Philip Kerr - Esau

‘It is kind of a strange place to do your yoga exercises,’ observed Jameson.

‘Hindu Sadhu,’ explained Hurké Gurung. ‘A follower of the Lord Shiva.’

He pointed at a wooden trident that lay on the ground next to a thin discarded robe, as if this would mean something to them both.

‘Had to stop here because of fog, just like us. Him practising Tum-mo yoga. Very good for heat preservation, not need any clothes.’ The sirdar rubbed his stomach as if indicating that he was hungry. ‘Him very warm on inside.’

‘God, I’m freezing to death just looking at him,’ admitted Jameson.

‘Me too,’ said Swift.

‘This position called Mayurasana . But afraid not know English for Mayura. ’

‘A peacock,’ said Jameson. He shrugged as if trying to judge the accuracy of the name. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Before the peacock lifts up its trailing tail feathers to form a fan, the whole tail sticks out parallel to the ground.’

The sirdar continued to rub his stomach. ‘Just so, sahib. Make very good belly muscles too.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘As Mayura kills snake, so Mayura kills poisons in body. Generate much heat. Just like Semath Johnson-Mathey fuel cell.’

Slowly the sadhu lowered his feet onto the snow and then adopted Padmasana , the lotus position.

Bowing several times, Hurké Gurung greeted the sadhu with a namaste , and when the heavily bearded ascetic returned the greeting, he began to speak to him.

‘O, daai. Namaste. Sadhiiji, tapaa kahaa jaanii huncha? Bhannnhos?’

The two men spoke for several minutes, and throughout most of their conversation, the sirdar kept his hands pressed together, as if praying to the sadhu. At last, the sirdar turned toward the two Westerners.

‘This is a most holy man,’ he explained in tones of great reverence. ‘He is the Swami Chandare, a Dasnami Sannyasin of the great Lord Shiva. He has taken most strict vow of nothingness to put his mind to physical and spiritual disciplines.’

The swami nodded slowly, as if he understood what the sirdar was saying.

‘His life is spent walking around Machhapuchhare, which he says is the body of the Lord Shiva, the destroyer of all things, in order to make way for new creations. Formerly he was in India, to be near to another mountain. Shivling, it is called, which, he says — I am sorry, memsahib, to say such words in your presence — he says it is the thing of the Lord Shiva.’

The sirdar shook his head with mild disapproval and added, ‘How, ever after, I have seen this mountain, and it is only the sun’s shadow on the mountain which is sometimes looking like a man’s thing. Huncha. I have said to him that we are most scientifically minded people who have come to search for yeti, and the swami now asks. Why are you wishing to find it, please?’

‘Has the swami seen a yeti, Hurké?’ said Swift.

‘Oh yes please, memsahib. Once upon a time, while praying on lower slopes of Machhapuchhare, a yeti came along carrying a great stone under his mighty arm. The yeti look very fierce, very strong. But the swami, he was not at all scared. Over years he has seen many times yeti but never harm come to him. Only because yeti know he mean no harm to yeti. Understand? Yeti even help swami with dhyana . Jameson sahib, English bhaasha maa kasari dhyana bhanchha?’

‘Meditation,’ said Jameson.

‘Meditation, yes,’ nodded the sirdar. ‘Swami, him say that yeti not speak to him, but very clever.’

The swami spoke again to Hurké Gurung.

‘Swami asking why we want find yeti, again please.’

‘Tell him that we mean the yeti no harm,’ said Swift. ‘We just want a chance to study it.’

‘Then why bring this gun please?’ said Gurung, translating the swami’s reply.

Holding it by the fabric tail piece, Jameson took the Cap-Chur syringe out of his pocket and, breaking the gun in half, demonstrated how it slid into the barrel. Then, removing it once more, he explained in fluent Nepali that his rifle only contained a small amount of sleeping draught, sufficient to immobilize the creature for an hour or less.

The swami closed his eyes for a moment and muttered something under his breath. When he spoke again, it was in English.

‘To understand the intelligence of a yeti,’ he said in a thin, reedy little voice, ‘you must be twice as clever as he is. And this is a very clever being. How else would he have avoided capture and study for so long? Are you twice as intelligent, or merely twice as arrogant?’

Swift and Jameson exchanged a look of surprise.

‘You speak English,’ Swift said.

‘Since I am speaking it already, you cannot mean me to treat that remark as a question. And as a remark it is of course redundant. Why should you be surprised? Under our constitution, which is the lengthiest written constitution in the world, English is one of India’s official languages. With no definite date set for its abandonment. Before becoming as you see me now, I was a lawyer.’

‘Just like Gandhi,’ murmured Jameson.

‘In that and in that alone,’ returned the swami. ‘So what is it about the yeti that you hope to learn?’

‘We hope that by learning about the yeti, we may learn more about ourselves,’ said Swift.

The swami sighed wearily.

‘He who has understanding is careful and ever pure, reaches the end of the journey from which he never returns. But it is natural to search as you do. From where do we come? By what power do we live? Where do we find rest? Beyond senses are their objects and beyond these is the mind and beyond that is pure reason. To know the answers to these questions however is not always a source of much comfort and satisfaction, for beyond reason is the spirit in Man.

‘Science shifts man away from the centre of the universe. Is it not so? Shifts him so far away that he feels small and insignificant. There is a truth, yes? But not a very satisfactory one. Strive for the highest and be in the light, but the path is as narrow as the edge of a razor and difficult to tread. We are all of us fascinated by physical ties of ancestry. Is it not so? In the West people try to find that which was lost through their family trees. But why is so much forgotten? Why is it difficult? Why are there so few of us who can follow our lines of descent? Perhaps it was not meant to be. Perhaps it is better after all to live in ignorance of such things.’

‘I can’t believe that it’s good to live in ignorance of anything,’ said Swift.

‘Once,’ said the swami, ‘there was a man who tried to search out his ancestors. Along the way he discovered that the woman who was his mother was in fact his aunt, and that the woman he had always known as his aunt was in fact his mother. Having found much more than he had bargained for, the man became very angry with both women and sent them away. Now he has neither a mother nor an aunt. Shake the branches of a complacent-looking tree, if you wish. Fruit may indeed fall into your lap. You may even be nourished by it. But do not be surprised if the branch breaks off in your hand.’ The swami giggled. ‘The tree of life has many such surprises. Your words and your minds go to Him, but they reach Him not and return. Know the thinker, not the thought.’

So saying, the swami stood up, collected his robe and gathered it around his bony shoulders, picked up his staff, and set off once again, leaving behind the now mockingly familiar prints of his bare feet in the snow.

‘What an extraordinary man,’ said Swift as they watched the swami go.

‘Yes, he is rather impressive,’ said Jameson.

‘Oh yes, sahib. A most holy and religious man.’

Swift grunted. ‘That’s not what I meant.’