Sacred Mountain

by Robert Ferguson

There was silence, the men standing looking at each other, the eastern horizon behind them lightening to a pale yellow that merged with the growing blue of the sky.

  At last Philip nodded. “You can come but on one condition. You follow my orders. We’ll need to pull together if we’re to stand any chance.” He smiled at Tashi. He liked him and he had to admit that he’d been useful the previous day. “And remember,” he held up his finger, “this isn’t a trading trip. So forget any ideas you’ve got of buying the Dalai Lama’s prayer beads if we run into him!”

  Tashi held out his hands and looked shocked. “The very thought is outrageous,” he replied good-naturedly. “I’m here only to help.” He smiled. “If they happen to reward me however I wouldn’t want to turn down a gift and offend them.” He continued walking up the trail, Philip turning back up the slope and following on behind.

  They walked on in silence until they reached the village of Thamo, where Philip stopped and joined Mingma who was busy bartering with the villagers for supplies. They sat outside a large stone house, drinking some of the saltiest tea Philip had yet tasted. He had to stop himself gagging after every sip.

  They soon had enough potatoes and onions for a meal and Mingma hired a local man to carry them up to that night’s campsite, hoping they’d arrive in time for supper that evening. They lingered for a few more minutes, questioning the villagers about what they knew about the events of the last few days. They’d all heard rumours of the massacre and of the soldiers marching through the higher villagers.

  Mingma spent several minutes questioning a man who’d returned from Khunde that morning to see if they could learn anything more. When he’d finished he turned to Philip looking worried.

  “This man was in the high street when the soldiers came through. He says there were more than twenty and they had big guns.” Mingma stopped and looked at the man. “There was one man in charge, with a different uniform, and shouting a lot at the others. They were walking fast but two of them were injured and being helped.” He turned towards Philip. “That’s good. The injured will slow them down and give us more of a chance to catch them.”

  Philip nodded. “Let’s hope so. Did he see a prisoner?”

  Mingma nodded. “A young monk who was tied and being dragged along. His face was swollen and bruised but otherwise he looked well.”

  They stood to go, the villagers crowding around them, shouting angrily.

  Philip looked at them, nervously. “Why are they yelling at us?” he asked over his shoulder, “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “They are angry with the soldiers. They don’t know who the prisoner is but they are angry because he was a monk and should not be treated like that,” Mingma replied. “They are urging us to catch them and get him back.”

  As Philip pushed through the throng a child grabbed his hand and pushed something into it. It was an apple, small and shrivelled from its long winter storage. The child scampered back to a Sherpani standing on the other side of the street, who smiled at Philip’s nod of thanks. Small packets of sugar and rice were pushed into their pockets until they got free and walked briskly out of the village. Once clear of the houses they stopped and stowed the gifts in their rucksacks.

  “They want to help. It will help their karma to assist in the release of the holy man,” Mingma said.

  They moved off at a brisk pace, soon catching up with Tashi whose earlier exertions seemed to be taking their toll. He fell into line and didn’t complain as Mingma set a strong pace up the valley, glancing back suspiciously every now and again at the Indian. They didn’t stop for lunch, just a few minutes resting beside a small stream and sharing some cold potatoes and dried fruit. Philip also cut the apple into three with his penknife and passed the segments round, savouring its sweetness.

  They set off again, the sky now leaden with cloud that had closed in over the peaks. A breeze had got up that blew into their faces, making them stop to pull on windcheaters and gloves. Their progress had slowed, mainly due to the altitude which was making their breathing more laboured. Finally, after a couple of hours of steady progress, they emerged from around a small spur jutting out into the valley and could see the camp ahead. The Gurkhas had erected the tent in which they were to sleep, but looking up the valley, from where they stood, it looked like a tiny speck against the vastness of the glacier that tumbled its way down the mountainside. Enormous blocks of ice towered over the valley floor, some as white as snow, others with dark fissures and crevasses slicing through them. It stretched away up the valley, in places covered with rock and scree which had slid down the slopes and come to rest on the icy surface.

