Sacred Mountain (23 page)

They chatted on about her memories, of the floors being so slippery from butter spilt from the lamps she could hardly stand, of breaking the ice from the storage barrels of water in the mornings to boil. The time passed quickly and nearly an hour had gone when he saw Prem get up and nod towards him.

He started putting his boots on, trying not to show Lhamu how painful his feet now were. “Thank you,” he said with a rather forced smile. “That’s feels much better.”

She laughed. “You are a very bad liar,” she replied, “but they will be fine in a day or two.”

They all stood and having pulled on their packs, fell into line and head off stiffly down the trail. They soon came to the fork in the valley and struck off east, following a path that meandered its way along beside a small stream. After the terrain of the last few days it was easy going. There was no ice or glaciers to traverse or climb, occasional snow patches were compacted and easy to cross and as they descended the oxygen returned and made their breathing less laboured.

They walked on for several hours, Philip dropping up and down the line to chat with several of his old platoon that he hadn’t had the opportunity to catch up with. He still found it hard to believe that they all here. It was mid-afternoon, just as the sun was dropping behind the mountains that he spotted a small light ahead of them down the valley. He hurried forward.

“Is that the monastery?” he asked when he caught them.

“No,” Lhamu replied. “It is a lamp in one of the hermit caves. This side valley drops into the main valley and the monastery is situated down to the left, we cannot see it yet.”

“Is it far?” he asked, scanning the horizon for any signs of habitation or people.

“No more than thirty minutes,” she replied.

They’d stopped walking and Philip scanned around. At some point the stream must have run close up against the valley wall as it had cut into it and formed a shallow cave facing back towards them.

“We’ll camp there,” Philip said, pointing at the overhang. “We’ll be shielded from view if anyone looks back up this way. We can light a fire.”

They crossed to the cave, keen to get set up before they lost the last of the light. He looked at Prem. “Let’s establish camp and some get some hot food cooked. Then get the men to rest for an hour or so. It’s going to be a long night.”

The corporal nodded and headed off.

Philip looked at Mingma and Lhamu. “We’ll need to do a reconnaissance, work out where the soldiers are and what the monks are doing. I’d like the three of us to go.” He looked at Lhamu. “You’re the only one who’s been before and has got any idea of where to go. I wouldn’t normally ask but …”

She shook her finger. “I am a Sherpani, not some fine English lady. Of course I will go.”

Mingma nodded. “There will be confusion there and we must take advantage of it before things quieten down. The monks have dogs to protect their sheep. If we go too late, it will be impossible to get past them without being detected.”

Philip nodded. “And the Chinese will post guards. We need to discover where the soldiers are sleeping and where they’ve put the Rinpoche.” He rubbed his aching eyes. “If we can convince the monks to help us it would certainly help even the numbers up as well.”

He glanced up as Prem returned and quickly outlined the plan to him. The Gurkha wasn’t happy.

“You should take us with you, you will not be protected,” he said, glaring at Philip. Philip shook his head. “We’re not there to fight, and having me there will add weight to Lhamu and Mingma when they talk to the monks. You’ll bring the men down at the same time but stay hidden until we send word. We need to know more about the monastery before we all go piling in.”

Prem nodded, his face serious. “We’ll leave Parul here. He can keep the fire going and the water hot. We may need it if we decide to delay any attack until morning”

“Good idea,” Philip said. “And we’ll leave Tashi as well. The man looks exhausted and he’ll be more of a hindrance than a help. He can help Parul here at the camp.”

He looked at Lhamu and Mingma. “While we wait for the food Lhamu can tell us what she remembers of the monastery layout.”

They rolled some boulders to one side of where the fire was now crackling into life and Lhamu, having levelled the dusty surface of the ground with her hand, took a thin stick from the pile of firewood.

