Namaste (23 page)

Nisha smiled, then laid her dark hair on his chest.
 

“We are taught to contain all that is within us. Our world is about discipline. But my old teacher, Woo, trained me to ask disruptive questions. I wonder, while no one else does: If what we seek to discipline is part of us, why should we discipline it at all?”
 

Nisha looked over at him. Amit could kiss her all day, but refrained to finish his point.
 

“I used to have problems with anger. I … have a history that, like your secret, I will one day tell you. Woo taught me to embrace and control it. The abbot would have me attempt to rid myself of the anger entirely. I am now a grown man, and continue to ask questions. I wonder about both teachings, and the nature of restraint. For all the Sri can do, not one can
fail
to exercise discipline. It is the one thing they are undisciplined at.”
 

Nisha giggled, sensing a joke that she wasn’t sure was there.
 

“I do not see what you mean.”
 

“What of abandon? What of the fullness of experience? When we are together, I feel something in my chest, not too different from the beast that anger once was. My training tells me to subdue it. But what if I unleashed it instead? It seems to want to take me over entirely. It seems natural that I should feel as I do, yet I bury it to please my teachings. We are not supposed to have relationships with others, other than in friendship. The abbot says it fogs our connection to the spirit world. But I see him as afraid. For all his practice, he has never experienced
abandon
.”
 

“Like anger.”
 

Amit nodded. “For one such as I, it feels the same. You may not know. You may not be used to contemplating your inner being all day, every day.”

“I see. So, you have all this control, and wish to lose it.”
 

“It is tempting.” Amit rolled, and his robe rubbed against his skin. He looked down, saw its color, and realized that Sri blue was all he’d ever known.
 

Nisha smiled. “I tempt you to lose control. That makes me a poor guest at your monastery.”
 

“I forgive you.” For the third time, Amit’s hand went to her leg.
 

“You are still a monk.”
 

“Not if you invite me to go further. I will abandon the order. We will travel. We will revel in everything, as out-of-control human beings.”
 

She pushed his hand away. “Soon. But I need more time.”
 

“On the secret? Or on … ?” He raised his eyebrows.
 

“On both.”
 

Amit leaned in. “It is okay. I do not believe I am yet prepared to handle your kind of abandon.”
 

“Good.”
 

He kissed her again, this time more deeply. “But I shall endeavor to learn. Quickly.”

Chapter 24

A
MIT
ARRIVED
AT
THE
SECOND
Sri compound to find it almost identical to the one where he’d grown up. It was about the same size, surrounded by similar walls, and gates that looked approximately as heavy. The gates were open, and no one stood guard, also like home. The openness told Amit a few things that he didn’t particularly like to think about. At least in concept, this was a place of peace. Yes, it trained assassins, and made its living by making death. But the gardens were open and gorgeous. Monks in blue robes with saffron sashes still strolled or sat in them, meditating. Open gates welcomed people, as if the compound had nothing to hide.
 

Amit didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The faces were different and some of the conventions seemed to have diverged (several of these peaceful-looking men had hair, for instance, and some of the women wore it long), but otherwise he felt like he could walk up to the old abbot, into the old dormitories, and find his old bed. He could walk to similar rising hills and look out over similar valleys.
 

The enemy was supposed to wear different uniforms, have odd features and unusual ways of speaking. The enemy was supposed to do things that, while not necessarily sinister, were foreign. Wars were waged over differences in religion and values. With one obvious exception, the values in Woo’s compound seemed to be the same. As Amit entered — and was greeted with pleasant smiles, as if he were one of them or a welcome visitor — he saw monks in solo contemplation, in groups beneath similar peaked roofs in the gardens with crossed legs, standing in thought with their hands clasped before them.
 

He stopped a tall monk with light-brown skin and hands that looked like giant thick-legged spiders. The man greeted him with palms pressed together in front of his heart and a small bow:
Namaste
. Amit asked the monk where he could find the abbot, Suni.
 

“Suni is in the other monastery, brother.”

Amit had asked in order to watch the monk’s reaction — to get a feel for the monastery’s mood. He couldn’t approach a random pilgrim and inquire if they were the bad guys.
 

The man held no malice in his answer. His words were straightforward truth: Suni was in the other monastery. Brother.
 

“There is another monastery?”
 

“Yes. You will find it down the winding road to the east. If you wish to reach the city, you may have an easier trip, but it will take you longer.”
 

The man’s answers were almost stupid in their simplicity. Amit had come as an assassin, yet had walked through the wide open and unguarded front door. No one had asked who he was or where he came from. The man in front of him somehow understood that Amit didn’t know one monastery from the other, meaning he must be from one of the satellite orders. Still, he wasn’t the least bit guarded, as if the shadow assassins had nothing to hide.
 

Amit steeled himself. “I was sent by my sensei to train as karma’s sword.”
 

The man nodded.
 

“Is it Suni’s group or yours I should be seeking?”
 

The tall man chuckled. “We are all swords of karma. I was with the other order for a while, then came here. It is merely a difference of sensei.”
 

“I was told that one group was pacifists, and the other deadly.”
 

