Phean
Sergeant
I don't know if it's cool to post something this long, if not, please tell me. I could use a few words from someone with experience regarding contemporary India, it would help in elaborating the office descriptions, the experience of a traveler in India on business, etc. I would be happy just to be pointed to research sources, but first hand accounts are better. I know there are factual errors here, they will be corrected, I just need to do more research. I do not consider this done yet, however, I'd love to hear what you guys think of it thus far, enjoy.
The Sanjivani
Will clicked his phone closed and looked at his alarm clock. Were they totally insane? Who schedules an assignment and doesn’t tell the writer? Why was he still asking these kinds of questions? He groaned and climbed out of bed… fully clothed. It was this particular brand of shenanigans that got him into the habit of sleeping fully clothed in the first place. Grabbing his mp3 player and a duffle bag he selected a particularly abrasive punk album and turned it up, and as he started jamming apparently random clothing into the duffle, it dawned on him… What, pray tell, would I even wear in India? As the vision of him dying of hypothermia in cargo shorts as sherpas looked on and laughed faded from his head, he wandered through the kitchen poured a cup of coffee. Failing to ask himself why there was fresh coffee at three in the morning, he belligerently wandered into the office of the apartment, where the question was answered by his Marcus, his roommate, furiously tapping keys in what was yet another all night online gaming marathon for him.
“Really dude? When do you sleep?” Will didn’t even look, he just kept going, clicking open and booting his laptop for his own strange quest. What clothing will prevent death in rural mountainous India?
“Sleep is for the weak!” Marcus exclaimed “Dude. This is the third time we’ve creamed this boss tonight…” He seemed proud of the inane feat.
“Isn’t there some kind of rule against that?”
“Yep… but knowing network administrators does come with perks. Wait, what are you doing?”
“India… need to find out what to wear.”
“…What?” Marcus stopped and looked over shaking his head in disbelief, and laughing, but at least trying to hide it.
“Navi Mumbai… They are sending me to Navi Mumbai. Some wanker claims to have found the sacred herb that revived some dude in the old Vedic texts. A guru is claiming that it’s real.” Will kept clicking and looking for current weather reports, he had one hour before he had to be in a cab to the airport.
“…What?” Marcus was now openly laughing, after a moment he calmed himself. “Wait, which herb? Soma? Didn’t the priests wipe that off the face of the earth when commoners started using it for recreational purposes?”
“No…” Will looked back down at his phone, scrolling through his assignment background “Sanjivani, the one from the Ramayana.”
“Oh yeah! Where that monkey hucks a mountain at that dude? That was badass.”
“Mark…” Will sat down and cupped his face with his hands, an action of frustration commonly known as a ‘facepalm’ “Your simultaneous knowledge of sacred Vedic literature, and ability to describe it as ‘Badass’ in the same sentence… gives my brain dry heaves.”
“Actually, I was trying to make you cry… Jimbophobe said he’d give me three gold if I could make you cry before you got on the plane.”
“Mark… Is your microphone on?” Will asked rubbing his forehead.
“AND webcam!” Marcus smiled gleefully
Will just stared at him through his fingers for a good thirty seconds. “I hate you so very… very much right now Mark.” His face twitched slightly, and he turned back to his screen. Talking to himself, trying to ignore his roommate; “It’s a tropic region. I’m wearing shorts.” He blinked, shut his computer, got up and walked out of the room. Muttering to himself the terrible things he would one day do to his roommate.
“You don’t have the legs for it whitey!” Marcus yelled after a slight pause, waiting for him to leave the room.
“I know where you sleep.” Will bellowed back.
“Bring me something nice?” Marcus chirped in playful response.
Will had returned to his room, long stopped paying attention, and was jamming clothing once again into his black canvas duffle. For the same reason as him sleeping fully clothed, his camera pack was also fully packed and ready for anything, at any given time.
Will clicked his phone closed and looked at his alarm clock. Were they totally insane? Who schedules an assignment and doesn’t tell the writer? Why was he still asking these kinds of questions? He groaned and climbed out of bed… fully clothed. It was this particular brand of shenanigans that got him into the habit of sleeping fully clothed in the first place. Grabbing his mp3 player and a duffle bag he selected a particularly abrasive punk album and turned it up, and as he started jamming apparently random clothing into the duffle, it dawned on him… What, pray tell, would I even wear in India? As the vision of him dying of hypothermia in cargo shorts as sherpas looked on and laughed faded from his head, he wandered through the kitchen poured a cup of coffee. Failing to ask himself why there was fresh coffee at three in the morning, he belligerently wandered into the office of the apartment, where the question was answered by his Marcus, his roommate, furiously tapping keys in what was yet another all night online gaming marathon for him.
“Really dude? When do you sleep?” Will didn’t even look, he just kept going, clicking open and booting his laptop for his own strange quest. What clothing will prevent death in rural mountainous India?
“Sleep is for the weak!” Marcus exclaimed “Dude. This is the third time we’ve creamed this boss tonight…” He seemed proud of the inane feat.
“Isn’t there some kind of rule against that?”
“Yep… but knowing network administrators does come with perks. Wait, what are you doing?”
“India… need to find out what to wear.”
“…What?” Marcus stopped and looked over shaking his head in disbelief, and laughing, but at least trying to hide it.
“Navi Mumbai… They are sending me to Navi Mumbai. Some wanker claims to have found the sacred herb that revived some dude in the old Vedic texts. A guru is claiming that it’s real.” Will kept clicking and looking for current weather reports, he had one hour before he had to be in a cab to the airport.
“…What?” Marcus was now openly laughing, after a moment he calmed himself. “Wait, which herb? Soma? Didn’t the priests wipe that off the face of the earth when commoners started using it for recreational purposes?”
“No…” Will looked back down at his phone, scrolling through his assignment background “Sanjivani, the one from the Ramayana.”
“Oh yeah! Where that monkey hucks a mountain at that dude? That was badass.”
“Mark…” Will sat down and cupped his face with his hands, an action of frustration commonly known as a ‘facepalm’ “Your simultaneous knowledge of sacred Vedic literature, and ability to describe it as ‘Badass’ in the same sentence… gives my brain dry heaves.”
“Actually, I was trying to make you cry… Jimbophobe said he’d give me three gold if I could make you cry before you got on the plane.”
“Mark… Is your microphone on?” Will asked rubbing his forehead.
“AND webcam!” Marcus smiled gleefully
Will just stared at him through his fingers for a good thirty seconds. “I hate you so very… very much right now Mark.” His face twitched slightly, and he turned back to his screen. Talking to himself, trying to ignore his roommate; “It’s a tropic region. I’m wearing shorts.” He blinked, shut his computer, got up and walked out of the room. Muttering to himself the terrible things he would one day do to his roommate.
“You don’t have the legs for it whitey!” Marcus yelled after a slight pause, waiting for him to leave the room.
“I know where you sleep.” Will bellowed back.
“Bring me something nice?” Marcus chirped in playful response.
