Neon Lotus (4 page)

“Begin
containment,” he said.

“Containment
procedure initiated,” the device replied.

Glancing to
the side, he saw the lenses flicker, projecting red rays at intervals along
the circumference of the moondisk. Where the rays touched the disk, they seemed
to smoulder. Tiny holograms appeared, red syllables the size of candle flames:
each one was a Sanskrit
HRI
.

Onscreen,
the body was also ringed in red
HRIs
. They began to move, half running clockwise, half counterclockwise,
weaving past one another to form a red chain. At the center of the circle, a
single crimson
HRI
condensed in Tashi’s ruined heart.

The pale
colors that had begun to seep away from Tashi’s head, feet, and fingertips now
solidified at their edges and began to rush back into the body, gathering in
the central
HRI
.
The
syllable brightened, bathing the screen in red light. For an instant the corpse
flared like a blue flame at the heart of a scarlet inferno.

The body
vanished from the screen. All that remained were slender filaments of color,
fine channels of red, blue, white, green, and yellow light which pulsed like
arteries of fire.

At the edge
of his eye, Reting saw that the moondisk was a storm of light and color. He
didn’t dare risk a glance at it.

Recalibration
had put a fine edge on the device’s operation. He had never dreamed it could
work with such accuracy. These visions were being generated by the Bardo device
according to the patterns of energy which it encountered as it followed the
process of Tashi’s death.

“Containment
completed, Dr. Norbu,” whispered the bodhisattva.

“Already?”
He looked over at the dais and saw nothing but a thin white beam shining down
at the navel of the corpse, like an umbilicus tying it to the device.

“Tag it,” he
said.

“The
skandha-hologram has been recorded; the mind itself is tagged. It is now time
for the first descent.”

“You—you
can’t hold him back for a moment?”

“Impossible.
My interference quickens the Bardo process. I can only follow and provide
illuminadon at preordained points.”

“Will you be
able to hold his soul when the dissolution is complete? Can you hold onto it
indefinitely, until we find another body?”

“That is
unknown at this time, Dr. Norbu.”

He sank back
into his seat.

Onscreen,
the shimmering network of five-colored light began to waver, fading away. A
silver haze spread through the screen like smoke filling an aquarium. The
device could follow the soul but Dr. Norbu could not. The computer could scarcely
generate images for what was to come. No three-dimensional screen could hold an
image of the Clear Light.

“Dr. Norbu,
may I ask the name of the deceased?”

He
swallowed, putting a hand on the console as if to offer reassurance.

“I . . . I
thought you knew. It is Tashi Drogon, your creator.”

“I am
sorry,” said the device.

He put his
head in his hands and finally allowed himself to weep. He was almost sorry to
have the time free to think, So much time lay ahead of him, so much loneliness.

The Bardo
device, for his benefit as well as that of the dead soul, began to speak:

“O nobly
born Tashi Drogon, the time has come to set foot once again on the Path known
to all men.

“Your
breathing has ceased. You have had done with the beating of a heart for now.
You have had enough of flesh, enough of life.

“Know that
you have faced the Clear Light before, between countless incarnations. Your
spirit has risen and fallen numberless times between the hells and heavens, the
world of animals and the world of men.

“Once again
you must face the void. Even now you are sinking into it, as earth sinks into
water.

“The
terrifying visions have not yet dawned. The Lords of Death restrain themselves
until you have crossed the first abyss. Should you lose yourself utterly in the
Clear Light, they will never find you.

“Therefore,
concentrate on my voice. Look on me as your Lama and your lamp. I will shed
light for you when you find yourself in the dark places. I will offer what
advice I can. You will hear me wherever you are—for the mind is limitless,
luminous, and infinitely aware. Listen for my guidance as you go to meet the
Clear Light.

“Do not fear
any visions of hell and torment. They are nothing but the vapors of decay,
released by the decomposition of the skandhas. Do not attach yourself to dull
colors or seductive images.

“In life you
may have seen truth, but you saw it only through the veil of flesh. Now that
veil has fallen away. You go to meet the Mother and not her Child. In a shining
body you fly to her, passing beyond appearance into emptiness.

“Do not
cling to life. Do not fear the abyss.

“All that
you will see is a reflection of your consciousness. The Peaceful and Wrathful
Deities alike are your own creations.

“Therefore,
have no fear of death.

“Neither
should you fear life, for birth and death alike are great returnings.

“And if you
are shut out of the Clear Light by vast black doors, if you flee out of terror
and become snared in the Death Bardo—which leads to the Bardo of Life—even then
do not lose hope.

“For the
doors of the womb also lead into light. And if you travel cautiously through
the realms of horror and confusion, the womb may open to you. You will hear
once again the pounding of a heart; you will taste once again the breath of
life.

“If you are
not blown out utterly at this time, you will live again.