  Philip felt the cold cut through him as a gust of wind stung his face with ice particles from the glacier, and without needing to say anything the three men moved off towards the camp before they froze. Small streams bisected their route, roaring down from the snow-covered ridge high above them. Some were bridged using spindly tree trunks that were propped over the water on neat piles of stone. On one Tashi almost lost his balance as the wood shifted under his weight, making him jump hastily to the far bank.

  Smaller streams had no such bridges, the three men leaping from boulder to boulder to cross. The water tumbled beneath them as it swept small stones and pebbles down the mountain side. With their laden rucksacks it was hard to spring and Philip soon found himself sitting on a rock emptying a boot of freezing water. He wrung out his sock miserably, wriggling his toes to get some heat back into them before grimacing as he forced them back into the sodden garment.

  When they finally arrived at camp, over an hour after first spotting it, they headed straight for the large fire that crackled and spat in the cold late afternoon air. They’d met the village porter heading back down the valley earlier, happy that his load was delivered and with the cash he’d been paid. Prem had two of the men busy preparing the potatoes and a large pot of water steaming over the fire. They all pulled their mugs from their bags and were given tea, which they nursed in their hands, enjoying the sensation of the heat through their gloves. The drink steamed into the chill air but when Philip cautiously sipped at the liquid he found it almost tepid and drank it down gratefully. He remembered that the altitude made things boil at lower temperatures, as he held out his mug for a refill.

  He looked up and smiled, seeing Lhamu walk from the tent and giggling at the sight of Philip’s wet foot, still in the sock, wiggling by the fire. “Got a bootful on the way up,” he said ruefully. “I think my toes are about ready to drop off.”

  She sat down beside him on a boulder and they were joined by Prem, squatting down with his hands outstretched before him and almost being licked by the flames.

  “How did the recon go?” Philip asked, pulling his leg in slightly as the sock started to steam.

  “Good,” Lhamu replied, glancing at Prem, who nodded in agreement. “We walked hard and reached this place by late morning. We approached it carefully as we could see it had been their camp last night.” She pointed towards the fireplace. “Their fire had been here also, the stones were still warm. We tracked them up the side of the valley. It was easy. They are not mountain people and had dislodged stones and trampled through wet ground as they went. “

  “There was blood too,” added Prem. “One or more of them is still bleeding. There was some here and then nothing until quite a way up the trail. I think someone’s wound opened up again with the exertion of the climbing.”

  Philip nodded.

  “We tracked them for a couple of hours. It was even easier by then as we were on snow. The trail soon turns east towards the pass and is always in shadow, so it is icy and cold. Soon after, we saw them. They were towards the top of the ridge, just specks of black against the snow. They were moving very slowly.”

  “Did you manage to count them?” Philip asked, looking between Lhamu and Prem.

  “I counted twenty-two,” answered Prem.

  “And I saw twenty-one,” said Lhamu. “They were far away and some were walking
very close together, helping each other. It was hard to be sure.”

  There was a pause as Philip took in the information. “So they’ll have crossed the Pass today.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “We must cross over quickly tomorrow and close up on them. They’ll be exhausted after all the exertions of the last few days, so we should be fresher and faster. If we catch and surprise them then we might stand a chance.”

  Prem nodded. “We’ll break camp early and be off before dawn. If we can get up to the top of the pass by late morning the snow will be firmer and we won’t sink in to it as much as they did. By the time they got there this afternoon the sun had melted the crust and made it soft. It makes the going very slow.” He stood up. “I’ll go and tell the men. Supper will be ready soon and when it’s eaten we will prepare for the early start.”

  There was a silence as Lhamu and Philip sat awkwardly side by side.

  “It’s a good thing to be getting up early,” Lhamu said at last. “None of us will sleep well. The ground will be hard and cold, the tent will be freezing and everybody will snore.”

