The Cloud Maker (2010)

by Patrick Woodhead

  It was over.

  Chapter 55

  ‘Look at him,’ Rega shouted out across the sea of expectant faces. ‘The seventh Abbot of Geltang and High Lama of the blue order. Yet he is nothing more than a tired old man!’

  Light pierced the Great Temple from tall windows set either side of the gilded doors. The night’s torches were still lit but slowly dying as the full light of morning streamed into the crowded chamber.

  ‘Do not be deceived,’ Rega continued, his voice straining, ‘he is no great leader. He just rots in his chambers, allowing our sacred monastery to go to ruin as he follows his own selfish path. Even now the Chinese approach, yet he does nothing!’

  The Abbot was standing in front of the dais wrapped in the coarse, brown clothing of the Perfect Life. The tunic had been ripped open below his chest so that his narrow shoulders were bare, the skin waxen and pale from so many days spent closeted from the daylight. His head was lowered, eyes shut, while Rega ranted just above him.

  For nearly an hour the public denunciation had continued, with Rega stirring the crowd into a frenzy. When the Abbot had first been paraded before them, silence had descended across the Great Temple. Each monk had stared in mute amazement at the filthy old man before them, his clothes in rags and his head bent low. Could this really be their sacred leader?

  But as Rega’s accusations continued, the untouchable aura that once seemed to surround the Abbot had been challenged by the mocking contempt from the novices on the edge of the dais. Their shouts of derision filled the temple as they hung on Rega’s every word, baying for action.

  Standing against a side wall, Dorje burned with frustration. He stared out impotently across the sea of sneering faces and the whole incredible scene before him. Why didn’t the Abbot say something? Why didn’t he deny these ridiculous charges and win back his monastery?

  Dorje watched the mass of monks surge forward again. There were over five hundred of them crammed into the temple, shouting and jostling for a better view, while their elders stood, like Dorje, on the periphery. They remained in silence, unable to make themselves heard above the noise and chaos.

  Then Dorje understood. It was the same for the Abbot. Even if he tried to protest, no one would have heard him.

  A soft breeze blew through the temple. Dorje looked up as the flames of the candles flickered. The gilded doors were being forced back on their hinges, and beyond them two figures had stepped into the light. He saw Shara’s long black hair and the boy clutched in her arms.

  Dorje moved towards the back of the dais. He jostled against the other monks, fighting his way through, until he could see the trumpeters standing in a line.

  ‘Sound the arrival!’ he ordered above the din. The first of the trumpeters stared at him in confusion.

  ‘Do as I say!’ Dorje yelled. A moment later, the silver trumpet blasted out a long, shimmering note. The noise of the crowd lessened, as Rega spun round to see what was happening.

  ‘Who ordered you to play?’ he thundered, but Dorje had already reached the back of the dais and clambered up on top. He rushed forward across the stage, looking out at the crowd.

  ‘Silence!’ he shouted, pointing towards the door. ‘Silence for the Panchen Lama – the rightful leader of Tibet.’

  Silence fell as all eyes turned to the temple doors where Babu slowly slipped from Shara’s grasp. He stood uncertainly by her side, his large brown eyes staring from face to face in the crowd.

  ‘So the boy returns,’ Rega whispered, craning his neck round.

  A muttering began as Shara led Babu forward by the hand. The monks pressed back and a ragged space was cleared all the way to the dais and the Abbot’s marble throne. Babu walked through it, his felt boots taking small, steady steps across the vast temple floor. His heavy sheepskin jacket was bunched up around his shoulders so that his chin was buried in the soft wool while his eyes stared out above, passing slowly from monk to monk.

  As they approached, Rega raised a finger.

  ‘This is indeed the new reincarnation of the Panchen Lama,’ he shouted. ‘He has been within our very walls, yet the Abbot kept him from us. He deceived us all.’ Rega stalked forward to the edge of the dais. ‘Listen to me, my brothers. I will take the boy and restore him to his rightful place. I will return him to his seat in Shigatse and win back our country!’

