by Roland Smith
“Someone could have given me a ride, or perhaps I took a cab. I don’t remember.”
“How about on that road when I came off Everest?”
“I told you that I hitched a ride. I waited for you for several hours, but I knew you would be there eventually. At the time it was the only drivable road into Nepal, which is where I first met Percival Willingham. He didn’t recognize me when he picked us up here in Tibet, but he was the man who gave me a ride to the Friendship Bridge border crossing. My hair was longer, and I was dressed as a Sherpa, but he did ask me about his father, who was rumored to live in the hidden monastery.”
“How did you know that he would be on that road after we came down from Hkakabo Razi?”
“I didn’t know, but I knew that someone, the right one, would come along to help us. As you explained to Tashi, I had a hunch.”
“And how did you get to Myanmar?”
“A better question is why I went to Myanmar. Just as I sensed you would have trouble in the Pamirs, I knew you would have trouble on Hkakabo Razi. All our pasts, presents, and futures are intermixed even if we do not recognize the connections. I had asked your father, Yash, and Yogi to join you on Hkakabo Razi, but I needed to find you and lead you to them. Perhaps necessity has something to do with it. You have heard the stories. A child is pinned under a car and the child’s mother lifts the car and pulls the child out without thought or hesitation. An impossibility, and yet it occurs. How it happens is not important.”
“The mystery,” I said.
Zopa nodded. “Like so many other things.”
Josh came to with a moan, and said, “Man, this really hurts. I could use some water.”
I ran over to the stream and filled the bottle. Josh tried to sit up to drink, but Zopa put his hand on his chest and shook his head.
“I want to see my legs,” Josh said.
“It is best you don’t right now,” Zopa replied.
“Okay,” Josh agreed passively, which was totally out of character. Josh was many things. Passive was not one of them.
I gave him some water.
“What about the chopper?” he asked.
“It is gone,” Zopa answered. “I doubt it will return. This has been discouraging for the Chinese. You should try to rest.”
He didn’t mention Shek and his men’s proximity and neither did I.
Josh closed his eyes.
* * *
Zopa sat in the front of the yak-driven cart next to the driver. I sat in the back next to Josh with an old monk, who I presumed was a doctor, and Norbu, who had come along for the ride. Josh passed out again when we lifted him into the cart and hadn’t come back around. I didn’t like his color. It was like every drop of blood had been drained from his body.
“The doctor says that your father will recover, but it will take time,” Norbu said.
“How’s Duga’s mom?”
“It is believed that if she had arrived at the monastery an hour later, she would have died. You saved her by bringing her down from the roost when you did. We are all very grateful. She is weak, but she is expected to live.”
I was glad to hear this, but I was distracted by all my worries. Now I had Josh to add to all the other people I was fretting about. It would take Josh months to recover, if he recovered. Did that mean I was stuck at the monastery? I was even worried about Dawa, who I barely knew. He looked too frail to survive very long in the roost.
When we reached the farm area, people were lining both sides of the main road. They were standing in complete silence, carrying no offerings. As we passed, they put their hands together and solemnly bowed.
“I hope they aren’t bowing to me,” I said, feeling uncomfortable.
“No,” Norbu said. “They are bowing to the abbot.”
“I’m sure they’re sorry to have Dawa back in his roost.”
“No. They are happy Dawa is back in his roost, because that is where he wanted to go. They are bowing to the new abbot.”
Confused, I looked at Zopa. He was acknowledging everyone we passed with a solemn bow of his own, right side and left, all the way down the road until we reached the hot springs outside the monastery. Greeting us there was a sea of orange-robed monks on their knees facing the cart, bowing and chanting.
“For Zopa?” I asked.
“Yes. Zopa is now the abbot of the monastery. This is why Dawa brought him here.”
Four monks trotted up with a litter and expertly lifted Josh out of the cart and moved off with him. My choice was to talk with Norbu and Zopa about this new development, or to follow Josh. I followed Josh.
They carried him up the one hundred and eight steps into the monastery and down a corridor to a large room that smelled like herbs. Waiting there were two monks in orange robes and stethoscopes around their necks. The litter was put onto a table in the middle of the room, and the four monks that had carried it left without a word. The room was lit with lanterns and a wall of high windows. Opposite the windows was a floor-to-ceiling shelf running the entire length of the wall and stacked with labeled vials and jars. After conferring, the doctors carefully cut away all of Josh’s clothes, including the bamboo splints. Both of his legs were terribly swollen and purple with bruises. Josh’s eyes started to flutter open and he began to moan. One of the monks lifted his head and poured a draft of some kind of brown liquid into his mouth, while the other monk stuck acupuncture needles into his neck. Josh’s body immediately relaxed, and the color came back into his face. They listened to his heart and lungs with their stethoscopes and examined every inch of his body, writing notes as they proceeded from his toes to the top of his head. When they finished, they conferred some more, then got busy with more acupuncture, concentrating on his legs, turning him into a ghastly human pincushion.
