Cloud Wars – 1960
Lhasa, Tibet, 1960
The rumble of tank tracks on stone, harsh commands in northern tongues mingling with cries and screams from the cloistered courtyards, bursts of gunfire echoing from stone walls. Beru's hug, Oin's stony poise, fleeing down familiar corridors in darkness, new ones lit by guttering candles, the smells of old dust, tallow and kerosene. Chattering companions breathing hard, the brilliant stars so clear like a blanket of diamonds and looking back towards the red glow of distant fire.
Mountains, Tibet
Tea, hot tea, and a little rice from a stranger's hand, more weary miles, the stuttering drone of an aeroplane searching, the clonk of a yak bell and a peasant hovel. A day of silence and movement by night, walking meditation no breath to speak, onwards, upwards towards the low pass. High overhead clatters a strange machine without wings, a willow seed driven by men. Smoke seen in the distance, a herdsman's hut burns, roof and winter fodder in flames. A change of direction, despair, legs struggle to outpace machines, tired thighs driving upwards ever deeper into the high country and away from the soft valleys.
Climbing endless paths through jagged barren hills, the crystal chill of a mountain stream, a sun with no warmth, feet with no feeling in a fogy dawn, a bed of icy stone. Starting awake, parting eyes gummed together with another night's silent tears. More aeroplanes flying low, turning diving the yammer of machineguns and the panicked flight of monks. Yellow robes splashed with red on green-grey slopes. Fear, crawling under a boulder, the dank security of cold hard stone and the jarring earth rebounding to the crash of bombs. Silence, darkness, dawn. An ascetic hawk like face smiling down saying warmly "Rest easy son, it's been a busy day; you are lucky to be in one piece and I'm getting far too old for this sort of thing."
A cold camp and an innocent question "You follow the way"
"I have followed many ways lad."
"So you help us to acquire merit?"
"No, not for myself, although some of those who sent me might be hoping for a helping hand when the wheel turns for them next."
"Sent?"
"Oh aye, I've been trying to reach you for this last month or so. You weren't in Lhasa, I was too late at the monastery… I saw the Chips go bye a week ago and knew I couldn't beat them, so nipped across this way in case you scrambled clear. Luckily for the both of us you did."
"You came here to help me escape?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the enemy of my enemy is my friend."
The boy laughed for the first time in days "I am happy to be your friend sir, but I have no enemies."
"So the Chipanese are your chums then, damn rowdy house guests I must say."
"Of course they are my friends" said the boy deadpan "they say so on the radio every day."
"Oh very droll" chuckled the old man.
"Where there are enemies, there is also hatred and fear, both emotions contrary to the way" explained the boy seriously.
"And you are strong in the way, aren't you my boy."
Lhasa, Tibet
"Fear will keep them in line and reveal the Rebels to us!"
The Kempetai sighed. "Do not be too proud of this reign of terror General, all is subject to the way."
"Indeed" agreed an aid archly "but your outmoded religion has not produced a handful of ragged monks."
The Secret Policeman pierced the Chinese Major with a brutal stare "I find your lack of faith - disturbing."
"Enough!" This bickering is pointless, the Kempetai will produce the missing child before Operation Peony commences and then we will crush them all with a single stroke!" Colonel Tsuji snarled with relish.
Generals quaked at that voice and all cowed to it now, except the gray secret policeman who only nodded his acceptance of authority.
Mountains, Tibet
A line invisible found and crossed with careful hope upon a high pass, the gay flutter of prayer flags praising Buddha in the razor cold breeze. Hospitality the sacred law, held by night but void a mile onward the next morning, a waspish crack resounding from the crags, violence petty and deadly, the dust spurting from a bullet's venom. Pain, blood, death and debt, the shelter of a friend's still body, warm and lifeless, the gentle hands of the stranger, binding wounds and wielding his weapon, a bleeding scrabble up the face of a mountain, loss, exhaustion, fear, sleep.
Mountain Monastery, Tibet
The smouldering ruin of a small monastery rang with a shriek of extreme pain as another young monk spilled his intestines over the flagstones. The Kempetai agent waited patiently for the screams to peak and fall to a burbling moan before whispering in the Abbots ear "Come now old man, I have plenty of time and you have many more men. You can tell me where the boy is going or I may have to get inventive…"
Mountains, India
A vale of death; camels and men amid the fluttering of rags and the creaking of crows driven from their meal.
"Dacoits" said the boy sadly.
"Perhaps…" the old stranger stroked his straggling beard.
"Poor farmers and herdsmen driven to murder" moaned the boy in compassion "Why must they take life for gain and set back their progress on the Wheel…."
"They didn't. Oh we are supposed to believe they did, but only the crows are picking anyone clean here. No hillman would leave behind good boots, those panniers over there or his spent cartridges." The old westerner bent to the ground stiffly and tossed a handful of golden brass tubes to the lad "Only soldiers are so wasteful, Chipanese soldiers."
"But we are in India!" exclaimed Chee Pi the child prince's tutor and secretary indignantly.
"Do you see any Hindu around here?" asked Di Too, "perhaps there's a Ghurkha behind that rock over there, Taki Hai?" his mocking call echoed back faintly from the steep hillsides.
"Oh do shut up! You may call them back with your yelling and carrying on and were should we be then? Captured, the young master held hostage, we poor fellows languishing in prison and our country lost forever! And it would be all your fault you silly man!"
The stocky monk blew a raspberry at his nominal superior.
"Perhaps they were Indian soldiers and these men were the dacoits" suggested Chee Pi in an effort to reassure his young charge.
The round eyed foreigner laughed gently "No Sepoy worth his salt leaves anymore brass behind than a Pathan, they know that if they do it will only be reloaded and used against them next time. These were Imperial troops and long gone, otherwise we'd not still be standing here chatting. Say a prayer if you must gentlemen but be brief. In the mean time my god helps those who help themselves, and those robes of yours are rather distinctive."