A Sacred Storm (11 page)

Grady hacked wearily away at the clawing foliage with his machete. It was hot and humid and humourless. Since leaving what passed for a path, the afternoon had been one long serious slog through walls of creeping plant life. Even though Majami and Tawhali were clearing the way in front, it seemed like the jungle had developed the phenomenon of instant regrowth behind them. Jennings' intermittent chirpy whistling from the back was doing nothing for his morale, and neither was his sudden popularity with the brotherhood of mosquitoes. It was fair to say that he'd had better days. “How much further, Majami?!” he shouted to the monk.

“Not far now,” Majami replied brightly. “Maybe another hour, maybe two.”

“Another hour,” Grady muttered, slicing at a huge fern. “I could be dead in another hour.”

Behind him Jennings sniggered and said, “Come on mate, I thought you were in the US Marines. A finely tuned killing machine and all that.”

“I'll finely tune you in a minute!” barked Grady. “I've been bedridden for almost two weeks. It doesn't take long to lose your edge.”

“Obviously not,” Jennings chuckled.

“That's it,” said Grady, “laugh it up while you can. We'll see who the daddy is when I've had time to recover properly.”

Over the next hour the vegetation gradually began to thin, until eventually they found a track heading out towards friendlier terrain. Grady's mood became lighter, and without the constant effort of swinging his heavy knife he regained the ability to smile once again. Jennings walked beside him sharing some of his newfound wisdom, and Stratton took up the rear with Titan ambling at his flank.

As they hit the fringes of the jungle Stratton bade them stop for a while so that he could say goodbye to Titan. He had dreaded the moment, but knew that they would soon be coming upon a settlement and that a black panther, however tame, would scare the villagers, and without doubt induce a violent reaction. Fighting back the tears he knelt down beside the great cat and whispered into his ear.

Jennings, Grady and the two monks looked on from a respectful distance.

“Must be hard for him,” Grady said quietly to Jennings. “He really loves that animal doesn't he.”

“Yes, he does,” Jennings agreed. “He'd probably take him everywhere if it were feasible. But the jungle's the right place for him – Stratton knows that.”

They watched as Stratton kissed Titan's forehead for the last time. The panther turned around and trotted back into the wild, his paws bouncing effortlessly off the uneven ground, his head noble and keen and alert. Stopping briefly at the edge of the undergrowth he glanced back and gave a loud roar. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, swallowed up by the impenetrable forest as he strode fearlessly into his new life.

Stratton returned to the group slowly with his head bowed, a solitary tear trickled down his left cheek. Jennings, who already had a lump in his throat, noticed this and felt his own eyes brimming up. Even Grady had a queasy sensation in his stomach, but he convinced himself it was the after-effects of Majami's jungle stew.

“I suppose we'd better get going then,” said Stratton, wiping his face as he ambled up. “How far to the village, Majami?”

“Another mile or so. We should be there in twenty minutes.”

They continued along the same path with the trees growing sparser at every step. The sun was sinking and dark clouds hovered in the fading light. Titan's departure hung heavily over Stratton, and the mood of the group was sombre. It was a great relief when at last they saw lights twinkling in the near distance.

The village was a small settlement of twelve solid timber constructions, six on each side of a dusty track. Having expected something far more primitive, Jennings was suitably impressed with the high level of workmanship. He was also impressed with the delicious smell of herbs and spices that filled the air, and began to salivate. A group of children playing out in the street recognized Majami and swarmed up to the band of travellers, hollering at them in friendly tones.

“What are they saying?” Jennings asked Tawhali.

“They are asking about you and your friends,” said the monk. “They wish to know if you are staying and whether you have brought any gifts for them.”

“Gifts?”

“Preferably money,” said Tawhali. “American dollars.”

“Ah,” said Jennings. “How sweet. Bless their little weatherworn sandals.”

When the hubbub had died down and the children realized there were no riches to be had, Majami led them through the village to a house at the far end. It was slightly bigger than the others and positioned away from the main track. Majami knocked on the door softly, and a young woman dressed in a bright green sari answered. Elegant and beautiful, she welcomed the monk graciously and invited the group to enter. They were escorted to a room at the back and greeted by a gruff-looking, thickset man seated at the head of a large table. He gestured for them to sit down and started talking to Majami in Malayalam, the language of Kerala. After a brief discussion he spoke to the group in English.

“Good evening,” he said kindly, breaking into a smile. “Welcome to my home. My name is Sunil.” One by one the group introduced themselves.

“Majami tells me you have had an arduous day,” said Sunil. “My daughter is preparing dinner, and I would be delighted if you would join us. There is plenty to go round.”

They accepted the invitation gratefully, Jennings in particular looking forward to sampling some of the local cuisine he had smelled outside. Grady was just happy to take the weight off his feet. He sat at the end of the table with his legs stretched out and started to nod off.

Sunil ordered his daughter into the room and asked her to bring their guests some beer.

“I notice that you have electricity,” said Stratton, pointing to the lights on the wall. “What's your source?”

“We have a large diesel generator that supplies the entire village,” Sunil explained. “We had it installed five years ago. It has certainly changed our lives for the better, although I'm not convinced that television is the best thing to expose our young children to.”

“I guess not,” Stratton agreed. “But the world moves on and on.”

“Yes, of course,” said Sunil. “And it is not all terrible. In fact, some television is quite educational. I just do not want them getting into bad habits.”

Sunil's daughter returned with mugs of cold beer and went dutifully round the table handing them out. Right on cue, Grady opened his eyes and took a tentative swig. Happy it was palatable, he proceeded to drain half the contents in one go. “Now that's what I'm talking about!” he chimed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Jennings followed his friend's lead and took a long quaff. After almost three drinkless weeks and a hard day's march the beer tasted nothing short of heavenly.

