The Colossus

by Ranjini Iyer

  Stop, he told himself. He always philosophized when bored.

  The phone rang. He grabbed it. “McIntosh here.” He listened for a while, “Sorry, my area isn’t South Asia but—pardon? Yes I know a little about the Indus Valley. Sure, I’ll see her now.”

  The distraction would be a welcome one.

  Julian walked over to the washroom and splashed water on his face. He returned to his desk and clicked on email. Dr. Jackson had some questions about an ancient Vietnamese text. The second was from Raquel—would he be coming over for dinner to her place tonight? She was going to try and make it an early night. She had a ton of work to do.

  Julian sighed.

  *

  * *

  Max stood outside Dr. Julian McIntosh’s office. It was a tiny room with one small window facing 59th Street. The door was slightly open.

  As she was about to knock, her cell phone rang. It was Kim, her assistant.

  “Hi,” Kim said, “You wanted me to remind you about the sausage-making class at the Butcher and Larder at 11:30. Oh, but you’re busy today, aren’t you?”

  Max put a hand over her mouth. She had rescheduled all her meetings for the day but had forgotten about the sausage class. She had been wanting to go for weeks. Maybe she could start her research after…but the class would last two hours.

  “I forgot,” she said, her voice a disappointed croak. “Do you want to take the class?”

  “I’d love to!” Kim said. Max felt a surge of envy burn through her chest. “And don’t worry,” Kim went on, “our handsome interns have the deliveries covered.” A bell rang in the background. “Oh, that must be the free-range meat guy you asked me to meet.”

  Max fought an urge to run to the market to shop for fresh vegetables, head for her cozy kitchen after, and start cooking, never to stop. She wanted to go to Dirk’s Fish and Gourmet shop and talk about the day’s catch. She wanted to do all this so badly that it hurt. She hung up. Tears sprang into her eyes. She wiped them with a vigorous palm and knocked on the door of the professor’s office.

  “Come in!” a friendly voice called.

  She walked in. “Hello, I’m Maxine Rosen. Err…Max.” Max’s cheeks felt hot. She knew she was blushing and she wished she wouldn’t. Blood rushed to her cheeks, giving her a patchy, wine-stained look.

  But it couldn’t be helped. Dr. Julian McIntosh was very, very good looking. His eyes were somewhere between green and hazel, and they were large. His mouth was full, and yet there was nothing feminine about his lips. He had a bluish shadow of stubble on his chin, and his auburn curls were unruly. Just begging to be played with. Max felt her breath catch at her throat.

  He got up from behind his computer, leaned back against his desk, and smiled. His slender body was dressed in a crumpled white linen shirt and narrow chocolate corduroy pants. On any other man, his slight frame and narrow pants would have looked silly. But given his professorial aura; his deep, rather unexpected voice; and his office decorated with haphazard piles of books and papers and a half-dead potted plant, it was rather perfect.

  “You have questions about the Indus Valley,” he was saying. “My area of expertise is East Asia.” Max suppressed a groan of disappointment. “But as it turns out, the Indus Valley is an area of private interest—a hobby, if you will. Oh, sorry. Julian McIntosh.” He extended his arm. When he said “Julian” in his rather unusual accent, Max blushed once more. What a wondrous name, she thought. What a glorious accent! What a killer smile!

  Max managed to take his warm grip and gave his hand a good shake despite her ruminations. She opened her mouth to say her name once more, but that ground had already been covered. She was glad she could recall that much, despite the tingling sensation in her ears.

  She gave her head a quick shake to clear it. “Thanks so much for seeing me. Um, I was hoping you could take a look at this.” She opened her grandfather’s diary and showed him the embossment.

  “Is this an imprint of a seal from the Indus Valley?” he asked eagerly.

  “An imprint of a copy of an Indus seal. It’s amazing that I remember, since my grandfather told me all this years ago,” Max added with a laugh. “The original belonged to a man they called the Colossus. My grandfather was given a copy when he visited a dig at the Indus Valley.” She took out the plastic bag the seal was in and handed it to Julian.

