Neon Lotus

by Marc Laidlaw

  Her name spread through the dungeon in wave upon wave, rising and falling in the dark. She had the feeling that her fellow prisoners had fallen to the ground to prostrate themselves; she could almost hear the gentle sighing of the air as they knelt.

  “Gyayum Chenmo . . . Gyayum Chenmo . . . Gyayum Chenmo.”

  That radiance again—she felt it coursing through her. If only she could use it to light her way. If only she could focus it somehow. It was the power of her identity, her ego: a stainless light. She felt it pouring from her like a wind, sweeping over the walls and the ceiling, swirling in the corners of the black dungeon. She was at the edge of the mandala now, with every ornament in place. The Wish-Fulfilling Gem was in her grasp; she could feel it as clearly

  as though it had dropped from the sky into her hands. In her mind the gem was there, it was real, it had worked its magic on her.

  But to work its magic for Tibet, Chenrezi too must hold it.

  She must find a way out of here. She must continue the search.

  “Take me to the door,” she whispered.

  Someone took her gently by the hand and led her forward; then a second hand took over and helped her on a few feet more; and then a third hand and a fourth. The Tibetans guided her through the dark, forming a silent passage, each of them taking a turn, each of them bringing her a bit closer to the door.

  Finally she stopped and put out her hand. She felt a metal surface. This was as far as they could take her.

  She sank to her knees.

  She imagined that the Wish-Fulfilling Gem was in her hands, an egg of black glass with an amethyst flame in its heart.

  I wish to leave this place, she thought.

  Behind her, the prisoners kept silent. No one moved for hours. She concentrated on the gem, until she could almost see the light it cast in her mind dispersing actual shadows. No one spoke, except to mutter mantras, as if to charm the night away.

  For hours there was no change.

  But finally there came a sound, a clank of metal, scraping.

  A sliver of light appeared.

  She rose to her feet. As the door opened, she saw a gathering of men in uniforms; beyond them stood a few others in plain clothes, pushing carts ahead of them. They had brought tanks of water, baskets full of breadcrusts, huge bowls of tsampa—huge, but hardly enough to feed all the mouths in the dungeon.

  They were startled to see her. One soldier raised his gun as she stepped into the doorway.

  “I am the Gyayum Chenmo,” she said. “Tell Governor Rato that I will see him now.”

  The men in uniform glanced nervously at one another. The Tibetans who pushed the carts went pale, awestruck; several put their hands together and bowed behind the backs of the guards.

  “Go,” she commanded. “Tell him.”

  The guard with the gun put the barrel to her chest. She heard cries from the darkness behind her, saw terror in the eyes of the Tibetan servants. The guard trembled then pushed her away. Quickly, he shut the door again.

  Marianne stood in the dark, breathing calmly, unafraid. She was prepared to wait.

  18. The Great Darkness

  Word spread quickly. The attendants at the food carts must have freed the news into the city. As her name had poured through the dungeons and rushed back in a wave, so it winged through Lhasa and the citizens came flying to the Potaia.

  Marianne was led up flight after flight of stairs before being brought once more into sunlight. It was morning. Snow had fallen during the night, covering the ramparts of the Potala with a rich white mantle that recalled its ancient beauty. The sky was a deep blue, the sunlight intense, and the air crisp as ice. From the high stairs she looked down over the plaza at the foot of the prison.

  There she saw her people.

  The moment she appeared, a cry went up: “Gyayum Chenmo!”

  The strength of the Tibetans lay in their unity, here displayed to great advantage. She could only imagine that Governor Rato must feel at least slightly frightened by such an assembly. But then, he had weapons and the people had none. She prayed that they would remain peaceful; violence could hardly have made them any more impressive. Their power was of a different sort.

  The stairs were slick with ice; they descended slowly. She saw a car below, surrounded by soldiers. The crowd kept its distance from the guards. The walls of Reformed Lhasa were thickly patrolled, the deadly lenses still mounted and manned. She did not think violence likely.

