“Precisely.” Griffin nodded in agreement.
The two lapsed into silence, absently watching as pedestrians ambled along the promenade or took pictures of the ocean view.
Cassie changed the subject. “So where are we headed today?”
“We’re going to see if we can find the island tower mentioned in our mysterious riddle. What better place to start than a city constructed entirely of islands.”
She glanced dubiously at the landscape surrounding the hotel. “You’re telling me that this city of twenty million isn’t a single land mass?”
“Originally, no.” Griffin dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and pushed his coffee cup away. “Mumbai, or Bombay as it was called until quite recently, was an archipelago of seven islands separated by swamps. The islands were home to a series of fishing colonies. Over the course of five centuries, various land reclamation projects connected all the islands into the metropolis you see before you.”
The pythia contemplated the high-rises ringing Marine Drive. “I suppose it makes sense to look for an island tower in a city of islands but...” She paused and shook her head. “I don’t know how you expect to find that tower in the middle of all this.”
“Not quite in the middle of the city,” Griffin corrected with a slight smile. “The place I have in mind is separated from here by eight miles of geography and a few thousand years of history.”
Chapter 9—Ferry Tales
Later that morning, after collecting a still-groggy Erik, the trio left the hotel and turned down Marine Drive in a southeasterly direction. They dodged a variety of foot traffic from sightseers and locals. As the sun rose higher, so did the humidity and temperature. Fortunately, the breeze off the water persisted.
When they came to the intersection of Madame Cama Boulevard, Griffin announced, “It’s this way.”
Cassie and Erik obediently followed him down the palm-lined street for several blocks.
“So where are we going anyway?” Erik murmured.
“He’s alive!” Cassie announced, nudging the paladin in the ribs.
He had lost enough of his earlier grumpiness to smile at the observation.
“We’re going to the ferry landing,” Griffin replied.
“We get to travel on a boat?” Cassie asked in disbelief. “Now that’s something we haven’t done lately. What’s the destination?”
“You’ll see,” the scrivener said mysteriously.
“Oh great, he’s being cryptic again,” she confided to Erik. “I hate it when he does that.”
“Huh?” was all the paladin could manage.
After a few more turns, they emerged onto an open plaza.
Erik paused to stare at the enormous edifice on their right. “Is this some kind of government building? It looks Victorian.”
“That’s the Taj Mahal Palace, not to be confused with the monument,” Griffin informed him. “It’s a hotel built at the turn of the twentieth century, hence the Victorian facade.”
Cassie turned to the paladin in surprise. “You don’t know the local landmarks? I thought I was the only sightseer in this group.”
Erik shrugged. “For whatever reason, I never got assigned to fieldwork in India. This is all new to me too.”
The scrivener led them past the hotel and across the square that fronted on Mumbai harbor. Dominating the open space was a monument of some sort. It appeared to be a tourist attraction because clusters of people stood around taking photos of a stone archway with themselves beneath it.
“Lady and gentleman, this is the Gateway to India,” Griffin announced grandly.
The trio paused to contemplate the structure. The arch stood over eighty feet high. It was constructed of a brown stone which Griffin said was basalt, and the design appeared to be a mixture of Indian and Arab architectural styles.
“The Gateway was built to commemorate the visit of King George the Fifth and Queen Mary during the time when India was still part of the British Empire. It was completed in 1924,” Griffin explained. “It’s since been used as the ceremonial access point for dignitaries visiting India.”
“That probably made more sense when everybody traveled by sea,” Erik observed.
“Yes, but it’s still fulfilling its welcoming function by being a popular tourist attraction,” the scrivener said.
Cassie studied the sightseers milling around the base of the monument. They constituted a jumble of nationalities. Some Asians from Japan and China. Europeans and Americans. Indian men wearing western clothing and women dressed in saris. Despite their varied clothing styles, they all sported camera phones aimed at the arch.
Griffin worriedly consulted his watch. “We’ll need to hurry if we’re to catch the next ferry.”
Cassie and Erik trailed him down a flight of stone stairs in front of the Arch. Several boats were docked at the bottom of the steps and were taking on passengers.
The trio climbed aboard a wooden vessel with tire bumpers lashed to the sides. Both the upper and lower decks were open to the elements.
Cassie was reminded of the water taxis that plied the Chicago River. Back home, open air compartments were unthinkable. Passengers needed to be protected from the Windy City’s frequently foul weather. Not so in central India where it was safe to assume a balmy temperature year-round.
An attendant helped Cassie step down onto the lower deck of the boat. Seating consisted of wooden benches lining the sides of the ferry. In the middle of the deck, plastic chairs had been positioned in rows and bolted to the floor.
“Let’s go topside,” the pythia suggested to her teammates.
They climbed to the open deck where the sun was shining through a haze of humidity and air pollution. More plastic chairs lined the upper railings with rows of additional seating in the middle. Only a dozen other people had decided to make the trip, so the boat wasn’t particularly crowded.