Will had returned to his room, long stopped paying attention, and was jamming clothing once again into his black canvas duffle. For the same reason as him sleeping fully clothed, his camera pack was also fully packed and ready for anything, at any given time.
Of course, one of the more frustrating experiences in the human realm, in Will’s mind, was regaining awareness just before a long flight takes off. He had fallen asleep in the cab, and again at the gate for his flight. He might have passed out in line for the security check, but he was on his feet, and armed guards yelling at you does wonders for a person’s ability to keep moving.
But now, he was on the plane, in a nice comfy seat, nice and warm, with a blanket and pillow, headphones and music, he could not stop thinking for the life of him. Now it seemed, was the prime time for his higher cognitive abilities to kick in. Though it wasn’t all bad, he always did like the feeling of take-off, but as he looked out the window he realized his personal curse was still in effect. He was sitting next to the engine pod, once again. Rolling his eyes back and pushing further into his seat he asked the universe, again, REALLY? His answer as always came in the form of the shudder of the tri-seven backing away from the terminal, and rotating into the jetway, the accursed engine roaring to life.
At least he could hunker down and enjoy the take-off. There was something about the moment of transition, like standing on a pier over the point where the waves form, and begin to crash to shore. The transition between eternal ocean and abiding earth.
When he closed his eyes, he could feel the energy building up as the engines roared to throttle, and even a slight elation when the break released, switching off the music to better hear the thundering echo off the ground as the jumbo jet pressed from a sluggish crawl to whatever speed it needed to steal itself from gravity’s illusionary grasp. A smile etched itself across his face as the plane broke free from earth, and ascended to the heavens. The pressure against his chest, the torment of so many, was a welcome friend, once again he had taken to the skies.
Eventually that momentary joy faded, and he remembered that he had quite a long flight ahead of him, and several lay-over’s. The very least he could do, as he watched the ocean begin to pass beneath him, would be to consider his assignment a bit further. He was being sent to investigate the Sanjivani, an ancient and mythical herb from the Vedic scripture Ramayana. The modern Guru Ramdev claimed to have found it, or at least an herb that correlated to the one in the story. Will was slightly skeptical of claims of this kind, he had read the Ramayana, and the herb was said to resurrect the dead. How could any plant possibly reverse the onset of, well, death?
He stopped himself, it was against his way to close off before he saw anything, and it was against the way of the journalist to judge the story at all. Once a journalist makes a judgment, he cannot recite a story without bias. And a journalist with bias has failed those to whom he provides knowledge. He took a deep breath and reconsidered.
There were a number of old Hindu traditions that have in the modern day been proven true, in a fashion. The concept of the aura was a prime example. For thousands of years, they were considered to be the realm of mystics. And yet, now we know of the functions of the central nervous system, we know it to be a bio-electric system, and all electric systems produce an electro-magnetic field. Not only do we know of this now, all one has to do, is go to Hollywood, and find one of the many “Auric” photographers who have the proper equipment to take a snapshot of one’s personal field. Will chuckled as he remembered how trendy it was for a while. All those colors really meant, was the state and level of arousal in the person’s central nervous system at the time the picture was taken. Then, he shifted his eyes back out the window as he remembered this was probably also the reason he always disrupted radio reception when he got too close to the antenna. I wonder what that means…
Will woke up suddenly; he had dozed off again, and apparently missed feeding time. Not that in his opinion, he was missing anything. His mind wandered back to what had put him to sleep in the first place, the central nervous system. Forgoing the erratic behavior of his own, he focused his thoughts on the old belief in chakras. The seven energy centers of the body; each aligned on the spine and each correlating to a section of the body, or the organs therein. In this case, the energy centers in question did correlate in a way, they just so happened to be where major nervous clusters stemmed from the spine to those various organs or regions of the body. The exception being the brain, which received two or three depending on whom you ask, but it was easy enough to see one of those as being dedicated to the human ability for higher thought. It was reasonable enough to give self-awareness its own energy center; it is still something that science can not quantify.
But now, he was on the plane, in a nice comfy seat, nice and warm, with a blanket and pillow, headphones and music, he could not stop thinking for the life of him. Now it seemed, was the prime time for his higher cognitive abilities to kick in. Though it wasn’t all bad, he always did like the feeling of take-off, but as he looked out the window he realized his personal curse was still in effect. He was sitting next to the engine pod, once again. Rolling his eyes back and pushing further into his seat he asked the universe, again, REALLY? His answer as always came in the form of the shudder of the tri-seven backing away from the terminal, and rotating into the jetway, the accursed engine roaring to life.
At least he could hunker down and enjoy the take-off. There was something about the moment of transition, like standing on a pier over the point where the waves form, and begin to crash to shore. The transition between eternal ocean and abiding earth.
When he closed his eyes, he could feel the energy building up as the engines roared to throttle, and even a slight elation when the break released, switching off the music to better hear the thundering echo off the ground as the jumbo jet pressed from a sluggish crawl to whatever speed it needed to steal itself from gravity’s illusionary grasp. A smile etched itself across his face as the plane broke free from earth, and ascended to the heavens. The pressure against his chest, the torment of so many, was a welcome friend, once again he had taken to the skies.
Eventually that momentary joy faded, and he remembered that he had quite a long flight ahead of him, and several lay-over’s. The very least he could do, as he watched the ocean begin to pass beneath him, would be to consider his assignment a bit further. He was being sent to investigate the Sanjivani, an ancient and mythical herb from the Vedic scripture Ramayana. The modern Guru Ramdev claimed to have found it, or at least an herb that correlated to the one in the story. Will was slightly skeptical of claims of this kind, he had read the Ramayana, and the herb was said to resurrect the dead. How could any plant possibly reverse the onset of, well, death?
He stopped himself, it was against his way to close off before he saw anything, and it was against the way of the journalist to judge the story at all. Once a journalist makes a judgment, he cannot recite a story without bias. And a journalist with bias has failed those to whom he provides knowledge. He took a deep breath and reconsidered.
There were a number of old Hindu traditions that have in the modern day been proven true, in a fashion. The concept of the aura was a prime example. For thousands of years, they were considered to be the realm of mystics. And yet, now we know of the functions of the central nervous system, we know it to be a bio-electric system, and all electric systems produce an electro-magnetic field. Not only do we know of this now, all one has to do, is go to Hollywood, and find one of the many “Auric” photographers who have the proper equipment to take a snapshot of one’s personal field. Will chuckled as he remembered how trendy it was for a while. All those colors really meant, was the state and level of arousal in the person’s central nervous system at the time the picture was taken. Then, he shifted his eyes back out the window as he remembered this was probably also the reason he always disrupted radio reception when he got too close to the antenna. I wonder what that means…
Will woke up suddenly; he had dozed off again, and apparently missed feeding time. Not that in his opinion, he was missing anything. His mind wandered back to what had put him to sleep in the first place, the central nervous system. Forgoing the erratic behavior of his own, he focused his thoughts on the old belief in chakras. The seven energy centers of the body; each aligned on the spine and each correlating to a section of the body, or the organs therein. In this case, the energy centers in question did correlate in a way, they just so happened to be where major nervous clusters stemmed from the spine to those various organs or regions of the body. The exception being the brain, which received two or three depending on whom you ask, but it was easy enough to see one of those as being dedicated to the human ability for higher thought. It was reasonable enough to give self-awareness its own energy center; it is still something that science can not quantify.