Zopa walked in. The doctors bowed and the three of them started talking. When they finished, the doctors went back to their acupuncture and Zopa turned to me.
“They are optimistic,” he said. “The right leg is broken in four places and the left leg in three places. His hips are not broken, which they are pleased about. They are going to keep him completely sedated for a few days. They expect him to be back on his feet in three months.”
I was relieved to hear that the doctors believed that he would walk again, but the slow recovery meant we would be at the monastery until late fall, maybe early winter.
“Josh will be fine here without you,” Zopa said. “You and Yash are leaving the monastery.”
“What are you talking about? When?”
“Soon.”
“What’s changed?”
“Shek is a mile closer. If he and his men continue in the same direction they are traveling, and all goes well for them, they will reach the rim of the crater late tomorrow afternoon or early evening. They have stumbled onto an easier path than you took here.”
If I didn’t know better, I would say that Zopa was worried, and it made me very uncomfortable.
“What about the defenders? Can’t you send them out to stop them?”
“They are more than willing, but they may encounter difficulties against Shek’s weapons. I would like to avoid bloodshed for either side if possible.”
“Are you going with us?”
“I cannot. I am the abbot.”
“So, I won’t see you again,” I said.
“That cannot be predicted, but it is a possibility. You are welcome to return here anytime you like, but I suspect your path will lead you elsewhere.”
“I hope I see you again,” I said, trying not to choke up.
Zopa gave me a slight smile, then put his bandaged hands together and bowed. I returned the bow. It was difficult to believe that this was it. That I would never see the cagey monk again. That he wouldn’t appear out of nowhere when I needed him the most. The mere possibility of that made my heart so heavy with sadness, I thought it might stop altogether. I didn’t understand Zopa, but I loved him. And so I wouldn’t completely break down, I changed the subject
.
“Yash and I are decoys,” I said. “But will that work? I think Shek is more interested in you and Josh than he is in me and Yash.”
“That is why Duga and Norbu are coming with you. Norbu will be dressed as Josh. He is about the right height and build. He will wear sunglasses and a hood as your father often does. Duga will be dressed in a monk’s robe. It is vitally important that you stay far enough ahead so that Shek and his men don’t get a good look at you, but not so far ahead that they lose you.”
He made it sound simple, but I knew it would be a lot more complicated than that. Shek and his men had guns. They could slow us way down by shooting us.
“I don’t want to harm Shek or his men,” Zopa continued. “And I don’t want to imprison them for the rest of their lives. I want them to believe you have gotten out of the country and give up the chase. I’m not saying this won’t be dangerous. If you would prefer not to—”
“I’m in,” I said. “We’ll be fine. Where are we going?”
“Tashi will go over that with you. He is waiting in the library. He has already met with your team and sent all our travelers out ahead of you. You can only take essential gear, nothing extra, so you can outmaneuver the soldiers, who are weighed down with equipment. Yash is packing your gear as we speak. Once you have led Shek far enough from the crater, you can pick up your pace. He will try to catch you before you leave Tibet, but hopefully you will leave him far behind.” He glanced at the window along the back wall. “It would be dark soon. If you are going to make the rendezvous, you must leave in less than an hour.”
I took my pack off and pulled my journal out. “Give this to Josh when he wakes up. I don’t want this in my pack if we get caught. There is a lot about the monastery in it.”
“I will give it to him.”
“Tell him that I expect him to read it.”
Zopa nodded. “He will have a lot of time to practice his reading and writing.”
I took a deep breath. “I guess this is it,” I said. “I’ll miss you, Zopa.”
“As I will you,” Zopa said. “Go out and do good things.”
“I hope to.”
I left the room trying to hold myself together and not doing a very good job of it, until I reached the library, where I managed to stop crying and wiped away my tears.
Part Three
Go Out and Do Good Things
The Route
Tashi was seated on his platform, writing in a large ledger, when I walked into the library. I stepped up to his desk and thought I was going to have to wait for him to finish what he was doing, but he looked up immediately and gave me a warm smile.
“So, you have spoken to Zopa,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And you understand the requirements?”
“I think so.”
“Repeat them for me. It will be best if we are all on the same page.”
I repeated Zopa’s instructions, which now sounded vague and oversimplified. If leaving the crater was anything like it was getting here, we could be in trouble, to say nothing of Shek and his men trying to grab us.
“That is the gist of it,” Tashi said. “Did Zopa tell you that you are in charge?”
“No, he didn’t mention that.” I didn’t think anyone needed to be in charge.
“Well, you are, and I have informed Yash, Duga, and Norbu of that. I think you are the natural choice, since you led your expedition into Tibet.”
“I was nominally in charge,” I said. “But I’m happy to take the role if it’s all right with them.”
“It is. Do you have any questions?”
“About a million of them,” I said. “Like . . . where are we going?”
“Myanmar. That’s where you want to go, correct?”
“Ultimately, yeah. But how do I get there if I don’t know where I am?”
“That is a conundrum.” Tashi pulled out a small hand-drawn map and slid it across the desk. “I had a monk draw this up from memory.”
