# Mirrikh, or, A Woman from Mars/Chapter 19

CHAPTER XIX.
I INHALE THE FATAL GAS.
It was the sound of many footsteps which recalled me to myself, for the shock of that broken rope proved almost too much for my already overstrained nerves. Turning I beheld the lamas of Psam-dagong approaching in solemn procession with Padma at their head, while Ah Schow, carrying my neglected grip, brought up the rear, looking as stoical and indifferent as though nothing unusual had occurred.
If his Joss wanted Ah Schow, his Joss would take him; if not he would escape even though the world were in flames.
Such was our Chinaman’s way of looking at the matter, and it was a highly comforting one—there is no doubt about that.
I pulled myself together as best I could, and advancing to meet them pointed toward the entrance to that strange incline, at the same time calling to Ah Schow to come forward and act as interpreter between Padma and myself.
But there was no excitement about the matter.
Padma seemed to view the Doctor’s act as one of simple folly. Fortunately for me I found no difficulty in talking to him through Ah Schow.
“We could not have gone by the car in any event, my son.” he said. “This affair has all been settled. We go by the way of the world of spirit. By his selfishness your friend has doubtless gone to his death, while we most surely shall be saved.”
“Is there no chance that he still lives?” I asked.
“How can I tell? I have not passed over that road for many years. Since the days of my boyhood it has been against the orders of our spiritual master, the most holy Tale Lama, that this road should be used except in such an emergency as this. I know not where the rope parted or how; but let us not discuss the matter further. What is done is done. We have now to think ourselves. Watch well and follow us in what we are about to do, and by ​Buddha's grace, not a hair of your head shall be harmed.”
“And my friend here?” I asked, waving my hand toward the altar.
He thought that I referred to Walla and replied that she should be cared for equally with myself; when I made him understand that it was Maurice, he actually smiled.
“Why need you concern yourself about him? Already his soul is separated from the material covering. We have but to send that down by the way our bodies are to go. He will never know until it pleases Buddha to send him back to the material again.”
He ceased to address me with this, and out came those infernal prayer wheels again and the grinding of a petition, of a quarter of an hour’s length began.
While this was in progress I made my last visit to the courtyard. Being in Rome I resolved to do precisely as the Romans did, but I wanted one more look at daylight—moreover I was curiously anxious to know how the water stood.
When I reached the temple I found the floor covered to the depth of half an inch.
Now the temple floor was raised about three feet above the yard level, and the platform behind the statue where the stairs began, perhaps as much more.
I waded through the icy water, and gaining the door, peered out into the courtyard.
There was absolutely no hope. The water was now pouring over the wall on all sides. It would have taken a boat to reach the big tree.
Back in the underground chamber again, I placed myself beside Maurice and waited for the clicking prayer wheels to cease, feeling a sense of calm assurance difficult to explain.
Just then Walla aroused from her lethargy, and tottering to her feet questioned me as to the situation, which I explained as well as I could.
She said but little; seeming to take it for granted that nothing could be done to change matters.
“Do they take him?” she asked after a moment.
“Yes.”
“Then I shall go too.”
“You will have to go or drown.”
She smiled sadly.
​“If I thought he would never return I should stay and drown.”
“You love him so?”
“I love him—yes. I never knew what it was to love till now. I could die for his sake. I can live and suffer if it will help to bring him back.”
“Poor child! He will have no thought of you even should he return.”
She shot toward me a glance so malignant that I was amazed. I should have carried the discussion further, but just then the prayer wheels ceased their click. Padma bent down about ten feet away from the altar, and I saw a large trap door raised.
I would have pressed forward to see what this meant, but Padma’s eyes caught my movement and he waved me back; the lamas silently formed themselves into a half circle about the altar and stood like so many statues, while the priest, putting a small paper roll into his wheel, ground the prayer to a finish, wasting five precious seconds, for it was but a question of a very short time now when the water must come pouring down the stone steps.
Presently the prayer wheel stopped whirling, and a box containing “joss sticks” was passed around.
Each lama shook out the sticks, seized the one which fell nearest the altar and carefully examined the characters printed upon it. I wondered what they were doing and beckoned Ah Schow to approach.
“Dat for las’ man,” explained our cook. “He no can go—he die.”
Suddenly a shout went up and I saw a young lama rise from the floor with face as white as death. He did not speak, however, nor did any of his companions. He had drawn the fatal character, whatever it might have been, and I must do the fellow justice and say that he submitted like a true man.
