I ventured, “So you can help us then?”
“Oh, most definitely, but first, I have one request of you.”
Mr. Kadam smiled magnanimously. “Of course, what may we do for you?”
“Can you tell me about the tigers? I know of the place you seek and how to advise you, but . . . the tigers were never explained, and their place in the quest was held in deepest secret. Is this something you know of?”
Kishan, Mr. Kadam, and I looked at each other for a moment. Kishan raised an eyebrow when Mr. Kadam slightly nodded.
Mr. Kadam asked, “Is this room secure?”
“Yes, of course.”
Mr. Kadam and I both turned to Kishan. He shrugged his brawny shoulders, stood up, and morphed into his tiger form. The black tiger blinked his golden eyes at the monk and growled softly then sat on the floor beside me. I leaned over to scratch his sooty ears.
The Ocean Teacher sat back in the chair with surprise. Then he rubbed his bald head and laughed with glee. “Thank you for trusting me with this amazing gift!”
Kishan changed back into a man and sat down in the chair again. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a gift.”
“Ah, and what would you call it?”
“I’d call it a tragedy.”
“There is a saying in Tibet, ‘Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.’” The monk sat back in his chair and touched a finger to his temple. “Instead of wondering why this has happened, perhaps you should consider why this has happened to you. Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.”
He turned his attention hopefully to me. “And what of the white tiger?”
I spoke, “The white tiger is Kishan’s brother, Ren, who has been captured by an enemy.”
He tilted his head, considering, “One’s enemy is often the best teacher of tolerance. And what of you, my dear? How do you fit into this quest?”
I raised my hand, turned, and let the power bubble up inside me. It flowed through my hand, and I aimed for the flower sitting in a vase on his desk. My hand sparkled, and a pinpoint of white light surged toward the flower. The bloom glowed for just a moment before disappearing in a soft puff of ash that lightly rained down upon the wooden desk.
“I am the central line of the tiger medallion, the warp. My role is to help free the two tigers.” I indicated the quiet man on my right. “And Mr. Kadam is our guide and mentor.”
The Ocean Teacher did not seem shocked by my power. Happy as a little boy on Christmas morning, he clapped his hands together. “Good! Wonderful! Now, let me help you with what I can.”
He rose, took the tiger medallion from around his neck, where it had laid hidden in his voluminous robe and pushed it into a slot near his bookshelf. A narrow cupboard opened, from which he took out an ancient scroll preserved in glass and a vial filled with a green, oily substance.
He indicated we should step closer. As we circled his desk, he carefully turned the glass containing the ancient scroll to display what was inside.
“This scroll has existed for centuries and lists the signs associated with the tiger medallion and those who come to claim it. Tell me, what do you know of your quest already?”
Mr. Kadam showed him the translation of the prophecy.
“Ah, yes. The beginning of this scroll contains more of the same with only a few differences. Your prophecy says I am to do three things for you, and these I will do. I am to unfold the scrolls of wisdom, anoint your eyes, and lead you to the spirit gates. This ancient document you see before you is the scroll that is said to hold the wisdom of the world.”
I asked, “What does that mean?”
“Legend, myth, stories of mankind’s origin—all of these are based on eternal truths, and some of those truths are contained here. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Haven’t you read it?”
“No, not at all. In my philosophy, it is unnecessary to know all truths. Part of the process of enlightenment is to discover truth for yourself through self-introspection. None of the former Dalai Lamas have read these scrolls either. They were not meant for us. They were held in safekeeping to be given to you when the time is right.”
Mr. Kadam asked, “If the scroll was handed down and held in secret by the Dalai Lamas, then how was it passed to you?”
“The scrolls and the secret must be held by two men. The Dalai Lama doesn’t know who the next Dalai Lama will be, so he entrusts his teacher. When his teacher dies, he entrusts that teacher’s reincarnation. When the Dalai Lama dies, the teacher shares the secret with the next Dalai Lama so that the scroll is never lost. With the current Dalai Lama in exile, the duty falls to me.”
