He had once seen a reality show about people who dedicated their lives to finding Bigfoot. They were absolutely convinced that Bigfoot was real and they’d be the ones to find it. In one episode, James recalled, they showed one of the searcher’s “labs.” It was filled with various papers, grainy pictures of supposed Bigfoot sightings, molds of large footprints, and even tufts of hair. It was, to be frank, crazy.
This room reminded James very much of that. A long table lined one side, and it was covered in large stacks of papers. A massive map hung on the wall, showing Nepal, India, Tibet, and the surrounding countries. It was filled with red pins, and notes were scrawled in cramped handwriting around the edges. Pictures and paintings depicting the stone hung around the map, including a picture of the statue they had seen in the temple earlier. If the Bigfoot-finders were crazy, then what was this?
“You’ve done your research.” Rocky inspected a stylized picture depicting a massive blue stone set in the center of a tree.
“Indeed,” Prasad said, looking proudly at the work around him. “For years I’ve searched for the Chintamani Stone. I’ve traveled the world, searching for clues.”
“And you found it?” James said with doubt. He couldn’t shake the thought of Bigfoot.
“Not the stone itself, but I’ve pinpointed its exact location.” He rifled through some of the papers. His voice dripped with excitement and affection, like someone who had recently fallen in love and wouldn’t shut up about it. “You see, for hundreds of years, people have searched for the stone. Many tales have come from it. It is rumored that many of the most powerful men in history have come to possess it. Alexander the Great. Julius Caesar. Genghis Khan. It is said to have given them great powers, allowed them to achieve unimaginable feats, both good and evil.
“But there is no concrete proof that these men ever held the stone. And if they did, what happened to it? I found a text from ancient Rome describing the stone in perfect detail, but it gave no hint at its owner. The trail went cold for hundreds of years.”
He pulled open a drawer below the table and rummaged through it, then pulled out a tiny, battered journal. He held it reverently before him like a sacred offering. “I almost gave up. I really did. But then this came into my possession, and it told me everything.” He paged through it, and James leaned forward, trying to see its contents. “You see, in 1938, Germany sent an expedition to Tibet to search for the stone, led by a zoologist named Ernst Shäfer.”
“Hold up,” Rocky interrupted. “Did you say 1938? As in the year before World War Two?”
“That is correct.”
“So they were Nazis?”
“Also correct. In fact, they were patronized by Heinrich Himmler in a direct order from Adolf Hitler.”
“Woah now.” Rocky held up his hands. “I don’t think we want to be anywhere near something related to Hitler.”
James had to agree. The thought of someone so vile seeking the same thing they now did... He suppressed a shudder.
“I understand the hesitation, but you must understand, this was a man who was hellbent on power, no matter the cost,” Prasad said. “Of course the myth of the Chintamani Stone would fascinate him. Power can be used for good, and it can be used for evil.”
He paused, giving James and Rocky an opportunity to interject, but they were silent. So he continued.
“Ernst Shäfer embarked on an expedition to Tibet with the stated goal of studying the ecology and people of the country. And by all accounts, that’s what he did. They photographed the countryside and the people and collected thousands of artifacts.” He pointed to a photograph on the wall, a black and white picture that showed a group of men wearing fur coats, huddled around a fire. “They made their way to Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. They stayed for several months, after which they were to return to Germany. But they left Lhasa in March and arrived in Germany in August. I kept reading this and thinking it was unlikely the journey back took five months. The journey there, indeed, only took three. But every public account stated they went straight from Lhasa back to Germany. For years, I searched for any evidence that explained the lost two months and found none. Until this.”
He held up the small journal with a smile. “The personal journal of Ernst Shäfer. In it, he describes a detour they took to what is called Jalung Phodrang, an ancient, deserted city that was once the capital of Tibet. There, they found... something.”
“The stone?” James said, holding his breath.
Prasad smiled. “He never directly calls it the Chintamani Stone, but by all accounts, yes.” He opened the book and flipped to a page near the end. “The translated writings say, ‘There is great power here. The men can feel it. I can feel it. Even the horses. One of them bolted yesterday, and the rest paw the ground in fear. Our guides want us to leave. They pray at night, ancient prayers, though I do not know what they mean. Among these ruins, that which we have searched long for is hidden.’”
James breathed, enraptured by the story. “So he found it and brought it back to Germany, right?”
“Not quite,” Prasad said. He flipped several more pages forward and cleared his throat. “‘We leave today, back home. It has been a long and difficult journey. We’ve met many people, learned much about this strange country. But ultimately, we leave as failures. We were too weak to achieve our true goal. That which would ensure domination remains out of our reach.’”
“They didn’t find it?” James said, disappointed. Then he realized he’d been so wrapped up in the story he sounded disappointed that Nazis hadn’t found a stone of great power. “I mean, they didn’t find
