The Return of Vaman - A Scientific Novel (4 page)

‘Raghavan, this takes the whole matter beyond our jurisdiction, damn it.’ Arul was naturally peeved at this further interruption in his project. Raghavan nodded and looked at his watch.

It was three-thirty in the morning. Though it was dark, arrangements had been made to continue digging under floodlights. Round the clock work was necessary to catch up with the schedule of the gravity experiment, but tonight no work had been done. The floodlights nevertheless operated to keep the mysterious cube under scrutiny.

‘Neither you nor I can claim to be an archaeologist’, Arul continued, ‘but even we can see that this is not from recent times. The script is totally alien. What is more, the alloy—it probably contains iron—is unknown to our technology. Look how brightly it reflects light even after heaven knows how many centuries.’

‘How many, do you reckon?’ Raghavan was gradually leading to an issue that he did not want to mention directly. He hoped Arul would come round to it himself.

‘Can’t say! But I think—no, I am pretty sure, this alloy does not belong to our post-industrial revolution times. In fact, I can safely bet that the people who made it were technologically advanced, even well beyond our level. Isn’t it intriguing that the exterior of this box is so smooth that we cannot detect its lid?’

‘Indeed it is! But then, these people must belong to an era well before our relics of Harappa or Egypt.’ Raghavan scratched his tousled head.

‘Well said! This civilization must ante-date them by several thousand years. Somehow, I imagine, all its relics were wiped out and we lost contact with it—except for this container here. Wonder what’s in it.’

As Arul carefully inspected the walls of the container, Raghavan was reminded of his favourite sleuth in fiction. Sherlock Holmes would have similarly examined the surroundings of a place where a crime had been committed.

Arul suddenly burst out laughing. As Raghavan looked anxiously, he continued, ‘So much for your demons! These are not of flesh and blood.’ Arul was pointing to the sinister figures inscribed on the cube. This was where Raghavan had wanted to channel their line of inquiry. What were the figures?

‘Of course they are mechanical monsters—robots’, Arul seemed quite sure.

‘But they look sinister, don’t they?’ Raghavan was not sure how Arul would react to this remark.

Surprisingly, Arul took it seriously. ‘I agree with you, Raghavan. They do look sinister. But then, we may be influenced by our ideas of what a benign robot should look like. On the other hand, I suspect that the “artist” who drew these figures shared our reaction. Did he dislike them too, I wonder?’

Emboldened by this sympathetic response, Raghavan advanced his own conjecture.

‘One normally does not associate feelings with robots—but somehow these robots don’t appear to be the benevolent kind, do they?

Arul did not reply. A shiver ran through Raghavan’s body as he matched his ideas with the surroundings. Of necessity, this well had been dug at a site far from human habitation. It had to provide a quiet environment for the experiment. So here they were, in a god-forsaken place, deep underground, and near a box that contained god-knows-what. If those robots decided to come out and attack them, what means did Raghavan and Arul have for retaliation or exit? He looked at the uninviting rope ladder going straight up—thirty metres of hard climb.

‘No, I don’t think this container has robots inside, whatever else it may have’, Arul spoke out much to Raghavan’s relief. ‘More likely, this is a time capsule containing records of what that civilization achieved …. Well, enough of this guesswork! We will have to get this thing opened by experts and call in archaeologists to examine what is inside. This would mean contacting Delhi and inviting red tape’, he cursed under his breath.

As Arul turned to climb the ladder, he discovered a plaque-like object resting against the wall. It was about a metre long and half as wide. It contained inscriptions, red in the middle, black all round. The red letters were large and few, the text in black was long and written in fine characters. The script, of course, was unknown to Arul.

‘What is this? Where did you find it, Raghavan?’

Raghavan was uncomfortable as he replied. ‘I doubt it has any connection with the container. In fact, we discovered it two weeks ago at a depth of five metres or so.’

‘Two weeks ago?’ Arul asked, surprised.

Raghavan cleared his throat. Obviously, we should have reported the matter earlier. By way of explanation he added, ‘Well, you get all sorts of things when you dig. You were abroad when this showed up, so we merely kept it aside till you returned. Of course, I should have informed you earlier.’

‘Where was it kept all this time?’ Arul asked.

‘Quite safe, in my office, Arul! I had it brought down here so that you could see it along with the container.’

Arul lifted the plaque, which was metallic but surprisingly light. He thought that its inscription might be similar to that on the container, but then, why was there such a difference in the depths at which they were buried? He began to climb the ladder with the plaque balanced precariously. The plaque must be kept safely, for examination later when the cube was opened.

Raghavan followed Arul with some relief. The pit where they had been was getting on his nerves. He did not look back as he climbed, but had the uncanny feeling that those monstrous robots with their sinister expressions were staring at them.

