The keeper was silent for a moment, then spoke.
“I do not know which brothers or family members are still alive, but B.N. had two daughters and several grandchildren, all of whom I believe still live in his home village. I can give you their telephone number, if you wish.”
Max took the number and immediately put through the call. He didn’t recall the name of B.N.’s daughter, but as soon as she spoke, he remembered Shilpa’s gentle, almost laughing voice.
“Oh, we still talk about you,” she said brightly. “I was only six years old that night you dined with us, and you were the first entirely white person I ever saw.
“My father used to talk about you often and always fondly,” she continued. “In fact, on his deathbed he gave me something that he said you might someday ask for.”
That took Max by surprise.
“What did he leave for me?” he asked curiously.
“It is a book, but he said that you must come and fetch it personally,” she explained. “He said that if you ever called, that I should tell you he is sorry that he could not wait for you any longer in human form. He told me much else as well, and there are some unexpected complications in giving you the book. But as he asked, I will explain it all to you when you come, if you choose to do so.”
Mystery piled upon mysteries, he mused. But as long as there was hope, he had to pursue it.
“Of course I will come as soon as I can,” he said. “It will be wonderful to spend some time with you and the rest of your family. Is your uncle who taught at the university still alive?” he asked.
“Uncle Gupta is alive and well,” she answered. “He is almost ninety, but his mind is still as sharp as ever. He was with me when my father died, and he may have more information to share with you.”
“I will fly over within the week and come and meet with you,” he said. “We can discuss the details of your father’s message to me then.” With that, he said goodbye and hung up.
As he put down the phone, though, Max wondered how he was going to reunite the Twelve, when only eleven were alive.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
C.D. Mahars
June 2012
MAX ARRIVED IN DELHI JUST FOUR DAYS LATER.
The airport was twice the size it had been on his visit forty years before, and although the road was still jammed with bicycles, rickshaws, donkeys, cows, and pedestrians with huge bundles on their heads, there were primarily cars, trucks, and buses along the almost modern, four-lane highway from the airport to Delhi.
He spent his first night at the Taj Mahal Hotel, as modern and luxurious a hotel as any at which he had ever stayed. He arranged for a car to take him to B.N.’s village, just twenty miles outside of the city, where he would spend the rest of the time with B.N.’s daughter and extended family.
Max didn’t remember the road, having only driven it once at night so many years back, yet he was astonished at how he seemed to go back in time with each mile driven. By the time he arrived at the town itself, he was able to recognize the streets, which were still filled with vendors and small shops where everything from water to fruit and candies, old pieces of metal, and modern, electronic toys were being sold.
Small boys played Kick the Can, and girls carried large water jars on their heads, filled from the town well, just as he remembered.
So much was still the same.
When Max entered the Mahars’s compound, he noticed that the walls had received new coats of paint, and some of the chairs and benches that populated the outside dining area had been replaced.
Inside the house, however, the furniture was the same—the kitchen hadn’t changed, and the many books on the shelves in what had been B.N.’s office were exactly as they were.
As he stood looking at the titles of the books, Shilpa—B.N.’s daughter—entered the room and greeted him warmly.
“We have organized a luncheon for you,” she announced. “All the relatives will be here shortly. It is most auspicious that you have come on this day, for today is a holiday and a day of great spiritual meaning. My uncle is certain that the timing is no accident.”
Soon the entire clan had arrived, and they moved into the dining area.
During lunch Max was captivated by Shilpa’s son C.D. He was seventeen years old and had been born with a rare mental defect much like Down syndrome, so that his mental capacity was that of a three-year-old and would never improve. He could follow directions and make sounds, but he could not speak in sentences or even full phrases.
When he did make sounds, they were usually loud—he did not seem to have much control over the volume or to be able to judge the impact of what he might be trying to communicate. C.D. was very strong, so he was given tasks in the fields, such as picking vegetables. As a result his chest and arms were overdeveloped for his five-foot-six body, giving him the physical strength of a much larger man.
He had enormous brown, almost black eyes that shone with a brilliance and a light that was captivating. He was always smiling, and upon greeting Max, C.D. hugged him so hard that Max thought his ribs would be crushed.
Shilpa gently pulled her son away.
“C.D. is very strong,” she said reassuringly, “but he is very gentle. He will not hurt you. He loves everyone and animals most of all. He hugs every living creature he meets. He is more of a joy than burden to us, but of course we must be vigilant at all times, since he really cannot take care of himself.”
When she spoke, Max expected to see sadness in her eyes, but all he saw there was love.
As much as Max was taken with C.D., the young man seemed utterly enthralled with Max. He kept offering Max food and looking him directly in the eyes, coming within inches of his face. His intensity and attention were somewhat disconcerting, but at the same time Max felt a connection that was almost overwhelming.
He would look into C.D.’s large, dark eyes and see unconditional love and trust reflected back to him. He couldn’t help but stare back, transfixed.
