Prayer of the Dragon Read Online Free PDF Page B

Tibetans.”
    “You are welcome to join him,” Chodron replied in a chilly voice. “You can help each other back to the hole you slithered out of.”
    “Or else?” Shan asked, repressing his anger as he struggled to understand the strange power Chodron held over the village.
    Chodron’s thin lips curled into a smile. “Or else it will be like old times when the headman presented proof of the crime, then exacted the punishment with the blessing of our abbot. You will cure my people of this reactionary notion that saints may walk among them. You will restore my people’s confidence by giving me the proof I need to demonstrate my authority.”
    “We will not lie.” Shan stated.
    “Only affirm the truth,” Chodron replied. “Stand with your lama tomorrow morning and declare that man is a killer and all three of you can be twenty miles away by sunset. You are the ones who created our problem. You are the ones to correct it.”
    “The Tibetans I know do not gouge out eyes or throw men from cliffs.”
    “Those you know!” Chodron spat. “You are an outsider. A criminal. Do not presume to instruct us in our traditions.”
    In the silence that followed, the wind surged for a moment, fanning the flames, tossing open the back door of Chodron’s house. Shan saw a blush of color in the dim light, red with dabs of yellow. An altar? The pattern of color coalesced. Chodron had hung the flag of Beijing at the rear entry.
    Shan studied the elders for a moment. “Where are the children?” he asked abruptly.
    “Children?” Chodron shot a wary glance toward the elders. The old woman cupped her hands and stared into them. The oldest—a frail man with a white, wispy beard—cast an empty, longing look at Shan. The genpo rose and stood between Shan and the elders.
    “I have seen none between the ages of perhaps five and eighteen,” Shan continued. “Tell us where you’ve sent them.”
    “Away,” Chodron muttered.
    “Chinese school,” Lokesh said, grasping Shan’s meaning. “Where they lose their Tibetan names. Where they are forced to speak only Chinese and sing the songs of Beijing. Where they are taught the Dalai Lama is a criminal.”
    Chodron offered no denial.
    “How many times have you gone to school, Chodron?” Shan asked. At schools for municipal leaders, the curriculum was established by senior Party members. Chodron spoke and dressed like a farmer but at his temple the lamas were Party bosses.
    “Who are you?” Chodron snarled. “Why were you in prison?”
    Shan ignored his question. “What bargains have you made in order to keep Drango the way it is?”
    Lokesh extracted a cone of incense from a pocket and dropped it into the embers at the edge of the fire. The man with the white beard stared at the thin plume of smoke, absently extending his fingers into it.
    Chodron’s countenance grew rigid. “You shall give the village the affirmation it needs,” he declared. “The headman always carried out severe punishments with a lama at his side. Your lama will stand with me when the sentence is executed, to give me his blessing. Meanwhile, we keep your lama. If he does not restore order by joining me at the appointed time, then I will speak to Public Security about outlaws in robes. Our herders now know where you hide.”
    The gray-haired woman set her bowl down and turned her face away.
    Chodron added as he took a step toward his house, “But if the deities are truly on your side, they will take the killer into their embrace and never let him wake.”
    “So the way he proves his innocence,” Shan said, “is by dying?”
    Chodron rejoined in a mocking tone, “Death is but a reward to the virtuous, isn’t that what you teach? But if he awakes . . . We will deal with him after the harvest. Before our festival. You have seven days.”
    “Please understand,” came a voice as dry as straw. The gray-haired woman finally spoke. “Look at our village. We live on a diet of promises and fear. Chodron has