“The monastery is different from Thangboche. It is harsher and colder here so it is made of many smaller buildings rather than the one big one. It is easier for the monks to keep warm.” She drew a rectangle in the dirt. “This is the main shrine. It contains a large statue of the Buddha and many other images and offerings. It is just one big room and the main entrance is here. It is built on the end of a,” she paused a moment, searching for the word, “a large rock that sits out into the middle of the valley. It is why it was selected many years ago as it has an unbroken view of Everest which is a sacred mountain.”

Quickly she added a line through one of the rectangles sides, then drew a series of smaller buildings and the shrine’s other end.

“Here there is the cook house and several store rooms, as well as some Stupas with prayer wheels the monks can use while doing their everyday jobs.”

She leant forward and drew a larger square with wavy edges on the far side of the shrine. “These are the animal enclosures. At night they put the herds in these to keep them safe from wolves and yetis. There is also a stone building here where they keep the guard dogs locked in during the day.”

Finally she drew some large blocks opposite the shrine entrance. “There is a large courtyard in front of the shrine that is used for dancing during the festivals. On the far side of this are the dormitories where the monks sleep.”

Philip nodded, staring down at the rudimentary plan and trying to fix it in his mind. “So from which direction will we be coming from?” he asked at last.

Lhamu drew an arrow. “We will be coming from the south, here. There will be no cover between us and the main shrine as this is the direction of Everest.”

The food arrived, brought over by Lalit and they ate hungrily, plain rice washed down with sweet tea. Philip rummaged in his bag and produced a battered bar of Mint cake he’d been saving since leaving London. “Seems like a good moment to share this,” he announced with a smile, carefully dividing the crushed pieces and crumbs into three small piles. It tasted divine. The sugar bringing an instant hit of energy that brought strength flooding back into Philip and with it an optimism he’d been lacking.

It all seemed so horribly familiar. An attack on a settlement to free a prisoner. An unknown enemy, miles from safety in a hostile environment. He glanced at Lhamu. She looked so beautiful, her face glowing with excitement and the absolute belief that what they were doing was right. God, he wished he still had such strength. He felt a sharp twinge from his old wounded shoulder and reached up to massage it through his clothing.

Whatever happened tonight, the life he’d lived for the last decade was over. So many people had died because of and instead of him, it was time he started to make retribution for all that had transpired. He’d somehow lived to get home, to see his mother rush down the long, gravel drive to meet him, engulfing him in an embrace he’d never expected to feel. He’d finished his studies and moved to London, drinking in pubs with friends, dancing at balls and dining at fine restaurants. He’d even got to go to the chiropodists, whose look of horror as he’d revealed his scarred, nail less feet had made him almost collapse with laughter. If he was to die it was at the end of time given, not cut short. He looked at Lhamu again whose eyes met his and smiled, glowing in their shared, private moment. For the first time in many years he realised he wanted to truly live.

It had now grown dark, the clear sky dropping the temperature quickly. He could feel his back chilling despite the fact that his face and chest were warm in the heat of the fire. Glancing up he saw that the moon had yet to rise. It was going to be tricky to get to the monastery but at least without it there was less chance of being seen.

Prem appeared, swathed in a thick blanket in preparation for a cold vigil. Philip slapped him on the shoulder and offered him his last piece of mint cake.

“Go on, take it,” he said. “It’ll help keep you warm.”

The Gurkha suspiciously took it and popped it into his mouth, before smiling and sucking at the same time. The rest of the men appeared, all suitably wrapped, and glancing at his watch Philip saw it was time to go. He looked around and saw Tashi huddled up on the far side of the campfire. He walked round to him and the Indian nodded his head in greeting.

“Keep the fire going and the water hot. I’m not sure how long we’ll be but we may be back at any time and we’ll be cold. If things go well I’ll send somebody back to get you and Parul.” He paused, glancing out into the dark night. “If you hear shooting and we haven’t returned by first light then pack up and head back over the pass. Parul can use the radio, so keep trying until you get a message through to Namche or anywhere in Nepal requesting assistance.”

Tashi shrugged. “I understand,” he replied, glancing up at Philip. “But I think you should wait for the morning or it could be one mighty screw up. The men are exhausted and you’ll be blundering into a place you know nothing about. What’s the hurry? They won’t be going anywhere, not now they’ve found food and somewhere warm. No one’s going to rescue them.”