  “Gyayum Chenmo! Gyayum Chenmo!”

  Her escorts shivered, not only from the cold. Having reached the bottom of the stairs, they started to hurry her toward the car. The crowd pressed in like a vise threatening to crush them; more soldiers stood ready to press them back.

  “Marianne!” someone cried.

  She peered over her shoulder and saw Jetsun Dorje at the edge of the crowd, waving wildly, his eyes dark and his face lined with worry. She smiled with what she hoped was a reassuring expression, and then they pushed her into the car.

  A soldier sat on either side of her; three more rode in the front seat. They drove ahead slowly; the crowd parted with great reluctance and let them pass. Iron gates opened in the white wall of Reformed Lhasa, revealing an empty street beyond. Once they had passed through, she looked back to watch the gates closing behind the car.

  They drove a mile through the nearly featureless maze. Beyond many of the inner gates she saw apartment complexes and long, low barracks made of dull metal. They passed squares full of construction materials and machinery. In the schoolyards were children wearing padded uniforms.

  At last they came to a halt below a square cement building; it reminded her of a bank. A uniformed woman watched them from behind a glass booth, admitting them only after questioning the guards. A new escort met them inside and took charge of Marianne. The interior was furnished in spare, utilitarian fashion: metal chairs and tables, architectural blueprints mounted on the walls, plastic lilies. An elevator took them to the top floor.

  They came to a plain wooden door bearing a placard with this legend: “Office of the Governor.”

  They led her in.

  A broad window looked toward the Potala over a labyrinth made of white walls. A man in a drab uniform stood staring at the palace, his hands clasped behind his back. His hair was pulled back in a single braid of black, threaded with gray. His ears stood out from his head.

  A desk separated them. The guards indicated that she was to seat herself in a chair on the near side of the desk.

  Then they withdrew, closing the door.

  “Gyayum Chenmo,” said the man after a moment.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Governor Rato, the man she had seen on the public address screen, turned toward her. His face was weary, his eyes embattled. He put his hand on the back of his chair and lowered himself into it almost gratefully.

  “I am glad, at last, to meet you,” he said. He smiled.

  “Glad?” she said. “I suppose you would be.”

  He narrowed his eyes; the smile slipped away. “At last,” he said. “We can put an end to this foolishness. We can—”

  Abruptly the Governor pushed himself away from the desk, eyes bulging, and began to claw at his throat. “Out!” he gasped. “Out of me!"

  He dragged himself to his feet again, clutching at the windowsill, and glared around at Marianne.

  “You won’t stop us,” he said, his eyes bright and furious. Then his face changed completely. He was again the man who had first greeted her, the weary Governor Rato. She realized that his expression was one of fear.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “It is extremely difficult to speak—to keep control. Usually I can manage for longer periods, but your presence drives them into a frenzy. Their grip grows ever more ferocious. And yet . . .” He gasped for air, his fingers scrabbling down the glass. “Yet they fear you. And that gives me hope.”

  “Who fears me?” Marianne asked. “Who is it that controls you?”

  “Gods, ghos
ts, demons—I don’t know what they are. They have always been with me, always . . . or at least since I was a boy. They first came on me in the ruins of the old Nechung Monastery. I was caught there after dark, looking for fuel; my mother was dying of pneumonia.” His eyes rolled toward the ceiling; he seemed to be looking into the past. “The old place had been defiled by explosions and guns, the rebels, the Cultural Revolution—the monks themselves had tried to destroy it ahead of the Chinese—but by my time it was no more than a ruin. A haunted one. It was widely believed that demons roamed the place, and since no one went near it, I thought I might find some wood for the fire. Then night fell. I lost my way. I heard laughter all around me, the wind rushed up, tongues of fire, spirits of flame. The spying ghosts!”

  The Governor looked wildly around the room, as if expecting them to come after him now. His eyes lit upon Marianne. A calm look returned to his face. He nodded and sat down again, licking his lips nervously, kneading his hands.

