Ancient Encounter

Aziz suddenly stopped digging and sat down to have a closer sniff at the row of stones he had detected. "Carry on, " his friend urged him on, " or else they'll beat you. " " I won't; let them! " Very soon, a supervisor spotted the two Pakistani talking and not working; he crossed the space that the workers- all of them ' illegals '-- were supposed to level for a grassed area, later to grace a resort complex. " what got into you, ?" he threatened. " these stones did ", replied Aziz calmly, not averting his eyes. " Please, don't mind him ," implored his friend, " .. the heat ..." " Rubbish, " thundered the Iranian, in Baluchi. " you wait.. go back to work now, or else .." " or else what ?" asked a surprisingly composed Aziz. " This, " the supervisor's fist hit Aziz who dropped on one knee. " get up !" " No.. " Another blow to his head ..." No what, scum ?" " No work !" assured him Aziz. The supervisor was just about to raise his shovel to flatten him when there was a whistle. Everyone stopped.. " Come over here, all three of you... " someone called over a megaphone. " what is the matter ", the works manager enquired. " This Pakistani scum and his friend, that's the matter ," growled the supervisor; " let me flatten him, that will teach him...." " Be quiet, for a moment, would you ? Could I ask you, you are Aziz and Jamshed, aren't you? " " yes, Sir ?" " Why did you stop working, which one of you was it, anyway ? You know why we make you work, don't you ?" They knew: the gang that had agreed to smuggle them all the way into Europe, so as to escape persecution in Pakistan, had brought them to the site sometimes called Qudus' Mosque, north of Shiraz, where the earliest followers of the B'ab had been killed, unarmed and during Friday Prayer, by an army contingent sent from Shiraz, midway though the nineteenth century. " They'll work you in Iran to wait until it is safe to get you across the Turkish border, " they had been assured; " it also saves money that your family would have to pay to get you safely out of Pakistan ," the agent in Lahore had argued. " I am only asking for my share, " he had added, " four thousand dollars, please !" " Now, tell me why you stopped and would not continue... " the works manager repeated. " Do you know my religion, Sir ?" Aziz enquired politely. " No, what's that got to do with it at all? " the man wondered, genuinely puzzled. " Tell me iif it is important .." " I am a Zoroastrian " " Zareshtan ?" " if that's what you call it in Iran; yes .." " Once more, what's that got to do with it ?" " I noticed that row of stones .." " plenty of those; this is an old site; we all know that.. .. were you an archeaologist, by any chance ? It won't stop us; we know that it is a historic site; that's why this is to be a holiday park.. " " These stones belonged to a Tower of Silence..." " .. a what? " the supervisor and the works manager, in unison. " We Zoroastrians used not to bury or cremate the deceased.." " Not nowadays, I believe, " the works manager interrupted. " How do you know, anyway, unless you are an archeologist ?" " By the smell.. " " don't make us laugh.. " both men did, unkindly. " The site must be very old, " Aziz admitted, unperturbed, " But that row of stones was embedded in clay which may have trapped the smell of decay. We have a few Towers of Silence left in Pakistan .. " " in use ?" " No, Sir, but the smell does not leave them in a hurry; also, there is a way of recognising them.... I will not touch them, whatever you intend to do to me and my friend, " Aziz assured them firmly. " Look, the two of you, go into the canteen and elp yourselves to some tea from the samowar.." the works manager decided. " Ring this number, " he ordered the supervisor. " that is the Ruhollah's office.. " " yes, so it is .. Go and do it, now!" " what, a hold-up ? " the Ruhollah, a close aide to Mehdi Bazargan- Shiraz' leading Ayatullah- thundered; " we got people from the National Trust and Parklands already asking.. " -- they had, indeed, very politely; for it was a Protected Area, some two hours north of Shiraz-- " all the workers ?" the cleric demanded. " No, Reverend ", the supervior replied hesitantly; the Ruhollah was known for his shocking temper and his unwillingness to listen " what is it? Why aren't you at work and how are these scum allowed to get away with stopping work? didn't you hit them hard enough ? That is what we pay you for, too much, in my opinion..." The supervisor took several long breaths, then waited. " Two Pakistani Zareshtans, Reverend.. " " did you leave your brains at home, in an icebox ?" the cleric fumed. " I know it is hard to get decent help these days; try not to prove the point.. what has being a Zaresthan got to do with the job ..? " " a lot, Reverend; one of them discovered.. or claimed he has... a Tower of Silence .." " a Tower of what... " the cleric's voice could be heard several yards away, to the surprided chagrin of several men working nearby . " A Tower of Silence appears to be where that sect used to leave their dead behind... " " are you making that up, you utterly hollow nut, you .. " the Ruhollah threatened. " the Pakistani may have done so", the supervisor surprised himself by how calm he was. " I am not, Reverend.. Look, to cut it short; one of them claimed to have discovered the remains of an old Zoroastrian temple and refuses to work on that site, as does his friend.." " where are they now ?" The supervisor thought. " having a cup of tea " was unlikely to be a good answer in the situation, considering the Ruhollah's bile levels. " the works manager is about to shift them to a different spot while waiting what you decide, Reverend.. " he ventured. " someone's got his brain switched on, " the Ruhollah commented. " the switch is behind the left ear, in case you wondered," he snarled. " I'll be there as soon as I can leave here. Shift these two blokes away from others, keep a close eye on them and get someone to cover the site with some sand or gravel; we may turn it into an artificial hill or something.." " whatever's next, " the Ruhollah wondered after he had hung up. " first, that Indian finds out; now he's dead, some Pakistanis get into the act.. must be his cousins ..? " Meanwhile, the young couple were enjoying themselves on the terrace of Shiraz University's faculty of Medicine. Professor Velayati, the visiting pathologist and keynote speaker, had carried out the initial autopsy with some of his graduate students.. " our Chief pathologist is in India, along with my Superintendent and the Head of Criminal Investigations for Fars Province " he had told the professor earlier that day. " Nor can we use our morgue becasue we cannot replace our filtration system.. " due to Sanctions ? " the patholigist wondered . " yes, Dr Velayati. We are required to to buy spare parts through a central agency which is affected by international sanctions.. we are using what used to be the wine cellar underneath Shiraz Castle for the time being, to store Dr Aluwalia's remains " ... Bahman could not get himself to say ' the corpse '. " I am not delivering my keynote address till noon tomorrow, Chief Inspector, " the professor had assured him, " and my team can always do with a bit more practice ..." Soon after he had turned up at the Castle, courtesy of a university minibus, the professor, the policeman and a postgraduate girl student had taken to inspecting the victim's body. The professor had found a minute impact inside one of the cranial vertebrae, " exactly where Stalin used to have his victims executed, " was his comment. " My team had a look at that hole this afternoon " , he told the Chief Inspector and Shahrezad whom he could not stop smiling at. " It was definitely caused by hardwood not metal.. we tested it on some leather in the laboratory here .." " why, or rather, how do you know the difference, Sir ? " enquired the young woman. " because metal would have caused a different tear in Dr Aluwaliah's skin and we would almost certainly have found traces.. whereas with certain, very strong hardwood, you may not; the indentation is also different, under the microscope, my dear.. " he answered a question which Bahman would have also liked to have asked. Professor Velayati had secured some of the tidbits from the conference buffet for his two guests and himself. " I would really like to meet your wife.. one of my team members remembers her from Isfahan University Astronomy Club ", he had announced earlier, before shifting the corpse to the university for further investigation, him being one of Iran's leading criminal pathologists. Bahman had surprised himself: " Certainly, Professor; could the two of us attend part of your afternoon session ? " " I'll do one better, Chief Inspector; there will be an early dinner/ late afternooon tea, ahead of an evening session.." Having directed his team as best he could, to trace the missing curator and to follow up other leads, he and his young wife had driven to the university and gained entrance to the conference area a bit earlier. Shahrezad had shared a lengthy cup of tea, arm in arm with Fahimeh, her dormitory mate from their Isfahani days, and only just now joined the men who were enjoying the view across the university gardens. " May I, Chief inspector, " the professor asked, armed with his sense of exquisite courtesy, " ask your remarkable wife about her Verbal Visions.. ? " yes, Certainly, Professor, " stammered her husband ... " but how come " continued Shahrezad.. " do I know about them ?" Dr Velayati concluded. " Let me apologise in the first place for even mentioning them; your friend Fahimeh once commented on a case that we were looking into last year.. she said that Verbal Visions would help guide an investigator ' in the right direction '; then she mentioned you, young lady, not by name, but by example and circumstance; you must have just moved back to Shiraz. Fahimeh was talking about you again when I asked her to join the team for this conference, by name this time; I admit I stretched a long bow.. " " arrows? " wondered Shahrezad.. " Arrows ? " the professor hesitated. " As a murder weapon, you mean! There are plenty in the Castle collection .. is that possible, Professor ? " offered her husband. " Possible, if the arrow- head were of of material such as ivy, or a smoothly ground rock or piece of ore, " the pathologist ventured. " That is how I made the connection, not with arrows, good thinking, though " he acknowledged. " Now, may I take the liberty of asking you, or both of you, have you, young lady, had such a Vision concerning this case or one of the localities involved, whether we know it or not, so far; how does a Verbal Vision work and, would you share it with us... " The girl answered, uncertainly: " I had one, last night, before we even knew about the murder, and I told Bahman bits.. " " not all of it ? " her husband, surprised. " No, but early this afternoon, right in the middle of class, I had another.. " " Same