  There was a cheer from some of the novices as Shara and Babu came to halt in front of the dais. Shara was staring at Rega, at his gold robes and the Dharmachakra raised in his right hand, unable to believe what had happened in her absence. He had taken control of the monastery.

  Averting her eyes from his lifeless gaze, she turned to the Abbot, reaching forward and holding on to his arm.

  ‘The Chinese are coming,’ she whispered. ‘We must evacuate the monastery.’

  Before the Abbot could answer, Rega turned back towards the crowd. He had heard what she had said.

  ‘The moment has come, my brothers!’ he bellowed. ‘The Chinese are finally upon us. It is time to fight!’

  At this the Abbot finally raised his hand, trying to shout above the wave of fresh panic and shouting that erupted.

  ‘No! Do not give in to violence. We must evacuate, go deeper into the mountains . . .’

  ‘Fight!’ Rega screamed again, punching his arm into the air. ‘It is time for Geltang to lead the revolution and defeat the Chinese! We must fight!’

  The monks burst into action, surging towards the temple doors. Eyes were wide with elation while fists punched the air, mimicking Rega. Some held heavy brass candlesticks in their hands, while others had broken the low palisade surrounding the dais, using the thick wooden poles as makeshift cudgels. They began stampeding towards the temple doors, a mob ready to lynch anyone in their path.

  Rega’s voice carried above the din, urging them on with every last breath, while the Abbot shouted in vain, still trying to be heard.

  In the space just before the dais, Babu sat down on the floor. He inhaled deeply, tucking one leg across the other in the lotus position, and with his hands gently resting on his knees, began a slow, melodious chant. The words rolled from his lips as his eyes clamped shut, his expression changing to one of complete calm. Amidst the mayhem and confusion, his stillness attracted the attention of those immediately surrounding him.

  The Abbot stared down at him, an incredulous smile on his lips. Then he moved forward and lowered himself on to the floor beside him, staring at the boy’s face for an instant before shutting his own eyes and picking up the same chant. Their two heads swayed back and forth in unison, the words rolling from their lips in a soft, unbroken flow.

  In the semi-circle around the dais the crowd stared at them, caught between the hysteria of the novices and the sudden calmness of the Abbot and the boy. Dorje bustled to the front, joining them on the floor, before Shara quickly followed, settling herself down beside Babu. A few of the elders who were watching also lowered themselves on to the ground, picking up the rhythm of the chant. Then more followed. And still more.

  Voice built on voice, merging together to create a steady undercurrent to the panic all around. Up on the dais, Rega jerked his head from side to side.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he shouted, trying to understand where the chant was coming from. ‘The Chinese approach. You cannot just sit here in prayer!’

  Soon a different sort of movement was spreading through the great hall as the remaining monks looked back and saw a growing circle of their brothers seated on the floor. While some just turned to stare at the spectacle, others followed suit. Large swathes of the temple began to fill with seated monks, joined shoulder to shoulder, each swaying in rhythm with the chant.

  The noise grew and grew as more monks returned to join their brothers on the floor of the temple, until only a few of the novices were left standing.

  The Abbot got to his feet then, signalling to the trumpeter to sound the note again. It blasted out across the temple before wavering into silence.
All eyes turned towards him.

  ‘Brothers, this is Geltang,’ he said, gesturing to the seated gathering. ‘Compassion is our guiding principle. Not violence.’

  Gently raising Babu to his feet, he led him to the throne set on the dais. Clambering on to it, he looked tiny in the wide seat of ornately carved stone.

  ‘This is our new leader,’ the Abbot announced, turning to face the crowd once again. ‘We recognise His Holiness Babugedhun Choekyi Nyima, eleventh Panchen Lama and rightful leader of Tibet.’

  A wave of bowing swept through those already seated, while the remaining novices by the temple doors quickly shuffled on to the floor. The Abbot looked at Babu who sat with his hands outstretched, just managing to balance them on the huge armrests of the throne.

  ‘It is for you to decide, Your Holiness. The Chinese approach. Do we evacuate the monastery?’

  Rega swung round towards the throne.

