Shambhala (15 page)

The two head out, collecting wood and sticks, which they quickly pile up. “This will be enough for two nights,” Bahi says, noting the benefits of two wood gatherers.

Ajee squats down in a sudden hunting mode, “What’s the matter?”

“Shhh!” Ajees’ eyes are still. A rabbit springs from a bush like a bolt of lighting. Ajee gives chase, quickly disappearing from sight. Bahi internally hopes that the small gray-and-white rabbit can outrun Ajee as he squats to light the dry leaves he situated under a carefully piled stack of wood.

The fire hastily grows to a full blaze as Bahi sits on the ground, warming himself from the already cold air, the evening sun still ablaze. Ajee comes galloping back, the corpse of the rabbit hanging in his bloody jaws.

“Awww, Ajee, c’mon.”

Placing the rabbit at Bahi’s feet proudly, Ajee replies, “What? It’s dinner, you don’t want to starve out here, do you?”

Bahi realizes that this is the nature of the beast. Ajee is forced to murder his food for survival. He realizes that he would not last another day on an orange and some nuts. He is grateful for Ajee’s skills in hunting. Bahi hasn’t eaten meat in quite some time, in fact he can’t remember the last time he had. Staring down at the bloody carcass of a rabbit, he looks up at Ajee. “Thank you,” Bahi says. Ajee nods.

“You know, Bahi, it’s the plague of the wolf. We must kill to survive. Humans have a unique advantage over us, but still they kill. I once asked the wise Baba about this. He never ate meat, and he explained it like this: every meal that has graced his plate was not without sacrifice. Bugs died while picking and caring for the vegetables and so forth. He said that the important thing was to be grateful for all the beings who were so kind to bring this meal to his plate, the farmer who cared for the seeds and crops, the workers who picked his vegetables, the animals and insects who died for it in each process, whether in growth or transportation or being run over by the vehicles bringing it to different locations, being grateful for the transporters who brought it, those who packaged it and prepared it, although he mostly grew and prepared his own food. You get the point?” Ajee inquires.

“I guess in this world we live in, Ajee, nothing is without sacrifice: no meal is without suffering,” Bahi says again looking at the rabbit.

“But what is to be remembered, my friend, is the gratitude and mindfulness of all those involved in getting this to our bellies. Even this rabbit exists because he ate some veggies and grass that grew in soil, seedlings of others fed by the death of countless beings, insects and so forth, which fortified the soil. And so we can be grateful to all, and especially to the rabbit,” Ajee bows his head.

“Ajee, you are truly wiser than most humans I have met. I gather you are well on your way and could accompany me all the way to Shambhala.”

“You think?” Ajee says excitedly.

“Yeah, of course,” assures Bahi.

“These are the words of the Baba, not me.”

“Yes, but it’s now your understanding that, like all the things that depend upon my food on a plate, so too is the wisdom from mouth to ear, and it goes back before the Baba. I assure you, those words are yours, Ajee, you chose to speak them.”

Ajee thinks for a moment, looking to the sky where the sun now dances streams of orange and pinks across the horizon. “It’s endless, beginningless,” Ajee says in wonder.

Bahi begins to remember what the wise Baba had told him about how nothing exists the way he perceives it to. It all makes more sense now. Everything depends on everything else. And if you trace anything back, you will find it’s beginningless. Looking down, he sees the rabbit lying lifeless before the blazing fire. Grabbing hold of a thick stick, he cringes as he stabs it through the rabbit and puts it over the fire.

“This is a weird technique. You won’t ruin it, will you?” Ajee asks, concerned for his dinner.

“It’s called
cooking
, Ajee. Surely you’ve heard of it. I think I was supposed to remove the fur first, though,” Bahi says, watching as the fur singes off in the raging inferno.

“I have. The Baba would do it, just never saw it done with an animal.”

After a few minutes, he pulls the charred stick and rabbit from the fire, tapping the meat, checking to see how hot it is. After it cools a bit, he rips off a hind leg. Streams of steam pour out as Ajee bites away at it, careful not to burn his mouth. Salivating, they both sink their teeth into the meat.
Doesn’t taste too bad
, Bahi thinks, now wishing there was another. Finishing up the meat, Ajee continues to gnaw at the bones, and as Bahi peels an orange Ajee looks up. “To the sacrifice and kindness of this rabbit. Its life has let us endure a few more moments on this precious Earth.”

“Here here, to the rabbit,” Bahi raises his peeled orange, offering a piece to Ajee, who sniffs it and declines in disgust.

They both sit in silence in front of the raging fire, “Ajee?”

“Yes?”

“You’re by far one of the most intelligent and unique animals I have ever met.”

“Oh yeah? Well you’re up there on my list of unique and intelligent animals too,” Ajee replies. They both have a chuckle, and feeling the connection to the forest and elements, Bahi feels more like a wild animal as he strokes his full beard and pushes his hair behind his ears.

For the first time in several nights he feels comfortable and safe. Ajee’s presence is that of a protector, allowing Bahi to fall fast asleep, drunk from the heat of burning flames before him. Ajee sits, eyes half open as he feels the comfort of his blazing-hot fur coat close to the fire. He sits so close that the intensity of heat is near burning as the smell of hot fur relaxes him deeply. They both drift off into a realm far from the forest floor, soon to be reborn in the morning sun, protected through the night by fire and comradery. The forest smiles down upon them as sparks float up from the crackling, dry pine that pops. Glowing ashes, which attempt to reach the bright stars, adorn the clear black sky. From high above one can see the glow of friendship amongst the cold, dark forest. An owl peers down in wonder, a dark-brown leaf bat points out the billowing smoke to his friend. They stare down as they swoop far above. The two lie dead to the world, in peaceful slumber, awaiting the morning rebirth.

