14
The Friendship Highway
We met Mr. Kadam outside the temple. When we asked if he’d noticed the statue moving, he said that he hadn’t. He hadn’t felt the wind either. I told him that he should come with us next time. He always took the look-out position and said he had assumed that Durga would appear only for me and the tigers. He thought that his presence might deter us from our course.
I teased, “Of course, if you did come along, you’d probably fall under Durga’s spell the way Kishan did, and then I’d have to bring both of you out of your love stupor.”
Kishan scowled at me while Mr. Kadam’s face lit up with delight. “The goddess is beautiful, then?”
I responded, “She’s okay.”
Kishan began gushing, “Her beauty surpasses all other women. Her ruby lips, soft limbs, and long dark hair would be enough to cause any man to lose control of his faculties.”
I scoffed, “Oh, please! Exaggerate much? Ren never reacted that way.”
Kishan glared at me. “Perhaps Ren had a reason to look elsewhere.”
Mr. Kadam laughed. “I would very much like to meet her if it will work.”
“It can’t hurt to try. The worst that could happen is nothing, and then you could always leave, and we’d try it again.”
After we returned to the hotel, we showed Mr. Kadam our new weapons. Kishan was going on and on about the goddess this and the goddess that and was twisting his discus in the light so the gleaming gold reflected on the walls of the hotel room. I listened for a while and heard Mr. Kadam talking about how the discus represented the sun, which was the source of all life and that the circle was a symbol of the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. I stopped listening, so I could tune out Kishan’s constant praising of Durga and her lovely feminine features, which practically made me gag.
I leaned in the door frame between their connecting rooms, rolled my eyes, and during a break in Kishan’s Durga tribute, mocked, “Are you going to yell like Xena when you throw the discus? No! Even better. We’ll buy you a leather kilt.”
Kishan’s golden eyes turned to me. “I hope your arrows are as sharp as your tongue, Kelsey.”
He walked toward me. I stood my ground, blocking his way, but he just picked me up and moved me to the side. Leaving his hands on my arms for a moment, he leaned over and whispered, “Perhaps you are jealous, bilauta.” Then he closed the connecting door behind him, leaving me alone with Mr. Kadam.
Flustered, I flopped into a chair and muttered, “I am not jealous.”
Mr. Kadam looked at me thoughtfully, “No you’re not. At least not in the way he might hope.”
I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“You’re protecting him.”
I snorted. “Protecting him from what? His own delusions?”
He laughed. “No. You clearly care for him. You want him to find happiness. And because Ren isn’t here, all of your maternal instincts are focused on Kishan.”
“I don’t think what I feel for Ren is maternal.”
“Of course, it is. Well, a part of it is, anyway. Do you remember what the weaver told you about the different threads?”
“Yes. She said I’m the warp.”
“Exactly. Ren’s and Kishan’s threads weave around you. Without your strength, the fabric couldn’t be complete.”
“Hmm.”
“Miss Kelsey, do you know much about lions?”
“No. Not really.”
“A male lion cannot hunt for himself. Without the female, he would die.”
“I’m not sure I’m getting the point.”
“My point is that a lion without a lioness dies. Kishan needs you. Perhaps even more than Ren does.”
“But I can’t be all things to both brothers.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying that Kishan needs . . . hope. Something to hold onto.”
“I can be his friend. I’ll even hunt for him. But, I love Ren. I won’t give up on him.”
Mr. Kadam patted my hand. “A friend, someone who cares about him and loves him and won’t let him give up on himself, is what Kishan needs.”
“But isn’t that what you’ve done for him all these years?”
He chuckled. “Oh, yes. Of course. But a young man needs a young woman who believes in him. Not a crusty old man.”
I got up and hugged him. “Crusty and old are two words I’d never use to describe you. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Miss Kelsey. We leave early in the morning, so get some rest.”
When I dreamed that night, it was of both brothers. They were standing in front of me, and Lokesh was ordering me to choose which one would live and which one would die. Ren smiled sadly and nodded toward Kishan. Kishan’s face tightened, and he looked away from me knowing that I wouldn’t pick him. I was still pondering my choice when the courtesy wake-up call startled me.
I packed up my bags and met Mr. Kadam and Kishan in the lobby. We drove in silence about ten miles to Kathmandu, the largest city and capital of Nepal. Kishan and I sat in the Jeep while Mr. Kadam went into a building to finalize paperwork for our trip through the Himalayas.
“Uh, Kishan? I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for acting like a jerk yesterday. If you want to fall in love with a goddess then, by all means, go for it.”
He snorted, “I’m not falling in love with a goddess, Kells. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, still. I wasn’t being very sensitive.”
He shrugged. “Women don’t like hearing men talk about other women. It was rude of me to go on like that. Honestly, I only praised her beauty so much to get a rise out of you.”