  Julian pulled out the seal and studied it. “When was he there?”

  “1935.”

  Julian turned his eyes to the ceiling. “The first expedition when they discovered the Indus civilization was in the early twenties.” He wrinkled his nose. Max noticed a dusting of light brown freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. “He was there not long after. How interesting.” He went to his bookshelf and pulled out a book. He flipped a few pages and handed it to her.

  Max looked at the picture of the seal in the book.

  “The picture in the book is of the most common type of seal found in the valley,” he said. “Your grandfather’s seal is similar—it has the unicorn. Well,” he smiled, revealing dimples. Could he be any more perfect? “We call it that. But it’s most likely an ox.”

  Max peered at the picture and the Colossus’s seal. Julian stepped closer to show her the unicorn in both. He was wearing a glorious cologne that was soft, peppery, and yet so masculine. She found herself sniffing at his curls.

  “Look,” he said. “The second horn is probably just behind that horn there—one-horn unicorn, hidden horn—voila, just a plain old ox.” Julian rubbed the space between his eyes. As if addressing a class, he went on, “Indus seals were usually square, about three-quarters of an inch to an inch and a quarter. Yours is unusual—it is round. Most have animals—oxen like this one or elephants, tigers, crocodiles even. What else…hmm…some have shown prototypes of the Hindu God Shiva—the Indus Valley may have been the cradle of Hinduism. There are usually inscriptions on seals, but we don’t know what they say, sadly. Some say the script is Dravidian, but….” He shrugged. “No one knows for sure.”

  Max nodded doubtfully.

  “Not helpful?” he said, his eyebrows raised.

  Truth was, she didn’t know what was relevant and what wasn’t. Her fingers went up and down the length of the cylinder of the seal. It was smooth all over, but her fingers landed on one rough portion near the end of the cylinder. Something had been drawn there. She looked at it closely. Drawn close to the bottom of her grandfather’s seal was a small broken type of square divided into four quadrants, and there were dots in every quadrant. It was unmistakable. A soft moan escaped her lips.

  It was a Swastika. She looked at it closely. It wasn’t tilted like the Nazi version. And the dots? What did those mean? The Swastika looked like it had been made using a penknife or some sharp object. Had Opa done it? But why? He was Jewish! He had been put in a concentration camp, for God’s sake.

  “Find something?” Julian McIntosh took the seal from her.

  “A Swastika!” he said. “How interesting.”

  Max felt a chill seep through her. Had the swastika always been there? Was there one in other Indus Valley seals? She started to ask Julian when suddenly she was in no mood to learn any more. No mood to read the diary. Perhaps Opa had revealed something in it that was so distasteful that he had torn and burned away much of it in shame.

  Max bit hard on her lip, wondering what to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  There was an awkward silence for a few seconds.

  Julian McIntosh sighed and folded his arms. “So how can I help?”

  Max put her finger on the Swastika. “This doesn’t disturb you?” she whispered. “My grandfather must have carved it there.”

  Julian looked at the Swastika and made no comment. He turned the seal back to its face, glanced at it, and looked again at the picture in the book.

  “It isn’t like any of the other Indus seals, is it?” Max said sadly.

  Julian’s face grew animated. “It isn’t and that is odd.” His
eyes were doing a little dance. “Clever of you to spot such a minute difference.”

  Minute. Really!

  “The Colossus’s seal is different in a very intriguing way.” Julian gave her a delighted smile. “I almost missed it.” He dashed to his desk and returned with a magnifying glass, which he handed to Max.

  She looked through it. The seals looked identical. Except for the Swastika.

  “Ms. Rosen, how very rude of me. Please do sit down.”

  “Max,” she said softly.

  Julian went to his chair. Max sat opposite him.

  “Not many experts would have noticed the difference,” Julian said. “The Colossus’s seal has a giant urn in front of the animal. Not this incense burner as is in the seal in the book. Whoever was the owner of this seal—and yes, all Indus seals had unique owners—was probably a maverick of some sort; that urn probably was significant to him, which is why he put it on his seal instead of an incense burner.” Julian ran his fingers through his curls. “Very unusual!” he murmured.

