Sacred Mountain

by Robert Ferguson

  He’d looked down at the bodies of innocent victims before, at carnage beyond description or understanding. The last time he had been responsible for it and powerless to rectify what had happened. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

  He put his hand on Mingma’s shoulder. “We need to get going. If there’s to be any chance of them being caught we need to tell the authorities.” He looked at the Sherpa. “You return to Thangboche and tell the abbot what’s happened.” He glanced back up the trail. “Take the ring from the dead Llama to show him. He will know if the Rinpoche really was among them.” He nodded at the bodies. “Get the monks to come and fetch these bodies. At least they can be given proper funerals.” He shook the Sherpa’s shoulder and gave him a gentle push. “Go on, go. And hurry.”

  “Where will you be?” Mingma asked, looking at Philip.

  “I’m going to the Police post in Namche to report it. I’ll also try to get a message sent from the radio transmitter there to warn the authorities in Kathmandu.”

  “You-must-be-careful,” Mingma stammered. “They-must have gone that way. We didn’t meet them and there are no other ways.” He looked at Philip. “If they are trying to get back to Tibet they must be taking the trail through the upper villages. That is the quickest way to the pass through the mountains.” He paused, his mind starting to work again. “How will you manage to communicate without me to translate? I doubt the police will speak any English.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” replied Philip, nodding towards Tashi. “I’ll have our friend Mr Banagee here to keep me company. Now go.”

  Mingmo head off up the trail and when he was out of sight Philip reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a penknife. He walked over to where Tashi was standing and turning him around, cut the scarf that still bound his hands.

  The two men stood looking at each other, Tashi rubbing the circulation back into his wrists.

  “I’m going to need your help.” Philip said calmly. “You’re lucky I didn’t find you with this in your hands,” he held up the ripped remains of the Kanjur, “or I’d have killed you.”

  The Indian looked at him, his eyes steady on Philips. “I make my living by trading things.” he said, a steely edge to his voice. “Maybe I sometimes take advantage of people’s desperation, maybe I just give them the money they need to survive, but that doesn’t make me a murderer.”

  Philip returned the gaze and slowly nodded. He didn’t trust the man, but realised he couldn’t have killed all these men on his own. Nor would he have hung around so long afterwards when the Kanjur had obviously been discovered. “You’re got five minutes. Go to you camp and get your things. Then we’re off to Namche.”

  Chapter 10

  The climb up from the river went on forever. Tashi had quickly returned from collecting his belongings and they’d set off in silence. If he felt insulted by the treatment he’d received he didn’t show any ill-feeling, more concerned that they might catch up with the soldiers. At every switchback and turn in the trail they slowed and carefully checked the way ahead was clear before proceeding. Although the soldiers had a good two hour start, Philip was worried that some of them might have been injured during the ambush and had stopped, once clear of the scene, to dress their wounds. These fears, however, were unfounded despite spotting the occasional drop of blood on the ground.

  Finally they passed the junction with the trail to the upper valley and soon after reached the small stone chortern that marked the top of the ridge. From here it was an easy descent into Namche. Everything was normal. People were going about their everyday business, women carrying firewood or fetching water. Children ran along the streets, playing and shouting loudly at each other. Some sheep grazed a small field, hemmed in by a gateway of thorns and two dzos walked along the main street, driven by an ancient man leaning in a thick stick he occasionally used to prod them.

  Striding through, Philip dropped down some rough stone stairs to the street below and arrived at the house of Mingma’s family. The door was wide open, as were the shutters on the windows, dusty bedding hanging over the sills to air. He entered, leaned his pack against the wall and looked around, his eyes taking several seconds to adjust to the darkness.

  The lodge looked empty and he’d just started walking towards the door that partitioned off the families living area when he heard the bunk beds behind him creak as someone climbed off. A small man jumped down and held his hands together in greeting, his teeth visible in the half-light in a large smile. Philip stared through the gloom at the face.