I turned around in my seat. “What? Why would you do that?”
“I wanted you to be jealous, and when you weren’t, it . . . bothered me.”
“Oh. Kishan, you know I still feel—”
“I know. I know. You don’t have to remind me. You still love Ren.”
“Yes. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you. I’m your warp too. Remember?”
His face brightened. “That’s true.”
“Good, don’t forget that. We’re all going to have happy endings, okay?”
I reached a hand back to him, and he held it in both of his and grinned. “Promise?”
I smiled back at him. “Promise.”
“Good. I’ll hold you to that. Maybe I should get it in writing. I, Kelsey, promise Kishan that he will get the happy ending he seeks. Should I define the parameters for you now?”
“Uh, no. I’d like to keep it vague for the time being.”
“Fine. Meanwhile, I will create a mental list of what constitutes a happy ending and get back to you.”
“You do that.” He kissed my fingers brazenly, holding them tightly while I struggled to pull my hand out of his grip.
“Kishan!”
He laughed as he finally let me go and then changed to a tiger before I could verbally chastise him.
“Coward,” I muttered as I turned back in my seat. I heard him growl softly but ignored him.
I seriously racked my brain for the next few minutes trying to find a happy ending for Kishan. At this point, my own happy ending wasn’t even a guarantee. The best I could come up with was finishing the four tasks, so the brothers didn’t have to be tigers anymore. I hoped that by the time we finished them, the happy endings would sort of take care of themselves.
Mr. Kadam returned and said, “We’ve received permission to take the Friendship Highway tour route to Tibet. It’s something of a miracle.”
“Wow. How did you manage it?”
“A high government official in China owes me a favor.”
“How high?”
“The highest. Still, we have to stick to the tour stops and check in at each place along the way so they can keep tabs on us. We leave immediately. Our first stop is Neyalam, which is about 150 kilometers from here. It should take us about five hours just to hit the Chinese/Nepal border.”
“Five hours? Wait a minute, 150 kilometers? That’s roughly ninety miles. That’s only eighteen miles per hour. Why does it take so long?”
Mr. Kadam chuckled. “You’ll see.”
He handed me the tour guide, map, and brochures so I could follow along and help him navigate. I thought the Rockies were huge, but comparing the Himalayas with the Rockies was like comparing the Rockies with the Appalachians, literally mountains to molehills. The peaks were thick with snow, even though it was early May.
Stark rocky glaciers rose up before us, and Mr. Kadam told me the landscape becomes tundra and then permanent ice and snow a little higher. Trees were small and scattered. The ground was mostly covered with grasses, dwarf shrubs, and moss. He said there were some conifer forests in other parts of the Himalayas, but we would be passing mostly through the grasslands.
When he said, “you’ll see,” he wasn’t kidding. We were climbing at about ten miles per hour into the mountains. The road wasn’t exactly up to standard, and we bumped and weaved around potholes and sometimes herds of yaks and sheep.
To pass the time, I asked Mr. Kadam about the first company he bought into.
“That would be the East India Trading Company. It was started before I was born in the early 1600s, but it became a very big business by the mid–eighteenth century.”
“What kinds of things did you trade?”
“Oh, lots of things. Cloth—silk mostly—tea, indigo, spices, saltpeter, and opium.”
I teased him, “Mr. Kadam! You were a drug dealer?”
He winced. “Not in the current definition of the word, no. Remember, opium was touted as medicinal then, but I did transport the drug in the beginning. I owned several ships and funded large caravans. When China banned the opium trade, triggering the Opium Wars, I stopped shipping it and focused most of my business in the spice trade.”
“Huh. Is that why you like grinding your own spices so much?”
He smiled. “Yes, I still like to look for the best quality products and enjoy using them in my cooking.”
“So you’ve always been in the cargo business then.”
“I guess I have. I never really thought about it that way.”
“Okay, I have two questions for you. Do you still have a ship? I know you kept a plane from that company, but do you still have a ship? Because that would be so cool. The second question is what’s saltpeter?”
“Saltpeter is also known as potassium nitrate. It was used to make gunpowder and is also, ironically, a food preservative. And, in answer to your other question, the boys do own a boat, but not one of my original shipping boats.”
“Oh. What kind of a boat?”
“A small yacht.”
“Ah. I should’ve guessed.”
We stopped near the China/Nepal border in a city called Zhangmu where we had to fill out paperwork again. Then, after a day of driving and traveling only a total of ninety-six miles, we drove into Neyalam and checked into a small overnight guesthouse.
The next day we climbed even higher. The brochure said that by the end of the day we’d be above thirteen thousand feet. On this section of the drive, we saw six of the major mountains in the Himalayas, including Mount Everest, and stopped to take in the magnificent view of Mount Xixapangma.
