The Quantum Mantra

by Henri-Paul Bour

Strong intuition may sometimes manifest itself at the most inconvenient of times becoming a disjointed piece that has no partners in the puzzle of the present.

  Pascal and Ram—each for different reasons—could not share the feeling of optimism following the discovery of the first mantra and sank into an apprehensive state. On their way back to the “Temple of the Forest” both men sulked in silence.

  For Ram, his distress was clear. He had no news from Ma Sue, whom he had endeavoured to protect. The link may not have been obvious to others, but Ram felt inextricably bound to her and by way of his ethical disposition, could not dispel his duty of guardianship.

  Pascal’s reservations were not articulating themselves clearly to him. Coupled with his bad mood was his puzzlement at Ram’s reticence. Normally Pascal could make some kind of joke to tease him out of it, but on this occasion no such joke was inspired.

  Having spent the night in the cave below the lingam of the Wat Phu temple, Pascal’s body felt limp and drained. This was not at all what bothered him, however. A sense of danger; of impending disaster was flowing into his veins like a weak poison. He was terrified and unable to explain why.

  His answer came as soon as the group returned to the temple. The alarming sensation materialized when all the monks came running towards them, tears gushing out of their normally serene faces.

  “The Ajahn, the venerated teacher, “Luang Po Chana” has been abducted by a squad of obviously fake monks pretending to bring him in to a secure place. We have been set up!.”

  Ram felt no logical thoughts penetrate his brain and his body followed his legs, which had already begun running towards the women’s temple. He arrived only to find out that Ma Sue had also disappeared. Rarely was there a situation that Ram did not rejoice in being proved right. He wished so much this time that what he had feared since the beginning he had been entirely wrong.

  On receiving the news of his uncle, Sumit remained totally in shock; the muscles in his forehead shrunk into his hairline. He was completely unable to speak. After several seconds his contained emotion erupted. His face now white and worn, Sumit’s adrenaline had replaced his normal and usual serenities. He experienced a rage that he could not control in spite of his efforts to remain calm. He had to bow to the rock solid reality of his human nature and could not deny the animal within him. It was sometimes difficult to keep guard of it, to stay calm, but all that he could think and feel in his body was that he was ready for attack.

  Ram was both livid and petrified and sunk quickly into a well of deep despair.

  All this could have been avoided had they arrived but half an hour earlier. The monks kept pointing their fingers in the direction taken by two powerful army jeeps that carried the heavily armed men.

  The Novice Bikkhu was the only one able to keep his calm and be able to explain what had occurred. “The Ajahn was teaching as usual when two vehicles drove directly into the compound, which is strictly forbidden. That’s how we knew we were being attacked. The first car was a large four-wheel drive driven by a soldier in uniform.”

  He kept his voice monotone to mask an anxiety, perhaps. “His vehicle was full of men wearing saffron robes and who were unusually athletic. The driver of an army jeep was a Caucasian with short hair, beady eyes, big ears, and a sharp, small mouth.

  Pascal flinched at the description, surprised at the fluidity of comparison offered by the monk.

  “Next to him an old woman with many missing teeth. She looked was dirty and had her skull shaved. She was wearing the nun’s attire and was shouting to a skinny young Thai man. In the back were two other farangs. Sandwiched between the short men was an English-looking man, almost elegant, with thick glasses and a moustache, too big for his tiny face.

  His pinky-tan flesh and blue eyes resembled a British military officer from the Gurkhas.

  The Bhikkhu explained that as soon as they arrived, the first to step out of the vehicle was an old Thai man with black-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in monk’s clothing, which hung on his emaciated body.

  “Only now do I realize that he looked just like a Hong Kong movie mobster. He approached our master slowly and said, ‘We have to protect you’. His instruction was given in such a soft voice. ‘Luang we have orders from High Command in Bangkok and the priest chief of Wat Kiaw.’ We could never refuse this as that is our main Temple!” exclaimed the desolate Bhikkhu.

  “Two strong monks got out of the car and grabbed the Luang Po on each side. They pushed him disrespectfully into the four-wheel drive, tightly compressed between two other heavily built monks that we knew looked bizarre with their golden watches. On the other side, the old woman was getting very excited and she asked for directions to the nun convent.”

  “We could do nothing but pray!” lamented the choir of monks.

  Pascal immediately attempted to call the police station, but oddly, the line was disconnected.

