Bone Mountain is-3 Read online

  "You would have been such a lama," Shan heard her whisper. "You would have lived to be a hundred and carried on the true ways." She laid her palm on his cheek. "Who will be the old ones when you should have been old?" she asked the dead man. Slowly her hand dropped, and when she turned, though her eyes brimmed with moisture, her voice was cool and steady. "What do you mean he was cursed?" she asked the dropka.

  "A demon came and spoke words of power," a voice interjected from behind Shan. The Golok stood in the doorway. "We know why," he said in a taunting tone toward Lokesh and Gendun. "It's because that demon won't have another Chinese taking the eye."

  Shan's gaze shifted from the Golok to Lokesh, who seemed as confused by the words as Shan himself. Lokesh shrugged at Shan, looked at the man and frowned. "Not a demon," he said. "A dobdob. If it were a demon he'd be back for someone like you, who speaks with such disrespect around the dead."

  Shan gazed with surprise at his old friend. It was not like Lokesh to rebuke anyone. The Golok answered with an exaggerated wince then stepped back and left the hut.

  They finished cleaning the body as best they could, lit more butter lamps, and went outside. Shan lingered for a moment at the door, longing to speak with Gendun, to make certain the lama would be ready to flee with them. But Gendun continued the Bardo, staring now at one of the flames near Drakte. Gendun had lived in a hidden hermitage, carved inside a mountain, almost his entire life. The first Chinese he had ever met had been Shan, the year before. The first time he had left his own hermitage in decades had been only four months earlier. The thing he could not get used to about the outside world, he had sadly confided to Shan, was how many good people died without having prepared their souls, as if they had not taken their gift of human incarnation seriously.

  As he stepped outside, Shan was relieved to see the Golok preparing a short grey horse for travel. The dropka guard squatted at a small fire between two of the buildings, protected from the wind, working a churn to mix buttered tea, casting anxious glances toward the ridge where his sister still stacked stones. Lokesh, Shan, and the purba runner squatted by the man as he poured out bowls for each of them.

  "I don't understand," Shan said to Lokesh. "You know who that was last night? A dobdob you said. It is not a word I have heard before."

  "Not who, but what he was," Lokesh said with wide eyes. "A monk policeman. A dobdob enforces virtue, enforces respect for the lamas. All the big gompas had them when I was a boy. First time I saw one I thought it was a monster, too. The cheeks darkened with ash. The big shoulders. They put special boards on their shoulders sometimes, under their robes, to make them look bigger than life. I hid behind my father, that first time, until the dobdob was gone. I hadn't seen one for forty years at least," the old Tibetan added with a distant gaze. As a former member of the Dalai Lama's government Lokesh had spent nearly half his life in a gulag prison. "They kept order in the ranks at large assemblies. Enforced rules of the gompa's abbot. Helped monks adhere to their vows with their staffs and their yaktail whips." He raised his fist and brought it down with a sudden jerking motion. "If a novice was speaking out of turn, one tap with a staff on his skull would shut him up fast."

  "But here," the purba said. "Last night? It's impossible. They don't exist anymore."

  "The ghost of a dobdob," the dropka said, not with fear, but a certain awe. "He just appeared, punished Drakte, and evaporated, the way spirit creatures do at night. He doesn't want us here. Next time," he said to the runner in a somber tone, "next time the purbas need watchers here, they can ask someone else."

  "A ghost didn't slice open his abdomen," Shan said. "A ghost didn't attack him and chase him over the mountains."

  "Drakte warned us, said he saw him kill," the herder whispered. "We saw the one he meant, and minutes later Drakte himself was dead."

  The purba woman gazed into her bowl. "Drakte was the one who had the idea about runners," she said in a distant voice, as if she owed him a eulogy. "He arranged for me to train others. He had been in prison for leading a demonstration in Lhasa on the Dalai Lama's birthday. I met him that day, sang songs with him, saw him get dragged away by the soldiers. Later I visited him in prison, and was there the day he was released. For the first month all he did was find food and bring it to the families of each of his cellmates." She looked up from her bowl. "What will happen to him?" Her eyes brimmed with tears again.