Padma now called me and pointed into the open trap. There was no car here, nothing but a square, inclined box, or shute, made of hard-baked clay, polished on the bottom and sides as smooth as glass.
“This my son,” explained the priest, Ah Schow interpreting, “was constructed ages before the lamasery was built; for know that this shrine stands upon the site of one almost as old as the world itself. It leads to the cavern, passing ​directly through that other cavern where lurks the gas. Since your friend has cut off the other road, this is our only hope. We shall inhale the gas one by one, sending the bodies through this opening. Is it your wish to accompany us, or do you fear? ”
“I fear, but I shall go,” I answered. “That is providing my friend——”
“That is already settled, my son. Explain to the sister.”
“I have explained.”
“And your servant?”
“Understands as well as I have the power to make him; but tell me father, the lama who drew the fatal lot—must he die?”
“He must, my son. Who is to put his body into the opening? He cannot do it himself after inhaling the gas.”
“Cannot your spirit friends assist?”
The priest shook his head.
“Under certain circumstances that might be done, but it needs a harmony of thought, a calmness of soul, to enable them to take on the power which we are not able to furnish under such circumstances as these.”
“One question more—the bodies in the boxes? Those planetary corpses—are they to be left behind?”
“We cannot take them. It is impossible. We have scarcely time to save ourselves.”
“Then souls from the planets can never visit this earth again?”
“Never in these bodies, my son. Psam-dagong is doomed.”
“And there is no other channel of communication?”
“None that I am aware of; none known to the followers of Buddha. I cannot answer for the rest of the world. But time presses. A beginning must be made.”
He ceased to speak, and approaching the altar opened the little door in its side and arranged the golden tube as it had been before.
“Ni-fan-lu!” he called.
Ni-fan-lu stepped forward. His face was pale, but he was entirely calm.
Padma in loud and distinct tones spoke a few hurried words, whereupon the lamas all bowed profoundly, their hands crossed upon their breasts. He then laid his own hand upon the plug and Ni-fan-lu bent down, fixed his ​mouth to the tube, and with long, deep inhalations drew in the gas.
Suddenly he straightened up—I wondered how he knew when to do it—and Padma quickly restored the plug.
With that strange sense of quiescence still upon me, I watched the face of the young lama and saw pass over it the same change of expression which I had noted upon the face of Mr. Mirrikh and Maurice. Suddenly he reeled, pressed his hand to his heart, staggered back a step or two, and sank to the floor.
Again Padma spoke.
Instantly two lamas seized Ni-fan-lu and carrying him to the open trap thrust him down, head first, into the shute.
I darted forward and saw the body disappear like a flash. I knew then what my fate was to be, and yet to save me I could not stir up the slightest feeling of fear.
“We will now send down the body of your friend,” said Padma. “By the time it has made the journey Ni-fan-lu will be ready to receive it, for I have instructed him to take on his material body instantly, and not wander away into the spirit world.”
I simply bowed assent, for I was fully prepared for this; but Walla, the instant the lamas approached the altar, gave a fearful shriek and flung herself across poor Maurice.
“Come! Come!” I exclaimed. “We cannot have this. Calm yourself! It must be done.”
But she only screamed the louder, and I was wondering what means could be taken to quiet her, for she struck at the lamas with her clenched fists, and even tried to bite one of them, when suddenly Padma, who had slipped around in front of the altar, began making passes about her head.
Poor Walla!
It was but an instant before she was in the clutches of the hypnotic spell. Her struggles ceased; she straightened up and fixed her eyes on Padma, wholly subject to his will.
“We will send her first,” said the priest. “Since she fancies she loves him let her be there to receive his body.”
He addressed a few hurried words to Walla who immediately bent down over the golden tube.
Padma was already there to attend to her. The plug was removed and the gas inhaled. In this case there was not even a momentary resistance. Walla sank to the floor and was instantly seized. They tied a cord about her skirts to ​keep them close, and without emotion I stood calmly by and saw the girl whom but yesterday I thought I loved, thrust headlong down into those unknown depths.
Positively I began to be alarmed at myself my sensibilities had become so dulled; but just as I was giving way to these feelings, it seemed to me that a hand was pressed against my forehead with feathery lightness, while a voice whispered:
“George, my boy, be brave—be calm. I am with you. Do not fear.”
Was it imagination, or was it real?
Was it all an emanation from my own mind and memory, or was it actually the hand of some bright spirit hovering near?
