Treachery in Tibet (6 page)

‘Not so much a question of how far, as how high.’ The young man smiled. ‘Gnatong is some 12,000 feet or so above sea level. ‘Jelep La is about another 2,000 or so and,’ he gestured ahead, ‘it gets steeper as we go. I’ve done this trip about three times now and,’ he gestured behind him, where laden coolies walked, heads down, in single file and a sprinkling of Indian troops led equally laden mules, ‘I gain more respect for these chaps every time I go. It’s damned hard work for animals and men. Mind you, I have to keep my eye on the coolies. We’ve lost a lot to desertion when the wind blows up there. They just disappear.’

Simon nodded and fell back to ride alongside Alice. ‘All right, darling?’

‘Yes, thanks. But I’m glad I am riding and not walking. I’m getting short of puff, I think.’

‘Well, take your time because later on I think we shall have to lead the ponies.’

Soon the trail began to climb quite steeply upwards and the ground underfoot had had its covering of snow trampled down firmly so that it had turned to ice. The animals started to slip and slide and the order to dismount was given. As the pack train climbed upwards, some of the load-bearing animals, fresh from the hot Tista Valley and unaccustomed to the cold, began to buck in an attempt to shed their loads and their tenders began shouting and beating the beasts.

‘I don’t much like this postin’, bach sir.’ The plaintive cry came
from Jenkins, whose moustache had now begun to wear a light dusting of ice. His face was drawn and waxen.

Simon remembered that his old comrade, the bravest of men in battle, had always had a fear of heights to add to his dread of water – he couldn’t swim – and loathing of crocodiles. ‘Sunil,’ he called back, ‘slow down so that Jenkins can hold on to your pony’s tail. Keep an eye on him. He hates heights.’

‘Yes, sahib.’

So the little column wound its way, slithering and sliding, shouting and cursing, up the mountain towards the pass. Simon, Alice and Jenkins began to find it difficult to catch their breath at the high altitude and walking became increasingly difficult for them. Sunil, however, seemed to revel in the conditions and constantly called encouragement to Jenkins, panting behind him.

It took six long hours climbing up the southern face of Jelep La, without respite, to reach the pass, merely a thin knife-edge in a narrow cleft. Here they were met with an icy blast that took their breath away. The descent to what was said to be the pleasant Chumbi Valley, some 5,000 feet below, promised to be as bad, if not worse than the ascent, so camp was set up just below the summit, where the wind blew less strongly.

Somehow, Jenkins – back to his resourceful, scavenging self now that there was no precipitous drop immediately near – managed to ‘find’ kindling wood and he was able to light a fire shielded between the two tents and the four of them huddled around it, cupping mugs of tea in gloved hands.

‘How long was Nandi ill, 352?’ asked Alice.

The Welshman’s eyes immediately saddened. ‘Oh, not long, was it.
Not much more than a week, I think.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘You see, when her husband, the Boer feller, you know, kicked the bucket durin’ the war, she ’ad no one to look after ’er, see, an’ she was ’ard done by to look after the girls an’ ’erself. There was no food to be ’ad, though the Dutch commandos,’ he grinned sheepishly, ‘you know, bach sir, the very blokes we was chasin’ all over the bloody veldt …’

Simon nodded.

‘Well they dropped ’er off whatever they could spare – but it wasn’t much because they ’adn’t got much themselves, see. We saw to that.’

‘Oh dear,’ Alice bit her lip. ‘It must have been terrible for her. Poor Nandi. She didn’t deserve that.’

‘No, she didn’t,’ Jenkins’s eyes flared in the firelight. ‘She never done anythin’ to ’arm anybody. She was a good, brave lass. But I think them months on that open veldt, givin’ what food she ’ad to the little ones, weakened ’er, see. An’ when the flu came she didn’t ’ave much resistance left, like.’

Silence fell on the little gathering. Simon cleared his throat gruffly. ‘Who is looking after the farm now, then, 352?’

‘There’s an old ex-squaddie runnin’ a farm about ten miles away. After the war, ’e’d ’ad enough of the army an’ bein’ a non-drinkin’ man,’ Jenkins shook his head sadly, ‘fancy that, not drinkin’, funny bloke – well, ’e’d saved ’is army pay and, with nobody back ’ome, he bought the farm, from an old Dutchman who’d lost his son in the war. I asked ’im to look after my place while I’m away. Told ’im he could sell whatever cattle ’e wanted to as payment, as long as he didn’t clear out the ’ole ’erd. Told ’im I would be back in about six months.’

Jenkins threw back his head and his teeth flashed under his
moustache. ‘Don’t see much chance of that ’appenin’ now, though.’

