5. THE DIMENSION OF SPACE

The story is to be continued. The next chapter is work in progress.

4. CELL

The monk was recovering quickly and by the time the dark moon appeared in the sky pink scars were already forming in places where the bear had dragged its sickle-like claws. What helped with healing was Atisha´s youth, Savitri’s healing ointments and - maybe most importantly – the unending attention he was getting from both girls. As his wounds were healing, the color of Savitri´s saris was changing. From calm and dark blue to yellow - shining and sunny.

Atisha seemed to enjoy the company of both girls but it so happened that it was he and Savitri who spent most of their time together. Even when she was away he still felt her presence – as if she were still sitting by his bed on a small mat — like she used to during the first two days. And her fragrance - it filled his cell - faint during the day and strong at night and this time it was not a product of his imagination. Savitri was always wearing in her hair a small garland of white jasmine flowers and every evening before leaving she put it on his bed. All night long he was drifting on a cloud of dazzling white fragrance.

In the evenings the monk started to go out of his cell. He did not go far - just made a few steps and then sat down by the wall to watch the sunset. Sometimes he thought that this mystical and eternal performance was enacted just for him: he had never seen anybody else watching it. Savitri was the first person who had ever joined him.

As they were sitting there in silence the hot air of the day was cooling off, small ants were running busily on the ground trying to finish their daily chores before the departing Sun put an end to their daily frenzy.

One evening Atisha asked her: - my parents died... and I found a new family in my monastery. And you... how did it happen that you live in the temple? How did you become a temple dancer?

Savitri glanced at him with doubt. This story was buried in her past and in all these years she never went back to it. She slightly lifted her head to look at the huge red-orange disc - at this very moment it was inserting itself neatly into a narrow slot that stretched behind the horizon and in front of the sky; there it would stay till the next dawn.

But there was another dawn, a long time ago.

She took her eyes away from the setting sun, looked into the monk´s eyes and said: - Here is how. Listen. And you will see it.

She breathed in deeply.

The light of the day has just started to mingle with the darkness of the night, dissolving it bit by bit into a milky white dawn, promising a bright and hot day. Turning round I see that the priestess walks down temple steps so I run up to her to touch her foot for blessing.

She looks the same as yesterday: her shining hair is black, her silk sari is white; the skin of her bare arms and waist is cinnamon. But today she is smiling – and I smile back, too.

She takes me in with her calm and gentle eyes and like other people, cannot help saying: -  But look, your skin is so white…

I look at my arm with sudden interest but it is not really so white. Whiter, of course, then my sisters’ but then everybody in our family is dark skinned,  except me . Even my parents are. My mother said that our grand grand parents came from the North - this is where our Dravidian roots are. Even our Great Mother whom we worship, Kali, came with us from these faraway places. And her skin is so dark that it even looks dark blue.

I came to this temple yesterday. My parents brought me here. But why?.. Because I am so different from my sisters?.. but then – if I look different from them and even different from our Devi – why bring me here at all? That I did not understand. Then I think about another possible reason. Once I heard how my dad said with a deep sigh to my mom: ”no sons... but one more daughter is born...  more and more dowries... so that our daughters could get married…”

But later I learned that none of my guesses was correct. The real reason was different.

The true reason was an astrologer. One day my parents consulted a temple astrologer in our town – and what he told them completely changed my life. The astrologer prepared a chart of my planets and saw a misfortune coming my way. So he took a crystal ball and looked into it – long and hard.

Finally he said that this white girl – that was me – would not bring good luck to her husband. “The man who will want to marry her – announced the astrologer - will love her so much that it will bring ruin upon him”.

And that was it. You know that before making any big decision we go to the temple of our kula-devata – and we also go to the astrologer.

So... what could my parents do? Next year they consulted the temple astrologer again and after that brought me here. To serve our Devi. 

The road to this temple was hot and dusty. And very long. It first took us out of our noisy and busy town, then led us through green fields and finally brought us here where it ended abruptly at the gate of this ashram. Never before had I been so far from home... Never before had I seen a rock temple like this – so beautiful and so strange.

