Pradesh scowled, his enthusiasm for the topic wilting in an instant. "That is a rather sensational assertion, Mr. Savile. I doubt your readers would appreciate such a liberal interpretation of history."
The journalist smiled innocently. "It's just a theory."
"Not really." Pradesh's tone indicated that he would entertain no further fanciful discussion. "Well, I suppose you'd like to see it now."
They followed the archaeologist out of the building and at his direction boarded rickshaws. It seemed an unnecessary indulgence given the proximity of their destination, but Molly forced herself to relax. Savile accompanied them, his shiny bald head protected by a white Panama hat that matched his suit. He rode with Pradesh, but said little. As the little wheeled carts rolled them along a fairly well-kept path, Pradesh played the dutiful tour guide.
"To your right is the Tomb of Imam Muhammad Ali and further down you can see the base of the Alia Minar. It was to have been a tower to surpass even the Qutab Minar, but it never got beyond the foundation."
Molly glanced at the larger monument on their left, just on the other side of a courtyard wall. Up close, it was more beautiful than she could have imagined; the walls of cut red sandstone were delicately fluted, looking almost like several independent cords lashed together, with ornate balconies and decorative Arabic texts that looked almost like bas relief images at a distance. The courtyard wall was similarly beautiful, though in several places it had fallen into ruin and Pradesh led them through an arched gate into the courtyard.
"When he commissioned the building of the mosque, Qutab-ud-din Aybak used the debris from the Jain temples he ransacked. You can see the evidence in the pillars lining the courtyard. No two are alike and you will see many carved figures still preserved in some places, which is in direct violation of the laws set forth in the Koran."
Molly was studying those pillars when she noticed her father moving quickly toward what appeared to be a freestanding lamppost near the center of the open area. It took her a moment to realize that this rather ordinary looking column was the object of their quest.
"It's not the same, is it?" Hurricane spoke in a low voice, but Molly was close enough to hear. Indeed, although the Pillar was the exact size and shape of the column they had seen in London, save only for the different figure occupying the capital, there were several differences, most notably the color. The London pillar had been a dull silver color, while this was a slightly reddish hue of dark gray — the color of wrought iron.
"It doesn't appear so." Hobbs cautiously reached out a hand and touched it. Nothing happened.
Pradesh did not seem to notice their disappointment. "There is a translation of the inscription set into the base. And there is a tradition that if you stand with your back to the pillar and reach around it so that your hands meet, whatever you wish for will be granted. You should try it, miss."
"I wouldn't know what to wish for," Molly started, but then just as quickly realized that there was one thing she wanted. Without further prompting, the backed up to the column and extended her arms out behind her. The Pillar was only about a foot and a half in diameter, but the task proved more difficult than she had imagined. The width of the column was such that she couldn't bend her elbows enough to touch her fingers together.
Hurricane watched her struggle for a moment, then with a grin said, "Hang on, Moll. I'll help you."
Despite his warning, she gave a little yelp when he grasped her waist in his massive hands and thrust her straight up in the air. She reflexively clutched at the column and was pleasantly surprised when she felt her fingers brush together. Hurley had lifted her to where the column tapered enough for her to reach completely around.
"Now, that's cheating," Savile observed, with a good-natured smile.
Molly didn't care; she made her wish anyway.
Hobbs however seemed oblivious to the fanciful distraction. As Hurricane lowered Molly gently back down, the Padre knelt to inspect the translation of the inscription, which he read aloud:
"'He, the remnant of the great zeal of whose energy, which utterly destroyed his enemies, like the remnant of the great glowing heat of a burned-out fire in a great forest, even now leaves not the earth; though he, the king, as if wearied, has quit this earth and has gone to the other world, moving in bodily from the land of paradise won by the merit of his actions, but remaining on this earth by the memory of his fame.' "
He turned to Pradesh. "You said this inscription pertains to King Chandragupta II; is it possibly that it refers to someone else?"
Pradesh shrugged. "Anything is possible. But if you continue reading the translation, you'll see a reference to King Chandra; a very good clue when taken with the knowledge of when the Pillar was erected."
"Not what you were expecting?" muttered Winterbourne.
"No. This pillar is, I'm afraid, exactly what it appears to be. A column of wrought iron. It is the product of a very advanced knowledge of metal working, but nothing more."
"A dead end then."
Perhaps because she had successfully made her wish, Molly refused to admit defeat. "You said there are no coincidences. What if Mr. Savile is right?" She glanced at the journalist and then chose her words carefully. "What if there are other pillars and this one is a copy?"
Hobbs glanced at Hurley in a silent consult and upon receiving a nod of assent, turned to Dr. Pradesh. "Where again, did you say the Pillar originally stood?"
Savile whistled cheerily as he strolled toward his car, a luxurious black 1930 Rolls Royce Phantom I that he had purchased outright from a dealer in Delhi only the day before. As he drew near, his driver started to get out, but Savile forestalled him with a raised hand. He opened the rear door himself and slid into the seat.
"They're going to be going to a place called Bhilsa. It's about four hundred miles to the South. I'd like to get there ahead of them."
The driver raised his crucifix in a respectful salute. "Mine is to serve, Chevalier."
CHAPTER 18 — THE CHILD RETURNS
It was only as they were flying south from Delhi the next morning, that Molly realized she no longer had any idea what they were looking for. They had gone to London because of a vague remark from a thief in a hypnotic trance. They had come to India because of a similarity between two metal pillars — a similarity that evidently was not as profound as everyone had initially believed. And now? Now they were traveling into the Indian interior because of… what exactly? It seemed like they were moving further and further from the answers.
Her father also seemed to be moving further away with each passing day. But it wasn't just him; she felt herself being pushed in the opposite direction. It was almost like she was having an allergic reaction to her own life or rather, the life that had been thrust upon her. The strange events at the museum in the New York may have been the pivotal moment, but she realized now that it had been a long time since she felt any kind of control over her life.
At least the scenery was a welcome distraction. India was more beautiful that anything she had ever seen. The hinterlands of Delhi were arid grasslands, but further to the south, the landscape was green and lush like the Congo region where she had grown up, but with the rough edges sanded off. She could see the distinctive patchwork shapes of farms and villages below, not merely the stamp of human activity, but evidence of a civilization that had endured for thousands of years.
Their destination lay just to the west of the town of Bhilsa, near the ruins of an ancient village on the banks of Betwa River. There was a lake on the northern edge of the site and after a flyover, Molly determined that it was suitable for landing the Catalina.