Mandala of Sherlock Holmes (22 page)

Suddenly Mr Holmes paused and signalled us to halt. He then directed the beam of the lantern straight to the floor, which like the temple, was covered with a thin carpet of powdery snow. We were probably arriving at a place where drifts of snow could somehow enter this subterranean corridor.

‘What do you think of that?’ he asked, indicating a number of footprints clearly impressed on the soft snow.

‘Obviously someone has anticipated us,’ said I, worried.

‘More than one, I’m afraid. There are three distinct sets of impressions. I first observed them just a littie way ago. One of them is obviously a cripple. Notice how the impression of the right foot is quite askew, and also blurred because he dragged that foot.’

‘Moriarty!’ I exclaimed in horror.

‘Yes. As I expected, the Dark One has got here before us. One of his companions led the way, he came next, and the third followed as rearguard. There can be no question as to the superimposition of the footmarks.’

‘Do you think the Amban is with him?’ asked the Lama Yonten.

‘Probably not. The two other impressions are from the same kind of footwear — cheap, cloth-soled Chinese boots, I would think; the kind that can be worn on either foot. I noticed the Chinese soldiers wearing them.’

I was not at all happy about our proceeding with this particularly dangerous venture, especially when highly unscrupulous bounders, fully prepared to commit violences against our persons, awaited us at the end of it.

‘Hadn’t we better … ‘ I began to make a suggestion.

‘We are doing so,’ Holmes interrupted me rather brusquely. He extracted a revolver from within the folds of his robe and cocked it. ‘It would be well if we were to proceed with all due caution. Hurree? You are armed?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I said resignedly, pulling out the ludicrous weapon from my belt, and began to go through the motions of preparing it for the coming fray.

‘You Hurree, will bring up the rear. If anything should happen to me, you will at once escort His Holiness and the Lama Yonten out of this place. Now close the shield of the lantern. We will have to manage in the dark.’

We moved very carefully along the passage, which now gradually, almost imperceptibly, became wider, and strangely less dark, or so I imagined. As we went forward the phenomena became more apparent. Unwilling to trust my own visual senses I tentatively imparted to Mr Holmes my assessment of the luminary intensification. He had noticed it too.

‘You are right, Hurree, and it is getting progressively lighter further up the passageway. We must double our precautions. The light will make us more visible, and more vulnerable.’

For another half an hour we advanced stealthily. By this time the passage had so enlarged that it was now the dimensions of a large cathedral. It was also now quite simple to locate the source of our illumination. Hundreds of feet above us hung a massive roof of clear glacial ice, via which a remote daylight filtered through to provide a pale unearthly luminescence in the cavern below.

As we sidled by the left wall of the gigantic passage way, glancing nervously up at this tremendous anomaly of nature, the thought of those millions of tons of unstable ice poised menacingly above our heads did nothing to reassure me about the wisdom of our enterprise. A little way ahead there was a narrow opening in the wall — probably a cleft in the rock, but with the regular lines of an entrance of some kind. Maybe it was the beginning of a branch passage, or the door to a chamber.

Sherlock Holmes stopped a little way before the opening and, getting down on one knee, carefully inspected the white floor. CI don’t like it. The alignments of the footmarks change here. They do not all point forward as before, but instead point toward each other in a rough circle. Obviously they gathered around here to confer.’

Meanwhile I had proceeded to the side entrance to have a look inside. I was just stepping into the opening when Mr Holmes shouted a warning. ‘Stop, Hurree It is a trap!’

Instinctively I drew back, which was most fortunate, for two shots rang out, the bullets whizzing perilously close past me. I pressed my back hard against the wall and tried to control my breathing and the rhythm of my heart, which were now totally at sixes and sevens. Pressing himself against the wall, Mr Holmes sidled up besides me. ‘Moriarty and his men conferred here to prepare a trap for us,’ he whispered. ‘But in baiting a mouse-trap with cheese, it is well to remember to leave room for the mouse. The entrance was rather too obvious. The footmarks also provided a useful confirmation.’

‘But what can we do now, Mr Holmes? I asked. We can only proceed at unequivocal peril to life and limb.’

