Shambhala (13 page)

Bahi pops several berries in his mouth, enjoying the sweet gush, igniting his taste buds to send them down to his belly. “Interesting,” Bahi says as the goat keeps on eating.

“An old goat like me has been around, seen a few things, learned a lesson or two.”

“I rekon you have,” Bahi says, eating more of the delicious berries.

“If you can tap into the high energy of the life force all around, you will always be protected. Yet know that one day you too will grow old and frail as I have. Everything arises and passes away, and that passing is peace, so don’t grasp at even the sweetest berry. Just enjoy it and let it pass away.”

“You’re very wise for a . . .” Bahi stops himself.

“Go on, say it, ‘for a goat,’ right?”

“No. I mean yes,” Bahi says embarrassed.

“While my friend was still alive he would transmit some of the wisdom to me from the Great Master. He taught me a secret and way of living so I might be reborn a human in my next life.”

“You may be better off a goat,” Bahi says softly.

“No, don’t say that, we may seem to be doing well, but we suffer greatly. Most of us only eat, sleep and go to the bathroom, blind to any pleasure. I am fortunate to have been close to my goat friend, who gained wisdom from the Great Master. You, my friend, have a precious human life. Unfortunately, I often see in the villages that many choose to live like a goat or animal, simply eating, sleeping, procreating and making potty. This opportunity you have to use a mind of logic is a great one and should not be wasted with animalistic cravings. But who am I to say, just an old goat?”

“You’re wiser than many humans I know,” Bahi says with a laugh.

“Fortunate,” she says, “plain and simple, fortunate.”

“Well I thank you for the wisdom and direction and wish you well, but I should be getting on before it’s too late,” Bahi says.

“Yes you should, don’t travel in the dark. It’s dangerous in the dark,” the goat warns.

“Thank you, friend,” Bahi says as they begin to descend the hill and walk off across the plain toward the great tree that towers above the rest. He looks back, smiles, and thinks of how fortunate he is to have met the goat.

Coming to the large tree, he looks in wonder as he passes and steps onto the dirt trail washed with sun. The trail is open and dry, aligned with beautiful, vine-like bushes with small, oblong, green leaves that end at a pointed tip. The vines shoot straight up and hang over with the heaviness of bright, pinkish-red bell-shaped flowers that scent the trail as he kicks up a steady pace. He stops for water at a small pond and eats an orange, some nuts, and a roll with butter for lunch. As he sits silently, he listens to the sounds around him. Birds chirp, cicadas buzz, and the faint sounds of children in the distance lead him to imagine there is a small village closeby.

Bahi notices the sun is about to retire. He resolves to find shelter for the night and build a fire. The pond is quiet, and as the white lotuses that decorate the water begin to close up for the night, Bahi gets up and walks on down the trail for a short while more, seeking refuge from darkness. The sun is now nearly gone from the sky. Finding a large rock that sits upon a dirt wall, standing tall, supported by tree roots from trees high above, he takes off his backpack.
It’s not complete shelter, but it’s better than the open trail
, he thinks, as he goes off to gather some wood. Digging a small hole and lining the perimeter with rocks, he skillfully places the sticks and larger wood pieces he has gathered in the hole before taking the small pot he bought to fetch some water from a nearby stream and wash up.

