks had been patched.

  Then he pointed down the long gulley. “This runs all the way to a forest north of town. My friends and I used to sneak out at night and play in the woods. It was fun to hide from sentries; they can’t see you when you’re in the ravine.”

  When we returned to the courtyard, the girls were still chatting, but soon everyone was called inside. After dinner, Lothal and Harappa worked on their lessons. All children here were home-schooled. They read Sanskrit documents that traced both Sramana and human history. I also watched Lothal solve math problems using symbols that looked similar to my algebra homework.

  “The Sramana know about math?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

  “Of course,” he said. “The Sramana invented math around here. A thousand years before Pythagoras was born, the Babylonians were using formulas for triangles, and solving problems that required algebra. They learned all that stuff from us! Well, from my ancestors, I mean.”

  Once homework was complete, we spent the rest of the evening trading folk tales from our two worlds.

  That night, while dreaming, I relived an experience from my boyhood. I was running down a narrow alleyway with Kumar, chasing a small monkey that had stolen my toy, when we came upon a violent scene behind a food market. The owner was punching an old beggar, apparently because the man had touched a single orange in a display rack holding dozens more. “You’ve ruined the whole batch!” the owner kept yelling.

  I wanted to protest, but Kumar held me back, whispering, “We can’t help him! He’s an Untouchable!” In Kumar’s eyes, the beggar belonged to the lowest class of humans, with no rights or privileges. Kumar continued to drag me out of the alley, but I watched in horror as the old man was beaten unconscious.

  As the dream continued, I re-entered the alley and approached the body of the beggar, lying face down. I turned him over to see if he was still alive. When his head rotated, I saw the face: it was the Hedjet boy whom I’d invited to play soccer.

  The dream ended, and I bolted upright in a cold sweat. Obviously my memories had been altered by the episode in the courtyard that day. In reality, back in Lucknow, I’d never seen the beggar again.

  It was the middle of the night, all was calm, and everyone in the household was asleep. I continued thinking of the Hedjet. They seemed to be the world’s last Untouchables – living on desolate mountains, hated by other Sramana, and dreaded by mankind as the Yeti.

  I couldn’t sleep after that, so I threw on my jacket and rambled into the courtyard. Rachel and I would be leaving in a few days, and soon we’d have to decide how much of this experience, if any, to share with our parents. I heard soft footsteps behind me and spun around. It was Rachel, who’d followed me out of curiosity. She whispered how amazing it was that we could wander freely at night. The Sramana slept more soundly than humans; it was somehow necessary for regeneration of their mental powers.

  We explored narrow lanes, and eventually strolled past a small sanctuary. A hand-carved wooden shrine supported colored-glass containers with candles burning inside. Rachel walked over and held one to warm her hands. The scene reminded me of a Buddhist temple, but without any Buddha-like images or statues. The place was empty and quiet. We sat on the floor and relaxed, enjoying the fragrance of some incense that was vaguely familiar. Where had I smelled this before? I traced my memories backward, and then it hit me. At the Mahendra monastery! Dorje must have taken samples of this incense back to Pokhara.

  Just as I was getting sleepy again, muffled noises popped up all around. The last thing I saw, before blankets were thrown over us, was the group of Hedjet warriors, their faces highlighted eerily by candlelight.

  So much for the Sramana sleeping soundly.

  During their time on the mesa, these four warriors had remained anti-social, and seemed uncomfortable in their role as Hedjet representatives. Now they carried us – packaged in blankets – outside of the city walls and planted us on horses. They warned that any outcry would result in our death. Given the stories we’d heard about the Hedjet hating and murdering humans, we decided not to take any chances.

  Next they handed us two bulky Hedjet robes, with instructions to cover ourselves completely, including our heads. That way, if our group passed a sentry while leaving, we would look like a Hedjet family departing for home. When we did in fact encounter a sentry, I almost yelled, but then remembered he was outnumbered, and would be killed if I panicked.

  Throughout the night and into the next day, we followed a trail that climbed gradually to higher elevations. Although Rachel and I had the use of reins, our horses remained tethered to the others through long ropes, to prevent us from straying.

  This trip made Uruk’s escort look like a picnic. Our Hedjet captors showed no response to our mental requests for food and water. It was as if they couldn’t read our minds at all. Perhaps they just chose to ignore us. But I wondered if their long avoidance of humans had made them partially deaf to our thoughts. In any case, to my astonishment, I could hear fragments of their thoughts – like bursts of whispering. Surely this wasn’t intentional. Had interactions with my host family altered me in some way, creating a limited telepathic ability? Judging from Rachel’s face, she was hearing something too, but I was afraid to ask her out loud. Unfortunately, she and I couldn’t communicate telepathically with each other in this situation.

  Piecing together all the Hedjet thoughts, I concluded that we were now hostages in a scheme to discourage human explorers, who continued to pour into the Himalaya. This meant we’d be held prisoners for the rest of our lives. As a start, they would need to keep us alive on this trip, yet I didn’t sense any concern for our well-being. The journey could last several days, and I doubted we would last that long.

  Chapter Eleven

  As the sun set, our kidnappers stopped and dismounted, untethering all the horses. I briefly considered galloping away with Rachel, but decided they could recapture us easily. Also, these warriors carried bows similar to those used by the Deshret, and I wasn’t eager to test Hedjet archery prowess.

  The four gathered in a circle for a mental discussion, and then two of them rode away with bows on their backs, presumably to hunt for food. Of the two remaining, the older one – with long silver hair – wandered off into the hilly terrain on foot, also carrying a bow. That left a single warrior, but the largest and scariest of the group. This giant continued to ignore us and gather firewood. No doubt he believed he could handle any sort of outburst from us. After all, we were just children.

  While mounted on my horse, which grazed peacefully, I spotted an opportunity – if only I could muster the courage. A set of bow and arrows
hung to one side of the giant’s horse, not far from me. With the slightest squeeze of my legs, I signaled my horse to move forward. At first it refused, but finally stopped munching and took a few steps. This didn’t draw the giant’s attention.

  Soon my horse was positioned alongside his, and the unattended bow lay within reach. Was I confident enough in my archery skills after only one day of lessons? I shivered slightly from fear, but fought it back by remembering that we might never see our parents again. With one quick motion I yanked out the bow and mounted an arrow. It made little noise, and the giant still focused on starting a fire for the evening meal, his huge back toward me.

  I pulled the bowstring until it reached my chin, and aimed my arrow at him. So now what, genius? Should I yell a warning? Should I shoot him in cold blood? Only a few seconds passed while I deliberated, yet it seemed like an eternity. With the bowstring fully drawn, my right arm began to tremble; this was a larger bow than I’d trained with. All I had to do was relax my hand. My target was simple enough, and only twenty feet away. I could hit him easily, and why not? This was a monster, stealing any chance we had for a normal life.

  Then something moved to my left, nearly out of my field of vision. A tall figure approached on foot. It was probably the older warrior, returning early. But why hadn’t he warned his large companion, who knelt before me, calmly stoking the fire?

  I risked taking a solid glance to my left, and could hardly believe my eyes. It was Uruk! He too held a bow and arrow, but aimed in my direction. He must have come to join this group, to participate in our kidnapping. It made sense, given his views of humans, and his dislike of me in particular.

  I was ready to give up when I heard the command “Duck!” echo through my skull. It was Uruk’s voice. What did he mean? Was this a trick? I tilted my body forward slightly while keeping my string drawn, even though this took me off target.