JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi (14 page)

“
I do believe it is closed,” Chris commented.

Christian looked through the window with a hand to his face to cut out the light. “They look like they’re doing business, just closed for now,” he said.

“
Well, we can come back tomorrow, then” Chris answered. “Or should we bother? Maybe we should buy stuff for souvenirs after we get back. That way we don’t have to store anything during the trek.”

“
I wasn’t planning on buying a souvenir.” I said. “I’m buying a knife for the trek. I want something to carry on the trail, something that can cut a small branch and something that can slice cheese and something that might scare a thief or communist, for that matter. Not that anything like that will be an issue. They have all types and sizes of knives in here. From small three-inch baby khukuris to things that will cut off a bulls head, from ceremonial to police models, this place has every type you can think of including the famous Ghurka knives.” I was pointing through the window as I was talking.

“
Sensei, exactly what is the Ghurka knife?” Christian asked.

“
Ghurkas are one of the most feared fighting forces in the world. There is a lot of myth and legend attached to them, but the one truth that I know is that they carry the single scariest fighting knife I have ever seen and maybe the deadliest in any army anywhere. They are from Nepal, here, and membership is the most sought after thing a young man can do. Or rather to attempt membership, that is. Every year there are competitions all over the country for the right to merely try out for the few open positions in the regiment.” I kept looking through the window.

“
They’re the guys who scared the pants off the Argentineans when they landed during the Falklands war, right?” Curtis said. “They landed on the beach and the dug-in Argentinean Army, who by-the-way said that they were going to defend the island to the death, saw that the British had sent the Ghurka regiment and they raised the white flag. They didn’t want anything to do with fighting the Ghurkas.

“
The legends go back for hundreds of years. The way I understand it, when the British first encountered the Ghurkas it was during a battle, probably one of the local regions that had to be overcome to unify India. The battle was so fierce and the tenacity of the Ghurka soldier so single minded that the British were defeated. But then a really weird thing happened.

“
The Ghurkas were so impressed with the tactics that the British officers used in the battle that after the surrender, they asked to speak with the commanding officers. They told them how impressed they were and then asked the British to be their officers!” I shook my head. “Later, the British employed as many as five Ghurka regiments at any given time, but if I am not mistaken it has been reduced to only one. I am probably wrong, but I believe that Prince Charles himself actually once commanded the Ghurka regiment. They usually call on them when something is particularly hairy. A platoon of Ghurkas once massacred around fifteen hundred unarmed Indian men, women, and children in Gandhi’s uprising.”

“
God, why?” Christian asked.

“
Because they were ordered to,” I said. “The general who ordered the shooting was relieved of command, but the Ghurkas were never reprimanded. The British understand that if they order these men to do something, they follow orders and will fight to the death. You need to be very careful where you point a deadly weapon, but once you do, you can’t blame the weapon if it kills. You can only blame the person pointing the weapon.”

Curtis nodded and the others joined in. We headed back toward the hotel and suddenly I was tired as I could be. Jet lag and crossed time zones were catching up with me and I knew I needed to eat, drink a beer, and then go to bed. I also knew that adrenalin and curiosity would keep my companions going until the bars closed.

“
Guys, I’m heading back to the hotel. Just remember that you are staying at the Kathmandu Guest House and if worse comes to worse, get in a cab and they’ll bring you back. There are a couple good drinking places where climbers and trekkers hang out right down this street and there are restaurants everywhere. Be careful what you eat and drink, but you have to try what you have to try and I would never suggest you not taste this wonderful and strange country to the fullest. I will see you all for breakfast tomorrow in the courtyard. We can go out to Kitipur. See you then.”

I walked off without looking back so that they would not feel the need to accompany me. I was really tired. I had a couple things I wanted to do and did not want the guys with me during negotiations. I think it was the first time I lied to them, but maybe not. What the hell.

***

The next morning we met in the courtyard over tea (good), coffee (bad), and a pretty good granola, eggs and a very nice breakfast soup.

I was very sad, still tired, and still not adjusted to the upside down time being twelve hours distant from home, but curiosity and excitement are great stimulants and I was ready to go exploring.

The night before had not been as late as it was trying. Bad news and changed plans needed to be addressed and it takes time here. Patience does not come easy to me and it is really a tribute to many years of practice that I have been able to stifle my normal desire to crash ahead full speed and replace it with a calm I rarely feel, but know I must display. I had returned to the hotel and then arranged for a taxi to take me to see an old friend. When I arrived at his home, knocked on the door and asked for him the old woman who had answered closed and bolted the door in my face.

After a few moments I knocked again, more for the reason that I did not have a way back to the hotel and needed to have the family arrange a taxi for me than for any desire to find out what I might have done to offend them. This time my friend’s uncle answered the door and his greeting was more in line with my expectations. He opened the door wide for me to enter and greeted me with the traditional “Namaste”. It means, roughly, ‘I salute the divine within you’. I placed my hands together in front of my chest and returned the greeting, then shook his hand. He was very grave and I understood that something was badly wrong.

“
Where is Djorje?” I asked, deferentially.

“
Djorje is dead,” he told me.

I felt my eyes fill and quickly turned away. His uncle found something interesting to look at in the small mandala on the wall of the foyer. After a moment he said, “I am sorry.”

“
I am, too. How?” I asked.

“
A helicopter crash up at Sagarmatha, Everest base camp. It could not get to altitude after takeoff, fell 20 meters and landed hard. Djorje was killed, then.”