***
After lunch Shilpa and Uncle Gupta took Max into B.N.’s study, which he had always shared with the other scholars in the family. The shelves were full of books and maps, and drawings lined the tables. Some of the manuscripts were very old, and many contained exquisite hand drawings. These were the prize possessions of the Mahars, a family renowned for its scholars.
Gupta, who had just turned eighty-nine, was the first to speak.
“We have been waiting for you for many years,” he revealed. “It is almost eighteen years since my nephew B.N. died from cancer, and he was not even fifty years old. He spent the last several months of his life lying on a cot we placed for him in this very room.
“As you know he loved his books and spent the last years of his life studying the ancient texts of the Upanishads, in which the sacred traditions and beliefs of our Hindu religion reside.”
Gupta handed Max a small, slim, pink notebook. Its cover had a beautiful picture of mountains and trees and a stream.
“This is the notebook B.N. kept during that time and where he recorded his final thoughts. On the day he died, he summoned me and Shilpa to him and handed it to us. He told us that we must guard this book, that someday someone might come and ask for him, and he instructed that if they did, we were to give it to that person.
“I can only believe that the unknown person is you. B.N. never said so, but no one else has come seeking him in the last seventeen years, and I have no reason to think that there is anyone else out there who is waiting to appear.”
Max held the notebook but did not know whether to open it or not.
As he hesitated, Shilpa spoke.
“I was with my father every day and attended to him every hour during his final illness. We grew closer even than we had been, since my mother was no longer living, and I was his closest female relative. I was pregnant with my first child, and this gave us both joy.
“On the last day of his life, when he gave Gupta the notebook, he told us both that
whoever came for the book must not take it from us unless my unborn child was to accompany the recipient, as well. The book could travel anywhere in the world, he said, but one day it must be returned to this room, and it must always be kept close to his grandchild.”
Gupta stepped in.
“This seemed a strange request, but as you know from our conversation forty years ago, we Mahars are full of surprises and strange knowledge.”
At that, Max remembered the yogi and his trip to the moon and beyond. Gupta’s voice brought him back to the present day.
“We did not question B.N.’s request then, and we do not question it now. You are free to read this book here, and you are free to take it with you if you need to, but if you do, C.D. must accompany you, for he was the unborn child in Shilpa’s womb.”
Max was both excited and confused. B.N. had been many things, but he had not seemed given to hocus-pocus, nor to whimsical fantasies. Why would he put such strange conditions on this “gift”?
What was in this notebook?
“Neither Shilpa nor I—nor anyone else—has ever opened the notebook,” Gupta explained. “B.N. told us that the contents were for the one who would come seeking him, yet would have no meaning for anyone else.”
Max thought about that for a moment—and no matter how he looked at it, what Gupta had said seemed to make no sense.
“We will leave you to read the notebook, and then you can let us know if you will need to have us prepare C.D. to travel with you or not,” the old man continued. “If you do, Shilpa will, of course, accompany him.
“C.D. has traveled before, and he even has a passport. He obeys Shilpa, and anyone can see that he has already taken a liking to you.”
Gupta and Shilpa turned to depart, and then the old man turned to speak one last time.
“When we return, we will ask for your decision.”
***
After they had gone, Max opened the notebook.
It was full of numbers.
There were almost forty pages of calculations, and on the final page Max found the final formula, and final notation.
21122012
This number appeared twelve times at various places in the notebook, as the answer to twelve different calculations based on twelve different sets of initial axioms that B.N. had formulated.
There was very little text in the book, explaining that each calculation was based on a different set of beliefs relating to the beginning of different eras of the Hindu calendar and other ancient systems, as well. B.N. had spent the last months of his life—right up until the end, it appeared—analyzing and comparing ancient calendars from cultures throughout the world.
On the last page B.N. had written a personal note:
The energy of my soul and essence is contained within these pages. As I transition and leave this body, I shall direct my essence into the body of Shilpa’s unborn child. My essence shall survive within my grandchild and shall be available in that child’s form, which, when in the presence of this book, shall embody the ancient vibrations and knowledge that the world shall seek.
In so doing I have fulfilled my destiny and my life’s purpose, and I now pass along the task of planetary transformation to you who read these words.
—B.N. Mahars
Max knew instantly that the book and C.D. would have to accompany him to Izapa. Somehow B.N. had known that his essence would be required at some future event, at the same time he knew he was dying.
Max would study the numbers later, in an attempt to discern what they might mean, but it was clear to him that through the book and his grandson, B.N. would be present—and that Max would thus fulfill his purpose of reuniting the Twelve, as the Great Spirit had requested.
He took a moment to catch his breath and then emerged into the sunlight on the veranda where Gupta was napping and Shilpa was cleaning up.
“I will be taking you up on your offer,” he announced. “Can you arrange for both of you to fly to Mexico City on the ninth or tenth of August? We’ll make arrangements to pick you up and fly or drive you to Izapa, the site of the ancient Mayan who created the Mayan calendar.”