Alice frowned. ‘What about the girls?’

‘Well, old Jacob – that was Nandi’s old man – ’ad a sister living in Jo’burg and Nandi got on very well with ’er, see. She’s got girls of ’er own at this school where I’ve left our two. I’ve left ’er money to keep payin’ the fees and to look after the girls ’till I get back.’

He frowned and stared at the ground. ‘To tell the truth, I feel a bit guilty about leaving ’em, because I’m very fond of ’em, them bein’ Nandi’s an’ all. We weren’t blessed with kids of our own, although,’ the big grin returned, ‘we ’ad a lot of fun tryin’ … Oh sorry, Miss Alice that’s a bit rude – an’ I’ll be remindin’ you of your own … er … problems thereabouts. Sorry, really.’

Alice waved a dismissive hand.

Jenkins looked across the flickering flames to Fonthill. ‘I was very low when she went an’ I kept thinkin’ about the great times that we – the three of us — ’ad ’ad over the years, that I wondered if you’d take me in for a bit. Never thought,’ the great grin returned, ‘that we’d be off again on our adventures, just like the old times. What a treat. Mind you, I never thought it would be as bloody cold as this. Thought India an’ tea growin’ would be nice an’ warm an’ that.’ He looked around. ‘This is not quite what I ’ad in mind, I ’ave to say.’

He turned to Sunil. ‘I suppose it’s all right for you, Sonny, eh. Comin’ back ’ome, look you?’

The youth had been following the conversation, his mouth open. Then he grinned. A warm relationship had already built up between the Tibetan and the Welshman. ‘Oh yes, bach, but it’s colder than I remembered.’

Everyone laughed and Fonthill gestured to the tents. ‘Time to turn
in. If you take my advice, I wouldn’t take much clothing off when you climb into your sleeping bag.’

‘Goodness.’ Alice blew out her cheeks. ‘I had no intention of doing so. Goodnight everyone.’

The descent from the Jelep the next day was, indeed, worse than the ascent, for the trail was now a sheet of blue-black ice, at least for a few thousand feet from the summit. Three of the packhorses slid off the glittering surface and, screaming pitifully, fell down the mountainside, bouncing from rock to rock as they went. Their handlers hardly had time to throw themselves flat to avoid following their charges.

‘Oh, dammit to hell,’ shouted Lieutenant Jones. ‘Why the hell didn’t you keep ’em away from the edge?’

But there was little space away from the edge on that narrow trail as it zigzagged down. Jenkins now had taken to clawing his way with one hand on the face of the nearly vertical rock face as he led his pony with the other.

Simon looked back at him, biting his lip as he watched the slow progress of his comrade. Jenkins on a mountain, he knew, was an accident waiting to happen.

And happen it did.

Suddenly, the Welshman’s pony reared, as a lump of ice above them broke free and fell past them to the depths below. Jenkins was forced to let go of the animal’s halter and, in doing so, he slipped on the ice. In a second, he had fallen onto his stomach and, as the others watched in horror, he skidded away across the narrow path and his body slipped over the edge. Only his gloved fingers, clinging to a projecting rock, prevented him from disappearing into the abyss.

‘Oh shit!’ he shouted, as his body, the legs swinging, dangled over space. ‘For God’s sake, save me. Save me!’

Simon, his mouth open in terror, tore off the glove on his left hand, crawled gingerly to the edge and grabbed Jenkins’s sleeve. ‘Alice!’ he screamed. ‘Get that rope coiled on my saddle. Hang on old chap. I’ve got you. Hang on.’

Fonthill was suddenly aware that a huge, bearded Sikh was lying by his side, flat on his stomach and reaching down to take Jenkins’s other arm which was waving upwards blindly. Somehow, the Indian’s clutching fingers caught the edge of the fabric and exerting all his strength, pulled 352’s arm and body up so that the Welshman’s second hand could join the other gripping the stone. There Jenkins hung, still swinging.

Reaching behind him, Simon became aware that Alice was kneeling behind him. ‘No,’ he gasped, ‘I can’t take the rope yet, I’m still hanging on to 352. Can you form a loop at its end, with a slip knot, and then put it into my hand? Quickly now.’ He turned his head to the Sikh. ‘If we both pull can we get him over the edge do you think?’

The Indian shook his head. ‘No, sahib. Him too heavy. We all go with him. Fix rope to a rock, then slip loop over his foot and then we pull him up.’

‘Oh, bloody ’ell lads,’ wheezed Jenkins, his face now completely white. ‘Don’t put yerselves in danger. Just let me go. I can’t ’ang on much longer, see. God bless you all fer tryin’.’