  “Ram,” He said, recognising one of the Gurkhas and returning the greeting.

  The Nepali bowed. “Sahib,” he replied. “We did not expect to see you again so soon.”

  Philip grunted grimly. “And I didn’t expect to be here.” He ran his hand through his hair which was slick with sweat after the hard climb. “This might sound a bit strange but have you seen or heard any reports of any soldiers being seen today?”

  The soldier looked confused but shook his head.

  Philip nodded. “Good, now listen. I need your help. Can you take me to the Police post? I need to see the District Commissioner. I’ve got something urgent to report.”

  Ram nodded and turned, picking up his hat from the bunks before darting out into the bright sunlight. Philip followed him out and beckoned to Tashi who’d been waiting outside.

  They hurried off after Ram who was waiting for them beside a small alley that ran down the hillside to the lower town. In less than a minute, but after navigating a warren of small streets, they stood outside a large stone building with a bright blue sign nailed over the door. Carved into it was an impressive insignia.

  “This is it, sahib,” Ram said, pointing at the doorway as he backed up the track. “I must now return to the others. They will be sorting out the loads as we have bought all we can and are going to leave in the morning for home.” He gave a small bow and hurried off.

  “Thank you,” Philip called after the disappearing Gurkha, before knocking on the door before him. There was no answer and it was only on the third attempt, which was more of a battering, that the door finally opened. In front of them stood a tiny man, obviously just woken, squinting blearily out at Philip.

  “Good afternoon,” Philip said. When there was no reply he continued slowly. “Do you speak English?” Again silence. “Tashi, I think I need your help,” he said over his shoulder and the Indian walked forward.

  “Namaste,” he said in greeting, before starting a conversation with the rather bemused policeman who, during the course of it, ushered them through to a large bare room and indicated to them to sit on a rough wooden bench. The policeman sat behind a large desk, behind which, on the wall, hung a large portrait of the King, and opened a heavy, leather-bound ledger. In this he started to take details as Tashi spoke.

  After a few minutes of what Philip could tell were questions the man stood and went to another door. Opening it, he yelled something and moments later two young policemen, both dressed in rather worn and dirty uniforms, came hurrying through.

  Tashi turned to Philip. “He says he cannot do anything until the felony has been confirmed. He’s sending these two men down to the bridge to check our story. I’ve told him it will cause too much delay but he insists that it’s the correct procedure.” He shook his head. “He says it’s too late to go today so they’ll head off at first light.”

  “Damn it,” Philip spat out. “I should have brought the army cap with me. At least that would’ve been some evidence. Can’t he see how important this is?” He blew out his cheeks. “The Chinese will have at least a two day start by the time they get back from the river tomorrow and get themselves organised. There’s no way they’ll catch them.”

  Tashi nodded. “I’ve told him as much but what else can we do. He’s in charge and I think the story sounds so nuts he doesn’t believe us. Normally the worst crime they get here are disputes over sheep ownership and drinking too much Chang.”

 
; Philip was silent. “OK, thanks,” he said at last. “Can you stay a little longer and see if you can persuade him to send the men tonight. At least they’ll be ready quicker then. I’ll meet you at the lodge in twenty minutes and then we’ll go to find the radio transmitter. I need to get my Expedition accreditation as James said they’ll only send messages for The Times. That’ll serve as proof of ID.”

  Tashi nodded and resumed talking to the policeman as Philip excused himself, ducked out the front door and quickly retraced his steps to the lodge. As he approached he could see Prem and the other men standing outside, talking quietly together. When they saw him approach they fell silent, looking at him quizzically.

  “Lieutenant,” Prem said, tilting his head enquiringly. “Ram told us you were agitated.” He looked at Philip. “Is there something wrong? He said you were asking about soldiers.”

  Philip looked around the familiar faces and nodded. “Bad news I’m afraid. We’d better go inside as I don’t want too many people finding out or it could cause panic.”

