Chapter Two - Treasure Found

     "Listen Steve," Marid's voice was unusually calm in the face of such excitement. "If we rush things and end up damaging this temple door, I don't think you could forgive yourself."

     He was right. Ever since I was a student back in the states I remember feeling revulsion towards archeologists who damaged sacred places just to get at what was inside. I could never understand why the first Egyptian archeologists used dynamite to gain entrance to the pharaoh's tombs. They destroyed many a wondrous artifact in the blind hunt for treasure.

     Just as my train of thought brought me back from my school days, Marid successfully unlocked the temple door. It slowly creaked open; revealing a dusty hallway that had not been seen in over a hundred years. The hallway was lined with circular columns similar to those found in many other Tibetan temples. The columns were engraved in familiar Tibetan writing. The walls were adorned with brilliantly colored paintings; many depicting the different forms of Buddha. At the end of this hallway lay an alcove and, presumably, the chest we were looking for. As I walked closer I could see that indeed the chest was there. The treasure I'd been looking for all this time.

     The detail carved into the old wooden chest was truly remarkable. Depicted upon the surface of the container were scenes from long forgotten Tibetan rituals. Between the carvings were finely detailed spiral shapes that brought an unusual flow and movement to the eye. This movement drew me from one scene to another, creating what in effect was a very old movie. Each scene but a frame in the whole story of this ritual, culminating in the centerpiece of the chest; a particularly large scene depicting Vajradhara, the quintessence of all Buddhas, seated in a diamond posture. A work of art into itself; this chest was so beautiful that I trembled with anticipation at what treasures might be contained within.

     I carefully removed the clasp from the lid and began to open the chest. The worn leather straps crackled in protest as I raised the lid higher. The container seemed almost indignant at the prospect of being disturbed after a hundred years of solitude. I felt a tingle of excitement, producing small goose bumps on my arms. I was much like a small boy at Christmas time, anxiously opening that first wondrous gift from Santa. As I peered into the chest I saw nothing more than books. Simple unassuming books. They were not bound in leather, inlaid with gold, or covered in fancifully artistic renderings. This was about the last thing I expected to find inside the lost chest once owned by the first Karmapa. The books themselves were dirty and well worn; their bindings held together by moth-eaten reddish cloth. The pages were torn and on the verge of collapse against the ravages of time. These books were in sharp contrast to the beauty of the wooden chest. I wondered why such plain books were held in such high esteem as to be held here. I carefully removed the books from the chest and examined them. They appeared to be no more than 150 years old and were written in English nonetheless. Not much of a discovery it would seem.

     I couldn't have been more wrong.