The rest of the trip was a blur, Will wasn’t in the mood to explore, his mind was clouded by what he was supposed to be looking for, he had not been given a very specific goal. And, the amount of data that he had been sent with was a name, and a copy of the Ramayana; not the whole book, just the verses that concerned the Sanjivani itself. He was too drained from the flights to do much else anyway, his only concern was to get to the hotel as quickly as possible. Not a difficult feat, as he had learned long ago to get a hotel room as close to humanly possible to the airport. Fortunately, the magazine staff knew this as well, and tended to do him such little favors. And the bright side of being an English speaker, is that anywhere that even remotely considers itself ‘international’ will have at very least a basic amount of signs in English.
Another series of minimal interaction encounters followed, not that Will was capable of much else, rather than sleeping on the flights as he should have been, he had pissed away large amounts of time discussing the history of the short skirt with an English fellow by the name of Arthur Dent, who held a remarkable distain for them. Will could not say he disagreed, but the man rambled for hours. Causing Will to repeatedly question why he had not sprung for one of the overpriced magazines in the terminal gift shops.
At last, he was at his hotel room, which was remarkably small, but functional, in that it contained a bed. Anything that would allow him to reach, in medical terms, a second stage unresponsive state, would be a blessing. He would contact his editor when he woke up, and try to get some kind of clarification to what exactly he was doing here. He tried not to think about being thrown on a plane first, and given an actual task second. Maybe he would get lucky and wake his editor up at three in the morning…
Another series of minimal interaction encounters followed, not that Will was capable of much else, rather than sleeping on the flights as he should have been, he had pissed away large amounts of time discussing the history of the short skirt with an English fellow by the name of Arthur Dent, who held a remarkable distain for them. Will could not say he disagreed, but the man rambled for hours. Causing Will to repeatedly question why he had not sprung for one of the overpriced magazines in the terminal gift shops.
At last, he was at his hotel room, which was remarkably small, but functional, in that it contained a bed. Anything that would allow him to reach, in medical terms, a second stage unresponsive state, would be a blessing. He would contact his editor when he woke up, and try to get some kind of clarification to what exactly he was doing here. He tried not to think about being thrown on a plane first, and given an actual task second. Maybe he would get lucky and wake his editor up at three in the morning…
Awaking to a blast of artificial light, Will wasn’t sure if there was a tanning lamp in his room, or if he was being abducted by aliens. Hearing commotion and talking in what he assumed was Hindi outside in the corridor, he closed his eyes again and thought; nope, aliens are telepathic. Chuckling to himself he roused out of the small bed, and wiped what would normally be the sand out of his eyes, and looked around the room or closet, whatever this was; it appeared to be a closet with a bathroom. There was indeed a sunlamp aimed directly at the bed. He recalled some locations used those as alarm clock systems, so as to not wake people in adjoining rooms. As well, sun lamps were gaining popularity in commuter hotels as a way of offsetting jet lag. The alarm must have been set by the previous occupant; he didn’t recall setting it himself. He also didn’t recall wearing a sweater when he went to sleep, but he was wearing one now. Maybe I was abducted by aliens, he smiled, and looked around for a coffeemaker, which the room sorely lacked. At least I’m dressed, he shrugged to himself, peeling off his old pair of socks, and applying new ones, followed by shoes, and made his way to the lobby.
After returning to his room with his bitter ambrosia, something else occurred to him, his phone would not work here. Sure enough, after one attempt to call his editor, that point was well enough established. After another trip to the lobby, which resulted in a twenty minute long conversation, a full sheet of scratch paper covered in notes and numbers, and what appeared to be two credit card validations; he was able to use the phone and access the internet in a manner that he felt confident would not cause his computer to explode randomly. His editor, John Singh, and the head attached to that name, would be a different matter entirely after seeing the bill.
The bonus to all of this, was that it was in fact daylight, which meant any call to the states should be at an inappropriately late portion of the night. He picked up the phone and began dialing.
“People better be dead.” John’s voice growled through the world crossing connection.
“Close, I think aliens abducted me, I might have told an Englishmen that the French are butcher than the British, and I’m in India without any real idea why.”
“You’re fired.”
“Funny, but really, the file I was sent was extremely vague, why am I here?”
“I thought the instructions were pretty clear, hold on.” There was a faint sound of a computer booting up and clicking, after a moment the conversation continued, “The Swami Ramdev claims to have found the Sanjivani, the ancient mystical herb that can resurrect the dead. You did read the file, right?”
“Of course, what do you take me for?” Will responded feigning insult.
“A lunatic who will take any assignment that hurls him across the globe at a moment’s notice. Why?”
Will paused for a moment before responding; “Touché.”
“Look find the Swami, talk to him, see if you can investigate the claim, and get a few photos of the plant, in the wild if possible.”
“Deal. I’ll call you back when I have an update.”
“Oh dear sweet lord, please don’t.”
“Love you too, John.” As he hung up the phone, Will considered the relationship of mutual torment, and how it was in a way, a form of professional brotherhood, a profound bond between two true seekers of truth, a flavor of affection often not appreciated by the general populace. That, or they truly hated each other at the subconscious level.
Several hours of unproductive phone calls, email inquiries, and moments lost waiting for translators followed. This was far from uncommon, but all that seemed to be produced from the effort was a rehashing of the press release sent out by the Yoga hocking guru, and his followers. Will could not find any substantial evidence in public record to back up any of the claims or even that anyone was taking the claim seriously. There were a few other problems that accompanied the research, enough to warrant another grief festival with his favorite employer.
“John here.” His voice was downright perky during the day.
“Globe-trotting lunatic here.” Will attempted to transmit the facetious smile as much as possible.
“At least you waited until I was awake this time. What have you got?”
“There are a few issues, first of all, no one ever sees the Swami, the guy only communicates through intermediaries, and broadcasts. And both of those only produce the same gibberish that you’ve already seen. No one seems to take any of this seriously, except for a token investigation by the Council of Scientific and Industrial Research. And, I can’t get anyone from that group on the phone.”
“Keep trying. Any photos?”
“That would be the other issue. You sent me to Navi Mumbai.”
“And?”
“You sent me to New Bombay. The plant is found in the Himalayas, you wouldn’t happen to be near a map would you?” his ire legitimately rising.
John only responded with momentary silence, followed by a curt, “And?”
Will replied out of genuine surprise and animosity for a change “It’s at the south-western tip of the Indian sub-continent! How did no one notice that you could have sent me here by ship? I may not be a geographic expert, but traditionally, the highest point on the planet, the roof of the world, is referred to as ‘land locked’.”
