Kingdom of the Golden Dragon

by Isabel Allende

  By then, Kate was resigned to allowing the guide to call her “little grandmother.” It was a sign of good manners, the respectful way to address an older person. Nadia and Alex, for their part, were supposed to call Wandgi “uncle” and Pema “cousin.”

  “Perhaps, if they are not too tired, my honorable visitors might like to try a typical meal of Tunkhala,” Wandgi suggested timidly.

  The “honorable visitors” were tired, but they could not miss this opportunity. They ended their very busy day in the home of their guide. Like many in the capital city, the two-story home was constructed of white brick, its walls painted with intricate designs of flowers and birds, like those they’d seen in the palace. It was impossible to know which of the people coming and going belonged to Wandgi’s immediate family because everyone was introduced as an uncle, brother, or cousin. No surnames were used. When a child was born, its parents gave it two or three names, to distinguish it from its siblings, but anyone could change their name at will; several times, in fact, during his or her life. The only ones to use family names were royalty.

  Pema and her mother, along with several aunts and female cousins, served the meal. Everyone sat on the floor at a round table that held a veritable mountain of red rice and other grains, and a variety of vegetables seasoned with spices and hot pepper. Soon came a stream of delicacies specially prepared in honor of the foreign guests: yak liver, sheep’s lungs, pig’s feet, goat’s eyes, and blood sausage seasoned with so much pepper and paprika that the mere smell of the dishes brought tears to Kate’s eyes and sent her into a fit of coughing. They each ate with one hand, forming little balls of food, and courtesy demanded that the host family first offer the little balls to their visitors.

  When they tasted the first mouthful, Alexander and Nadia nearly shrieked: neither of them had ever tasted anything so hot. Their mouths were burning, as if they had bitten down on live coals. Kate warned them, between coughs, that they must not offend their hosts, but the natives of the Forbidden Kingdom knew that the foreigners would not be able to swallow their food. As tears streamed down Nadia’s and Alexander’s cheeks, their hosts roared with laughter and pounded the floor with hands and feet.

  Pema, who was also laughing a lot, brought her friends tea to rinse out their mouths, and a new plate of the same vegetables prepared without the hot seasonings. Alexander and Nadia exchanged a glance. In the Amazon they had eaten everything from roast snake to a soup made from the ashes of a dead Indian. Without a word, they simultaneously decided this was not the time to back away. They expressed their thanks, bowing with hands joined before their faces, and then each of them rolled a fiery little ball and bravely ate it.

  The next day was the day of a religious festival that coincided with the full moon and the birthday of the king. The entire country had been preparing for the event for weeks. All of Tunkhala poured out into the streets, and peasants came down from the mountains and distant villages, traveling for days on foot or horseback. After being blessed by the lamas, musicians went outside with their instruments, and cooks set large tables with food, sweets, and jugs of rice liquor. At this celebration, everything was free.

  The trumpets, drums, and gongs of the monasteries rang out from early morning. The faithful, and the pilgrims arriving from distant places, crowded into the temples to make their offerings, whirl the prayer wheels, and light candles of yak butter. The rancid odor of the grease and smoke from the incense floated through the city.

  Before their trip, Alexander had gone to his school library to learn all he could about the Forbidden Kingdom, its customs and its religion, so he was able to give Nadia, who had never heard of Buddha, a brief summary of Buddhism.

  “Five hundred and sixty-six years before Christ, in what today is South Nepal, a prince named Siddhartha Gautama was born. At his birth, a seer predicted that the boy would rule all the earth, but that he must be isolated from suffering and death lest he be moved to become a great spiritual leader. His father, who favored the former route for his son, surrounded the palace with high walls so that Siddhartha would live a marvelous life devoted to pleasure and beauty, without ever encountering misery. Even the leaves that fell from the trees were quickly swept up so that he would not see them wither. He married and he had a son, without ever having left that paradise. He was twenty-nine when he ventured outside the garden and saw illness, poverty, pain, and cruelty for the first time. He cut his hair, removed his jewels and clothing of rich silks, and set out in search of Truth. For six years he studied with yogis in India and subjected his body to the most rigorous asceticism.”

