Diary of Ms Jean Hewart

27 December 1928

Bombay is wretched hot. I write from beneath my fan in the Taj Mahal Hotel and pray that the sun does not tarry in setting.

Mrs Tullis assisted us in employing a local guide, a boy named Shiv Kumar Patel. Mr Patel is a friendly sort and has been ever so helpful, although Dr Winstanley has taken a strong dislike to him simply because of the colour of his skin. We had quite a heated debate in the Hotel bar over the matter. Mrs Tullis introduced me to Mr Patel outside the hotel and I invited him to join us in the bar. Dr Winstanley objected with some violence to the arrival of a native and a heated argument ensued about human rights and the presence of the Crown in India. Mr Samuels and I were pitted against Dr Winstanley and an army friend of his, a Private Atkins. I took an instant dislike to Private Atkins and believe him to be the acme of imperial thuggery. Sadly, Dr Winstanley has decided that we should be guided by a white man so he has taken it upon himself to employ Atkins. Mr Samuels and I stuck to our agreement to employ Mr Patel and I, of course, will defer to his advice at every possible opportunity.

While Private Atkins sat in the bar quaffing his swill at Dr Winstanley’s expense, Mr Patel dashed about town buying train tickets and leading Mr Samuels to the local university. Mr Samuels uncovered a little more information about our destination. We are headed for a place called the Kali Gandaki river gorge in Mantang (Mustang is apparently a Western corruption of the name) and that Mantang is also called Lo. Mr Samuels also uncovered some equally valuable information when he found a newspaper article dated 22 September noting the arrival of Mr Quarrie and Professor Anzalone. We are not so far behind them as I feared.

We have arrived in northern India after a horrific journey from Bombay. Our trip got off to an awful start when we found our cabins had been double booked and that a number of locals were already installed in our seats. Private Atkins and Dr Winstanley acted abysmally towards the natives and the three day journey was spent in a most uncomfortable atmosphere.

Things only got worse as we drew closer to the border. Throughout the journey the train would stop inexplicably and at random, and during one of these interminable breaks a cluster of chanting locals gathered around the train. We assumed it was some local religious festival, but then - all of a sudden – things turned nasty. The crowd began to throw things at the train and our window was smashed by a stone. Private Atkins was injured by flying glass and Dr Winstanley insisted I retreat to the far side of the train. People began to climb in the broken window and the gentlemen tried to fend them off. Then someone jumped through carrying a club. Mr Samuels slashed at him using a sword hidden in his cane and suddenly there was blood everywhere. Things got even worse after that and Private Atkins and Mr Tuminardo eventually drew firearms and sent shots into the mob. We heard more shots from further down the train and the crowd dispersed quickly after that.

Armed sepoys patrolled the corridors for some hours after the incident and their presence helped calm some badly shaken nerves.

We have snuck over the border into Nepal with the assistance of a Nepalese trader named Mr Chumpo. He has led us as far as he is able but leaves us to our own devices tomorrow. It is bitterly cold here and we have had to purchase tents from the locals. My sleeping bag, which seemed so thick and voluminous in the Marseilles shop now feels as thin as a paper bag.

Mr Chumpo has told us that Drakmar is a valley of the Kali Gandaki gorge, but he refuses to go there because “ghosts” have knocked over the Buddhist idols which once protected the area. A local man in Pokhara told us that white men had gone into the gorge some time ago and that the ghosts made them disappear. Another local told us that one of the white men lived and that he is at the nearby Monastery of Te. This man sold us items he claimed another man found in the valley. They include an Italian-Nepalese dictionary, some ammunition and a diary.

The diary is a most interesting book. Mr Tuminardo has translated us for us. It was written by an Italian named Carlo Schippones and tells us much. It mentions that the groups’ guides included a man who lives here in Pokhala – a Mr Tendruk – and our own guide, Mr Chumpo! It also revealed that there was some deception going on within the Italians and that at least one of their members – a Mr Delnegro – had been tricked into travelling with them on false pretences and that Mr Quarrie used powers of the mind to mislead him.

The diary also reveals that the Italians travelled from Pokhara to Tukutcha, then to Annapura and from here searched for Drakmar. They searched long and hard for Drakmar in what seem to be shocking conditions of cold and hardship. When they found it they found human bones and a creature of great evil. Mr Schippones last entries are confused and it seems he might have killed someone. He writes that something will come now and his last lines repeat “what have I done” over and over again.