Eliot Pattison - The Skull Mantra

But Yeshe was beyond hearing him. With an aching heart Shan rose, gave Yeshe one last painful look, then darted out of the building.

When Sergeant Feng and Shan arrived at the market, Feng made no effort to leave the truck. Shan moved straight toward the healer's shop. But he did not enter Khorda's hut. He stood in the alley beside it. A youth in a herder's vest appeared beside him. "Wait," the youth said urgently. Moments later he returned with the scar-faced purba.

"You don't need to go to the mountain," Shan told him. "You don't need to sacrifice yourself. I found another way."

The purba looked at him skeptically.

"I need to go with the food today. To the 404th," Shan said.

"We don't deliver the food. It is the responsibility of the relief association."

"But sometimes you go with them. There is no time for games. I know what happens now. Sometimes you leave someone behind."

"I don't understand," the purba said stiffly.

"The camp of the 404th is built on rock. There is no tunnel. There is no hole in the wirefence. And no one is flying through the air like an arrow."

The purba surveyed the marketplace over Shan's shoulder. "Have you finished your investigation?"

"I've seen Trinle. Not at the 404th."

"Trinle is a very holy man. He is often underestimated."

"I don't underestimate him. Not now. For him the 404th is not a prison. He comes and goes on the business of Nambe gompa. He comes and goes with the purbas. There is no one else who could do it for him."

"And how would we perform this magic?"

"I don't know exactly. But it shouldn't be difficult so long as the headcount isn't changed."

The purba winced, as though he had bitten something sour. "To take the place of a prisoner would be foolhardy. It would risk immediate execution."

"Which is why it is a purba who does it."

The man did not react.

"Trinle is sick more than most," Shan said. "We have become used to it. Sometimes he stays confined to his bunk with his blanket over his head. Now I know why. Because it isn't him. I can guess how it is done. On agreed days purbas help with the food, when the relief association serves meals. One man wears prison clothes under his civilian clothes. When Trinle reaches the food tables there is a distraction. Perhaps he ducks under the tables and puts on the civilian clothes. The purba switches with him, and stays in the 404th until Trinle returns. The guards are not fastidious. They don't know every prisoner's face. As long as the headcount is the same, how could there be an escape? And as long as his face stays hidden, what other prisoners will suspect?"

The purba stared at Shan. "What exactly do you want?"

"I need to get through the dead zone. Today."

"Like you said, it is very dangerous. Someone could be killed."

"Someone has been killed. How many more does it take?"

The purba looked out over the market as though in search of the answer. "Cabbages," he announced suddenly. "Watch for cabbages," he said, and seemed to glide away.

Twenty minutes later as Feng drove through the town traffic, a cart of cabbages upturned directly in their path. As Feng moved into reverse, a second cart suddenly blocked them.

Instantly Shan jumped out. "This is what you must do. Go to Tan. Tell him he must come with you. To the 404th. Meet me at the wire with him in two hours." He turned, ignoring Sergeant Feng's weak protest, and disappeared into the crowd.

An hour later he was inside the 404th, wearing an oversized wool hat and the armband of the charity, serving out bowls of barley gruel. When half the line had filed past, a bucket of water was dropped on a guard's foot. The guard shouted. The Tibetan carrying the bucket fell backward, knocking over a prisoner. More guards ran to investigate.

In the ensuing confusion Shan ducked under the opposite end of the long table, which had been draped with a dirty piece of felt, discarded his jacket and entered the line, wearing prison clothes provided by the purbas.

Choje was not eating. Shan found him meditating in his hut, and sat in front of him. His eyes flickered open and he put his hand on Shan's cheek, as though making sure he was real. "It is a joy to see you. But you have selected a troubled moment to return."

"I needed to speak to the abbot of Nambe gompa."

"Nambe was destroyed."

"Its buildings were destroyed. Its population was imprisoned. But the gompa lives."

Choje shrugged. "It could not be allowed to die."

"Because of the promises made about Yerpa. To the Second Dalai Lama."

Choje showed no surprise. "More than a promise. A sacred duty." His lips curled into a weak smile. "It is wonderful, is it not?"

"Do the purbas know, Rinpoche?"

Choje shook his head. "They want to help all prisoners. It is the right thing to do. But they never needed to know our secret. We have a duty not to tell. It is enough for them to know that Nambe gompa lives, that by helping Trinle they keep it alive."

Shan nodded as Choje confirmed his suspicion. "I understand now why Trinle had to go, why the arrow rite finally seemed to work. You had to be certain the knobs acted in public. Once the miracle happened witnesses were sure to come, as word leaked out of the magic."

Choje looked into his hands. "We were worried, Trinle and I, that maybe what we did was a lie."

"No," Shan assured him. "It was no lie. What you have been doing is a miracle, Rinpoche."

The serene smile lit Choje's countenance again.

"You know the world will think that all this was to save one soul," Shan said.

"The soul of a Chinese prosecutor. It is not such a bad lesson, Xiao Shan."

One hundred eighty monks commit suicide to save the soul of their prosecutor, Shan considered. Anywhere else it would be the stuff of legend. But here it was just another day in Tibet.

"But you and I know it is not the real reason."

Choje bowed his hands, the fingers touching at the tips. It was an offering mudra, the flask of treasure. Choje stared at it with a distant smile and pushed his hands toward Shan. Silently Shan did as Choje desired, forming his own hands into the shape. Choje made a gesture of pouring his flask into Shan's, then drew his hands slowly apart, leaving Shan with the flask.

"There," he said. "The treasure is yours."

Shan felt his eyes well up with moisture. "No," he whispered in weak protest, and clenched his eyes, fighting the tears. They will still build the road after you die, he wanted to say. But he knew Choje's answer. It didn't matter, as long as Choje and Nambe gompa had been true.

"The thunder ritual, it is also part of Nambe's duty, isn't it?"

Choje nodded approvingly. "Your eyes have always seen far, my friend. Nambe was already centuries old when the vow was made to protect the gomchen. Nambe was the center of the ritual. It had perfected the practice. For a mortal being to make thunder requires an intense balance, the highest state of meditation. Some say it was the reason we were honored with the protection of Yerpa."

"Trinle and Gendun, they are masters of the ritual."

Choje only smiled.

They remained silent and listened to the mantras beginning outside as the monks finished eating.

"You came with a request," Choje said at last.

"Yes. I must speak to Trinle. About that night. I know he will not talk without your permission."

Choje considered Shan's words. "You are asking a great deal."

"There is still a chance, Rinpoche. A chance to save Nambe and Yerpa. You have to let me find the truth."

"There is always an end to things, Xiao Shan."

"Then if there is to be an end," Shan said, "let it end in light, not in shadow."

"They would give them drugs, you know, if they caught Trinle or Gendun. Like spells, those drugs. They would be powerless to resist the questions. They know that. If the soldiers try to take them, Trinle and Gendun will choose to die. Can you bear that burden?"