Sacred Mountain (22 page)

Rolling onto his stomach he slid along the ledge until he could just see around the side of the shrine. Its stone felt cool and solid, a relief after the rotting decay of the forest floor. In the moonlight he could make out a line of thirty or so soldiers walking slowly into the top end of the village, spread out every five yards or so. They all had their guns at the ready, pointing ahead. Many had torches and were sweeping them around the deserted village, looking for signs of life.

Philip took a deep breath and clenched his fists, trying to force the shaking from his hands. If he couldn’t escape at least he could buy more time for the men. He slowly slid the barrel forward, until its tip peeped around the stone at the enemy. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply and smoothly. Taking aim at a Jap in the middle of the line he gently squeezed the trigger, slowly swinging the gun round as it exploded into life. Several of the men fell to the ground.

His world exploded. Noise enveloped him and the very air seemed to be sucked from his lungs as the stone on which he lay started to disintegrate under the barrage of fire. Pain seared through him; something burnt into his shoulder, physically knocking him back a few inches. He laid his head down on the rough masonry, not to shelter his head but to rest. He was so tired. He’d failed his men. He’d led them into ambushes and led ridiculous river crossings. He’d killed innocent villagers. They would all have been better off without him. This was the end he deserved. At least in death he’d achieve what he’d been unable to give them alive; the chance to survive and see their families again.

The deafening noise had left him stunned, his ears ringing and blinded by the dazzling muzzle flashes. He wasn’t sure where he was anymore. He was walking through a wood, his father beside him. They were laughing, his father’s arm draped over his shoulder with its hand up tousling his hair. He felt so proud, so grown up. He was enveloped in an embrace, warm, comforting, secure. He couldn’t see who it was but he knew it was his mother. The smell of lavender filled his nostrils, her hair tickled the side of his face. She was crying, he could tell, her breath coming in quiet sobs. They were thousands of miles away in a different world yet somehow they’d come to him, to help him through.

It was a shame. He felt angry. There was so much he’d wanted to do, so much left to see. The silence was almost as shocking as the chaos had been, as every creature in the jungle seemed to have fallen silent in anticipation of his death. Philip tilted his good wrist and looked at the small luminous hands on his watch. Three more minutes had passed, his men should be clear, warned away by the shooting. His eyes fell on the date that was displayed on the dial. It showed a two. It was the second of April. He pushed the gun forward again and fired blindly into the night. A storm of bullets spat back out of the night at him as his strength slipped away. He’d forgotten. It was his twentieth birthday. He hoped his family found out how he died.

Chapter 15

Tibet, 1953

They were up well before dawn. Despite his exhaustion Philip had slept fitfully. A combination of the biting cold, the constant ache in his feet and the rest of the men coughing and turning all night made him grateful when the time finally came to stir. There seemed to have been a constant procession of men leaving the tent to relieve themselves, a consequence of the altitude. He winced as he pushed his feet into his stiff boots, pain from his damaged toes shooting painfully up his legs. He’s slept with his boots inside his sleeping bag in an attempt to keep them from freezing, another factor in his bad night.

The Gurkhas quickly collapsed and dismantled the tent and within minutes they were packed and heading off along the rough trail that lead down the valley. At least the wind had died during the night but the temperatures were still well below freezing and seemed to cut right through Philip’s clothing. The sky had also cleared and a waxing moon shone down at them, its light reflecting off the snow and ice of the glacier and illuminating their path in a pale, silvery light.

Philip stopped as the person in front of him stumbled and fell, landing heavily upslope on his hip. Leaning down, he took the arm of the man, who was now struggling to get up, pulling against the weight of his rucksack. It was Tashi.

“Thanks,” the Indian said weakly. “I seem to be short on gas this morning.”

Philip smiled. “I know the feeling.” He stopped short as the light fell on his face. He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken and hollow, black rings dark beneath them. He could feel him trembling where he still grasped his arm.

Tashi must’ve noticed his expression and pulled his arm free. “I didn’t sleep well,” he said defensively. “Too damn cold.” He continued down the path, walking determinedly but unsteadily.

They trudged on, each lost in their own world of pain. Philip winced every time one of his boots caught a rock, a searing pain replacing the dull ache that emanated from his feet. His hands had gone numb again and the rough stubble that covered his chin was now encased in ice, the moisture from his breath freezing to it as it hit the icy air. Now his eyes had grown used to the eerie light he could see quite well. The moon was high overhead, bright enough for him to follow his lunar shadow as it mirrored his laboured actions on the broken terrain.