To announce our arrival to the Devi we all in turn rang the brass bell - my father had to raise me as it was hanging high under the entrance arch. After that we stood there for a while listening how its deep sounds added to the chanting coming from the bhajan hall.

We passed under the arch and crossed the yard – it was paved with stones – they were so hot that our feet were burning, went up the steps and entered the temple. It was like entering a different world. It was filled with the dense scent of burning incense and with the sounds of chanted bhajans – as they were hitting stone walls of the temple more and more sounds were born and they were mingling with the spicy aroma of curling incense smoke.

Several big and round clay vessels were filled with precious castor oil and wickers in them were burning with even flame in front of Devi.

When we came closer to her shrine our bodies threw shadows on the walls and I thought: when we go out - are they doomed to stay there forever in the darkness of the temple? Or could they fly free one day into the high blue sky?

Then I looked at my mom. I still remember her eyes… tears made them so big. They glistened in the darkness of the temple and the flame of a wicker reflected in them like an imprisoned shining snake.

The way back home for my parents would be even longer then today´s road to the temple. The door between us closed and there was no way back.

I stayed in the temple with the priestess.

- From now on you will be serving Devi - she says solemnly. - You will become a devadasi, a temple dancer. Have you seen them? – and she points with her hand at statues chiseled in the stone wall not far from entrance columns.

The front half of their bodies has been freed by the sculptor from the rock - now they are stepping forward out of the eternity into our world. But they will be always dancing locked in solid rock monolith – eternity will hold on to them, not let go of their beauty and their celestial dance.

I silently nod and look at them with admiration. Their celestial bodies are as flexible as branches growing on a young tree - apsaras stopped in breath taking postures. I will never dance like them. How can I? I am mortal and they are divine.

The priestess walked me past them, past the shrine and then along a dark and narrow corridor cut deep in the cave and we entered a cell – it was tiny and I was surprised that so many shadows could fit into it; a dot of light flickering in a clay pot had no power to dispel them.

- This is where you will stay tonight – the priestess said calmly, almost indifferently. – till the dawn starts.

The cell is not only dark – after the hot sunny day I feel cold and frightened. I know that I am a grow up girl but still I feel like crying. How could they leave me here... But the priestess holds me by the shoulder with one hand and then puts another on the top of my head. What is she going to do? say something? these useless words? How can they help me?

But she is silent and even does not look at me. Then heat rushes down from the crown of my head... to my neck and chest, into the belly, between my legs, then down to the toes – and the buzzing warmth fills my whole body and then like tiny bubbles of air rising through the water, it goes up - to the top of my head. Suddenly the cell becomes lighter and all the creeping shadows are gone.

I raise my eyes and look into hers… what is she doing… but her eyes only reflect back the shimmering flame of the clay pot that is standing on the floor; they do not give away anything. Then without another word she removes her hands, turns abruptly and disappears in the darkness of the temple, leaving me alone. But before she stepped out of the cell and completely dissolved in the shadows she said something. I did not understand her quite well but I think I remember it correctly. She said: “Straight line is the longest. The longest path is the shortest.” – and then she was gone.

Soon a servant brought me a fresh chapati and a brown clay bowl filled with warm white rice. For a while I was holding it in my both hands. I thought about today´s trip. It started right at the gate of our house and ended with the sound of the temple bell. On this road I lost my parents and my home... and my place in the familiar world. But strange as it might seem that already sounded like a story of a distant past. Instead I was so hungry… hungry as if I had been starving for days.

Very soon I put a bowl on the floor – it was empty, not a single grain of rice was left inside. Then it became dark and cold.

A melody of distant chanting is reaching my ears again. It has not stopped for a minute since I entered the temple and that seems to be a long time ago: - Ooom kriiiing, Kali kayiii namaaah… I bow down to you, Kali…

They are praising the Devi who abides in all beings in the form of intelligence… Salutations to Her, Salutations to Her, Salutations again and again…

The chanting is monotonous; some parts of it are repeated over and over, again and again. Listening to them I close my eyes. Eyes open or eyes closed – it really does not make any difference because it is dark in the cell either way.

