by Nevil Shute
I rang up Captain Morrison, and he came to see me one evening, and I told him everything that was going on. He was friendly and helpful, and said that if I wanted to bring Connie back to Bahrein there would be no difficulty from their end at all. He indicated that he, personally, would welcome his return as a gesture that would help to heal the breach that had arisen with the Sheikh of Khulal.
Inevitably, the news got round in the souk that Shak Lin was ill, and was coming to Karachi for examination. I don’t know how these things get out in Asiatic places; I didn’t tell anyone, and I don’t suppose the Arabs in the Sheikh’s retinue did much talking, though they may have done. In any case, it was all known in the town within a day, and Nadezna told me that wherever she went, in the streets, in the market, in her house, there were continuous enquiries. After a day of this she had to give up going out into the streets, and I sent the station wagon down to pick her up each morning and drive her home in the evening.
On the ninth of the month the Tramp arrived back from Bali, dead on schedule. It came in and landed about three o’clock in the afternoon. I walked out on to the tarmac to meet it when it came in. The five passengers got out and were met by a young man from the oil company, and then Arjan came out and walked across to me. He said that they had had a good trip, with no special incidents; there had been bad weather over Sumatra which had delayed them half a day on the outward journey, but on the homeward trip they had got through the inter-tropical front without much trouble. And then he said, “I have letters for you, from the Governor and from Shak Lin. I will fetch them and bring them to the office.”
“Okay,” I said, and I went back to the office myself, because it was hot out on the tarmac. Arjan Singh appeared in the office in a few minutes and laid them on my desk, and then he went through into the other room, perhaps to speak to Nadezna or Dunu. I opened the first letter.
It was from the Dutch Governor in Bali. It ran:
“Dear Sir,
“It is with regret that I write to say that the continued residence of your engineer Shak Lin in Bali is no longer acceptable to the Royal Netherlands Government of Indonesia.
“I must demand that this man is removed from Bali very soon, and should be replaced by another engineer with neutral religious associations.
“B. Hausmann,
“Governor.”
I bit my lip, and read it through again. Then I opened the one from Connie. He said that by that time I should have received a letter from the Governor ordering him out of Bali. He was sorry that this had happened, and that it was not due to any action on his part, but due to circumstances out of his control that Arjan Singh could tell me about. He thought that it would be better now that he should leave my service, and he suggested that I should send down another engineer to work with Phinit by the next machine. He himself would leave on the same aircraft, and he proposed to make his way to Bangkok.
At the time he wrote that letter, of course, he hadn’t received our air mail letters to him about leukæmia.
I got up heavily and went into the other office. Arjan Singh was there talking to Nadezna; she had an open letter in her hand. From her face I guessed that she had had the same news. I did not want to talk about it in front of Dunu; I told Arjan and Nadezna to come into my office, and when the door was shut and they were sitting down, I asked:
“What’s all this about, Arjan? This trouble down at Bali?”
He said, “Two Dakota-loads of pilgrims.”
“What?”
He said, “Three days after you left Bali, a Dakota came to Bali from Bangkok. It was chartered from the Thai-Cambodia air line by a party of about thirty ground engineers from Don Muang. Most of them were engineers, but some I think were from the Siamese Air Force. They came to visit Shak Lin and to pray with him. They went away after one day. Then another Dakota came, with Indians from Allahabad and Calcutta. The Dutch administrators were angry, and they say that you should not have sent a man with a religious following to Bali. They do not encourage missionaries in Bali; they prefer that the people should continue in their own religion. The Governor gave me that letter to give you.” He paused. “That is all I know.”
I was silent for a time. Then I said, “Did you hear of any other machines going to Bali with pilgrims?”
He replied, “I heard talk at Karachi airport that a Dakota was leaving very soon, with pilgrims. I told them that it was forbidden, but they said that Shak Lin was ill. I think they mean to go.”
“They mustn’t go,” I said. “When did you hear this?”
