JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi by Daniel Linden (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

carry the single scariest fighting knife I have ever seen and maybe the deadliest in any army anywhere. They are from Nepal, here, and membership is the most sought after thing a young man can do. Or rather to attempt membership, that is. Every year there are competitions all over the country for the right to merely try out for the few open positions in the regiment.” I kept looking through the window.

“They’re the guys who scared the pants off the Argentineans when they landed during the Falklands war, right?” Curtis said. “They landed on the beach and the dug-in Argentinean Army, who by-the-way said that they were going to defend the island to the death, saw that the British had sent the Ghurka regiment and they raised the white flag. They didn’t want anything to do with fighting the Ghurkas.

“The legends go back for hundreds of years. The way I understand it, when the British first encountered the Ghurkas it was during a battle, probably one of the local regions that had to be overcome to unify India. The battle was so fierce and the tenacity of the Ghurka soldier so single minded that the British were defeated. But then a really weird thing happened.

“The Ghurkas were so impressed with the tactics that the British officers used in the battle that after the surrender, they asked to speak with the commanding officers. They told them how impressed they were and then asked the British to be their officers!” I shook my head. “Later, the British employed as many as five Ghurka regiments at any given time, but if I am not mistaken it has been reduced to only one. I am probably wrong, but I believe that Prince Charles himself actually once commanded the Ghurka regiment. They usually call on them when something is particularly hairy. A platoon of Ghurkas once massacred around fifteen hundred unarmed Indian men, women, and children in Gandhi’s uprising.”

“God, why?” Christian asked.

“Because they were ordered to,” I said. “The general who ordered the shooting was relieved of command, but the Ghurkas were never reprimanded. The British understand that if they order these men to do something, they follow orders and will fight to the death. You need to be very careful where you point a deadly weapon, but once you do, you can’t blame the weapon if it kills. You can only blame the person pointing the weapon.”

Curtis nodded and the others joined in. We headed back toward the hotel and suddenly I was tired as I could be. Jet lag and crossed time zones were catching up with me and I knew I needed to eat, drink a beer, and then go to bed. I also knew that adrenalin and curiosity would keep my companions going until the bars closed.

“Guys, I’m heading back to the hotel. Just remember that you are staying at the Kathmandu Guest House and if worse comes to worse, get in a cab and they’ll bring you back. There are a couple good drinking places where climbers and trekkers hang out right down this street and there are restaurants everywhere. Be careful what you eat and drink, but you have to try what you have to try and I would never suggest you not taste this wonderful and strange country to the fullest. I will see you all for breakfast tomorrow in the courtyard. We can go out to Kitipur. See you then.”

I walked off without looking back so that they would not feel the need to accompany me. I was really tired. I had a couple things I wanted to do and did not want the guys with me during negotiations. I think it was the first time I lied to them, but maybe not. What the hell.

***

The next morning we met in the courtyard over tea (good), coffee (bad), and a pretty good granola, eggs and a very nice breakfast soup.

I was very sad, still tired, and still not adjusted to the upside down time being twelve hours distant from home, but curiosity and excitement are great stimulants and I was ready to go exploring.

The night before had not been as late as it was trying. Bad news and changed plans needed to be addressed and it takes time here. Patience does not come easy to me and it is really a tribute to many years of practice that I have been able to stifle my normal desire to crash ahead full speed and replace it with a calm I rarely feel, but know I must display. I had returned to the hotel and then arranged for a taxi to take me to see an old friend. When I arrived at his home, knocked on the door and asked for him the old woman who had answered closed and bolted the door in my face.

After a few moments I knocked again, more for the reason that I did not have a way back to the hotel and needed to have the family arrange a taxi for me than for any desire to find out what I might have done to offend them. This time my friend’s uncle answered the door and his greeting was more in line with my expectations. He opened the door wide for me to enter and greeted me with the traditional “Namaste”. It means, roughly, ‘I salute the divine within you’. I placed my hands together in front of my chest and returned the greeting, then shook his hand. He was very grave and I understood that something was badly wrong.

“Where is Djorje?” I asked, deferentially.

“Djorje is dead,” he told me.

I felt my eyes fill and quickly turned away. His uncle found something interesting to look at in the small mandala on the wall of the foyer. After a moment he said, “I am sorry.”

“I am, too. How?” I asked.

“A helicopter crash up at Sagarmatha, Everest base camp. It could not get to