  They filed after him through the door and sat quietly in as he told them what’d happened. It took some time as he had to pause occasionally to let Prem translate some of what he’d said to some of the Gurkhas who were was less fluent in English. They shuffled uneasily when he told them about what the dying monk had said. When he’d finished he sat while they discussed it in Nepali.

  When they fell quiet Philip shrugged and sat forward. “The police aren’t going to do anything until they’ve got proof but by then it’ll be too late. My guide Mingma has gone to the monastery in Thangboche to confirm the story about the Rinpoche. If it’s true, then God help the Tibetans.”

  He stood and walked to his bag, starting to untie the straps. “I’ve just come for some ID and them I’m off to the Indian Radio Station to try to get a message to Kathmandu. God knows what I’ll say but there’s little else I can do.”

  There was a silence as the men took this in, followed by a brief conversation. Philip pulled his wallet from his bag and turned just in time to see Prem stand and turn to him.

  “What can we do?” he asked in a steady voice.

  Philip stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “While we are waiting for the police, there must be something we can do to assist.”

  Philip nodded. “Well, to start with they’ll need information. The soldiers must be heading back to the Tibetan border. As they didn’t come through here or go to Thangboche, they must have taken the trail to the villages above Namche. There’s no way that they could’ve gone that way in daylight and not been seen. The police will need to know when they were there, how many there were and which way they were going. That way they’ll be able to work out where they’re headed.”

  Prem said something to the other nine men in Nepalese. They got up and quickly filed out of the door. The corporal followed and Philip heard him give some brisk orders and watched through the open windows as the men set off in pairs up the street. Philip followed them outside and as the last ones disappeared around the corner Prem turned to him.

  “I’ve sent them up to the villages. They will be quick and be back by sunset. We will know then if the soldiers have passed that way. Is there anything else we can do?”

  Philip shook his head. “Thank you Prem, I can’t think of anything. We’ll just have to see what we find out and then pass it on to the police when they finally confirm what’s happened.”

  Prem looked at him inquisitively. “What of your own job? Will this not interfere with your work with the newspaper?”

  Philip shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but what can I do? A couple of days shouldn’t matter too much. It’ll be at least three to four weeks until the Expedition will be ready to attempt the summit so there shouldn’t be any news of note to transmit back to Kathmandu. I’ll just have to hope that if there is, his radio blows up.”

  Prem nodded and turned, heading off in pursuit of his friends. Philip looked at his watch. It was half an hour since he’d left Tashi at the Police station. Perhaps he’d thought they were meeting at the Indian Radio Station. He checked his ID letter was in his wallet and set off, before realising that he’d no idea where the transmitter was located. Working on the assumption that the higher the aerial was placed the better the signal, he began climbing up through the small town. The sun, which had briefly appeared in the middle of the day, was now hidden again behind a blanket of white cloud, the wind blowing an icy chill through the narrow streets that soon had Philip shivering.

  After twenty minutes of wandering he was about to give up when he noticed the tip of a tall mast peeping above the roofs of the nearest houses and finding a flight of steps that climbed in that direction he set off. Soon he was standing outside a large stone enclosure that seemed to consist of a high wall surrounding an open courtyard. From its centre rose the tall aerial, anchored by four long wires which ran from the corners of the enclosure to halfway up the mast. Beside a large double door was nailed a sign, written in both Nepali and English. It read “The Government of India. Radio Communications. Namche Bazaar Branch. Director: Mr A. Tiwali.”

  Philip pushed at the door but found it locked. He was just lifting his hand to knock when he heard someone calling his name and turning, saw Tashi struggling up behind him.

  The Indian caught him up, standing with his hands on his knees as he panted from the exertion. “Sorry I’m late,” he gasped. “The policeman offered me tea and I thought it prudent to accept and not appear rude. I tried to convince him to send off the men but he refused. I then requested that he radioed for help but he told me it wasn’t possible.” He shook his still lowered head, waving a hand towards the closed door. “Apparently the operator has gone away for a few days. He’s had to return to the road head to pick up some delicate parts for the radio that he didn’t trust the local porters with.”

