Tiger's Quest (25 page)

I heard him mumble softly, “Right . . . cooking.”

“Can we be friends?”

“I was always your friend.”

“Good. I have a friend
and
a hero. Goodnight, Kishan.”

“Goodnight,
bilauta
.”

I turned at the door. “And don’t worry. Your feelings are probably just temporary. I’m sure the more you get to know me, the more annoying I’ll become. I have a grouchy side you haven’t even seen yet.”

He just raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Despite my assurances that I would be fine without him watching over me, it felt nice knowing there was a tiger sleeping on the balcony. Sleep came upon me. For once, I didn’t have any nightmares.

W
e kept to our schedule for another couple of weeks. I was getting stronger and felt confident that I could hold my own in a fight. Not because of my physical strength but because of the lightning power. That ability came easily for me. I could take out a weed all the way across the field and not damage the surrounding grass. It was like I had some inner ability to auto-focus, and I just knew where I needed to aim.

Mr. Kadam was spending most of his time trying to find Ren. Since we had discovered that the city we were looking for was Lhasa, the rest of the prophecy fell into place. Mr. Kadam was sure if we began our journey there, we’d find what we were looking for. Before we left, though, we had to make another trip to a temple of Durga.

Boxes started arriving in preparation for our trip. Mr. Kadam had purchased new clothes for me. Hiking boots, a dozen pair of wool socks, wool and fleece sweaters, Gore-Tex jackets, pants, and gloves, thick, long-sleeved T-shirts, a pair of white, insulated snow boots, insulated pants in a variety of styles, and assorted hats soon filled a corner of my closet.

After the latest package had arrived, which included sunglasses, sunscreen, and other various toiletries, I headed downstairs.

“
Mr. Kadam
, it looks like you’re having me climb Everest after all. Just how many bags do you expect me to take, anyway?”

He chuckled. “Come in, Miss Kelsey, come in. I have something interesting to show you.”

“What is it? A jacket that will keep me warm in an avalanche, maybe?”

“No, no. Here.” He handed me a book.

“What’s this?”

“It’s called
Lost Horizon
by James Hilton. Have you ever read it?”

“No. I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Have you heard the term
Shangri-la
?”

“Well, yeah. As in special nightclubs in old Hollywood movies? I think there might even be a casino in Las Vegas by that name.”

“Ah, yes, well, I found a connection between this book and our quest. Do you have some time now to discuss it?”

“Yes. Let me just tell Kishan to come listen too.”

When I returned, I made myself comfortable in the chair, and Kishan settled himself on the floor in front of me.

“
Lost Horizon
is a book written in 1933 describing a utopian society in which the inhabitants live exceptionally long lives in perfect harmony with one another. The city was set in the Kunlun Mountains, which is part of the Himalayas.

“What’s truly interesting, though, is that Mr. Hilton based his story on the ancient Tibetan Buddhist myth of Shambhala, a mystical city that is isolated from the rest of the world and has many hidden secrets. In the modern world, the term
Shangri-la
has come to mean ‘a place of happiness, a utopia, or a
paradise
.’”

“So we’ll be searching for Shangri-la through the spirit gates?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve come to believe. This myth is fascinating. Do you know this book draws upon several famous cities and their stories? There are ties to the Holy Grail, the Fountain of Youth, El Dorado, the City of Enoch, and Hyperborea of the Greeks. All of those accounts are similar to the story of Shangri-la.

“In every story the people are searching for something that will grant immortality or a land that holds a perfect society. Even the Garden of Eden has many comparable themes—the tree, the snake, a paradise, beautiful gardens. Many have searched for such places and have never found them.”

“Well, fantastic. The more I learn, the harder the task seems to be. Maybe it would be better not to know all this stuff. It might seem less daunting.”

“Would you rather I didn’t tell you?”

I sighed. “No, I need to know. It helps to have a frame of reference. So, nobody has ever come close to finding Shangri-la?”

“No. Not that people haven’t tried. I came across an interesting piece of information, in fact. It seems that Adolf Hitler believed that Shangri-la held the key to the perfect ancient master race. He even sent a group led by a man named Ernst Schäfer on an expedition to Tibet in search of it in 1938.”