A series of discrete knocks was usually enough to wake up Arul who was generally a light sleeper. However, so deeply had he slept on this occasion that, even after getting up, he took some thirty seconds to come back to reality, only to realize that he was in a room of the Institute of Science guest house. His watch showed 10.22 a.m.

‘Come in’, he called out as the knocking continued.

The door opened and Vikram, the chief attendant of the guest house came in, or rather, he floated in. Vikram invariably reminded Arul of Jeeves, the superlative valet created by P.G. Wodehouse. A fan of Bertie Wooster and Jeeves, Arul always felt that Vikram manipulated his guests, even if ever so politely and discreetly.

‘Sorry to wake you up, sir, in spite of your orders. But the press people would not take “no” from me. They are waiting outside.’ On Vikram’s face, curiosity alternated with disapproval for the intrusion by outsiders.

Arul was about to ask Vikram to seat the visitors in the lounge till he got ready, when Vikram volunteered the information, ‘I have asked them to wait in the lounge, sir, telling them that you would be ready in fifteen minutes.’

Such was Vikram’s way! Arul had, however, other business on his hands. He asked Vikram to book a telephone call to his director in Bombay.

‘STD or demand, sir?’

‘Lightning! I have the authority, you know’, Arul smiled. Of course, Vikram knew. The question was a mere formality.

He wanted to consult Professor Kirtikar, the director of his institute before talking to the press. While Vikram struggled with the phone, Arul got ready and came to the lounge. He realized that he must stall till the call came through. Amongst the throng he spotted a familiar face.

‘Ah, Mukund! What brings you from Bombay?’ he asked Mukund, a Bombay-based correspondent of the
Express Times
. Mukund was known for picking out sensational items, be it crime, sport or political upheavals.

‘Your news, of course, what else?’ Mukund grinned.

‘My news? What is that?’ Arul tried to feign surprise.

‘You need not pretend, Arul. Here, look at what the teleprinter says.’ He produced a slip of paper as the others present murmured support.

‘…
Dr Arul, scientist from Bombay, has discovered a relic container in his diggings at Gauribidnur
…’ Arul was impressed by the speed with which news travelled.

‘I sent this news to UNI last night’, confessed Ganeshan, the Bangalore-based correspondent of that news agency.

‘And here is our headline in the
Bangalore Chronicle
: “Time Capsule from the Past”.’

Others had brought papers with similar news items. The titles were sensational, but the content thin. The journalists obviously wanted more to follow.

‘May I first know how you learnt of this event?’ Arul felt it was safer to ask questions himself—the surest way of stalling news hounds.

‘Well, a local correspondent of our paper happened to be in Gauribidnur, where he heard one of the labourers on your site holding forth in a tea shop.’

‘You are sure it was a tea shop and not a beer bar?’ Arul quipped. There was general laughter. But Kumaraswamy of the
Chronicle
was persistent.

‘Jokes apart, sir, may I add that I myself went to your site and talked to Raghavan, your manager? Apparently he has sealed access to the pit.’

‘What did Raghavan tell you?’ Arul asked.

‘He refused to comment.’

Reliable Raghavan! Arul had to emulate his discretion. Questions now started pouring in. Why this secrecy? Why was Arul here? Where was he last night, since he had been sleeping something off? …

‘Sir, call for you from Bombay.’ Vikram had materialized exactly when needed.

Arul turned to the gathering. ‘Gentlemen! I cannot comment till I talk to Bombay. And then, too, I can give out only what I feel should be disclosed …. Please remain seated, and I shall ask Vikram to provide you with tea, coffee and biscuits.’

‘It is all ready, sir!’ Vikram quietly wheeled in a laden tea trolley.

‘The D.G. wishes to see you’, said the note on a slip of paper marked URGENT. The signature was illegible but familiar to Navin from past experience. He contacted the P.A. to the Director General on his internal phone.

‘The D.G. is presently busy talking to Bombay long distance; but please go in right away, sir.’

The D.G.’s office was at the end of a long verandah. Navin paused briefly as he passed through the P.A.’s room.

‘Shankar, any idea why the summons?’ In the past Shankar’s briefing had often been useful.

‘Can’t say Mr Navin. But he called you soon after a call came from Shastri Bhavan.’

Shastri Bhavan—the seat of the Ministry’s secretariat. So the matter was ‘official’.

‘And then He asked to speak to Professor Kirtikar in Bombay.’ Shankar’s reverence for his boss required ‘he’ to be pronounced with sufficient gravity to justify the capital ‘H’.

‘Who is this professor?’—the name was unfamiliar to Navin.

‘The director of the Basic Research Institute in Bombay, Mr Navin. He is presently on the line.’

