In
a world of faith, mystery and the supernatural, two Chinese travellers seek
entrance to the legendary kingdom of Gandara to learn the secret of the Third
Eye. On their way they are joined by old diminutive sage.
Together the trio have to brave the dangers that lead to the hidden kingdom
before having to confront the mysteries of the idyllic kingdom itself.
Gandara
I stared a few years ago, a single chapter that will be revisited and probably
rewritten. Now that I have travelled through many of the most important Buddhist
and Hindu regions in the world: Tibet, India, Nepal, China and Mongolia, I
believe I have had enough contact with the cultures and landscape to write the
kind of story that I want Gandara to be; one certainly full of meaning and
mystery, and the unexpected.
I will try to begin this story after the
completion of KOTB:San.
Tantiliser:
What they had first thought
was just a distant ridgeline that spanned the horizon grew no closer in the
five days it took to travel to the end of the sparse plateau. There the ground
gave way suddenly to reveal another wide valley that stretched for dozens of
li until with only little forewarning, the crests of the ridgeline became the
peaks of a steep mountain range as the brown ground rose sharply upwards to
the clear blue sky. The three travellers, tired and dusty after long days
already of plain and massif, stared in disbelief at the new obstacle; but did
not halt their march. Their minds were still on reaching Gandara, the Hidden
Kingdom, and the secrets they would learn there. Down a thin trail they
descended until the ground flattened and became littered with small rocks that
bit into the soles of their shoes. Across the plain they passed in three days,
the naked hills looming larger and more impenetrable with each new dawn rising
until they were at the foot of the endless chain between two low peaks where
they believed there would be a pass.
What
site greeted them from the base of the mountains was none that any of them
could have imagined. From another point across the plain came a lengthless
line of simply dressed pilgrims who rode no steed or walked or ran, instead
each one of the uncountable multitude lowered their body to the ground in
prostration and held their pressed palms out in front of their head before
standing and taking a single step forward before repeating the prostration
toward the mountains. On their hands and knees were bandages or padding. All
were dirty, faces brown with sunburn and unwashed dust. The three traveller's
followed the line as it snaked its way up the mountain side, turning where
small white chortens topped with yellow peaks marked the worn trail. The
slowly moving line vanished over the lowest point between the two rearing
peaks, which looked down upon the tiny humans with ageless scrutiny.
"We
are here," said Mohmat turning to face his mounted companions. "This
is the Pilgrim's Way, the road to Gandara, which lies on the other side of
these mountains."