‘No. Hang on, dammit.’ Simon felt the noose thrust into the hand stretched behind him and his fingers tightened over it. ‘Is it fixed behind?’ he croaked.

‘Yes,’ Alice’s voice was equally hoarse. ‘And we’ve got two more Sikhs hanging on. Can you loop it over his foot?’

‘I’ll try.’ He turned his face to that of the Sikh. ‘Can you grab him with your other hand?’

‘I try, sahib.’

But the Sikh needed to keep his free hand jammed against the rock to prevent himself slipping over the edge. Simon gulped and rested his cheek for a moment on the cold ice as his mind raced. He dare not let go of Jenkins’s sleeve for that would be putting all of his comrade’s weight – thirteen stone plus? – onto 352’s precarious hold on the rock and the Sikh’s equally tenuous hold on his other sleeve. If he fished over the edge with the rope held in his own free hand would that send himself, too, slipping away down the mountainside? He stole a glance over the edge. Far, far below he caught a glimpse of the trail zigzagging down. He swallowed to avoid nausea. Nothing for it, but to try and hang the rope down to catch one of Jenkins’s feet.

‘Listen, old chap. I am going to try and dangle this rope with a loop on the end down the side of your body. Can you see if you can put your foot into the loop, make sure it’s tight and then we’ll pull you up?’

Simon could now only see the top of Jenkins’s head but he saw him nod. Slowly, he inched the edge of the rope over the ice until it dropped level with the Welshman’s face. Then, his cheek pressed hard into the ice to gain some stability, he felt someone’s hands press down onto his ankles.

‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he heard Alice gasp behind him, ‘I’ve got you. Push the rope down.’

Slowly, he lowered the rope, unable now to see over the edge
and glad that he couldn’t, for his previous glimpse of the sheer drop below him had curdled his stomach. But he felt it brush down past the hanging body and then it tighten slightly, as, somehow, Jenkins managed to push his boot through the loop onto the bottom end of the rope.

‘Good man,’ shouted Simon. ‘I think you’re in. Now, behind me: gradually pull on the rope to tighten it. Gently now.’

The rope became taut as it took most of the burden of Jenkins’s weight and, as it disappeared over the edge, the thought struck Fonthill that the pressure on the rock would fray and sever it. But the line was resting on polished ice, as smooth as a debutante’s cheek. There would be no friction there.

‘We’ve got him,’ he shouted. ‘Now pull him up, slowly now.’

Gradually, the weight on the two hands holding the tunic relaxed and, at last, the Welshman’s great strength was allowed to come into play and, pushing down into the loop with his foot, he was able to haul himself upwards until, with a gasp and crash he was over the edge and lying panting on the path.

From behind and in front of the rescuers a ragged cheer went up and Simon realised that the progress of the column had been halted and that the path was lined with watchers, who had all been holding their collective breath.

‘Oh my God,’ breathed Jenkins, his black hair, now lank, plastered across his forehead and his face glistening with sweat. ‘I thought I was gone, look you, I really did. Thanks to all of you, ever so much. Thank you, bach sir. Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it, old chap. It was a pleasure to go fishing with you.’ Simon realised that tears were pouring down the cheeks of Alice
and Sunil, of whom the latter had been putting his puny weight to that of the two Sikhs holding the end of the rope. ‘Just rest there a minute and then try and stand. Don’t worry. You’re not going to fall again, I promise you. We will all rope up to make sure you don’t.’

Jenkins nodded and then, with infinite care began to crawl on hands and knees across the trail away from the cliff edge. Then, with Simon’s help he stood.

He looked round him. ‘I shall personally see that you all get the Victorian Cross, see,’ he croaked. ‘For great courage displayed on the edge of this fuckin’ mountain. Oh, sorry, Miss Alice. Language. Language.’

Alice, wiping her tears, waved away his apology.

Fonthill now solemnly shook hands with the three Sikhs who had helped with the rescue and without whom, there was no doubt, Jenkins would have been doomed. He then retrieved the rope from where it was still tied around the Welshman’s boot and carefully secured it around his waist. Then, throwing out some slack, he looped it around Sunil and, finally, around his own waist, securing it tightly.

‘Now,’ he said, waving to Lieutenant Jones who had been observing the rescue from the path down below, ‘let us get off this … ahem … blasted mountain. But slowly, now, and carefully. We’ve held up the column long enough.’

Gingerly the column resumed its march down the icy trail, with Jenkins now hugging the mountainside with even greater tenacity, if that was possible. Thankfully, however, as they descended, the air grew warmer and the ice began to disappear.