And then I see Her.

She suddenly appears in front of me out of the impenetrable darkness. Kali... She looks the same as on the picture that we kept on our home altar. Though not big, this picture always scared me a lot.

Its two main colors are red and black. Black - for Kali and red…. red, for the blood pouring out of her mouth… and for the blood dripping from her shining sword... but what scares me even more then this crimson blood is a white garland hanging around her neck. The garland is long and it goes almost to her knees... but no... it is not usual praying beads. She is wearing a mala made of white polished human skulls.

I always wondered about her mala: whose heads are these? Whose heads does she usually cut off?

I must say that this question tortured me a lot but I never dared to ask my mom: what if… if she could cut my head, too?..

In the darkness of the cell these sculls of Her mala are staring at me with their non-existing eyes and then one of them suddenly grins with its empty socket. When it did so I gasped with fear and forgot to breathe out... and my eyes darted up, from her mala to her hands. I wish I had not done that... what I saw there was even worse then looking at white skulls of her mala: one of her four hands was holding a head by its long hair. Just head... She had severed it with her sword just seconds ago – I knew that because warm blood was still dripping from the cut neck.

I get really frightened, I do not want to see anything – nothing at all! But how can I separate myself from what I see if my eyes are already closed?

And then... then I hear her roaring laughter - it resounds in the endless sky above me and after that it enters my head. I close my ears with the palms and, of course, it does not help.

So I quickly look down – where Shiva is. Divinely beautiful Shiva is lying calmly under Kali´s feet. I look at him without any fear - but instead with endless surprise. How can he be lying there as if in yoga nidra... so peaceful and so detached while ferocious Kali is stepping on him…

Their world is the world I know nothing about.

But I do know that I will spend my whole life here, in the temple, serving Her... And I know another thing: what the biggest virtue is. It is obedience to my parents.

Soon Kali´s laughter turned into silence and chanting from the bhajan hall returned to me one more time. These bhajans are familiar and soothing and I join in their distant melody from my cell – at first quietly, then louder. Chanting makes me feel calmer and what I like best of all – warmer. And I keep chanting. The sounds vibrate inside my chest, then they rise to the throat, then higher into some place inside my head and there sounds - like Kali´s laughter – exhaust themselves into silence.

And then suddenly I fell asleep…

…and now I am standing in the yard and the priestess is telling me that my whole life will change. Of course, it will. I know that – I was the eldest of my sisters! I only do not know yet how…

Yesterday I did not expect anything good to happen to me but now I am watching the break of day. And waiting for Surya, the Sun, to rise above the horizon.

3. HOME

This is what Atisha told Savitri.

His father belonged to the Kshatriya caste, the caste of warriors, and he was killed in one of endless wars that two neighbouring rajas were waging against each other over some rich town located in the frontier area – the boy never learned either the rajas’ names or the name of the town to whom he had lost his father. And his mom... she died in child birth shortly after his father had been killed. With both parents gone and no close relatives to take care of him he became an orphan. Akash – that was his birth name – wandered for many moons along dusty and hot roads - they took him to towns, big and small, and to villages, rich and poor - there he was asking for alms. Until one day this road brought him to a Buddhist monastery. 

There he found a refuge and it became his home; one of the elder monks became his Teacher - he was all the wisdom and compassion that little Akash could only imagine. A cloud of loving kindness was glowing around his precious Teacher - this is how he was calling the old monk who was taking care of him. But the old monk was more then just a teacher to Akash – he was his father, his mother, and his whole world.

So, with a newly found home and a new family - a new life started for Akash. He was still a little boy but during his short life he had already seen how fast and unpredictably the direction of one´s life could change when potential aspects of one´s  existence were materialised and tuenred into a reality. On this winding road Akash had already been a happy child – and a lonely child – and now a devoted child - and he thanked his stars for having not abandoned him. 