  Max looked at the pictures. The urn and incense burner did look kind of different. But not much. “How do you know it’s an urn and not just a different type of incense burner?” she said.

  “The commonplace urns of the period are exactly like that,” Julian said, sounding a tad pompous. “Archeologists found dozens everywhere. Squat ones, plain. With those small handles. Look at the incense burner—they rest on a pedestal, they always have markings or decorations. Urns are jars. No pedestal, plain. Different? Absolutely. Significant? I don’t know. But I believe that image on your Colossus’s seal is an urn, unless I’m quite mistaken, which I am usually not.”

  He gazed into the distance and continued. “Question is, why did he make his seal so subtly and yet obviously different than the ones of his time? This is a true copy of the Colossus’s seal, isn’t it?” He examined it once more.

  “Opa Samuel—my grandfather—told me it is a true copy.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story here.” Julian looked at her with great expectation.

  Max lifted her palms, “Well, there’s a journal. My grandfather’s.”

  Julian’s eyebrows rose a little.

  Max sighed. “I wanted to research the seal before I read it. I also thought it would be better to have an expert around to ask questions once I read it. Now that I’ve found the Swastika, I don’t feel like touching the journal. But the truth is, I have to read it.” She turned away. “It’s very involved…” She pulled on a lock of hair. “I’m sorry I’m taking so much of your time.”

  Julian waved at a clock behind him. “It’s not a problem. I’m expecting a call in a bit, but right now it’s fine. Please go on.”

  Max gave a little cough. “My grandfather was a chemist. He worked for a German pharmaceutical company in the twenties and thirties. He was even forced to do work for the Nazis while he was there. Then suddenly, he was sent away to a concentration camp. He was Jewish. That’s why I was so shocked by the Swastika. I only noticed it today.”

  Julian gave her a wry look. “Your grandfather did work for the Nazis, but not willingly, right? Besides, the angle of this Swastika isn’t right for Nazi symbolism. Those dots in the gaps are very Hindu. I believe some Indus artifacts have been found with Swastikas on them. It wasn’t unreasonable for him to put it there, given where he got it.”

  Max was not convinced. “But—”

  Julian held up his hand. He pulled out a thick red book from an over-burdened bookshelf, checked the index, opened it, and handed it to her with a flourish.

  Max began reading aloud. “The Swastika is an ancient Indian symbol of prosperity. Su means “good” in Sanskrit. Asti means “to be.” It is widely misunderstood the world over due to the fact that it was adopted by the Nazis. The symbol has been in existence for over 3,000 years.” She looked up, gave Julian a relieved smile, and continued reading. “Widely used to signify prosperity and goodness in China and Japan, even in Judaism! Indians use it in several places.” Images of garments, paintings, and drawings followed. Max closed the book. “I feel like an idiot,” she said softly. “He had said it was his lucky seal. I should have trusted him.”

  “He couldn’t have chosen a better symbol.” Julian leaned forward, touching her hand. “And I’m willing to bet that your grandfather added the Swastika for another reason. The Nazis polluted it with their ideologies. He added it for its purity. I would. And yes, of course—for plain old luck.”

  Max leaned back in her chair, fighting the urge to reach out and smother this beautiful man with a hug. With a few casual sentences he had dragged her out of her misery. “You must think I’m a fool,” she said. “My mother was Indian and Hindu. I remember learning about Om from her. But she died when I was so young.” Maybe she taught me about the Swastika, too, I don’t remember. I sometimes read from the Gita, and yet I know little about the significance of what is obviously a ubiquitous Hindu symbol.”

  Julian smiled. “You can always claim that you read the Gita purely as a philosophical text—thus keeping your mind untarnished by religious beliefs and imagery that might hinder your appreciation of its true meaning.” He twirled a hand in the air.