It suddenly dawned on Navin that the ‘urgent’ matter must concern the news item that had interested him in the morning paper. Wasn’t the discovery of the big container made accidentally in the course of excavation for some experiment of this institute? He entered the sanctum sanctorum after a light knock on the teak door.

‘Yes, Professor Kirtikar! We will move right away—please keep everything intact until our experts come … bye!’

The D.G. smiled at Navin as he placed the receiver in its place. His Buddha-like face was grave as well as benign.

‘Have a seat, Navin … You probably know what it is all about … that container at Gauribidnur. Last night both PTI and UNI wanted to know what it was all about. Naturally, I could not comment, as I did not have any first-hand report myself. But I contacted Professor Kirtikar, the director of the institute in Bombay. All he could tell me was that their scientist in charge, Dr Arul, was on his way to Gauribidnur and that he was awaiting his report.’

The D.G.’s face now wore an amused smile. Navin wondered why. The elucidation was not far off.

‘But last night’s experience warned me that events were going to develop further’, continued the D.G., trying to keep a straight face. ‘So, to anticipate future action, I immediately called Harisharanji at his home.’

Harisharan was Secretary for Culture in the government. Navin was familiar with this official and could now guess why the D.G. was amused. He lighted a cigar and listened for further details.

‘I asked Harisharanji for permission to send an expert task force to Gauribidnur right away. But he was cautious. He pointed out that we are already well into January and that until the new financial year starts it would be injudicious to undertake any new expenditure.’

‘Rubbish! This rule goes by the board when it concerns his own foreign tours.’ Navin could not control himself.

‘I know—but listen to the end of the tale. I got a long lecture from him on Plan and non-Plan expenditure, the cuts imposed by the Planning Commission, economies to be achieved, and so on. I began to feel as if I had stirred a hornets’ nest.’

Navin was not surprised. Mr Harisharan was, in his (somewhat biased) opinion the typical example of a senior government officer—ultracautious to the extend of doing nothing new, always sheltering behind procedures, and bound by red tape. Exceptions exist, Navin was the first to admit. Indeed, he knew of some enlightened secretaries who were efficient and saw beyond the maze of rules and regulations. But these, in his opinion, were a handful. He recalled his visits to the Lal Bahadur Shastri Academy in the pleasant surroundings of Mussoorie where he had spoken to civil service probationers. He had found them an enthusiastic lot—full of intelligence, initiative and freshness—just what the services required. But what the service moulded them into was the stereotype that was Harisharan. Why should the Archaeological Survey be burdened with a Harisharan rather than have the enlightened guidance of a Probir Ganguly? Probir Ganguly was one of the handful of exceptions—but he had been moved on to the Home Department after a brief stint at Culture. Now they were saddled with Harisharan!

‘And then this morning the situation changed dramatically’, the D.G. added with a mischievous smile. Harisharanji received a phone call from the South Block. No less a person than the P.M. was on the line!’

Navin whistled. He could imagine the scene …

‘The P.M., it appears, had read the news in the morning papers. He was quick to spot that the finding of the container was of great significance. He asked Harisharanji what his department was planning to do about it.’

Navin let out a guffaw. ‘I bet it woke up Shastri Bhavan.’

‘It did! In a complete volte-face, Harisharanji rang me up a little while ago. Now, it is all systems go! We have to send a task force to Gauribidnur right away … and that’s why you are here.’

The D.G. banished the smile he had picked up while narrating the incident and sat down. Navin knew that the ball was now in his court. He flicked the ashes in an ashtray and said: ‘Frankly, my first impression was that all this was a big practical joke. But on second thoughts I reasoned otherwise. What practical joker can place a three metre cube container a hundred metres underground? It’s impossible! But then, the other conclusion, that we have unearthed a relic of some ancient civilization, is also improbable. However, as scientific investigators we should not jump to conclusions. I will leave for Bangalore tomorrow.’

‘Today, not tomorrow! Go by the afternoon flight via Hyderabad. Take whomsoever you want with you. And …’

The D.G. paused, knowing that what he had to add would not go down well.

Navin guessed as much as he waited for the rest.

‘… In Hyderabad, Dr Laxmanan will join you. I will send him a telex right now and also brief him on the phone.’

‘Laxman? Why do we need Laxman in this business?’

Navin, as expected, was irritated. This was to be his show—his entirely. Why should he have to rope in an outsider?

‘I feel pretty strongly’ said the D.G., emphasizing the last word, ‘that we may sooner or later need someone who works on codes, languages … and even artificial intelligence. No one but Laxman can handle it.’ He pressed a bell to summon Shankar.