  "We are making arrangements." The dropka put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "There is a durtro on top of a mountain overlooking the sacred lake. When the time comes we will take him there."

  A durtro. The herder meant a sky burial site, a charnel ground where the ragyapa, the body breakers, would cut the body up and feed it to vultures. Three days after death, when the body was properly blessed, Drakte's remains would be carried to the durtro and chopped into pieces to be returned to the circle of life. Even his bones would be pounded into a paste to be eaten by the birds.

  "Don't let the Chinese get him," the purba said in an urgent, pleading voice. "Don't let them know."

  The dropka nodded gravely.

  The woman stared at Shan but quickly looked away as he met her eyes. "My name is Somo," she said nearly in a whisper. It was her way of apologizing, he realized, to show that despite what she thought about other Chinese, she would trust him with her name because Drakte had done so.

  "I am called Shan."

  She nodded. "I heard about you even when you were in prison."

  "Were you with Drakte in Lhadrung?" Shan asked.

  Somo shook her head. "Usually in Lhasa. He spent much of his time there, and the lands north of here, where he was born."

  "When were you last in Lhasa with him?"

  "Nearly three months ago, the last time," the woman said warily. It had been more than two months ago when the eye had been brought to the hermitage, and weeks before that it had been stolen in Lhasa. "Drakte said you did things in prison to help the old lamas there. There was an old official from the Fourteenth's government you got released."

  Lokesh gave one of his hoarse laughs and looked at Shan with amusement.

  Somo studied the two men a moment. "You?" she asked Lokesh in disbelief.

  The old man nodded. "I was going to die in that prison," he said, still grinning, "but Xiao Shan found a different path for me." Xiao Shan. Little Shan. It was Chinese, but Lokesh sometimes used the term of affection from Shan's childhood, one used traditionally by an older person addressing a younger one, as Shan's long-dead uncles once had done.

  Shan stared into his bowl. "I was already dead, and they brought me back to life," he said, and gazed back at the hut where Gendun still sat with Drakte. The Bardo had to be recited for twenty-four hours after the purba's death. In their lao gai prison, when an inmate died the oldest lamas took shifts of four hours each, even while breaking rocks on their road crews, reciting the words from memory. Always the oldest, because the younger monks had had their education cut short by the Chinese and did not know all the words.

  "There is no one else," Lokesh said, as if reading Shan's mind. "I only know the first hour of the ritual. We have no text to recite from."

  "I heard someone else, last night," Shan said. "We can't wait a day."

  "There is no one else," Lokesh repeated.

  Shan looked toward the death hut in confusion. It was true. He had seen no one else. Had it been some strange echo, or Drakte trying to reach out to Gendun?

  "But you can't stay," Somo protested. "Whatever Drakte was trying to warn us about-" she glanced at Shan, "it's too dangerous. That's what he was telling you last night."

  As if in answer, Lokesh rose and walked into the small lhakang. Shan followed him inside. Nyma was there, praying by the altar in a low, nervous voice. It sounded almost as though she were arguing with the eye, which had been pushed to the front edge of the altar toward a small wooden box, lined with a felt cloth, which lay open on the floor below.

  When the nun saw Shan her eyes brightened and she rose to
stand by the altar, gazing expectantly at him. When Shan did nothing she gestured at the box.

  "Are you scared to touch it?" Shan asked.

  "Yes," the nun said readily. "I pushed it with a chakpa to the edge," she explained, as if that was the most she could be expected to do.

  Lokesh sighed and bent to pick up the box. Shan stepped forward, glancing uncertainly at the nun, and set the jagged piece of stone in the box. Lokesh folded the felt to cover it and closed the lid.

  "But we have time," Shan said. "Rinpoche will not be done until late tonight."

  Lokesh stepped outside without reply, still clutching the box. The Golok was near the door, tightening the saddle on his sturdy mountain horse. He was leaving, and Shan had never understood why the man had come. But then, to Shan's dismay, the Golok stepped to a brown horse that now stood beside his own, opened its saddlebag and extended his hand toward Lokesh just as Tenzin and one of the herders rounded the corner of the farthest hut, leading more horses.