“If you fall
not into hell or an animal existence, perhaps you will have a human birth. I
will guide you on that path. And truly, it is better to be a man than a god;
for men may achieve enlightenment, while even gods must fall from their lofty
temples, die in great pain, and take up human form once again if they wish to
escape the wheel.

“So do not
despair. I will show you the way to avoid hell, the hungry ghosts, and the
animal realm. Perhaps you will even find your way into Dawachen, the land of
bliss, where you will be born from a lotus instead of a womb.

“So go now,
calling on Chenrezi the Thousand-Armed.

“Just ahead
of you, the Clear Light is dawning.”

Dr. Norbu
looked over the dais. The blood had begun to dry on the blanket.

Where are you
,
Tashi?
he
wondered.
Can you hear our device? Can you hear my thoughts
,
as the dead are supposed to?
I wish you luck, my friend. The device works, it seems; it’s tagged your soul
with no difficulty. Now let’s see if it can guide you through the storm and
hold you safely until we can think what to do with you
.
If it can
,
Tashi
, then
nothing is
lost. We will find you a womb, a new b
ody. I will
be your teacher, as you were mine. Your
assassin
will have harmed no one but himself. We will show the world that violence
accomplishes nothing
,
that even death cannot stop us
.

He looked
over at Tashi’s electronic slate and sighed. Here his mentor had proved the
equality of emptiness and appearance. Something was missing from the equation,
but he had no idea what. Tashi had left him floating in an ever-widening wake.
Who knew what the device might have accomplished, had Tashi brought the work to
completion?

He set down
the slate, stared again into the silvery eye of the Bardo device, and then sat
back to wait.

For you
,
Tashi
,
I will wait for years
.

***

Kate lay
shivering in Peter’s arms, wide awake, feeling the first touch of dawn on her
eyelids. She had slept no more than a few hours in the wake of their
lovemaking. Their passion had swept her into a warm, peaceful sea—a sea of
dreams. But soon those dark waters had turned threatening. She had been
awakened by nightmares of gunfire, explosions, severed hands, voices screaming
in languages she did not know. Peter had slept on through the night, warm as
embers in a hearth. She had clung to him without disturbing him, but wishing
all the same that he were awake to reassure her.

The chaos of
the previous night had continued long past the death of the three-eyed man. The
Dharamsala police had called his demise suicide; a poison capsule had been
discovered crushed between his molars. The police had grilled Peter and Kate in
broken English on their involvement in the capture. After hours of sitting in
the hotel manager’s office being asked the same questions again and again, she
had begun to believe that she and Peter were suspects. But eventually the
officers had made heartfelt apologies and let them go.

No
explanations had been offered, however. She still had no idea who had been shot,
or why. The body of the three-eyed man had been removed by the time they
returned to their room, and their friends had gone to sleep.

“I want to
leave,” she had told Peter, as soon as they were inside.

“Leave? Why?
It’s over, Kate. We have a week in Dharamsala. You’ll forget about it.”

She had
begun to cry then, burying her face in the hollow of his neck. “I can’t stop
thinking about it.”

“Mm.” His
arms went around her. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

She kept
thinking of the man with the bony face. It was the pain in his eyes, more than
anything else, that hurt her.

“Hold me,”
she’d said.

“I am
holding you.”

“Closer. I
need . . . ”

“What?”

She hadn’t
been able to say. It was nothing she could put into words. But Peter had
understood. They had let their bodies speak, reaffirming that they were
together and alive despite the frailty of muscle, blood, and bone. She began to
wonder if she had been in India too long, if she were becoming a nihilist. Life
was cheap here. You saw it expended everywhere: corpses on the roadside, pyres
burning on the ghats.

In silence,
their bodies argued.
No,
Peter seemed to say.
It’s not
only that. There is also this
.

Pleasure had
worked its way through her muffled senses until the night air pierced her
lungs. Their bodies came together, gasping, of one mind, violence and sorrow
forgotten for the moment.

Now she
opened her eyes and stared at the mountains above the hotel. The sky was
brilliant blue, bottomless. She felt as if she were falling into it.

Peter
stirred. Fearing that her shivering would wake him, she slipped out of the bag
and drew on her clothes.

“Where are
you going?”

She turned,
hopping on one stockinged foot as she struggled to get a hiking sneaker onto
the other.

“I didn’t
want to wake you,” she said.

He sat up, rubbing
sleep from his eyes. “I don’t want you to go.”

She smiled.
“I’m just going to the bathroom.”

“I don’t
mean that. I mean, I don’t want you to go back to California.”

She stopped
hopping and put down her foot.

“Come back
to Geneva with me.”

“Peter . . .
”

“Kate, I
love you. ”

She kicked
off the shoe and knelt beside him, drew his blond-bearded face to her breast.
“Oh, Peter. I love you, too.”