  Philip looked at the doors again. “Damn it!” he said, turning and kicking at a loose rock that lay on the path. “Can anything else go wrong? Looks like we’ll just have to wait for the local police to check it out.”

  They walked in silence back to the lodge. They found Mingma’s mother had relit the fire to cook supper and Philip sat wearily beside it. He yawned and stretched, trying to straighten out some of his tired muscles. He felt exhausted, a combination of the exertions of the day combined with the shock of what he’d seen. He couldn’t get the massacre by the bridge out of his mind. Whoever had killed the monks had done a ruthless job. He guessed that the younger monks were picked for their strength and martial art skills. For them to be brushed aside so easily meant they must’ve been seriously outnumbered and outgunned.

  He smiled and nodded his thanks as the old lady handed him a bowl of rice and lentils, a sprinkling of chilli on top. He started to eat, his mind still down by the river. He winced as the chilli stung his dry lips, the spice burning into the open cracks in them. He heard the door open and a blast of freezing air swept into the room. Glancing up over the rim of his bowl he saw Mingma enter and hurry over to warm his hands by the fire.

  The door was still open and Philip had just got up to close it when he came face to face with another person entering, silhouetted by the evening sky. It was Lhamu. His mouth dropped open but nothing came out. She looked at him and nodded, closing the door behind her without looking away.

  “Namaste,” she said, her dark eyes flashing in the firelight. “I’m pleased you are safe. I am sorry it is not for happier reasons that we meet again.”

  Philip smiled and gestured for her to join them by the fire. They were both given Tibetan tea by Mingma’s mother and started telling Philip all that had happened.

  “I climbed back to Thangboche; I was almost running because of fear. When I got there I went straight to the abbot and showed him the ring.” Mingma shook his head. “He went pale and collapsed. Fortunately Lhamu was with us and we managed to catch him and carry him to a bench.”

  “The monk was telling the truth then. The Rinpoche was wit
h them?” Philip cut in impatiently, looking at the Sherpani.

  She nodded slowly, appearing to be translating in her head what she wanted to say next. “He was. It had been decided in Lhasa that he must go to the United Nations and ask for help against the Chinese. The Dalai Lama and the other Tibetan leaders are watched constantly and kept prisoner in their homes. The Rinpoche was allowed to travel to Shigatze for his father’s funeral and his escape was planned. With the help of the Head Lhama and monks from the monastery there he managed to slip away and cross to Thangboche.” She stopped and looked into the embers. “There have been reports that the monastery at Shigatze has been destroyed by the Chinese when they found out, with monks lying dead in the streets.”

  She sipped her tea. “They were very tired when they arrived at the monastery as they had been travelling very fast. That is why they rested for a day. They believed they had escaped and were safe. The story of the sacred book was a way to explain their journey without making people suspicious.”

  Mingma pulled the bloodstained hat out of his pocket and held it up in the firelight. “I showed them this. They recognised it immediately as several of the monks went to Lhasa to visit the Jokung Temple last year. It’s definitely Red Army.”

  “Did the abbot know where they’d crossed the border when they came?” Philip asked, taking the hat. “If they were being tracked then you’d expect the Chinese to return by the same route.”

  Lhamu nodded. “They crossed the Nangpa la. It’s a high pass through the Himalaya that is used by Tibetan traders. There are no checkpoints or police there. It is so high that it’s impossible for most people to climb over it. Only the hardiest will do so.” She looked at Philip. “This is where the Chinese lost them. After crossing the pass the monks took a short cut to Thangboche over a smaller pass. The Chinese missed this and went straight down the valley towards Namche. They must have realised their mistake and turned back, waiting by the river to ambush them as they came down the other valley.” She sat up straight. “That is why I’ve come. I travelled over the Nangpa la on several trading trips with my father so I know the route. I will help guide the rescue.”