Chapter XV: The Caravan Halts

“So this is Srinagar!”

Biff Brewster spoke from the bow of a narrow, rakish craft known as a _shikara_, as two turbaned oarsmen propelled it along the River Jhelum through the heart of Kashmir’s capital city. Between Biff and the stern, where both paddlers were seated, was a large canopy mounted on ornamental poles. Reclining beneath it were Chandra, Kamuka, and Mike Arista.

The front of the canopy bore the boat’s name, _Happy Daze_, for these gondolas of the Himalayan Venice were particularly popular with American visitors. As they swept along beneath the ancient wooden bridges that spanned the Jhelum, the boys waved to passengers in passing shikaras with signs bearing such varied titles as _Hot Dog_, _The Big Mo_, and _Chattanooga Choo Choo_.

Picturesque buildings flanked both sides of the waterway, and beneath their balconies were native craft called _dungas_, on which whole families lived. Far more pretentious were the lavish houseboats occupied by Europeans and Americans. These were more in evidence after the shikara brought them to the Dal Gate, the outlet for Dal Lake.

From there, they followed more canals to the lake itself, where they wove among actual floating gardens to the five-mile stretch of open water beyond. Sunset was tingeing Dal Lake with a deep crimson that purpled the blue lake and its surrounding foliage against the magnificent backdrop of the snow-clad Himalayas.

“Fine sunset,” Kamuka appraised it. “Much better than on the Hooghly.”

“And all we need,” commented Biff, studying the mirrored sunset in the placid water, “is for a bore to come roaring down the lake. This water buggy would really wind up in a happy daze.”

Even that imaginary menace was ended when they reached their destination, a houseboat named _Pride of the Deodars_. This was a stout ship in its own right, measuring 120 feet from “stem to stern” as Biff put it, with a width or beam of 16 feet. Before taking off from New Delhi, Colonel Gorak had engaged the _Pride of the Deodars_ for their overnight stay in Srinagar and had come directly here while the boys were taking their river trip.

Smilingly, the colonel showed them through an actual floating mansion, for the _Pride_, as the boys promptly called it, had a huge living room and a sizable dining room, each with a fireplace, plus three bedrooms with private baths. A native chef served a tasty dinner from the ample kitchen. After the meal, the boys went to the living room. They were seated in front of the fireplace, when a light glimmered cautiously from the water close by, and they heard a shikara scrape alongside the _Pride_.

“Barma Shah,” stated Colonel Gorak. “I contacted him at the address in Simla.” Gorak turned to Biff. “I have never met him, so you can introduce us.”

When Barma Shah entered, he was wearing his beret and tinted glasses, as excellent a disguise as ever, for when he removed them, his complexion changed in color and his face seemed to broaden, probably because of his widespread ears. His high forehead and short-clipped hair were deceptive, too, for the beret had hidden them well. Colonel Gorak nodded his approval.

“I can understand why you have managed to stay undercover,” Gorak declared. “I have dozens of reports from men who have contacted you at one time or another”—the colonel gestured to an attaché case on the table—“but not one could give more than a vague description of you.”

“Unfortunately, most of those who knew me best are gone,” returned Barma Shah, in a regretful tone. “They were marked for death, as I have been.”

“I know that,” nodded Colonel Gorak. “All of you were in constant danger from all sides when you tried to quell those riots between rival factions, especially in Calcutta.”

“The danger still is great,” declared Barma Shah, “and that is why I show myself so seldom. During the past year or more, only two men really met me face to face, so far as learning my identity. One was Diwan Chand; the other, Thomas Brewster. Recently, of course”—he gestured toward Biff and his companions—“I told these boys who I was, because once I was clear of Calcutta, I felt the need for secrecy was gone. So now”—Barma Shah finished with a bow—“we meet at last, Colonel Gorak.”

“And the meeting is a timely one,” returned Gorak, “because you are the man who can help us most.”

The colonel spread a large map of Kashmir on the table, ran his finger from Srinagar eastward to Leh, the principal city of Ladakh. Then he inched it, zig-zag fashion, toward the boundary between India and Tibet, which was marked with a dotted line, indicating its uncertainty.

“Charles Keene will meet you in Leh,” explained Colonel Gorak, “or at one of your later stopping points. When you reach the vicinity of Chonsi—wherever it may be—you will be contacted and guided to that lost city.”

Barma Shah looked up, slightly puzzled. “You aren’t coming with us, Colonel Gorak?” he asked.

“No. This is not a military mission, nor even an official expedition. Mr. Brewster went there on his own and personally promised to deliver the Rajah’s ruby to the Chonsi Lama, once the gem was found. Since the descendants of the Rajah were supposed to deliver it to the successor of the Lama, tradition demands that Mr. Brewster’s promise be fulfilled by his son.