I said, “Do you mean to say that these scrolls have been held for centuries for . . . us?”
“Yes. We have passed down the secret as well as the instructions detailing how we would find the ones to give this to.”
Mr. Kadam bent to examine the scroll in the glass. “Amazing! I yearn to examine this.”
“You must not. I was told the scroll was not to be read until the fifth sacrifice was complete. It’s even been suggested that to open it early would cause a catastrophe of the gravest kind.”
I muttered, “The fifth sacrifice? But, Mr. Kadam, we still don’t even know what that will be.” I turned to the Ocean Teacher. “All we know of so far are the four sacrifices and the four gifts. We won’t know the fifth until much later. Are you sure we can be successful in our quest without reading the scroll?”
The monk shrugged. “It is not for me to know. My duty is to place this in your care and fulfill my other two obligations. Come. Sit here, young lady, and let me anoint your eyes.”
He pulled a chair over for me, approached me with the green vial, and addressed us, “Tell me, Mr. Kadam, in your studies, have you come across a people called the Chewong?”
Mr. Kadam took a seat. “I confess . . . no, I have not.”
I sniggered softly. That’s an amazing fact in and of itself. Mr. Kadam not knowing something? Is it even possible?
“The Chewong are from Malaysia . . . fascinating people. There is tremendous pressure on them now to convert to Islam and mainstream into Malaysian society; however, there are several who fight for their rights to keep their language and culture. They are a peaceful people, nonviolent. In fact, they have no words for warfare, corruption, conflict, or punishment in their language. They have many interesting beliefs. One noteworthy ideal relates to communal property. They feel it’s dangerous and wrong to eat alone, so they always share their meals with one another. But, the belief that applies to you concerns the eyes.”
I licked my lips nervously. “Umm, what exactly do they do to the eyes? Serve them for supper?”
He laughed. “No, nothing like that. They say their shamans or religious leaders have cool eyes while the average person is considered to have hot eyes. A person with cool eyes can see different worlds and can discern things that may be hidden from ordinary view.”
Mr. Kadam was intrigued and began asking many questions while my eyes darted to the green, oily liquid that the monk was dripping onto his dry, papery fingers.
“Uh, I have to warn you that I have an eye phobia. My parents had to hold me down to get drops in my eye when I had pinkeye as a child.”
“Not to worry,” the Ocean Teacher said. “I will anoint your closed eyelids and share a few words of wisdom with you.”
I relaxed considerably and obediently closed my eyes. I felt his warm fingers stroke across my closed lids. I expected the gooey stuff to drip down my cheeks, but it was thicker, more like a lotion, and smelled sharp and medicinal. The smell tickled my nose and reminded me of the menthol rub my mother used to put on my chest to help me breathe easier when I was sick. My eyelids tingled and turned icy cold. I kept them closed while he spoke softly.
“My advice for you, young one, is to tell you that the very purpose of life is to be happy. In my own limited experience, I have found that, as we ca
re for others, the greater is our own sense of well-being. It puts the mind at ease. It helps remove whatever fears or insecurities we may have and gives us the strength to cope with any obstacles we encounter. Also, when you need guidance, meditate. I have often found answers through meditation. Lastly, remember the old saying that ‘love conquers all’ is true. As you give love, you will find it returns to you magnified.”
I carefully cracked open my eyes. I felt no pain or discomfort, but they were slightly sensitive. Now it was Kishan’s turn. We switched places, and the monk dipped his fingertips once more. Kishan closed his eyes, and the substance was swiped across his closed eyelids.
“Now for you, black tiger. You are young of body but old of soul. Remember, no matter what sort of difficulties you must endure and no matter how painful your experiences, you must not lose hope. Losing faith is the only thing that can truly destroy you. The lamas say, ‘To conquer yourself and your weaknesses are a greater triumph than to conquer thousands in battle.’