  “What’s that?” Nadia asked.

  “He lived a life of hardship. He slept on thorns and ate nothing but a few grains of rice.”

  “Bad idea,” Nadia commented.

  “That’s what Siddhartha himself concluded. After passing from absolute pleasure in his palace to the most unsparing self-sacrifice, he realized that the Middle Path is the most reasonable,” Alexander said.

  “Why do they call him the Enlightened One?” Nadia wanted to know.

  “Because when he was thirty-five, he sat beneath a tree and meditated for six days and six nights without moving. One moonlit night, like the night on which this festival is celebrated, his mind and his spirit opened, and he understood all the principles and processes of life. That is, he became Buddha.”

  “In Sanskrit, Buddha means ‘awakened’ or ‘enlightened,’” Kate clarified. She had been paying close attention to her grandson’s explanations. “Buddha isn’t a name, it’s a title, and anyone can become Buddha if he lives a noble and spiritual life,” she added.

  “The basic principle of Buddhism is to have compassion for everything that lives or exists. Buddha said that we must seek truth or illumination within ourselves, not in others or in external things,” Alex continued. “That’s why Buddhist monks don’t go out in the world to preach, the way our missionaries do, but spend their lives in quiet meditation, seeking their own truth. All they own are their tunics, their sandals, and their bowls for begging food. They are not interested in material goods.”

  To Nadia, who owned nothing but a small bag that held essential clothing and three parrot feathers for her hair, that part of Buddhism seemed perfect.

  In the morning there were three archery tournaments, the most popular activity of the Tunkhala festival. The best archers came decked out in colorful clothing and wearing garlands of flowers that girls had draped around their necks. Their bows were nearly six feet long, and very heavy.

  Someone offered Alexander a bow, but he had a hard time even lifting it, to say nothing of using it. He pulled back the string with all his might, but the arrow slipped through his fingers and shot off in the direction of an elegant dignitary standing about ten feet from a target. Horrified, Alexander watched the man fall backward and was terrified that he’d killed him, but his victim quickly got to his feet, smiling widely. The arrow had pierced his hat. No one was offended. Waves of laughter celebrated the foreigner’s awkwardness, and the dignitary spent the rest of the day wearing the arrow in his hat as a trophy. The king’s older son won the archery tournament.

  The citizens of the Forbidden Kingdom presented themselves in their finest holiday garb, and most wore masks or had their faces painted yellow, white, and red. Hats, necks, ears, and arms gleamed with silver, gold, ancient coral, and turquoise.

  This day the king arrived wearing a spectacular headdress: the crown of the Forbidden Kingdom, which was made of silk embellished with heavy gold embroidery and precious stones. In the center, above his forehead, shone a huge ruby. On his chest he wore the royal medallion. With his eternal expression of calm and optimism, the king walked unescorted among his subjects, who obviously adored him. As a retinue he had only his ever-present Tschewang, the leopard, and his guest of honor, Judit Kinski, who wore the typical dress of the country though she still toted her usual shoulder bag.

  In the evening there were theatrical performances with masked actors
, acrobats, strolling minstrels, and jugglers. Groups of girls performed traditional dances while the best athletes competed in mock sword fights and a kind of martial art that the foreigners had never seen. They tumbled and moved with such amazing quickness that they seemed to fly above the heads of their opponents. No one could best one slim, handsome youth who had the agility and ferocity of a panther. Wandgi informed the guests that he was one of the king’s sons, though not the one chosen to occupy the throne some day. He had a warrior’s inclinations, they said; he always wanted to win, he liked applause, he was impatient and willful. It was clear, the guide added, this son did not have the qualities to become a wise ruler.

  As the sun set, crickets began to sing, adding to the sounds of the festival. Thousands of torches were lighted, and lamps with paper shades glowed in the dark.