  ‘He is but a boy,’ he said in disgust. ‘How can he decide?’

  ‘Silence!’ the Abbot declared, raising a finger. ‘You have no place here any more.’

  Rega’s cheeks flushed with anger and he went to protest, raising the Dharmachakra above his head, but the Abbot turned towards the sea of monks before them.

  ‘Silence as His Holiness speaks!’ he shouted. The noise in the temple dropped to nothing as each monk stared expectantly at Babu.

  ‘We must leave,’ he said, his voice soft and high-pitched. ‘We must go as pilgrims to find sanctuary in the mountains. As your ancestors once did, and made Geltang.’

  The Abbot nodded before turning back to the monks.

  ‘Take the treasure of Geltang and only what you need to survive,’ he ordered. Then, signalling for the temple doors to be opened wide, he stepped down from the dais. In a flurry of robes, every monk in the order got to his feet.

  ‘Now, my brothers, we must hurry.’

  Chapter 56

  The soldier stood just below the ridge, the sights of his rifle centred on Luca’s chest.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ Luca shouted, slowly raising his hands above his head. He’d taken a step towards the edge of the gulley when there was a muffled boom and a spray of loose snow shot towards him in a long, sweeping arc. As Luca threw himself back on to the ground, the soldier’s finger instinctively squeezed around the trigger.

  There was a thunderous crack and a flame leaped from the end of the rifle. The bullet smacked into the snow just behind Luca, missing him by inches. The soldier was hugging the stock tighter into his shoulder, quickly taking aim once again, when a crack split the deep snow in front of him. It splintered into further cracks as the towering mass of the snow cornice jolted downwards, sending pressure waves fanning out across the entire width of the gulley.

  The soldier rocked backwards, trying to steady his balance. The muzzle of his rifle dipped as the snow all around him started to move. The entire base of the cornice bulged outwards, collapsing under its own weight, and began tumbling down the face of the gulley. Its momentum wrenched snow from the farthest corners of the slope, dragging it down in a series of smaller slides.

  The soldier flung himself forwards, his arms outstretched, desperately clawing against the streaming snow. Luca lunged towards him, trying to grab one of his hands, but the avalanche was now rolling downwards with an unstoppable force, and the soldier was swept from his grasp.

  With a long rumbling boom, the wave of snow picked up everything in its path, tumbling down with terrifying speed. The snow was wet and heavy, melded together in vast chunks that spun ahead of the main flow like rubble. They bounced past the remaining soldiers, stretched out in single file along the length of the gulley.

  As one, the soldiers looked up at the wall of snow crashing down towards them. Some simply stared in bewildered horror while others attempted to turn and run. With frightening ease the avalanche engulfed them all, their bodies disappearing from view within a couple of seconds.

  Zhu stared up the gulley, his face frozen with fear. Like Chen, he had heard the sound of the rifle shot and now stood with his binoculars trained, trying to see whether the Westerner had actually been hit. Then they heard the boom of the avalanche starting and watched in horror as the snow began to crash down towards them.

  Zhu stood transfixed by the sight. The sheer scale of it was unbelievable, the noise deafening. Suddenly he felt himself being pulled by the arm.

  ‘Follow me!’ Chen shouted, yanking him forward with such force that Zhu fought to stay on his feet. Together, they struggled back towards the protection of the Kooms, Chen using his massive body to plough his way through the deep snow and pulling the captain behind him with savage jerks of his arm.

  The noise was all around them now as the first tumbling balls of snow ricocheted past them, smacking into the rocks ahead. The massive stone that stood at the entrance to the Kooms was only a few feet from them now. Just a few more paces and they would be there.

  Chen pulled Zhu forward again, forcing him round the back of a boulder just as the main flow of the avalanche swept across them. They were ripped apart as snow surged over the top of the rock and around its sides, picking them both up in its flow. The sudden speed was incredible, the snow packing in around them in a moving torrent, knocking the wind from their bodies with brutal force.

  Chen could feel himself being hurled forward. There was light, then a sudden blackness, and then all he could feel was the weight of snow packed in around him, in his mouth, ears and nose, choking all the breath from his body. Something smashed into the front of his face and his vision went black.

