‘Hello,’ Luca said, offering his hand. Dorje shook it while studying Luca openly, his expression one of unhurried calm. Luca felt he should say something more to break the silence.
‘Your English is very good,’ he said finally.
‘Thank you, Mr Matthews,’ Dorje replied, his smile widening a little. ‘Now, if you would please follow me, Miss Shara would like to see you. On the way, perhaps I will have a chance to acquaint you with a little more of our humble monastery.’
With that he set off sedately down the corridor, hands clasped behind his back like a college professor. Luca followed and, despite his aching legs, had to measure his stride to stop himself from stepping on the hem of Dorje’s robe. They made their way down the tight corridor, passing flaming yak-butter lamps that had been lit in small alcoves cut into the stone walls.
‘Is there any news of Bill?’ Luca asked after a while, when it became obvious that Dorje’s guided tour was going to be conducted in silence.
‘Regrettably, it is too early to tell,’ Dorje answered, speaking over his shoulder. ‘Your companion was in very poor health when he arrived, but I understand that our physicians have been working on his legs all through the day.’
‘But he is going to be OK, isn’t he?’
‘We must wait, Mr Matthews. We cannot do more than that.’
‘Is he at least conscious?’ said Luca, his voice rising a little. ‘I’d really like to go and see how he’s doing.’
Dorje paused by a wooden staircase.
‘Perhaps Miss Shara will be able to give you more information. For my part, I have been told that your companion needs complete rest and that it is impossible for you to see him at this time.’
The way he spoke suggested the matter was gently, but firmly, closed. He continued walking again. After a second Luca shrugged and followed, staring down at the back of his shaved head. A few hundred yards further they passed a wider section of hallway where two young monks were standing, speaking in low whispers. As Luca and Dorje passed, both gave low, respectful bows, but their eyes studied every movement Luca made.
‘Can you tell me more about this place, Dorje? What is Geltang exactly?’
Dorje raised one arm, as if gesturing to the entire monastery.
‘Geltang is a place of preservation. It is a repository of culture, wisdom and enlightenment.’
Luca nodded, waiting for him to elaborate, but Dorje lapsed into silence again.
‘But why has it been built out here in the middle of nowhere?’
‘Indeed, I must congratulate you on completing a most arduous journey. It is no small matter to reach our walls. But I am quite certain your training as a mountaineer stood you in good stead.’
‘Yeah, it helped,’ said Luca impatiently. ‘But what about the monastery? Why’s it been built so far up in the mountains?’
Dorje smiled apologetically.
‘I’m afraid my English is not good enough to answer such questions adequately,’ he said. ‘Ah, but here we are already — the eastern balcony.’
They rounded a corner and the corridor opened up into a vast terraced area made of huge white marble flagstones and surrounded by gleaming walls. The only splashes of colour on the terrace came from an array of miniature trees and plants, similar to Japanese bonsai, which studded the walls in small, individual alcoves.
At the centre, a stone fountain poured water into a shallow receptacle below. The overflow of water then travelled through an open channel in the ground until it reached the balcony’s edge where it fell hundreds of feet down, past the foundations of the monastery and on to the cliffs below.
Spectacular as the balcony was, it was not designed to be introspective. As the water tumbled down like a moving sheet of glass, it drew the eye to the view above it.
Luca’s gaze was directed upwards, coming to a halt halfway up the perfect lines of a familiar mountain.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said, forgetting the stiffness in his legs as he stepped eagerly forward. ‘It’s actually here.’
Framed by two larger peaks in the foreground, he could see the chiselled outline of the pyramid mountain. There could be no mistake — this was the same mountain he had seen all those weeks ago on Makalu. Despite the summit being concealed by a thick layer of cloud and the lower flanks lost to surrounding foothills, it still looked absolutely magnificent.
‘It’s unbelievable.’
‘Indeed,’ Dorje replied softly.
Both men stood gazing at the view. As Luca’s eyes traced the sides of the mountain he imagined himself up there, slowly picking a route along the cracks in the rock, gradually working higher until he reached the very top.
‘Always cloud,’ he muttered to himself before swinging round to face Dorje. ‘I looked at so many satellite maps, trying to catch a glimpse of it, but the whole mountain was always covered by cloud.’
‘That is its nature,’ agreed Dorje. ‘Like us, it prefers to remain hidden from the world.’
Luca nodded, turning back to the view. ‘Has anyone climbed it?’
Dorje shrugged. ‘While collecting herbs or performing similar errands, members of our order have certainly walked across its foothills.’
‘And the summit? Has anyone been to the summit?’
Dorje sighed quietly.
‘No one has been there. I am afraid we do not share your Western predilection for “conquering” such wondrous feats of nature.’
‘Does it even have a name?’
‘Name? No. No, Mr Matthews,’ Dorje continued, his nose wrinkling a little, as if he had just noticed an unpleasant smell. ‘Our mountain does not have a name. Just as climbing it would be an act of quantifying it, or, to put it another way, of being able to measure oneself against it, we believe naming it would have a similar effect. It is enough for us that it is simply there.’
Luca nodded distractedly. He drew his gaze away from the mountain and over the intervening valleys to where they stood. Now that he was here, he could see how similar the landscape was to that shown on the thangka Jack had given him. He thought back to the professor at Cambridge too and the comments she had made about the ‘mountain beyul’. Dorje had said Geltang was a repository of enlightenment…
There had to be some kind of a connection.
Turning away from the mountain, Luca glanced over at Dorje.
‘Is there a relationship between the mountain and the monastery?’ he asked.
Dorje looked startled for an instant, then his expression assumed its habitual calm.
‘Mr Matthews, I am just a lowly monk here at Geltang and nothing more than a humble translator. I think it best you talk to someone else more qualified to discuss such matters. But what I can tell you is that the mountain creates moisture. Its sheer presence generates clouds and precipitation, which in turn feed the crops you see in the fields below our monastery. We grow all that is consumed here and it is the mountain that enables our existence. Rare indeed for a place as inhospitable as the Himalayas.’
‘I wasn’t meaning the crops so much… more the religious significance. You said Geltang was a repository, right? Well…’
Luca’s voice trailed off as Dorje turned away from him towards the entrance to the balcony.
‘Ah,’ he said, his expression clearing with relief. ‘Miss Shara has arrived.’
Despite his growing frustration, Luca felt his pulse quicken as he turned to see Shara crossing the balcony towards them. She had changed from her climbing clothes and now wore blue monastic robes similar to Dorje’s.
With uncharacteristic haste, Dorje moved off to greet her, walking round the side of the fountain and bowing low. As Luca watched, he clasped her hand in his and whispered something with an expression of utmost solemnity. After a moment Shara nodded and with a brief smile, came over to greet Luca, leaving Dorje by the fountain.