The Journey Continues

Creaky wooden floorboards kick up years of dust with each step. Combined with a moth ball laden, musty smell, they trigger a flurry of memories. It was only months ago he reminisced with her about being in that very spot decades prior. If only he’d known it was the last time they would speak before it happened...

Morning sunbeams filter through the small, round attic window and bounce off the glowing cobwebs in his path. As he brushes them away, he sees it in the corner, hiding in the shadows, stalwart and resolute. He hops over a pile of dilapidated cardboard boxes overstuffed with vintage Diwali decorations, knocking them over in the process. Nevermind them.

His dark brown irises glimmer with excited trepidation as he approaches the large, antique wooden chest. The patina on the brass lock immediately discloses its age. Intricate carvings only a brilliant artisan could create, equally timeworn, tell a story. He remembers her saying...

“The tree in the middle is a Banyan, the tree of life." He runs his delicate inquisitive little digits along the wide breadth of its branches.

“What’s this?” He points to a man displaying a vase triumphantly in the air while others look on with awe. Embedded jewels and coins seem to flow out of the vase and into the hands of the onlookers.

“This is Purna-Kalasha. From the vedas. It is a symbol of abundance and source of life, wisdom, and immortality.”

“It’s like the ones they have at the temple. With the mango leaves and coconut!”

The jubilation of his child-self bubbles up alongside the memories.

“Correct. The very same symbol.”, she confirms.

“Can we open it? Pleeeeeaaase? Can we? Can we?”

“Nah, uhn uh, no beta, we cannot.”

“But why?!”, he begs to release the mysteries from within the family heirloom.

“It was my grandfather’s wish for his grandson to inherit this chest. You, Gopu, are his only grandson. His great-grandson and namesake. But-“

“So let’s open it. If it’s mine, then I want to-“

“At his request, it will not become yours until your 40th birthday. Until then, I will look after it.”, she divulges.

“What?! I can’t wait that long!”

“Patience is a virtue, beta. If I am blessed to be here when your 40th birthday arrives, we shall open it together.”

I wish, he thought.

“Why didn’t he just leave it to you in the first place? Why leave it to a grandSON and not just any grandchild?”

“The old ways were a bit…complicated. Things are different this day and age, and I believe if he was alive now, he would have done as you suggested. But, regardless, we will honor his request.”

He fishes into his jeans pocket and pulls out a gold necklace with an ornately engraved locket containing a carved vibrant jade inset.

“I keep the key safe with me right here.” She pulls out her necklace with the locket. His youthful eyes widen. Suddenly, the locket pops open, exposing a secret compartment with a key. “How’d you do that?”, in a trance, as if discovering clandestine magic.

“It’s a secret button. I’ll show you when you’re older.”

“Is that the key to open it?”, the boy eagerly prods.

“It is, beta. All in good time.” She snaps it shut.

That time has come, he pondered. He presses the hidden button on the back of the locket, springing open the lid. Inside is the very same weathered metal key from those many years ago. He fastidiously removes it and takes a deep breath. Then, “Well, mom, here we go.”

The key slides easily into the lock, a perfect fit. He turns it to the right, and CLICK, the lock mechanism opens. He rubs his hands together then carefully lifts the lid. Latches click into place to brace it. A faded red cloth covers up the contents. He yanks it away to uncloak a wooden box about the size of basketball. A dial with letters enigmatically adorns the front. Next to the box is an envelope with a word written in Hindi. “Pota…” he scratches his head, a heavy sigh. He whips out his phone and opens the Google translate app. He types in the word. “Grandson! Of course!! Duh.”

He gingerly pulls the folded paper out from the envelope, then unfolds it to discover a strange typed message. The slightly offset letters give away the imperfectness of the aged machine from which it was conceived. Typed out is a cryptographic Polybius grid.

“What the heck?” he exclaims as he turns the paper over perusing for more clues. What is this?

He digs around the chest and box, inside and out, every detail of the carvings. Nothing. He’s stumped.

His phone rings. It’s a number he knows all too well. “Hello?” he answers with wincing apprehension.

“Hello sir. I’m calling to remind you that your time is just about up. Looks like the deadline is tonight.”, the caller breaks the news.

“Are you sure? How can that be? They said we had at least a week! I just need some more time. Please.” The desperation in his plea seems to echo against the wood of the hallowed chest, to no avail.

“I’m sorry, your final installment is severely delinquent. We will have to disconnect her.”

“How can you be so cruel?”

“We’ve already extended the deadline for months. We feel we’ve accommodated your family more than enough.” A pause. Then…”Look, I know it’s your birthday…I’ll do my best to get you to tomorrow evening. 5PM.”

A sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“No guarantees.”, the caller warns with ominous disdain.

“Alright. Bye.” He hangs up and slams the phone on the floor.

In a flash, he recalls something she once told him…

“Your great-grandfather worked for the English as a code breaker. He was quite brilliant. He loved to hide clues and leave us puzzles to solve.”

