When Places Come Alive

by Ami Bhat

  He turned around to his men and continued. “Now that Porus has agreed to oversee my victory, it is time to move ahead and add to our conquest.”

  “Great one, if I may?” a man dressed in sheepskin bowed and sought permission. Following a nod from the king, he said, “I speak on behalf of the men. I think it is time to head back home.”

  Alexander jerked in response. His eyes narrowed, and nostrils flared. Seeing this, some of the men shuddered with fear. A few cowered in anticipation of an outburst. “Go home? This is home!” Alexander roared and stomped. “We have expanded our home. And we will expand Macedonia even more. I hear of rich lands on the other side of Sindhu. We have to proceed there.”

  He looked menacingly at the gathered army and bellowed on. “And who will guard these lands that we have fought for? Some of you will remain here, and the others will follow me to their new home.”

  The tall soldier, who had initiated the exchange, looked around at the pleading eyes of his fellow warriors. The desperation in them gave him strength, and he decided to continue. “My Lord! The men are tired and sick. The harsh land has not done us any favors.” He looked up and saw many heads nodding. Without giving a chance to the king, he rushed on, “Our babies will have become young lads. Our lasses will have grown old. At your orders, we marched on and fought to give you what you wished. We have lost our brothers and friends to the foes. We have struggled with strange illnesses and sought comfort in the odd foods of the land. But we fear that we cannot handle it anymore. Forgive me, brave one! We are all ready to depart for our home, our Macedonia.”

  Bolstered by the speech, many men raised their voices. Soon the babble grew into a chorus. Enraged, Alexander stomped away into his tent, sulking and refusing to budge from his determination to make the land of Sindhu his own.

  Axios emerged from a small tent and made his way to the bonfire. Carefully picking up the warm flask kept by the fire, he poured himself a bowl of yak milk. Just as he took a swig of the liquid, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder. He looked up and shifted to make space for a mirror image of himself. “Not good, I am afraid,” he replied to the question that his brother, Galo, posed. “I think he may not last the night.”

  Galo sighed. “Him and the others. What about Alexander?”

  “What about him? He continues to sulk in his tent, unrelenting,” replied Axios.

  Galo shook his head in disapproval. “So, we have no choice?”

  Axios took a huge gulp and looked into his brother’s blue eyes. “I might have a solution, but then it would mean a compromise on our parts. Let’s meet in my tent. Call Melo, Dulo, Josif, and Nikanor.”

  Their relatives always said that the six brothers looked like “six peas in a pod.” Tall and fair-skinned with high cheekbones, the brothers could only be distinguished by the color of their hair and eyes. Axios, with his green eyes and brown hair, was the oldest, while Dulo, with his light-blue eyes and sandy-red hair, was the youngest. Twins Melo and Josif were second to Axios. Galo and Nikanor followed in succession.

  The six of them huddled over Axios plan. “Sounds like a compromise that we will have to make as a family,” commented Galo after Axios had finished explaining.

  “But for the greater good. We have lost so many of our brothers, and if we can stop this mad plan of Alexander, our sacrifice might just save many others,” remarked Axios.

  “I agree with Axios. It makes sense to make this small sacrifice. And we are best suited for it,” said Melo, rubbing his forehead. He twirled his necklace made of metal coins and continued thoughtfully. “None of us have fallen ill even once. We have been able to handle the cold and thrive in the sun. Besides, I love the colors of this land.”

  “And the fact that Laetita is here with you,” quipped Josif, playfully nudging his twin. “I saw them both kissing, pretending to shear the yak. But I know…” Melo blushed as the others laughed.

  “So then, is it settled? Shall I speak to Alexander?” Axios broke the playful reverie.

  The brothers grew serious and nodded.

  “Galo, Melo, and Dulo will guard your land while we head back. On the way, you can appoint more governors. After a few months in Macedonia, we can come back again with a newer and younger army,” explained Axios. Alexander picked up a dried apricot and mused over the new plan. For the first time in so many days, there seemed to be a feasible compromise.