‘Let us not succumb to such morbid anticipations before having exhausted our own resources.’ Holmes said sternly. ‘First of all we must establish the exact circumstances of our adversaries. Hurree, if crouching very low, you could quickly peep around the corner and fire a few shots in their general direction, it may afford me the opportunity to make a quick reconnaissance. Are you ready? Now!’

I fired three rapid shots around the corner and whipped back to safety, just before a volley of rifle-fire crashed past me and echoed through the many miles of empty caverns. Mr Holmes had managed to duck back safely also, and he now stood with his back pressed to the wall and his eyes filled with frustration.

‘The Devil take it!’ he cried bitterly. ‘They are unassailable.’

‘How, exactly, Sir? I did not have time to see anything.’

‘The two soldiers are entrenched behind large blocks of ice which provide them absolute protection against our bullets. There is no way they can be flanked, and they have a clear field of fire of the whole entrance. We are trapped here.’

‘But we can always retreat, Sir.’ I cried out at this folly, flinging my arms out in protest. It was very careless of me, I will grant you, to make impassioned gestures while under fire, for my left hand must have stuck out a bit beyond the corner. There was a sharp crack and I felt a sudden hot sear, as if a red hot poker had been pressed against the back of my hand. I had been shot. Good Heavens! I withdrew my injured limb with alacrity and tried to nurse it with my other hand, which held the revolver. Unfortunately, in the heat and confusion of things I must have dropped my fire-arm on the floor. More unfortunately still, the bally thing was cocked and ready to fire, and so it accidentally discharged a round.

‘What the Devil …?’ Mr Holmes leapt back in alarm as the bullet zipped past his nose and flew up into the air.

Somewhat embarrassed by this unfortunate accident I lowered my head and affected to examine my wound with great interest. But to my dismay, Mr Holmes’s reaction to this minor and absolutely unintended blunder of mine was rather violent and unexpected. He grabbed me by the collar and threw me brutally to one side. Recovering from this uncalled for assault on my person and dignity, I sought to remonstrate with him. ‘Really Sir. Such behaviour is unbecoming of an English gentle…’

Just then a great mass of murderously jagged ice crashed down on the very spot where I had just stood. The accidental discharge had struck the ice on the roof and dislodged a large section of it. Mr Holmes must have seen this and taken effective steps to save my life. I censured myself for my want of faith. How could I have, for even a single moment, doubted the integrity of my noble and valiant friend.

‘I … I … ‘ I stammered an embarrassed apology.

But Mr Holmes was chuckling and rubbing his hands together. ‘Ha ha! Capital! I never get your limits, Hurree.’

‘But …‘I began to ask. He held up his hand.

‘Once again, Hurree, in your own inimitable fashion, you have demonstrated the solution,
le mot de Venigme!

‘But …’

‘How is your wound, Babuji?’ the Lama Yonten enquired solicitously, taking my injured hand in his. ‘If I may …’

Fortunately the wound was only a superficial one. The skin at the back of my hand had been scored, but there was little bleeding. The Lama Yonten applied some herbal salve and bound it with my ‘kerchief.

‘Now Hurree,’ said Holmes, methodically reloading my revolver, ‘when I give the word, both of us will whip our weapons around the entrance and fire a few quick rounds — not at the soldiers, but at the roof above them — and then withdraw immediately.’

He handed me back my revolver. I knelt low near the floor just by the entrance. Mr Holmes crouched over me, his weapon raised by his head.

‘Ready? Now!’

Both of us suddenly stuck our heads round the corner, rapidly fired half-a-dozen shots, and quickly ducked back to safety, just as the Chinese soldiers released a murderous volley in reply. With our backs pressed to the cold wall we held our breath and waited. A couple of seconds later a thunderous roar burst through the entrance, followed by a veritable storm of powder snow which so filled the air that for a minute visibility was reduced to near zero.

Gradually the snow settled down and Mr Holmes and I, firearms at the ready, cautiously walked through the entrance. Our plan had succeeded beyond our expectations, for the two unfortunate Chinamen were completely buried under a mass of icy rubble. The effect had been much greater in this chamber, not only because of the greater amount of ammunition we had expended, but also as the roof was much lower at this point, with great jagged icicles dangling from it.