Philip looked at the Indian and could see the exhaustion etched on his face. “You might be right, but I just think we need to get it done while they’re still exhausted from the journey. Hopefully the heat and food will make them sleepy and we can surprise them.”

The Indian shook his head, ignoring Philip by staring into the flames. Philip returned to where the men were waiting. He drew the revolver from its holster, checking it was loaded and shoved his hand into a pocket to feel for the spare ammo. Reaching into his pack he took the hand grenade they’d found on the pass and clipped it onto his belt. The weight of it on his hip made him feel nauseous.

“Ready?” he asked, smiling weakly at Mingma and Lhamu. They both nodded back.

Chapter 16

They started off down the trail, walking in silence. Stars filled the sky, more than Philip had ever imagined, and the thick belt of the Milky Way glowed overhead and gave them enough light to find their way. Lhamu led, halting every now and again to look around and check her position. They reached the point that the valleys merged and she stopped. They huddled in close, aware that on such a still night any noise would carry a long way.

“That is the main monastery,” she whispered, pointing to a tall, square building whose outline was just visible about 400 yards down the valley. It sat on the top of a rocky knoll, its walls seeming to merge with the rock and give the impression of an impenetrable fortress. Faint light came from cracks around wooden shutters that covered a small window in its side.

She pointed towards a maze of low buildings slightly to the east. “And those are the houses for the monks, and behind are the pens where the sheep are kept. Hopefully the buildings will shield us from the dogs that guard them or they will give us away with their barking if they hear or smell us.”

Philip nodded and turned to Prem. “You remain here with the men. We’ll return or send for you when we’ve made contact with the monks and discovered where the soldiers are.”

The Gurkha nodded and using hand gestures commanded the men to get themselves hidden behind some of the moraine that littered the ground.

Philip turned back to Lhamu. “Let’s get a look at the main building first. There’s light coming from inside and it’s the obvious place for the soldiers to be.”

They crept forward, ears straining for any sound that might indicate danger. The noise from a rushing river filled the valley, a distant rumble disturbed only by the occasional bleating of a goat or bark from the tethered dogs. Philip felt happier, sure that it was enough to cover the sound of our footfalls.

They ran at a crouch, crossing a barren area of ground covered in a thin, weedy grass that had been grazed down to its roots. It seemed to take forever and there was little cover for them to use. Philip could feel his heart thumping, both from the exertion in the thin air, and from memories that preyed at him. He was back in Burma, the noises of the valley momentarily changing to a night time chorus of the jungle. He shook it from his mind.

At last they reached the bottom of the hill, tight up against a small rock face and he fell to his knees, resting his head on the cold stone as he caught his breath and swallowed down his fear. Leaning back, he looked up. The sides were higher than he’d anticipated, rocky crags jutting out from steep slopes of small, loose stones. It certainly wasn’t impossible to climb but it would be impossible to climb quietly.

Having recovered his breath, Philip stood and moved slowly round to the left, circling the base of the hill while studying its slope. It was, he estimated, about fifty feet up to the shrine walls and he could just see the window from where he’d spotted the light escaping earlier. Continuing on, he moved around to the back of the shrine and noticed, to his satisfaction, that there were no windows in this wall. The hill here was less steep and in the faint starlight he could just make out the start of a small path meandering its way upwards, little more than a rough trail made by grazing animals as they climbed up looking for food.

He beckoned the others to join him and they slowly started to climb, treading carefully so as not to dislodge any loose rocks. The path turned back on itself halfway up, dropping slightly to skirt around a rock outcrop, before continuing its rambling climb to the top and a narrow paved ledge that ran around the foot of the shrine.

Philip quickly walked to the corner and cautiously peered around, Mingma and Lhamu crouching behind him. Everything looked still and he could hear no sound coming from inside the building.