  “I woke up miles from my home, naked in the snow. The spirits had run away and left me to freeze. Somehow I made my way back . . . but it was too late. She was dead. I cursed the ghosts but soon regretted it, for the sound of my voice drew them back to me. They crept in through my ears and inhabited me, as if I were no more than a ruin myself. They were so powerful . . . but they are even stronger now. Their plans are elaborate, richly conceived. I have been an excellent puppet. I have done too much of their work.”

  Marianne shook her head, stunned by his words. “Their work, you say? But what are their intentions? Why do they possess you?”

  The Governor nodded. “You might well ask. I asked many times and they finally told me. You see, once this land was theirs, all theirs. They flew wild through the snowy mountains, they ranged over the plains in the form of winds. Then came the old saints from India, sorcerers like Padmasambhava who conquered them with Buddhist magic and bent them to his will. Padmasambhava turned the old demons into protectors, set them up as guardians of mankind. And he taught Tibet the rituals that would appease the mighty ones and keep them in the service of humanity.”

  The Governor shook his head.

  “But no more,” he said. “For two centuries the old ways have been abandoned. Once there were hundreds of monasteries performing the rites of protection. The whole of Tibet was devoted to the preservation of humanity.

  “Now there are only a few tiny pockets of devotees scattered across the world, all of them far from the places where the demons have their strongholds. It is here in Tibet that the spirits still roam. You may believe me when I say they have gone wild for lack of appeasement. The vows they swore to Padmasambhava weakened with the years, until it was an easy thing to break them. Now they press in, they take human form; they cause slaves to be built who will serve them in the future, when mankind has been utterly crushed. And I, a man, have been forced to serve them. Even to the extent of destroying you, who might have saved us.”

  The Governor shut his eyes, clenched his mouth, and pressed his hands to his brow.

  “You haven’t destroyed me,” said Marianne quietly, reaching across the desk to touch his arm.

  At her touch, his eyes sprang open, burning with a cruel light. He grinned.

  “Not yet,” he said, in a voice that was somehow changed. “But very soon. First you will bear witness to the destruction of Tibet.”

  “Get out of him,” she said, clenching her hand around the Governor’s wrist. “I am the Gyayum Chenmo. You know my power is pure and invincible; it comes direct from Chenrezi. Leave him now or you will be the only ones destroyed.”

  For a moment she thought she saw eyes within Rato’s eyes, a million-faceted gleaming like the magnified eyes of a fly. In every one of those facets was a cold, inhuman hunger—and a quickly hidden glint of fear.

  The Governor’s hand shot out to touch a console on his desk.

  “Guards!” he screamed.

  The door flew open. Strong hands grabbed Marianne from behind, dragged her away from the Governor. In her struggle, she discovered that they were three-eyed. Rato was taking no chances.

  “You may have grown in power,” she told him, “but so have the forces which once bound you to serve us. And you shall be bound again.”

  “With what?” said Rato—or those who possessed him. “This is the Kali Yuga, the age of darkness; the old knowledge is fading from your minds. You have no grip on us, Great Mother. This is our time of triumph. We are not Tibetans; we are not human at all. Our power far exceeds

  yours. We travel from mind to mind, we pick knowledge from the ether. Never does your State Oracle of Tibet utter a syllable, but we know it instantly. And as for the living Chenrezi, we know more than he will ever know. How do you think we have managed to outwit him at every turn?”

  “Only to be outwitted by us at the next turn,” said Marianne. But secretly she was appalled. It was not Reting who had betrayed them. Demons needed no human spies.

  “You are deluded,” Rato said. He snapped his fingers and spoke to one of the guards. “Bring the doctor. Both of you deserve to witness the end of your work.”

  Reting, she thought. They were to be reunited. How could she bear to face him after their last encounter? She was responsible for every injury that had been done to him.

  “If you have harmed him,” she said to the Governor, “you will pay with . . .”