We circumvented the icy grave. The Lama Yonten muttered some prayers, probably for the souls of the two wretched men entombed there. On the other side, about forty feet away, was another opening. So, this chamber was some kind of vestibule. We crossed the room and walked through this new entrance.

We were now in an enormous, circular, hall-like enclosure, easily a few thousand yards in diameter, covered by a gigantic dome of ice that must have been at least half a mile high at its central point. All around this colossal rotunda were great statues — twenty in number — of grim warriors clad in strange armour. The figures were of gigantic proportions, on a par with the great Buddha statues I had beheld in the Bamiyan valley in Afghanistan. As we surveyed this awesome scene, which would have made Kubla Khan’s ‘stately pleasure dome’ look like an inverted pudding bowl, the Lama Yonten chanced to see something.

‘There is a light shining in the centre.’

I applied my telescope to my eye, but could not see very clearly. What with the cold and the damp, some condensation had formed on the inside of the eyepiece; and besides, the instrument was not a very powerful one.

‘There is definitely an unusual coruscation in that vicinity,’ I reported.‘But I cannot make out what is causing the phenomenon.’

‘We will know soon enough,’ said Holmes laconically. ‘Let us move on.’

Twenty minutes walk brought us before a large column of ice — a truncated stalagmite — about six feet high resting on a square stone platform two feet above the ground. The column seemed to be made of an unusual kind of ice, metallic in appearance, and dark — but in a silvery kind of way like a moonlit sky. The strange sheen of the column’s surface gave the illusion of not really being solid, but just an opening to deepest space. Little star-like specks of light reflected from the icy dome on its surface reinforced the illusion. But even more wonderful was what rested — or to be exact — what seemed to be suspended a few inches above the top of the column. A perfect crystal, about the size of a large coconut, blazed with an inner fire, its many, perfectly cut facets distributing the light in myriad magical patterns.

‘It is the Norbu Rimpoche!’ (Skt.
Chintamani)
whispered the Lama Yonten, obviously awe-struck. ‘The great Power Stone of Shambala.’

‘But that is a mere legend,’ said I, sceptically, for I had often come across the story in my sojourns in the Himalayas and Central Asia.
²

‘Nay, Babuji.’ The Lama Yonten interrupted me. ‘I recognise the stone from the description in the
Sacred Tantra of the Wheel of Time.
It is written that the Messenger from Shambala planted two such Stones, one each at the psychic poles of our planet. The first was lost when the sacred continent of Ata-Ling was devoured by the great waves. The second was brought here to Thibet, but was believed to have been taken back to Shambala when the forces of evil gained ascendancy over our land.’

‘Yet it has always been here,’ said Holmes reflectively. ‘Hidden in this vast cavern, the
real
Ice Temple of Shambala. Probably the location and secret of this temple were lost after the death of the ninth Grand Lama; and since then the entrance chamber has mistakenly been thought to be the actual temple.’

‘Much was lost with the demise of the ninth Hallowed Body,’ said the Lama Yonten, shaking his head sadly.‘But now the discovery of the True Temple and the Power Stone will ensure the rule of His Holiness and the future happiness of our nation. And it is thanks to you, Mr Holmes; you and your brave companion.’

‘Are there no thanks for me?’ A harsh sneering cackle broke the sanctity of the temple. ‘For me, who first discovered the Great Stone of Power?’

1. The
vajra
was originally the thunderbolt weapon of Indra, the Indian Zeus. The Buddhists changed it to the symbol of highest spiritual power ‘the Adamantine Sceptre’ which is irresistible and invincible. The double or crossed
vajra
(Skt.
visva-vajra)
symbolises immutability, and is hence used in designs of thrones and seats, inscribed on bases of statues, pillars, foundations of houses, anywhere where permanence is desired.

2. Legends of the
Chintamani
stone are prevalent even beyond these places. It is believed that Tamerlane and Akbar possessed portions of such a stone, and that the stone set on Suleimans (Solomon) magic ring was a piece of the
Chintamani.
Nicholas Roerich, the famous White Russian mystic, artist and traveller was convinced that the
Chintamani
was the
‘Lapis Exilis)
the Wandering Stone of the old Meistersingers.

