The Hunt for the Tree of Life (Book One 1) Page 3

  These two American cryptologists were now to interpret the symbols ending the two lines of the poem. If they were not able to do so, then there were no other cryptologists in the world who could.

  Both men had been anxiously waiting for Professor Daniel and his team to finish their translation, which would further help them to interpret the symbols. They received the translated poem from the secret agents, sat at the opposite end of a table, and read:

  The Flood came and swept the tree of life away, even Eden+o

  Yet, the tree and the garden remain, as God decreed at the beginnin’+o

  “That is a key,” Mr. Oracle quickly said, referring to the symbol. “A mystic key to unlock this contradictory poem.”

  “Yes, it is. What a poem this is!” said Dr. Divine. “Now, we have a difficult work to do. Let us not look at the complete symbol yet. We have to detach the + sign from the o symbol and look at them separately first.”

  “I agree with you, doctor. Now, the + is a cross, the pagan cross,” said Mr. Oracle.

  “Yes, you are right, but you would have said the Christian cross,” said the doctor, examining it.

  “I mean the origin before Christendom and other religions embraced it and its different forms.”

  “That is correct. The T symbol was used by pagans for Tammuz, shortened Tau, also called Dumuzi—the Sumerian and Babylonian shepherd-god and consort of Ishtar or Inanna. He was the re-incarnated mighty hunter called Nimrod, who built the early Sumerian cities. The cross-piece was later lowered to form the cross,” replied Dr. Divine.

  “The T symbol afterward came to be used for Bacchus, Bel, and Odin—all ancient gods. It also resembles the image borne by the sun-god worshiping Egyptian priests and kings signifying their authority,” said Mr. Oracle.

  “You mean the Crux Ansata?” asked the doctor.

  “Definitely—the cross with the circle sign. A variation of this symbol was used to represent the Babylonian sun-god. The Roman emperor, Julius Caesar, first made a coin out of it. Emperor Constantine, the sun-god worshiper, similarly struck a coin for a not-too-different type of this symbol known as the Solar Wheel.”

  “So the reference to the sun is clear,” said the doctor.

  “Abundant pointer to the East. Either for the sunrise or for the sun-god worshipers facing the direction.”

  “So much meaning for Tammuz and his T.”

  “Do you remember how he died?” asked Mr. Oracle.

  “Oh yes, violently. And mourned with fasting and weeping for forty days in spring. Reminiscent of the forty days fast before Easter. Nimrod, too, died in a manner too bad to relate.”

  They helped themselves with a cup of water.

  “Now, what is the clue of the + sign for the location of Eden and the tree of life?” asked Mr. Oracle

  “Not yet, let’s look at the o symbol distinctly as well,” the doctor replied.

  “Of course, o represents the number 15.”

  “Is it a number or a letter? Let’s look at it carefully.”

  They looked at it closely.

  “It is a letter, the alphabet o,” said Mr. Oracle.

  “This was written in Hebrew, and the Semitic language has no vowel sound, remember?” said Dr. Divine.

  They paused for a moment.

  “Do you suspect fraud in the writing?” asked Mr. Oracle.

  “I was just thinking. The letter o is a Greek alphabet, not Hebraic. It is a letter, though, not a number.”

  “Let’s say the Hebrew poet borrowed it from Greek. The writer must be tying the location of Eden to the number 15.”

  “It is getting tough, now,” said the doctor. “Which address is number 15?”

  They paused again.

  “This must be a reference to the sun!” exclaimed Dr. Divine.

  “Oh, you are right, doctor. The sun god, Mithras, again, worshiped every winter.”

  “Yes, that is what I think. Remember the o sign for the circular sun used to be etched on church glass windows, which later took the form of the almost circular windows on church buildings.”

  “Exactly!”

  “So the sign might be pointing to the East or the sun worshipers facing the same direction.”

  There was a long meditating silence. They walked toward the window, saw the agents still waiting, came back, and sat down.

  “You mean Eden is in the East?” asked Mr. Oracle.