  “Where have the army vehicles gone?” urged Sumit.

  “They went deep into the forest, through a short cut track to the main road,” said the Bhikkhu as he pointed to a path at the back of the main temple.

  With every muscle and emotion, Sumit managed to regain self-control and reacted with lightning reflexes. He knew this area as though it were an extension of him. He knew that there was one man he could use who would help them: the elephant mahout from the forest village. He was their leader and a long-time friend who would not let him down.

  After a rapid phone call he knew he would not stand corrected.

  “No problem,” the mahout had said. “All my men like you and have a great respect for the Ajahn. We will stop these guys in the forest; it is a matter of pride for our people.”

  “Be careful,” warned Sumit, “They are heavily armed.” He filled them with every detail they needed to know before continuing.

  “I know you can manage by yourselves better than we could. Nevertheless, I’m thinking of a different path that we could use to approach the hostiles with my car. You know the point just before the waterfall drops? We can drive there, walk from that fall and cut their path. Your camp is in the North if I remember correctly?”

  “That memory has never failed you Sumit,” replied the mahout.

  “Our trail will be following their path on the west side. We will keep in touch all the way.”

  “Bo Pei niang,” said the Mahout to Sumit in Laotian dialect. “Don’t worry Sumit, it is not like a boxing ring for champions. You know we have our special ways to take care of people like that. Let us bring Ajahn back to his temple. Come and join us if you can. Besides, you know how much the Ajahn loves elephants; this time he might even let you put him on an animal’s neck!”

  His humour had re-ignited once more at the thought of Ajahn, whose personality, shall we say, was not complementary to elephant riding.

  As soon as Sumit knew his friends were going to intercept the hostiles he motioned his own team to join him in the four-wheel drive. He refused Wanee a place in the car.

  “We know that you are the boss, but that is why you must stay out of danger. Please!” he implored.

  Wanee, who was generally always so adamant to join, understood there was no point in fighting this time so she lowered her head in acceptance.

  Having regained his calm, Pascal warned Sumit. “We have to be very careful. These guys behave like they’re in a commando movie. They seem to be heavily armed and they are trained operatives. Who knows where they really come from? For sure, there is a powerful foreign involvement.”

  The trail was not too difficult at the beginning but they had to be cautious and silent. Sometimes big rocks obstructed their progress. They had no guns and these people were professional, enraged by their previous defeats and most definitely happy to shoot at them freely. They had to be extremely careful not to reach them before the Mahout’s men were able to intercept them. If the timing were off, there would be no way for them to return alive.

  As they were approaching the armed men, Sumit noticed
a moving human form crossing the dirt path in front of them and collapsing just in front of their car.

  “Stop!” yelled Ram, always the first to voice his fear. They halted abruptly.

  “Who is that man?”

  Before Sumit was able to finish his question, Pascal had jumped out of the vehicle and approached the body of the crumpled man who lay face down in the mud. He was completely immobile; a pool of blood was forming rapidly around his waist.

  He is bleeding from his vitals, thought Pascal.

  Ram’s trepidation was apparent, but his training as a doctor saw him jumping out of the car with haste as he was used to handling emergencies of this kind. He immediately rushed to take care of the inanimate form and rolled him gently onto his back with Pascal’s help.

  “Noi? I can’t believe that it’s my nurse from Mae Sot,” exclaimed Pascal. “What is he doing here?”

  The wounded, bony man was still conscious and his lips started to pulsate. His eyes looked as though they had been pierced with sunlight. The moment of recognition was stinging Noi into a state of repentance.

  “Oh Pascal, I am so sorry,” whispered Noi as he trembled. “Sorry for my treason to you. I thought you were the bad ones. That’s what Lek had told me at the camp. She said you had stolen documents that belonged to the military and she asked me to find them and spy on you. She said her life was in danger if I could not help her. I believed her because she said she loved me and I loved her. But she... she sold me to the gang. She did not care for me at all.”

  Blood gurgled out of his throat and he coughed out droplets of blood that stained Pascal and Ram’s cheeks.

  “I am so stupid. They were all lies. I should have understood that she still loved Boon. I should have known it was about revenge,” he cried.

  Ram’s eyes were almost outside of his skull his pupils dilated with disbelief.

  “How could Lek... oh the beautiful and evil Lek...” Noi attempted to finish his words, but a flow of blood spilled out instead.