22

The Opening of the Wisdom Eye

Both Mr Holmes and I raised our pistols as the broken, cadaverous body of Professor Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime, The Dark One, shuffled and limped into view from behind the ice column where he had been hiding. ‘Journeys end in lovers’ meetings,’ Moriarty said with false cheer. ‘Excellent. Such a perfect reunion could scarce have been expected, even if I had mailed engraved invitations to everyone. We have, of course, Holmes, the busybody, his fat Hindu Sancho Panza — to whom I owe a little something — and,… aah … yes, the Lama Yonten, chief monkey to our brat here … the last Grand Lama of Thibet.’

‘Hurree, shoot him if he so much as twitches a finger,’ said Sherlock Holmes grimly, raising his revolver and shielding the Grand Lama’s body with his own.

‘With pleasure, Sir,’ said I resolutely, pointing my weapon straight at Moriarty.

Moriarty looked scornfully at us. His altogether unpleasant appearance had definitely taken a turn for the worse since our last encounter at the legation, what with the acquisition of a number or recent weals and burn-marks. ‘Do you think it is necessary for me to take those silly gestures and passes any more? You do not believe me. Look!’

A narrow ripple of movement seemed to pass in the air between his eyes and the Stone of Power; and then from the Stone a concentrated wave of some kind of energy shot out and struck our hands. Our weapons disappeared in a flash.

‘I assure you, gentlemen,’ said Moriarty, with mock civility, ‘the very atoms that composed the metals of your primitive weapons have been shredded and scattered to the extremities of the universe. As a demonstration it was perhaps extravagant. You must forgive me this childish display. It is not every day that one discovers the most powerful well-spring of energy in the world.

‘Though it was commonly believed that the Great Power Stone of Shambala had been lost or that it had returned to Shambala, I, through lengthy and arduous research, learnt of its continuing existence. In the course of my studies I also discovered that the key to its location lay in the painted scroll that hung in the Grand Lama’s chapel in the Jewel Park. In my attempts to acquire the scroll, I was obliged to do away with the Grand Lama — this brat’s predecessor — who was unfortunately in the chapel praying, no doubt for the benefit of all pathetic sentient beings. I also had to dispose of that ninny, Gangsar
trulku,
my erstwhile colleague, who blundered into the scene and made a typically posturing and ineffectual attempt to save the life of his wretched master.

‘Unfortunately I was prevented from acquiring the scroll by the Grand Master of the College of Occult Sciences — curse him!— who, taking me unawares, destroyed much of my memory and power. It is fortunate for that puffed-up old dotard that he is dead, for I had much to repay him. But even with part of my mind shattered, a glimmer of my previous quest remained faintly in my memory. After my escape to China and my eventual settlement in England, I was unconsciously drawn to the scientific study of crystals and strange stones — even extraterrestrial ones
¹
— which provided me some trivial recreation. Then you, Holmes, restored my powers to me, and I was once again able to embark on my true quest — and accomplish it.’

He hobbled towards the monolith and reaching up, lifted the crystal into his hands.

‘Stop! It belongs to Shambala,’ cried the Lama Yonten. ‘You must not desecrate it with your profane hands.’

‘Old Fool!’ Moriarty cried harshly, his face distorted with anger and evil anticipation, the veneer of his false civility now beginning to crack. ‘For too long have you and your pious kind sat on the greatest force in the universe and just wasted it. Compassion! Enlightenment! Bah! By my own efforts I have discovered the Stone of Power and only I will possess it. And it will be used as it was intended to be used — for power.’

Holding the Stone in both hands Moriarty raised it high above his head, till his entire body was bathed in its myriad flashes of light. It seemed that he was burning in a fierce pyre, but these flames did not consume — they healed, they restored! I could scarce believe my eyes, but there it was. Gradually Moriarty’s crooked body straightened till he stood tall and erect. His near cadaverous body filled out with muscle and blood, his shoulders and arms broadened and his sunken chest expanded like a balloon. Wrinkles, scars and blemishes vanished from his face, which now became youthful and comely. But his eyes remained as ever dark and sinister, and his voice harsh and sneering.

