The Avatari (12 page)

‘Thank you. Tim told me you were doing a research project on the Burqan Qaldun. He apparently explained to you that it was the sacred mountain or what is known as Shambhala.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Ashton said. ‘Not research, actually. Someone asked me if I could get him some information on it and I thought of Tim.’

He knew that sounded quite lame, but it was the best explanation he could come up with on the spur of the moment.

‘You asked him if there was a map to it, didn’t you?’ Susan enquired.

‘I don’t particularly remember doing so. I may have.’ Ashton mentally kicked himself. ‘But then, Tim told me there were none. That you needed to receive divine guidance or some such thing to get to the place.’

‘I think I had better put my cards on the table.’

He made out from her expression that she expected him to do the same.

‘Tim would have told you about David,’ Susan went on. ‘Well,
this
was part of David Sage’s hypothesis, that there was, indeed, a map – the one Kublai Khan used to reach the sacred mountain. Once the Great Khan had made the journey, the map was supposed to be passed on to Marco Polo. If you are wondering how I know all this, it’s because I have memorized every bit of the material David had researched and have probably gone further into it than he did. May I give you a little background?’

‘Go on,’ Ashton said, intrigued, but tried not to show how he felt.

‘Marco Polo did have a great deal of courage. He was an adventurer at heart and quite a raconteur, but not much of a writer. Neither was his scribe, Roschelli.’ She paused.

‘What makes you say that?’ he asked, prompting her to carry on.

‘There is a clear distinction between the segments of the book dealing with what Marco had actually seen and the ones describing imaginary people, places and situations. Neither he nor Roschelli had the writer’s gift or guile. When they were fabricating episodes, they went breathless trying to convince the reader about the veracity of their account. Their description of Kublai Khan’s interest in the sacred mountain is authentic. This is not evident in the English translations, but you can figure it out easily enough in some of the surviving manuscripts.’

‘You can read Italian?’ he asked, surprised.

‘My mother was Italian. She married my father and came to England after the war. She insisted on teaching me her mother tongue.’ Susan took a sip of her coffee. ‘Getting back to Marco’s account of Kublai Khan’s preparation for his journey to the Burqan Qaldun. The Great Khan is supposed to have received directions to the location from the Buddhists, who were grateful for his patronage. This could well be true. He was, in a manner of speaking, the Constantine of the East. In another version, it is said that it was a covenant – in return for his invitation, the emperor would provide the sacred mountain protection from pillagers. It’s all in different pieces and not chronologically arranged, since many of the original manuscripts were lost. But if you know what you are looking for, it can be pieced together. At least, that’s my view.’

‘You still haven’t explained why you think Marco’s story of the sacred mountain is true. Or are you just saying it’s plausible?’

‘The people, the historical details, the accounts of strife in the Khanate – these are not fabricated. They actually happened. The Chinese records are quite accurate.’

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ he said quite frankly.

‘Marco could never have had access to those details, unless Kublai Khan sent them to him, particularly as this story belongs to the time of the Great Khan’s death, which took place sometime between 1294 and 1296, by which time, Marco had
left
China and returned to Venice.’ She paused for effect. ‘And if
that
part of the story were true,
mathematically
speaking,’ she said with a wry smile to underscore her use of the word, ‘it is possible that Kublai Khan did actually make that journey.’

‘Why and how would Marco have got those details?’ Duggy asked, speaking up for the first time.

‘First, let’s deal with why,’ Susan said, taking out a packet of Camels from her bag. ‘May I smoke?’

In response, Ashton took out a lighter from his jacket pocket and lit her cigarette, before taking a cigarette from his own case and lighting up.

‘Kublai Khan was an emperor,’ Susan went on, ‘the greatest the world has ever known. Since the Buddhists had sworn him to secrecy, he could share nothing relating to his journey with his subjects or with anyone from his own empire. But he did know of a world beyond that empire, a world where his story could be told, where it would go down in recorded history. And the man who could carry that tale beyond the Great Khan’s empire and share it with the world that existed outside would be Marco Polo.’

‘That is quite understandable,’ Duggy said, nodding. ‘It would be galling for an emperor to just fade away, with no mention of his name in history.’ Then he urged Susan, ‘Let’s now hear about
how
this was done.’