I do not know any better now than I knew then; but this much I do know, the voice was the voice of my mother, and the sense of her dear presence so strong that her face seemed somehow to mix itself up with the face of Walla as they took her away. I can no more explain this than I can explain Maurice's voice and Maurice’s individuality speaking through the girl’s lips. All I can say is that if Walla was a mystery in those trying hours, I was rapidly becoming a greater mystery to myself.
Now all this came to me and was gone in a minute; the next and the lamas were at the altar working over Maurice’s body.
I did not attempt to interfere; nor, though I felt deeply moved to do it, could I make any demonstration over the body. Somehow it no longer seemed as if this was Maurice. As the lamas bore it to the trap I found myself muttering: “Maurice is not here! Maurice is not here! Maurice is in Mars!” And I kept saying it over and over again, unable to check myself, until suddenly the lamas at the trap rose up and I knew that Maurice’s bodily form had followed the ones which had gone before.
I sprang to the trap furious with myself for not having been there to see it go; amazed that I could have stood aside mumbling like a parrot while they took my friend away. Padma’s hand was on my arm before I reached it, however, and his gentle voice calmed my excitement.
“No, my son do not look,” he said; “it will only alarm you and can do no good. By this time Ni-fan-lu is surely ready to receive you. Let me advise you to make the descent next. It will be better so.”
​But I hesitated and drew back.
“As you will,” said the venerable Buddhist with calm indifference; “but before you decide, look behind—I am not selfish in thus urging—look at the stairs.”
I turned and saw how wisely he had spoken. There was a tiny stream trickling over the edge of the topmost step, spattering in silvery drops upon the stone floor below.
“The water!” I exclaimed. “It has come!”
“Even so, my son! It is as you say—the water has come!”
Fancy Ah Schow standing between us, interpreting with no more show of emotion than a post! In a Chinaman we call this blind belief in fatality? Perhaps it is; but were an Englishman, a Frenchman, aye, or an American, to do the same, he would lay claim to courage with a mighty deal of clatter, no matter what his private belief regarding a future state might be.
“Spiritual father!” I cried, bestowing upon the old lama the title by which his flock invariably addressed him, “let me ask you, what must be the nature of my thoughts during the strange journey I am about to make? Would it not be better for you to go first that your assistance might be given to the wandering souls seeking their bodies at the other end of the passage? How am I to find my way?”
“My son, you have no need of my assistance,” he answered. “Nor will I leave this place until the last of my lamas has departed save the one whom Buddha has called unto himself. If death comes to me, it will be welcome. As for your other question, know that where your thoughts are there your spiritual presence must ever be. So long as the life cord is unbroken your soul must seek your material body when you will it to do so. Beware then lest you will it too soon, for I know not what breaks time may have made in the passage; should you return and inhale an over-supply of the gas all the power of your will could not preserve you from death. Then indeed would the cord be broken and you enter the realm of spirit to remain until the will of Buddha calls you to earth again.”
“But how shall I know? What sense will tell me of the proper time?”
“Why, my son, your senses remain with you—not an atom of your personality is lost. You can, if you wish, follow your body every inch of the way. There will be no such difficulties as you fear.”
​“But Walla—the girl—her senses are no longer in her control! What of her?”
“They are in mine, my son; and at the proper moment I shall restore them to her. She will safely reach her journey's end.”
“But the distance—what is it?”
“It is great. I cannot express it so that you will understand. It is many, many miles, as you would say.”
“Will she have reached the end of her journey before you enter the passage?”
“You mean before my body enters? Possibly not; but that will make no difference. My body is not myself. Once my spirit is unchained it can operate far more readily than at present. But time presses; see, the water stream grows larger. Either you must go or another—choose!”
“I will go," I replied boldly. “My determination is taken. Even though there were no danger I would still go, I cannot remain here alone.”
“Well spoken, my son. The danger, however, all lies in remaining. Come forward, bend before the tube and put your lips upon it. Fix your mind upon your body; will to remain near it and all the powers of heaven and earth cannot keep you from it, for the will of man is all-powerful, subject only to the will of the Supreme.”
The time had clearly come and I hesitated no longer.
Bending down over the golden tube I fixed my mouth upon it the instant Padma pulled out the plug.
All sense of fear seemed to have left me. As Mr. Mirrikh, Maurice and Ni-fan-lu had done before me, I drew in the fatal gas and straightened up.
The deed was done!