“Good evening,” she said, the shy smile just visible again in the last light of dusk. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.” She took a breath but paused as if searching for the correct words. “There are some important guests in the monastery and I was needed to help make them comfortable.”
“Please, don’t worry,” Philip replied, “I’ve only just got here. Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Philip, Philip Armitage.” He looked at the girl’s face. It was perfect. Her large hazel eyes dominated it, a warm smile now making him feel as if she really did want to see him and wasn’t just being polite. He suddenly felt very pleased he’d made himself wait.
She gave a small bow, hands together which Philip rather clumsily copied. “My name is Lhamu Sherpa,” she replied in a quiet voice, her mouth opening to continue. There was an awkward silence. “You must excuse my English,” she said at last. “Sometimes it is hard to get the correct word. I sometimes have to think in my own language and then try to remember the English. You have so many words.”
Philip shook his head. “It’s excellent, honestly, and it’s been a very long day for you. What with the Expedition and these other guests, the monks must be exhausted!” He smiled weakly.
She laughed, a contagious giggle that lit up her face. “That’s true. We go weeks without seeing anyone up here in the mountains and now suddenly everybody is here.” She leant in towards him and whispered. “The Abbot is very happy. The climbers left an offering of money that is enough to pay for the repairs to the roof, while the other guests are important Tibetan monks carrying with them a sacred artefact. It will give the monastery great status to have had it there.”
They started to walk, skirting around the side of the monastery towards the village.
“The abbot didn’t know they were coming until they arrived last night. Their mission was a secret as they didn’t want the Chinese intercepting them and taking what they have. Since they invaded a few years ago much damage has been done to the monasteries in Tibet and many sacred things have been stolen or destroyed.”
They’d entered the village by now, and before Philip had time to reply she walked up to a weathered wooden door of a small house on the main street. She put her hand on the latch but before lifting it, turned towards Philip. “My father is very old. I sent a message to say I was bringing an Englishman tonight and he is very happy. You will have to talk loudly as his hearing is poor.”
Philip nodded and he followed Lhamu through the doorway, ducking under the low wooden lintel. They entered a large room, lit by the cooking fire in the centre and two small lamps on stone ledges that jutted out from the walls, lined with gleaming copper pots he assumed were full of food. Philips eyes started to sting from the smoke and he felt the urge to cough growing at the back of his throat. There were six people already in the room and they all turned to look.
Sitting on a wooden stool by the fire was an old man, wrapped up in a thick padded jacket despite the warmth of the room. As his face creased into a smile, his few remaining teeth becoming visible. Lhamu crossed to him and standing behind him put her hands on his shoulders. “This is my father, Karma Sherpa,” she said loudly. She then said something into his ear in a language Philip didn’t understand, although he did catch his name. The old man pulled himself to his feet, using Lhamu as a support. Philip stepped forward and took the outstretched hand.
“It’s good to see an Englishman again,” he said in a surprisingly strong voice, looking Philip up and down. “They seem to make you all giants in that country!” He started to laugh, a chuckle that turned into a chesty cough and made him sit down on his stool. Lhamu introduced two of her brothers Tshering and Lhakpa, both also sitting by the fire, and a young woman called Chiki, who was the wife of Tshering and was stirring some pans that hung over the hearth. Lastly she dragged forward two young children who were hiding behind Chiki. “And these are Dali and Sarkey, my niece and nephew,” she said holding each by the upper arm so they couldn’t run away. “They are a little frightened to have someone so white in their house.”
Philip smiled at them reassuringly, making them go wide-eyed in terror, and then squatted down. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said quietly, holding out his hand. With encouragement from Lhamu the children quickly touched the hand before retreating behind their aunt, faces buried in her long skirt.
“Please,” said the now recovered Karma, “take a seat by me so we can talk.”
He stood, crossing the room to a stool that Lhakpa had vacated and sat down. It was better when seated, the smoke rising to the rafters and leaving cleaner air lower down. Philip felt both his eyes and throat clear. Chiki came over and with a shy bow gave him a bowl of rice and lentils. The others were also served and soon everybody was eating, except the children who still stared at Philip suspiciously. Little was said until the bowls were cleared away and the men were all served with a large beaker of the strongest chang Philip had yet tasted.
“It’s been many years since I’ve had the opportunity to speak to an Englishman,” Karma said at last. “I often think of my friends from there who must now be old and useless like me.” He stared into the fire. “At least we got to live our lives. Sometimes I wonder what drives a man to risk his life and the prosperity of his family for one brief moment of glory.”
Philip nodded. “I’m afraid I agree with you. I shouldn’t really admit it but I think the climbers camping out there are mad.” He paused, glancing at the old man. “When was it you met these other Englishmen?”
Karma looked at him with a smile, enjoying the chance to reminisce. “It must have been thirty years ago. I was living in Darjeeling in India at the time, as that was where all the big climbing trips started. In those days Nepal was closed to all foreigners so to get to Everest the only way was through Sikkim and then Tibet.” He paused. “It was a long hard trek. But I was young and we were paid so much money it was hard for a young Sherpa to believe.”
