into the air, and with the hum of the engines and the emotional roller coaster ride of the past twenty-four hours, it wasn’t long before I fell into a dark, confusing dream.
In the dream, a young Lokesh was standing over a monk, torturing him for information.
“Tell me of the amulet, old man,” a desperate Lokesh threatened.
The monk screamed. “Please! I beg you to have mercy!”
“Mercy will be given when you tell me what I desire to hear.”
The weakened man nodded and said, “A few centuries before the birth of my teacher, there was a great war. All the powerful kingdoms of Asia gathered together to battle a demon. A goddess arose with two faces: one face was dark and beautiful and the other was bright and more glorious than the sun. She led the armies of Asia against the armies of the demon. The armies of Asia were victorious, and, as a result, the goddess blessed each kingdom with a gift.”
“What does this have to do with the amulet?” an impatient Lokesh screamed and wrenched the man’s wrist cruelly.
“Let me . . . let me explain,” the man panted. “The goddess took the amulet from her neck and broke it into five pieces. She gave one piece to each king and admonished them to keep secret its origin and to use its power to help and protect his people. They were instructed to pass it within their family to the eldest son.”
“And which kingdoms fought in this battle?”
“The five that gathered were the people of the—”
The dream suddenly ended when Ren shook me awake.
“We’re landing,” he murmured quietly.
I looked out the window and only saw dense jungle below. “Landing where?” I asked.
The plane turned and Ren pointed out of one of the windows. “There.”
The morning sun glinted in my eyes, blinding me for a moment, but then the plane banked to the right and I saw the sparkle of the river and a dirt runway below us. I knew the river eventually led to our old camp near Ren’s waterfall, but I couldn’t remember seeing the runway before.
“Where did that come from?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Kishan answered. “I know this jungle like the back of my hand and there was never a clearing there, let alone a space long enough to land a plane.”
“Hold on, everybody,” Murphy warned. “It’s going to get a little bumpy.”
He circled the jungle one more time and began his descent. The belly of the plane brushed across some tree tops as we dipped lower. When the wheels touched down, the old aircraft rumbled and bounced as if it were going to come apart, but Murphy landed us safely, and we all disembarked.
Mr. Kadam had left instructions for Ren and Kishan to dig his burial plot in the garden. They somberly carried Mr. Kadam’s shrouded body down the hill while Murphy, Nilima, and I found a shady spot to wait.
“This is the darndest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Murphy commented. “Why in the world would he want to be buried in the middle of nowhere? I just don’t understand it.”
I patted Murphy’s arm in sympathy but said nothing as I tried to coax Nilima to drink some juice. It was hot. Even in December, the jungle was hotter than most summer days in Oregon. We’d gone from a Himalayan winter to a tropical zone in less than twenty-four hours.
Murphy continued to talk. He seemed almost able to carry the entire conversation by himself, which was a good thing as Nilima was practically mute.
“Did you know I first met Kadam in China during World War Two? I was in the navy then, part of the Flying Tigers. We went over before America joined the war as a part of the AVG—American Volunteer Group. During the war, Kadam helped us through some tough spots. He sometimes served as an interpreter for our commander, Old Man Chennault. Kadam owned the company that supplied our aircraft, the Curtiss P-40s, and he had visited several times to ask the pilots questions so he could improve the aircraft design. Our normal translator was absent one day, and Kadam
In the dream, a young Lokesh was standing over a monk, torturing him for information.
“Tell me of the amulet, old man,” a desperate Lokesh threatened.
The monk screamed. “Please! I beg you to have mercy!”
“Mercy will be given when you tell me what I desire to hear.”
The weakened man nodded and said, “A few centuries before the birth of my teacher, there was a great war. All the powerful kingdoms of Asia gathered together to battle a demon. A goddess arose with two faces: one face was dark and beautiful and the other was bright and more glorious than the sun. She led the armies of Asia against the armies of the demon. The armies of Asia were victorious, and, as a result, the goddess blessed each kingdom with a gift.”
“What does this have to do with the amulet?” an impatient Lokesh screamed and wrenched the man’s wrist cruelly.
“Let me . . . let me explain,” the man panted. “The goddess took the amulet from her neck and broke it into five pieces. She gave one piece to each king and admonished them to keep secret its origin and to use its power to help and protect his people. They were instructed to pass it within their family to the eldest son.”
“And which kingdoms fought in this battle?”
“The five that gathered were the people of the—”
The dream suddenly ended when Ren shook me awake.
“We’re landing,” he murmured quietly.
I looked out the window and only saw dense jungle below. “Landing where?” I asked.
The plane turned and Ren pointed out of one of the windows. “There.”
The morning sun glinted in my eyes, blinding me for a moment, but then the plane banked to the right and I saw the sparkle of the river and a dirt runway below us. I knew the river eventually led to our old camp near Ren’s waterfall, but I couldn’t remember seeing the runway before.
“Where did that come from?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Kishan answered. “I know this jungle like the back of my hand and there was never a clearing there, let alone a space long enough to land a plane.”
“Hold on, everybody,” Murphy warned. “It’s going to get a little bumpy.”
He circled the jungle one more time and began his descent. The belly of the plane brushed across some tree tops as we dipped lower. When the wheels touched down, the old aircraft rumbled and bounced as if it were going to come apart, but Murphy landed us safely, and we all disembarked.
Mr. Kadam had left instructions for Ren and Kishan to dig his burial plot in the garden. They somberly carried Mr. Kadam’s shrouded body down the hill while Murphy, Nilima, and I found a shady spot to wait.
“This is the darndest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Murphy commented. “Why in the world would he want to be buried in the middle of nowhere? I just don’t understand it.”
I patted Murphy’s arm in sympathy but said nothing as I tried to coax Nilima to drink some juice. It was hot. Even in December, the jungle was hotter than most summer days in Oregon. We’d gone from a Himalayan winter to a tropical zone in less than twenty-four hours.
Murphy continued to talk. He seemed almost able to carry the entire conversation by himself, which was a good thing as Nilima was practically mute.
“Did you know I first met Kadam in China during World War Two? I was in the navy then, part of the Flying Tigers. We went over before America joined the war as a part of the AVG—American Volunteer Group. During the war, Kadam helped us through some tough spots. He sometimes served as an interpreter for our commander, Old Man Chennault. Kadam owned the company that supplied our aircraft, the Curtiss P-40s, and he had visited several times to ask the pilots questions so he could improve the aircraft design. Our normal translator was absent one day, and Kadam
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