  Things had reached a deadlock following the last argument with his men. The army had refused to march any further and kept demanding permission to return home. Alexander, unwilling to let go of his hard-earned victory, had refused to entertain their demands. If anything, he had grown more adamant about conquering newer lands.

  Sensing an acquiescence, Galo pressed on, “Our young men, who we left behind in Macedonia, would have now become stronger. They will be an asset to us, and we will have easier victories with them by our side. At the same time, we will be able to better govern what we have already won. That way, when we return, you will have more powerful lands.”

  Alexander slowly smiled and raised his hand. “Indeed! This does seem like a plan.” Pleased, he pulled out an emerald ring from one finger and then a turquoise one from another. Holding it out to the two brothers, he said, “Your reward for such a delightful plan. Go on and tell the men to pack. We shall leave tomorrow.”

  Hugging Dulo tight, Axios whispered, “I will be back for you, brother. Especially for mama.” Pulling back, he looked into Dulo’s bright-blue eyes. “I know Mama will hate me for this. You have always been her favorite.”

  “She will understand. She will be proud that her Dulo has helped many others. She always told me that was my first responsibility,” replied the youngest brother.

  “And so, it is. But I should have stayed back…,” Axios remarked.

  “No, brother. You have your lass waiting back for you and my little nephew too. Or maybe a niece?” winked Dulo.

  “Dulo is right. Besides, Alexander needs to be calmed, and only you have been able to do this so far,” pipped in Melo.

  Axios smiled and hugged Melo and moved to Galo next. Embracing him, he said, “Take care of these two monkeys.” He slapped Galo on his back and continued jovially. “And learn something from Melo and Laetita. She does have a lovely younger sister.” He winked.

  The brothers guffawed. Galo handed a small bundle to Axios. “For the road! Yak cheese and apricots.” He then pulled out his blue reward ring and handed it to his oldest brother. “And this one to remind you of the blue Sindhu where we will be waiting.”

  Axios blinked away his tears. He reached for his green ring and handed it to Galo in exchange. “This one will remind you that we will always be watching over you from the green lands of Macedonia.” As a last gesture, he removed his necklace of metal coins and put it around Galo. “The metal will ward off any harm, ill health, or evil eye. Keep it with you always as a sign of the Aryan clan. The Brokpa pride!” Josif and Nikanor followed suit. The three brothers, Axios, Josif, and Nikanor, mounted their rides and followed Alexander’s army back to Macedonia.

  Galo, Melo, and Dulo, along with Laetita and her sister, waved till they could see them no more.

  Enroute to Dahanu in Ladakh, India – Year 2000

  Sandra turned over the last page of the ancient memoir. It was a family heirloom written in ancient Greek—one that she knew by heart. Every inkblot, the small dust marks, the wrinkle design on the parchment—she could see them with her mind’s eye. And naturally so, since she had been devouring this since the time she had turned fifteen.

  Watching the blue Indus river from her car window, she recalled the time her grandpa had gifted her the book. “It is a tradition to hand this heirloom to the next generation when they come of age,” her grandpa had explained. “Your father never really cared to have it, so I kept it for you. Hidden within it is the secret of our lost clan, which they say still resides in the last village.”

  “The last village? Our clan? Tell me the full story,” S
andra had requested excitedly.

  Her grandpa laughed. Over the next few days, he helped her learn the language of her ancestors. With her new skills, she read the diary of Axios, through which she learned about the famous Indian siege of Alexander the Great. She pored over the conquests and rejoiced the triumphs of the six brothers. But the end of the diary always made her feel sad and incomplete. “Are there any more journals of Axios? Or are there some pages missing? Did they ever go back?” she had asked her grandpa.

  The old man had smiled wistfully and said, “No. The story ends there. Axios did make it back to Macedonia, but it does seem like he never went back.”

  “And how do we know that?” she had asked.

  In response, her grandpa had given her an ancient turquoise ring.

