Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

The young woman smiled briefly in thanks before grasping the monk’s hands tighter. ‘Sir, I know you have not yet been informed of this, but there is someone I need to take with me.’

The monk’s expression clouded over and he began shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. ‘I know how precious you are to our order, but that will not be possible. The guide can take only one person at a time. And, as you know, only the chosen may go.’

The woman looked down at the ground for a moment. When she raised her head again, her green eyes were bright with determination.

‘He has been chosen, and must be taken first. It is vital that your guide should leave with him immediately. In the meantime, I will wait in the village until the guide returns to escort me. You must trust me, venerable father, he is more important than I.’

She had barely finished speaking when there was a scuffling sound from behind the herders and a small boy of about nine years old raced up to the woman and slipped his hand trustingly in hers. He had ragged dark hair and bright brown eyes, although the whites were bloodshot from dust and fatigue. He was wearing an oversized sheepskin coat, tied at the middle by a piece of knotted rope. Looking first at the woman, he then turned his gaze on the monk and asked in a voice that was clear and calm: ‘Is this the place?’

The woman smiled down at him, one hand resting on his shoulder.

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘But we’re not far now.’

Chapter 13

The brass plaque said PROF. SALLY TANG, ASIAN STUDIES. Jack caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny metal, and running a hand briefly through his hair, gently rapped on the door.

‘Come in!’

Sally Tang came out from behind her desk, shifting her reading glasses on to the top of her head. She was even more petite than he remembered, with a smart beige jacket hanging off her tiny frame and long brown boots that were little bigger than a child’s.

‘Jack.’ Sally shook his hand warmly. She tucked a lock of her jet black bob behind one ear and studied him, her fine-boned face angled to one side like a bird’s. ‘You look well. Much better than in Kathmandu. Sit down, please.’

Jack smiled, settling himself into a burgundy leather armchair in front of her desk.

‘I hope you don’t mind my usurping your meeting with Robert,’ she continued. ‘I heard him mention that someone was coming into the department to talk to him about beyuls , and when I found out it was you, I couldn’t resist cutting in.’ She perched herself on the front of her desk. ‘But I must say, Jack, spiritual myth is a bit out of your usual line, isn’t it? As I recall, you were never interested in anything much unless it was as solid as a rock.’

‘Even dinosaurs like me can evolve, Sally – and if I didn’t have such a lousy memory these days, I would have come straight to you rather than cold-calling Professor Harris. But, of course, you’re right. It’s actually my nephew who’s become interested in the subject.’ Jack glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘He’s late as usual, but I hope that nice secretary . . . what’s her name?’

‘Emily.’

‘I hope Emily will send him our way. Meanwhile I should probably give you the background. Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of coffee . . .’

Five minutes later they were both sitting in armchairs by the bay window, nursing mugs of coffee. It was now three years since they had met, by chance, on a flight out to Nepal. Sally had been waiting for her visa into Tibet, on her way to a relative’s wedding, and Jack had been on one of his geology field trips, acclimatising before going further up into the mountains. Having established their common link of the university, they had met up for dinner at her hotel, arguing good-naturedly about their different perspectives on Asia and comparing notes on academic life over cups of chrysanthemum tea.

Now they chatted easily for a while, catching up on the last few years. Sally’s astute brown eyes hardened momentarily when Jack mentioned the pyramid mountain. But as he went on to describe the other discoveries they had made about the secret system of beyuls , she began to smile again.

‘Well, you have got yourselves in over your heads, haven’t you? And no wonder. A geologist and an adventurer, trying to tackle the esoteric myths of Buddhism. Now the first thing I should tell you is—’ She broke off as the phone buzzed on her desk and, with a frown, went to pick it up. ‘Yes, yes. Send him through.’

A few moments later Luca walked in, wearing jeans and a yellow T-shirt with ‘Easily Distracted’ written across it. He smiled in a practised way, pushing his fringe of blond hair back from his face.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said, glancing at Jack before directing the full wattage of his smile at the tiny Tibetan woman. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t inherit the punctuality gene in the family.’

Sally shook his hand in greeting, then glanced down at his T-shirt. ‘I suppose I should try and get to the point as soon as possible. Pull up a chair, Luca. I was just about to explain to Jack why you shouldn’t believe in fairytales.’

Luca hung a soft leather satchel over the back of his chair and settled down, his expression instantly focused.

‘Go on.’

Sally spread her hands. ‘Well, Jack has been telling me about your adventures in Tibet and your interest in beyuls . It’s a fascinating area of Buddhist folklore, no doubt about that, but I’m afraid that’s all it is: folklore.’

Luca frowned and leaned forward, resting his chin on one fist. ‘But the books all say the same thing, and they’re pretty specific: that beyuls are sanctuaries of total enlightenment, the most holy places in all Tibet. And they say there are twenty-one of them, situated in the most remote areas of the country.’

Sally sighed. ‘Believe me, you’re not the first person to be seduced by the idea of beyuls . But just listen to what you are saying – sanctuaries of total enlightenment. Doesn’t that sound like a myth to you?’

She raised one eyebrow and fixed him with the disparaging gaze that was usually reserved for her first-year students. There was a pause before she continued speaking, her voice softening a little.

‘I’ve always thought of the beyul myth as the equivalent of the Holy Grail in Christian belief. As any psychologist worth their salt will tell you, people love a seemingly impossible quest. It brings up all sorts of atavistic feelings: that somehow they are special and will defeat the odds.’

‘So you’re saying these places don’t really exist?’ said Jack, sounding disappointed. ‘They’re just figments of someone’s imagination.’

Sally smiled, shifting her tiny frame more upright in the armchair so that her feet dangled a few inches above the ground.

‘It all depends on your point of view. I’m not saying there isn’t any truth to them. I’m just saying such truths aren’t literal, and certainly not to the extent that you can prove them by sight or touch.’

Jack nodded. ‘You’re talking about metaphors, right? Well, they’re certainly common enough in religious belief.’

‘Metaphors?’ Luca exhaled impatiently. ‘Guys, you’ve completely lost me. Metaphors for what? I don’t even understand what beyuls are exactly. Sanctuaries keep on being mentioned – but sanctuaries from what?’

‘Oh, the usual sort of thing . . . darkness, evil, all that sort of stuff,’ Sally answered, staring out of the window. ‘The beyuls are a central theme in the many apocalyptic myths of Tibet. It’s similar to Biblical prophecy: when the end comes, and the world is consumed by chaos, the Lamas will lead the common people to these beyuls and, once there, they will find the wisdom and enlightenment necessary to weather the storm.’