He paused for a moment, sat in a chair, and gestured for her to do the same. When she did, he continued.
“I have been told to bring twelve special people to this site on August 11, and B.N. was to have been one of them. After reading his notebook, it is clear to me that C.D. is now one of the Twelve, for his grandfather’s energy now resides in him.” He paused to see how she would react to this revelation.
Shilpa just smiled.
“My father never told me in words that I would go on such a journey, but in those final days he alluded to the fact that some day I might be called upon to assist with a great event and that I should be prepared, should I ever be called upon.
“I will prepare C.D. for the trip, and I am honored to be part of your gathering,” she said. “I am sure much good will come from this.”
***
Max spent the rest of the evening playing a local version of Pick-up sticks with C.D. and his younger sister. C.D. had excellent control of his physical movements and won almost every time. He would laugh whenever Max moved a stick and press a finger strongly into Max’s stomach, letting him know he had lost his turn.
After every game he would hand over the sticks for Max to count, and although C.D. could not count himself, he could tell just by looking at his big bundle of sticks, compared to Max’s smaller bundle, that he had won.
This, too, made C.D. laugh.
When it came time to go to bed, he gave Max a hug and kiss that was as intense as any Max had ever experienced. The energy of his unconditional love reminded Max of the feelings he had experienced in his original near-death experience in Dr. Gray’s office in Tarrytown, New York, almost fifty years earlier.
As he fell into a pleasant and satisfying sleep, Max could not help but think, Finally I’m going to learn the purpose of my life. C.D. is the missing member of the Twelve.
And somehow, I think he is the one who has the most to teach us.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Izapa
July 2012
THE ANCIENT TOWN OF IZAPA WAS LOCATED JUST NINE KILOMETERS from the modern city of Tapachula, a commercial hub for the southernmost Chiapas district of Mexico, north of Guatemala.
Juan Acosta’s father, Manuel, actually lived just outside of Tapachula, three kilometers from the ancient ballpark, which was Izapa’s best-known archaeological ruin. Coffee was the dominant crop throughout the area, but in Izapa itself cacao was the principal source of cash.
Max could smell both when he visited.
He decided to go down on his own to meet with Manuel and to prepare for the coming together of the Twelve. He had checked with Running Bear, who had told him that Great Spirit would want the meeting to begin on August 11 at sunrise.
Before then, Max would have to find a hotel in Tapachula where everyone could stay the night before the gathering.
The only upscale hotel in Tapachula was relatively modern. Max made reservations as soon as he arrived and then arranged to rent two vans with local drivers.
***
The next day he sought out Manuel, who was almost eighty years old but had the energy of a much younger man. He still cultivated cacao trees on his small plot of land and hiked daily to the ancient site of Izapa—as his fathers and grandfathers had done before him—to open and close the entrance to the ancient ball field and the sacred monuments and other artifacts that tourists visited.
Manuel accepted small tips from tourists, but otherwise was an unpaid daykeeper, following the traditions of his ancestors. He prayed to his ancient Mayan gods, but only when in Izapa and only when opening and closing the site. In his everyday life he attended Catholic Mass and explained that he saw no conflict between believing in his ancient gods and in Jesus Christ.
Since Manuel spoke only broken English, Max addressed him in Spanish, explained the nature of his visit and his in
tentions to return on August 11 for a special ceremony with the Twelve.
“Es bueno,” Manuel replied. “Yo arreglo todo. Sé que es una reunion muy importante.”
Manuel explained to Max that August 11 was a sacred date that year and was the beginning of the final one hundred and thirty days of “love-energy” that would terminate on December 21, 2012—the same day on which the entire Long Count calendar would terminate.
This wasn’t just an ordinary ending, but the end of a collection of calendars that had covered a period of twenty-six thousand years, Max realized even more than he had before.
As Manuel took him on a tour of the ancient site, he revealed that archeologists had recently confirmed that Izapa had been a thriving town thousands of years ago, with a population of as many as ten thousand people. The monuments showed evidence that it was in this place that the Long Count calendar had been conceived, then shared with other towns throughout Chiapas—and eventually throughout much of Central, North, and South America.
As Max listened in rapt silence, Manuel explained that the ritual ballgames that had been played in this very ballpark were ultimately connected to the calendar itself. According to Mayan belief, on the pivotal date of December 21, a shift of consciousness would have to occur if man were to survive beyond the “end of time.”
Despite the enormity of what he was saying, he spoke calmly, as if to any individual or tour group. And as he did, Max suddenly made a connection that had been eluding him ever since his trip to India.
He saw in his mind’s eye the key string of numbers that had appeared repeatedly in B.N. Mahars’s notebook—21122012. Because he was an American, he hadn’t made the immediate connection. But elsewhere in the world, those numbers would reflect a specific date—21/12/2012.
December 21, 2012.
This couldn’t be a coincidence.
The Twelve Page 19