Glancing down the valley he could see that they’d swung eastwards, turning a bend which had hidden them from the Chinese camp. He realised that they’d slowed, and mustering energy he didn’t really think he had, he moved forward along the line to the front. When he reached Prem, the Gurkha had stopped and was climbing onto a huge glacial boulder lying beside the trail. Philip followed, trying to pull himself up with his arms to save his toes scraping on its rough surface.

Prem glanced at him as he crawled along side, lying flat on the icy surface.

“Can you see them?” Philip whispered, scanning the valley for signs of a fire.

“No. Their camp was only a few hundred yards on from here.” He tapped the boulder with his gloved hand. “I used this rock as a marker.” He pointed to a spur of rock that jutted far out into the valley below, squeezing the glacier into a narrow gorge. “They were using that for shelter from the wind and had a big fire going. I don’t understand why they wouldn’t keep it burning. There is enough fuel down here. I’m sure they don’t know we are following them. They were relaxed and hadn’t set any guards.” He looked up at the sky. “Even if they had let the fire die, they should be up by now making it again. It’ll be dawn in less than an hour and they will want to get down from this glacier as soon as they can.”

There was a silence as both men peered intently down the valley. “Perhaps they’ve decided to stay in their tents until the sun rises and brings some heat?” Philip suggested but Prem shook his head.

“Their tents have gone. We could see them from here and even in this light we should still be able too.”

They were silent again. “Well, there’s only one way to know for sure,” Philip said at last. “We’ll have to get closer.”

They slithered back down to the trail where Lhamu was waiting anxiously.

“Wait here,” Philip whispered. “They seem to have moved out so we’re going to take a look. Can you tell the rest so they know what the delay is?”

“Of course,” she said with a nod. “And Philip,” she added, catching his sleeve as he passed. “Take care.”

Philip smiled back, trying not to wince as the ice on his face cracked and pulled at his raw skin. He turned and followed Prem, trying to keep up with the Gurkha as they quickly climbed up the steep side of the valley, gaining height over the trail as it dropped steadily down towards the camp. In a couple of minutes they were looking down onto a small area of flat ground nesting behind the shelter of the rocky spur. There was nothing there. They scrambled on a short distance until the slope from the ridge rose so steeply they could climb no further. From this vantage point they could just see over the ridge and down towards the lower valley. There was nothing to be seen, the only sound was that of a river far below drifting back up to them.

“They’ve gone,” said Prem, standing up and scrambling down towards the abandoned camp. Philip followed and started searching for any signs of life while Prem signalled with his torch for the rest to join them. He soon found the extinguished fire, with a pile of wood beside it, and pulling off his thick mitten, held his exposed hand to the ashes. Nothing. Carefully he picked up a piece of half-burnt wood and knocked the charcoal from the end. When he touched it to his skin there was a faint trace of heat. He turned as Prem walked over to him.

“They must have left before we were up.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it. Why get up at the coldest time of night when you are tired, have firewood and don’t need too?”

Prem dropped the wood back into the hearth, shaking his head. “Perhaps they did spot us yesterday, or one of them came back up the trail and saw our camp.” He looked around at the valley walls looming over them. “They must have had a good reason.”

Philip stood up, pulling his mitt back over his fingers. The rest had caught up and were now standing watching, moving from leg to leg, stamping their feet on the ground and swinging their arms. “As you can see, they’ve moved on, some time ago we believe.” He rubbed at his face to dislodge some of the ice from his stubble. “I suggest we keep moving to stay warm until the sun rises, then we’ll halt for some breakfast.” He looked into the group of men. “Tarun?”

A small, squat man stepped forward and nodded. Ten years earlier, Philip recalled, they used to joke that he could track a termite in the jungle.

“Time to see if those skills you had are still there. You and Prem lead us and track them. We need to know where they’re going.”

They walked on, initially climbing up onto the glacier itself to get through the narrow gorge created by the ridge. It was only for a few hundred yards but Philip didn’t like it at all. It had a claustrophobic feel, with the rock walls seeming to hang in over you. Beneath his feet the ice groaned and creaked as it was forced through the narrow opening. It was with some relief that the valley opened up once more and they climbed back down onto the rocky valley floor, picking up the snaking path that dropped away in front of them.

As they descended, Philip could hear the roar of a river getting louder and louder and suddenly, without warning, the glacier ended. From its snout rushed a torrent of water, spewing from its bowels. It cascaded off down the valley, surrounded by wide boulder fields and the occasional patch of brown, crisp grass.