On day three, I started feeling a little sick, and Mr. Kadam said he thought I had altitude sickness. He explained that it was common when traveling higher than twelve thousand feet. “It should pass. Most people adjust within a few hours, but for some it can take several days for their body to acclimate to the elevation.”
I groaned and tilted my seat back to rest my dizzy head. The rest of the day went by in a blur. I was disappointed that I couldn’t appreciate the scenery. We drove to Xigatse, where Mr. Kadam and Kishan saw the Tashilumpo Monastery while I stayed in the small hotel.
When they returned with dinner for me, I rolled over and waved them away. Mr. Kadam left, but Kishan stayed.
“I don’t like seeing you sick, Kells. What can I do?”
“Uh, I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”
He left me alone for a minute. Soon he was back pressing a damp cloth to my forehead.
“Here, I brought you some lemon water. Mr. Kadam said it helps to hydrate.”
Kishan forced me to drink the entire glass and then poured another glassful from the bottled water they’d bought. He finally let me stop after my third glass.
“How are you feeling now?”
“Better, thanks. Except my head is pounding. Do we have any aspirin?”
Kishan found a small bottle. I downed two, sat forward, placing my elbows on my knees, and massaging my temples with my fingers.
He watched me quietly for a moment, and then said, “Here, let me help.”
Kishan scooted me forward a little so he could sit behind me. He placed his warm hands on the sides of my head and started massaging my temples. After a few minutes, he moved into my hair and down the back of my neck, kneading away the stiffness that came from sitting immobile in a car for three days.
When he got to my shoulders, I asked, “Where did you and Ren learn to give massages? You’re both very good at it.”
He stopped for a moment and then slowly began again as he spoke. “I didn’t know Ren had given you a massage. Mother taught us. It was something she’d been trained in.”
“Oh. Well, it feels fantastic. Your hands are so warm they feel like heating pads. My headache’s almost gone now.”
“Good. Lie down and relax. I’m going to do your arms and feet.”
“You really don’t have to. I’m feeling better now.”
“Just relax. Close your eyes and let your mind drift. Mother taught us that massage can take away the pains of the body and the spirit.” He started working on my left arm and spent a long time on my hand.
“Kishan? What was it like being a tiger for all those years?”
He didn’t respond for a long moment. I cracked open an eye and looked at him. He was focusing on the space between my thumb and forefinger. His golden eyes flicked over to my face.
“Quit peeking, Kells. I’m thinking.”
I obediently closed my eyes again and waited patiently for his answer.
“It’s like the tiger and the man are always battling each other. After my parents died, Ren had been kidnapped, and Mr. Kadam left to search for him. There was no reason to be a man at all. I let the tiger take over. It was almost like I was watching the tiger from a distance. I felt completely detached from my surroundings. The beast ruled, and I didn’t care.”
He moved to my feet, which tickled at first, but then I let out a deep sigh as he worked on my toes.
“It must have been terribly lonely.”
“I was running, hunting . . . and doing everything by instinct. I’m surprised I didn’t lose my humanity altogether.”
“Ren told me once that being away from me, being on his own, made him feel more like a beast than a man.”
“That’s true. The tiger’s strong, and it’s extremely difficult to maintain a balance, especially when I’m a tiger for most of the day.”
“Does it feel different now?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’m reclaiming my humanity piece by piece. Being a tiger is easy; being a man is difficult. I have to interact with people, learn about the world, and find a way to deal with my past.”
“In a way, Ren was more fortunate than you even though you were free.”
He tilted his head and moved to my other foot, “Why do you think that?”
“Because he was always with people. He never felt alone like you did. I mean, he was trapped, he was hurt, he had to perform in the circus, but he was still a part of human life. He still had the opportunity to learn, though in a limited way.”
He laughed wryly. “You forget, Kelsey, that I could have ended my solitude at any time and chose not to. He was a captive, but I was sitting in a trap of my own design.”
“I don’t understand how you could do that to yourself. You have so much to offer to the world.”
He sighed. “I deserved to be punished.”
“You did not deserve to be punished. You need to stop thinking that way. I want you to tell yourself you’re a good man and you deserve some happiness.”
He smiled. “Alright. I’m a good man and I deserve some happiness. There, are you satisfied?”
“For now.”
“If it makes you happy, I’ll try to change my attitude about it.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He moved over to my other arm and began massaging my palm.
“So what changed for you? Did getting six hours back as a man make enough difference for you to want to live again?”
“No. It wasn’t that at all.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No. What changed my perspective was meeting a beautiful girl by a waterfall who said she knew who I was and knew what I was.”
“Oh.”