Navin moved to the window overlooking one of the tree-lined avenues for which New Delhi is so famous. He heard Shankar enter, take down the telex message and depart.

‘Where archaeology is involved, you are in charge of the whole project, naturally’, the D.G. added in conciliatory tones. ‘Dr Laxmanan will be joint project leader along with Dr Arul, who is already there. Professor Kirtikar, to whom I was talking before you came, has agreed.’

Arul was an unknown quantity in Navin’s personal equations. But Laxman was a difficult customer. Navin looked upon him as an untamed horse. It was hard to work with a man who was brilliant and at the same time totally independent in approach. Laxman always preferred to go his own way.

And what use would an AI expert and a code-breaker be in such a case? Codes can be deciphered using some knowledge of the thinking and culture of the sender. Here—if the container did indeed turn out to be genuine—they were dealing with a civilization far removed from the present one. So far as artificial intelligence was concerned, Navin knew little about it, but he could see no relevance of it to the present project. But he had to humour his D.G. Then a thought crossed Navin’s mind and put him at ease. A man of Laxman’s restless brilliance would surely be bored and quit if he found that he was not relevant to the project!

‘Sir, I foresee a few practical problems right away’, he turned to the D.G. ‘We will have to take the container out and examine it under tight security. Where can this be done?’

‘I discussed this point with Kirtikar. It seems they have just completed a building for Dr Arul’s project on the site. It was meant for labs and a computer, but it is still unoccupied. The container can be housed in a hall earmarked for one of the workshops’, the D.G. clarified.

‘And the computer? Laxman cannot work without one, you know.’

‘A VAX model has already arrived and will be installed within three weeks once the air-conditioning is straightened out. And so far as security is concerned, since South Block is interested, we will get all we need. In fact, I will get in touch with the Home Ministry immediately.’

Blast! This was not what Navin had meant. Would this bring the CBI to his doorstep? Anyway, that could not be avoided now.

They discussed further details for an hour during which the D.G. contacted Probir Ganguly, Harisharan and others. When Navin entered his office, his steno, Rajan, had a message for him.

‘Someone who did not leave a name asked you to call this number.’ Rajan did not notice the frown that crossed Navin’s face as he glanced at the number.

Although he could dial outside calls from his office phone, Navin did not do so. He left his office at lunch, leaving a message that he would fly to Bangalore in the afternoon.

But he did not go for lunch immediately, first going to a public telephone booth and dialling the number contained in the message.

‘Pyarelalji, I told you never to ring me at my office’, he began aggressively.

‘Sorry, Navinbhai!’ Pyarelal spoke in his soft voice with mock regret. ‘But the matter was urgent and you had left home.’

‘Well?’ Navin was afraid, and knew what was coming. Nobody was better informed than Pyarelal.

‘I gather that the P.M.’s office has asked your department to investigate this container at Gauribidnur.’

Navin was silent. It was never feasible denying what Pyarelal’s spies had told him. Pyarelal continued:

‘Well it is just a gentle reminder … don’t forget me when you are out there.’ The phone clicked off.

The conversation made Navin tense. Why were things becoming so complicated?

There were seven clocks in Pyarelal’s den, each showing a different time. The names Tokyo, Singapore, Bombay, Dubai, London, New York and Los Angeles identified them. It was on the fifth one that Pyarelal’s attention was focussed. It showed the time at 8 a.m.

He turned the dial of his phone to get a London number. He had greatly welcomed the introduction of international subscriber dialling, for it left no written record with any intermediary operator. With five attempts he finally got the number, and after several rings someone at the other end replied sleepily, ‘Who the hell is it?’

‘P.L.’ replied Pyarelal in subdued manner.

‘Hope you have something really important to say to justify waking me at this hour’ said ‘London’ in a quieter but still menacing tone.

Pyarelal expected this response, but was confident as he replied:

‘Not to be relayed on the phone. But look out for news from India on Breakfast TV—and take appropriate steps. Call me after ten hours.’

Pyarelal hung up. At the other end ‘London’ sat up in bed and switched on BBC1 by remote control. After an interview with a Ford executive and the latest report on the lock-out at the motor company headquarters, the programme turned to a chat with a cabinet minister—the one for trade and industry. On ITV1 a dog trainer was describing her methods of teaching various tricks to dogs. ‘London’ switched back to BBC1 at 8.30 a.m. After the Ford strike, the run on sterling and opinion polls in a marginal constituency, the newsreader finally came to what ‘London’ was awaiting:

‘In southern India, in the small town of Gauribidnur near Bangalore, archaeologists are examining an excavated container believed to be several thousand years old. No official comment has yet come.’

The news turned to football prospects. ‘London’ promptly switched off the TV set and jumped out of bed. In the next ten hours he had to get a lot done.