He told them how every part of their Sanctuary was joined so they rarely went outside and they kept poultry and livestock in large warm brick buildings where they also stored wood that they cut during the short summer months. He said he would show them later where they kept hives of bees for their supply of honey and beeswax for their candles. Pon wondered how bees survived in the cold harsh climate, with both Tinju and Chokdet using beeswax; he didn’t think they were such a hardy, adaptable insect, and he had seen no flowers.
As they spoke, delicious aromas drifted around the warm dining hall and thirty minutes later, Strength of Wisdom monks served them piping hot bowls of Murghi ka salan and pilau rice.
Pon ate a spoonful of the spicy chicken curry and smirked. ‘Spock and Stu would hate this,’ he thought, ‘it’s a lot spicier than their Yorkshire puddings.’
****
“Aren’t you eating that Yorkie matey?” asked Spock sticking his fork in the last Yorkshire pudding on Stu’s plate.
“No mate, you eat it, I’m stuffed.”
“Well, that was a shite game,” said Spock as highlights from the previous day’s premiership football match finished on the TV in the kitchen.
“See if there’s anything interesting on the news mate and I will grab us a couple more beers from the fridge. The ones we purloined from Pons fridge should be cold enough now. I don’t know why he doesn’t keep his fridge icy cold.”
Spock swilled Stu’s last piece of Yorkshire pudding down with a beer and said. “It’s just like Sundays at home matey, except we aren’t going down the pub.”
Stu walked back to the table as Spock flicked through the channels.
“Yeah,” said Stu, “and Dao’s roast dinners taste better now she’s stopped putting that Chinese lettuce crap on and calling it cabba... Ooh, Lurch is on, turn it up mate.”
The lads listened as the US Secretary of State stood at the Presidential podium making an announcement.
“Huh, that’s bloody typical,” said Spock looking miffed several minutes later. “When you need information about a terrorist killing loads of Septic’s and our Buddhist mates; all Lurch banged on about was Russian troops amassing near other countries borders in the Baltics... who gives a shit?”
Stu furrowed his brow and shouted at the screen. “What about that bloody Ab-dab terrorist, Fahed Del Alaz? Where is he Lurch?”
Stu tutted, as Lurch went off and Richard Quest came on. “Pah, no bloody help at all. Change the channel Spock; I don’t want to listen to that idiot.”
Spock changed channels and turned down the volume. He opened his can of beer and looking lost in thought, sighed and said, “I wonder where they will find Fahed? I bet he will be hiding at one of his terrorist camps in a desert somewhere.” He took a slurp of cold beer and frowned. “They’ve been gone almost a week.”
Stu puckered his brow, took a gulp of beer, and said. “No, it’s only been five days mate, but I hope they are all okay. I wonder if they found that Paki Monastery yet or Abdullah’s cave?”
Spock shrugged, groaned, looked towards the lounge, frowned, and rubbed his ear. “Well, I hope they won’t be long.”
Stu tittered as he took the remote off the table and changed channels. “Oh good, the Twilight Saga’s on. Maybe I can get some ideas for my novel,” he said turning up the volume.
— Chapter Sixteen —
Apart from Chuck, Sedgly, and Kamal, who knelt in silence, a cacophony of voices echoed around the warm temple as each group chanted in their own language.
After chanting Sutras for several hours with the Strength of Wisdom monks, two of the Masters took the visitors through heated corridors to a large room where fires raged from stone hearths.
Thick white quilts lay out in rolls and the Masters told them they were sleeping bags and, after the Asian monks looked confused, Chuck showed them how to use them.
The monks chatted for a while in their warm quarters before getting into their sleeping bags and extinguishing several of the candles.
“Excuse me, Prime Master,” asked a Tinju while the others tittered, “why do the Strength of Wisdom monks and Kamal shake their heads when they speak?”
“From what I’ve read it’s called bobbling, and it meant yes or okay,” said Pon recalling the information gleaned from his Punjabi CD.
“They said ‘yes’ a lot,” said another Tinju as the others sniggered. “It made me dizzy watching them talk.”