As the last remnant of light dissolves, he sparks a match, igniting some dry leaves he has placed below the sticks and wood. They quickly catch fire, and he smiles as the campfire crackles, growing stronger. Placing the pot with water on top of a large piece of wood he puts two potatoes in the pot. The water slowly comes to a rolling boil, and he lays back with his head on his pack, sighing in the relief of having some luxuries now. Looking up, he gazes at the stars, now visible in the clear black sky and wonders what Eva is doing. He imagines them cuddling up by the fire and talking about nothing in particular as they gaze at each other over some nice Himachal wine. The quick sizzle of boiling water flowing over into the fire, dissipates his fantasy as he uses his shirt to pull the pot from the flame, emptying the water. The potatoes smoke in the cool air, and he waits a few moments for the blazing-hot potatoes to drop in temperature. He mashes them up in the pot with some butter, and blowing off a bite, he plunges it into his mouth. Chewing the potato, he thinks of the delicious food he had in Dharamsala with Eva. He scrapes every last scrap from the pot. He adds more wood to the fire, shielding himself from the vast, dark forest surrounding him. The large rock to his back and the fire to his front give him a sense of security, as he lies in contemplation, gazing at the stars as he drifts off to sleep. He instinctually wakes up often in the night, adding more wood to the fire to combat the cold. The fire warms him to his core as he drifts back to sleep. Waking up a final time, he discovers he has exhausted all the wood. The fire sputters a final flame, which dwindles off of a charred log like a candle flickering to an end. Shivering, he wraps himself tight with his shawl. It’s just before dawn. The hills are blue from the yielding of night to the subtle blush light that struggles to create the day. A crescent moon, slim as a fingernail, hovers over the hills. The sun softly rises, as a howl from the distance cries out and a lone bird whistles in the forest. As the sky brightens, gentle breezes carress the hills. Bahi’s shawl, hat, and wool socks comfort the chill as he listens, still in a half sleep, to baby birds singing out in cadence to the morning’s birth.

Bahi rises to his feet, still tired from a restless nights’ sleep. He stretches and gathers his things to get an early start. Dreading another day of hiking, he rubs his face awake, wishing he had a warm bed to rest in. But, he makes the best of it, pressing on in the cold chill of morning. The hike warms his blood, and as the sun begins to gently heat the day, he sits to eat some fruit, bread, and butter. The tepid sun eases his depressed mind and body, still weary from yesterday’s hike and only a few hours of sleep. He finishes his food and makes his way to a stream that runs along the trail and quenches his dry lips and throat. The smell of last night’s fire permeates his clothing and mixes with the scent of the cool morning breeze. Giving himself a pep talk while washing his hands and face, he thinks of how wonderful it will be when he reaches Shambhala. The cold water ignites his mind, perking his senses as he lifts up and moves on, shaking the smoke of lethargy from his head.

Walking a good distance, he notices the sun is now high in the afternoon sky. He comes to a split in the path and contemplates which way he should go. He thinks it over, glancing down each path, and decides that because either way is unknown he should just pick a direction. Fear wells up. He does not want to choose the wrong path and stray from the direction to the wise man. Taking off his shirt in the hot sunlight, he decides to go right. He walks a bit and comes to a steep decline, where the trail drops off in an almost vertical slope below. Feeling cautious, he takes a step as rocks slip from under his feet, falling past the jagged rocks that stick out from the slope. It looks as though no one has traversed this path for some time.

Contemplating going back to the other path in the split, he considers that the path to such a wise man is probably one of great obstacles and decides to keep on. Sitting on his butt, he grabs hold of some well-rooted shrubs as he slides down slowly. Coming to his feet again, he jumps to a solid part of the slope before stepping off to another seemingly solid rock in the dark decline of the trail. The rock slips out, sending him flying down the slope, knocking him about. He catches his left leg on a piece of cold rock. In pain, he throws off his backpack and paces back and forth trying to limp off the piercing stab that shoots up his leg. A faint rush of cold sweat glazes his body. Mumbling obscenities to no one, he sits down to have a look at his leg. The rock tore clean through his pants, and blood soaks his sock. The pain is numbing, and his heart races in the fear that he may have done some serious damage. He sits and breathes consciously, not knowing his next step. He regrets the step he took that led him to the fall. “Damn it!” he screams out, his cry of remorse echoing through the hills, as tears fall down his cheek. Then, he notices a cave-like rock dwelling, and as the nausea that washes over him dissipates slightly, he hobbles over to it and sits in the sun for a while, just breathing, trying to calm his mind.

