The Great Thirst Boxed Set

by Mary C. Findley

  “I do like your size. You fit very nicely under there.” Keith kissed the top of her head. “But these places sure weren’t made for people my size.”

  “People your size just have to learn to duck,” Talia teased. “Come on. Let’s not keep our hosts waiting.”

  “I still can’t believe people live in this place all the time,” Keith murmured as they met Sophie and Naddy coming out of their own sleeping chamber.

  “They have no choice,” Sophie said. “Poverty and persecution have dogged the steps of all people who have not submitted to zealots of false religions or secularist persecutors.”

  “These people deserve our greatest sympathy, but I hope we are not wasting our time here,” Naddy grumbled. “How can a taxi driver and his sister have acquired the priceless artifacts we saw in those emails? If this is some sort of deception we could lose more than time. What if we are vulnerable to discovery or attack here?”

  A helicopter appeared in the distance. All of them instinctively ducked into an uninhabited cave until they could no long hear the beat of the rotors. Their hosts found them cowering there.

  “I wish we could reassure you that you are safe here,” the woman said, bringing a waterpot down from her head and setting it on the ground in the cave. Her brother offered towels and fragrant soap. “Please, wash and refresh yourselves, then join us for a meal. After that we will show you what we have here, and you can make arrangements to join your team in Harappa.”

  After they had eaten, the brother and sister led them toward the edge of the cave city. They passed many “homes” where people waved timidly and children ventured out to smile and stare. Keith saw that their hosts sometimes gave covered baskets to people they passed, and once he saw the corner of an Urdu Bible peeking out.

  “So these people really are believers?” Keith whispered. He tried not to let it bother him when quite a few of the villagers began to follow them. He also couldn’t help noticing that many of them bore scars and other marks of serious injuries. “They didn’t just decide to live here because they were poor or looking for freedom? They were attacked? Chased out of wherever they used to live?”

  “This is the face of persecution,” Talia whispered back. “You’ve seen news reports about attacks on believers but you’ve never seen the results up close. They have lost everything physically, but look at those smiles. They still have the hope of Christ.”

  She turned around and started to sing … strange words, but a tune Keith finally recognized. The whole crowd started to sing along, shouting and clapping. A familiar children’s hymn sung in Urdu was like an anthem of hope. Keith and Talia wiped away tears.

  “If you could do genetic testing on some of the people who are here,” their hostess said after everyone had quieted down, “you would learn that their bloodlines are ancient. My brother and I are natives of this area as well. Not all of us were driven here by persecution. Some of us are at home, returning to our true roots. We believe that the people who settled Harappa are all descended from the woman I have named Pipali, and that she was a daughter-in-law of Noah. We in turn are their descendants. People think that the Harappans died out or were subjugated or wiped out by wars. We have a different theory.”

  Chapter Fifty-five – The Well of Provision

  “Welcome to the Well of Provision,” the man said, gesturing toward what looked like a large patch of underbrush. Their crowd of followers began to pull and push at the edges until the visitors realized it was a covering made of woven fibers and dead scrub. When the camouflage was cleared away they looked down into a large well lined with intricate brick designs.

  “You may have heard about or seen the great Chand Baori stepwell and others in India,” their host said. “But this is much, much older. No matter how severe a drought we have – And Pakistan has had some legendary droughts – this well has never failed.”

  Keith stared down into the large depression with geometrically-patterned brick steps down the sides, disappearing into the water deep inside. Intricate and beautiful designs covered everything.

  “That’s incredible,” he said. “Did you have to go all the way down there to get us that water?”

  “No,” the woman said with a smile. “We have catchbasins elsewhere, but that water comes from an underground river. We believe it is part of the lost Saraswati-Ghaggar-Hakra River that once supplied Harappa as well.”

  “Why have no archaeologists told of finding this place?” Naddy demanded. “We have been warned not to come to Gondrani because of the erosion danger. But someone surely must have reported finding this wonder.”

  “The secularists who dominate the field of archaeology are unhappy with the very idea of such a find,” their host told them. “If anyone has found it they have suppressed the knowledge. Notice that the statuary and symbols do not conform to Hindu or Buddhist styles. They cannot account for the well’s origins within the time frames they assign to man’s supposed progression from simple hunter-gatherers to complex city-builders. This represents ancient knowledge of techniques we believe were passed directly from Noah to his immediate family and descendants.”

  “You have no doubt heard people marvel that Harappa contains no obvious temple and no idols,” the woman continued. “Such is the case here as well. These people worshiped God in Spirit and in truth. They honored rulers and creatures of God’s design, not personifications of demons or men who claimed to be gods.”

  “Clearly, there are similarities to Harappa in the architecture,” Sophie said. “But there are no such statues there.”

  “That is because they were destroyed by invaders,” the man explained. “It was the deliberate intention of the evildoers to blot out all traces of those who worshiped the true God. It is also possible that things were hidden, or that they were moved to safety. The so-called artifacts people display as coming from Harappa were left by the invaders. The fetish idols, so primitive compared to the buildings and other structures, do not belong. They might have belonged to the invaders. But some of us believe they were planted there to tarnish the reputation of the ancient faithful descendants of Pipali.”