  "We should have left at dawn," the Golok said with an impatient gesture for Lokesh to hand him the box. "Didn't you listen? The killer is out there, he's coming for the stone, that purba said so. And you wait around like old women."

  Shan looked pleadingly at Lokesh as the Golok set the box in the open saddlebag.

  "I do not understand much of this," his old friend said with a despairing shrug. "But I do understand we must go."

  "But Gendun," Shan protested. "He must come with us."

  Lokesh shook his head sadly. "What he must do now is stay with Drakte. He will go to the durtro, then if the deities permit, he will join us." He turned and pulled something from the saddle of one of the horses, extending it to Shan. It was a broad-rimmed felt hat, Shan's traveling hat.

  "I am staying with Drakte also," Somo announced, her tone strangely defiant. "I will see that your lama is safe. The herders from that camp above are making piles of yak dung in a ring around the hermitage. Tonight they will surround us with fires."

  As the dropka extended the reins of the brown horse to Shan, the Golok stepped away from his own horse and, arms crossed over his chest, fixed them with a pointed stare as if they had forgotten something. "I was going to be paid," he said sourly. "A guide has to be paid. That boy who died said I would be paid. So far I haven't received a fen."

  Shan stared at the man with a sinking feeling. The Golok had finally explained why he had come to the hermitage.

  "I have nothing," Nyma said in alarm. "Drakte had nothing, nothing but an old account book and a shepherd's sling." They had found the battered ledger in a pouch hanging from his belt, with entries that had the appearance of accounting reports. "It must mean those at your destination will-"

  "I told that Drakte," interrupted the Golok. "I don't face patrols unless there's profit."

  Somo reached into her small belt pouch and produced an object wrapped in felt, extended it toward the Golok. "Here," she said in a reluctant voice. She shook the cover away to reveal a finely worked silver bracelet set with lapis. "Drakte gave this to me last month," she added. Her gaze shifted to Nyma, then Shan. "He would want your journey to continue. That was why…" She looked back toward the death hut without finishing the sentence.

  The Golok grabbed the bracelet and studied it with a frown. "Hard to convert this to cash without going to a damned city," he complained, even as he stuffed the bracelet into his pocket. "I'm not going to a city again for a long time."

  The purba runner reached into her pouch again and produced a complicated pocketknife with many blades, even a spoon folded into one side. "I got this for Drakte," she said in a tight voice and extended the knife toward the man.

  The Golok snatched the knife and the reins of his horse almost in one motion.

  "We don't even know your name," Shan ventured in a hesitant voice. He saw that something else had appeared in Somo's hand, out of her pocket: a small turquoise stone which she began kneading with her fingers. Something else given her by Drakte, Shan suspected, something she would not part with.

  "Dremu." The Golok fixed Shan with another frown. "My mother called me Dremu," he said, as if he had been called many names in his life. Shan and Lokesh exchanged a worried glance. Dremu was the name of the great brown bear that had once freely roamed the Tibetan ranges. Hunted to near extinction by the Chinese, it was a symbol in Tibetan folklore of one who harms himself through excessive greed, for the animal would tear into the burrows of its main prey, marmots, pulling out stunned animals and piling them behind it until the burrow was destroyed. More often than not, the marmots would recover their senses and flee while the bear still dug, leaving it still hungry and angrier than ever. Sometimes the Tibetans used the term for the Chinese.

  As Tenzin and Nyma led their horses toward the trail, Shan poured a bowl of tea and stepped inside the hut where Gendun sat with the dead man. He stood for a moment in silence until the lama looked up and acknowledged him with a small nod. After another minute's recitation, Gendun rose and stepped back from the body.

  The lama accepted the bowl and drank deeply before speaking. "It wasn't anguish he felt at the end," Gendun declared, looking at the body. Shan had never known a voice like Gendun's. The lama's words often came in a whisper, but his whispers were as clear and powerful as a great bell. "It was only sadness at leaving important things uncompleted. It is very difficult for him to give up." The Tibetans believed that there was a period after death, sometimes lasting days, when a spirit was confused and would not accept that its incarnation was extinguished, when it might struggle to reanimate the lost body, to continue unfinished work.

