In England, Ashton received a letter from Xuan, redirected by the British Embassy. It meant that Ambassador Lodge had honoured his part of the deal. The new address on the envelope was that of Ashton’s London club, located close to the Tower. He opened the envelope, unfolded the letter and read it.
Dear Henry,
I have not heard from you. The Embassy will not say where you are, but has promised to send this letter to you. I know without anyone telling me that you are responsible for my release. I am well. So is Bo Hai, who remembers you fondly. Jim has obtained his release from the army and has come back to Saigon as a consultant with an American firm. We are getting married next week, which is perhaps for the best. Bo Hai is happy. There are more American visitors to the library now. Take care of yourself and when this reaches you, please get in touch immediately. I am worried.
I shall remember you always.
Xuan
He noted that the name had a tiny heart sketched in the space above it. He didn’t know if she was in the habit of drawing that symbol, since he had never received a letter from her before. He read the words many times before tearing up the sheet of paper and tossing the pieces into the Thames. A bobby on duty saw him do so and came up to have a word with him about littering.
Leh
A
UGUST 1986
Henry Ashton walked to Susan’s room, lost in thought.
We’re
reduced to clutching at straws
, he reflected. He couldn’t understand why Duggy was pushing so hard. Perhaps he was right. Having come this far, returning empty-handed would be nothing short of tragic. They had to try something – anything. But then, again, it had been so long since Ashton had seen those images! He took a deep breath and knocked on Susan’s door.
Immediately, he heard her muffled voice asking him to enter.
She was still in her pyjamas, sitting up in bed, a cup of coffee in her hand. The light from a bedside lamp cast a glow in the room. She hadn’t pulled the curtains aside. The air was thick with stale cigarette smoke and Ashton waved the fumes away with his hand.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
When she nodded, he went up to the windows and drew the curtains aside to let in daylight. He opened one window to let in some fresh air.
‘Yes, I’m just fine, thanks,’ Susan replied, her voice sounding far away. ‘Had a headache, though, and didn’t sleep much. I’m feeling better now.’ She passed a hand through her hair. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s past ten,’ Ashton told her.
‘Hell!’ She made a move to get out of bed. ‘I’m sorry! I’ve kept you all waiting.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Ashton reassured her. ‘We knew you weren’t feeling too perky today. So we decided to take a day’s rest.’
She let out a low groan that was a mixture of regret and apology.
‘I’m really sorry, Henry,’ she said, holding her head, ‘it’s just that I’ve been racking my brains to break the code. I feel I’m close,
really
close, but somehow, I just don’t get it.’
Ashton went up and sat down beside her carefully.
‘I would like to help, Susan,’ he said gently and, when she turned to look at him, ‘I think I can – if you will let me.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, her eyes fixed on him.
‘Have you ever tried meditation?’
‘No, not really.’
But her face looked more animated and she swung her legs over so that she now sat facing him.
‘Well,’ he said, wondering how to begin, then decided he might as well tell her. ‘Many years ago, I was a mess. A lot of things had happened. I went to this monastery… ’
‘The same monastery where you met this “Teacher”?’ she cut in.
‘Yes. It was there that they taught me something about meditation. Would you like to try it?’
She gave a short laugh. ‘You know, when I was researching David’s hypothesis, I was part of this Shambhala Circle where many of my group were into, well, “alternative” methods. Never thought I would do something like that. Was always a fairly rational type, you know. Comes with being a mathematician, I guess.’
He smiled back in agreement. ‘So was I, believe me. But then, how
rational
is this quest we’re on?’
‘You’ve got a point there,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Do you think meditation will help?’
‘It might. Sometimes, things embedded deep within you and suppressed by the turmoil of the present tend to surface during meditation.’
‘Something like hypnotic therapy?’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen that at work, though. During the kind of meditation I’m suggesting, you will always be in complete control. It’s very relaxing. You could look at it like cleaning out the mess in a cupboard.’
‘Has it worked for you?’
He paused before answering, lighting a cigarette he had picked up from her bedside table.
