Page 116 - Fingerprints of the Gods by Graham Hancock
P. 116

Graham Hancock – FINGERPRINTS OF THE GODS





                   Chapter 15


                   Mexican Babel


                   We drove south-east from Tula, by-passing Mexico City on an anarchic
                   series of fast freeways that dragged us through the creeping edge of the
                   capital’s eye-watering, lung-searing pollution. Our route then took us up
                   over pine-covered mountains, past  the snowy peak of Popocatepetl and
                   thence along tree-lined lanes amid fields and farmsteads.
                     In the late afternoon we arrived at Cholula, a sleepy town with 11,000
                   inhabitants and a spacious main square. After turning east through the
                   narrow streets, we crossed a railway  line and pulled to a halt in the
                   shadow of tlahchiualtepetl, the ‘man-made mountain’ we had come here
                   to see.
                     Once sacred to the peaceful cult of Quetzalcoatl, but now surmounted
                   by an ornate Catholic church, this immense edifice was ranked among the
                   most extensive and ambitious engineering projects ever undertaken
                   anywhere in the ancient world. Indeed, with a base area of 45 acres and a
                   height of 210 feet, it was three  times more massive than the Great
                   Pyramid of Egypt.  Though its contours were now blurred by age and its
                                        1
                   sides overgrown with grass, it was still possible to recognize that it had
                   once been an imposing ziggurat which had risen up towards the heavens
                   in four clean-angled ‘steps’. Measuring almost half a kilometre along each
                   side at its base, it had also succeeded in preserving a dignified but
                   violated beauty.
                     The past, though often dry and dusty, is rarely dumb. Sometimes it can
                   speak with passion. It seemed to me that it did so here, bearing witness
                   to the physical and psychological degradation visited upon the native
                   peoples of Mexico when the Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortez almost
                   casually ‘beheaded a culture as a passer-by might sweep off the head of a
                   sunflower’.  In Cholula, a great centre of pilgrimage with a population of
                                2
                   around 100,000 at the time of the conquest, this decapitation of ancient
                   traditions and ways of life required that something particularly
                   humiliating be done to the man-made mountain of Quetzalcoatl. The
                   solution was to smash and desecrate the temple which had once stood on
                   the summit of the ziggurat and replace it with a church.
                     Cortez and his men were few, the Cholulans were many. When they
                   marched into town, however, the Spaniards had one major advantage:
                   bearded and pale-skinned, dressed in shining armour, they looked like
                   the fulfillment of a prophecy—had it not always been promised that


                   1  Figures from Fair Gods and Stone Faces, p. 56.
                   2  Ibid., p. 12.


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