She walked between her father and me, and when we reached the low-roofed, long building behind the temple it was already jammed with people. I followed the old man as he made his way down to the front. There were no chairs, and everyone sat upon the wood floor. A raised platform, a land of stage, took up the front of the hall and I saw Ghotak seated alone on it. A number of his blue-shirted Snake Society boys were among the crowd. I noticed my three friends from the afternoon were missing and I smiled quietly. Large incense burners hung from the walls and sat on the stage, filling the hall with a sweet, cloying odor. Various statues and carvings of Karkotek adorned the back of the stage, and three musicians sat to one side, two of them softly strumming on long-necked sitars, the third one softly stroking a drum. Smoke from lighted butter lamps clouded the hall and added to the semi-darkness of the huge room. Suddenly more musicians came out and sat down beside the first three, and I heard the eerie music of copper trumpet and conch shell join the drum and sitars.
The old man had sat down on one side of me and Khaleen on the other, and as I glanced down at her I could see the soft rise of her breasts under the jeweled top. They would be like the rest of her, I thought, small but perfect I glanced over the crowd, searching for an ash-blonde head and finally I spotted it, directly across from where I sat. Hilary Cobb was against the wall, statuesque beside the Nepalese women who stood near her. I looked at the platform to see Ghotak rise and advance to the edge. A silence immediately fell over the audience. He lifted his arms, the voluminous saffron sleeves of his robe falling loosely, and began a series of incantations. The crowd murmured along with him. Finally he finished, lowered his arms and surveyed the audience, his face imperiously arrogant.
"Tonight, we rejoice in the fertility of the Spirit of Karkotek," he intoned. "Tonight, Karkotek, Lord of All Serpents, helps us to free ourselves, to enjoy our bodies, to become one of his own. But first, he sends us a message. His wish is that I tell you that the time has come to ask our revered ruler, descendent of Vishnu the Preserver, to welcome all those who would live in our holy land under the Spirit of Karkotek."
A murmur of approval went through the crowd.
"When the ritual is over," Ghotak went on, "you will show that you have heard the wishes of Karkotek as given to you from my humble lips, by signing the great scroll to be sent to the King, exalted Descendent of Vishnu the Preserver."
Once again the crowd murmured its understanding.
"As is written in the Holy Books," Ghotak added, "let he would defy the wishes of Karkotek speak up or forever remain silent."
I felt my hands tense as the old man got to his feet, surveyed the crowd and looked up at Ghotak.
"Karkotek does not speak through the lips of Ghotak," he said, and an audible gasp arose from the crowd. "I have said this before, and I say it to you now once again. But tonight, I have another who would speak to you. He comes from a land many thousands of miles away. He has journeyed these miles because he would speak to you. His heart is disturbed by what he has heard so very far away."
The patriarch turned to me, and I took the cue. I got up, ignored Ghotak's burning glance and faced the crowd.
"The patriarch Leeunghi speaks the truth," I said, casting a fast glance at the sea of listening, silent figures in the semi-darkened, smoky hall. "Those who would enter your country do not come as friends. I have heard the Spirit of Karkotek in my land, and his voice asked me to journey from my home to tell you this. It would be a sign to you, I was told."
Ghotak's voice cut in as he went into action.
"The old man is senile, and the foreigner lies," he boomed out. "Listen to them and the Spirit of Karkotek will be angered and visit evil upon you. You seek signs? Think of how the yeti has slain those who spoke against Ghotak."
"The yeti will harm no one else," I shouted. I almost said that the yeti was a damned hoax but I caught myself.
"Has the yeti slain those who spoke against Ghotak?" the monk shouted, and the crowd roared their answer.
"Has not Karkotek given you a sign by this?" he asked, and again the crowd roared. Ghotak turned and pointed a finger at Leeunghi.
"Go into the mountains, old man, and return untouched by the yeti" he shouted. "If you can do that, Ghotak will know that the Spirit of Karkotek does not speak through his lips and that you and the foreigner do not lie."
I saw a thin smile appear on the patriarch's lips.
"I accept the challenge," he said. "The scroll will bear no names until the challenge is met."
The crowd gasped, a great hissing sound that spewed from them, and then they clapped. Leeunghi sat down, pulling me beside him.
"He trapped himself," the old man said excitedly. "I realized it and took advantage at once."
"But you believe in the yeti," I said.
"Of course, but not that he kills for Ghotak. The other slayings were a coincidence. It will not happen again."
I was inclined to agree with the old man, especially since I knew that the whole yeti bit was a piece of wild folklore. Maybe the monk had trapped himself, thinking the old man would be too frightened to take up his challenge. My eyes were drawn to the stage again as Ghotak's voice boomed forth once more.
"The ritual begins," he announced solemnly. Instantly, the soft background of the music changed to a sharp, almost frightening beat, an insistent beat that quickened and slowed and quickened again in pulsating rhythm. The sitar players began a shimmering, unending series of chords and as I watched, six girls in flowing veils, bare-bosomed beneath the thin material, appeared on the platform. Each carried what I first took to be candlesticks. They were, in a way, but as they were set down, three at each side of the platform, I saw they were waxen phallic symbols, each with its own bulbous base. Realistically molded, the waxen symbols were lighted at the tiny wick at the end of each one.
"The wax is treated with a special oil so that it melts rapidly," the old man whispered to me. The six girls prostrated themselves before the symbols, then gathered together in the center of the stage.
"Ghotak, as High Lama of the temple, will choose a girl to offer herself as a tribute to Karkotek," the patriarch whispered to me.
"Whom can he choose?" I asked.
"Anyone here," the old man said. "It is customary that he chooses from among the temple girls. The girl called up by the Holy One will begin to stimulate every kind of erotic emotion she can by dancing and by other bodily actions. Various men will leap on stage and offer themselves to her. She must choose one before the phalli burn down and to the one she chooses she must give herself this night"
As I watched, Ghotak stood before the six girls. Then, suddenly, he whirled and pointed out to the audience.
"I choose Khaleen, daughter of the House of Leeunghi, to offer tribute to the Spirit of Karkotek," he shouted.
I shot a glance at the old man. He stared up at the monk, transfixed.
"She does not come forth?" Ghotak asked, mockery in his voice. "Is the daughter of the House of Leeunghi too good for the Spirit of Karkotek? Does such a house dare to speak for Karkotek?"
The old man whispered to me through clenched teeth.