“Every man and woman has the potential to be deadly,” the monk said. “In the cities, many carry guns and knives. All are capable of lacing their fingers together and gripping the neck of another until breathing ceases. We train our bodies and minds, and grow more deadly. In the end, it comes down to choice.”
 

“I do not understand.”
 

“Nor did I,” the man smiled. “It is why you are here to learn.”
 

“But I do not know if I am supposed to be here, or the other compound.”
 

“If you seek Suni, you must start walking, because you seek the other.”
 

“I know who Suni is, not necessarily that I should find him.” This was falling apart. He would have to be more specific, and hope it wouldn’t raise problems. “I wish to be trained as an agent of justice. I was told that one of the groups here is farther-thinking, willing to see past death to … ”
 

“Yes. We can all see past death. If you wear that robe, you should feel the same already.”
 

“Past murder. Past ending a life, for the greater good down the road.”
 

A strange expression grew on the monk’s features. He didn’t look alarmed or angry, but did look mildly uncomfortable. It was the look of a man with an unpleasant task, who doesn’t wish to dwell.

“We do not wish to think of it as murder.”
 

“But you are willing.” Amit hardened his features. He was still young among the Sri, and had been assumed impudent and impetuous even by those who didn’t know his history. He hoped it would come across as if he were asking the monk if he would be
permitted
to kill if he joined their monastery rather than asking if he’d
have
to.
 

“When it is necessary. But we do not treat these matters lightly.”
 

“What about the other group? Suni’s group?”
 

“No Sri treats such things lightly,” echoed the tall monk, looking almost worried. “Where did you say you were from?”
 

“There are those who believe that what must be done, must be done.” Amit felt desperate and reckless. “There is an organization, worldwide, and its business is … ”
 

“I know its business.” Again, the tall monk looked uncomfortable.

“They fund this order.”
 

“Yes.”
 

“And you do its bidding. You train its killers.”
 

The monk looked over his shoulder, as if expecting someone’s arrival. He looked around, his gaze to the gardens. Reluctantly, he returned his eyes to Amit. “You speak too simply. As if you do not see purpose behind the hand.”
 

“I see it.” Amit did not, but was getting used to lying.
 

“Not all people are as studied as the Sri. You should know this, if you’ve donned our robe.” The monk was acting like Amit didn’t belong, as if he had stolen another’s identity. He kept looking around, as if waiting for something.
 

“I know.”
 

“And with that lack of study and contemplation comes a certain shortsightedness. They believe the mortal plane is their only life — that there is no higher realm, ascension or nirvana, nothing beyond what they can see and feel. This makes them desperate, and they will use the knife to gain more for themselves in what they see as their limited time. There is turbulence. We know that there is more, that this is but a step along a longer path. It makes us responsible, as if the sword has been placed in our hands. Still, we do not wish to wield it.”
 

“But you do wield it.” Amit coughed, his emotions threatening to rise. “When you must.”

“When we must.”
 

“Or when you are paid.”
 

The monk’s eyes flashed. For the briefest of moments, his lip curled back from his teeth, then the look faded, and his face was again pleasant.
 

“Are you sure you did not find Suni?”

“I did not.”
 

“Because you sound like him. For Suni, as for all Sri, karmic ends justify the means. We do what others will not if correct in the end. Sometimes, the confused souls who do not see their greater place in the universe fail to understand. That makes them violent, and we must intervene. We never do so lightly. The greater cause requires investment and income. We are willing to accept what Suni is not, yet his refusal is no more or less righteous.”
 

“Do you or do you not train assassins?”

“We do not ‘train assassins.’” The way he emphasized his words made Amit think he objected to his phrasing, rather than the principle.
 

“I wish to hold the sword of justice.” Amit had lost control of the discussion. “I wish to … ”
 

“You do seem to
wish
it,” said the monk. “Perhaps this is not the place for you.”
 

“I would like to see your leader.”
 

He pointed. “You will find him in the south gardens, training his troops.”
 

“Troops?”
 

“Do you
wish
to join them?”
 

Amit nodded.

“Then you never will, though I won’t stop you from trying. Before you go, know they wear masks when they train.”
 

“Why?” said Amit.
 

“Masks make them anonymous.”
 

“So that their targets will not see them coming.”
 

That didn’t make sense. If the “troops” were assassins, their targets wouldn’t be in the monastery to see them.

The tall monk shook his head. “Because theirs are duties of burden. They do not wish to do as they must. Masks give them privacy, so that as they can live in the monastery, and meet others eyes without shame.”
 

Chapter 25

A
MIT
MADE
HIS
WAY
TOWARD
the gardens. He quickly rounded a corner, putting a building between himself and the tall monk. The compound doors were open, still Amit wondered if he’d be considered an intruder in a place where he should not be. The monk had looked at Amit’s robes as if thinking them stolen. It was possible he would raise an alarm. Even if this group of Sri were pacifists in concept, that changed in defense.
 

Within moments, Amit heard a symphony of exertion coming from the gardens and knew he was close to his quarry. He would find his killers; the mastermind behind Nisha’s death; the monk who’d sold his soul — and his brothers’ — to organized crime.