  There were large numbers of masked celebrants in the jubilant crowd. The masks were true works of art, each different, painted gold and brilliant colors. Nadia was surprised to note black beards flowing from beneath a few masks, because the men of the Forbidden Kingdom were close-shaven. Facial hair was simply never seen; it was considered unhygienic. For a while she studied the crowd, and soon she realized that the bearded individuals were not participating in the festivities. She was just about to communicate her observations to Alexander when he came over to her with a worried expression.

  “Look at that man over there, Eagle,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “Behind the juggler tossing the lighted torches in the air. The one wearing a Tibetan fur cap.”

  “What about him?” Nadia asked.

  “Let’s just quietly get a closer look,” said Alexander.

  As they drifted nearer, they could see two pale expressionless eyes through the mask: the unmistakable eyes of Tex Armadillo.

  “How did he get here? He didn’t come on the plane with us, and the next flight was not until five days from now,” Alexander commented after they had moved away a little.

  “I don’t think he’s alone, Jaguar. Those masked men with the beards must be from the Sect of the Scorpion. I’ve been watching them, and it seems to me they’re plotting something.”

  “If we see anything suspicious, we’ll tell Kate. For the moment, let’s not lose sight of them,” said Alexander.

  A family of experts in fireworks had come from China to add to the festivities. Soon the sky was alight and the crowds in the streets celebrated each burst of the marvelous Chinese display with cries of amazement.

  There were so many people that it was difficult to move about in the confusion. Accustomed to the tropical warmth of her village, Santa María de la Lluvia, Nadia was shivering with the early evening cold. Pema offered to go back to the hotel with her to get warm clothing, so both set off with Borobá, who was frantic from the noise of the fireworks, while Alexander kept a close watch on Tex Armadillo.

  Nadia was thankful that Kate had thought to buy her clothes for high altitudes. Her teeth were chattering as hard as Borobá’s. She first put the monkey’s snowsuit on him, and then her own pants, heavy socks, boots, and jacket, while Pema watched with amusement. She was very comfortable in her light silk sarong.

  “Let’s go! We’re missing the best part of the festival!” Pema exclaimed.

  They ran outside. The moon and cascades of Chinese multicolored stars lit up the night.

  “Where are Pema and Nadia?” Alexander asked, judging that it had been more than an hour since they left.

  “I haven’t seen them,” Kate replied.

  “They went to the hotel because Nadia wanted to get a jacket, but they should have been back by now. Maybe I’d better go look for them,” Alex decided.

  “They’ll be coming along, there’s nowhere for them to get lost here,” his grandmother said.

  Alexander did not find the girls at the hotel. Two hours later, everyone was worried because no one had seen them in the swirling crowds for a long time. Their guide, Wandgi, borrowed a bicycle and went back to his house, thinking that Pema might have taken Nadia there, but he soon returned, in a panic.

  “They’ve disappeared!” he shouted.

  “Nothing could have happened to them. You told us that this is the safest country in the world!” Kate exclaimed.

  By then very few people were in the streets. Only a few stragglers and the women who were clearing trash and remnants of food from the tables lingered. The scent of flowers and gunpowder floated on the air.

  “They might have gone somewhere with students from the university,” Timothy Bruce suggested.

  That was not possible, Wandgi assured them. Pema would never do that. No respectable girl went out alone at night and without her parents’ permission, he said. They decided to go to the police station, where they were courteously received by two exhausted officers who had been working since dawn and did not seem disposed to go out looking for two girls who surely were with friends or relatives. Kate planted herself before them, flourishing her passport and journalist’s credentials, and loudly scolded them in her best voice of command, but nothing could shake them.

  “These people received a special invitation from our beloved king,” said Wandgi, and that got the police officers’ attention.

  The rest of the night was spent looking for Pema and Nadia. By dawn the entire police force—nineteen officers—was on a state of alert, because four other young girls had been reported missing in Tunkhala.