  Eight hundred metres higher up, Luca watched in disbelief as the first columns of the Kooms were knocked down by the force of the avalanche, twisting round in the direction of its flow like pebbles. But as the snow swept further into the maze of rocks it began to slow, losing power and dispersing into long tentacles. Eventually the last of the avalanche ground to a halt and the mass of snow finally lay still.

  An extraordinary silence filled the mountainside.

  Luca took in the scene of desolation below him, his mouth hanging open in shock. It was as if the mountain had been scalped. Patches of bare rock were visible in streaks across the face of the gulley. Lower down, at the beginning of the Kooms, the snow lay metres deep. Odd shards of rock managed to pierce through the surface, jutting out at crooked angles, while the remainder lay lost under the vast blanket of snow.

  Luca slowly clambered to his feet. He stood alone at the head of the gulley, utterly shocked by the sheer power of the avalanche he had unleashed. He had started it deliberately, with the intention of stopping the soldiers from climbing the gulley, but he had never believed it would kill every living thing in its path. He had never imagined such a reckoning.

  He had killed them all. Just like that.

  A wave of exhaustion spread through him and his whole body sagged. Every bruise and graze seemed to ache at once as the adrenaline he had been feeding off for so long finally ebbed from his veins and he sank down to his knees. His eyes gravitated to where the Chinese had pitched their camp. It was at the lowest point of the slope where the snow would now be deepest.

  At least Bill’s body would stay buried. He would remain here, entombed by the mountains he loved, forever shrouded in their frozen snow.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Luca whispered, as tears ran down his cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry I ever got you into this.’

  An entire hour passed before he finally turned away from the desolate graveyard and back towards the path and the monastery of Geltang.

  Zhu blinked, trying to see in the darkness.

  Snow was packed over his face and eyelids, clogging his mouth and throat. His breath came in shallow, wheezing gasps, and the snow in his mouth was making him retch. He twisted his body, trying to break free, then screamed as the movement sent spikes of pain shooting up from his broken ribs.

  He didn’t feel cold yet. That would come later. His clothes were pasted to his limbs and the layer of snow around
his body was slowly beginning to melt from his body heat, drawing the warmth away from his core. His hands were shaking, gloves ripped off by the avalanche and the nail-less fingers of his right hand clawed at the freezing snow, trying to dig himself free.

  Jerking forward again, he felt his right leg kick clear of the snow and into the air. He cried out in pain as his ribs flexed from the movement, then, gritting his teeth, tried to force the other leg free. Using every ounce of strength in his thigh, he pulled his knee upwards in desperate jerks but his leg remained locked in position. He tried again, the pain threatening to overwhelm him, before his neck muscles finally relaxed in exhaustion, dropping his head deeper into the snow.

  For a moment Zhu’s whole body went limp; the fight was just too much, the snow’s grip too strong. His eyes were wide, staring blindly into the darkness of the snow as a wave of claustrophobia washed over him. He contemplated nothingness; impassive, black nothingness. Death was close.

  Zhu screamed, twisting his whole body round and jerking manically against the imprisoning snow. Madness rose in him, overriding the pain and exhaustion, and he lashed out in all directions, flailing with his limbs. He felt a sudden movement around the ankle and then his other foot broke through the crust of snow. He fought harder, releasing his knee, then the top half of his thigh.

  A surge of elation flowed through him. He twisted again and again, pushing out with his hips and punching his arms. Eventually he broke free, raising his hands to his face to paw away the last of the snow. He could breathe; the weight was finally off him.

  It took Zhu nearly half an hour to summon the strength to get to his feet. Even then, as his body shook from cold, he realised how lucky he had been to be spat to the top of the avalanche. Only a foot below the surface and yet it had been almost impossible for him to break free.

  Now he had to keep moving, to fight off the paralysing cold. The sweat on his lower back had begun to freeze against his body and, without hat or gloves, he could feel the heat draining from him. It wouldn’t be long before the cold would overtake him completely.