‘This bit is conjecture,’ Susan began tentatively, giving the men a nervous smile, ‘but well within the realms of possibility. The Great Khan ruled territory that stretched to Soledaei on the Black Sea and cross-border trade was frequent. As far back as 1266, when Marco made his first trip back to Venice, he was accompanied on the Khan’s orders by Kodekai, a Mongol who was to deliver greetings to the Pope on the emperor’s behalf. It means that such journeys were possible in those times and someone from China did give the story to Marco.’ She paused and gestured with both hands. ‘There is no other way.’

‘Tim mentioned that in Marco’s book, the location of this monastery was left vague, that the Italian probably had no clue where it was,’ Ashton said pointedly.

‘You’re right. The book merely refers to the invitation Kublai Khan received to visit the sacred mountain. It was in the sequel that Marco promised to offer details of the actual journey. But it was never written – because Marco never did receive the details.’

No one spoke for a while.

‘You make a very persuasive argument,’ Ashton said with a smile, breaking the silence. ‘Believe me, for the price of a breakfast, I’ve got much more than I had hoped for.’

‘There’s more.’ She paused, opening her satchel, which she had placed on the table, to take out a polythene cover.

‘Go on,’ Ashton urged her, moving forward in his chair and drawing on his cigarette.

‘In 1932,’ Susan began, ‘an American team was interned by the Tibetan authorities while returning from an expedition in western Tibet. The Tibetans were uncharacteristically harsh and uncompromising in their stance. Only after the British Resident had intervened on behalf of the American government and conducted prolonged negotiations with the Tibetans was the team permitted to leave. Rumour had it that the expedition had stumbled upon a map or “treasure”, as it were, which would lead to the mystical kingdom of Shambhala. Created quite a stir in those days. Anyway, a year later, Hilton came out with
Lost Horizon
.’

She handed over the polythene cover to Ashton. Inside lay an old newspaper cutting, the print faded, of a report covering the story Susan had just told him. The cutting was pasted on another sheet of paper on the top of which a feminine hand had written in ink: ‘Shambhala – 1932’.

‘You’ve done a great deal of research,’ Ashton observed.

‘I’ve gone through everything I could lay my hands on for the last fifteen years,’ she said, her voice suddenly taut and hoarse.

They sat in silence. She was the first to speak.

‘Look, Henry, I’ve told you what I know. You don’t have to tell me anything at all about the reason for your interest in the subject. We could end this session right here and I could thank you for breakfast and drive off. But that would still leave me with a lot of questions. Why, for instance, does a retired colonel living in the Yorkshire dales suddenly get in touch with Merlin after thirty years? Why does he ask about the sacred mountain and that too, using its Mongolian name? And why does this happen two days after an unidentified Oriental, on his way to meet that same colonel, immolates himself?’

‘You know about that?’

‘It was in the papers. Your name was mentioned.’

Ashton sat staring at his palms. ‘What do you call this in your field – induction?’ he asked softly.

She smiled blandly. She knew she had him. Ashton looked up at Duggy, who was nodding, a broad smile on his face.

‘Could you get the letter, Duggy?’

The letter was brought in and handed over to Susan. She read it without comment, but when she looked up, her face was flushed and her eyes glittered with tears.

‘This is absolutely fantastic!’ she said. ‘If only…’ Her voice caught and after taking a deep breath, she composed herself. ‘I meant to say that I wish we had this when David was alive.’

‘Yes.’ Ashton did not know what else to say. ‘But now that you’ve seen it, I must request your discretion in the matter. I am also immensely grateful for your inputs which have been extremely insightful.’

She ignored the implied dismissal. ‘So are you going to do what this “Teacher” asks of you?’

Ashton remained silent.

‘Well, how do you plan to go about it?’ she persisted, pursuing her earlier question. Noticing Ashton’s jaw set firmly, she looked straight into his eyes and said, ‘Look, my guess is that you are going to need me.’

‘Isn’t that being a trifle presumptuous?’ he asked tersely.

She answered, unruffled, ‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that I’ve been on this subject for fifteen years? You’re going to need my knowledge of both Roschelli’s texts and the Shambhala myths which, I assure you, are not all from a single source; they are available in many different sets of writings which need to be linked up. She looked at him and flashed a smile. ‘You would like to know about the “Gates” and the “Jhagun”, I suppose?’