  Alexander told his grandmother about his suspicions that Blue Warriors had mixed in among the crowd, and added that he had seen Tex Armadillo disguised as a Tibetan shepherd. He had tried to follow him, but Armadillo must have realized he had been recognized and had slipped away. Kate informed the police, who advised them that it was counterproductive to sow panic when they had no proof.

  During the first hours of the day, the chilling news spread that several girls had been kidnapped. Nearly all the shops remained closed and the doors of houses open, as citizens of a peaceful capital poured out into the streets to discuss the disappearance of the girls. Crews of volunteers went out to scour the countryside, but it was a disheartening job because the rough terrain covered with impenetrable vegetation greatly complicated the search. Soon a rumor began to circulate. It grew until it was an uncontainable river of panic sweeping across the city: The Scorpions! The Scorpions!

  Two peasants who had not attended the festival reported having seen several horsemen gallop toward the mountains. The hooves of their horses struck sparks from the stone and their black capes flapped in the wind. In the ghostly light of the fireworks they looked like devils, the terrified peasants said. A little later, a family returning home to their village found a worn canteen filled with liquor on the path, and took it to the police. A scorpion was burned into its leather case.

  Wandgi was beside himself. He was kneeling on the floor of his house, moaning, with his face in his hands, while his wife sat silent and tearless, completely stupefied.

  “Are they referring to the Sect of the Scorpion—the one in India?” Alexander asked.

  “The Blue Warriors! I will never see my Pema again,” the guide wept.

  Little by little, the group from International Geographic gathered details. This group of bloodthirsty nomads roamed the north of India, where they often attacked defenseless villages to kidnap girls and convert them into slaves. To them, a woman was less valuable than a knife; they treated the frightened girls worse than they did their animals, and kept them hidden in caves.

  The members of this sect immediately killed any girl child born to them, but they kept the infant boys, whom they took from their mothers at the age of three and trained to fight. To harden them against venom, they exposed the boys to scorpion bites so that by the time they were adolescents they could survive snake and insect poisons that would be fatal to anyone else.

  Within a very short time, the young slave girls died of illness or mistreatment, or were simply murdered, and the few who lived to the age of twenty were considered u
seless and were abandoned, to be replaced by the next group of kidnapped girls. And so the cycle was repeated. Along the rural roads of India one would see the sorrowful figures, these mad women, in rags and begging for food. No one came near them for fear of the Sect of the Scorpion.

  “And the police do nothing?” Alexander asked, horrified.

  “It all happens in very isolated regions, in miserable little villages with no defenses. No one dares confront the bandits. They live in fear of them; they think they have diabolical powers and that they can send a plague of scorpions to wipe out an entire village. There is no worse fate for a girl than to fall into the hands of the Blue Warriors. For a few years she will live the life of an animal, see her newborn daughters put to death, have her sons taken from her, and, if she doesn’t die, end up as a beggar,” the guide explained to them. He added that the Sect of the Scorpion were thieves and murderers who knew all the mountain passes in the Himalayas, crossed borders at will, and always attacked by night. They were as silent as shadows.

  “Have they been seen in the Forbidden Kingdom before?” asked Alexander, with a terrible suspicion growing in his mind.

  “Not until now. They have been active only in India and Nepal,” the guide replied.

  “Why did they come all this way? It’s very strange that they would dare come to a city like Tunkhala. And strangest of all is that they decided to come in the middle of a festival, when the entire town was out celebrating and the police were on guard,” Alexander noted.

  “We must go immediately and speak with the king. He must mobilize every possible resource,” Kate said decisively.

  Her grandson was thinking about Tex Armadillo and the alarming men he’d seen in the cellars of the Red Fort. What role was that man playing in all this? What was the significance of the map he and the men had been studying?

  Alexander didn’t know where to begin to search for Eagle but he was prepared to travel the Himalayas from end to end to find her. He had no doubts about the danger his friend might be in at this very moment. Every minute was precious: he must find her before it was too late. More than ever he needed a jaguar’s hunting instinct, but he was so upset that he couldn’t concentrate hard enough to invoke it. Sweat was running down his brow and his back, soaking his shirt.