The Sacred Vault_ A Novel - Andy McDermott [128]
‘No women,’ Eddie added. ‘You’d have to be pretty bloody dedicated to spend your lives up here.’
‘They are,’ said Girilal, leaning on his stick. ‘The guardians come from the villages around the mountain - it is our great secret.’ Shankarpa said something in Hindi, a clear order for him to shut up, but the old man shook his head. ‘Not everybody knows, only a trusted few. We - they watch the children of their village for those worthy of the honour of protecting the Vault of Shiva. If they are willing, they are trained by the other guardians, and spend the rest of their lives here.’
‘You said we,’ Eddie noted. ‘You’re one of them?’
‘I was. No more.’
‘Why not?’ asked Nina.
‘I made a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing, but . . .’ He sighed, shaking his head sadly. ‘I hurt someone I loved, took away the thing that was most important to her. I have tried to seek forgiveness, but do not think I can ever find it. So I wander between Kedarnath and Gaurikund as a mad old man, ignored . . . or insulted.’
‘Your own penance,’ Nina realised. ‘But for what?’
Girilal turned to Shankarpa, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘For him, Dr Wilde. Shankarpa’s real name is Janardan. Janardan Mitra. He is my son.’
Night fell outside, the rumble of the storm fading. In the underground chamber, Girilal had persuaded Shankarpa that the three visitors should be allowed to live.
For the moment. The guardians’ constant looks of suspicion as they ate told them they were still only one barked order away from death.
‘Where do they get the food?’ Nina asked Girilal. ‘We saw some ground on the way up that looked as if it might once have been cultivated, but it can’t have been used for hundreds of years.’
‘The villages provide it,’ the yogi explained. ‘A few times each year, some of the guardians come to Kedarnath, dressed as pilgrims, to collect it.’
‘It’s not exactly a feast,’ said Eddie, looking at the meagre bowls of vegetables and rice. ‘What do you do if you run out of food and the weather’s too bad to get down the mountain?’
‘Lord Shiva gives us the strength we need to survive,’ rumbled Shankarpa.
‘Maybe, but I’d take a can of beans over faith any day.’
‘Eddie,’ Nina warned. The last thing they needed was to antagonise their captors. ‘Girilal, you said you hurt someone you loved. I’m guessing you meant Shankarpa’s mother.’
He nodded. ‘It was my own fault. I thought it was right to tell my wife about the Vault, and that she could be trusted to keep the secret. She could - she is a better person than me. But my mistake . . .’ He looked at Shankarpa. ‘My mistake was also telling our son. Our only child. He was young, he was headstrong, and he thought a lifetime of serving Lord Shiva as a warrior would be better than living in a poor village.’
‘And it is,’ said Shankarpa firmly. His English had already become less stiff, the mere act of speaking it unlocking old memories. ‘Would you rather I carried tourists up the mountain on my back for a few rupees?’
‘There is no shame in serving others,’ his father told him, before addressing Nina again. ‘He had made up his mind. When he was old enough, I agreed that he could join the guardians. He gave up everything to serve Shiva, and I was happy for him. But there was someone who was not.’
‘His mother,’ said Nina.
Girilal lowered his head. ‘Yes. I did not discuss it with her until the decision was already made. I thought she would feel like me, that she would be honoured to have Janardan chosen for such a great task. I was wrong.’
‘She was losing her son.’
‘Yes. And she hated me for it. I took away what was most precious to her, without even thinking. After that, she . . . she did not want to speak to me again. She left me.’ He looked up; Nina saw that his eyes were glistening with tears. ‘I hurt her more than I could have imagined. That is why I became what I am - I gave everything I owned to her. But it was not enough. Nothing I could give her could ever replace her child. I sought forgiveness