Mingma tapped him on the shoulder, indicating that he was going to move along to the nearest window to look inside. Philip shook his head and pointed to himself, edging forwards around the corner. It was no more than a timber-framed square in the rough masonry. Leaning forward he could see a wooden shutter pushed shut against the opening and behind it what seemed to be a heavy drape of filthy black cloth. He raised himself onto tiptoe and saw a small pool of light falling onto the sill, and when he glanced along saw a small rip in the cloth.

He slowly moved his eye towards the tear and looked inside. Several butter lamps cast a flickering light inside of the shrine. He recoiled as a face turned towards him, eyes staring at him, teeth flashing white in a leering smile. He breathed out slowly when it swung away and he recognised it as a festival mask similar to the ones he’d seen in Thangboche, hanging on a cord from the rafters.

He peered back inside. He could see several figures lying on the floor, some propped against the walls or the bases of large gilded statues of the Buddha. Others were lying on the floor in an exhausted sleep. He heard a raised voice, and shifting his position looked around to where three men, all dressed in filthy uniforms, were berating an old monk. The tallest of them was shouting and Philip winced as he struck the monk a stinging blow to his face. The old monk staggered back, regained his balance and bowed to the man. The soldier called something over his shoulder and two of the sitting figures got wearily to their feet and walked over, shouldering rifles as they did so. Orders were barked at them to which they nodded and walked over to the door, pushing the monk along in front of them.

Philip ducked down. “Quick,” he hissed. “Back.”

They scrambled around the rear of the building, diving into its shadows. They heard a creaking as a large door swinging open, followed a few moments later by talking. Philip cautiously looked back round the corner. The two soldiers and monk had appearing around the front corner of the building. One of them lifted his boot and kicked the backside of the old man, who fell forward into the dust. He pulled himself to his feet and scurried away, down what Philip assumed must be the steps at the front of the building, reappearing a few moments later skirting around the base of the hill and disappearing into a long, low stone building.

The two soldiers lit cigarettes, their heads huddled together around a match. Sliding back, he turned to the others. “They’ve set guards. That seems strange. I’d have thought they’d feel secure now they’re back over the border.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps they want to keep an eye on the monks.” He looked across at Lhamu. “Make your way down and go to the building where the monk went. See if you can find and talk to him.”

Lhamu nodded. “It is the cook house,” she replied in a voice he could hardly hear. “I remember it from when I was young.” She started to move away and Philip grabbed her arm.

“Be careful,” he whispered. “Keep to the shadows and watch for the soldiers.” She smiled and was gone.

He turned to Mingma. “Return to Prem. Tell him to bring the men and to wait behind the cook house. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things. They seem to be settling in so this is our best chance to catch them unawares.”

Mingma nodded and disappeared silently down the slope.

Philip leant back against the wall, his knees drawn up against his stomach. Despite the exertions of the last few days his body felt surprisingly good, aches vanishing now that adrenalin was pumping around his body. He’d forgotten the feel of danger, the knowledge that any moment could be your last was something he’d once lived with daily.

He opened the pistol and checked again that all the chambers were full. Quietly he slid it back into place, leaving the holster unclipped. Holding his breath so that it wouldn’t be visible in the freezing night air he cautiously looked around the corner again. The soldiers were standing where they’d been before, collars raised up over hunched shoulders. In the glow of their cigarettes he could see their faces lined by fatigue, a low babble of chat coming between deep drags.

They finished and ground out the butts underfoot. With a final word, he saw one of them turn and slowly start walk down the side of the shrine towards him. Trying to keep still he waited until the soldier glanced out across the valley and before pulling his head back round the corner. He glanced around, desperately looking for somewhere to hide, but only the smooth white-washed wall of the monastery ran away from him.

Philip cursed as the moon chose that moment to rise over the surrounding ridge. With his eyes now adjusted to the dark, it seemed as bright as day. He had no choice but to run for it. As quietly as he could he scrambled back to the path, taking small, precise steps in an effort to be silent. Loose stones kicked out of the slope and bounced after him, their noise echoing off the surrounding walls. Some hit him on the back of his legs as he dived behind the jagged outcrop halfway down and pressed himself against its rough surface, pulling his revolver free.