  The brother and sister led them down the stairways into the well. “Take photos, measurements, samples – whatever you need,” the woman invited. “But take care who you show them to. People who have tried to share such findings as these end up disgraced or dead.”

  “We should have our crew here, not at Harappa,” Sophie lamented.

  “We cannot afford to call so much attention to this place,” the man replied. “You must do the best you can with the assistants you have.” He spread out his hands to include Keith, Talia, his sister, himself, and the smaller crowd of interested cave-dwellers who had remained with them. Everyone began to descend the steps.

  Sophie and Naddy promptly unloaded equipment from their backpacks, and Keith and Talia spent the next few hours holding measuring tapes and scales, using tiny brushes and whisk brooms, and descending deeper and deeper into the step well.

  “There is no evidence of radioactivity here,” Naddy observed. “No vitrification. How do you account for that?”

  “This is the theory we hoped to share with you,” the woman said excitedly. “At Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro, you have that evidence of nuclear activity. Skeletons in the streets, fused into the ground. Brickwork vitrified by heat too extreme to be produced by any kiln. Crystallized artifacts. The story is told in corrupted form in the Mahabharata.”

  “Are you trying to say that the enemies of truth used atomic warfare against the believers?” Naddy asked. For once his excitement was hushed, almost reverent.

  “You are close, but mistaken. Let’s break for lunch,” the brother said. “We’ll visit Mai’s shrine, and we’ll talk some more.”

  As they ate pipal figs, flatbread, and goat cheese in the shade near the shrine to Mai, the man smiled as Naddy repeated his question.

  “No, no, it was not the evil ones who harnessed the power of the atom! Do you not see the simi
larities in the story of Mai and wonder how she was able to destroy the demons?” The man asked. “What if she was real? There is evidence of radioactivity near here, as if an atomic battle took place. This building people call her shrine, of course, is a much more modern addition.

  “Beneath it are ruins, and they have evidence of vitrification. I’m sure you noticed by the water lines that the Well of Provision was at times nearly full in the past. Water can protect against radioactivity. So perhaps the water shielded the step well, and those treasures, from the destruction at Mai’s battle.

  “What if Mai really lived, and lived much earlier than people have led us to believe? What if she and other Indus Valley dwellers used atomic power against the invaders? We believe that is the kernel of truth in the legends of the Mahabharata. Unfortunately, the warfare seems to have devastated their own populations as well. We have done genetic testing all over Pakistan, and the bloodlines we can trace back to Pipali are rare. So few of us remain.”

  “This is the legacy of those who fight back against corruption,” sighed Sophie. “Marauders today are slaughtering believers all across the Levant and Anatolian region. That is only one battleground. Some are fighting back, but believers are called sheep for a reason. Christ was led as a lamb to the slaughter. He opened not His mouth against his murderers. Perhaps some did fight back, but should they have? Was it an act of disobedience?”

  They walked back to the step well in silence and Sophie and Naddy resumed their work. Finally their female guide spoke up.

  “Christ came to sacrifice Himself. He submitted to the will of the Father. But that does not mean all believers are to dumbly die without trying to protect and preserve themselves and the ancient faith. Better to fight back and lose than commit mass suicide like those at Masada and other places where they had no idea how to stop the enemy,” the woman said fiercely.

  Keith stopped his dusting with the tiny brush and glanced at Talia. He mouthed the words Warrior Angel at her and she fought to control a smile as she stood up and stretched after crouching over a figurine of a tall, slender woman with a bowl in her hands.

  “I think we need balance in our attitude toward the wicked,” Talia said. “Isaiah acknowledged the pride and idolatry of Moab, but instead of rejoicing over the punishment God promised, he mourned. God may allow us to be an instrument of judgment, but that isn’t cause for pride or glorifying destruction. I have made the shouting to cease. Therefore my heart intones like a harp for Moab and my inward feelings for Kir-hareseth. God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but desires all to repent.”

  The woman stared at Talia but didn’t respond. After an awkward silence, Talia gestured at the statue she had been cleaning and said, “This is very much like the images you sent us in the email. Just made of clay instead of the orichalcum and corundum materials.”

  The woman still didn’t respond. Keith had to wonder if she’d begun to question putting her trust in them. He could see the uncertainty in the expressions of both the brother and the sister as they exchanged looks. The man took her aside, out of earshot, and they partly talked, partly argued for several minutes. Finally they approached. Naddy, Sophie, Talia, and Keith all stopped what they were doing and waited. The silence started stretching out again.

  “We are overwhelmed by your hospitality, your generosity,” Talia said. “And the things you have showed us already – All of this is humbling. Thank you so much for trusting us, and for sharing the treasures your people have protected for so long. It can’t have been easy to decide to send those emails.”

  The brother turned his sister to face him, hands on her shoulders. He nodded. She turned back to face the visitors.

  “The artifacts from the photos are in the tunnel,” the she said at long last.

  “Tunnel?” Naddy’s ears actually seemed to perk up. Keith was sure of it. “Where is this tunnel?”