Pon smirked. “Go to sleep, we have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Early the following morning, after a comfortable night’s sleep, Strength of Wisdom Masters came and took them to the dining hall.
After eating a spicy warm broth, a smiling Prime Master Bolan and two Masters showed them around the busy Sanctuary.
With the savoury and sweet smells of Pakistani cooking drifting through the heated corridors, they were shown around the self-sufficient Sanctuary complex.
Although candles lit each room, some of them had windows and Prime Master Bolan told them the rippled glass was made from clear baked tree resin.
Pon had his question about the bees answered when the Prime Master smiled and showed them to a large room with a flat roof made from the resin glass. Bright sunlight shone through making it appear like a warm summer’s day.
They saw crude wooden beehives in the centre of a small garden of flowers as Prime Master Bolan explained. “During the short spring and summer months, the valley bloomed with these flowers, but in the winter they don’t, so the bees hibernate. We have these gardens here so the bees can work all year round… because we use a lot of candles,” he smirked.
After the tour, they were taken to the temple and after Sutras, the older and younger Gi'āna dē tākata monks left and went about their daily chores. Kamal went with them, leaving male and female Warriors and Masters.
“Would your Warriors like to train alongside ours?” asked the Prime Master. “The building they use was unheated,” he smirked, “so they work harder to stay warm, so I think you will find our Warriors formidable opponents.”
The temple now seemed quiet as Pon, the Warlords, Dave, and Manhut, knelt in a circle along with Prime Master Bolan.
Pon looked into the old monk’s eyes. “Can you help us Prime Master?”
Prime Master Bolan furrowed his brow. “Of course, and I have also sent word to our friends who may be able to help you. They should be here soon.”
He rubbed his wrinkled old face and with uncertainty in his voice said. “But I am still unclear or unconvinced about any involvement by the Muslim tribes in our region. We...” The wind then howled through the temple as the door opened.
Pon and the others looked around and saw six armed men walking toward them.
Startled, they jumped to their feet.
“It's a trap,” yelled Chuck, taking his dagger from his cassock pouch as they faced the oncoming guerrillas. Sedgly followed suit and Pon took out his Juglave and sprung out the blades, while Dave and Manhut stood in a defensive Muay Thai stance.
Master Bolan, seeing the five looking angry shouted. “Don’t be scared, they are friends.”
The armed guerrillas approached with their eyebrows, hair, and beards covered with a white frost and with rage in their eyes, stopped in front of the men.
Dressed in shabby woollen jumpers and jackets with Ak47’s and belts of ammunition over their shoulders, one man stepped forward. “Please, don’t be alarmed gentleman, we mean you no harm. I am Khan Singh of the Mujahidin.”
Pon and the others looked taken aback by the weather-beaten guerrilla’s articulate English accent.
Prime Master Bolan walked over, stood by Khan, and said. “These are the friends who I called to help you.”
Chuck, his dagger raised and sounding furious said. “Why should these men help us? They were the people we came to find. They think of us as infidels.”
Khan grinned. “We do not consider everyone who does not believe in Allah infidels, everyone has the right to their own b
eliefs. We consider the Gi'āna dē tākata our friends and we would protect them if the need ever arose. That’s why I cannot understand how you would think we had anything to do with this? We are not Taliban terrorists who live in the mountains; we are Kashmiri freedom fighters forced out of our homes. The only people we considered infidels are the people trying to destroy our way of life.”
He looked at Chuck and Sedgly and smiled. “We do not consider all Westerners our enemy, sir.”
Although they all saw anger in Khan’s eyes, his voice sounded calm and composed. “The Western media portrayed us to be mindless unfeeling terrorists, who need wiping off the face of the planet. That was their justification to blow up our villages and kill our women and children, tearing families apart. I am a doctor and educated at Oxford in England. I came here several years ago to help my brothers with our cause.”