I did not know what to say. I was counting on Djorje to lead the trek up to Gokyo Ri and then Tengboche Monastery. He had been with me during the many weeks of my previous visit and I had come to trust him, respect him and like him very much. He had been my business partner when I had started a company that had imported khukuri knives into the United States and we had both done very well in our enterprise. I counted him as a friend. He had been married only a few months before. I did not know how this would affect our journey, and knew it was not the time to ask, but Mr. Pasang took me by the arm and led me inside and quietly got me a beer.

“
I know you prefer this to tea,” he said.

“
Thank you,” I said.

We spoke of Djorje then and about the things in his life and mine, and of our time together. I asked if he would be willing to carry on as my business partner in the khukuri venture that we had operated over the last ten years and he acknowledged his acceptance. He then talked about our trip.

“
I have made arrangements for your trek as Djorje would have done. I have four porters, two Sherpa guides and another Sherpa guide named Bim for your Sirdar. If you wish we can have a cook and several kitchen boys as well. They will meet you the morning you leave. Do you wish the kitchen?”

“
Yes, and if we could have a fourth porter who could carry a few small tents and a small amount of food that could be prepared in an emergency, perhaps that would be the best. Would that be all right?”

“
As you wish.” He nodded and got up from the small table and left for a few moments. When he came back he was carrying a document and small bank bag. We discussed the price, the length of time we would need the porters – I wanted them to stay on retainer while we would be in Namche Bazaar – and accommodations. When everything was done I paid him and he left to arrange a taxi to take me back to Thamel. He had offered to drive me himself, but the sadness had returned and I wanted for him to be with his family and for me to be alone.

On my first trek here four people had died during the long weeks on the trail. None from our group, but it seemed as if each new group of climbers coming along the trail had stories of death and terror in the high places. Despite all the best planning and preparation there are circumstance here that cannot be altered. We must pass across many suspension bridges that are used by every single creature with business on the other side of the raging torrents they span. If a yak train begins to cross, people must wait. It’s that simple. Yaks have killed many trekkers over the years and sometimes they do it for no reason at all.

The worst part is that most of the deaths due to injury would not necessarily be fatal anywhere else. But here there is no way out except by foot or by being carried. Altitude hinders helicopters for the most part and even the runway to Lukla is pretty iffy on any given day if you can reach it. Helicopters often cannot land or take off and medical help is often as far as a week by footpath away. Death is a part of life. And death is a part of this country in a far more primeval way than in the United States, where we are sheltered from the details like children from a storm.

This land is no stranger to death and each year there are people who do not come back from the mountains. I was deeply sorry that Djorje had been claimed by the high Himalaya. He was one of the best people I had known here and I would miss him.

***

Kitipur scares people who encounter it unprepared. It is, somehow, desolate in the very busy city of Kathmandu, high on a hill surrounded by squalor and third world, city life. High up on its walls hang the cutting implements that were used to slaughter the peoples who resisted the unification of the Kathmandu valley many centuries prior. These are long, curved, vicious-looking implements that resemble swords and farm implements at the same time. If you look at them you can see the scythe shaped potential of destruction and the nasty little hooking edges and curlicues that would rip one’s body apart. All around the temple there are ancient wooden sculptures of death and devastation and often blood sacrifice. The overall feeling is that you are a long way from home.

We walked around and acted like tourists the world over, snapping pictures and posing in front of statues of Kali and Ganesh, the elephant god of Hindu mythology. Later we took a taxi to the temple at Swaymbhunath and saw the monkeys, the statues, the temples to various gods, statues of Khaila Bhairub, all black and lion like, and we posed in front of the magnificent Buddha at the base.

“
What are these?” Chris asked.

“
I think they’re prayer wheels.” Curtis responded. “I think the deal is, each time you spin one completely around, it’s like a prayer sent off to the Gods. So they get a bunch of them and get them all spinning and with each revolution you get to have said another prayer. So if you walk down the way and give each one a spin you can get maybe twenty-five or thirty all praying for you at the same time. It’s a good deal, I guess.” He walked on and Chris and Christian looked at each other and then at him, and then at me. I shrugged. That sounded good enough and Curtis is never wrong about anything. You have to give him a little leeway though because he is not above pulling your leg.

“
We’ll see them now and again as we cross through the high country,” I said. Often mountain passes have a small temple perched near the summit and at least one that I know of is built directly over the road so you are compelled to go through it on the way down. This one is lined with temple prayer wheels and they are perhaps twelve to sixteen inches tall and quite heavy. As you walk through you are compelled to get them spinning. You just are.

We sat down on a bench near the spot where we were to be picked up and returned to Thamel. I said, “Do you guys want an extra day here? We’re scheduled to leave for Jiri tomorrow morning, but we could delay for a day so you can visit the City some more. I’ve been here and I think it’s one of the most exotic places on earth, but I’d kind of like to get going. The weather is supposed to be perfect and we can always try to get back a little early, if you like.”

“
I want to go back to the Khukuri House before we go, but other than that, I’m ready,” said Christian, but he shivered and I hoped he wasn’t getting a cold.

“
Yeah, I’m good,” said Chris

“
Me, too,” added Curtis.

“
Well, let’s go back to the Khukuri House, then,” I agreed.

Chapter 11

First Light

The Lobby of the Kathmandu Guest House was quiet and dark when we entered it at five the next morning. When walking through a strange land at a strange time a person often becomes acutely aware. We were all experiencing this as we passed the locked doors and darkened windows on the way to the lobby.