“Glad they didn’t find it.”

“Indeed.”

Mr. Kadam gave me
Lost Horizon
to read and warned me that we would most likely leave by the end of the week. We went back to our normal routine for the next few days, but I felt nervous. I’d been through some scary experiences the last time we did this, but I’d always had Ren with me. I fought with him half the time and kissed him the other half, but despite all the emotional turmoil associated with that, I always felt safe. I knew he’d protect me from the evil monkeys and the Kappa.

Now that a new adventure loomed before me, I wanted Ren with me so desperately my insides felt achingly hollow. The only thing that kept me going was knowing I was doing this for him. I wouldn’t even allow myself to think he might not live through the next few weeks. He had to. Life without him would be meaningless.

I would still go through to the end for Kishan’s sake, though. I couldn’t abandon him. It wasn’t in my nature. I knew he would protect me the best he could, and I was feeling even more confident of my own abilities. But it wouldn’t be the same without Ren.

Each hour that passed produced no leads for finding him. Kishan was melancholy enough on his own, so I didn’t bother talking to him about it. It was awkward to talk about Ren with Kishan anyway since his confession. And if I talked to Mr. Kadam about it, he always looked guilty, buried himself in research, and stopped sleeping whenever I mentioned how hard it was for me without Ren.

Kishan and I didn’t speak again about his feelings for me. It was a little awkward at first between us, but we both doggedly ignored the subject until our relationship became easier. He continued to practice martial arts with me every day.

I found that I liked him more and more. There were definite similarities between the brothers, but there were several differences too. For example, Kishan seemed more careful than Ren. Kishan was willing to discuss any subject, but he was always slow to answer. His thoughts were insightful. He also was hard on himself and felt immense shame and self-recrimination over our situation.

However, there were things he said, words he chose, that reminded me of Ren. Kishan was easy to talk to, like his brother. Even their voices sounded the same. Sometimes, I forgot who I was speaking to and called him Ren accidentally. He said it was understandable, but I knew it hurt him.

Tension floated through the house the entire week before our trip. Finally, the day arrived for us to leave. The Jeep was loaded with our bags. With Kishan settled in Ren’s spot, we headed off. Mr. Kadam had traveling papers for each of us and explained that we would actually be driving through three different countries. I peeked into a bag and saw that my passports and papers now said K. H. Khan and featured an older picture of me from high school.
Talk about a bad hair day.

Our destination was Nepal, to a city called Bhaktapur. It took two days just to traverse India, and we crossed into Nepal at the Birganj-Raxaul border. Mr. Kadam had to go through a long process of paperwork at the border and said we had to show proof of the
Carnet De Passage En Douane
—a customs document that granted us permission to temporarily import our vehicle into Nepal.

After we settled into a hotel, we left Kishan to nap, while Mr. Kadam took me out in a rickshaw to see the Birganj clock tower.

When we got back to our rooms, Kishan accompanied us to dinner at a restaurant near the hotel. Mr. Kadam ordered
chatamari
for me, a kind of Nepalese pizza with dough made of rice flour. I picked a few toppings that I was familiar with. He ordered
masu
, a curried meat with rice dish, for himself. He picked chicken, but it was also available in mutton or buffalo, which I didn’t know they had in Nepal. Kishan got vegetable
pulao
, a fried rice dish with cumin and turmeric, mutton
masu
, and
thuckpa
, a stir-fried egg noodle dish.

The next day, we rose early for the drive to Bhaktapur. Mr. Kadam checked us into our hotel, and then we walked toward the main square. We passed a large market featuring dozens of kinds of pottery. Many of the pieces were colorfully painted over black clay, which seemed to be a common material.

Other stands displayed masks of animals, gods, goddesses, and demons. Vegetables, fruits, and food carts lured us closer. We bought some of the famous honeyed yogurt, called
kuju dhau
. It was full of nuts, raisins, and cinnamon and was made from buffalo milk.