He looked at the monks and frowned. “We are soldiers like you and protecting our way of life. We will not be told how to live and fit in with the culture of decadence. None of us were afraid to fight and die to protect our culture and family. The Western mainstream media called us insurgents in our own country. They are the insurgents; we are just fighting for our freedom.”
Khan smiled. “Tell me more about what happened to your people and perhaps we can help. Master Singh and Master Ponah gave me scant information, which was why we came to find out more.”
Prime Master Bolan motioned for them all to sit. The Buddhist put their weapons away, and the Mujahidin laid their rifles against the wall and sat on the floor. Two monks brought glasses of hot herbal tea and then Pon related their story.
Khan and his men look concerned when Pon mentioned Fahed Del Alaz. He told them that they needed to find Abdullah Ranghit’s chiefs to see if anyone knew Fahed’s whereabouts.
Khan looked at his men frowning, glaring, and grinding their teeth, and sounding enraged, he said. “We know Fahed Del Alaz,” he wiped moisture from his beard. “Fahed deceived us and took our soldiers. He told us he empathised with our cause and would pay us handsomely and train our soldiers to help him find the people who killed his father in the Middle- East. He told us that he had a small army but needed foot soldiers to help him search for the murderers. We did not delve into who he was after because we needed the money to survive and continue our fight. His men took our fighters to his training camps, but we don’t know where it was.”
Khan sighed. “Fahed promised us that in return for our help, he would also give us modern weapons and technology for our cause.”
He shook his head as his fighters mumbled. “So far, we have received neither money nor weapons, and we haven’t heard from Fahed since he took our fighters. Abdullah Ranghit was one of them.”
Khan frowned and looked concerned. “We have not heard from any of our one hundred and twenty soldiers since Fahed’s men took them, nor do we know where they are and concerned.”
Pon looked at Khan, and seeing the anger in his eyes, said. “I’m sorry Khan, but after what Abdullah told us, and what we found out, I believe that your soldiers are dead.”
Khan nodded, sighed, and said. “Abdullah was from our eastern clan and their chief is my brother. Fahed told us all the same thing that I have just told you, so going there would be treacherous, and pointless.”
Manhut, unable to understand the conversation in English, knew from the look of anger and despair on Khan’s face that something was wrong, and as Khan spoke to his men in Punjabi, Dave translated to him what had been said.
Several minutes later, Khan sighed and said.
“I’m sorry gentlemen, but we appear to have hit a dead-end. We have been naive and never checked Fahed because he found us through our underground network, so we believed him. I am afraid we can be of no help with your quest.”
Pon looked at Khan. “Thank you for coming to try Khan, I will have Abdullah returned to you when we get home.”
Khan nodded, shook Pon’s hand, stood, and then he and his men left the temple.
The disheartened monks and Gopetu’s spoke with Prime Master Bolan trying to plan what action to take. Pon felt demoralised and needed to call Taksin to arrange their transport home. He knew with the mountains blocking signals they would have to trek back to the other side before he could speak with him.
They sat in silence and meditated until the Warriors came in and after an hour chanting, they went to the dining hall and ate.
The large hall echoed with chatter from the Warriors, and after eating there was silence as the Warriors went back to the freezing arena to continue training.
The Prime Masters, Master Sedgly, the Gopetu’s, and Kamal remained in the warm dining area discussing their situation.
Pon looked disheartened and sighed. “I will call Khun Taksin when I get a signal and arrange to get us home.”
Dave furrowed his brow. “Perhaps General Mahatmacote can help. If Fahed came through Pakistan and picked up the Mujahidin, maybe he knew where they took them.”
Pon rubbed his chin and nodded “Perhaps… good idea Dave.”
Shuddering at the thought of the hike back over the mountains, Pon said, “Thank you for your hospitality Prime Master, but we must leave.”
“I am sorry you have come this far for nothing my brothers,” said Prime Master Bolan feeling their despair.
Chuck looked nervous. “I don’t relish the thought of hiking over the mountain again. I still feel worn out from last time.”
Prime Master Bolan furrowed his brow and looked confused. “Why did you come over the mountain?”