  Max blushed once more. “I try to read a verse as often as I can.” She tried to sound nonchalant. As if remembering her grandfather’s words, she added, “It’s not a holy book but a spiri—”

  “Spiritual dictionary,” Julian finished. “Gandhi called it that.”

  Max looked at Julian as if seeing him for the first time, except with even more admiring eyes.

  Julian nodded. “What’s the matter?” he said.

  “Uh, nothing.” She looked at the floor to hide her embarrassment.

  Max looked at the diary in front of her. She ought to read it now and see if there was anything in it related to Papa’s research. What a long, long shot, she thought wearily.

  Julian picked up the diary and stared at the first page with the embossment of the seal. “Do you mind?” he asked. Max shook her head. He read the verse written below the embossment.

  “You know Sanskrit?” Max asked. Was there no end to his talents?

  “Enough to be dangerous,” he said in a distracted voice. “I studied Sanskrit for a year when I was considering majoring in South Asian history. A million years ago.” He reread the verse. “My Sanskrit is rusty but—”

  “Yes?” Max said eagerly.

  “There is something familiar about this particular verse. Kalosmi meaning “I am time.” That reminds me of something. I think this verse is from the Gita.” He drummed on his temples with his fingertips as he tried to recall the reference.

  Max hadn’t quite gotten to this verse yet and even if she had, all she did when she opened the Gita was choose a random page, pick a verse, read its translation, and imbibe some strength from it.

  “Never mind,” he said with a sigh. “So the story here has to do with the seal?” His curiosity quickly seemed to turn to discomposure. “Or am I asking too many questions?”

  “I am on a quest, I suppose,” Max said in a more dramatic voice than she had intended, and at once regretted her colorful choice of words.

  Julian remained unfazed. “What kind of quest? I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” But he didn’t mean it, Max could see. His eyes were gleaming, his lips pursed in anticipation. If he needed strangers to bring excitement into his life, perhaps he needed to get out more. She should know. The sight of fragrant chives and fresh-picked tomatoes at the farmer’s market were enough to make her dizzy with excitement. Kim would turn to her, aghast, at such times. “Don’t stay in yet another Friday night planning menus and getting high sniffing cilantro and mint,” Kim would say. “It isn’t healthy. Come have a martini with me.”

  “I must go,” Max said. “Once I read this diary, I might have more questions. May I come to you then?”

  Julian nodded. On his face was an expression so kind, so very full of concern that Max blurted, “Or would you like to read it with
me? It’s disjointed since Opa tore a lot of it out. But it might be interesting.”

  Julian’s eyes grew animated. “Sure,” he said.

  Max felt an ache in her chest. Was he being kind? Or was he truly interested? She looked around and let out a nervous cough.

  “Would you like some coffee?” He leaned forward.

  “Please.” Max stared into his eyes. There were flecks of dark brown in his greenish hazel eyes. Or were they flecks of a green so dark that—

  Silly Max, what are you doing? You’re not a teenager, so stop acting like one, she scolded herself.

  “Is there something—” Julian vigorously wiped the end of his nose. “On my nose? You keep staring at it. So where were we? Ah, coffee. I have a fresh pot here somewhere.” He looked around and found his coffee machine. “It keeps moving.” He poured out two cups and offered her cream and sugar.

  He dragged an enormous chair close to his own and invited her to sit. He spent a few minutes clearing his desk and sat down beside her. They looked at each other for a second. Their noses were almost touching. Their chairs were too close. The room was too small. Max felt like she might swoon, overcome by the romantic intensity of the moment. She tried not to look too deep into his eyes.

  “The diary,” Julian said, all business-like.

  Max jerked her head away. There was an awkward pause. “Uh, I’ll paraphrase what I’ve already read,” she said. “My grandfather was head chemist at Berliner AG. Berliner was one of the fastest rising pharmaceutical companies in Germany. Their main competitor, Farbenfabriken Bayer, had risen to great heights following the release of aspirin in 1900. Um, what else…after that, Berliner and the other German pharmaceutical companies raced against each other to find the next miracle drug.”