Page 27 of The Sky Beneath Us
I decided attack might be the best form of defence. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ I hissed, kicking aside my bags and throwing open the door.
A man stood there, faintly illuminated in the moonlight, the outline of his hat visible against the doorway.
‘My name Palden. I Sherpa, not like those others. I come to tell you there is big danger for you. Those men not good. They drink muchchhaangand tell others they going to get good money for you from kidnap. Say you have baby coming. They say they can sell baby too, get good price.’
My skin prickled with a fear so visceral it made me almost double over with panic, instinctively folding my arms around my belly.
‘Please, Miss, you must trust me. I help you, but we must go now. I take you to my village. My wife can look after you. You safe with us.’
I felt I could trust no one, but my only other option was to set off alone on an unknown mountain path in the darkness, with a pair of kidnappers hot on my heels. So I reached for my coat. The Sherpa picked up my bags and gestured to me to follow him quietly. We crept out into the moonlight, where the snoring continued from the adjacent shack to the accompaniment of the occasional clank of a yak bell as the animals shifted uneasily in the field alongside us. Palden picked up a pannier set against the wall of the inn and tipped out its contents of juniper branches. He stuffed my bags into it and heaved it on to his back, easily shouldering the load.Then he handed me a stout walking stick to help steady my feet in the darkness and led me down a path leading towards the river.
Once we were a safe distance from the settlement and the noise of the rushing water was loud enough to cover our voices, I asked him, ‘Where are we going? Won’t those men just follow us?’
He shook his head. ‘They not dare. They too much cowards and they know Sherpa people too strong. We go on different path now anyway. Up there.’ He pointed across the valley to the opposite hillside.
We crossed a rickety bridge over the river, which foamed white in the moonlight, and plunged into a dense forest of rhododendrons. I had no idea how Palden was able to find his way. The path was a faint track, almost invisible in the darkness. But I plodded on steadily, keeping close behind him as he picked his way along it with ease. We climbed endlessly, up and up, zigzagging between the gnarled branches and their canopy of spreading leaves. I was grateful for their cover, which kept us hidden from anyone who might be watching from the far side of the valley, even though the climb left me gasping for breath.
We emerged on to a contour path just as the first faint light of dawn began to filter through the leaves, and Palden unstrapped the pannier from his shoulders, setting it down in the dust. ‘We rest here a bit,’ he said, and I sank gratefully on to a rock, my legs almost collapsing under me. He handed me a water bottle and I drank from it deeply, gasping between gulps, my chest still labouring with the effort of the climb. Suddenly, my belly cramped with a sharp pain, and I clasped my hands around it, fear gripping me. I breathed deeply and slowly, making myself relax for my baby’s sake. As the muscles released again, my baby gave me a good kick by way of a reminder that I needed to take care of it, reassuring me it was still all right.
‘You okay?’ Palden said. In the early morning light, I was able to see his face properly for the first time. He had the same friendly features and warm smile as Mingma and I felt a little reassured that perhaps I hadn’t leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire in entrusting my safety to him.
I smiled back. ‘I’m fine, thank you. Just need to get my breath back a bit.’
‘Don’t worry no more, Miss. You safe now.’ Then he grinned and said, ‘You very good climber – almost as good as Sherpa. What your name?’
‘Violet,’ I replied. ‘Like a flower.’
‘Violet like a flower,’ he repeated after me, nodding. ‘We walk easy now. Be there in couple hours.’
‘Where isthere?’ I asked, pulling the map out of my coat pocket.
He studied it over my shoulder and then pointed. ‘My village is here. Called Phortse.’
As the sun rose high enough behind the mountains to peer at us, we continued on our way towards the Sherpa settlement. At a bend in the path, we paused again to drink some water as the sun climbed higher, bathing the landscape in gold. I took off my coat and Palden put it in his basket, despite my protestations that I could easily carry it. A few steps later, once we’d skirted another carved rock, I stopped in my tracks, astonished at the sight that met us. A hidden valley ran upwards to our left, carpeted with deep-blue flowers, looking for all the world as if a thousand pieces of the sky had tumbled down to form their petals.
‘Meconopsis,’ I said.
He shot me a quizzical look. ‘What that mean?’
‘The blue Himalayan poppy. On the expedition we spent hours searching for them. But we only found one or two – never anything like as many as this.’
‘This Valley of Flowers,’ he said. ‘We bring yaks here in summer to graze. Collect flowers, mushrooms, leaves for making incense too. Phortse not far now.’
If I survive, I thought to myself, I shall come back here one day.
A few hundred yards further on, the path climbed to a point on the edge of another ridge where a small heap of memorialmanistones had been laid. And as we rounded it, the view opened up in front of us and there it was in the distance, bathed in sunlight: the village of Phortse. My first sighting of the place where I sit writing this. The place where – at last – I’ve been able to find a sanctuary and feel at home.
Palden and his wife, Dawa, have taken me in. I feel safe with them, and they’ve promised to look after me here for the coming weeks, letting me rest and recover from the trials of the past months until my baby is born. They feed me plates of lentils and rice and the most delicious potatoes I’ve tasted in a long time, even better than the ones we grew at the gardening school. I’m as round as an egg now and I’ve jettisoned my old, travel-worn clothes, preferring the traditional Sherpa costume Dawa has lent me, which all the women of the village wear. A silk blouse comes first, covered with a loose sort of pinafore dress, and finally a colourful, striped apron, thepangden, is tied around the area where my waist used to be. It’s both comfortable and practical.
I spend my days working alongside Dawa and the others from the village, tending the crops of buckwheat and potatoes in the fields and picking mint leaves in the little garden she cultivates behind her house. Children run freely amongst the houses, playing and helping with chores. The sound of their laughter floats on the air, accompanied by the gentle clanking of yak bells and the soughing of the winds. From my mountainside perch, I stop often to ease my aching back and give thanks for the kindness of these people who have taken this stranger in when she had nowhere else to go.
My baby kicks and stretches, flexing its muscles, eager now to escape the protective cocoon of my belly. And I wonder at the possibility of a new future as I gaze out at the watchful peaks that hold us in their powerful embrace, and the valley filled with sky beneath us.
Daisy – March 2020
I close Violet’s final journal and smile at Dipa, who’s been sitting listening to the story of how my great-great-aunt came to end up in Phortse. Several days have passed since my arrival at the lodge, but the snow still lies thickly on the ground outside. It’s warm indoors, though, sitting by the stove, and telling Violet’s story to Dipa, Tashi and Sonam has helped pass the time as our quarantine ticks by, in the continued absence of any internet connection.
‘There’s just one more letter too,’ I say, unfolding the flimsy sheet of paper. It must be one of the pieces ofloktapaper Violet bartered for, made here in Nepal, because it’s flecked and textured with little pieces of plant material. Violet’s handwriting – so familiar from her journals – has blurred where the ink has soaked into the softness of the surface.