  “I am not saying so yet, only imagining. Now, let us look at the complete symbol,” said the doctor.

  “The symbol taken altogether looks like a variation of the solar wheel or a sex symbol—the phallus or coition—used in the altar of the Assyrian and Babylonian goddess of love and war, Ishtar, also called Ashtoreth in Bible times, Aphrodite in Greece, Astarte in Phoenicia, Atargatis in Syria, or Venus in Rome. You know that prostitution formed part of her worship.”

  “Yes, Mr. Oracle, but I am looking at its bearing to Eden.”

  “What of the symbol as a sexual sin?” asked Mr. Oracle.

  “Philo Judaeus of Alexandria thought that of Adam and Eve. Are you his disciple?”

  “No. We are symbologists, not philosophers or theologians,” Mr. Oracle replied.

  “I am even surprised a Jew said that.”

  “Don’t be, doctor. Genesis was written in Hebrew. You know the first 39 books are actually called the Hebrew Scriptures. Not all Jews know their Hebrew. Philo was one of them.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “The Bible said they ate a forbidden fruit; they were meant to have children, remember?”

  “Yes,” answered Dr. Divine.

  “Good. I am thinking of the composite sign as either a symbol for a pagan temple for sex worship or the cross and sun sign as a reference to a church building.”

  “The tree of life and the Garden of Eden in an idol temple or in a church?” asked the doctor, laughing.

  Mr. Oracle laughed too. “What do you want me to think?” he said. “You know the nature of our profession. We must write a report explaining the symbol and include it with the poem to be sent to the White House. These agents are still waiting.”

  “Yes, but we don’t have to be harried.”

  “Unless we find some new interpretation to the symbol.”

  “It would not be easy, doctor. Let us write our report,” said Mr. Oracle.

  And they wrote their interpretation of the symbol.

  Professor Muse was calling a long-time colleague at Harvard called Bright Cramwell, a respected professor of Hebrew Studies.

  Professor Cramwell was a genius of a kind. He could recite the whole Bible from memory.

  If one wanted to listen to superlative Bible poems to spruce up their day, the professor would begin reciting the 150 Psalms of King David and others: “Happy is the man that has not walked in the counsel of the wicked ones, / And in the way of sinners has not stood, / And in the seat of ridiculers has not sat . . .”

  The professor would carry on until one was satisfied.

  If one wanted the prophetic account of the march of the seven world powers from ancient Greece to present day Anglo-American world superpower, the professor would go on to recite the twelve chapters of the book of Daniel: “In the third year of the kingship of Jehoiakim the king of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon came to Jerusalem and proceeded to lay siege to it . . .”

  The professor would not stop until one was fully educated of classical and modern history.

  Demand of Professor Cramwell the history of the early Christians and he would begin a recitation of the twenty-eight chapters of the book of Acts of the Apostles: “The first account, O Theophilus, I composed about all the things Jesus started both to do and to teach . . .”

  The professor would go on and on until one was horrified by the brutal history.

  Of course, if one wanted to hear the apocalyptic symbols that apostle John saw in Patmos penitentiary, he would start reciting the twenty-two chapters of the book of Revelation: “A revelation
by Jesus Christ, which God gave him, to show his slaves the things that must shortly take place. And he sent forth his angel and presented [it] in signs through him to his slave John . . .”

  Professor Cramwell would continue doing his thing with gusto until one was horrified to the bones.

  There were only two Bible books that he did not like to recite: Exodus and Joshua. The reason was that he did not believe the oversimplification of the dividing of the Red Sea and the Jordan River. He believed that the Israelites crossed a Reed Sea—a shallow marsh known to Moses but now nonexistent—not the big Red Sea.

  He also believed that they walked on a frozen River Jordan to reach the Promised Land, not a literal flowing river. That belonged to the realm of higher criticism which he taught only advanced students.

  The Bible, thought the professor, was such a difficult book to teach to students. Like telling them that manna used to fall from heaven. Just like that! He would actually have liked it to continue falling so that he wouldn’t have to lecture and sweat before students to survive.