Dawn rose about them, the eastern skyline with a deep blue that highlighted every gulley and ridge on a towering mountain in crystal detail. Philip watched in wonder, for a few minutes forgetting the aching in his legs and throbbing feet. It was Everest. Somewhere high up there were the men he’d met only a few days before. James was there, perhaps at that very moment eating eggs and bread and drinking tea. It already felt like another world. The skies colour changed to a deep orange, slowly lightened to a yellow from which burst the first rays of the sun, cutting across the valley to light the tips of the western peaks. Slowly it crept down, shadows shortening, until at last it kissed the men’s heads with its warmth.

The whole atmosphere changed. There was laughing as thick scarves and hoods were pulled off freezing faces. Philip spotted a small area of ground bathed in the sun and dropped his bag, indicating for the others to do the same. Tea was brewed, food shared out and feet exposed and massaged around a fire that had been lit. Prem and Tarun set off again as soon as they’d finished their breakfast to pick up the trail of the soldiers but after only twenty minutes they were back.

“Anyone could follow them,” Tarun said dismissively. “They left a trail like a herd of yaks. They turn east where the valley splits rather than continuing north.”

Prem looked at Lhamu. “I think they’re exhausted and need somewhere to rest up for a while. What is the nearest village they could head for?”

“It is not a village,” Lhamu replied. “It is the monastery at Rombuk. It is an easy trail used by the Thangboche monks when they visit. They will be there by nightfall.”

“Can we catch them?” Philip asked.

Lhamu shook her head. “There are no faster ways I know of, and if they left early I doubt they will stop until they get there.”

“Damn it,” said Philip. “Now they’ll be able to rest and eat while we’re the ones who’ll be cold and exhausted.” He rubbed at his stubble which was itching now that the ice had melted. “What will the monks do when they turn up?”

Lhamu shrugged. “They will not be happy. The Chinese army has destroyed many monasteries in Tibet. But what can they do if the soldiers are armed?”

“What about the Rinpoche. Won’t they recognise him?” Philip asked.

“Maybe. They will have seen photos of him but I think the Chinese will keep him disguised or hidden.”

There was silence, except for the roaring of the river and the occasional calls high above from a flock of chuffs, soaring in the morning sun.

Finally Philip spoke. “Right, we need to get there and layup. If we can get a message to the Head Lama explaining the situation then I’m sure the monks will help. Let’s head off once we’ve all thawed out a bit. We can make the monastery by nightfall and then try to make contact with the monks under cover of darkness.”

Philip stood up and wandered around the rest of the men, most of whom were lying on the ground, heads resting on their packs and dozing in the warm sun. He could see the exhaustion in their faces. They all had cracked lips, many with blood oozing from between the dried, damaged skin. Their faces were burnt and blistered from the snow-reflected sun, with panda eyes from where their goggles had protected the surrounding skin. Their hair was dishevelled and rigid, caked to their heads and running into the beginnings of wispy beards. A couple of the men started to get up as he passed but he put his hand on their shoulders to keep them from doing so, smiling at them as he moved on.

His own feet were in a bad way. The tips of his toes, especially the smaller ones, were a deathly white which no amount of massage seemed to change. He returned to his bag and after a quick rummage around pulled out a pair of dry socks. As soon as they were on he felt better, sitting down and toasting them by the flames until he could feel the painful prickling as blood fought its way back in. He felt his eyes close as the heat rippled through him, relaxing knotted muscles. He was just starting to doze when he felt somebody gently lift his foot and start massaging it. Opening his eyes he saw Lhamu concentrating on his foot as she firmly squeezed and stretched his toes.

She looked up at him and smiled. “I think a rub now will be painful but for the best. My father lost two toes when he was on Everest.” She raised her eyebrows. “I am sure that would hurt more.”

Philip winced as one of the toes gave a sharp crack but she continued undeterred. He thought of something to say to distract himself. “So what’s Rombuk like?”

“It is a hard place to live,” she replied. “The winters are dark and cold, and the summers are hard and long as they try to gather food for themselves and their animals.”

“Is it a large monastery?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “When I was last there they had over 500 monks living there, as well as a good number of traders passing through and many, many pilgrims who’d come for blessings and the festivals. I remember the men in the caves most.” She smiled. “They frightened me when I was young. I do not know the word for them in your language.”

“Men in caves?” Philip asked. “You mean hermits? Monks who live by themselves?”

Lhamu nodded. “That’s right. They are considered very holy because their life is so harsh but still they meditate for inner peace. It is the most isolated and highest of all monasteries so they are much respected.”

“Is there a big central building like at Thangboche?” Philip tensed as searing pain sliced through his foot.

“Not really,” Lhamu replied, switching her attention to his other foot. “It is too cold for big rooms. Mostly the monks live in small dormitories or the caves. The central shrine is the largest building, set high above the others.”