Cassie chose a seat next to the rail, and her companions followed suit. Noting the destination sign posted onboard, she turned to Griffin and asked, “So we’re going to an island called Elephanta? Are any elephants still out there?”
“The only elephants that ever inhabited the island were of the stone variety,” the scrivener replied. “When the Portuguese first arrived in this part of the world, they discovered an ancient sculpture of an elephant out on the island, hence the name ‘Elephanta.’ The statue has since been moved to the garden beside the Victoria and Albert Museum in Mumbai.”
Erik broke his long silence. “How long is this ride gonna take?”
The other two were startled, having forgotten his presence during their conversation.
“In terms of distance, it’s only eight miles away, but the trip should last about an hour,” Griffin replied.
“Everybody get comfy,” Cassie advised.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’m going below to grab a few more winks,” Erik informed them. “It’s shadier down there.” He removed his backpack and handed it to Cassie. “Keep an eye on this and wake me when we get to the island.”
“Pleasant dreams,” Griffin offered.
After the paladin clattered down the steps, Cassie gave Griffin a triumphant smile. “You should congratulate me.”
Griffin peered at her. “Why is that?”
“Because I didn’t grouse about what a big sissy he can be when he’s sleep-deprived instead of me. I’m taking the moral high road.” She stowed the backpack underneath her bench.
“I applaud your restraint though I feel compelled to point out that a truly admirable person might have resisted the urge to brag about her virtues.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Nobody said I was Mother Teresa.”
Griffin chuckled. “You are to be commended nonetheless.”
The pythia turned sideways in her seat to observe the scenery as their vessel pulled away from the stone quay. The harbor was dotted with a few small speedboats as well as several ferries making for other
destinations. She scowled in concentration as a thought struck her.
Griffin apparently noticed her change of expression. “I’ve come to know that look. What’s bothering you?”
She smiled self-consciously at being caught. “I was just thinking about all the faces I saw today. I don’t mean the tourists but the native Indians. I couldn’t believe the differences. Some are pale with green eyes. Some are dark-skinned with African features. What’s up with that?”
“Ah, therein hangs a tale. How much do you know about the ancient history of this part of the world?”
She turned away from the harbor view to give him her full attention. “Not too much. In terms of why there’s such a big difference in skin color, nothing at all.”
“Then you’re about to get a history lesson regarding the overlord intrusion into the subcontinent.”
“Overlord intrusion? Well, that figures. Are we talking about Kurgans from the Russian steppes?”
“Not precisely. The men who infiltrated the northwest portion of India called themselves ‘Arya’ which means ‘noble’ in Sanskrit. They would have been the descendants of the Kurgans who spent centuries exploiting the indigenous population of the Iranian plateau before expanding southeastward.”
“I’m guessing these Arya operated the same as the Kurgans though,” Cassie speculated. “Small bands of armed men on horseback who ride in and start pushing the locals around and carving up territory for themselves?”
Griffin nodded. “While that’s correct to some extent, you must remember that these nomads hadn’t yet mastered the art of career warfare. They were primarily cattle thieves who blithely stole one another’s livestock as well as the property of the indigenous tribes they met. In fact, their term for cattle raid—gosati—became synonymous with their word for war. They counted their wealth in cattle and as their herds increased, so did their need for pasture lands. Their expansion took millennia to complete as one generation after another leapfrogged its way across the steppes and the Iranian plateau in a greedy quest for larger herds and more grazing land. Around 1800 BCE, they reached the northwest corner of India and advanced as far south as Mumbai. The typical pattern of chronic warfare amongst themselves, abduction of local women and exploitation of the native population ensued.”
Cassie shook her head. “Same old story as what happened in ancient Europe and North Africa.”
“Yes, but the one difference is how hotly Indian nationals deny that an Aryan invasion ever took place at all.”
The pythia stared at him. “That’s one I haven’t heard before. Why is it such a sore spot with them?”
Griffin glanced down, seemingly embarrassed. “India has had a long history of being invaded by other powers, first the Aryans, then the ancient Greeks, much later the Muslims, and most recently my own country of Britain. There’s a touchiness about being perceived as a barbaric people who needed to be civilized by foreigners.”
“But how could they think the hooligans from the steppes brought anything to the party besides bloodshed, slavery, and misery?” Cassie challenged.
The scrivener smiled bitterly. “Remember that history is always written by the victors. By the time Hindu culture and religion were chronicled in the Vedas and the epic poetry, the Aryans had dominated northern India for centuries. Their literature depicted them as heroes who brought the gift of culture to a primitive people.”
“You have to wonder who their PR guy was. He must have been a genius,” Cassie observed sarcastically.
“It didn’t help that most nineteenth century scholars believed in the myth of Aryan superiority. It wasn’t until the 1920s when the matristic Indus Valley civilization was discovered that the notion of unsophisticated tribes inhabiting India was overturned. Contemporary Indian nationalists, proud of Hindu culture, want to claim that it developed organically without the taint of any outside influence.”
The ferry had now cleared the breakwater and moved out into open waters. Larger vessels loomed in the distance. They passed quite close to an ocean freighter whose wake made the small boat rock.
