The Temple

                                           

The Temple

                                     

By Charles Lankiwicz

         Sargent Jack Leighton of the Bengal Light Horse brought his men to a halt with an upraised hand.    His two sowars reined in their mounts, kicking up a cloud of dust in the road.  He reached into his saddle bag, took out his canteen, opened it, and tilted his head back, some of the brackish water spilling down his red bearded face. Closing the canteen, he looked into the jungle that surrounded the road with narrowed blue eyes.
         “Aimad, what is that?” he said as he pointed into the jungle.
         In that direction, through the green mass of vegetation lianas, cypresses, and shade trees could be seen a large white building.
         “I do not know, Sahib. I am not from this district.”
         “It is a bad place, Sahib. It is best to avoid it,” said Jamal, the other sowar.
         “Avoid–Hell! It’s a likely place for pandies to be hiding out–Follow me!” said Leighton, as he spurred his horse and drew his saber.
         Cautiously, they advanced through the jungle, well spread out.  It was 1857, June, India, and the Sepoy Rebellion was in full swing.  Rebellious native soldiers of the British East India Company called sepoys, had rebelled in the district of Bengal, slaughtering their British officers and their families as well.  Since then, they had been called pandies, after a famous rebel known as Mangel Pandy.  Leighton was searching for them in this area, with two loyal soldiers.
         They came to the front of the building without seeing anyone.  It was a ruined temple, crumbling, covered  with lianas, and seemingly inhabited only by squawking monkeys.  It was covered with grotesque carvings.
         “Dismount!”, said Leighton, as he got off his horse, drawing his heavy, long barreled Colt revolver, from its covered holster.
         His sowars obeyed, and readied their heavy Enfield rifles.
         “Sahib, I beg you!  We must leave this place.  It is the temple of Kiva!” implored Jamal.
         Aimad blanched, giving his brown skinned face a yellowish hue, as he almost dropped his rifle.
         “That means nothing to me, and we must search every possible hiding place for mutineers. We go Inside!” as he lead them towards the large temple entrance, which gaped like a black maw against the white stone.
         Jamal and Aimad followed, looking at each other, and staying well behind Leighton.
         It was cool inside, after the sweltering heat of the noonday Indian sun.  In fact, it was too cool.  Leighton felt goose pimples on his flesh.  Also it was dark.  The interior was lit only by small, square windows set high in the walls, near the ceiling.  Dimly, he could make out murals on the walls.  What they depicted, he could not readily see.  It was a mass of swirling faces, figures, and monstrous shapes.  He felt a bit queasy looking at them and turned away.
         His boots sounded like pistol shots, as the sound of their tramping echoed off the walls.  Occasionally, his spurs scrapped on the stone flagging, giving off yellow sparks.  He looked from side to side, his grip firmly on his pistol.  Then he saw something on the stone flagged floor ahead.
         Bending down, he saw a rifle.  Picking it up, he recognized the marking of the Enfield company.
         “They’ve been here, all right! This is a Company gun. Keep alert!” Leighton said as he glance back.  He could not see the sowars.
         “Where are you sulking!”
         “Here,” said Jamal.
         “Where is Aimad?”
         A faint mutter came from the back of the temple.
         “Form up on me!” commanded Leighton, shaking his head as he walked forward into the darkness.
         The temple seemed to go on endlessly. He realized that they were going down a slope, that the bulk of the temple was underground. Listening carefully, he could hear nothing but the sound of his own steps and that of the sowars behind him. It was getting darker.
         Then he made out a faint greenish glow ahead.  Advancing on it, he saw a stature of a man holding a green object in his hands.  Looking closer, he saw that the figure was that of a Company sepoy.
         “Well, what have we here? This statue is dress like that of one of John Company’s sepoys. What do you make of it, Aimad?”
         “Sahib, I do not know.  I have never heard of any temple like this one.”
         “We must leave–now! We are in the heart of Kiva! She will claim us!” wailed Jamal.
         Now Leighton looked closer at what the statue was holding.  It was a brilliant green oval, about the size of an ostrich egg.  It glowed with a green fire that seemed to come from within, casting enough light for them to clearly make out each others faces.  Then he got an idea.
         “We may as well leave–no pandies here.”
         As they left the temple, his sowars moving quickly ahead of him, Leighton thought about the green jewel and himself.