Once again John’s momentary silence was broken by the traditional headache inducing comment. “You know, you raise a valid and fair point.”
“Thank you, so you will get someone to book the proper actions for me, so as to get a shot of this bloody weed?”
“No, I mean we should start sending you places by ship. You don’t weigh that much, it would be much cheaper to just box you up and send you as bulk freight.”
“You just like the idea of painting ‘Please drop’ on me don’t you?”
“You know it. Ok, keep on the industry council, if they are investigating it, they will have samples of the plant, take pictures of that, and try to get an interview with them. I’m not springing for an expedition into the mountains for one photo.”
“You are missing my point, this is a hoax, it's a publicity stunt. It. Isn’t. Real.”
“If academic agencies have gotten involved, it can’t be all bogus. And, even if it is, there is still some kind of story in that, I trust you will be able to spin up something.”
“It’s crap.”
“Get something. And stop calling at two in the morning.”
After returning to his room with his bitter ambrosia, something else occurred to him, his phone would not work here. Sure enough, after one attempt to call his editor, that point was well enough established. After another trip to the lobby, which resulted in a twenty minute long conversation, a full sheet of scratch paper covered in notes and numbers, and what appeared to be two credit card validations; he was able to use the phone and access the internet in a manner that he felt confident would not cause his computer to explode randomly. His editor, John Singh, and the head attached to that name, would be a different matter entirely after seeing the bill.
The bonus to all of this, was that it was in fact daylight, which meant any call to the states should be at an inappropriately late portion of the night. He picked up the phone and began dialing.
“People better be dead.” John’s voice growled through the world crossing connection.
“Close, I think aliens abducted me, I might have told an Englishmen that the French are butcher than the British, and I’m in India without any real idea why.”
“You’re fired.”
“Funny, but really, the file I was sent was extremely vague, why am I here?”
“I thought the instructions were pretty clear, hold on.” There was a faint sound of a computer booting up and clicking, after a moment the conversation continued, “The Swami Ramdev claims to have found the Sanjivani, the ancient mystical herb that can resurrect the dead. You did read the file, right?”
“Of course, what do you take me for?” Will responded feigning insult.
“A lunatic who will take any assignment that hurls him across the globe at a moment’s notice. Why?”
Will paused for a moment before responding; “Touché.”
“Look find the Swami, talk to him, see if you can investigate the claim, and get a few photos of the plant, in the wild if possible.”
“Deal. I’ll call you back when I have an update.”
“Oh dear sweet lord, please don’t.”
“Love you too, John.” As he hung up the phone, Will considered the relationship of mutual torment, and how it was in a way, a form of professional brotherhood, a profound bond between two true seekers of truth, a flavor of affection often not appreciated by the general populace. That, or they truly hated each other at the subconscious level.
Several hours of unproductive phone calls, email inquiries, and moments lost waiting for translators followed. This was far from uncommon, but all that seemed to be produced from the effort was a rehashing of the press release sent out by the Yoga hocking guru, and his followers. Will could not find any substantial evidence in public record to back up any of the claims or even that anyone was taking the claim seriously. There were a few other problems that accompanied the research, enough to warrant another grief festival with his favorite employer.
“John here.” His voice was downright perky during the day.
“Globe-trotting lunatic here.” Will attempted to transmit the facetious smile as much as possible.
“At least you waited until I was awake this time. What have you got?”
“There are a few issues, first of all, no one ever sees the Swami, the guy only communicates through intermediaries, and broadcasts. And both of those only produce the same gibberish that you’ve already seen. No one seems to take any of this seriously, except for a token investigation by the Council of Scientific and Industrial Research. And, I can’t get anyone from that group on the phone.”
“Keep trying. Any photos?”
“That would be the other issue. You sent me to Navi Mumbai.”
“And?”
“You sent me to New Bombay. The plant is found in the Himalayas, you wouldn’t happen to be near a map would you?” his ire legitimately rising.
John only responded with momentary silence, followed by a curt, “And?”
Will replied out of genuine surprise and animosity for a change “It’s at the south-western tip of the Indian sub-continent! How did no one notice that you could have sent me here by ship? I may not be a geographic expert, but traditionally, the highest point on the planet, the roof of the world, is referred to as ‘land locked’.”
Once again John’s momentary silence was broken by the traditional headache inducing comment. “You know, you raise a valid and fair point.”
“Thank you, so you will get someone to book the proper actions for me, so as to get a shot of this bloody weed?”
“No, I mean we should start sending you places by ship. You don’t weigh that much, it would be much cheaper to just box you up and send you as bulk freight.”
“You just like the idea of painting ‘Please drop’ on me don’t you?”
“You know it. Ok, keep on the industry council, if they are investigating it, they will have samples of the plant, take pictures of that, and try to get an interview with them. I’m not springing for an expedition into the mountains for one photo.”
“You are missing my point, this is a hoax, it's a publicity stunt. It. Isn’t. Real.”
“If academic agencies have gotten involved, it can’t be all bogus. And, even if it is, there is still some kind of story in that, I trust you will be able to spin up something.”
“It’s crap.”
“Get something. And stop calling at two in the morning.”
The words echoed in his head, ‘get something’. The editor did not care what. But money had been spent, Will had been dispatched, and the wheels now turned. Will desperately wanted a drink, but knew better. Instead he found the smoking balcony that overlooked the tarmac of the airport. It was dark now; the stars were as bright as an urban area could provide, and the socialite businessmen all stood chattering smoking, drinking, carrying on. In another time and place, Will would have chimed in; joining whatever discussion sounded like it might welcome a stranger. And at other times, join conversations that barely tolerated its own private company. But John had unknowingly ordered Will to do the unaskable. To fabricate hope, urgency, and relevance. To spin a tale for a purpose was one thing, but to give relevance or credence to something that was not deserving of either, to create a puff of fluff, as he had been told, simply wasn’t right. He was convinced at this point that he had come a very long way for nothing; he by and as an extension of his employer had been duped. However, there was also to be no coming home empty handed.
He inhaled forcefully on one of the toxic cylinders he was so very fond of. Welcoming the anesthetic effect, as well as the screaming death the world preached and warned of. His eyes slited watching the air traffic come and go, who could say the number of stories he was watching pass before him? Only Shakespeare seemed to truly understand the beauty untold that fell before Will as each thundering steel bird rose into the night or touched to earth. Will liked to think he could see the same beauty at times, but not right now. His aura had become palatable; the men around him had edged away, leaving the foreboding American be.
Will wished he had a particular photo with him, a picture of one of his favorite professors and himself, before fate saw to their parting. He had promised the man that he would keep the old traditions of the news teller, the old school; that he would not succumb to the demand for ratings, he would not promote ‘infotainment’, he promised he would keep alive the honor of telling people what they needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear. “A new generation of old integrity, indeed.” Will muttered to himself as he considered his options. Would he regurgitate the tripe some robed cult leader had thrown to the public wind? Would he plant a knife in the very possibility of truth to deter further shenanigans of this ilk? How could he even say anything without anyone giving him any ground to stand on? His mind was clouded, jet lag still plagued him. He would have to wait for the morning. The dawn always brought new hope.