“Do you remember any of their names?” Philip asked, a feeling of excitement growing.
The old man chuckled. “I remember their names better than I remember what I had for breakfast today. Three times I went with them. The first was just to make maps, but the other two times they tried to climb to the top. On the first trip it was run by Howardbury. He was a fine man but we were all a little bit scared of him.” He stopped and waited as Chiki came round and refilled their cups. After taking a long pull he continued. “It was the next two trips that I knew the men better. My English had improved and the younger climbers were keen to learn some Tibetan. I taught them. In the evenings we sat in the Mess tent and talked. A man called Bruce taught me to read English.”
He paused again, his voice now quieter and strained with emotion. “Many of my friends died on these trips. On the first I survived only because I was snow blinded and stayed in camp. Seven Sherpas, including my replacement, were swept away in an avalanche. The last time two of the sahibs vanished.” He pointed up in the air, as if seeing images from years ago. “They were climbing near the top and then we never saw them again. I like to believe they reached the top and the mother goddess of the mountain kept them with her because they were such brave men.”
There was silence. “That must have been Mallory and Irvine?” Philip asked at last. “I’ve read the book about it. It was 1924. It’s become something of a legend in Britain now, did they or didn’t they make it to the summit!”
Karma shook his head. “They were not a legend. They were my friends. It was Irvine sahib who leant me books to read.”
He gestured towards a battered wooden chest in the corner and Lhamu got up and walked over to it, lifting its creaking lid and reaching inside. She took out a package wrapped in a white silk cloth, from which she pulled a book and passed it over to Philip.
Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling. He read, the words embossed in faded gold letters on a green cover. Carefully he opened it and looked at the title page. There, written in strong copperplate handwriting was the n
ame Sandy Irvine.
Karma looked at the book and laughed. “It’s only a tattered old book but it means more to me than the Kanjur next door!”
“Father!” Lhamu said. “I told you that was a secret. Nobody is to know.”
The old man dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. “Everybody knows. It’s the talk of the village. What do you expect if they turn up here in such a big group with those heavy boxes on their yaks?” He looked at Philip with a twinkle in his eye. “We all thought it was gold!”
“Am I missing something here?” Philip asked, raising an eyebrow towards Lhamu. “What’s a Kanjur?”
“The Kanjur is very sacred to all Buddhists,” she replied quietly. “It is the word of the Buddha that was translated and written down many centuries ago by the first Dalai Lama. They say it is written in gold on paper as dark as night. The book is so sacred it has been decided to bring it to safety away from the Chinese. It has been in Lhasa but now even there is too dangerous.”
Philip nodded. “So those monks eating with us today are the ones carrying it?”
“That’s right,” Lhamu replied. “They are very senior Llamas. They have brought with them some young, strong monks to help protect them and look after the animals. They are at the monastery for two nights recovering from crossing a high pass through the Himalaya. It was very cold. Tomorrow they leave early to continue their journey with the Kanjur to Kathmandu.” She sat down again by the fire, warming her hands. “They are very nervous. Even their most senior Llama was constantly glancing around today, always on edge. He was very angry when he found out that the climbers were coming to the monastery but it was too late to change it. I would have thought that now they are out of Tibet they would be able to relax but he said to my abbot that until he has passed on his responsibility he will allow himself no sleep.”
“Typical monk!” exclaimed Karma. “They sit all day praying and eating and when they actually have a proper job to do they think it’s the hardest thing in the world.” He shook his head, looking up at Lhamu. “They are lucky to have you working there. If it wasn’t for you getting them organised they wouldn’t have enough firewood in the winter or food to live on.”
He turned to Philip. “Her mother was the same. She died when in childbirth with Lhamu otherwise I’m sure they would together now be running the whole village. I remember her as a little girl, always the one who got my sons to do what they were told. She was always the clever one, unlike this lot,” he nodded towards Tshering and Lhakpa, “who never understood your language and are happy to live in the village. That’s why I brought her with me on my trips.” He stopped and took Lhamu’s hand, squeezing it. “I always knew she’d get out into the world, that our valley would be too small for her. I’ve had many requests from families as far away as Namche for her to marry their sons but I’ve turned them all down. She’s not going to be tied here.” The old man kissed her hand and yawned.
Philip caught Lhamu’s eyes and she smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly towards the door. He stood and turned to face Karma. “You must excuse me sir, but I have an early morning. It’s been a privilege to meet you,” he said, as they shook hands. “I’d like very much to visit you again when I’m next in the village. Perhaps I could take some notes about your memories of those trips.”
The old man smiled. “I’d like to do that, young man, and look forward to our next meeting.” He glanced across at his daughter and winked at her. “But not as much as Lhamu is looking forward to it I think.” He sat down chuckling, leaving Philip and Lhamu to head towards the door, faces burning.
Chapter 8
Burma, 1943
Philip scrutinized the far river bank with his binoculars, idly scratching at an itchy rash he’d developed the previous night from a large hairy caterpillar that’d crawled up his arm. It looked clear. They’d been there for about thirty minutes. Philip, Prem and two rifleman had crawled from the fringe of the jungle into the thick elephant grass that ran along the river bank. From where he lay he looked out over a silt beach of probably twenty yards to the water’s edge. The river itself was slow and languid, like thick, warm chocolate running from the pan.