  "Rinpoche," Shan said, "the stone eye is packed on a horse." His gaze lingered upon the dead man. "But I cannot do this thing without you."

  "Drakte will learn to leave his body behind, my friend. So must you."

  "Drakte lost his life. That thing, that dobdob, could come back." Shan looked away, into one of the small flames, and felt a sudden sense of desolation. Only hours before he had decided there could be nothing more important than returning the stone, for he, like the Tibetans, had come to see it as one of the seeds to be planted to keep the wisdom and compassion alive. But everything had changed when Drakte had arrived at the lhakang. Although Gendun and Lokesh would resist, would say Shan was denying his own deity, he had to solve the mystery of Drakte's death. Because as important as returning the eye may be, there was something else, something he would sacrifice even his inner deity for, and that was keeping the old Tibetans safe.

  "And a valley of people lost their deity," his teacher replied. He let the words hang in the air a moment, until Shan looked back into his eyes. "It will be your greatest test. Look forward. Look inside. Not behind you. You must stop being the seeker you were and become the seeker you want to be."

  It was a topic of many conversations between them. Shan's biggest spiritual handicap was his obsession with the workings of what Gendun called the fleeting, unimportant mysteries of the surface world when he should be looking to the mystery of his soul.

  "You must stop being a seeker of fact and become a seeker of truth," Gendun said. "That is how deities are repaired."

  "Rinpoche, after the durtro, don't try to find us," Shan said abruptly. Gendun looked at him, and Shan's face flushed. The words sounded like Shan was bargaining, as if he were asking Gendun to at least acknowledge the danger that he always ignored. "You must go back to Yerpa," Shan said, referring to the secret hermitage inside a mountain above Lhadrung, where Gendun was the principal teacher to a handful of monks. "Please."

  "My boots." Gendun nodded toward to his feet, where the soles of his old work boots had split open at the toe. "My boots are tired," he said, as though agreeing. "But first I must deliver the earth part of Drakte back to the earth," he said quietly, looking at the dead man a moment before turning back to Shan. "May the Compassionate Buddha watch over you," he whispered.

  A single dried, brown leaf blew into the doorway. They watched in silence as the wind carried i
t out again, past the cluster of buildings and up into the air, until it soared out of sight. They both stared at the empty place it had been; then, as if the leaf had been a signal, Gendun turned toward Drakte, pausing to fix Shan with a brief gaze that somehow expressed worry and hope at the same time. "Beware of the dust and air," he said with a note of finality, then sat and began reciting the Bardo again.

  Beware of the dust and air. It was one of Gendun's customary farewells, a way of saying pay attention only to the essence of what you encounter.

  But something made Shan turn back as he reached the door. Gendun paused and slowly brought his eyes back to Shan's. There was an exquisite silence between them for a moment, and Shan fought the urge to go to Gendun's side and not move until the Bardo was done.

  "The deity you find, Shan, will be the one you take with you," Gendun said quietly, punctuating the words with another long stare before he turned back to Drakte.

  As Shan stepped outside he realized the hairs on his arms were standing on end. He stood perfectly still a moment, looking at his hands, which trembled. Slowly, stumbling over his own boots, he stepped toward his horse, ignoring the Golok's impatient gestures for him to mount. As he lifted the reins he looked back at Somo, who stood at the door to the lhakang now. "You never did tell us what it was, the message you were carrying for Drakte," he said.

  The woman frowned. "It was a purba message."

  "It was about the eye," Shan said, "if you were coming here."

  "The lamas. The government is sweeping the mountains for unregistered lamas."

  "No. We knew that already."

  She glanced back toward the death hut, then hesitantly stepped to Shan's side. "All right. We didn't think Drakte knew. He had to be warned before he started for that valley with you. They're moving north, a headquarters unit from Lhasa," Somo declared cryptically. "That was my message. A small unit." She bit her lower lip. "Platoon strength, that's what I was to say to Drakte."

  "I'm sorry," Shan said, his throat suddenly bone dry. "I don't understand."