 

A day came when the Teacher shaved the boy´s head and gave him a new name. This is how Akash became Atisha and a Buddhist monk.

Who knows why the Teacher had chosen this name for Akash... maybe he thought of pandit Atisha, the learned man, or maybe because of the birthplace of this learned man. This place was called Vajrayogini and the Teacher was possibly a clairvoyant - at least that was the opinion held by other monks - and he thought that this  place might somehow be important for Akash.

Akash liked his new name – because he received it from his Teacher. Besides he thought it was not very different from his birth name - and because it started with the same sound, so it was also approved by his stars. And finally he thought that since he had a second home and a second family it was quite natural to be also given a second name. However these thoughts passed through his mind only once – when he  received his new name – and never revisited him again.

 Since then the monastery became all his life - and in the meanwhile Atisha grew up, turning into a tall and strong monk.

The monks of this small monastery followed the Diamond path – it was their vehicle to liberation and to enlightenment. The lineage of Atisha´s Teacher went back to one of Buddha´s first disciples - this was what the boy heard once from another monk. In an unbroken tradition one generation of Teachers after another was passing the eternal and unchanging truth of the secret Tantric Teaching to their initiated disciples, younger monks.

As keepers of the ancient  knowledge monks exchanged their manuscripts with other Buddhist monasteries located in different parts of Bharat, India. Most of the learned monks were old, so younger and stronger monks carried their messages from one monastery to another. This time Atisha´s Teacher asked him to memorize the Treasure transmission; Atisha would travel to Ellora - it was a Buddhist cave monastery located in a faraway part of Bharat where the sun was setting. There he would put to paper his teacher’s transmission and respectfully hand it over to the Ellora abbot.

All the young monks in the monastery could easily memorize pages after pages of Buddhist texts - word by word - but Atisha was probably the best. Regular debates between the monks were part of their training; they were often held in the monastery yard under green branches of the banyan tree. When it was Atisha´s turn to debate he cited with ease and interpreted with accuracy the sacred scriptures - he never made any mistakes and most of the times he could prove his argument in the debate. This was how the Teacher had chosen Atisha to travel to Ellora.

Atisha had never travelled before, at least not that far. He knew the trip would be lonely and dangerous and that Ellora monastery was many full moons away. But it was such an honor for him to fulfill the errand and the wish of his precious Teacher. So one early dawn he left the monastery – and that was two full moons ago.

Two nights ago the moon was full again and as Atisha woke up he watched for a while how the silvery night started to hesitantly dissolve its maddening dark magic; soon it would give way to the crystal light of the emerging morning sky. 

But he reminded himself that there was no time to waste. He wanted to get to the nearest village before the real heat of the day started and ask there for some food. He had not passed any villages for the last two days and though he was used to long periods of fasting he started to lose force. Worse still, he was running out of water.

He got up, wrapped tightly the yellow robe around his body and started walking along a narrow path that was winding through the forest. Under his bare feet it felt cool and slightly wet with the night dew. He thought with relief that the most dangerous part of the night was over and hoped that maybe a village was not too far away…there he would get  some water and food...

And may be he was right and there was a village nearby – but he never got there.

He kept walking along the path – even though it was still dark he could see it as it was marked with small white pebbles on both sides. Suddenly he shuddered as if touched by somebody’s invisible presence - immediately from the corner of his eye he noticed something... it felt like a glimpse of a shadow - to the left and behind him... then he heard how a dry branch was snapped. The night was still dark – but this shadow was even darker; and this patch of darkness was moving … not just moving – it was following him!

He quickly turned round and to his horror he saw how big this shadow was… really big…and then, when all these pieces of what he had seen unmistakably fell into their places, he realized that it was not a shadow... no... it was a bear, a brown bear. Big and heavy but also gracious and fast. Atisha realized that it was too late to run or to hide.

Suddenly a story flashed in his mind. He heard it once from a pilgrim who stayed one night at the monastery. That was a story about a bear attacking a man – and the most amazing part of the story was that the man lived to tell his story of this deadly encounter to others.

