were a kind of benediction, while the remaining lines formed the actual poem, seemingly a description of the various parts of the mandala structure, but mixed with strange instructions. A queer rigmarole, with something of the flavourof a nursery rhyme. These seventeen lines were written in the cursive umay script, clearly penned with the angular nibbed bamboo peri that Thibetan calligraphers were wont to use. As I remarked at an earlier instance, Mr Holmes was unfamiliar with this script, and he now requested the Lama Yonten to read it to him. The Lama adjusted his spectacles and, bending over to peer at the scroll on the table, read the following lines in his high, sing-song voice:
Om Svastil
Reverence to thee, Buddhas of the Three Ages and Protector of all Creatures.
O, assembled Gurus and Warriors of Shambala.
Out of your great compassion show us the true path.
When wandering through the delusion of samsara guide
us on to the true path.
Facing the sacred direction
Turning always in the path of the Dharma Wheel
Circle thrice the Mountain of Fire
Twice the Adamantine Walls
Proceeding once around the Eight Cemeteries
And Once the Sacred Lotus Fence,
Stand before the Walls of the Celestial City.
Then from the Southern Gate turn to the East
Enter the inner-most palace from the Northern portals
And sit victorious on the Vajra throne. EE – TI!
'It is a lot of gobbledegook,' said I, when the Lama had finished.
'Nay, not necessarily so, Babuji,' objected the Lama Yonten. 'The occult sciences have always used inscrutable and symbolic language to safeguard secret knowledge and prevent its revelation to the profane.'
'So you think, Sir, that this has some hidden meaning?' I asked.
'Verily, though it be hidden from me.'
'And from anyone else, too, I should jolly well think,' said I, scratching my head absolutely mystified.
Sherlock Holmes absent-mindedly sipped a cup of Chinese tea – the only refreshment he had partaken of that day – and once again lit the unsavoury pipe which was the companion of his deepest meditations.
'I wonder…' said he, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. 'Perhaps there are points that have escaped your Spencerian intellect. Let us consider the problem in the light of pure reason. The common denominator in the various pieces of our puzzle -the Grand Lama's proposed retreat, the Ice Temple, the mandala painting, and this cryptic verse – is some kind of connection to Shambala. That is our point of departure.'
'A somewhat broad one, Sir,' said I doubtfully.
'Well, let us see, then, if we can narrow it. As I focus my mind upon the verse, it seems rather less impenetrable. In spite of its cryptic nature, it is not too difficult to see that what we have here is a set of instructions.'
'It is a guide to Shambala!' I cried triumphantly.
'A guide?'
'I mean it is a description of the route to that place. We have the legend that the first Grand Lama may have travelled there. Probably he recorded the route of his journey.'
'Humm. Any other reasons for thinking so?'
'Well, there are also certain words in the message which provide indications of it being some kind of travel itinerary. We have the word…umm 'Proceed' in the twelfth line. Then… let me see… aah… 'direction'… in the eighth and ninth lines. There are also the many references to 'Mountains' and 'Walls' and a 'City.''
'Good Hurree, good! But not, if I may say so, quite good enough. There are difficulties with your theory. Consider just the tenth and eleventh lines… 'Circle thrice the mountain of Fire, Twice the Adamantine Walls'… and others like it. Even if we were to assume that such places did exist, just going round and round them would not get us anywhere.'
'We'd be going around in circles,' I admitted, a trifle abashedly.
'Exactly There are just too many references to circles in this message to make it possible that it is a physical description of a route to some actual destination.'
'You are right, Mr Holmes,' said the Lama Yonten.'The message is probably symbolic. The circle, or the wheel, is the omniscient symbol of the essential principles of our faith; of cause and effect, of birth and death, indeed of the entire cycle of existence itself. Perhaps the message is nothing more than that – just a religious discourse couched in recondite metaphysical terms.'
'That really won't do, Your Reverence,' said Holmes, shaking his head. 'It hardly stands to reason that a man of Moriarty's unregenerate nature should take such trouble to steal a religious tract. No. The message definitely conceals something of great material advantage to the Professor. His own words seem to indicate that he is seeking some tremendous source of power.'
'But exactly what, Mr Holmes?' I demanded.
'There is an appalling directness about your questions, Hurree.' said Holmes, shaking his pipe at me. 'They come at me like bullets.'
'I am sorry, Sir, I did not mean…'
Holmes waved away my apologies. 'The answer to your question lies in the Ice Temple. I really do not think we can form any further conclusions without paying a visit to the place.'
'Well, Mr Holmes,' said the Lama, 'we shall be there in a week, when His Holiness goes there on his retreat. That is if the Regent doesn't have me arrested first and the visit stopped.'
'Then the sooner we get to the temple the better,' said Holmes crisply. 'Is it possible for the Grand Lama's travel plans to be advanced?'
'That would go against tradition,' protested the Lama. 'The date for His Holiness's departure has been especially chosen by the State Astrologer.'
'Well, Sir,' replied Holmes, a trifle brutally, 'you will have to choose between flying in the face of tradition or seeing the end of everything you have worked for, not least, the life of your master.'
The Lama Yonten was silent for sometime, head bowed low, his hand turning the beads of his rosary with soft regular clicks. Finally he sat up and said resignedly at Sherlock Holmes. 'You are, of course, right, Mr Holmes. When shall we leave?'
'The sooner the better. We must not forget that Moriarty may be making a trip of his own to the temple, if he has not been too affected by tonight's mishap. Do you think it would be possible for His Holiness to start tomorrow?'
'Tomorrow,' the Lama Yonten wailed. 'That is impossible.'
But of course, it wasn't.
Next day at dusk a small cavalcade of riders departed inconspicuously from the rear gate of the outer walls of the Jewel Park, by the deserted shores of the Kyichu River. Only a few water fowls (Tib. damcha) watched the passing of the line of men and horses. I rode alongside Mr Holmes, just behind the Grand Lama and the Lama Yonten. Tsering, Kintup and ten Thibetan soldiers rode ahead. Our company had been kept small on Mr Holmes's insistence, he very correctly feeling that anything larger would adversely affect our speed, and, more critically, the secrecy of our expedition.
The young Grand Lama, far from objecting to Holmes's precipitous decision, had been tremendously enthusiastic about it and had refused to pay any attention to the Chief Secretary's many doubts. The Lama Yonten, to give him his due, soon recovered from his initial worries and quickly got down to making all the necessary preparations for our expedition – which were considerable. We could not just 'rough it' as the Grand Lama himself was travelling with us, and proper tents, provisions and bedding had to be arranged. But it was all very efficiently accomplished before the appointed hour of our departure.
The Ice Temple of Shambala was about a hundred miles north of Lhassa – three days' hard riding. It was located, quite uniquely, under a huge mass of trapped glacial ice, squeezed between a deep rift in the Trans- Himalayan range. The Thibetans called this mountain chain Nyenchen-thang-lha after the ancient (preBuddhist)