“You have a responsibility to help lead your family in the right direction. This includes your immediate family as well as your global family. Good intentions are not sufficient to create a positive outcome; you must act. As you take part and become actively engaged, answers to your questions will appear. Lastly, like a great rock is not disturbed by the buffetings of the wind, the mind of a judicious man is steady. He exists as a stanchion, a stalwart support. Others can cling to him, for he will not falter.”
The Ocean Teacher put the stopper back in the vial, and Kishan blinked his eyes open. The green substance had disappeared from his lids. He sat next to me and stretched out his hand to touch my arm. The man who was the Ocean Teacher, a great lama of Tibet, held out his hand to shake Mr. Kadam’s.
He said, “My friend. I sense that your eyes have already been opened, and you have seen more things that I can imagine. I leave this scroll in your hands and ask that you come to visit with me from time to time. I would like to know how this journey ends.”
Mr. Kadam bowed gallantly. “I would consider it a great honor, wise one.”
“Good. Now only one thing remains on my agenda, and that is to guide you to the spirit gate.” He explained, “Spirit gates mark the boundary between the physical world and the spirit world. As you pass through them, you cleanse yourself of weighty earthy matters and focus on the spiritual. Do not touch the gate until you are ready to enter, for that is forbidden. The known gates are in China and Japan, but there is one in Tibet which has been kept secret. I will show you on the map.”
He rang for a fellow monk to bring in a map of Tibet.
“The gate you seek is a simple, humble one. You must travel there on foot and take only basic provisions, for to find the gate you must prove that you walk by faith. The gate is marked with the simple prayer flags of the nomads. The journey will not be easy, and only the two of you may access the gate. Your mentor will have to stay behind.”
He showed us a path where we could begin the ascent. I gulped as I recognized the location despite my inability to decipher the language. Mount Everest. Fortunately, it seemed that the spirit gate was not located at its peak, but it was, in fact, only a short distance past the snow line. Mr. Kadam and the Ocean Teacher spoke animatedly about the best route to take while Kishan listened intently.
How could I possibly do this? I have to. Ren needs me. Finding this new place and object was what would help me find Ren, and nothing would keep me from doing that, not even altitude sickness or a freezing cold mountain.
The scroll was given to Mr. Kadam as well as the maps and a detailed explanation, including directions, to the spirit gate. Kishan’s warm hand picked up mine.
“Kelsey, are you alright?”
“Yes. I’m just a little scared about the trip.”
“Me too. But, remember, he said it requires faith.”
“Do you have faith?”
Kishan considered, “Yes. I think I do. More than I did anyway. What about you?”
“I have hope. Is that good enough?”
“I think it is.”
The Ocean Teacher shook our hands warmly, winked, and excused himself. He left flanked by his escorts. A monk led us to our room, so we could gather our belongings.
Mr. Kadam spent the rest of the day preparing for our trip. Kishan and I packed lightly, remembering the warning to take little with us. Mr. Kadam determined that we would bring no food or water, knowing that the Golden Fruit would sustain us. He told me that he had tested the limitations of the Fruit and said that it seemed to work from as far away as one hundred feet and though it could not produce water, it could make a variety of other beverages. He recommended hot herbal teas and sugar-free drinks to stay hydrated. I thanked him and wrapped it carefully in my quilt before placing the bundle in my backpack.
We debated the merits of a tent for a long time and decided on a large sleeping bag instead. They didn’t feel I could carry a tent up the mountain, and I needed room in my backpack for Kishan’s clothing, Fanindra, and all the weapons. Kishan would have to change to tiger form and back, so he would need the warm clothes.
The next day, we drove to the base of the mountain. After arriving, Mr. Kadam walked with us for a while and then hugged us both briefly. He told us that he would set up a camp at the base and would eagerly wait for our return.
“Be very careful, Miss Kelsey. The journey will no doubt be difficult. I’ve put all my notes in your bag. I hope that I’ve remembered everything.”
“I’m sure you did. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Hopefully, we’ll be back before you know it. Maybe time will stop like it did in Kishkindha. Take care of yourself. And if for some reason we don’t come back, will you tell Ren—”
“You will come back, Miss Kelsey. Of that I am certain. Go off now, and I will see you soon.”