“Again, in keeping with tradition, the boy should be accompanied by someone close of kin, so we have chosen his Uncle Charles for that purpose. And since you, Barma Shah, played the vital part in recovering the lost ruby, you are entitled to go along as its temporary guardian.”

As Colonel Gorak finished, Barma Shah smiled.

“You should have picked Diwan Chand for my job,” he said, “but as for going along, I don’t think Diwan Chand would have. So I guess I’ll have to do.”

“You will do very well. Any more questions?”

“Just one, Colonel. What about the Chonsi Lama? Have you any reports on him?”

“Nearly twenty years ago,” stated Colonel Gorak, “the Chonsi Lama visited Leh and received a tremendous ovation. He was then a man in his early thirties and impressed all who met him with his great vigor and his keen mind. In the years since, the Chonsi Lama has preserved the balance of the border. He has refused to listen to the demands of dictators who have tried to curb his power. They are unable to oust him because they cannot find him.”

“And all the while his influence has increased?” Barma Shah inquired.

“Yes. Today, the Chonsi Lama is regarded as one of the wisest men in the East and, without a doubt, the most mysterious. No one has seen him since that time in Leh, but he has been heard from often, and his well-weighed decisions have increased his fame. Now in his early fifties, he is probably at the peak of his career—that is, if Lamas have careers. When one dies, his spirit is supposed to be reincarnated in an infant born at that same time, who then continues on as a Living Buddha.”

Biff and the other boys wanted to hear more on that intriguing subject, but Barma Shah asked:

“Will anyone block us between Leh and Chonsi?”

“One man will if he can,” returned Gorak grimly. “That is Bela Kron, who heads the international spy ring. Have you ever run across him here in India?”

“No, but I would like to.” Barma Shah gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “I would repay him in kind for the way he tortured some of my friends.”

“I know.” Colonel Gorak tapped the attaché case significantly. “The reports are all in here. But would you recognize Bela Kron if you saw him?”

“No, because I could not possibly have met him. Brewster may have, around those mines in Bildapore, but Bela Kron would have been very wary, any time he came to Calcutta.”

That ended the conference for the evening. Tingling with excitement, the boys found it difficult to go to sleep, even in the luxurious houseboat. When they finally did drop off, the night seemed very short indeed, for Colonel Gorak woke them early for their morning flight to Leh.

The five-hundred-mile trip was interesting, for below, the boys saw samples of the rugged terrain that they would have to cover later on. The nearest thing to a road was a crude trail that led through mountain passes twelve thousand feet in altitude, where the plane flew low between the hemming Himalaya ranges. There were occasional squatty villages and Buddhist monasteries perched high upon the mountainsides. These gave an idea of what Chonsi would be like if ever they found the place.

The immediate objective was Leh, and it proved interesting when they landed there. Though a town of only a few thousand inhabitants, its bazaars showed a mingling of many races including tribes in outlandish costumes, for this was the trade center where goods came in from Tibet by caravan. Biff and his companions found the equipment ready and the arrangements all made for their trek to the border. But Charles Keene and his Cessna had not yet arrived.

For two full days they waited, with the strain continually increasing. The only news was a roundabout report from Katmandu, stating that the Cessna had put down there and then resumed its flight, on the very day that Biff and his companions had flown from New Delhi up to Srinagar. On the third day, Colonel Gorak, who had come along this far, decided that the caravan must start. Barma Shah agreed.

“There is still a chance that your uncle’s plane made a safe landing,” Gorak told Biff. “But by now he will suppose that you have left Leh, so there is no need of staying here.”

“In fact, it would be a mistake,” declared Barma Shah, “for your uncle has our schedule and may be expecting us at one of the stopping posts. We are already a day late, but the first two stages are short, so we can make them in a single day.”

Paced by plodding, heavily laden yaks, they made the required distance by nightfall. Their course was toward the glistening mountains to the south, but the whiteness that worried Biff was not the snow upon the Himalayan summits. The thick clouds surrounding the lower levels were the menace. They filled the passes and the valleys beyond, the only places where the plane could have made a landing.

By morning the clouds were heavier still, and Barma Shah was anxious to make an early start because of the threatening snow. Biff pleaded with him to wait, so they did for another hour, studying the increasing snow clouds.

“It’s no use,” Barma Shah decided finally. “We can hardly see the slopes now. Anyone coming through those passes would have to turn back.”

Biff nodded hopelessly. But as he took one last look through a pair of field glasses, he was sure he detected motion in the distant haze. Then, against the snowy background, he saw three figures. One paused as they struggled forward and waved his arms in a characteristic gesture.

Excitedly, Biff exclaimed, “Uncle Charlie!”