The Case of the Golden Buddha

The old Ford Fairlane crept up the winding mountain road toward the Drakpa Monastery nestled in the Nyenchen Tanglha Mountains northwest of Lhasa. Though the sun was up, the fog that had engulfed the forest had yet to burn off. As a result, visibility was poor. Despite the cold dampness of the morning, the thin, frail monk hunched over the wheel was sweating as he tried to safely negotiate the treacherous mountain curves. He fought the desire to lie down and sleep, a condition that enveloped him more often nowadays. He was only in his seventies, but his mission was direly important to the Drakpa religious order and he had to complete it in spite of his weariness. A jewel-encrusted, mahogany box nestled against the driver. In it was the most important icon to his sect. Whoever possessed the statuette inside was believed to be chosen by Buddha to be the Exalted Lama, ruler over their order, and eventually over all of Tibet. The driver knew full well that he was not the Chosen One. He was content to be a courier tasked with delivering the artifact to the senior monk, believed to be the Chosen One. He could not be anointed and properly installed on the Exalted Throne until the statuette was present, its normal resting place was known only to two monks. The driver of the old Ford was one of them. The roadway was steep in places and the old car coughed and wheezed, as tired as its driver. The Exalted Lama will have to authorize us to buy a new vehicle. This one is on its last legs. Around a sharp bend lay a tree, fallen across the road. This happened often when spring storms blew quickly into the mountains. Many of the trees were ancient relics of the past, older than the old monk himself; and were no match for the fierce winds. He stopped the vehicle to see if he could move the large tree. He wasn’t strong physically, as his responsibilities to the order were mainly to protect the statuette and tend the vegetable gardens and fruit trees, their main source of food. It wasn’t a lifestyle that required much physical exercise. The old man struggled with the tree, sweating more now despite the chill of the fog. He could only manage to move the heavy barrier a few inches at a time, but he worked doggedly trying to jockey the obstacle just enough to let his car pass by. The approach of two men from behind went unnoticed by the old man. A sound behind him sent a momentary thrill of hope coursing through him. Help was here! As he turned to look at his savior, a muscular, hairy arm pinned the elder man’s arms at his side. The monk felt the prick of the hypodermic needle and the slight warmth of a liquid entering his arm. Then the strong arm released its grip. The monk hesitated a moment and tried to steady himself. He took two wobbly steps toward the car before crumpling to the pavement. A feeling of calm mixed with dread swept over him as a curtain of sleep overtook him. In his last waking moment, he watched in horror, unable to move, as a man removed the precious box from the car and walked away into the woods. I have failed. How will the Exalted One ever be able to take the throne now?