Will was awakened by his computer this time, he was getting up late enough in the morning that he didn’t concern himself with the neighboring rooms. However, he would have to take greater care in what musical selection the alarm was set to in the future, today it was a German electronica album. But one lyric lodged itself in his mind as he grazed consciousness; We live in times where all seems lost, but time will come when we look back, upon ourselves and on our failings. And something broke open in him. His eyes snapped open and he rushed to get ready for the day, without any further hesitation he grabbed the phone to the concierge; “I need a cab.”
If the science wouldn’t make itself available politely, Will would make it available to good old fashion American way. Blunt, obnoxious, persistent, jackassery. In other words, old school journalism.
The cab braved through the crowded streets that put New York and Los Angeles combined to shame. Will made his way to the office address he had found through arduous use of standard directory translators, which he always found to be an experience akin to swimming through mud.
Walking into reception, he couldn’t help but notice that it had a very functional decour, not to say it was Spartan, but the room itself seemed to draw the eye to the receptionist, then through the door inward to offices or labs or whatever lay within. He presented himself and did his best to con his way past the gatekeeper, which took some effort considering he had neither an appointment or a name of anyone specific to talk to. He relied on the hope that an American journalist deeply interested in their research would garner some kind of response. It did not. However, when he mentioned a growing concern over the possible overlooking of a potential medical breakthrough by the journalistic community of the world, he did get a response. She raised an eyebrow and a brief guffaw. But he stood his ground with a deadpan look on his face, trying to look as serious as possible, and after a moment and a roll of her eyes, she picked up her phone and dialed. After a short conversation that will did not understand, he was told a Dr. Ganeshaiah would see him in a moment, and motioned for him to have a seat.
As he sat, Will considered for a moment. There was no way that was the man’s real name. Ganesha was the Hindu god commonly known for his distinct appearance with the head of an elephant. And though Will was far from a practioner of Hinduism, he believed that he could recall that Ganesha was the Hindu god of arts and sciences. He shook his head down and hid his smile. There was no way it was the man’s real name.
Fifteen minutes passed before a short, slightly pudgy man appeared and greeted Will. They proceeded to his office.
“I am told you are a journalist who gas come to investigate the claims made by Swami Ramdev.” Dr. Ganeshaiah spoke in an even tone.
“Correct, the claim seems fantastic, but worth the investigation. Folklore holds the Sanjivani in a sacred regard; and there are many Hindu medical traditions once considered mysticism, that have proven to be quite effective by modern medicine. Why wouldn’t people take notice of one of the more ancient and sacred traditions?” While Will was skeptical, audible skepticism would get him nowhere. As well, he had calmed himself and recalled his thoughts from the flight over.
“While the curative might be held in high regard in the old writings, one must also consider the source, and the point that it was not until now, thousands of years after the poem was put to words, that the herb has allegedly been located.” Ganeshaiah had leaned back and pursed his lips, eyeing Will appraisingly. “Have you not asked what the possessor of the claim has to gain?”
“Indeed I have, I am aware the whole may in fact be a publicity stunt, however, there are those who are not willing to simply throw out the possibility on that alone.”
“You are aware that Swami Ramdev has made similar claims before, yes? Claims of being able to cure the AIDS epidemic and Cancer with yoga alone?” Dr. Ganeshaiah raised an eyebrow.
“I was not aware of those claims specifically, but any religious leader making claim of a miracle cure, or any miracle is enough for me to skeptical. There is always something to be gained on those grounds.” Will was not sure what the doctor was getting at, but felt the best thing to do was simply be open-hearted and honest.
“And what is it you seek from the Sanjivani?”
Will was speechless for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond, he thought his intentions were self-evident and clear. After a moment he opened his mouth. “I just want to know what you know, it’s why I’m here, it’s why my employer sent me. I guess I am just after the truth of the matter.” After another moment of silence, with the good doctor staring at him, Will continued. “So, is it true? I have to ask. What have you found?”
The doctor returned to an upright position, then pressed forward slightly folding his hands on the desk. He looked Will in the eye and spoke in a flat frank tone that unsettled Will for some reason. “I have found nothing. But, I am also not the man you should be speaking too.” He flicked his eyebrows up and back quickly at Will before leaning back in his chair again. Will wasn’t sure if the good doctor was messing with him at this point.
“Well alright, could I ask whom I should talk to?” Will understood he was being toyed with to some extent, but he was willing to entertain the man. As long as he got what he came for.
“There is a researcher by the name of Dr. Sudhir Sahdev. He is a botanist and biologist with the National Botanical Research Institute. He is the one who took interest and charge of the investigation and project. He has actually been working on the issue for some time.”
“What do you mean ‘For some time’, I was under the impression that this is all very recent affair.”
“The public releases are recent. There has been a inquest into a group of lythophytic plants from the carboniferous period, located in the Himalayas, for several years. There is a private group quite dedicated to the old medical traditions, they did much of the legwork, and gained the attention, albeit tokenly from a few administrators a while ago. However without any real results, interest has waned, and so, we see a public play made to re-spark interest.”
Will didn’t know what to think, the feeling of hope crushed and reconfirmed at the same time is an odd, confusing feeling. “And here I am.”
“And here you are, my friend.”
“Fair enough… Could I trouble you for one more thing, sir?”
“And what would that be?” The doctor looked genuinely curious.
“The contact number for Dr. Sahdev, and the use of your telephone.”
“Of course.” The man smiled “Would you like for the receptionist to summon you a taxi as well?”
“No, The last cabbie gave me his cell phone number.”
Dr. Ganeshaiah just laughed.
He inhaled forcefully on one of the toxic cylinders he was so very fond of. Welcoming the anesthetic effect, as well as the screaming death the world preached and warned of. His eyes slited watching the air traffic come and go, who could say the number of stories he was watching pass before him? Only Shakespeare seemed to truly understand the beauty untold that fell before Will as each thundering steel bird rose into the night or touched to earth. Will liked to think he could see the same beauty at times, but not right now. His aura had become palatable; the men around him had edged away, leaving the foreboding American be.
Will wished he had a particular photo with him, a picture of one of his favorite professors and himself, before fate saw to their parting. He had promised the man that he would keep the old traditions of the news teller, the old school; that he would not succumb to the demand for ratings, he would not promote ‘infotainment’, he promised he would keep alive the honor of telling people what they needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear. “A new generation of old integrity, indeed.” Will muttered to himself as he considered his options. Would he regurgitate the tripe some robed cult leader had thrown to the public wind? Would he plant a knife in the very possibility of truth to deter further shenanigans of this ilk? How could he even say anything without anyone giving him any ground to stand on? His mind was clouded, jet lag still plagued him. He would have to wait for the morning. The dawn always brought new hope.