‘Yes.’
He did not tell her that he had stopped a year after he returned from Laos. The images he had seen made him uneasy.
‘Well, then, I guess we could give it a try,’ she said. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘Well, for a start, I suggest you freshen up, take a shower and have a light breakfast. I could come around again after an hour or so. I’ll be in my room. Just give me a call when you’re ready.’
‘That would be fine.’
Ashton left the room and went down to the desk to ask about Duggy and Peter. The staff behind the counter said they had gone out to the market and were expected back after lunch. Ashton went back to his room and settled down to reading one of the books on Ladakh he had borrowed from Susan’s room.
She called an hour later. She was dressed in jeans and a loose T-shirt and her face looked fresher and more relaxed.
‘Okay, what do I have to do?’ she asked a little nervously.
‘Don’t worry,’ Ashton told her. ‘As I said, it’s up to you how far or deep you want to go. You can stop anytime you wish. For a start, let’s sit down on the carpet. I’m going to light this candle.’
‘What is that for?’
‘It helps you concentrate,’ he explained, as they sat facing each other, the lighted candle between them. ‘Why don’t you rest your back against the bed? You’ll be more comfortable.’
‘Okay.’
‘Good. Now first, we’ll concentrate on our breathing. Take slow, deep breaths – in and out, in and out… ’ He watched her breathe for a while, then went on, ‘As you inhale, focus on each breath. Feel the air as it goes in, touches your nostrils, enters your throat, goes down your windpipe and finally enters your lungs, filling them.’ He paused and then continued, ‘Now do the same as you exhale, concentrating on your breath as you expel it.’
Ashton could see Susan’s face relax. She looked much calmer.
‘Now I want you to look at the candle’s flame. Observe it closely – the wick, the width and height of the flame, everything. Now try to think only about the flame – nothing else.’
A few moments went by.
‘Now close your eyes,’ he told her. ‘But remember, you can still see the flame’s image against your closed eyelids. Imagine you are breathing the flame in. It is warm, but not painful or uncomfortable. The flame is now filling your lungs, illuminating all the dark places you could never see before. Ahead of you is a corridor, lit up by your flame.’
Ashton saw Susan’s head begin to nod. Then she was asleep. She began snoring softly.
He had half-expected that; dealing with the trance induced by the flame took some time and needed practice. She was probably mentally exhausted, anyway. He took a deep breath; it had been such a long time since he had practised it himself. He turned to the flame and focused his gaze on it. Then he closed his eyes. He forced himself to relax, concentrating on his breathing.
He was now in the corridor where there were many doors. He
opened one. There was a brightness beyond and a path going through a
garden. He stepped out of the door and began walking down the path.
Then two huge, snarling lions appeared, one on either side of the path.
Suddenly, there was darkness.
Ashton opened his eyes and found he was breathing heavily. He waited for his breath to calm down.
Then he said softly, ‘Susan?’
Her eyes opened almost immediately; she looked alert and alive. The sleep had refreshed her.
‘How was it?’ he asked her.
‘I remember I was in a corridor and I could see doors. But then there was nothing. I think I fell asleep after that.’
He remained silent, looking into her eyes. Then he looked away.
‘You did,’ he told her. ‘But you also told me what you saw when you opened the door.’ Ashton kept his voice flat, trying to conceal his discomfiture over what he was saying.
‘I did? What? I don’t remember!’ She sounded excited.
‘You saw two lions on either side of a path. At least, that is what you told me.’
‘Really? I saw that? Wow!’
Ashton nodded.
‘Lions? What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know.
You
tell me.’
He saw Susan frown, deep in thought, her face contorted, almost as though she were in pain. He suddenly regretted telling her what
he
had seen.
What a stupid thing to do!
‘It doesn’t
have
to mean anything,’ he went on, trying to back off. ‘It could be anything – or nothing. Take your time, there’s absolutely no pressure.’
He saw that his words hadn’t registered. It was as if she hadn’t heard him at all. Suddenly, she sat up, the blood draining from her face.