“Maybe we should have him come with us if he’s fit enough,” I said. “With a memory like that, he—”
“My memory,” Tashi interrupted. “When Chanda arrived here I interviewed her about her journey. I used Chanda’s memory to draw the map. You are going to Myanmar via Arunachal Pradesh.”
“Land of Dawn-Lit Mountains,” I said. “She must have gotten a lot better if she was able to describe the route she took all those years ago.”
“Chanda is still unconscious. This map was drawn from what she told me about her route the first week she was here. We call her route Chanda’s Path.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said. “Things change.”
Tashi nodded. “It has changed a great deal since she arrived. For many years it was the easiest path to Pemako, but no longer. Duga has traveled some of his mother’s route through the Aruna Mountains more recently. He looked the map over and thought it might do for your purposes.”
I studied the map. It was pretty detailed, considering it was drawn from a decades-old memory. A thin red line traced the route. The end point was in a city called Itanagar near a river called the Brahmaputra in India, neither of which I had ever heard of. From there we would go to Yangon.
I pointed to the starting point. “So this is where the monastery is.”
Tashi shook his head. “No, that is outside of Pemako. Shek and his men are near here. There’s a chance you won’t have to go all the way to Itanagar. We’re hoping to get you some help once you enter India, but those plans are in process, and it would be premature to elaborate at this stage. I have dispatched all our travelers and guides with instructions from Zopa, but he did not tell me what the instructions were. There is no need for either of us to know, because there is a good chance that nothing will be in place until after you reach Itanagar, where we have many friends. Do you still have your satellite phone?”
“I do, but it doesn’t have much battery left.”
“You won’t need it until you get above the tree line in the Arunas. There is rarely a satellite signal down here. Turn it on at 10:08 in the morning and 10:08 at night for a couple of minutes. If plans fall into place, someone will call you.”
The sacred number with an extra zero.
“I guess that is all, except to wish you safe travels and to thank you for doing this for us.” He stood and shook my hand. “You need to start your journey. The others are waiting for you out front.”
And with that I left the hidden monastery for the last time.
* * *
Yash had a small backpack for me, which was in much better shape than the duct-taped mess I’d been hauling around. I transferred what little I had into it, discovering a cloth bag filled with hand-size rolls of something gooey wrapped in paper that smelled terrible.
“Food,” Duga said. “The cooks make them for the guides and travelers. That way we don’t have to waste time in the forest trying to find something to eat. They are like your Western energy bars.”
“I hope they taste better than they smell,” I said.
“They don’t,” Norbu said. “But they will keep you alive.”
I was hungry and put one of the rolls in my pocket so I could eat it on the way. Duga knew where the rendezvous was, and he and Norbu took the lead. Duga was dressed in a hooded robe, and Norbu was wearing a set of Josh’s clothes, which were a little baggy, but they had been baggy on Josh as well.
Yash and I followed behind them, comparing notes. He knew about as much as I did about where we were going, although he had heard of Itanagar. We both agreed that the climb wouldn’t be too technical if Chanda had managed it and that we would be able to stay ahead of Shek with our light loads and current conditioning. We’d had a nice long rest at the monastery and good food. The soldiers had to be pretty depleted by now.
When we were halfway up the crater, the sun set and we put on our headlamps. Norbu and Duga were fifty yards ahead of us. I pointed at them and asked Yash if he thought they looked like Josh
and Zopa.
“Maybe a little. They move differently. At this distance, I think Shek will assume it is them because we are with them.”
I hoped he was right. “Josh told me that Shek was a climber,” I said.
“He is not an enthusiastic climber, but he’s competent. When he was young, he was a member of the Chinese climbing team.”
“Like Chin,” I said.
“Different years. Chin is older than Shek.”
“Maybe they know each other.”
Yash shrugged. “Shek was originally posted to Everest because he was a climber. I was on two rescues with him on Everest. He was able to hold his own. As to his men, I don’t know. All soldiers stationed in Tibet are required to go to climbing school. They will know the basics and have some skills.”
“They have to be pretty tough to have lasted as long as they have out here,” I said.
“True,” Yash agreed. “And they have guns.”
That thought ended the conversation until we reached the rendezvous point, which turned out to be a takin hunting camp. We smelled it long before we reached it. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a takin camp. I stopped our group thirty yards away so we could check it out before blundering into it. Three men were sitting by a fire, and several other men were sleeping nearby. It was nearly midnight. I took out my binoculars. One of the men at the fire was the green monk, but he wasn’t dressed like a monk. He was wearing a chuba held closed by a wide red sash. It was warm out, but it had been raining for the past couple of hours. He was drinking something out of a bowl. Probably yak butter tea. There were several yaks tied to trees around the camp. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I recognized the man sitting next to the green monk. I think he had visited the butcher when I was helping him one day.
“It’s okay,” I told the others. They followed me into the camp.
The green monk stood as we approached.
“We wondered if something had happened to you,” the green monk said.