With his back to the bear again, the monk stopped turning into a frozen motion, into an unmanifested action - very much like the statue of Vajrasattva in his temple: intent, full of life but bound into an extended moment of stillness. 

Though he might have looked like this statue from the outside, inside him everything was quite the opposite. He felt how this mysterious ball of light sprang again into existence - right behind his navel – and this time it was shining brighter then dozens of full moons. That happened to him before, during his meditations - only two or three times, but after that for hours he felt inside him the presence of the warm and glowing light. 

But this time the ball of light was different. It was not  just glowing mildly - it was pulsating with such an incredible force, beating inside his body that it was painful for Atisha to bear it. The imprisoned ball of light was looking for an immediate escape and still the monk had to wait for the bear to come closer… and still a bit closer… and rise on its hind paws… and to breathe in – only then the armless man would deal a blow with his sharp pointed elbow to the fierce animal.

Everything was happening so fast – but Atisha felt the world around him had slowed down as if trying to stand still. Finally he heard the sound of the sucked in air – now was the time! – and he plunged his elbow into the place where he thought the bear’s heart was. As he did that the ball of light inside him exploded into a fierce shriek and a ferocious blow.

Atisha jumped aside as quickly as he could - but still not fast enough - he heard some shallow sound. A second later he realized that it came from his robe and from the skin on his chest: they were effortlessly slashed by the bear´s long and crooked claws. Both fell. Both were injured. The monk’s blow turned out to be lethal and the bear’s heart was torn. But the monk himself could hardly move. 

Overcoming sudden dizziness and pain he slightly raised his head from the ground, glanced at the Sun: its edge had finally appeared over the horizon. Then Atisha gathered all his remaining strength and started crawling along the red dirt path - it was still wet with fresh night dew. Now it was also dark red with the blood coming from his ripped chest. 

He saw that the night was finally gone and the light of the day had set in. Then the darkness of the night suddenly engulfed him again...

- ... and this is where the servant found me - said the monk to Savitri.

She tried not think what a bear with such claws… no, not claws…sickles... real sickles... might have done to Atisha... no, to Akash... she called him by his birth name... at the same time she could not imagine how an armless monk could have killed such a huge and ferocious animal. But the servant found the dead sloth bear not very far from the place where he had found the unconscious monk – what other proof of this incredible story was needed to everybody in the ashram? 

As to the servant – the sight of the bear killed by an armless man filled him with awe, boundless respect and admiration for the young monk. Later, every time that he entered the cell where the monk was recovering from the wounds the servant diligently bent to the monk’s feet and touched them to take blessing. He wished he himself were half that brave and hoped that this might help.

What the servant did not know again was that the power possessed by the monk  had nothing to do with courage. This power was just the projection of his disciplined and well trained mind. And that there was nothing beyond it. Only the white light of emptiness. 

Sunyata.

2. YOUR NAME

Zaira came early, before the morning choir of birds started to praise luminous rays of thе rising Surya. Shе stood on thе porch and lookеd insidе thе cеll.

- Alivе! But bеarly... and still unconscious.

The long night seemed to have exhausted thе monk. He looked thinnеr and paler than on thе prеvious day but his breath was deeper and slower. A good sign.

Zaira rolled out a thin straw mat by the monk's low bed and sat there - silently, only her silver ankle bracelets jingled slightly evеry timе she moved. First she looked at the monk, thеn hеr еyеs driftеd to the brown earthern floor, then Zaira closеd her eyes and prayed to Kali, her ishta devata, her fiеrcе protector.

- Om... Klim Kalikayei Namaha... - thе girl was chanting in a slightly audible voice: - Kali-ma, please... save his life. Plеasе. Om... Klim...

She looked up at the white ceiling as if hoping to find there a sign that her wish would be granted - but did not find thеrе any dеfinitе answеr.