Will was awakened by his computer this time, he was getting up late enough in the morning that he didn’t concern himself with the neighboring rooms. However, he would have to take greater care in what musical selection the alarm was set to in the future, today it was a German electronica album. But one lyric lodged itself in his mind as he grazed consciousness; We live in times where all seems lost, but time will come when we look back, upon ourselves and on our failings. And something broke open in him. His eyes snapped open and he rushed to get ready for the day, without any further hesitation he grabbed the phone to the concierge; “I need a cab.”
If the science wouldn’t make itself available politely, Will would make it available to good old fashion American way. Blunt, obnoxious, persistent, jackassery. In other words, old school journalism.
The cab braved through the crowded streets that put New York and Los Angeles combined to shame. Will made his way to the office address he had found through arduous use of standard directory translators, which he always found to be an experience akin to swimming through mud.
Walking into reception, he couldn’t help but notice that it had a very functional decour, not to say it was Spartan, but the room itself seemed to draw the eye to the receptionist, then through the door inward to offices or labs or whatever lay within. He presented himself and did his best to con his way past the gatekeeper, which took some effort considering he had neither an appointment or a name of anyone specific to talk to. He relied on the hope that an American journalist deeply interested in their research would garner some kind of response. It did not. However, when he mentioned a growing concern over the possible overlooking of a potential medical breakthrough by the journalistic community of the world, he did get a response. She raised an eyebrow and a brief guffaw. But he stood his ground with a deadpan look on his face, trying to look as serious as possible, and after a moment and a roll of her eyes, she picked up her phone and dialed. After a short conversation that will did not understand, he was told a Dr. Ganeshaiah would see him in a moment, and motioned for him to have a seat.
As he sat, Will considered for a moment. There was no way that was the man’s real name. Ganesha was the Hindu god commonly known for his distinct appearance with the head of an elephant. And though Will was far from a practioner of Hinduism, he believed that he could recall that Ganesha was the Hindu god of arts and sciences. He shook his head down and hid his smile. There was no way it was the man’s real name.
Fifteen minutes passed before a short, slightly pudgy man appeared and greeted Will. They proceeded to his office.
“I am told you are a journalist who gas come to investigate the claims made by Swami Ramdev.” Dr. Ganeshaiah spoke in an even tone.
“Correct, the claim seems fantastic, but worth the investigation. Folklore holds the Sanjivani in a sacred regard; and there are many Hindu medical traditions once considered mysticism, that have proven to be quite effective by modern medicine. Why wouldn’t people take notice of one of the more ancient and sacred traditions?” While Will was skeptical, audible skepticism would get him nowhere. As well, he had calmed himself and recalled his thoughts from the flight over.
“While the curative might be held in high regard in the old writings, one must also consider the source, and the point that it was not until now, thousands of years after the poem was put to words, that the herb has allegedly been located.” Ganeshaiah had leaned back and pursed his lips, eyeing Will appraisingly. “Have you not asked what the possessor of the claim has to gain?”
“Indeed I have, I am aware the whole may in fact be a publicity stunt, however, there are those who are not willing to simply throw out the possibility on that alone.”
“You are aware that Swami Ramdev has made similar claims before, yes? Claims of being able to cure the AIDS epidemic and Cancer with yoga alone?” Dr. Ganeshaiah raised an eyebrow.
“I was not aware of those claims specifically, but any religious leader making claim of a miracle cure, or any miracle is enough for me to skeptical. There is always something to be gained on those grounds.” Will was not sure what the doctor was getting at, but felt the best thing to do was simply be open-hearted and honest.
“And what is it you seek from the Sanjivani?”
Will was speechless for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond, he thought his intentions were self-evident and clear. After a moment he opened his mouth. “I just want to know what you know, it’s why I’m here, it’s why my employer sent me. I guess I am just after the truth of the matter.” After another moment of silence, with the good doctor staring at him, Will continued. “So, is it true? I have to ask. What have you found?”
The doctor returned to an upright position, then pressed forward slightly folding his hands on the desk. He looked Will in the eye and spoke in a flat frank tone that unsettled Will for some reason. “I have found nothing. But, I am also not the man you should be speaking too.” He flicked his eyebrows up and back quickly at Will before leaning back in his chair again. Will wasn’t sure if the good doctor was messing with him at this point.
“Well alright, could I ask whom I should talk to?” Will understood he was being toyed with to some extent, but he was willing to entertain the man. As long as he got what he came for.
“There is a researcher by the name of Dr. Sudhir Sahdev. He is a botanist and biologist with the National Botanical Research Institute. He is the one who took interest and charge of the investigation and project. He has actually been working on the issue for some time.”
“What do you mean ‘For some time’, I was under the impression that this is all very recent affair.”
“The public releases are recent. There has been a inquest into a group of lythophytic plants from the carboniferous period, located in the Himalayas, for several years. There is a private group quite dedicated to the old medical traditions, they did much of the legwork, and gained the attention, albeit tokenly from a few administrators a while ago. However without any real results, interest has waned, and so, we see a public play made to re-spark interest.”
Will didn’t know what to think, the feeling of hope crushed and reconfirmed at the same time is an odd, confusing feeling. “And here I am.”
“And here you are, my friend.”
“Fair enough… Could I trouble you for one more thing, sir?”
“And what would that be?” The doctor looked genuinely curious.
“The contact number for Dr. Sahdev, and the use of your telephone.”
“Of course.” The man smiled “Would you like for the receptionist to summon you a taxi as well?”
“No, The last cabbie gave me his cell phone number.”
Dr. Ganeshaiah just laughed.
Will had made his way across the business center of the city to the National Botanical Research Institute office. Having met Dr. Sahdev, Will accompanied him to his lab and office, a wonderful space that could have passed for a greenhouse. While Will looked around at the various plants, and through the window of the fourth floor office, his host went to a corner near his desk, where he appeared to be quickly checking an experiment, and boiling a glass vessel of water. Will stood near the window, looking down into the busy mid-day traffic below, a stark contrast to this oasis.
After a moment, his host returned with two glass and metal cup filled with steaming liquid. “Is this the extract so many are looking for?” Will asked curiously as he stared at the dark green, but transparent liquid.
“No, this is tea.” Dr. Sahdev said dryly, offering one of the cups with a nod, and motion of the cup itself. “Please, it is my own blend.”
Will took the cup graciously, and was astounded by the balance of flavors. It was almost perfect. He dared not ask what the mix was, as that would only cheapen the experience. His host seemed satisfied with Will’s delighted expression.
“I am glad you like it, however, the rest I have to offer you is not so pleasant.” Dr. Sahdev did not look at Will, he simply stared at something on the wall behind the journalist.
“You mean the Sanjivani.”
His host nodded. “After much testing of this plant group, what is being called Selaginella bryopteris, we have found that while the extract can prevent the apotheosis of cells under certain conditions, and protect them from certain toxic conditions, such as ultraviolet light and oxidatives, the results are less than productive.”
“What do you mean?”
“Plainly, the compound can prevent the automatic death of a cell in some cases, however this also grievously increases the rate of cell overgrowth.”