“Last night — and this morning.”
In favourable conditions, usually late at night, we could get Karachi from Bahrein on the radio telephone. In a case such as this, Alec Scott would probably let me speak to Karachi myself. I might be able to stop that machine from leaving.
“Who pays for all this?” I asked. “It must cost somebody a packet.”
Arjan said, “I asked that, also. The machine from Bangkok was provided by the Thai-Cambodia for a nominal charge only — one hundred rupees, somebody said. The engineers at Bangkok had agreed that each would work ten hours on the machine without pay in the next month, so that the servicing and life of the aircraft should not suffer. The pilots flew without pay, of course, being pilgrims themselves. The engineers serviced the machine upon the flight without pay. All the expenses to be met were petrol and oil, and insurance, and landing fees. They say that each man had to pay two hundred and fifty rupees. Some of them had not got the money, and their companies advanced wages to them so that they could join the flight, and they would work the time off later, so much in each week, to repay the loan.”
Two hundred and fifty rupees is about twenty pounds. It was a big sum for an Asiatic engineer, but it was by no means prohibitory, and if the air line companies were prepared to help their men to go off on a trip like this by allowing them to work the advanced pay off over several months, it might be that many such journeys would take place. I already had abundant evidence that Shak Lin’s teachings had spread widely through the East and had resulted in a marked up-grading in the quality of aircraft maintenance. If the employees of an air line wanted to go off on such a pilgrimage, a worth-while manager would encourage the project and make it easy for them to go, knowing that such a religious experience would encourage the men and lower his maintenance costs. If my own people had come up with such a proposition I should probably have taken that line myself. There was no telling now where this thing would end.
“What started this, Arjan?” I asked at last. “What put the idea into their heads? We’ve never had anything like this happen before.”
He said, “It was the Sheikh of Khulal’s pilgrimage.”
“I see.... They saw that trip go through, and thought they’d do the same?”
“Also,” he said, “the word got around by radio that Shak Lin is dying.” By my side Nadezna stirred, and then was quiet again. “I do not know if that report is true or not,” Arjan went on. “But it is all over the East now, that Shak Lin is a dying man. And so, on all the aerodromes, engineers who work according to his teaching but have never seen him — such men desire more than any earthly thing that they should see Shak Lin before he dies, and hear his voice, and hear his blessing on their work. This is a thing that many men want more than anything else in the world.”
“So we’re likely to get a good many more Dakotas going to Bali,” I said thoughtfully.
“I do not think that they will be able to go now,” he said. “I think the Dutch will stop them. It is too far for a Dakota to fly from Singapore to Bali without landing for fuel, and when they land, at Palembang or at Batavia or Sourabaya, I think the Dutch will stop them. I do not think that such machines will get clearance from Singapore now, any more, to fly to Indonesia.”
That seemed likely enough, though whether the authorities at Singapore would have the power or the will to raise a hornet’s nest by standing between Dakota-loads of resolute pilgrims and their religious g
oal seemed to me to be doubtful. Arjan Singh was obviously tired with his eight days’ flying, and I let him go soon after that, telling him that I was going to take the next trip down myself with Hosein as co-pilot. He was pleased to hear that I was going down myself again. “I think that is very good,” he said. “I think it will be good that you should be with the Teacher at this time, for a few days.”
“How is he taking it all, Arjan?” I asked. “Is he very much upset?”
He said a little pityingly, “Was he upset when he left here, Mr. Cutter? He is not like ordinary men. Nothing that is written for him can cause him to grieve. Only the errors of mankind do that.” He paused, and then he said more practically, “There is a woman there who serves him, Madé Jasmi. She sees that he lacks nothing, does not grow too tired. I think she will attain a great advancement in the life to come.”
He went away to eat and rest, and I was left alone in the office with Nadezna.
She said, “Poor old Connie — to be kicked out of a second place, for his religion! And when we’ve just written to him about leaving, and telling him about the blood count. It’s too bad, Tom.”