Kishan changed into a black tiger, and we started up the mountain. Half an hour later, I turned to see how far we’d come. The Tibetan plain swept out before us as far as the eye could see. I waved at Mr. Kadam’s small figure far below, then turned, climbed between two rocks, and set my feet on the path ahead.
17
Spirit Gate
I shivered and yanked my Gore-Tex gloves a little higher on my wrists. We’d hiked up the mountain most of the first day and set up camp near some rocks that blocked the wind. When we stopped, I gratefully shrugged off my backpack and stretched.
I searched the area for a while, gathering wood to start a fire. After a hot dinner, thanks to the Golden Fruit, I snuggled deep in my king-sized sleeping bag fully clothed.
Kishan nudged his head into the opening and crawled in after me. It was awkward at first, but after an hour I felt extremely grateful for the warm fur that stopped my shivering. I was so exhausted that, despite the noise of the wind, I was able to sleep.
The next morning, I used the Golden Fruit to wish up warm oatmeal with maple syrup and brown sugar and some steaming hot chocolate for breakfast. Kishan wanted to stay in tiger form to keep warm, so I gave him the option of a large platter full of rare venison steaks or a giant dish of the same oatmeal I ate and a large bowl of milk. He started with the meat but finished off the oatmeal and milk too, lapping it up quickly. I rolled up our belongings and stowed them in the bag before we set off on our journey again.
We settled into a routine for the next four days. Kishan led the way, I supplied meals via the Golden Fruit and built the fires, and then we slept snuggled together, tiger and human, in the large sleeping bag at night while the wind howled around us. The upward climb was challenging. If I hadn’t been working out with Kishan and Mr. Kadam, I wouldn’t have been prepared for it.
The ascent wasn’t bad enough that I would need climbing gear, but it was no stroll through the park either. Breathing was harder the higher we went because there was less oxygen, so we stopped frequently to drink and rested often.
We hit the snow line on the fifth day. Even in the summer, there was snow on Mount Everest. Kishan was easy to s
ee now, even from a distance. A black animal on the white snow drifts did not go undetected. He was lucky he was probably one of the biggest animals out here. If he were smaller, we’d be hunted by predators.
I wonder if polar bears live here? No, polar bears live at the poles. Hmm, maybe there are other bears out here, or possibly mountain lions. Sasquatch? The Yeti? What was the snow monster in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer called? Ah, the Bumble. I giggled as I imagined a puppet-like Kishan attacking the Bumble and hummed the “Misfit” song from the movie.
I followed Kishan’s tiger tracks and started keeping an eye out for animal footprints. When I spied small animal tracks in the snow, I tried to figure out what they could be. Some were obviously birds, but others I thought might be rabbits or small rodents. Not seeing anything bigger and becoming bored with my game, I relaxed and let my mind drift as I followed Kishan.
The trees were becoming sparse and the terrain rocky. The snow drifts were deep, and it became increasingly difficult to breathe. I started to get nervous. I didn’t really think it would take us this long to find the spirit gate.
Day seven was when we ran into the bear.
Kishan had taken off about a half hour before to search for wood and a likely place for us to camp. I was to follow his tracks and he’d circle back and sniff me out. He was actually due back soon as he never left me for longer than thirty minutes at a time.
I was trudging slowly along, stepping in his tiger prints, when I heard a rumbling bellow behind me. I figured Kishan had circled around and was trying to get my attention. I turned and stopped in my tracks, gasping in horror. A large brown bear was galloping toward me in attack mode. Its round ears were laid back against its head. Its mouth hung open revealing sharp teeth, and it was coming at me fast. It ran faster than I could.
I screamed.
The bear came to a stop five feet away, stood on its hind legs, and bawled at me again, swiping the air with its paws. Its shaggy fur was wet with snow. Tiny black eyes watched me over a long snout as it assessed my ability to fight back. The skin around the mouth pulled back as its jaw quivered, baring an impressive display of teeth that could rip me to shreds.