He’d chosen this spot as there was no sign of any habitation either up or down stream, allowing them the opportunity to cross without being seen. If they could do so they might just fool the Japanese into believing they still had them trapped on the eastern bank. That, he hoped, gave them a chance. During their vigil they’d seen or heard nothing. No soldiers, no people, no engines, only a small shell duck dabbling for food in the shallows.
Philip lowered the glasses and rubbed his aching eyes. He felt exhausted. There’d been little sleep the previous night. After the Japanese patrol had retreated down the valley, he’d waited until he’d thought it was clear and then taken the men north-east out of the ravine. It had been quite a detour before they’d finally dropped down to the river. They’d camped, exhausted and hungry, in teak forest a few hundred yards from the bank, plagued by aggressive red ants that had crawled over them and nipped at them all night. At first light he’d been relieved to get up and made his way to the water.
Judging by the large trunks of driftwood caught up midstream the river didn’t look deep. He hoped not as most of the platoon couldn’t swim. That was one problem with the Gurkhas, they didn’t swim and didn’t like water. Unfortunately they’d lost their ropes in the confusion at the last crossing so he’d nothing to rig up to help them across. There certainly wasn’t time, and the men didn’t have the energy, to build rafts. If the worst came to the worst they’d have to hang onto pieces of wood and kick their way over. He crawled back from the edge of the grass, beckoning the others to follow. In a couple of minutes they were back at the camp.
“Get the men prepared,” he told Prem, deepening his voice slightly to make it more authoritative. “All weapons and ammo must be rolled in groundsheets and tied high out of the water, everything else packed away.”
Prem nodded. “Rifleman Rai has asked for you to inspect the mules. They have a problem.”
Philip nodded and walked back through the men to the rear where the mules were tethered. As soon as he saw them he knew they were finished. One was lying on its side, sucking in great juddering breaths. The other two stood with their noses touching the floor, legs splayed out to keep their balance, ribs and pelvis painfully visible through their worn hides. Large sores stood out a vivid red on their backs, crusty with discharge and covered in flies.
He looked at the three Gurkha handlers, all of whom understood the situation and looked to be on the brink of tears. They’d been through a lot with these animals and although they’d often been a nightmare to control they’d always made it through. It was time to put them out of their misery, but he couldn’t risk a shot being heard. “Turn them loose,” he said at last, fighting to keep his voice steady. “They’ll never get over the river in this state.”
He turned quickly and walked to where the baggage panniers were piled. There was little left, dwindling food supplies, some water containers, ammo and the radio set. The last radio battery had died the previous night as he’d tried unsuccessfully to reach HQ. There was no way to recharge it. Before, new batteries had been delivered in the air drops or charged by a small generator. That had gone with the main column. Without the radio there was no way of organizing a new drop but without batteries it was useless and would slow them down. It would be a pain to get it dry across the river anyway without any boats.
He nodded towards the pile of equipment. “Split this lot up between the men. Dump the water containers and the radio. The rest needs to go.” The men nodded and started unpacking the panniers.
He returned to his own pack and was just finishing preparing it when he saw Prem hurry over. He looked at him. “Everything OK, corporal?”
The Gurkha nodded but stood there, something obviously on his mind.
“What is it?” he asked after a short silence.
“The mules sir,”
came the reply. “I was thinking we could kill them and take some of the meat.”
Philip turned and looked at him. “It’s going to be inedible, tough as boots.”
The corporal shrugged. “It’s still meat. The men need something.”
Philip nodded, realising Prem was right and annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it himself. How could he have overlooked such an obvious bloody thing considering they were all starving? “They’ll need to be dispatched silently,” he said. “Drive them apart first. I don’t want them braying in panic when they smell blood. And be quick. I want to start the crossing in ten minutes.”
Prem turned and strode off through the camp, drawing his khukri as he went.
Philip took twenty rounds of ammo and some food from the soldier who was distributing the mules baggage and tucked it in the top of his pack. It had felt heavy before, nearly fifty pounds of kit. Now he could hardly lift it off the ground. Leaving it standing on a tree stump he finished his mug of tea and then put his last piece of chocolate into his mouth. He closed his eyes, savouring the burst of sweetness that made him feel light-headed. He remembered a shop in Kings Lynn that made the most divine chocolates he’d ever tasted. His mother had always bought his Easter eggs there when he was a child and he vowed to head back there on his next leave.
When he opened his eyes again he saw the men had fallen in. He beckoned them closer.
“The Mu is one of the last big barriers between us and home,” he announced, trying to sound encouraging. “When we get across this we’re only eighty miles from India and there should be less Japs crawling around.”
He looked around the faces of his men, none betraying any emotion.
“I’m going to cross first with 1st squad to check the depth and current. Once we’ve make it and are in position, we’ll signal and you all follow. Single file, well spaced. And don’t stop to admire the view.”
Sacred Mountain Page 11