Returning her attention to their conversation, Cassie asked, “But what about DNA evidence? If there really were Aryans in India, then there should be some genetic trace, right?”
Griffin nodded. “You’re absolutely right though maternal DNA evidence have been taken out of context and used to support the nationalist political agenda.”
“People can always cherry-pick data to suit their theory,” the pythia countered. “So, what’s the real story?”
Griffin paused to reach under the bench for Erik’s backpack. He withdrew two bottles of water and handed one to Cassie. “To answer the DNA question, you need to know something about the caste system.”
The pythia interrupted him. “I did read up on that a little. Different classes of people were assigned different social roles. Brahmins were the priestly and scholarly class at the top. After them came the warrior ruling class, then the merchants, then the peasants. Untouchables were so low on the totem pole that they weren’t even part of the caste system, just underneath it. They did the jobs that nobody else would take, like disposing of dead animals and worse.”
“Quite right,” Griffin averred. “Though the caste system is linked in the popular imagination with India, it didn’t originate here. It was an overlord invention. Ancient steppe cultures maintained a similar, though less complex, hierarchy. Other feudal cultures around the world operated on a similar principle—medieval Europe and Japan spring to mind. In any case, the evolution of a caste system in India is proof of an overlord presence in the region. Indigenous Indians, or tribals as they are called, historically practiced a more egalitarian social structure.”
“You were going to tell me about the DNA?” Cassie urged.
“Oh yes,” Griffin laughed in embarrassment. “I appear to have lost my train of thought. The point I was trying to make is that caste in India is inextricably linked with DNA. When samples were taken from men of every caste, a high percentage of male Brahmin DNA was Caucasian. The lower the caste, the lower the frequency of overlord DNA.”
“If this is anything like what happened in South America and Old Europe and Africa, then I’m guessing the maternal DNA was all native?” Cassie twisted open her bottle of water and took a drink.
“Exactly so. Male invaders mated with local women. There is a very small subset of Brahmin female DNA which is also European, but it’s minute compared to the male DNA signature. In general, Indian mothers were indigenous, and high caste fathers were European. Lower caste fathers were indigenous.”
“I suppose that answers my original question about skin color. The higher the caste, the lighter the skin.”
“To some extent,” Griffin hedged. “It’s not an exact correlation. There are dark Brahmins and light-skinned Untouchables. However, fair coloring does seem to be something of an obsession in India if one is to judge by the number of skin-lightening products being advertised, especially for females. Girls with lighter skin are more sought after as marriage partners to this day. I suppose that’s a throwback to Aryan ideals of beauty.”
“Hmmm,” Cassie said pensively, gazing out at the horizon. Off in the distance, she could see a misty green shape rising out of the water. They were still several miles away, but the contours of Elephanta Island were growing more distinct. She guiltily switched her attention back when she realized Griffin was still speaking.
“Interestingly enough, one finds the greatest number of patriarchal customs in the geographic range where the Aryan presence would have been strongest. The treatment of women is a good indicator of how much or how little the overlords dominated a particular area. Gender restrictions grow less stringent as one travels from the northwest to the southeast region of the country.”
Cassie nodded in agreement. “That makes sense. If you’ve got a bunch of paranoid foreign guys trying to hold onto the lands they stole, they have to control the women they sleep w
ith. How else could they create a dynasty of sons to inherit all their ill-gotten gains?”
Griffin shook his head. “It’s an unfortunate pattern that we’ve seen repeated in far too many places on the planet.”
“No lie,” the pythia concurred. She stood up and leaned against the railing. Pointing out ahead of the ferry, she asked, “Is that it?”
Griffin squinted at the land mass looming ever closer. “Yes, I believe that’s Elephanta. We’ve already passed Butcher Island where all the oil tankers were anchored.”
“I guess somebody better go get Erik,” the pythia said vaguely.
“I suppose somebody ought to,” Griffin agreed warily.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Cassie suggested.
“I take it you don’t want to do the honors?”
“Let’s just say Erik can be a grouch when he wakes up.” She gave a martyred sigh. “I learned that the hard way.”
“Never mind, I’ll do it.” Griffin headed below.
Cassie folded her arms and shrugged. “Huh. A pity ploy captures rock, cuts paper and breaks scissors. Who knew?”
Chapter 10—Monkey Around
Griffin emerged from below with Erik lagging behind him. The paladin reached the top of the stairwell rubbing his eyes and yawning. Cassie handed him his backpack which he silently hoisted into place. The trio stood against the railing to watch as the ferry approached the island. Elephanta seemed to consist of nothing more than two steep hills divided by a central valley and all of it covered with dense vegetation. Protruding from the land mass was a concrete jetty that looked to be a quarter mile long. The ferry was heading directly for the end of the pier.
As the boat bumped gently against the dock, a crewman threw a rope to an attendant on land who tied it off. The Arkana team observed this operation and waited until the rest of the passengers had disembarked before descending the stairs.
Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2 Page 6