Hеаt of the day, black buzzing flies, dееp wounds and sweat– all that was not good for thе healing. In this climate even a small wound can create a big problem. But her ashram was famous for its miraculous curing medicines. They were prepared from herbs, stones and sometimes even from burned pearls. People from nearby and far away villages and towns often came to the ashram whеn thеy got sick.

Zaira was learning how to usе plants and hеrbs for hеaling, how to prepare out of thеm ointmеnts and potions. Now was the time to put hеr nеw knowledge to practice. She lеft thе monk and went to a small room with а low ceiling where all kinds of herbs and oils were storеd. There she mixed a sharp smelling ointment for the wounds, took some neem roots and brewed a small jar of dark potion. It tasted bitter but it worked miracles for temple patients. Good. Now shе would wait for thе monk to opеn his еyеs.

The monk was still delirious; faint whisper came from his lips – just some broken words. She movеd closer to thе bеd to hear him better. Vajra… sattva…

- vajra?.. what does he mean?.. Vajra is a diamond, I know that…- thought Zaira - but what diamond is he talking about?

Shе lookеd at hеr diamond ring, a gift from the raja. No, of coursе not that onе. She could not understand thе monk – instead she took his hand into hers. It was hot and dry.

Once she got sick – when she still lived with her parents at homе. Her dad sat by her bed for many, many hours and hеld her hand. Aftеr that Zaira firmly believed that thе loving touch can protect from any danger and can cure any disease, be it of body or mind. So she hеld thе monk's hand.

Zaira was sitting motionlеss. The air was hot, quiet and still. One long hour was drifting into another, adding to the heat and solitude of thе cell. After a while Zaira was balancing on the brink of dream and reality.

She did not know how much time had passed – when suddеnly something pulled her sharply out of this sweet and sticky semioblivion.

A tight wave of fresh air was slowly rolling down her body - from the top of her head to the ankles. She opened her eyes: thе monk was staring at her. And probably had been staring for some time - this wave of fresh air was coming from his еyеs. In surpisе Zaira's eyes opened even wider as she returned his glance. Immediately she felt embarrassed and quickly looked down, to the brown еarthеrn floor. But that territory had already been thoroughly explored and it did not promise anything new, previously undiscovered, so she looked up into his face again. Then, completely embarrassed, she looked away, and suddеnly rеalizing that shе was still holding his hand shе let it go.

Still Zaira was curious: it was not every day that wounded monks were brought into the ashram.

- What is your name? Where are from? – Zaira asked him quietly still not looking at him.

At first he did not answеr. May bе hе did not hеar mе? Shе waitеd.

- Akash... - he said finally.

Akash… Akash is the sky. Akash is thе Space. Without bеginning – without end. Akash.

- What is yours? – thе monk's voicе was surprisingly calm. Not just calm – it was deep and vast as the sky itself.

- Zaira...

Аnd he slowly repeated her name dividing it in parts to see how each part possesed different vibration and color: Za – i – ra…

Zaira and Akash. Such was their first conversation. So short. Thеy just еxchangd thеir namеs – nothing else was said. But somеtimеs so many things can be expressed with just few words.

Akash closed his eyes – even so he could see her clearly, shе was thеrе, right in front of his closed eyes. Onе may think that this space is limited but to Akash it appeared as spacious and endless as the mind itself. Chidakasha was thе namе for this spacе.

Long hours of practicе and meditation produced in him a well trained mind, hе could еasily visualizе his yidam in this spacе bеhind his closеd еyеs. And not just yidam. Now, еven though he looked at Zaira briefly, her image with all the smallest details was firmly imprinted onto his mind.

Glistening thick hair with a long garland of white jasmine... so fragrant. Heavy golden earrings... streaming down the neck. A sparkling diamond in the left nostril. Blue sari... it leaves open a sharp curve of the narrow waist.

Yes. That was her.

This space in front of his eyes was endless. Sometimes Akash thought that it was not only endless but it was also timeless. It storеd so many mеmoriеs though to somе of thеm hе still did not havе accеss. But Zaira... now he could go back to hеr image any time.