  Pascal looked at Ram who was staring into Noi’s pained eyes. Ram looked back at Pascal; both exchanged a look of mutual understanding.

  With the last of his energy, Noi exclaimed:

  “She, she, she...ordered these butchers to finish me. I had already given all the information they wanted about you. They didn’t need to kill me. I am so sorry..” he was sobbing, his face dripping with blood, saliva, tears, and sweat, that was pooling on the ground below him.

  “Calm down; we are going to save you.” Ram tried to calm the dying man but at the same time he was looking into Pascal’s impassible face. All three men knew that there was nothing they could do to save him. An internal haemorrhage was sucking the blood from his body and his spine was broken. He gurgled pockets of vomit marbled with blood.

  The only thing they could do now was ease his pain. Ram had brought the emergency kit with him and was already injecting him with a powerful dose of tranquilliser. Noi’s eyeballs rolled into his skull; the jelly whites exposing themselves to the sky.

  “Ram, please stay with him,” asked Sumit. “We have to keep moving. We must find my uncle and Ma Sue before they do the same to them.”

  They left Ram with Noi and continued deep into the forest. Sumit, who had lived with elephants, was the first to hear them like distant trumpets cascading from the distance.

  As usual Pascal was also feeling the vibrations from the armoured cars that were not far either.

  “Don’t you think we should stop the car and walk?” he asked.

  “Yes, they will hear the engine very soon. Let’s stay in the shadow of these trees and hide over there.”

  The brass-like trumpeting from the elephants signified that they were approaching.

  The group crouched down in the thick foliage and waited. Suddenly, something crashed behind them from the lower branches of a tree. Petrified, Pascal turned around ready to fight, but Sumit held his arm firmly. He had immediately recognized one of the mahouts, a muscular and dark figure wearing only a sarong, was staring at them with apprehension. The man, still crouched on his heels from the jump, stood up slowly and addressed Sumit in the local dialect—almost as a test. They exchanged information very quickly as the man threw his arms in several directions, indicating everyone’s position. Two minutes later he grimaced a wide smile and ran back into the greenery.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” asked Pascal, eager to gain control of the situation.

  “No need to panic. The mahout says the hostiles are only three hundred meters ahead. They will have to turn just before reaching a low pass under the trees and go through a small river. An elephant will be standing several meters beyond the curve, blocking the way. Their cars will be forced to slow down, if not stop completely. That’s where they have prepared the trap.”

  “How do we know this is going to work? What if they just run the animal down?”

  “We don’t have any other choice Pascal. For the time being we must not do anything and trust the mahouts. We can climb to that hill over there on the right; it’s a good vantage point. But we can’t make any noise; everything must look natural.”

  From their height, Pascal noticed a flurry of movement below, where the convoy had arrived at the curve. They hadn’t managed to stop their cars in time and bumped the elephant, which started to agitate his trump nervously. Even from this distance, both Sumit and Pascal suddenly heard a giant crash. The first vehicle had plummeted into a prepared hole, causing a ruckus. The second car bumped into the first, falling on its side. It all happened very quickly, and after a moment of registering silence, they heard cries and then the terrible racket of a machine gun. Seconds later, the gray form of the elephant could be seen falling into the hole, smashing the vehicle below.

  “We have to go, the hostages are in danger!” yelled Sumit as he sprung up.

  Almost a hundred meters from the scene, Pascal saw men running in all directions. As they came closer, they saw two men tearing off the sleeve of a young girl who managed to escape their grip. She was running in Pascal’s direction. The men, probably the farangs described by the Bhikkhu, held out their pistols but did not shoot her.

  The other hostage, the old Ajahn, was calmly but hurriedly making his way in their direction. His back was straight and his pose was dignified. The hostiles were running in frenzy and were taking refuge in the forest.

  Elephants had gathered, magnetized to the largest member of the herd who had fallen into the set-up trap. The command car was turned upside down.

  Even while attempting to run away, the assailants were very well organized. As soon as they disappeared behind a small hill the noise of propellers passed overhead. A helicopter had found them to bring them to safety. They had succeeded a way out, but they had once more failed in their mission.

  Sumit and his loyal friends, who were now rejoicing in their victory, found it a perfect occasion to mock them by mimicking a Russian dance and smiling at each other.

  “Hey Karamazov Brothers, you have lost again. Give your pig soul to the devil!”

  …

  “If you want to have a friend in Washington D.C., get a dog.”

  President Truman