locality, Shahrezad ?" asked Bahman. " I think so, but many centuries ago, and in Old Pahlawi, not Farsi..." " her visions give her the barest idea of a location; in this case, the Bab's Mosque.." explained the policeman. " It isn't that, really, though ? " enquired the pathologist, " I know that the Bab < a forerunner of the Baha'i faith > was a Shirazi .." " Sharezad' s previous vision was of a group of his followers, unarmed, being massacred by an army contingent while praying there. It is a monument, these days, to resistance against the Imperial Army of that day but I do not yet know how it relates to Dr Aluwahliah's murder.. " admitted the policeman. " What Shahrezad here comes up with with great clarity is any attendant dialogue.. " " which is what happened.. the scene is that locality but with heaps of buildings, such as a temple " " Fire Temple, maybe " ventured the professor. " Probably, Sir, and a structure like a silo.. " " a Tower of Silence, who knows..." Bahman realized.. " but where, love ?" " as I said; the Bab's Mosque. so-called; except that I get two readings ..." The two men waited for the young woman to clear her thoughts. " one is in almost ' real time '; today noon, I think.. " she ventured. " what language .." " Urdu and Farsi.." " the other ? " enquired her husband. " Old Iranian, centuries before the Arab Invasion; three men, clothing all in white.. " " Describe it to us, Shahrezad !" " a young man facing two older blokes.. quite thoughtful.. " " what are they saying ?" " How dare you...! " " Dare you what ?" The priests challenged the young Seeker: " How dare you say there is no angel called Mithra, the Presence of Light.." " Oh no, there are angels, " the young man affirmed, " but they are not Gods, definitely not the God of Light..." " why would that be ? " the older priest asked. " The Sage < Zoroaster > told us to follow the God of Light and help him combat the God of Darkness, " added the younger priest, proudly presenting his profound knowledge of religion. " Oh yes, " calmly agreed the Seeker, " but God who is Light, wants us to fight our own darkness, the one within us.." " What do you mean, young man ? " the older priest was still annoyed with the young Seeker. " You have been preaching a God to our people who we do neither know nor worship.. imagine calling your God 'dad' ...! " " people found it difficult to accept, " the Seeker smiled, " but that is who my Father in Heaven is.. " " Our Saint Zarathustra... " the younger priest stated.... " The Father in Heaven is also his father, " the Seeker affirmed. " Zarathustra's ?" the younger priest queried. " yes, and everyone's, really.. " " Is that what you told uour people ? " fumed the older priest. The Seeker shrugged. " Yes, and I also said that all we needed was to wish it so and live accordingly.." " Meaning ? " " Honour God, honour your parents, do not be envious or greedy, do not take what is not yours, that which was not given to you, willingly, and be joyful at all times .." " why that ? " asked the younger priest. " We keep forgetting that the real miracles are those that happen every day, not that we taken any notice.. " The older priest, while still angry, decided on a more thoughtful approach. " the people need us priests who have studied the holy writings and have learnt how to teach them...." " to guide your people, you mean ? " enquired the Seeker. " Naturally !" " God is the best, really the only, Guide to mankind whom He has created; for the Maker knows his creature better than a mere fellow creature would, is it not true ?" the Seeker affirmed. " No, " the younger priest protested; " the power of darkness is such that extra guidance is needed at all times.." " Darkness is within us ", confirmed the Seeker, " but so is our conscience, given to everyone in equal measure. If any more guidance is needed, look no further than around you; for God who is only Light has given us two such, one during the day to raise our crops and warm us during our work; the other for the night to help us find our way home and rest among our family and friends.." He paused. " It is simply not proper to recognise two Gods, as it were, one for Light the other for Darkness... I shall not say so again, but God is only Light and He will help us fight whatever darkness there is around and within ourselves if we but love, trust and obey Him.. " The younger priest saw an opportunity: " Tell me, Seeker, how may one obey Him unless taught by one of us ? " People are ignorant of the Law and of Scripture. " He sat down, satisfied. " they may be , " shrugged the Seeker, " but everyone knows to do good and be good, from within themselves.. We need the help of our Father to not give in to darkness, that which makes us steal, lie, not respect others, not honour the Father.. " " Is that what you taught our people ever since you arrived from India ?" wondered the older priest. " Even before I left India and the High Mountains northeast of Bakhtria..... " asserted the Seeker. " Well, don't do it here, among us followers of the Sage ?" " Zoroaster, as the Greeks call him ? " " The one and only; yes.. abide by what he taught.. " " he is dead; but the Father is alive, as am I, " claimed the Seeker, " and I need to teach what I have learned from HIM, not from a dead scholar.. " The priests sat in front of him, quietly fuming. " Will you stop proclaiming your kind of message to our people, young man ?" threatened the older priest. " My Father in Heaven made me