“She’s the one who rescued me from my tiger skin and pulled me back to the surface. And, no matter what else happens . . . I want her to know that I will be eternally grateful for that.” He lifted my hand and pressed a warm kiss on my palm. He smiled charmingly and placed my arm back on the bed.
I looked up into his sincere golden eyes and opened my mouth to explain to him again that I loved Ren. His expression changed. He set his face and said, “Shh. Don’t say it. No words of protest tonight. I promise you, Kelsey, that I will do everything I can to reunite the two of you and try to be happy for you, but that doesn’t mean I can easily set aside my feelings, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Goodnight, Kells.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, turned off the light, stepped through the connecting door, and shut it softly.
I felt better the next day, extremely grateful to have recovered from my altitude sickness. We stopped in Gyantse, which was only two hours away but was on the route, and tourists were expected to spend the day there, so we had to as well. Mr. Kadam said that he’d been there before, that it used to be a major city on the spice trade route. We stopped to see the Kumbum Chörten, which was a school of Tibetan Buddhism, and had a Szechuan-style lunch at a local restaurant. The city was beautiful, and it was nice to get out of the car and walk for a while.
We stayed in a hotel again that night, but Kishan spent most of his time as a tiger while Mr. Kadam tried to teach me how to play chess. I couldn’t bend my brain around the game. After he quickly beat me a third time, I said, “Sorry, I guess I’m more of a reactionary player than a think-ahead kind of girl. One of these days, I’ll teach you how to play Settlers of Catan.”
Smiling, I thought about Li and his friends and Grandma Zhi. I wondered if Li ever tried to contact me. Mr. Kadam had disconnected all our phones and got us new cell phones and numbers right after we arrived in India. He said it was safer not to contact anyone back home.
Once every two weeks or so, I wrote to my foster parents and told them we were out of cell phone range. Mr. Kadam had it mailed from faraway locations so that there was no way to trace where the letters had come from. I never gave them a return address because I told them we were always moving.
They used a post office box to write me back, and Nilima picked up our mail and read the letters to me over the phone. Mr. Kadam dictated what things would be appropriate for me to include in the letters. He also had people discreetly keeping an eye on my foster family. They’d returned from their Hawaiian vacation with nice memories and nicer tans and found nothing amiss at home. Fortunately, it seemed that Lokesh hadn’t found them.
On day five of the Friendship Highway tour, we stopped to see Yamdrok Lake. Its nickname was the Turquoise Lake, for obvious reasons. It sparkled like a bright jewel set against the backdrop of the snow-capped mountains that fed it.
Mr. Kadam said it was considered sacred by the Tibetan people who often made pilgrimages to the lake. They believed it was the home of protective deities who watched over the lake and made sure it didn’t dry up. They believed that if it did, it would mean the end of Tibet.
Kishan and I waited patiently while Mr. Kadam engaged in an animated conversation with some local fishermen who seemed to be trying to sell him the catch of the day.
When we got back in the car, I asked, “Mr. Kadam, exactly how many languages do you know, anyway?”
“Hmm. I’m not really sure. I know the main ones needed for trade with Europe—Spanish, French, Portuguese, English, and German. I can converse well in most of the languages of Asia. I’m a bit weak on the languages of Russia and the Norse, know nothing of the islands or Africa, and I only know about half of the languages of India.”
Puzzled, I asked, “Half? Just how many languages are there in India?”
“There are literally hundreds of languages in India, both modern and classic. Though only around thirty are officially recognized by the Indian government.”
I stared at him in amazement.
“Of course, I only know a smattering of most of those. Many are local dialects that I picked up over the years. The most commonly used language is Hindi.”
We wound our way through two more mountain passes and finally began our descent toward the Tibetan plateau. Mr. Kadam talked in order to keep my mind busy during the drive down the mountain as I was feeling a bit carsick.
“The Tibetan Plateau is sometimes called the Roof of the World due to its high elevation. It averages around 4,500 meters, or roughly,” he worked out some calculations in his mind, “14,750 feet. It’s the third least populated place in the world, Antarctica being first and Northern Greenland being second. It’s home to several large brackish water lakes.”
I groaned and closed my eyes, but that didn’t help.
I tried to focus on something else and asked, “Mr. Kadam, what’s a brackish lake?”
“Ah, there are four classifications of salinity in bodies of water—fresh; brackish, or brack; saline, or salt; and brine. A brackish lake, for example, the Caspian Sea, is somewhere between saltwater and freshwater. Most brackish water is found in estuaries where a saltwater ocean meets a freshwater river or stream.”
Kishan growled softly, and Mr. Kadam stopped his lecture. “Look, Miss Kelsey. We’re almost at the bottom.”
He was right, and after a few minutes on a normal, flat, only somewhat bumpy road, I felt much better. We drove another couple of hours to the city of Lhasa.