  Philip looked at her and smiled. “Does the snoring include you?”

  “Definitely,” she replied. “My brothers have compared my snoring to that of the Yeti. They believe it keeps our sheep safe as it scares away the wolves.”

  Philip laughed. “In which case, it’s a blessing you came along. I’ll sleep easier, if less well, knowing you’re keeping us all safe.”

  There was another silence. “When was the last time you crossed over the pass?” he asked, looking at Lhamu.

  She stared into the flames. “Two years ago. There were some of our monks heading to Lhasa and I travelled with them over the border. As soon as we arrived at the road I was sent back.” She picked up a piece of wood from the pile lying to one side and started poking the fire to open it up, throwing it on top when she’d finished in a cloud of sparks. “The first time, however, was many years ago with my father. He was strong then and made his living trading over the pass to get salt.”

  She smiled, speaking slowly as she worked on translating the right words. “He used to put me on the back of one of the heavily laden yaks so I could get to the top of the pass. I used to stroke and pat them as we climbed up and up, thanking them for carrying me and worried that it would make them too tired to continue.” She started giggling, looking at Philip. “Now I realise that they wouldn’t even have felt the weight of a little girl.”

  Philip laughed back, his eyes captivated by Lhamu’s face as it glowed with the happy memories in the flickering light of the fire. Daylight was going, making it seem as if they were in their own tiny world.

  “It was rare to see a young child travelling so high, especially a girl,” Lhamu continued, occasionally slowing as she thought for a word. “Everywhere I went I was spoilt. The Tibetan women always took me off when we stayed near their camps, scolding my father for bringing me and making me sleep in their warm yurts, wrapped in thick blankets. I loved it. I was the centre of attention and given fresh sheep milk to drink every morning.”

  She fell silent for a moment, lost in her thoughts. “But the last time I went things were different. The herdsmen were scared, not even willing to give shelter to monks on a pilgrimage. They sold us food but were suspicious and would not talk. I think they were worried that we were Communist spies come to take their land. After the invasion in the east many people were displaced and everybody fears that the Chinese will now take the whole country. Their spies are everywhere, so nobody trusts anyone.”

  She looked at Philip. “This is why we must not fail. If the Chinese capture the Rinpoche and bring him to Peking then they can control Tibet by ruling in his name.” She leant forward and grasped Philips forearm. “If the Rinpoche is not free then Tibet will fall. And if Tibet falls, the Dalai Lama, the monasteries, our religion will all be destroyed.”

  Philip stared at her and then cautiously reached out and took her hands, squeezing them gently. “We’ll do our very best. All I can say is that it’s a miracle that Prem and the men were in Namche. I cannot think of anyone I’d trust more. I’m not a great believer in religion, but in this instance there certainly seems to have been a God from somewhere looking out.”

  He fell silent, feeling awkward. She withdrew her hands, clasping them together on her lap as if trying to make them disappear and nodded, gazing up the valley. “That’s not our only good fortune. Prem has told me what a brave leader you are.” Cautiously, she glanced back at him. “And my father, he likes you. “The corners of her mouth twitched into a small smile. “You do not realise how unusual that is.”

  Philip blew out his cheeks and nodded, relieved the awkward moment had passed. “Gosh, I am honoured!” He looked at Lhamu and smiled. “And from what he said when we were talking in your house, he’s obviously very proud of you.”

  Lhamu sat in silence for a few moments before replying. “He loved my mother very much and I think I remind him of her. I was always his favourite, my brothers could never do anything right. They had to work long hours on our land while I travelled with him and learnt what he could teach me. My mother’s brother was a monk at the monastery and my father got him to teach me to read and write Tibetan and Nepalese, and then pestered him to get me work with the abbot. He wants me to live the life I want rather than the one I was born to, not die in child birth like my mother.”