Will’s face went numb, his lips parted slightly as it dawned on him what that meant. “You didn’t find a cure at all. You found a way to induce cancer.”
The doctor nodded at him soberly. “Thus far, medically speaking, it is useless.”
“Has anyone else been working on this? What about the Swami who discovered it?” Will was desperate to salvage the situation.
The doctor just shook his head as he said, “I could only wish there were, it would be of far more help to me than to you. And I do not give much credence to mystics, the old ways of medicine are wonderful inspiration, but we must be able to bring them through the rigors of science if they are to be considered medically reliable.”
Will knew he was right.
Will stood at the window sipping the tea. It really was good tea. However, that was little solace to the fact that his entire endeavor had been a complete and total failure. Regardless whether this was his idea or not, the inability to bring back a salvageable story would be viewed as incompetence on his part.
“I am sorry I could not give you the magic plant you desired, my friend.” Dr. Sahdev seemed to be joking, but Will could not tell his accent was too thick to tell how much sincerity was behind the voice inflection.
Will blew on the soothing beverage, and paused for a moment before responding. “I don’t care about the plant. I don’t think I ever did.”
“You came an awfully long way for something you don’t care about.” Dr. Sahdev said with a tone of shock in his voice.
“That isn’t what I mean. I don’t need the Sanjivani to cure anyone, I was sent here to find it’s story. Your story too, I guess. And in that, I have failed.” Will paused and tried rephrase his thought.
“You failed? In all those notes I see you taking with your eyes and that recorder in your pocket?” Dr. Sahdev raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, there is a story here, but it is not what my editor wants.” Will set his recorder down on the counter and continued to stare down at the busy street below. “This is not marketable.” Setting down the cup, Will rubbed his brow with his fingertips.
“Hanuman failed too.” Dr. Sahdev muttered
“What?” Will looked over
“You came half way across the world, seeking an ancient cure, and you did not read the story it is drawn from?” Dr. Sahdev said in satirical disbelief, with brows raised.
“I’ve read the Ramayana. Yes.” Will looked away again
“Maybe, you need to hear it again,” Dr. Sahdev said, a small amount of force entering his voice. “In the Ramayana, when Lakshmana falls in battle, Rama sends Hanuman, the monkey king, to seek the Sanjivani herb in the Himalayas. Hanuman flies with great speed to seek this life saving cure, knowing the love Rama has for his friend Lakshmana. But, when he gets to the sacred mountains, he is unable to find the sacred herb, and after much searching, he grows despondent, and fears the result of his failure. In desperation, he lifts the entire mountain of Dronagiri and carries it with him, back to the field where Rama wages war against Ravana. And with the help of his followers, they are collectively able to locate the herb and revive Lakshmana…”
“And Rama embraces Hanuman, and tells him he loves him as a brother… Yes, I know the story.” Will curtly cut in, looking back over at Dr. Sahdev, not enjoying being patronized.
“DO you? You apparently have not given it much thought then. It is a lesson in Dharma. The roles that we play in life, the way that we much seek, but can never understand.” Dr. Sahdev raised his voice, clearly not appreciating the disrespect that Will had just paid him. “It is not in Hanumans way to be a healer, but he seeks to be so, because it is in his way to be a good friend, and in his way to be a leader of his people, and with that comes duty. His duty to Rama, as a subordinate and a friend.”
Will looked at the doctor cock-eyed, “I don’t understand, where are you going with this?”
“Hanuman was incapable of identifying the Sanjivani, it was not in his capacities, but he did not give in to despair. He summoned his other capacities to circumvent the problem; he carried the whole mountain, which contained the herb, to the location that required it. He summoned his followers to search with him, and thus they could find the herb, as it was within one of those followers capacities to do so.”
“I still don’t understand.” Will shook his head.
Dr. Sahdev Looked Will in the eye and forcefully pushed “You could have walked away at any time. Why are you here, if you truly do not care?”
Will stood there for a moment again carefully choosing his words. “On the flight over, I considered how many of the ancient practices, beliefs, and cures have been proven by science in the last fifty years. I was hoping that there might be something to the Sanjivani… We are at a crux in history; this is the kind of thing people need right now.”
“And now, it is I, who do not catch your meaning.”
“Science resurrecting ancient cures, old hopes brought up from the past, a bridge that unifies us with our ancestors, that kind of thing. That is what I think we need more of these days. Being reminded of the scope of human history, so that we can focus on the future again.
The doctor started chuckling, growing into an open laughter. After a moment he walked over and placed a hand on Will’s shoulder and spoke in a reassuring tone. “When are you returning to the states?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Why?”
“Come here again in the morning. I think, I may be able to help you after all. Now please, I have work to do.” He lifted his hand and walked away. Will had been clearly dismissed.
After a moment, his host returned with two glass and metal cup filled with steaming liquid. “Is this the extract so many are looking for?” Will asked curiously as he stared at the dark green, but transparent liquid.
“No, this is tea.” Dr. Sahdev said dryly, offering one of the cups with a nod, and motion of the cup itself. “Please, it is my own blend.”
Will took the cup graciously, and was astounded by the balance of flavors. It was almost perfect. He dared not ask what the mix was, as that would only cheapen the experience. His host seemed satisfied with Will’s delighted expression.
“I am glad you like it, however, the rest I have to offer you is not so pleasant.” Dr. Sahdev did not look at Will, he simply stared at something on the wall behind the journalist.
“You mean the Sanjivani.”
His host nodded. “After much testing of this plant group, what is being called Selaginella bryopteris, we have found that while the extract can prevent the apotheosis of cells under certain conditions, and protect them from certain toxic conditions, such as ultraviolet light and oxidatives, the results are less than productive.”
“What do you mean?”
“Plainly, the compound can prevent the automatic death of a cell in some cases, however this also grievously increases the rate of cell overgrowth.”
Will’s face went numb, his lips parted slightly as it dawned on him what that meant. “You didn’t find a cure at all. You found a way to induce cancer.”
The doctor nodded at him soberly. “Thus far, medically speaking, it is useless.”
“Has anyone else been working on this? What about the Swami who discovered it?” Will was desperate to salvage the situation.
The doctor just shook his head as he said, “I could only wish there were, it would be of far more help to me than to you. And I do not give much credence to mystics, the old ways of medicine are wonderful inspiration, but we must be able to bring them through the rigors of science if they are to be considered medically reliable.”
Will knew he was right.
Will stood at the window sipping the tea. It really was good tea. However, that was little solace to the fact that his entire endeavor had been a complete and total failure. Regardless whether this was his idea or not, the inability to bring back a salvageable story would be viewed as incompetence on his part.
“I am sorry I could not give you the magic plant you desired, my friend.” Dr. Sahdev seemed to be joking, but Will could not tell his accent was too thick to tell how much sincerity was behind the voice inflection.
Will blew on the soothing beverage, and paused for a moment before responding. “I don’t care about the plant. I don’t think I ever did.”