The continuing waves of pain make him realize that he won’t be able to keep on hiking. He resolves to gather some wood, rest the remainder of the day, and spend the night in the shelter of this cave-like arch of rock, which opens up into a flat, dirt path just behind two trees. He hobbles to gather wood. As he lays a final piece of strong twisted branch, which he tries to break into kindling. But he gives up as sweat trickles down his face, leaving him faint. Feeling exhausted and queasy, he lies down for the remainder of the day, trying to divert his mind from the sharp, shooting pain. Both nausea and faintness plague him as the sun sets, leaving the day far behind.

Lying in darkness, he hesitates to light the fire, knowing the sooner he lights it the sooner it will go out and that the night will grow colder. He feels bouts of nausea and exhaustion and decides to light the fire. It takes him almost and entire book of matches to get it going. All the while he wonders why fate seems to have turned against him. Finally the fire blazes as he lays back, closing his eyes. Despite the throbbing pain, his dreams rush in like clouds in a storm. His mind tosses and turns, prompting him awake in the darkness of night, to turn back, to go home. Sweating now, in feverish delirium, he drifts in and out of sleep. The fire is out, and he shivers with the heat of fever that blazes within, due to infection in his leg. Waking up a few times, he throws up, off to the side of the cave, heaving an empty stomach. He manages to hobble to the stream to gather water in his pot. Scared and alone, he thinks he may die there and that even if he could listen to the promptings of his dreamlike fear, there is no way he can hike back, in this condition. After all, he practically had to crawl to the stream only a few feet away.

Waking up again, Bahi stares into the blazing sun, not having any sense of time or space, his lips dry and cracked. His leg is stiff, and as the blood dries around the puss of an open wound, he thinks over and again that he should wash out the wound, but dares not to touch it.

The cold night once again sets in as he drags in the remainder of wood he had piled up the day before. Barely able to light a match, he attempts to ignite a fire. Nausea and fatigue give him double vision as one last attempt sends the wooden matches flying in all directions. His head smacks down and he passes out once again in the fury of fever. The lord of death watches down upon him as he slips into a comma-like slumber. Opening his eyes in a dream, he finds himself in a beautiful, silent, tree-lined meadow adorned with sweet flowers and lush, green grasses. He stands painless and free and notices an image, like a mirage, shimmering toward him. Making out the white glow, he notices a beautiful woman gliding toward him. Mesmerized by her pale beauty and calming eyes, he surrenders to her energy, which captivates him. As she nears, his leg begins to throb as it opens up, pouring blood, dropping him to the grass, with pain. The woman swiftly catches him, almost falling at him, lying with him and holding him tight. He feels warm and secure as he stares into her endless eyes, which soothe his pain. “Fear not, Bahi, I am with you,” she says smiling, as her long, golden-blond hair radiates light. She wears a long, pure-white, tunic that falls to her feet, outlining her perfectly formed body.

“I can’t go on anymore. I can’t,” Bahi says without moving his lips.

“It’s all going to be all right,” she says as he stares at her full, red lips set upon her smooth, moon-pale skin.

Captivated by her beauty, he views his dream as an observer and sees himself lying on the grass coddled by this goddess of a woman. The sky begins to rain down flowers as she kisses him on the lips and holds him. He feels the wounds on his leg heal up almost instantly. “I’m scared,” he thinks.

“Of course you are, but it’s OK because we love you.” he hears as they engage in still another long, soft kiss.

“Who does?” he asks in his mind as white light overwhelms his sight, flooding him in the warmth of its luminosity.

“Don’t give up. Never give up. You will find what you seek. If you never give up, you will never fail.”

He hears the soft wisdom of the Goddess as all falls black. The crackling of the fire opens his eyes from the dream. Flames rage in his haphazard fire pit as he notices his fever has passed. Looking down at his leg, he sees that he still has the wound, but it seems to hurt less. He lies in wonder of the dream, and in the warm glow of the fire, he now drifts off into a luxourious, dreamless sleep of deep healing.