  He always told his students, “If you believe the Bible book of Genesis, you will believe anything.”

  It often made him wonder why God punished Adam and Eve for simply sharing a fruit. Did they even finish eating the fruit? Then for eating that one fruit, God visited the world with a plethora of problems.

  When Professor Cramwell wanted to set the class afire, he would ask the students the questions: “Why did God plant a forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden?” “Why did He even reveal the death-sentence tree to them?” “Why did He permit Satan to deceive Adam and Eve using the snake?” “Why did Eve and Adam believe a talking snake when no snake had ever spoken to them before in the Garden?”

  And the class would rock back and forth with fierce arguments for and against God.

  Cramwell would fold his hands, listen to the students’ debate, and shake his head at the end. The first questions in the Bible started from the first book—from Genesis!

  Then one day he finished reciting the Bible book of Genesis chapter 1 and asked the students: “How many times did God make light?”

  “Once,” the students quickly answered.

  “Read Genesis chapter 1 verse 3 in your King James Bible,” he said, pointing to a male student.

  The student read: “And God said, ‘Let there be light’: and there was light.”

  “Good,” said the professor. “You, read verse 14 of the same chapter,” he told a female student.

  She started reading: “And God said, ‘Let there be lights . . .’

  “Stop,” Professor Cramwell interrupted her. “I now ask you all again: How many times did God make light?”

  The students hesitated.

  “Twice,” they reluctantly replied.

  “Reconcile your conflicting answers,” Professor Cramwell told them.

  The students searched their interlinear and parallel bibles and made comparisons in vain.

  “We are lost, Prof.,” they said.

  He told the students it was once, and explained the right Hebrew words stumping the translators for “light” in the two troubling verses. He said that the mistranslation arose because of lack of understanding of Hebrew semantics for light.

  And all the students hailed Professor Cramwell. Then to test their comprehension of the lecture, he asked them, “How many times did the Israelites cross the Red Sea?”

  “Once!” they chorused without thinking.

  Then the professor asked them to read Exodus chapter 14 verse 22 and compare it with Numbers chapter 33 verse 10 in their King James Version.

  The excitement of the students was so high that they didn’t wait to be asked to read. So one of them quickly read Exodus 14:22: "And the children of Israel went into the midst of the sea upon the dry ground: and the waters were a wall unto them on their right hand, and on their left."

  “Good reading!” said the professor.

  And without waiting a moment another student read Numbers 33:10: "And they removed from Elim, and encamped by the Red sea."

  “Beautiful! Now, how many times did the Israelites cross the Red Sea?” Professor Cramwell asked.

  None of the students uttered a word. They all looked at one another. How many Red Seas were they?

  Then the answers started coming: “Twice!” “One crossing and a second attempt!” “One and a half times!”

  And Professor Cramwell quaked with laughter.

  “Tell us Prof!” the perplexed students implored him.

  But he wouldn’t tell them. It was a big assignment!

  “Do your research and tell me,” was all that the professor could say.

  His students liked the entertainment. So powerful was the professor’s ability to memorize the Scriptures that he came to be fondly called a Walking Bible.

  Professor Muse was calling him to ask just two questions about Hebrew writing that would help him to explain the Methuselah poem. Yes, no one knew Hebrew like Professor Cramwell.

  But just before Cramwell picked his phone, Professor Muse stopped the call. He quickly came to his senses. Why? He was making a grave mistake! This delicate job had many conditions.

  First, he swore an oath of secrecy. He was not to reveal the subject of his assignment.

  Added to this, he was not to make or receive any phone calls until he was able to crack the poem. You never know who might be listening.

  It was for this reason that his cell phone was permanently switched off since he took up the job. The only other phone in his office—the land line—should not be used. Yet, that was what he had just done.

  Maybe, he would not be able to get to his Harvard friend. Perhaps, the meaning of the two-line poem would never be known. Methuselah, he thought, must have been a great poet and master of oxymoron.