“You came an awfully long way for something you don’t care about.” Dr. Sahdev said with a tone of shock in his voice.
“That isn’t what I mean. I don’t need the Sanjivani to cure anyone, I was sent here to find it’s story. Your story too, I guess. And in that, I have failed.” Will paused and tried rephrase his thought.
“You failed? In all those notes I see you taking with your eyes and that recorder in your pocket?” Dr. Sahdev raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, there is a story here, but it is not what my editor wants.” Will set his recorder down on the counter and continued to stare down at the busy street below. “This is not marketable.” Setting down the cup, Will rubbed his brow with his fingertips.
“Hanuman failed too.” Dr. Sahdev muttered
“What?” Will looked over
“You came half way across the world, seeking an ancient cure, and you did not read the story it is drawn from?” Dr. Sahdev said in satirical disbelief, with brows raised.
“I’ve read the Ramayana. Yes.” Will looked away again
“Maybe, you need to hear it again,” Dr. Sahdev said, a small amount of force entering his voice. “In the Ramayana, when Lakshmana falls in battle, Rama sends Hanuman, the monkey king, to seek the Sanjivani herb in the Himalayas. Hanuman flies with great speed to seek this life saving cure, knowing the love Rama has for his friend Lakshmana. But, when he gets to the sacred mountains, he is unable to find the sacred herb, and after much searching, he grows despondent, and fears the result of his failure. In desperation, he lifts the entire mountain of Dronagiri and carries it with him, back to the field where Rama wages war against Ravana. And with the help of his followers, they are collectively able to locate the herb and revive Lakshmana…”
“And Rama embraces Hanuman, and tells him he loves him as a brother… Yes, I know the story.” Will curtly cut in, looking back over at Dr. Sahdev, not enjoying being patronized.
“DO you? You apparently have not given it much thought then. It is a lesson in Dharma. The roles that we play in life, the way that we much seek, but can never understand.” Dr. Sahdev raised his voice, clearly not appreciating the disrespect that Will had just paid him. “It is not in Hanumans way to be a healer, but he seeks to be so, because it is in his way to be a good friend, and in his way to be a leader of his people, and with that comes duty. His duty to Rama, as a subordinate and a friend.”
Will looked at the doctor cock-eyed, “I don’t understand, where are you going with this?”
“Hanuman was incapable of identifying the Sanjivani, it was not in his capacities, but he did not give in to despair. He summoned his other capacities to circumvent the problem; he carried the whole mountain, which contained the herb, to the location that required it. He summoned his followers to search with him, and thus they could find the herb, as it was within one of those followers capacities to do so.”
“I still don’t understand.” Will shook his head.
Dr. Sahdev Looked Will in the eye and forcefully pushed “You could have walked away at any time. Why are you here, if you truly do not care?”
Will stood there for a moment again carefully choosing his words. “On the flight over, I considered how many of the ancient practices, beliefs, and cures have been proven by science in the last fifty years. I was hoping that there might be something to the Sanjivani… We are at a crux in history; this is the kind of thing people need right now.”
“And now, it is I, who do not catch your meaning.”
“Science resurrecting ancient cures, old hopes brought up from the past, a bridge that unifies us with our ancestors, that kind of thing. That is what I think we need more of these days. Being reminded of the scope of human history, so that we can focus on the future again.
The doctor started chuckling, growing into an open laughter. After a moment he walked over and placed a hand on Will’s shoulder and spoke in a reassuring tone. “When are you returning to the states?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Why?”
“Come here again in the morning. I think, I may be able to help you after all. Now please, I have work to do.” He lifted his hand and walked away. Will had been clearly dismissed.
When will returned in the morning, he could only catch Dr. Sahdev on his way out. He seemed hurried, but he placed his hands on Will’s shoulders and smiled. “I wish to as your assistance myself. I have for you copies of some of my files, read through them. I know you are not a medical professional, but enough should be clear that you might be able to raise some interest in the American medical community.”
“I thought you said the Sanjivani was useless…” Will replied confused
“It is, for the purpose and intent that you, I, and many others wish. But. If we can study how it prevents cell death, we might learn a bit more about how to reverse that process.”
“You mean to cause a cell to die?”
“Indeed, can you not think of where we might benefit from a new and better way to cause certain cells to self-terminate, but not others?”
Will nodded in understanding. “A new tool against cancer, after all.”
Dr. Sahdev patted Will’s shoulder with one hand, then released him. “I must go, I am late for an appointment. Thank you for your help.” He smiled and hurried past Will.
Will turned and followed him with a half-hearted ‘HA’, “Thank me? Thank you! You are a life saver!”
The doctor returned the humorous outburst on his way out the front door, “One can only hope.” He spoke without stopping or turning around. “Time will tell.”
Will then stood there in the front office, the silence broken after a moment as the receptionist cleared her throat. He turned and she was pointing at a large filing box placed on one of the chairs. He nodded and smiled his thank you, approached the box and saw an index card with “Mr. Will Phean” written in sharpie taped to the top. He smiled again. Turning around he asked the receptionist, in the kindest way possible, and who was now also looking at him with a raised eyebrow, “May I use your phone?”
The trip back to the airport was accompanied by relief, and no small amount of humor. As Will was checking to see how much raw audio he had recorded, his elbow slipped across the note card on the top of the box, knocking it off. As he picked it up, he saw that on the reverse side, there was quite clearly, a mountain sketched in sharpie, but lightly, so as to not bleed through the card itself. And he started laughing.
“I thought you said the Sanjivani was useless…” Will replied confused
“It is, for the purpose and intent that you, I, and many others wish. But. If we can study how it prevents cell death, we might learn a bit more about how to reverse that process.”
“You mean to cause a cell to die?”
“Indeed, can you not think of where we might benefit from a new and better way to cause certain cells to self-terminate, but not others?”
Will nodded in understanding. “A new tool against cancer, after all.”
Dr. Sahdev patted Will’s shoulder with one hand, then released him. “I must go, I am late for an appointment. Thank you for your help.” He smiled and hurried past Will.
Will turned and followed him with a half-hearted ‘HA’, “Thank me? Thank you! You are a life saver!”
The doctor returned the humorous outburst on his way out the front door, “One can only hope.” He spoke without stopping or turning around. “Time will tell.”
Will then stood there in the front office, the silence broken after a moment as the receptionist cleared her throat. He turned and she was pointing at a large filing box placed on one of the chairs. He nodded and smiled his thank you, approached the box and saw an index card with “Mr. Will Phean” written in sharpie taped to the top. He smiled again. Turning around he asked the receptionist, in the kindest way possible, and who was now also looking at him with a raised eyebrow, “May I use your phone?”
The trip back to the airport was accompanied by relief, and no small amount of humor. As Will was checking to see how much raw audio he had recorded, his elbow slipped across the note card on the top of the box, knocking it off. As he picked it up, he saw that on the reverse side, there was quite clearly, a mountain sketched in sharpie, but lightly, so as to not bleed through the card itself. And he started laughing.