  “That pavilion down there is the mouth of the tunnel,” the man replied, pointing toward the columned structure about halfway down the well. “We wanted you to gain some understanding of the people of Pipali before we took you down there.”

  “You haven’t seen the half of what we have to share,” the woman said with a smile. “Come. It’s time to show you our contribution to your search for the Testaments.”

  Chapter Fifty-six – Pipali’s Library

  “I hear running water,” Keith said as they entered the cave behind the step well’s pavilion. “That must be that river you talked about. Does it go all the way to Harappa?”

  “We think it does, but most of the course runs deep under the rocks,” the man replied. They held up lanterns and exclaimed over the ornamented doorways leading to side chambers.

  “Whenever the temperatures outside grow unbearable, people escape down here,” the woman said. “The water makes it a least a few degrees cooler, just like Chand Baori. Poorer people used to sit on the steps close the water, and the nobles had these chambers to rest in.”

  “Fantastic,” Naddy said. His voice echoed. “Fantastic,” he said more softly.

  “In here,” the woman invited, letting them pass ahead of herself and her brother. “We want you to experience this as we did when we first discovered the contents of this chamber.”

  Keith followed behind Naddy, Sophie, and Talia, but almost ran into them when they stopped dead just inside the doorway of the chamber their guides pointed out. He slid around them to get a look but found himself falling under the spell of a room filled with intricate folding framework stands a little like a sea of camp stools, each one bearing a golden tablet. The stands seemed to be made of ivory or bone and had carvings that reminded Keith of scrimshaw. The part that corresponded to the camp stool’s seat was made of the skinlike material they had already encountered. Keith reached out and lifted a tablet. He handed it off to Talia, more interested in the hide holder for the moment.

  “This material looks different from the others we’ve seen,” he said. “Have they been kept dry in here?” He looked around as their host and hostess entered. “You said the water in the well gets almost to the top.”

  “There is a baffle system you might not have noticed as we entered,” the man replied. “It prevents the water from entering these inner chambers for the most part. This room, which we call Pipali’s Library, has kept almost completely dry, I believe. But isn’t the casing material water-resistant?”

  “Yeah, it is, but I think the ones we found that had been submerged for so many years …well … it looks and feels different. I can see it’s the same stuff, but this … you can see this texture … was it embossed or stamped or something?”

  “We don’t believe so,” the woman replied. “This patterning is consistent with your theory that it is the skin of an amphibian.”

  “I was mostly guessing,” Keith admitted, “because the water-soaked casings didn’t really retain this much texture. Wow. Do you know what kind of creature they made these skins from?”

  “We could call it Leviathan, or Behemoth, or even a dragon or dinosaur. Those are just words that conjure images in our minds. They must have been very plentiful, or a few very large specimens. Because the skin on these casings is so very much alike throughout, we lean toward a very large animal.”

  “How many tablets are here?” Sophie asked, touching a few timidly as if she feared they would crumble under her hands. “We have never seen them firsthand, like Keith and Talia did at Ugarit. This is … this is a momentous occasion.”

  Naddy nodded in agreement, apparently speechless for once, Keith noted with a grin. He realized he’d never gotten a very close look at the tablets, either, since they’d hurried so much to gather and deliver the ones they’d found. He took the one he had handed Talia and hefted it.

  “How’d we do that, hauling all of those out of the water to the Tesla?” he asked Talia. “These things are heavy.”

  “I kept thanking God we had the scooters, or we never would have made it,” Talia replied. “But there are mor
e here. We can’t remove them, of course …” she trailed off and risked a look at their guides.

  “On the contrary, we want you to take them,” the woman exclaimed. “They have sat here for centuries, benefiting no one because the language was lost to us. Now at least someone is trying to understand and make use of them. It may be that they will help with understanding the ones you already have, or that those may hold keys to understanding these. Either way, it is clear that they are related.”

  “How in the world are we going to get them out of here?” Keith asked.

  “David Sharon is with the dig team at Harappa,” Talia said. “He has one of Drew Summers’s helicopters.”

  “This is a gray area, you know,” Naddy grumbled. “We have permits for artifacts from Harappa, and from Mohenjo-Daro, since I thought we might need to cross-reference. But we have no authority to take these tablets out of the country.”

  “The Well of Provision and the true site of the Shrine of Mai are Harappan – Indus Valley sites,” the woman insisted. “Whether they settled at Harappa first, or here, your permits expressly cover related finds determined to also be of Harappan origin, or Daroan. Here. Here are the statues and artifacts I sent you pictures of.”

  She pulled them into another room and they saw niches containing glittering orichalcum artifacts. “Take them also. We have extra wrappings made of the amphibian skin. They mold into shape and protect the artifacts beautifully. When you get to Harappa, find the great bath and look for the image of Pipali etched into the southern steps. It’s very small, hidden under an overhang, and no one else seems to have discovered it.

  “But there is a sort of bunker beneath the bath, and you will find more images, and more artifacts. That will make all the connection you need to satisfy the antiquities minister of the commonality of the artifacts. Please, please relight the lamp of Pipali. Teach the ancient truth. Protect it and spread it.”