He opened his eyes just a little so that she would not notice. Lookеd at her through his lashes and checkеd if his vision was accuratе. Yes, that Zaira who as sitting by his bеd looked exactly the same as thе one who appеarеd in chidakasha.

Zaira also glanced furtively at Akash but her mind was occupied with practical thoughts. Maybe now he will eat something?

Silently she got up from the straw mat and went out of the cell to pluck a yellow mango – it conveniently grew right behind the ashram walls; then she went to the kitchen. Took a bowl of soft white rice, put into it her favourite dhal. This is his food. And this is his mеdicinе - neem potion and brown ointment. What еlsе? Ah... hе nееds somе watеr, of coursе.

Akash ate a little. Then Zaira cleansed his wounds and put ointment on them.

In the evening he was ready for more food - he was feeling better. And next morning he felt strong enough to tell Zaira what had happened to him. About thе sharp cry of a man, about thе dееp roar of an animal.

1.THROUGH THE NIGHT

1.THROUGH THE NIGHT       

I will tell you a story that started during the auspicious month of Kartika one thousand years ago in the South of India. But in reality this story is anadi. It has no beginning. It has no end. As to me, the narrator, I am only a keeper of this story. And as its keeper – from time to time i become the story itself. I, a tiny reflection of the infinite existence.

At early dawn servants were woken up by a fierce and menacing roar of an animal. Dense green forest started not far from the temple walls and though lots of wild animals found their abode in the forest, they never bothered the inhabitants of the ashram. After a short moment of dead silence a sharp cry was heard – a cry of a man. The priestess went out of her cell and told one of the servants who was standing in the yard to go out immediately and see what had happened. Maybe somebody was in trouble and needed help.

The middle aged servant sighed deeply, rolled his eyes up and then down and without any enthusiasm walked to the ashram gate, crossing the temple yard as slowly as he could. Apprehensively opening the gate he looked to the left and then to the right.

Outside the temple gate, a narrow earthen road first ran straight, thеn it turned to the right and after that it was lost out of sight. To his relief  the road looked empty. With a subdued sigh of both relief and fear the servant closed the gate behind him and started walking to the right. After a while the road made a sharp turn. Cautiously he passed this turn and then suddenly stopped as he almost bumped into a man. 

The young man was lying on the brownish-red road and probably he even did not realize that somebody had approached him. The servant again looked around and again saw nobody, so his attention returned to the man who was lying on the road .

First he noted that the man was barefoot; then he saw his broad and strong shoulders, then the smooth skin on his broad cheekbones. Somehow the servant managed to avoid looking at the man’s chest. The man was young – or better to say he was not a child any more but probably this transition from childhood to manhood happened not a long time ago. His dark body was covered by a yellow robe or to be more exact – covered by what remained of that robe. Its upper part that used to cover the man’s chest was torn into pieces. And it was no longer yellow – now it was crimson with fresh dripping blood.

Not taking his eyes from the lying man the bewildered servant muttered to himself:

  - A monk… a buddhist monk….

Once he  saw a man wearing such a robe. It was years ago, when he himself was just a young boy. That monk spent three nights in the temple of Kali. The servant – a little boy at that time - slept on the straw mat in the yard, not far from the temple and through his sleep he heard melodious sounds of a brass bell that were coming from the temple. That was the reason why he still remembered that monk – it was because of that bell. The bell produced sounds that  were gentle but full of power. He still remembered how its sounds floated through the motionless air and how they made him feel: light and happy and endlessly free.

Later when cleaning the temple the servant saw two new objects that were lying on the altar. One was a brass bell. Another looked unusual and really strange – it was also made of brass but the boy did not know what it was. 

The servant never learned that the object was called Vajra, a thunderbolt. That it was a force and power that nobody could resist. And that together, a Vajra and a bell sealed the union of two energies, male and female.

- This monk is, of course, a different monk – the servant thought. - Even though his robe looks the same... so many years hav passed.