  She shook her head. “Any boy I met was never good enough and any suitor, well he told you how he gets rid of them.” She laughed, a sound that dissolved the last awkwardness between them. “Usually he pleads poverty, claiming I have no dowry to bring. Any that still remain are frightened off by his demand for a bride-price. He’s old but he’s still clever. Sometimes I think I will spend my whole life working at the monastery. I am already the oldest unmarried woman in the village. He tells me to be patient but sometimes I worry. He is old and if he were to die my brothers would get rid of me on the first man who asked. And yet I fear that if the opportunity to leave does come I’ll be too scared to take it.”

  Philip sat in silence, his turn to be struggle for the right words. He turned to where Parul had set up the radio set and was busy trying to get a message down to the police at Namche. There was no reply to his repeated calls, just bursts of static.

  He looked at Philip and shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Turn it off,” Philip replied. “Save the batteries in case we need it later.”

  Parul nodded and had just started dismantling the set when Prem came hurrying back into camp.

  “You must come,” he said to Philip, looking grim. “Lalit was collecting firewood and has found a body.”

  Philip quickly shoved his feet back into his boots and without bothering to tie the laces followed the Gurkha up behind the camp. They walked a couple of minutes, crossing a tumbling moraine of boulders and ice, until they came to a huge boulder the size of a house. Philip could see a pile of wood dumped beside it and as he slowly walked around its side a body came into view.

  It was lying on its back, wearing the tattered remnants of a thin green uniform. There was no sign of any baggage or weapons but the way stones had been placed around the body made it obvious that someone had tried to bury it by placing it hard up against the boulder and piling rocks over the top. They certainly wouldn’t have been able to dig into the frozen ground for a proper grave or had enough wood for a cremation.

  Philip grimaced as he looked at the body. The face had gone, torn away to leave exposed bone and gaping cavities. The stomach had been ripped open, intestines strewn over the legs and the body cavity empty.

  “Wolves,” said Lalit, anticipating Philips question. “They will have smelt the blood on his clothes from a wound in his back. They would not care that the man is dead, meat is scarce up here and this is a feast to them.” He kicked one of the stones. “They would move stones much bigger than these to get meat as fresh as this.”

  Philip took his eyes away from the mutilated body a
nd looked to where Lalit was now pointing. Three wolves sat on the far side of the glacier, a couple of hundred yards away, patiently waiting to resume their meal. He shuddered. “OK, back to camp. Let’s keep that fire well banked up tonight and warn everybody not to stray too far from its light.”

  Chapter 13

  Nepal/Tibet border, 1953

  The night was hell. All fourteen were squeezed into the tent making it impossible to lie out straight. The gain in altitude had given Philip a headache which a couple of aspirins could only reduce to a dull but constant ache. Snoring and coughing merged with the wind that whined through the seracs and ice pinnacles of the glacier and the occasional groaning of moving ice. The place had a cruel and sinister feel, reinforced by the occasional howling of the wolves back feasting on the body of the dead soldier. Philip shuddered every time he heard them.

  After a supper he’d gone to bed warm, but after a few hours of tossing and turning he could feel the cold creeping back into his body. Sometime after midnight he’d had to climb out of his sleeping bag in order to relieve himself. He’d tried hard not to disturb the others and was rather annoyed to see that everybody else seemed to be enjoying a deep, dreamless sleep. Having untied and crawled through the tent flap, he walked down the valley to the designated toilet area, watching nervously for the wolves, he could still hear, not far away. Having fumbled though his many layers of clothing he stood looking at the huge glacier climbing up to his right. A thin moon occasionally broke through the clouds, its light glinting off the ice. There was a beauty to it, but as a blast of frozen wind cut through him, he buttoned his fly as best he could and stumbled back to the tent.

  The interior felt positively tropical after his exposure to the elements and he pulled himself gratefully back into his bag. He lay there, panting heavily from the exertion in the thin air and for a few minutes enjoyed the luxury of space as the other occupants pulled away from his cold form. He was just cursing that he’d never get back to sleep when he was woken by Prem gently shaking his shoulder.