‘Now, before I subject you to the Stone’s awesome powers —though the effect will be somewhat different in your case —perhaps an explanation is in order. It may comfort you to know the precise workings of the force that will collect your final debt to nature. I will try not to be tedious, so bear with me …’

He then embarked upon an extraordinary lecture which was chok-a-block full of very fanciful ideas and wild theories, that he, in a very superior way, considered to be more scientific than the scientific laws formulated by such great thinkers as Mr Dalton or even Mr Newton. Of course it was all bakwas, as we say in Hindustani. I am convinced that his tricks came from a knowledge of jadoo and the power of djinns and demons in his service. There was nothing scientific about it. I mean he even said that light waves were electric and magnetic vibrations, when everyone knows that light is just colours (VIBGYOR) as proved by Mr Newton in his famous prism experiment. Even more crazy was his idea that human thoughts were mere electrical discharges in the brain cells. I mean, how can a scientific man like me even begin to tolerate such ravings. If Moriarty was right then all we had to do for mental inspiration was to stick our finger into one of Signor Galvani’s battery piles. Anyhow, I reproduce his entire lunatic lecture for the reader’s amusement. That he conducted it in the most condescendingly superior and professorial manner will surprise no one.

‘The Power Stone is essentially a crystal,’ Moriarty commenced to address us, in a tone one would only be forgiven for adopting towards the village idiot. ‘In structure a rhombic dodecahedron to be exact. Though certain elements in its composition are not of this world, its unique properties derive more from its nature as a crystal than anything else. Concerning the knowledge of crystals, our science is yet in its infancy, though the precise geometrical forms of crystals have excited the interests of many thinkers. Are not the five platonic solids, of which Plato had so much to say, just various crystalline forms? And we must not forget the diamond. A mere crystal of carbon, yet the most precious stone on earth.

‘The crystal derives its unique quality from the symmetrical lattice structure of its molecules. The tighter the atoms of the lattice are packed together, the more pronounced the qualities of the crystal become and the more enhanced its … aah … special powers. For example, when the formation of carbon molecules is loose, it lacks a lattice structure altogether, and the result is charcoal or soot. With greater pressure, the lattice form is assumed in the formation of the carbon molecules and the result it graphite. When carbon molecules are subjected to tremendous pressure and the lattice structure is packed tight, diamond is formed. But if the molecules and atoms in the lattice form are compacted beyond a certain stage, some crystals develop extraordinary properties. For instance, the crystal of Iceland Spar only permits a certain plane of light to go through it. It may interest you to know, in spite of all the stupid opinions to the contrary, that light waves consist of electrical and magnetic vibrations taking place in all possible planes containing the ray. Thus the crystal of Spar puts the random electric and magnetic vibrations in order as it passes through it.
²
Other crystals, like quartz, also show the ability to order electric vibrations.

‘The Power Stone is the ultimate crystal capable of ordering, amplifying and concentrating electrical vibrations of a specific nature beyond all conceivable limits. I have stated that the electrical vibrations needed for the Power Stone were of a specific wavelength. Now, mental energy consists, basically, of millions upon millions of infinitesimal electrical discharges occurring every second in our brains, and of the precise wave-length required to activate the Power Stone. Since most people have no control over their mental activities, the Stone is as useful to them as a fiddle to a cow. But for a trained master of the occult, who not only can project his cerebral impulses outside his brain, but direct them where he will, this crystal becomes a true Stone of Power. And it is mine.’

While Moriarty had been indulging in his long boastful lecture, I had arrived at the inescapable conclusion that we were all doomed if we did not do something, and jolly quick too. But what could we do? I glanced over at Mr Holmes to see if he had anything up his sleeve. But it was clear that there was nothing he could do without Moriarty noticing, for the Professor’s full attention was directed at his arch-enemy. Indeed it was apparent that Moriarty’s self-congratulatory and swanking speech was intended wholly for Mr Holmes’s benefit. The rest of us — even I — were, intellectually, mere worms in Moriarty’s eyes. It was a humiliating realisation, but it stirred the veriest beginning of an idea in my head.

Once again it would be up to me, Hurree Chunder Mookerjee (M.A.), to teach our arrogant Professor Moriarty (Ph.D.), a little lesson in Christian humility and common courtesy.