He sat there, trying to keep his ragged breathing quiet, staring back up at the small section of the path he could see, willing the last few pebbles to stop rolling. Everything fell silent, only a gently rustling from prayer flags on a nearby chortern and distant running water disturbed the night. He strained his ears, trying to catch any noise that would give away the position of the soldier. He heard the rustling of cloth and then the sharp metallic click as a bullet was pulled through into the breach of a rifle.

He sat holding his breath, praying for the moon to disappear. He could hear soft footsteps walking along the top of the slope. Slowly lifting his left hand he placed it on the pistol which was pointing back up at the slope, ready to flick back the hammer and fire. He heard loose stones rolling down the slope, flinching as the first ones bounced into view on the path. The soldier had to appear at any moment and he started breathing slowly to steady his aim. The tip of a rifle emerged around the rock, followed by a hand, grasping its stock. Philip slowly pulled the hammer back, his hands trembling, when the gun suddenly swung away and disappeared from view. He froze, his pistol on the point of firing, not daring to move. He heard voices calling and the sound of the soldier’s footsteps climbing away. He gently eased the pressure on the trigger and shifted his position so he could peer around the edge of the outcrop.

Down below the monk had re-appeared from the kitchen, the light from the open door silhouetting him. The other soldier, who’d presumably been patrolling the bottom of the hill, walked over to him and helped himself to some of the food he’d been carrying to the main shrine. Having filled his pockets he said something and roughly pushed the monk away, happy that he’d enough to fill himself.

Philips head spun around as he heard someone behind him and he sighed in relief as he recognised Lhamu creeping towards him.

“Are you good?” she asked him, laying a hand gently on his sleeve. “I saw the soldier coming towards you from the kitchen. I sent the monk out to distract him.”

Philip grasped her hand, squeezing its warm fingers in his. “Thank you. Another couple of steps and he’d have seen me.” He glanced back towards the kitchen and saw the other guard arrive. The two soldiers stood, rifles hanging from their shoulders, sharing the food that the first one had taken. “If I’d had to shoot him we’d have had the whole lot of them after us, which would rather have spoilt our element of surprise.”

Lhamu shook her head, her face serious. “I am afraid we do not have that anyway.”

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

“The monks told me,” she whispered. “The soldiers arrived this afternoon totally exhausted. They left their camp last night because someone woke them and told them they were being followed.”

Philip shook his head, confused. “But how? Everybody was in camp last night.” He tried to think. “Perhaps they saw us higher up on the pass.”

Lhamu shook her head. “No, they definitely said that they were warned by somebody. The monk with the food is the only one who speaks Chinese, that is why they have him as a go-between. It was he who overheard them talking. Whoever it was came down from our camp.”

Philip blew out his cheeks and sighed, stealing a quick glance back towards the soldiers. Now they’d finished the food they were lighting more cigarettes.

“Damn it,” he whispered, turning back. “It was going to be tricky enough anyway.” He looked at Lhamu. “Did you find out how many there are?”

Lhamu nodded. “There are eighteen. Two are injured by bullets and others have frostbitten feet. The good news is that there is a prisoner with them and he does not appear to be injured.”

Philip felt his heart beat faster. “Have the monks recognised him?”

Lhamu shook her head. “No, he has a cloth sack over his head. And I did not tell them. When they find out they will rush straight in and attack the Chinese with their bare hands, Buddhists or not.”

They sat in silence, Philip trying to take everything in. “Right, let’s fall back to behind the cook house,” he said at last. “That way we can keep out of sight until Prem gets here with the men.”

He started to get up and realised he was still holding Lhamu’s hand. They glanced at each other and Philip gently squeezed it before releasing his grip. As quietly as they could they scrambled down the loose path and behind the chortern, soon hidden in the deep shadows of the moonlit night.

In less than a minute they reached the cookhouse and were squatting in the dark alley behind it. A smell of decomposition and dung mingled with the smoke that was escaping through cracks around the door.