It’s a CIPHER!

“OK, where’s the code….” he continues rummaging through the contents. He catches a glimpse of the chain from his mother’s locket he had set down on the floor.

Upon studying the locket in close detail, he discovers a string of numbers on the inside rim of the lid. “Holy crap!” He whips out a pen and a grabs a piece of scrap paper from a nearby box. He writes down the numbers:

53 11 44 42 51 33 31 51

Now what?

He places the scrap paper next to the grid and begins frantically scribbling down combinations in search of a solution.

A pile of crumpled up scrap paper builds next to him. The crickets begin their relentless nightly melodies as the sun dips below the horizon in repose.

“That’s IT!!” He leaps up, ecstatic. He jots down the solution:

P - A - T - I - E - N - C - E

The moon’s cool luminescence replaces the day’s warm glow as he lifts the box out of the chest’s cavern. Next to each notch on the dial are letters. He methodically turns the dial to each letter from the cipher, in order. As soon as he reaches the final ‘E’, he hears CLICK! The lid to the box loosens. “Yes!”

He removes the top and peers inside. Curiosity and excitement ooze from his pores quite literally as beads of sweat build on his forehead. His heart rate crescendos.

Inside the box is a little black journal…leather bound and rough around the edges with scars and scrapes that could tell tales for days. He lifts it into the moonlight and gently tugs on the withered leather strap holding it tied shut.

He opens the front cover of the journal and reads the writing on the first page:

“To my Grandson.

When you read this, I’ll be long gone from this earth. I hope we will have met, but if not, then I trust this gift will bring us closer to knowing one another.

My black journal contains stories and accounts of my journeys, as well as my innermost thoughts and postulations. May they give you insight into my life, as well as reflection on your own.

Within this chest is yet another compartment, intentionally hidden to the casual observer. Since you’ve already been able to crack the code to find this journal, let’s raise the stakes, shall we? There is another cipher embedded into this very page you are reading. Solve it, and treasures await you. Some literal, others more esoteric.

Most importantly, patience will be your paramount lesson, the key to unlocking your future. Learn to master it and the trials and tribulations of life will leave you unrelenting and unwavering, no matter what twists and turns come your way.

Good luck and Godspeed.

Your grandfather, Bashir.”

I’ve got to do this. For mom. Time ceases to exist as he obsessively scans every detail of the page and journal while jotting down his findings.

It’s not until the mellifluous dawn chorus of the local Robins invades the soundscape that he realizes the sun's incipient radiance has begun to twinkle on the ceiling. Slumped and despondent, he returns the journal to its cubic abode. He stands and stretches. Sun salutation. Warrior One. Warrior Two, Reverse Warrior, Upward Dog, Downward Dog. His morning friends a familiar routine to break the previous night’s succumb to failure.

The outdoor morning bustle, a world apart from his code-breaking cocoon, steals his gaze for a moment before he dives back into his mission. He opens the journal, but it’s upside down. The inverted words draw him in…he notices a pattern. He holds it out further to get a wider perspective.

YES! Definitely a pattern!!

Minutes later, with numbers extracted and decoded with the original grid, the message is clear. He must press the jewels on the front of the chest in the correct sequence.

He follows suit. One by one they magically depress into the wood. He can’t help but giggle with delight. The final jewel gives more resistance than the others. He grunts and pushes as hard as he can. It gives way…Presto! A small hidden drawer, about the size of his hand, pops out from the chest’s bottom right side.

Inside the red velvet lined drawer is a shiny gold medallion. It fits in the palm of his hand as he feels its weight. Solid. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. Yep, still there! Inscribed with ancient artistry are Sanskrit writings and other symbols he does not recognize.

He texts a photo of it to a friend, then calls her right away.

“Bashir? Wow, it’s been a long time!”, she remarks.

“Hey, what’s up! Long time no speak. Sorry for the random call, but I have kind of an archeological emergency that could use your expertise. Please check your texts.”

“What am I, Indiana Jones all of a sudden?”

“Yes mam!”

“I heard about everything with your mom. So sorry, I hope she can pull through”, she consoles.

“Thanks. Me too. We’ve been-”

“Oh my gosh!” She cuts him off…”This…medallion. Is this for real?”

“Uh, yeah…I think so. Pretty sure it is. Why?”

“How soon can you get here? I want to authenticate it.”

“Is it worth anything?”

“Possibly.”

“Like how much are we talking?”

“Like $20K.”

“No. Freakin. Way. That’s exactly how much I need to keep my mom on track with that new experimental procedure. This will save her. I hope.”

“That’s intense. So, you coming? A colleague of mine just looked over my shoulder and said the university museum will buy it TODAY if it checks out.”

“On my way.”

Tears well up. His hands shake as he places the phone down next to him. He takes one more look into the drawer and notices the velvet lining is loose. He tenderly pulls it up to reveal another piece of paper with a new cipher grid.

The journey continues.

He smiles wide as tears flow down his visage.