  “Grandpa, the blue does reflect the Indus river,” Sandra talked to herself as she turned the blue family ring on her finger. She gazed at the never-ending ribbon of blue water from her car window. So far, every bit of Axios’s description of the lost land has turned out to be true. The contrast of colors, the mountains and the plains, the heat that belied the freezing wind—it was as if she was living a page from the Greek diary.

  The book had been the start of her quest to find her lost roots. She had spent hours looking up Alexander’s army and its historic trails in India. The present-day population always reflected the Indian roots. Nowhere was there a mention of the Macedonian genes. Her grandpa had long gone, and instead of extinguishing the thirst to find her lost clan, the tragedy had fueled it.

  It was the small mention of a possible Aryan population, during a conference in Germany, that had caught her attention. Further research revealed that a tribe of four thousand people with hereditary traits of the ancient Aryans thrived in four villages of Ladakh in India. The gene pool was similar to the Macedonian’s, wherein the families were tall, had fair skin with high cheekbones, and light-colored eyes and hair. The tribe proclaimed that they had ancestors who were a part of Alexander’s army and called themselves Brokpa.

  “The Brokpa Pride!” Sandra recounted from the last page of Axios’s diary. “I hope this journey through the Himalayas from Greece finds me my lost clan.”

  “Julley48,” shouted a little girl as she climbed the steep path to Dah village. The kid grinned broadly to reveal two missing teeth. Her hair was combed into multiple plaits that fell to her waist. Waving vigorously, she asked Sandra, “Foreign tourist?”

  Charmed by the kid’s sunny disposition, Sandra broke into a smile. The steep climb had left her panting, unable to speak. At first, she shook her head. And then, realizing that it would be difficult to explain to the child, she nodded.

  Perplexed by the gestures, the child shrugged her shoulders. Deciding that she would not be able to converse further, she pointed in a certain direction, gesturing that Sandra should follow her. With that, she skipped forward.

  Bang bang! Whoa! Clap!

  The music and cheers grew louder as Sandra approached what seemed to be the village square. Seated around the central space was a large group of men and women, wearing colorful outfits and tons of jewelry. A smaller group danced to the drum beats in the clearing, while the rest of the crowd clapped to encourage them. A fire on the side roasted what seemed to be the village feast.

  Sandra stood transfixed at the high-spirited atmosphere. Clearly, she had stumbled into a celebration!

  “Hello there! Are you lost?” The soft voice brought Sandra out of her reverie. She found herself looking at the light-blue eyes of a young lady in yellow and red attire, wearing multiple necklaces that enhanced her traditional outfit. Quite like the little girl that Sandra had met, this lady had her hair braided into several long plaits. Covering her head was an elaborate headgear made with flowers. Her high cheekbones were enhanced by the dangling earrings.

  Sandra shook her head. “Uh…um…I am not sure. I…you see…I…have come from Greece. Dah...village? English?”

  The lady smiled. “Oh, I speak English. And yes, this is the Dah village. Is there someone you want to meet?”

  Relieved that the lady spoke fluent English, Sandra continued. “Maybe…a village elder? Or head-man? You see, I heard about the Aryans who live here. I wanted to meet them.”

  Chuckling, the young lady said, “Well, you are looking at one.”

  “You are an Aryan? Really? I mean, I thought you were from Ladakh? The attire, um, sorry!” Sandra spluttered.

  “I am Padma. We have been here for generations, so it is not surprising that you think we are from Ladakh. In some way, I guess we are, but we are still the few living Aryans,” explained the young lady.

  “Oh! forgive me!”

  “Don’t worry. We get a lot of travelers who want to hear the story of how we came here. I suppose you too would like to know?” responded Padma.

  “Well, actually, I wanted to share something…maybe with a village elder who knows the story of your first generation?” requested Sandra. “It is kind of hard to explain…but well, in short, I might just be related to you.”

  The music had long stopped, as had the dancing and the merry-making. There was a strange silence as Sandra stood in front of an old Aryan man and showed them Axios’s diary. With Padma as her translator, she told them all the tales of Axios and how the diary was passed on from generation to generation. “And then, before he died, my grandpa gave me this,” Sandra concluded, showing them the turquoise ring.

