"I told you the Empire State Building."
"I'm beginning to wonder whether you do have a cruel streak."
"You've been talking to Chiun."
"I've been counting bodies."
"If you want me to live in peace with the rest of mankind, just say the word, Smitty."
"Your passports will be at your hotel."
On the flight to Calcutta, Remo heard Chiun mumble something about faulty memories and some people needing reminders. The stewardess asked how they wished their dinner, and Chiun answered in a language Remo had never heard. Chiun explained it was Oriya and that the stewardess was obviously from the people who spoke that language because of the way she wrapped her sari.
Chiun pointed out that while the crew might call itself Indian, they were really of many different peoples, none of whom had any respect for each other, much less affection. He said it was only whites in America who worried about Indians starving. The different peoples of India were always unconcerned when ill befell others, and since the starving ones were never in government, the government did not really care.
"When they come to you for food again, you should let them eat their atomic bombs. You fill their bellies to give them the leisure time to call you names, and they use their own money to build bombs. I can understand the Indians. They are venal and vile and have always been and will always be. Know this about India and its people, if you know nothing else. It is the white men who put the thoughts of brotherhood on their tongues, and it has never reached their hearts."
"What about Mahatma Gandhi?" said Remo.
"What about Remo Williams? Would you say Americans have body discipline because of one person? No. The Indians, I can understand. What I do not understand is why you have taken it upon yourself to feed the mouths they would not feed themselves."
"I'm not feeding anybody."
"Your country. Your country feeds people who break promises," said Chiun and would speak no more.
The customs man at Delhi noticed that the series of passports that Remo and Chiun used was often used by the CIA. He also noticed that the two had no luggage.
"India will not suffer imperialistic intrusion within her bosom," the customs man said.
"Ten rupees," said Remo.
"But India will always welcome her friends," said the customs man. "And don't pay more than two rupees for any Indian woman. You can buy one for eight. Complete. Own her. Use her for fertilizer when you're tired of her. What is the purpose of your visit?"
"Enlightenment from the Blissful Master at Patna."
"You can get enlightenment here in Delhi. What sort of enlightenment are you chaps looking for?"
"The Blissful Master."
"He's been doing a bangup business lately," said the customs man. "Bangup."
Transportation to Patna was an old Packard that apparently hadn't been tuned since it left the states. Remo knew Chiun was still bothered about something because he spoke little during the two days' journey. When the driver held out his hand for payment, Chiun muttered something about faulty memories and slapped the hand away. When Remo started peeling off some bills, Chiun forbade it.
The driver jumped out of the car and began yelling. People with dusty feet and tired brown faces formed behind the driver. They became a crowd. The driver, encouraged by his support, changed his shouting into a harangue. Chiun translated:
"He says we have come to steal food from his mouth. He says foreigners still think they can do anything in India they want. He says we have much money on us, and it would serve us right if he took all of it, sharing it with his new-found friends. Have you heard enough, Remo?"
"Yes," said Remo.
"Good," said Chiun, and with barely a flick of his right wrist, he dropped the man in the dust of the streets of Patna. The new Indian Coalition of Patna vanished in the dust and hot sun. The man was alone, his 1947 Packard chugging in neutral, his cares behind him.
Chiun pointed to a large white cement wall with wooden doors.
"There," he said.
"How do you know?" asked Remo.
"Do you see those carvings in the wooden door?"
"Like the silver lines on the foreheads?"
"Correct. It means this house or palace, or if it is on a person, that person, is protected by a certain tribe, the Ilhibad."
"I see," said Remo.
"That is a lie. They can protect no one in the valley and they know it."
Chiun marched to the high wooden door. His white fringed head barely touched the lowest heavy metal bolt on the door.
"Hear ye, hear ye, O you worms of the mountainside. A Master of Sinanju has come to remind you of your word to a master of our house that you would stay in the mountains to which he banished you. Oh, you vile bugs, fluttering in your trepidation."
With a short flat slap at the wood, Chiun produced a booming thud.
"Come out, I wish to remind you of your promise. Come, wriggling worms."
He turned from the door and smiled. He nodded for Remo to follow. "Sometimes I'm eloquent," he said. "They will now all cluster at that door with their weapons, bodies giving other bodies courage. They will not have enough courage to open the door, just to stand there. I know these people. I was taught of them as a small boy, just as I try to teach you. Fortunately, I was a good pupil. I have not been as fortunate in my pupils as my instructor was."
The wall butted into a large outcropping, and they climbed. Not like other climbers did they climb, but with a steady moving upward as if going along on a level. At the top of the wall, they saw a turbaned head. It was looking toward the courtyard. They could smell the fragrant aromas of spicy stews cooking in the kitchens of the Blissful Master's Palace. Chiun smiled at Remo once more as they ascended the wall. The turbaned one held a submachine gun at the ready, but it was pointing down into the courtyard, where a cluster of other turbaned men crouched, their weapons at the ready, all pointing to the door.
"See. I know them. I know their minds," said Chiun. The wall guard turned, startled to hear a voice, and when he saw Chiun, his mouth opened, and he shrieked.
"Eeyah." His pink robes spread moisture at his loins, and the gun shook in his hands.
Remo saw the finger tighten on the trigger, but the awesome hands of the Master of Sinanju had the turban and were unraveling it. Then, with a looping snap, they made it a noose around the neck, and with this noose, spun the guard in two slow circles, releasing him in an arc down into the courtyard.
Into a window beneath a large golden dome Chiun moved, with Remo following. Pinging bullets picked outside at the thick wall as they moved from window to window. Then the bullets stopped, and it was so quiet Remo could almost hear Chiun's footsteps on the tile floors. Remo looked down into the courtyard. The tribesmen were conferring.
Chiun moved to the center of a high window and stood there with arms folded.
"Watch this," said Chiun. "I knew it would be such."
One man knelt over the twisted body of the guard who had been on the wall. He examined the neck.
"Are you the one?" called out the man kneeling over the body.
"If I come down to where you crawl, O worm of the mountain, I will show you I am the one."
The men conferred again with arms waving, voices chopping at one another.
Remo couldn't see a decision being made, but obviously they had reached a conclusion. It was not so much a run to the door as a scramble. Men couldn't run in a crowd. They clawed and banged at the gate and grabbed for the bars, and like ants assaulting a huge, dark vertical crumb, they managed to move one giant door out into the street of Patna. Through this door they ran, some with weapons, some without.
"Where are they going?" asked Remo.
"Home. Where they belong. And where they will stay this time. Now we can go to Sinanju. I did not wish to return home, leaving untidiness out in the world. I must confess, if the previous Master had done his job properly, none of this would have been necessary. But we will not discuss that. Done is done and rightly done, it is forever."