For a while they chatted with Sunil about his village. There were twelve families in all, and they farmed the surrounding land as a collective. Sunil dealt with the monetary side of the business, and since he had taken over six years previously it had thrived. Under his guidance they had made enough to buy new equipment and more than treble their output. It was also his financial acumen that had enabled them to obtain their generator.

“We have made centuries of progress in very little time,” said Sunil.

“It's very impressive,” said Stratton. “And your English is excellent.”

“Thank you. I decided to learn it so that we could start exporting our crops. There is a huge international market for our produce.”

“Really,” said Stratton. “What sort of stuff do you grow?”

“It varies,” Sunil said noncommittally. “Exotic fruits, things like that.” He waved his arm casually.

Sensing that their host no longer wished to discuss business, Stratton dropped the subject and sipped at his beer. A few moments later Sunil's daughter returned once more bearing trays of food. They ate from bowls with their fingers, mopping up the fragrant dishes with freshly made chapattis. Jennings consumed far more than he needed, and by the time he was finished he had to slacken his belt a notch for comfort.

“That was quite possibly the best meal I've ever had,” he said to Sunil. “Thank you very much. Your daughter is a wonderful cook.”

“Yes, she is,” said Sunil. “She takes after her mother – God rest her soul. I will be lost when she finally marries, which will probably be not far away. She is not short of suitors, as you can imagine.”

“She's very beautiful,” said Jennings. “I don't doubt that every young man in the province has got his eye on her.”

“This is very true, but she is a very headstrong girl and very intelligent. It will take an exceptional man to win her affections. Much as I would miss her, I do hope that someone worthy comes along soon. I would not like her to miss out on the joys of love.”

After a brief discussion it was decided that the group would spend the night as Sunil's guests. He explained that he had two spare rooms for business associates and that they were very much welcome to use them. In the morning he would take them to the nearest major town in his Jeep.

“You are very kind,” said Stratton. “I just wish we could offer you something in return.”

“There is no need,” said Sunil. “You are a friend of Majami's and that is enough for me. It is a man's duty to help those in need if he possibly can.”

Taking Sunil to his word Grady made his own request. “I hope I'm not overstepping the mark,” he said apologetically, “but I don't suppose you have a phone I could use for a couple of minutes. I really want to let my wife know that I'm okay.”

“Of course,” said Sunil. “It is not a problem. I have a satellite phone in the other room.”

After thanking Sunil many times Grady stepped outside the front door and dialled his home number. He had no idea what the exact time was in LA but he imagined it would be morning. He hoped Brooke would be in. The phone rang and rang, and he was just about to give up when a sleepy voice answered on the sixth tone. It turned out that it was in fact four o' clock in the morning in LA and a distraught Brooke had only just dropped off to sleep.

“Where have you been?!” she cried down the phone. “I've been worried sick for days.”

“I told you that I'd be out of contact for a few weeks, honey.”

“I know you did, but it's been nearly three now. When are you coming home?”

Grady went silent.

“Well?” she pressed.

“I don't know for sure, honey. I'm stuck in India at the moment. It's a long story and I can't go through all of it right now. Just know that I love you and I'll be home as soon as I can. If you need anything just ask Grant, he'll take care of you.”

The conversation continued with much weeping from Brooke and much pacifying from Grady. He eventually managed to calm her down and promised that he would call again as soon as he could. But her voice had made him even more homesick, and he hung up with a heavy heart.

For a while he sat on the wooden steps at the front of the house, staring into the gloom. The sound of children's laughter cut through the night, filling him with both joy and longing. He imagined himself sitting in his garden back in LA, a cold beer in one hand, his other entwined with Brooke's, and a boy and a girl running round the lawn playing in the bright California sun. It was a picture he kept in his head for hope, but just now it seemed a million miles away. Before darkness overtook him he shook his head and got to his feet.

He was about to go back inside when he caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. Turning quickly, he leapt over the porch barrier and landed solidly at the side of the house. Without pausing to think he sprinted after the dark shape running away into the trees behind. Within seconds he was bearing down on his target, and with a mighty effort he launched himself into the air, tackling the man's waist and sending him crashing to the floor. There was a loud gasp as Grady landed on top of his prey.

Without giving him a chance to get his breath back, Grady turned the man over and sat on top of him with his hands at his throat. “What do you want, you sneaky little mother?!” he barked.

Beneath him the unfortunate man began to babble in his own language.

“Right then,” said Grady. “Let's get you inside and see what Sunil makes of you.” He forced the man to his feet, whipped his arm behind his back, and frogmarched him round and into the house.

“Look what I found,” he said, walking triumphantly into the dining room. “He was sneaking about round the side of the house; listening in on my conversation, no doubt.”

Sunil gave the unfortunate man an icy glare and grilled him in their own language.

Jennings stared for a while until it dawned on him that he had seen the captive before. “He's one of the men that tortured us, Grady!” he exclaimed. “He's one of Massa's thugs!”

Sunil took the information in and continued to question him roughly. Eventually he spoke to the group in English. “I am ashamed to say that this is one of my men. Massa came here about a month ago attempting to hire some of my workforce. He offered me a lot of money, but we were too busy with the harvest to let anybody go. It appears that Rashid here could not resist the temptation and defied my orders. I knew from his manner that Massa was up to no good.”

Jennings stared at the man called Rashid and felt the pain come flooding back. He grimaced as brutal memories flashed through his mind and body, pictures of Rashid's cruel and gloating eyes blazing with hatred as he struck blow after blow with his heavy branch.

“So why was he snooping around outside the house?” asked Grady.

“When he saw you walking into the village he became scared,” said Sunil. “He could not believe that you were alive. He feared that you were coming to find him.”