“I know,” I said. “He doesn’t have much luck.” And then I said, “He’s going through a bad patch now, of course, but he’ll get through all right. I suppose it was a mistake sending him to Bali, though it didn’t seem like it at the time. After he’s got rid of this leukæmia thing we’ll see if we can find a place for him where they’ll like his religion. Somewhere in Burma or Siam would suit him best, I think. A Buddhist country.”
She smiled faintly. “But, Tom, he’s not in your employment any more. He’s resigned.”
I said quickly, “He can’t do that to me, after being with me all this time. I’m going to send him a cable now to say I won’t accept his resignation.”
“You won’t accept the fact that he’s dying, either, will you?” she asked.
“No,” I said, “I won’t. I won’t accept that any more than I’ll accept his resignation. He’s going to get well.”
She came over to where I was sitting, and bent down and kissed me. I stood up and held her in my arms for a minute. “It’s going to be all right,” I said. “There are times when things are a bit of a battle, and this is one of them. But it’s going to be all right.”
We broke away presently, and I sat down and wrote a cable to Connie. I said,
Won’t accept your resignation now or ever. Coming down myself next trip with Nadezna to take you to Karachi; specialist arrives Karachi 27th. After treatment have new job for you in Siam.
Cutter.
Nadezna stared at this. “What is this new job in Siam?” she asked.
“I haven’t thought it out yet,” I said frankly. “I’ll have it cut and dried before I see him. We’ve got to give him something to look forward to, and hang on to.”
“But you don’t operate in Siam at all, Tom.”
“I didn’t operate in Indonesia six months ago,” I said.
I took her down to the souk myself in the old Dodge that night; it was not possible to get the car up to her house, so I stopped it at the end of the narrow alley and walked with her to the flight of steps that led up to her room. Then I went back and got into the station wagon again, and on an impulse I drove out to the Residency compound at Jufair and went to call on Captain Morrison.
The Liaison Officer was out, but he was somewhere not very far away; his boy offered to go and tell him that I was waiting to see him and his bearer brought me a whisky and the paper. Morrison came in about five minutes and apologised for keeping me waiting in his shy, diffident way.
“I’ve come about Shak Lin,” I said. “He’s been chucked out of Bali.” And I told him all I knew.
He took it very seriously. “The bloody fools,” he said bitterly. “They’ve done just the same as we did here.”
“I don’t see that we can blame them for that,” I said.
“No. I suppose that, down in Bali, they’re right out of things; they couldn’t know how fast this Shak Lin cult is spreading. It’s up in Baghdad now.” He glanced at me. “I suppose you know about that.”
I nodded. “It’s in Teheran, too. And it’s all through India, from Lahore to Trincomalee.”
He said, “It’s gone right through the East — so far, only with one limited class of people, on the aerodromes. You can’t say that it’s a very strong cult, yet. It hasn’t touched the peasants, or the politicians, or the intellectuals. But it’s strong enough already to rouse vast resentment if we Europeans take to kicking Shak Lin out of every place he tries to settle in.”
I agreed with him. “It’s just not got to happen again,” I said. “For one thing, he’s a sick man now. After he’s got rid of this thing, I think a Buddhist country would be best for him. I’m thinking of Siam. He’s always been very well thought of in Bangkok. He’d be all right there.”
“He’d be all right here,” said Morrison. “The Foreign Office are quite aware that a mistake was made. You don’t think he could come back here again?”
“I doubt if he’d want to,” I said. “I think he feels that he’s done all he can in this part of the world. You see, he’s much more of a religious teacher now than a chief engineer. And as the cult grows, he goes further that way every day. I’d like to see him back in the hangar on the airstrip here, running the maintenance of my aeroplanes. But you can’t put back the clock.”