Ashton didn’t make any comment. Susan knew the answer. He looked up at Duggy who nodded again.

‘Look, this is all so sudden, I don’t really know what to make of it,’ Ashton admitted finally, running his fingers through his hair. ‘If I do follow it up – and I am not promising I will – the last thing I would want is for whatever we find to wind up in the public domain. In the context of the letter, that was the one point which was paramount – to prevent the wrong people from getting there. I don’t want to start a stampede in that direction.’

Susan looked at him and said without hesitation, ‘I am not looking for that.’

‘Then what’s in it for you?’ he asked gently, but his tone demanded an answer.

‘I am doing it for David.’ She shook her head, looking undecided for the first time. ‘No, I am doing this for myself. I think I blame myself for not having faith in him. Even after all these years, after therapy, I still feel the guilt gnawing at me. I just can’t help myself.’ She gave a half-shudder. ‘I feel that if I do this, maybe I will be able to get over it and put it behind me.’

‘It could be dangerous.’

That was a weak one and he knew it.

‘You really are an Uncle Ash!’ She smiled. Then she leaned forward, her expression serious. ‘Am I in – or not?’

‘It may take some time,’ he said cautiously, ‘and it may just end up being a wild goose chase.’

‘As luck would have it, I can get some leave quickly, without too much fuss. And yes, I am aware that this could all come to naught, but it’s worth a try for me.’

‘Okay, you’re in,’ he said resignedly.

Susan leaned over impulsively and hugged him. She left immediately to fetch her things. They had discussed the matter and decided it was best that she move in to Stiles; it would simplify their logistics. They would go over their plan when she returned.

Susan was back on the afternoon of the following day. That evening, when she and Ashton met Duggy in the library, they observed that he had put up a map of Central Asia. A small board had been set up; alongside were markers for noting points.
Trust
Duggy to approach all problems with a board or a sand model
, Ashton thought. He noticed that his house manager had placed the rucksack they had retrieved from the station’s left-luggage locker on the table, along with Ru San Ko’s letter.

Ashton went over what he had learnt from Tim, referring to the notes he had made in a small diary.

‘By way of preamble,’ he began once they were seated, ‘we may infer from the contents of the letter that there is someone – and someone quite powerful at that – who has got hold of a map leading to this place, this Burqan Qaldun, and must be stopped from getting there.’

‘What could his motive be?’ Susan asked.

‘Well, Tim suggested that one of three reasons might drive anyone to make the journey: to gain immortality, as Kublai Khan is purported to have done, to acquire knowledge of the Kalchakra or to plunder the boundless treasures that are supposed to be held there.’

‘Treasure, that’s for sure,’ Duggy concluded, then looking at Ashton’s face, asked, ‘you don’t think it’s any of the others, do you?’

‘No,’ Ashton replied after a while. ‘You could be right in assuming it’s treasure or, at least, the prospect of finding it. Even if they don’t find any treasure, the prestige associated with the discovery of the place and the financial gains that are likely to follow would be immense – somewhat like stumbling upon King Tut’s chamber.’

‘Bigger, much bigger,’ Susan added, ‘but it’s unlikely to be a legitimate organization with purely academic interests. Despite the way Hollywood portrays that lot, believe me, they don’t have the stomach for the bad stuff.’

‘I have some information which I picked up from the
Britannica
,’ Duggy said, looking at his pad. ‘The Mar Yul, mentioned in Ru San Ko’s letter, were a breakaway faction of Tibetan royalty who founded a separate kingdom around 800
CE
in what was then western Tibet and which, today,’ he pointed to the map, tracing the area with a marker as he spoke, ‘would be in India, in a place called Ladakh. I looked up Ladakh in the encyclopaedia. Its capital is Leh – to which there’s a direct flight from New Delhi.’

‘So we have to go there,’ Susan interjected, ‘because,’ she closed her eyes and repeated from memory, ‘“the key will be found with the dogs at the seat of the Mar Yul’’.’ Without opening her eyes, she continued, ‘The “key” is possibly a special code. “Dogs” baffles me, but I’ll get it, eventually?’