‘I think I’ve got it!’ she exclaimed, her voice a hoarse whisper.
‘What!’ he exclaimed in disbelief.
She couldn’t have! Not so soon, he thought.
‘Can we head out again?’ she asked. ‘I mean, right now?’
Her voice was louder than necessary.
‘Of course.’ He tried to calm her. ‘Why don’t we do that once Duggy and Peter get back after lunch?’ Ashton reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘But don’t kill yourself over this, Susan. It’s okay if you don’t come up with the code; there probably wasn’t any in the first place.’
Ashton’s anxiety was now obvious and he gave up trying to hide it. He mentally kicked himself.
I should never have listened to Duggy!
Susan was a mess and he hadn’t helped by putting more pressure on her.
‘Look, it’s just a long shot,’ she told him. ‘But as you said, no harm in trying.’ She took his arm and smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m okay. We can go after those two get back.’
There was an insistent note in her voice and he felt her nails digging into his arm.
‘Well, all right,’ he said with a shrug, deciding to play along.
Just once more
, he thought.
Let her get it out of her system.
After lunch, they all got into the car. Ashton had advised the other two men to play along and refrain from asking Susan questions about where they were headed. Susan got in without a word and stared straight ahead. Peter glanced at Ashton and then stared pointedly at Susan’s finger so that the older man’s gaze was drawn to it. She was wearing a platinum band.
‘Maybe we could do some shopping,’ Peter suggested as the vehicle started, ‘something to remember Leh by.’
They waited for a reaction from Susan, but there was none.
A few minutes went by before she said in a low, cautious voice, ‘Look, I know you’re all keen to find out what I’m leading you to. Incredible as it sounds, that meditation thing seems to have worked. I think I have got it, finally. It’s not
real
dogs we’re supposed to be looking for. We should be looking for stones, stones representing the guardian lions.’
Peter made a face and looked away in embarrassment, convinced that she was delirious. Quite oblivious to his expression, Susan began explaining her point.
‘The author of the
paiza
is offering clues that only Marco would have understood,’ she went on. ‘That’s why he uses the “state script”. Now coming back to this clue about “dogs”: stone guardian lions placed in pairs at the gates of important palaces are called
shishi
in Chinese. Those stone figures would certainly have flanked the entrance to Khanbalik, Kublai Khan’s palace, and there is every likelihood of Marco Polo having seen them there. However, these stone lions were not native to China; they were inspired by traditional Indian art. There are no lions in China; they sculpt dogs in stone – and call them lions.’
‘And you know where we can find these “stone lions”?’ Peter asked, not bothering to hide the note of scepticism in his voice.
Susan’s response was to instruct Dinesh to head for the Leh Palace.
The moment they reached the palace, Susan asked Dinesh to stop the vehicle at the point where the road wound through a narrow space between two huge boulders. Just ahead was the car park and farther beyond it stood the majestic palace. The area was now crowded, with tourists walking up the hill or making their way down, guides seeking custom and vendors hawking all kinds of artefacts. A guide approached their group, but Duggy waved him away.
Susan stopped in front of the boulders, screwing up her eyes to shield them against the bright sunlight. She took out a small notebook from the knapsack slung over her shoulders. Peter came up to find her busy copying the letters etched on the rock face.
‘Got something?’
‘These boulders are the “dogs”,’ she told him, ‘the guardian lions that the author of the
paiza
wanted Marco to see. Other than that, they have another significance.’
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘They are
mani
stones – stones with prayers etched on them,’ she replied without looking up from her notebook.
‘But they’re all over the place, not just here,’ Peter reminded her. ‘I saw them all along the drive – everywhere!’
That was true. Ladakh was littered with
mani
stones.
‘True, you do find them here and there, but
mani
stones at the foot of the stairs leading up to the palace, as if guarding it, are rare. Unusual too, are such stones bearing this symbol.’ She pointed to a figure she had annotated in her notebook, a lotus with thirty-one dots. ‘It represents Padmasambhava, the “Lotus Born”, and his thirty-one emanations.’