Mr Holmes was standing directly in front of Moriarty about twenty feet away from him. Behind Holmes were the two Lamas, both of whom, I am proud to say, were standing bravely erect not showing a whit the great fear they must have felt. I was to their right, a couple of yards away, a distance that I managed to slowly and considerably increase by the subtle performance of a series of almost imperceptible casual shuffles. When I judged that I could not proceed any further without attracting Moriarty’s unwelcome attention, but that I was sufficiently beyond his immediate frontal vision, I drew in my breath and ‘let slip the dogs of war’.

I was holding the dark lantern in my left hand. Deftly transferring it to my right, I flung it at the Professor. As the reader may have guessed, I was attempting to duplicate my previous incendiary success at the Chinese legation. Alas, it was not to be. Once again I missed Moriarty. The lamp struck the column and, bouncing off, clattered uselessly on the stone dias. No great gout of flame, not even a bally spark, came out of that damn thing. I had forgotten how robustly these modern safety lanterns were constructed. Moriarty — confound the man — did not duck, or even flinch at my attack, but laughed aloud in his sinister way.

‘Ah … how kind of you to remind me of our unfinished business. I had almost forgotten. Now …’

‘Look out, Hurree!’ cried Holmes. But it was too late. Much, too late.

A brief current of light flashed from Moriarty’s eyes to the Stone of Power. Suddenly a ball of fire shot forth from the Stone. It struck me full in the chest and threw me violently backwards. I seemed to lose consciousness for a moment, then I felt the pain, which was intense. It coursed through me like liquid fire. Then there was Mr Holmes crouching over my supine form, a look of intense sorrow and anguish on his face.

‘Hurree, my friend. Can you hear me?’

I smelt the scorched flesh of my torn chest, and knew that it was all over; that I was now embarking on my final voyage on the khafila of life.

‘I am dead, Mr Holmes,’ I said simply. But it was not going to be as simple as that, for I heard Moriarty’s strident objections to my speedy demise.

‘No, no, my fat friend. Not so fast. You will burn for a long time before you perish altogether. Coals of fire. Eh! Coals of fire. Ha. Ha. Ha.’

Even in my final moments I was to be denied any peace or solace. Moriarty’s maniacal laughter rent the air, and echoing off every point on the great dome of ice, filled the place with its horrid, exaggerated mimicry.

‘Who shall it be now?’ Moriarty cackled hideously. ‘No. Not you Holmes. You will see this thing through to the end. It is necessary that you observe the suffering you have caused your friends by your impertinent meddling in my affairs. But where shall we start? Let us think. Shall we now see the Grand Lama onto his journey to the heavenly fields, as they so charmingly put it in this country?’

‘Mr Holmes!’ cried the Lama Yonten in despair. ‘You must save His Holiness.’

‘Old Fool!’ laughed Moriarty. ‘What can you expect this Englishman to do against my power — and the power of the Stone?’

‘Listen to me!’ the Lama Yonten shouted desperately to Sherlock Holmes. ‘You are not really English. You are one of us. You have the power too.’

‘What do you mean, monkey?’ cried Moriarty, but the Lama Yonten’s whole attention was focused on Sherlock Holmes, whom he was frantically shaking by the lapel of his Ladakhi robe. For the first and only time I saw Mr Holmes looking dazed. His mouth hung open and his eyes were glazed over. But the Lama Yonten desperately persisted in his attempt to persuade Sherlock Holmes of his rather lunatic conviction.

‘Mr Holmes Mr Holmes. Listen to me. You are not Sherlock Holmes! You are the renowned Gangsar
trulku,
former abbot of the White Garuda Monastery, one of the greatest adepts of the occult sciences. The Dark One slew you eighteen years ago,‘but just before your life-force left your body we were able to transfer it — by the yoga of
Phowa?
— to another body far away.’

‘I cannot remember … cannot remember …’ Mr Holmes mumbled and staggered back a few steps as if intoxicated.

‘You cannot remember because you were unconscious and on the point of death when the
Pho-wa
operation was performed and the Aperture of Bhrama
⁴
opened to release the sacred bird. That is why we could not direct the principle of consciousness after its release and had to trust in the power of the Three Jewels to guide it to a habitable body.
⁵
It was the best we could do at the time.’