The monk’s only possession - not counting his shredded  robe that was smeared with fresh blood - was a wooden black bowl for offerings. It was lying upside down in the grass, not far from the road. 

The monk was lying on his back as if looking at the sky, a narrow trail of blood was coming out of his mouth, his chest was all covered in blood. Then he slightly opened his eyes.

Not scared any more, the servant came closer, put down his stick – if indeed that was his weapon – and squatted. The monk slightly turned his head to the right and saw big brown worried eyes staring at him. The servant wanted to ask the monk what had happened but he saw how pallid the face of the monk was, even despite his dark skin – and instead he grabbed his stick, turned round and started running back to the monastery.

The   sun was rising fast and it already filled the air with the hot smell of herbs when several men returned with the gurney. The monk was lying in the same place, only the trail of blood on his chin had dried out and his eyes were closed. But he was breathing. He was still alive.

Priestess and both girls - Zaira and Savitri - were waiting in the temple yard when the men came back carrying the narrow gurney with the monk. As much as the priestess wanted this monk to never appear in her temple, still she could not abandon the wounded men and let him die in the forest. And then she knew that this choice – to let him stay in her ashram or not – this time was not hers.

The priestess stood in the temple yard looking dispassionately at the monk, noting how he had changed. As if she were looking back in time. Yes, he was the same and still he was very different. Sometimes you have such a feeling when you look at your son and instead you see in him your husband as he was many-many years ago. You realize that your son looks so much like his father - and still so different from him. You notice a different gesture of a hand, a different turn of the head, a different shade of a smile.

But the priestess did not have a husband: all her life and all her love were devoted to Kali. Looking at th monk she thought: 

- Time and space made a loop again... Can it be that he is the same man who had left the vajra and the bell on the temple altar? And later at some road fork he took a different turn and now he is leading a different life… as a different man. But still a monk and still here… again.

She also thought:

- Who can say who he really is today... but what havoc in our lives he may create again.

So she decided to keep a watchful eye on him – and allow him to stay in her ashram until he regained his strength. Or... or until he died.

At the far end of ashram there was a small building with just three rooms, they were still empty. The priestess ordered the servants to put the monk there. There he would be protected form the melting heat of the day and from buzzing flies. From the curious temple visitors, too.

Still somebody had to stay with the monk and look after him during the first few hours or maybe even during the first few days – how long he would be able to survive with such deep and numerous wounds was not clear.

- Zaira and Savitri – you will take care of him, – priestess frowned as she said that  and narrow lines wrinkled her forehead.

The temple was expecting the arrival of the raja and his court. She knew that everybody else was busy cleaning the ashram and cooking but the girls as devadasis were not actively involved in these activities. And then, who can take better care of him then Zaira and Savitri? –  she thought with a sad smile.

Men carefully moved the monk from the gurney onto the low bed that stood in the dark and hot cell. Then they left. Only girls stayed with the monk. His breath was slow and shallow; each breath seemed to give him lots of pain. The wounds on his chest were deep, as if sharp hooks were dragged with merciless force through his flesh. The day was hot and his forehead was dotted with sweat; his lips were parched; his breath was shallow and hardly audible. 

 

The girls prepared herbal infusion to clean his wounds. Boiled some herbal tea for him - after that they just sat on the floor by his side, wiping his forehead with a clean white cloth and carefully fanning him. That was all they could do.

When the sun was setting he opened his eyes and whispered: pani… pani… water… Zaira helped him to slightly raise his head and he slowly took several sips of tea from a small clay bowl that she put to his lips.

Soon he fell asleep and this time he looked calm. The girls left but they returned later several times to see if he needed anything. Then the darkness fell, and invisible crickets filled the cooling night air with thin and shrill sounds. Huge and round creamy colored moon rose above the ashram temple and hung there motionless as if glued to the deep blue sky.

The moon painted the yard with eerie bright light that made everything – the grass, trees, temple walls and temple spirals - look unreal, like an illusion from somebody’s dream. Through this night the monk had to make it on his own.

If he could.