We left the market area and entered the main square. No rickshaws or taxis were allowed in the area. Mr. Kadam said that it kept the square quiet, clean, and peaceful. As we walked, he explained, “This is called Durbar Square. Ah, there’s what we’re looking for—the Vatsala Durga Temple.”

Two stone lions guarded the entrance to the temple. It was cone-shaped like the Virupaksha Temple in Hampi, but it had a brick patio surrounding it. Two large posts supported a giant bell next to the building.

“Hey, Mr. Kadam, I didn’t need to wear my bell anklet after all. There’s a giant bell up there.”

“Yes. It’s called the Taleju Bell. It’s made of bronze, and it rests on the temple’s plinth. Would you like to hear the story of the bell?”

“Sure.”

“Its nickname is the Barking Bell. One of the ancient kings who lived here had a dream. The stories vary, but in his dream, nightmarish, dog-like creatures attacked the people during the night.”

“Dog-creatures? Sounds like werewolves.”

“That is very possible. In his dream, the only way to frighten the creatures away and save the people was to ring a bell. The peal of the bell was so loud and so strong that the creatures left them alone. When the king awoke, he immediately ordered a special bell to be made. Such was the power of his dream. The bell was cast and used to signal curfew for the townsfolk. As long as the townspeople followed the signal of the bell, they were believed to be safe. Many people still say that dogs will bark and whine each time that bell is rung.”

“That’s a good story.” I elbowed Kishan. “I wonder if it works on were-tigers.”

Kishan caught my elbow, pulled me closer, and teased, “Don’t bet on it. If a tiger comes after you, you won’t be able to easily frighten him off. Tigers are very
focused
creatures.”

Something told me he wasn’t speaking of the same thing I was. I desperately searched for something I could say to change the subject.

Most of the men walking around wore tall caps on their heads. I asked Mr. Kadam about them, and he launched into a long, detailed recitation of the history of fashion and religious wear.

“Mr. Kadam, you are like a walking encyclopedia on every subject imaginable. You’re very handy to have around and more interesting to listen to than any other teacher I’ve ever had.”

He smiled. “Thank you. But, please, feel free to let me know if I ever get carried away on a particular subject. It’s one of my personal foibles.”

“If I
ever
become bored,” I said with a laugh, “I’ll let you know.”

Kishan grinned and used my comment as an excuse to put his arm around my shoulders and stroke my bare arm. “I can guarantee that I’d never bore you either,” he teased.

It felt nice,
too nice
. I guiltily overreacted, squirmed under his heavy arm, and tried to push it off. “Sheesh! Take liberties much? Ever heard of
asking
a girl first?”

Kishan leaned over and spoke softly, “Deal with it.”

I scowled at him. Then I concentrated on our tour.

We spent all afternoon familiarizing ourselves with the area and made plans to return to the temple at dusk the next evening. Mr. Kadam had either pulled strings or used his vast pocketbook to get us in alone after closing.

Streaks of color washed over the darkening sky as we arrived back at the temple. Mr. Kadam walked with us to the front steps and handed me a backpack full of various items to be used for an offering. It was filled with different objects related to air: various types of bird feathers, a Chinese fan, a kite’s tail, a helium-filled balloon, a wooden flute, a plastic airplane that flew on rubber band power, a tiny barometer, a toy sailboat, and a small prism that transformed light into rainbows. We’d also included a couple pieces of fruit for good luck.

Mr. Kadam handed me Fanindra, who I slid up my arm. She had twisted into armband position so I could wear her, which I took to be a sign she wanted to come along. Kishan and I climbed the stone steps that led to the center of the temple. We passed between the stone elephant guardians and then the pair of lions. The statue of Durga could be seen from the street in an alcove high above us. I was worried that if she came to life like the last time, someone walking on the brick streets would see her.

Silently, Kishan and I walked behind the building, around the stone porch surrounded by pillars, and found the circular stairs leading to the top of the temple. He reached out for my hand. It was dark and cool inside. The street lanterns from the square eerily lit the hallway leading to the statue. Kishan walked beside me as quiet, dark, and cool as the temple surrounding us. I liked Kishan a lot, but I missed the light and warmth that always seemed to surround Ren.