There was nothing for it but to follow. I took Hermione’s hand in mine, and there was just room enough for the two of us to walk abreast. Apart from the swish of our progress, the silence was oppressive, almost palpable. And as we advanced, I could not help reflecting on the oddity of our situation and the queer fact of its recurrence—soaked and speechless (speak for oneself!) in darkest night—all within the space of rather less than twenty-four hours. Hector was evidently pondering in like manner.
“It looks like history repeats itself,” he remarked with a somewhat contrived chuckle, “only I doubt if we should be able to haul ourselves out of this hole quite so easily; and I’m damned sure we won’t find a splendid dinner awaiting us round the corner.”
What exactly would we find round the next corner, I wondered? And suddenly I was overwhelmed by the thought that I was anything but anxious to know the answer.
“Light!” cried Hector, “let there be light!” We were apparently emerging from an S-shaped curve in the tunnel. And there was light! Indeed there was light! And, by God, it was good!
Passing under a lofty archway, we stepped into a large rectangular chamber, centrally lit from a vertical shaft in the roof, of similar construction to the other formations we had seen, only narrower and deeper. The beam of light struck the surface of an oblong slab of stone, projecting above the water which covered all the floor to a depth of several inches. Let into the walls on either side were niches, framing statues of the elephant-headed Ganesh, God of wisdom and foresight. One was reminded of that famous touristic attraction, the Elephant Cave at Bedaulu, except that the dimensions of the room in which we stood and its statuary were far more impressive. In the rear wall facing us were excavated coves, three in number, ranged evenly, in each a rock-cut tjandi or representation of a cremational tower. Clearly this was the burial chamber of some great personage, whether spiritual leader or warrior king.
We had made an astonishing discovery. In the current century, a fair number of ancient monuments and other relics of antiquity had come to light, and were properly documented by the archaeologists of the day. But, to my certain knowledge, no account of this place existed: it was completely unknown.
Inscribed on the upraised platform before us, which was presumably the tombstone and formed the focal point within the mausoleum, were hierographs of Sanskrit or kawi, the ancient poetic tongue. Drawing near to examine these, a still more startling discovery was made.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Hector, beside himself with excitement; as indeed were we all. “Just look at this, will you!” He was pointing to the lower end of the level block, which remained in shadow, outside the area of directly transmitted light. Something glowed dully in the dimness. And then I became aware of, or rather keenly conscious of, the smell. It was subtly pervasive and aromatic, contrasting with the damp, mephitic odour one normally associates with guano and subterranean lairs, and I had sensed it at the moment of our entrance. The atmosphere was charged with the sweet, pungent scent of sandalwood. Now I could see the fragile plume of smoke drifting upward from the burning incense stick, supported on its little plaited tray of palm and bed of starry flowers.
Someone had been here before us, in the very recent past. Someone, unknown and invisible to us, had come to render an oblation in reverence to the spirit of this place. All at once, I felt the surge of an indefinable force within me and I seemed about to succumb to the infinite genius that was here, the alarums in my ears reinvested and resounding more madly than ever.
“Are you all right?” Hermione was holding me against her, arms encircling my chest. I could barely hear her, although her lips were brushing my lobes, and I scarcely sensed the warmth of her breath on my neck. I think I must have tottered momentarily, almost swooned in fact. All else was blotted out by this infernal belling in my brain.
“Come and sit here.” Gently lowering me to the podium, she sat beside me. And despite my extrasensory state, I know I felt that we were committing a great sacrilege. I made to move and stand upright. But it was too late.
The ringing became a roaring, unendurable if not enduring.
Ever louder and nearer it came, and the walls began to shake.
“Earthquake!” I heard myself scream. And so in truth it seemed, for the vibration was real, but the effect belied the cause. Before I could haul myself erect, with a tumultuous reeking rush, the opening to the passage appeared to explode, like the slit entrance of a pill-box into which a grenade has been tossed, and the raging flood burst through with a fearful force, which swept over us, hurling us against the rear wall.
For a few terrifying moments I found myself trapped inside one of the sculpted cells, pinned between pillar and dais—time enough to ponder the riddle of the origin of such cavities. Seat of meditation, or of lying in state? Sequestered ascetic retreat, or mortuary? Or random expression of some giant’s whim?
The pressure eased, but I was drowning. I clawed my way out of the cove, only to find myself spinning out of control, propelled forward by the current, as a tea-leaf revolving in a cup being stirred. Finally I broke surface, gasping, and alternately bumping and scraping against the walls. And then I spied Hector, bobbing in the centre of the maelstrom, picked out indelibly by the natural spotlight’s glare. He saw me and waved.
“Come over here!” he yelled, “less motion in the middle.”
I was about to swim over, when I realized that only two heads were visible.
“For Christ’s sake! where’s Hermione?” I shouted; and without waiting for an answer, I sucked in an almighty breath and dived down, hoping to discover the cove where, like me, I felt certain she had been trapped. Thank God, it took but an instant to find her. She was wedged, as I had been, in one of the monumental hollows, and the impact must have knocked her senseless. I grabbed her legs and pulled for all I was worth, and she floated free, and we rose to the surface. But still she was limp and unconscious. And then the dread notion assailed me. What if she were no longer living?
Even as the fearful thought struck unbidden, it was denied. Her lashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened and seemed to register my presence, whilst the semblance of a smile played upon her parting lips. A violent spasm shook her, and choking and heaving, she began to rid herself of the unutterable flood. And as she restored herself, I continued to hold her with all my strength.
“Thank God!” I breathed, “you’re safe.” But no sooner had I given expression to my relief than it dawned on me that Hector was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the length and breadth of the pool, and each dark corner, and I drew a blank. Nothing! How could I conceivably duck again, without abandoning Hermione?
As I wrestled with this new dilemma, Hector’s head suddenly appeared an arm’s length away. His eyes rested on us for fully ten seconds, and although he uttered not a word, I could tell that he was being steadily redeemed from dismay and disbelief, until he was wholly reassured and himself again. I guessed what had happened: of course he too had plunged in unison with me, and joined the frantic search for his sister. It had been my unerring luck to discover her as speedily as I did, while he continued to hunt until the blood sang in his head. So were the three of us reunited; but without the ability to stand, and with the water still rising so that barely three feet remained between us and the roof, our prospects overall were appalling.
The water had to drain away eventually somewhere. We had seen other tunnels leading from the main passage, which could conceivably have once formed part of an irrigation system. But how long would it take for the level to subside, particularly through channels blocked by the wreckage and alluvium of flash flood? And still the water continued to rise.
I was rapidly nearing the end of my strength, endeavouring to keep myself as well as Hermione afloat. Thankfully she had now regained consciousness and was beginning to respond to the situation, and Hector relieved me of the task of supporting her. He was besides more powerfully built and a better swimmer than I. But strength and endurance notwithstanding, no hope on earth seemed to avail us or prevent our drowning like rats in an inundated sewer.
Yet