  Well, he just has to crack this poem himself—no help from anyone, not even his friend, Cramwell. What would he do now?

  Professor Muse, however, remembered that Cramwell had a habit of calling back anyone that flashed or called his telephone number, whether he knew the caller or not. He had not called with his cell phone number, so Professor Cramwell would not know that he was the caller.

  People change over time. Maybe Cramwell had changed. Maybe he would call. Maybe he wouldn’t.

  Just as Professor Muse was ruminating over this, he called!

  Professor Muse sat, watching his phone ring without knowing whether to answer the call or not. It rang and rang and stopped. He didn’t pick. What would he say?

  Maybe Professor Cramwell wouldn’t call back. That was just fine by him. It might as well be that someone would be eavesdropping in their discussion, or maybe not. Perhaps, he was unnecessarily being too apprehensive. After all, the telephone line was supposed to be secure. Impenetrable.

  He rose from his seat, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled out his big black Bible.

  “I know this book has the answer,” he said to himself, sitting down. “And only Cramwell can give me the clue.”

  As he was flipping through the Bible pages, Professor Cramwell called again. He had no option now than to pick the phone. After all, he was the one that stirred the hornet’s nest. The Cramwell that he knew wouldn’t stop calling!

  Now, he knew the safest thing to do. He would answer the call and converse in Harvardspeak—an exclusive language for the Harvard community. Not even the brightest grammarian could decipher Harvardspeak.

  “You called my number,” the caller was saying. “And it is my habit to return calls. I am Professor Bright Cramwell of Harvard. May I know you?”

  “Professor Muse, speaking.”

  “Muse, our Nobel laureate!”Cramwell shouted with joy. “Where have you been? Everyone’s looking for you!”

  “I am in Washington D.C. Cramwell.”

  “Oh, at American Beauty Rose? We know you will get there. Are you now the official poet of the White House?” Cramwell asked enthusiastically.

  “Not exactly, Cramwell. I am trying to solv
e a problem, that’s all,” replied Muse.

  “That must be a literary puzzle only fit for academic giants like you,” he said laughing.

  “But I need your assistance, Cramwell.”

  “I will be so humbled to help, Muse. What do you want? Can I recite Matthew or Malachi?”

  “You haven’t changed a bit, Cramwell,” said Muse.

  “We are old birds now. We never change.”

  “Thanks, but this surpasses Bible recitations. I have my copy on my table now. Can we use Harvardspeak?”

  “Oh, that’s serious then. Go on!”

  “In Hebrew prosody, is oracular in alpha or omega?” asked Professor Muse, his first question, in Harvardspeak.

  Professor Cramwell was almost laughing. He, however, restrained himself from doing so. That was a simple question. It was true that Washington changes people—not only politicians, but academics too. Muse has changed, he thought.

  Why should a Nobel laureate ask a question like that: In Hebrew poem, is the meaning at the beginning or the end?

  Professor Muse has changed, he concluded. Anyway, let him help an old friend.

  “Oracular is in omega,” answered Cramwell.

  Muse almost jumped up. Why did he not know that? Why did he not know that the meaning was at the end? He quickly glanced at the last line of the Methuselah poem hanging on the wall, and nodded.

  Now he was going to ask the second and the last question.

  “Quote Inquisition Nemesis.”

  Ah, thought Cramwell. Quote Bible example? Had he also forgotten the reference book for all writers? Well, he would tell him.

  “Mother Muse 1:2,” he replied.

  Professor Muse felt ashamed. There, open before him, was the Bible book of Ecclesiastes. And he was asking for the same scripture!

  “Any more question?” asked Cramwell.

  “No, two is enough.”

  “Ask me more, our Nobel laureate.”

  “I have solved the big problem with those two answers. Glad to have people like you, Cramwell. I will invite you over to Washington for a Champagne Submit.”

  “That will be fantastic. But I won’t be long there, else I change.”

  They both laughed.

  “So when and where will we meet?” asked Cramwell.