“No,” he said, “you can’t do that. When you make a mistake, sometimes, it’s made for good.” He stood in silence for a moment, staring out into the night. “Do what you can to get him back here for a little while, Cutter,” he said. “Even if it’s only for a visit, for a week. We made a blunder over this, and there’s no doubt that it’s affected British prestige in the Persian Gulf. People may call the Sheikh of Khulal an old fuddy-duddy, but he’s an important man in these parts. If you could get Shak Lin back here if only for a visit so that we could make amends, I think it might be very helpful. Just bear that in mind.”
“I’ll do that certainly,” I said. “I’ll get him back here for a little if I can. But everything depends upon his health; this treatment at Karachi or in Paris must come first.”
I went back to the aerodrome for dinner in the restaurant. Alec Scott was in the Control Tower; I went up and talked to him about Karachi. Radio telephone connections were not very good at the moment, and he said they would get better as the night went on; I went back at about midnight and Karachi was coming through as clear as a local call.
I asked to speak to the Controller, and I had luck there, because it was Khalil, the chap that I had spoken to once before, who was himself a follower of Shak Lin. I asked him to deter any aircraft that might be taking off for Bali with pilgrims and make it clear to them that they would almost certainly be stopped upon the way. I told him that I should be going down in two days’ time myself and bringing Shak Lin back to hospital in Karachi. There was no point in any pilgrims going anywhere, since Shak Lin would himself be in Karachi in a fortnight and they could see him there.
He thanked me for the message, and said he would explain what I had said to the engineers. I only just got through to him in time, because the Dakota was already chartered and was to take off at dawn.
We left two days later in the Tramp. I made Hosein chief pilot and went as second pilot myself, and I put Nadezna on the manifest as navigator, and she travelled in the navigator’s seat most of the way. We had eleven passengers for various destinations on the route, all oil men of course, and about two and a half tons of miscellaneous machinery and stores, so we had a pretty good load up.
We passed through Karachi in the early afternoon. Wazir Hussein had arranged for his agent to meet us on the aerodrome and this chap turned up. The hospital bed was all arranged and everything laid on. I took his name and address, and promised to send him a cable to tell him our exact time of arrival back with Shak Lin, so that he could meet us with a car upon the tarmac. I made these arrangements with some
difficulty, because Hosein was up in the Control office with the paper work, and Nadezna and I were beset with continuous enquiries from the engineers about Shak Lin. Finally a Pakistani customs officer in uniform came to our assistance and got a couple of the aerodrome police to keep the people off us, and to explain to new-comers what we had already told them many times.
We took off presently for Ahmedabad and spent the night there. Next day we flew on to Calcutta and Rangoon, and then in the evening light up to Yenanyaung, landing just at dusk. We set down some of our passengers there and took on others, spent the night in the oil company’s rest house, and went on next day down the Kra Isthmus.
I had cleared the machine that morning from Rangoon for Kallang airport at Singapore, because when making a long journey I always like to get a good long stage done in the early part of the day, and a short one in the afternoon; it’s less tiring doing it that way than the other way about. We were passing the Siam-Malaya border about noon and beginning to think about lunch; I was flying the machine with Nadezna by me in the co-pilot’s seat, and Hosein was down organising the lunch baskets, when Nadezna said:
“Are we going to land at Penang?”
I didn’t think for a moment. I said, “No — Singapore.” And then I said, “Why, of course — you were brought up in Penang. It doesn’t matter — I can go in there and fuel just as well. Would you like to? I can get upon the blower.”
She said, “Oh no. I’d just like to see it.”
“We’ll go past,” I said. “Go past between Penang and Butterworth. You can see the harbour and the town that way. I’ll drop off height and come down to a thousand feet or so.” I throttled back a bit and re-trimmed the machine. “How long did you live there?”
“Only till I was five,” she said.
“Remember anything about it?”
She smiled. “Oh yes. I used to go to a convent school; I remember the nuns very well. They were so kind. There was a rocking-horse there, and a swing.”