teach the news of his forgiveness to the people who are ignorant and misled.." " by priest like ourselves ? ' " you said it, with all respect, " the Seeker agreed. " we have power to have you killed.. " " power that the Father lets you have, to test your nature and the choices which you are prepared to make; for else how can you learn to love Him, of your own free will ?" " What happened next ? " Bahman wondered, his eyes on his beautiful wife. " I'd say the priest let him go at night, hoping that someone or something would do the Seeker in, so that they did not have to do the ' dirty '.. " " impressed in spite of themselves, " the professor marvelled. " Tell us, my dear; was that the actual dialogue.. ? " he asked Shahrezad. " Probably not; for I had that vision in class today, at about noon.. " replied Shahrezad. " your girls would have thought you balmy, " her husband conceded. " If I had regaled them to the actual dialogue, in Pahlevi ? No doubt .. so would the parents and my colleagues." " what happens, Professor Velayati, unless I can deliver any such dialogue straighaway, I end up summarizing it, first in my mind, .. but you would't expect me to recite it in class, in fromt of my girls, for instance.. " " never a dull moment in your life, " the pathologist commented drily. " would you tell your husband ? " " yes, especially if it is meant to help him , " she confirmed. " But how can such a scene from centuries ago help him solve a murder case that happened last night? " Bahman had been very quiet, thinking to himself all the time. " It may tell us what Dr Aluwahlia suspected or found out..," he finally ventured. " The link, Chief Inspector..." the pathologist reminded him. " I was based in Lyon, France, on secondment to Interpol.. " " until two years ago, weren't you ? " confirmed his wife. " This would have been, yeah, about three years ago,now... " he confirmed. " I went to the main city library to look for a reference to Interpol's work during World War II when it shifted from Vienna to Berlin, and the effects of that shift on occupied France..." The librarian, Madame Ancienne, had taken a shine to the young Iranian policeman. " My father was the local liaison officer with Interpol, here in Lyon, " she had told Bahram. " During the war? " he responded, aghast. " yes, for the < Vichy > government, a full member of Interpol at the time..." she affirmed. " I have some of your refences here, Monsieur Bahman; can you read German ? " " is some of that material in German ? " he wondered; " " yes ", the librarian assured him; " Gothic print type, too; can you read that, Monsieur Bahman ? " " with some difficulty; yes " " what I had wanted to show you is a book, " Madame Ancienne explained eagerly, " which has just come back from Nantes---an inter-library loan, you see. You may not take it out; if you want any pages scanned or copied, you'll have to tell me; it was printed, in French, in 1894.. " " what is it about, Madame ? " the young Iranian asked, politely interested. " you do call Jesus Christ Issa, in Islam, don't you ? " she countered his question with one of her own. " yes, more or less, " he replied, somewhat curious. " Have you ever heard of, or read, La Vie du Jesus .... " " by Ernest Renan, 1863, not so ? " " yes, Monsieur Bahram. Now, this book is titled La Vie Inconnue du Jesus Christ... " " written by whom ? " " Nicolai Notovich, A Russian doctor and explorer, " the librarian informed him. " It was a controversial best-seller in its day, the end of the Nineteenth Century, written about a corner of Indian-held Tibet of some interest to the Russian Empire... " " the Great Game, you mean? " " you do know your history, Monsieur Bahram, " the librarian acknowledged. " Back to the present, please, Chief Inspector, " urged Professor Velayati. " Fast forward into this century, Bahram, " added his wife. " let me then tell you about an episode in that book that may have taken place about two thousand years ago.. " " at the place that I ' saw' it ? " asked Shahrezad. " possible, provided there was a Fire Temple there, or a Tower of Silence, or, perhaps, both.. " " Two questions, then, " insisted the pathologist. " Does the Iranian Archaeological Survey know ? " " next one, Professor ? " " Did Dr Aluwaliah know, or find out, what he was not meant to ? " If so, is someone on that site, doing things which they shouldn't, enough to silence him ?" " That is what we need to find out, " agreed the policeman. " Now, tell us how did the scene that your wife may have witnessed, via Verbal Vision, fit into the book that you told us about which you got to see in France... " " The book is based on a, possibly made-up, text called Tibetan Gospel, said, by Notovich, to have been created by West Asian merchants a few years after the death, or otherwise, of Jesus- Isa ben Maryam. " The particular scene features the young Isa being interrogated by one or several Zoroastrian priests who want to stop him preach the One Universal God.. " " A Hanif, no less, " marvellled the professor. " Even more so, the vibes- if you may call them that- were very much directed against any hierarchy of priests and established teachers of religion, than merely in favour of the One Invisible God.." " you are not to subdivide Divinity into Good and Evil.. yet, we are fighting a great evil in the reasons behind the murder of this gentle scholar of ours .. " Shahrezad remarked sadly. " Is a cleric to blame ? " she wondered; " shoosh ", her husband warned her.