  The old man listened attentively, and when she had finished, he reached for his elaborate headgear and removed it. With his gnarly finger, he pointed to something. Padma took a closer look and gasped. Addressing Sandra, she said, “This Tepi, the headgear, is for the head man only. It is passed on from generation to generation. He wants you to look at the stone in the center.”

  Sandra moved closer and exclaimed, “Alexander’s other ring. The Emerald one.” Overwhelmed, she burst into tears and looked up at the evening sky. She whispered, “Grandpa, I hope you can see this. I did it! I found our lost clan. I found the last village.”

  DAH AND HANU VILLAGE, LADAKH, INDIA

  One of the homes in the Aryan Village of Dah in Ladakh

  Located near the India–Pakistan border, in the Ladakh territory is a cluster of five hamlets popularly referred to as the last Aryan village of India. The tribe there is believed to be Aryans who have descended from the soldiers that Alexander the Great left behind. Called the Brokpa community, the tribe is around four thousand members strong. The members are said to still have typical Aryan features that include fair skin, high cheekbones, light eyes, and red, brown, or even blonde hair. The tribe is said to have preserved these features by marrying among themselves.

  The Aryan community has slowly embraced Buddhism but still practice its own traditions. Their typical attire includes a sheepskin coat with an elaborate headgear called Tepi. The women are often seen with multiple braids. They believe that metal wards off evil and illness; hence, they are seen wearing elaborate metal jewelry. The community has its own special festivals with its own dance rituals and feasts.

  Additional Reading

  A Tale of the Last Aryans – Dah and Hanu Villages in Ladakh - https://thrillingtravel.in/aryan-village-dahanuvillage-ladakh.html

  One for All

  Lombok, Indonesia

  Tojang Beru Kingdom, Lombok – 20th Day of the 10th Month

  The warm scented water enveloped her as she sank into her tub. Two hands pulled up her silky hair, while another pair lowered her head slowly onto a soft pillow along the edge of her private pool. Fragrant fumes of Kamboja49 erupted over her head as one attendant conditioned her hair with perfumed steam. The other attendant softly kneaded her shoulders in a bid to release any stress.

  Closing her eyes, Mandalika soaked in the calm. The events of the last few days had been mentally exhausting. Troubled, she hadn’t been sleeping well. Every day had been torture, especially when she did not have the answers that everyone, including her father, had been seeking. To escape
from those questioning looks, she sought asylum in the forest. A few days in the company of the twittering birds helped her find the solution that promised peace.

  “On the 20th day of the 10th month—a few days from now, I will give the answer to everyone,” she replied to her father, King Tojang Beru. “You can ask all of them to meet me at Segar Kuta shore. We will end this once and for all. Until then, do let me enjoy my last days here.”

  A fresh wave of warmth jolted her back to reality. Opening her eyes, she gestured to the attending maid to stop adding tepid water. “I am done. It is time to get ready,” she told her attendants softly. A flurry of activity followed as she rose from her bathtub. One of the attending maids gently patted her dry, while another held out her silk robe. A third brought her cloth footwear, clearing the rest of her path to her dress chambers.

  Mandalika bowed to each one of them before exiting the bath chambers. Tears filled the eyes of one of the attendants, as she thought, Such a model of humility Putri50 Mandalika is. Bowing to people like us who are lesser than her. I will miss her so much.

  She smiled when she saw Ibu51 Nur waiting in her chambers. Bowing to her, she said, “Ibu Nur! I am so glad you are here.”

  The old lady smiled at her. “Putri Mandalika! Where else will I be?” Touching the princess’s cheek, she continued. “I was there when you entered this world, and when you took your first steps. Your first words, ‘Ibu,’ were addressed to me.” She gulped back her tears as she spoke, “How can I not be there to dress you up before you leave all of us for your new home?”

  Mandalika hugged the old woman. “Yes, Ibu. You must be the one to dress me up for my final day.” She pulled away and looked around. “I hope you have got all that I requested, Ibu.”