  She faltered, shaken by the confusion in Rato's eyes. The other Governor had returned—the weary and frightened man, the puppet. She could not bring herself to hate him. She sensed that the spirits were using him as a shield, hiding behind his innocence. She must find some way to get at them without harming Rato.

  Footsteps came up behind her. The guard brought her around to face Dr. Norbu.

  Seeing her, he began to weep. “It can't be!”

  “I’m sorry, Reting,” she said. “You don’t know how sorry I am. I can never take back what I said—”

  “But you were right!” he said. “I did betray you. They drugged me; I tried to resist, I did all that I could to erase you from my mind. I prayed that they would get no useful information from me. But now I see that they learned everything.”

  “No! Not at all, Reting!”

  “I wish you had been so helpful,” said Rato, coming around the desk. “The fact is, Dr. Norbu, that she surrendered herself before we had properly begun to question you.”

  Reting looked only slightly relieved. “Surrendered?” he said.

  “And why not?” said the Governor. “She knew that it was futile to oppose us. You have both merely bowed to the inevitable.”

  “We will beat you yet!” Reting shouted.

  The Governor shook his head. “You have already lost.” He looked at the guards and tipped his head toward the corridor. “Come. We have a short journey to make.”

  They were marched into the hallway and back to the waiting elevator. Marianne and Dr. Norbu were pushed inside by the guards, and then Governor Rato stepped in. The car began to drop.

  Marianne took a deep breath and imagined herself flooding with white light. The Wish-Fulfilling Gem was in her hands. She stood at the center of the mandala that was the world. She had command of the ornaments; she was invincible.

  She contrived to brush her arm against the Governor’s side and imagined the pure light driving into him, forcing out the psychic parasites.

  Rato twitched, shuddered, and caught himself against the wall of the elevator. He twisted toward her, gratitude in his eyes, then snapped at her guard, “Let go of her now. And the doctor, too. They can’t escape.”

  A struggle raged briefly in the Governor’s eyes. For the moment, she thought, he had won control of himself. The car began to slow. Marianne waited to see the flood of daylight across the cold bleak lobby.

  Instead, the doors opened on a rock chamber. She felt a breath of chill subterranean air. Rato took a step forward, stumbling slightly. One of his arms spasmed, reaching back toward the elevator, but he fought it down and turn
ed to face the guards.

  “You will return to the surface until I give further orders,” he said. “These two will remain with me."

  Marianne and Dr. Norbu stepped out of the elevator, the guards looked at each other, hesitant, until Rato screamed, “Go!” His voice held all the fury of the possessed Governor, and they hastened to obey. The doors slid shut.

  Rato closed his eyes and stood breathing deeply. Marianne put her hands on his shoulders.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “When you touch me, I feel them shrink away. You have great strength. But I fear . . . I fear it will not be enough. They have set too much in motion to oppose you. Or should I say, to oppose us?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her questioningly.

  “You are a true Tibetan,” she said, nodding. “It is not your fault, what has happened.”

  “But it is,” he said. “I strayed into the ruins.”

  “You did not make those ruins. You did not call the demons.”

  Dr. Norbu stared at them in amazement. “He has been possessed?”

  She nodded. “Like the State Oracle, but without any ritual precautions.”

  “Possessed by evil ones,” the Governor said. Suddenly his face contorted; grimacing he cried out, “They come!”

  “I have you,” she said.

  She put her arms around him and was amazed to find how frail he felt, how small. He was an old man, thin as Reting. And yet she could feel him swelling, his muscles tightening, growing denser as if there were water rushing through him. Suddenly he spread his arms, roaring, and she was thrown against the rock wall. Reting sank down next to her.

  “Marianne,” he whispered, “he is mad.”

  “Mad?” said the Governor. “But look what madness has gained me, Dr. Norbu.”

  He thrust out a hand, pointing toward an opening in the rocks to one side of the elevator. Far off in the darkness, Marianne saw a faint violet light. She rose to her feet.