FOR THE JOURNEY TO SIKKIM Jeannie had packed their hired motorcar with warm clothes and blankets, packets of sandwiches and bottles of lemonade, along with some fruit conserves and other treats for Alexandra David-Neel, who had mentioned how weary she had become of lentils and beans. (How I long for the taste of fresh asparagus, one of her letters had lamented.)
As well, Jeannie and Sophie had each brought a silk dinner gown, along with Alex’s best muslin frock. They would be staying in Gangtok as guests of Sir Charles Bell, the British Political Officer in Sikkim, who, Jeannie said, kept a very conventional household where they would be expected to dress for dinner.
The road from Darjeeling to Gangtok, following the valley of the River Teesta, wound for most of a day through a hazy landscape of oak trees hung with ferns and orchids, and wrapped in trailing mosses. Steep banks fell away to the river, and snow-capped mountains loomed beyond.
From time to time Sophie’s stomach rose into her chest as they swerved and jounced and rattled their way along the rutted track, but Thekong, Sikkimese born, assured them that at this time of year, neither they nor the motorcar would come to any great harm. “Not like monsoon season,” he told them. “Monsoon season, whole road washes away.”
Jeannie and Thekong rode in a companionable silence; Alex, thrilled at the prospect of seeing her namesake again, took advantage of her captive audience and entertained Sophie with Alexandra stories.
“Imagine, Sophie! When she was only seventeen she hiked across the Alps all by herself and her mother had to fetch her back from Italy.”
“I’m very glad,” said Jeannie from the front seat, “that I was not Alexandra’s mother.”
“And when she came to India,” continued Alex, “she hid behind a statue in the temple of the fish-eyed goddess and watched the secret tantric rites — I’m not sure what those are, she wouldn’t tell me, but it is forbidden for anyone to see them . . . ”
“Alex, hush!” Jeannie, sounding horrified, interrupted her daughter in mid-sentence. “Wherever did you hear that?”
“Why, from Alexandra, of course.”
“Oh dear,” said Jeannie. And turning round to Sophie: “Alexandra may be my oldest and dearest friend, but I do wonder sometimes about her common sense.”
Gangtok, the Sikkimese capital, clung to a hillside, surrounded by terraced rice fields. It was a city of Buddhist shrines and temples, fluttering prayer flags, brightly painted pagoda-shaped wooden houses built on flower-covered slopes. Rising in the distance were the snowy Himalayan peaks, and to the west, towering above all, the sacred mountain Kanchenjunga.
The British Residency was an imposing white villa built in the English style with gables and bay windows. It stood in wide lawns at one end of a ridge overlooking the town. Sir Charles Bell, who welcomed them at the front door, was a tall, fair-haired, studious looking gentleman, a little humourless on first impression. He seemed to Sophie more like an Oxford don than a civil servant, and Jeannie had mentioned that he was a Tibetan scholar.
Jeannie and Sophie dined on their first evening with Sir Charles and his wife, Lady Cashie Bell. For Alex there was a light English supper with Lily, and early bed.
Lady Bell was a stately woman with a gracious if somewhat imperious manner, who seemed born to the memsahib’s role. Dinner in the dark wainscoted dining room with its solid English furniture was a formal affair, with crystal glassware, Crown Derby china, monogrammed silver, and a silent host of white-clad servants. As the mulligatawny soup was brought round, Sir Charles Bell remarked to Jeannie, “We’ve quite enjoyed the company of your friend Madame David-Neel. She’s a fascinating woman, and very knowledgeable about Buddhism. It’s a philosophy in which I myself am deeply interested, and of which I hope to make a serious study once I retire. So we had much in common, and some very entertaining conversations.”
Jeannie said, “Alexandra has been a devoted student of Buddhism, and all things oriental, as long as I’ve known her.”
“Indeed, yes. She speaks Tibetan as well as I do myself.”
“Hence,” remarked Lady Bell, “the entertaining conversations. Much of the time I had not the slightest idea what was being said.”
“However . . . ” and here Sir Charles set down his soup spoon and cleared his throat. “If I may be quite frank, Mrs. Grenville-Smith . . . ”
Jeannie smiled demurely. The look in her eyes told Sophie she knew well enough what was coming next.
“ . . . I will say this, that you would be doing a service to the British Government if you could persuade Madame David-Neel to accompany you when you return to Calcutta.”
“I suspect,” said Jeannie, “that she has been making a nuisance of herself.”
“Oh, I would not have put it quite as strongly as that. As I say, she is a charming and intelligent woman, for whom I have the greatest respect. But when she first arrived here, she was dead set on visiting Bhutan — and as you know, permission to travel in Bhutan is very rarely granted. She asked me to speak on her behalf to the Maharajah of Bhutan when I met him in Simla at the Anglo-Chinese-Tibetan conference. In fact, I did speak to the Maharajah — though she refuses to believe me. It was the Maharajah himself who declined to have her blundering about the Bhutanese monasteries — and probably opening the way for a flock of Christian missionaries to follow in her wake. And then, far from being discouraged, she applied through the French Ambassador’s office for admission to Tibet.”
With a sigh he reached for his wineglass. “You’re aware, I’m sure, that because of an agreement with the Russian government, private travellers are not permitted to enter Tibet without Russia’s consent.”
“It has always been Alexandra’s dream to visit Lhasa,” Jeannie murmured.
“And mine as well,” said Sir Charles, with a touch of acerbity. “While the Dalai Lama was in exile in Darjeeling, we became good friends, and now that he is restored to power, he has several times invited me to visit him in Lhasa. To my great disappointment, even I am not allowed to accept. Madame David-Neel should realize that in the present situation, what with war in Europe and the Chinese only recently expelled from Lhasa, such expeditions as she proposes are out of the question.”
Russia. Tibet. Expeditions to Lhasa. Sophie, tired after the day’s journey and trying not to doze over her plate, began to listen more closely. How much like a page from Kim this sounded — how like Mr. Kipling’s stories of the Great Game. But surely that belonged to an earlier time?
“Madame David Neel is not easily discouraged,” remarked Lady Bell. “I think it has something to do with being French. She is relentless in pursuit of these . . . ” she hesitated, seeking a word.
“Enthusiasms?” suggested Jeannie.
“Enthusiasms. Exactly,” said Sir Charles. “And I have to say, that with all I have on my plate at present, I find her enthusiasms a little exhausting.”