         He had grown up in Brighton, England, the son of a poor cobbler with eight children.  He was the youngest and hence, had the least opportunity.  Live was very hard and very bleak.  When he talked to the recruiting sargent at the Blue Boar Inn, it seem as if the door of opportunity had finally opened for him: six pence a day, an uniform, a roof over his head, three square meals a day, and above all, to be able to go to a strange, exotic place like India.
         The reality had been much harsher: the brutal discipline, the unrelenting heat he had to endure in his heavy woolen uniform, indifferent or contemptuous natives, and finally the Mutiny.
         He had welcomed the chance to finally lash out at something, to take out all his frustrations on the rebellious solders.  Without mercy, he had ordered the ones he had captured to be executed by hanging, an offense to their religion, even when doubt had existed as to their guilt.
         But now, maybe he had a chance to change the cruel hand life had dealt out to him.  Maybe he could even become a gentleman.  The green jewel would be worth a lot of pounds, and he knew where he could sell it.
         “We’ll camp here for the night,” he said as they exited the temple. The sun was setting, casting long shadows, and the heat of the day was lessening, as they hobbled their horses.  They ate a meager meal from their packs, and spread out blankets for sleeping.  Leighton lay down, closing his eyes, pretending to sleep.  He could hear the sowars conversing in low tones on the other side of the fire.
         “What is Kiva? I have never heard of that goddess,” said Aimad.
         “She is the one who guards the Sacred Stone forever.  As long as she has it, the gates to the underworld remain closed.  Whoever tries to take it from her–to get her heart–will pay the penalty. We were fortunate!” said Jamal.
         What rot, thought Leighton, as he waited for the sowars to fall asleep. He wanted no witnesses for what he was about to do.
         Within an hour, he heard the regular breathing of the sowars, and opened up his eyes to see the vast star filled sky. Carefully, he rose and went towards the temple entrance.
         Briefly, he hesitated. At night the temple’s carvings took on a sinister aspect.  The grotesque carvings, shown in relief by the gibbous moon, seemed almost alive as they leered at him.  He remembered what Jamal had said, then he shook himself and went into the blackness.
         He walked slowly, carefully down the length of the temple.  Dimly, he could see a lighter area near the ceiling, where the windows were.  His pulse raced, and his heart beat faster.  Memories of bedtime stories he had heard as a child flitted through his mind.  An icy chill went down his spine, that was not entirely caused by the unusual coldness of the temple.  But he remembered what he had planned to do with the green stone, and the fears left him.
         Ahead, he again saw the green glow.  Rapidly, it became brighter.  He saw the statue outlined in the darkness.  For a second, it seemed alive and he reached for his pistol.  Again, he felt a powerful hesitation.  Maybe it would be better if he went back.  But he walked forward.
         He looked at the face of the stature.  He had not noticed it before, but it had a look of shock and fear.  They eyes seemed to look right into his.  Dammed uncanny, he thought.  But the green jewel caught his attention.  At night, it seemed to glow even brighter than it had before.  He reached out his hand and grasped it. 
         Curiously, it felt warm and seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. The light glinted in his eyes, and a powerful desire to possess the jewel overcame him.  He grabbed it with his other hand.  Just as he took it, he heard a loud noise.
         He almost dropped the jewel as the statue before him crumbled into powder.  Stunned, he watched it disintegrate.  But he forgot about it as he looked into the jewel.  Its flashing light seemed to captivate him, to draw him in deeper...deeper...

         “Where is Leighton, sahib?” asked Aimad as he got up.  The rising sun revealed only him and Jamal in the camp.
         “I do not know,” answered Jamal, as he rubbed his eyes and cast his blanket aside.
         “His horse is still here.  Perhaps he went off into the forest for awhile,” said Aimad in a worried voice.
         They waited throughout the morning, as the sun rose and the heat of the day started, but Leighton did not appear.
         “We must find him! If we return without him–they will think that we are mutineers and murdered him.  He must have went back inside the temple–we must search for him!” said Aimad.
         “No! I would have left here yesterday if Leighton had not been here.”
         “I have no wish to be shot out from a cannon–I will go!”
         Aimad got up, took his rifle and went to the temple entrance.  He walked slowly, and sweat poured down his face.  But the thought of the retribution that would follow if they returned without Leighton forced him on.  He walked down the length of the temple, forcing himself not to look at the murals.  Then he saw the green glow ahead.  Closer and closer it came, and he could begin to make out the statue. Then he came up close to it and looked at the statue with shock and horror.
         Jack Leighton was now the statue, holding the jewel forever in his stony hands.

The End