The rumble of thunder drew nearer.
"What if they refuse?" Remo asked.
"Entire family killed before their eyes," said the Tibetan sadly. "Man who refuse get bill for bullets used to execute family. It is Chinese custom."
"Maybe it's time to introduce a new custom," said Remo, starting down off the plateau.
Chapter 22
It was written that when the Chinese oppressors confronted the Bunji Lama, the Lamb of Light did not resist them, but allowed herself to be taken by skyboat to the Drapchi Prison in Lhasa.
Not all of her train were taken to Lhasa. Only the Bunji and her immediate retinue. Some say the rest were driven back to the holy land. Others that they were divided into Indians and Tibetans. And as the Indians trudged back to their homeland, the rattle of guns punctuated by grenade explosions and screams smote their horrified ears. After which came a profound silence, and the air filled with the metallic scent of blood.
Being devout Buddhists, they held their anger deep within them and continued their homeward journey.
The truth was never learned. The scriptures recorded only that when the Bunji Lama returned to Lhasa, she arrived on the wings of a Chinese skyboat and no Tibetan who toiled in the fields or in the machine shops knew that the Buddha-Sent One had come at last.
SQUIRRELLY CHICANE took one look at her cell and said, "You have got to be kidding!"
She whirled and got up on her tiptoes, hoping to lord over the heads of the soldiers of China.
"If you don't get me better accommodations, the First Lady is going to hear about this. And don't think she won't."
"This best cell in Drapchi Prison."
Squirrelly looked at the cell again. It was a box. Stone walls. Drippings. Sand on the floor. Not even straw. No toilet. No running water.
"Does this look like the kind of place you'd throw a Bunji Lama, the Bunjiest Lama who ever walked the earth?"
The soldiers looked at one another, their glances unreadable. And unceremoniously shoved Squirrelly Chicane into her cell. The iron-barred door was slammed shut, and the key in the lock was turned. It took two grunting guards using all their strength to turn it.
After they had gone, Squirrelly took a deep breath and said, "Yoo-hoo. Kula. Can you hear me?"
"I am in cell."
Lobsang droned, "I am in a cell, as well. It is cold."
"Listen, we gotta escape."
"Escape?" Kula grunted. "Bunji, you insisted that we submit to these Chinese demons."
"And we did. Okay, I've got my second act now. But I don't like the accommodations. What is this bucket? Oh, peeew. It stinks."
"The Bunji is very fortunate to have a bucket," Lobsang said dolefully. "I will have to go in the sand that is for sleeping."
"Try to hold it in, because we're blowing this Popsicle stand."
"How, Bunji?" asked Kula. "These doors are very stout."
"So? You're a big, strapping Mongrol. You're even stouter. Don't tell me you couldn't bust out if you put your mind to it."
"All things are possible," Kula admitted, "if they are predestined."
Squirrelly summoned up her best little-ol'-me Southern-belle accent. "You can do it, Kula. I know you can. Listen, you get us out of here and you can be my costar. Of course, you won't actually play yourself. Lord knows you're a hunk, but I've seen you act. Strictly wood. Maybe Richard Gere, if he bulks up, can pull it off."
"I do not understand your words, O Buddha Sent. What is it you wish me to do?"
"Get us out of here. Please. The Bunji will bless you a thousand times if you succeed."
Squirrelly listened as the big Mongol began throwing his shoulders against the ironbound door. It shook. In fact, the entire corner of the prison shook. But the door held.
"I have failed you, O Bunji. Forgive me."
"It was meant to be," said Lobsang.
"Don't sweat it," Squirrelly said. "I have a B-plan. When they let me make my call, I'll just dial the First Lady. She'll pull the strings that'll get us out of here."
But when Squirrelly later asked a passing turnkey when she would be allowed to place her phone call, the man only laughed.
"You come back here! I know my constitutional rights. I'm entitled to call my lawyer. I'm an American citizen and an Oscar winner! You hear me?"
Chapter 23
No prayer wheels spun in the hill village of Tingri as Kelsang Darlo stood on the tin roof of his humble stone house in which his family cowered. Kelsang Darlo refused to cower.
Someone had stolen a box of grenades from the hated People's Liberation Army garrison, a former monastery. It was Chushi Gangdruk. Everyone knew it was Chushi Gangdruk. But no one knew who belonged to the Chushi Gangdruk except for those who belonged.
This way, no Tibetan who was not Chushi Gangdruk could give up those who were.
So when the Chinese captain, Ran Guohua, had failed to obtain by torture the whereabouts of his missing grenades from the people of Tingri, he had not given up. He had simply waited for the thunder.
It was spring, the season for thunder and lightning and slashing rain, so Captain Guohua did not wait long.
With his soldiers surrounding him protectively, he had gone house to house, not to search this time, but to pick ten men. Good Tibetans. Men of families who would be missed.
And as the thunder grew louder and more fearsome, he made the ten innocent men climb to the roofs of their own houses to catch the lightning.
It was not the first time that good men of Tingri had been made to catch the lightning. The last time, five had done this and two had died. This time the offense was much greater. Captain Guohua understood that the stolen grenades would be used against his own troops if they were not soon found.
And so ten men were forced to stand exposed to the elements, enduring first the slashing rain. When the rain was over, all ten stood unbowed, their faces wet with a clean fresh rain that masked the shame of their tears of frustration, before the terrible lightning.
And no prayer wheels spun to entreat mercy. The Chinese had smashed them and made the people of Tingri melt down their brass for cannon shells and other violent objects. It was a sacrilege. It had been an unending sacrilege since the Iron Tiger Year so long ago.
If Lord Buddha saw to it that he should drop his body, Kelsang Darlo prayed that his wife and children would be spared further indignities. He tried to understand the soldiers, who were only doing the bidding of the captain, who in turn was only doing the bidding of the leaders in Beijing. But there had been rapes. The young women of Tingri had been offered work, paying work, to be trained as nurses for the PLA. On the first day they were raped.
Later, it was true, they were given nurse training. Those who did not take their own lives became good nurses, but very sad and silent in their duties. It was not like a Tibetan maiden not to be full of life and laughter. But this was the lot of Tibet since the Chinese had come.
A crackling bolt of lightning forked down from the blue-black northern sky. It struck two mountain peaks at once, creating a great spectacle of light.
The thunder came twenty seconds later. It made Kelsang flinch. He feared the thunder more than the lightning.
But he feared the wrath of the green soldiers of China most of all. The lightning struck blindly and without malice. Lightning did not punish. It did not ravish young women. It was only doing what Lord Buddha intended lightning to do.
Kelsang found himself praying for the lightning to strike the Chinese, and the thought made his heart sink in sadness. It was not his way to wish harm on any man. But the hardships the Chinese visited upon his people had shattered his faith.
He found himself praying to other gods-the protectors of the faith, Lhamo, Gonpo and Yama, Lord of Death. Perhaps one of them would take pity on him.
Another bolt appeared. This time to the south, behind the plateau.