The others looked at the Prime Master who smiled after realising that few people knew of the alternative.
He spoke with Kamal in Punjabi showing him locations on the map.
Several minutes later, Kamal looked nervous as he smiled at the group and stammered. “There was a shortcut through the mountain.”
Pon frowned and knew what Spock and Stu would do in this situation. He smiled, imagining Spock priming his hand for an ear clipping, as Kamal looked sheepish while explaining about a system of tunnels, leading from the valley through Mount Vishnir.
“It will take us about six hours,” said Kamal with a tremble in his voice. “It will bring us out near where the helicopters dropped us off.” He gulped when he saw them glaring at him and shrugged, throwing out his hands. “I didn’t know this way existed, honest.”
Prime Master Bolan nodded. “Few people know this way. We have animal oil torches. Take them and they will burn long enough for you to make the journey.”
They all smiled and nodded at the old monk.
With them now feeling relieved, Chuck looked at Kamal. “Hey buddy, you told us you had been a guide for many years.”
Kamal nodded. “Yes sir, I have.”
“And do you only guide around mountains in Pakistan?”
Kamal shook his head. “No sir, I take people all over Pakistan; not just mountains, but rivers, deserts, gem mines, wherever I’m needed.”
Chuck furrowed his brow. “Pon, you told us that Abdullah said they took him to a desert.”
Pon nodded. “Yes, he did Chuck, but he didn’t know where.”
Chucked smirked. “Kamal, do you know of any deserts where they might train guerrillas and terrorists?”
Kamal looked taken aback and shook his head. “No, I imagine that there are many places, but I don’t know of any,” he scratched his beard. “The closest desert to here was the Pamir Tundra. I know nomads lived there; maybe they have come across some,” he said looking puzzled and furrowed his brow. “Why, I thought you said that you were looking for your Buddhist brothers?”
Chuck ignored his question and asked. “How many deserts are there in Pakistan?”
Kamal pondered and furrowed his brow. “Around fifty sir… why?”
Chuck sighed. “Damn, it could be any of them…. Kamal, how many of them are a few days travel from the Hindu Raj Mountains by road?”
Kamal looked bemused and pondered. “Maybe ten, but the P
imir Tundra is the nearest.”
Prime Master Bolan closed his eyes in silent prayer seeking guidance as the others looked despondent at one another.
“I am confused,” said the guide shrugging. “What are you looking for?”
Chuck looked at the bewildered guide, nodded to the others, and then said. “Not what buddy, but whom? We are looking for a man who led an army of assassins who are murdering our families.” He took a photograph from inside his cassock, showed it to Kamal, and said, “This man.”
Kamal looked at the photograph, gasped, and taken aback looked again and chuckled. He looked at the anxious faces of the group and smiled. “Sheik Fahed Del Alaz is not a terrorist; he is a rich Arab Sheik.”
The others looked stunned and Pon gasped. “Do you know him?”
Kamal nodded. “Oh yes, I have known Sheik Fahed for years, he is a nice man and calls me when he is in Pakistan collecting gems. I know the sapphire mines, and he paid genero...”
“Do you know where he is?” asked Chuck interrupting his sentence.
“No sir, it has been several months since he last contacted me.”
“Damn,” said Chuck frowning.
“But I know his mansion in Pakistan; it’s in the upper Jutial district of Gilgit City.”
They look at one another and then at Kamal.
“Can you take us there?” asked Pon sounding hopeful.
Kamal looked puzzled. “Yes sir, but I thought you were now looking for terrorists.”
“Do you not watch the CNN news channel?” asked Chuck sounding angry.
Kamal shrugged and shook his head. “No, we don’t get it on the Pakistan network.”
Pon smiled and felt relieved. “So, if we leave here tomorrow morning will you take us to the address?”
Kamal smiled and nodded. “Yes,” he looked at the monks and sniggered, “Although you will need different clothes for travelling in the Pakistan suburbs. You’d look suspicious wearing the white suits or those skirts.”
Protector--The Final Adventure Page 17