BIRDS CHIRP IN
the arrival of dawn’s light as Bahi slowly opens his eyes, forgetting for a second where he is. Looking around, he sees Ajee nowhere as the last chars of wood smoke to completion.

“Ajee,” Bahi calls out, standing to his feet to look around. “Ajee?” he softly yells into the forest.
Has he left me?
he worries,
I have no idea where to go from here
. The worried thoughts fill his mind as the minutes pass with Ajee nowhere in sight. Rounding a tree, Bahi heads back to the camp when a pounce on his back forces him to fall. Quickly turning from his belly onto his back, he looks up to find Ajee hovering over him. “Wolf! Where were you?”

“What? Are you the only one who has to go to pee around here?”

Bahi laughs, attempting to push him off, but he persists playfully, mock biting his arm. After a brief, playful tussle Bahi gets up and brushes off. “Most dogs I know just lift a leg when ever it’s time to go.”

“Most dogs?” Ajee says seemingly amazed.

“
Wolf
I meant,” Bahi retorts realizing his words.

“Oh yeah, and how many wolves do you know?”

“Uh, none, I guess, well one now, forget it, it was a silly thing to say.”

Ajee stares in a serious silence at Bahi, creating an uncomfortable air. Taking two steps to a tree next to them, lifts his leg and pees on the tree. “Ahhh, I was just messing with ya. I was hunting for some breakfast, to no avail.” Finishing up, he puts down his leg and walks toward the camp.

Bahi laughs to himself, relieving the tension and shaking his head.

“How’s the leg, Bahi?”

“Better. Still hurts, but totally scabbed over now.”

“Good, because we’ve got a bit of a hike ahead of us.”

Bahi pulls out the last orange and bag of nuts. Splitting the nuts with Ajee, he eats the orange himself, and after packing away his shawl and hat, they move on through the forest, following Ajee’s lead. Their stomachs, now even hungrier from the tease of a few nuts, prompt Ajee to keep one eye on the trail and one on the lookout for prey. Coming to a crossroad that splits the forest, they find several street vendors cooking chai, chapattis and chicken. The smell from afar makes their stomachs rumble. “I’ll try to see if I can get some food for us,” Bahi says, knowing he has no money.

“If you want, I can run out and growl as a distraction while you grab and run,” Ajee suggests.

“Steal it? I don’t know,” Bahi says peering out at the three men awaiting buses at this remote rest stop in the middle of nowhere.

“What would the Baba say to that?” Bahi asks.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ajee says looking down.

“Well, what would he say?” Bahi asks genuinely curious.

“He would say that what you do now will echo in eternity. He was always teaching of how our actions, both virtuous and not, will create results and start a wheel turning that is hard to reverse. And so he would say, ‘based on the science of cause and effect.’ He loved science, that stealing will cause us to have more lack in the future. And what may seem like a gain would be a fleeting ignorance that would create our fate later.”

Bahi again is amazed at how this wolf can recall these teachings almost effortlessly. “Wow! Impressive! You were a great student of his I see, and yes that’s my feelings too. Besides, I have an idea. Meet me on the other side just up the trail a bit,” Bahi says, pointing out across the road to where the trail runs back into the forest.

“OK. I’ll walk the higher road and meet you on the other side. If they see me, it may cause a stir.”

“Good idea,” Bahi says as he struts out to the road.

“Namaste,” one man greets.

“Hello, Sir. Where you coming from?” the other vendor asks with a smile from ear to ear almost touching the small patches of gray hair on either side of his bald head.

“Just hiking, and I realized I have no money but am starving.”

“Please sit,” the balding man says pulling out a plastic chair from one of three tables upon the dirt road. “You no money is fine, I give you piece of chicken,” the man says, removing a small piece of chicken from the smoking grill.

“Where you’re from, Sir?” The other, shorter, darker man asks.

“America,” he quickly says without even a thought.

“America! I love America!” the short one exclaims.

“Oh yeah? You been?” Bahi asks.

“No,” he replies as Bahi gives a laugh.

“America, Obama, I like Obama, Black-man president,” the balding man says, bringing over a small piece of chicken on wax paper.

“This is true,” Bahi says trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation.

“Say, I have a friend I am meeting down the trail a bit. He doesn’t have money either. Could I trade you my backpack and this cooking pot for some food?” Bahi asks the balding man standing over him and the chicken.

Inspecting the bag on the table, Bahi removes his hat and shawl. “OK. Nice bag, I give you whole chicken for bag and hat,” he offers.

Bahi thinks, knowing he is getting the short end of the deal being that the bag is new and costs about twenty times what a whole chicken costs. “How about two chickens for the bag and pot. I need the hat for the cold. I just bought the bag for two thousand
rupees
.”

“OK, Mr. America.” The man places two very small cooked chickens in a newspaper and rolls them up separately. “And have two
pani
for you,” he adds, handing him two bottles of water.

“Thank you,” Bahi says, cradling the small chickens in one arm and the bottles and hat wrapped in his shawl, bundled in the other arm.

“OK, friend, see you soon,” the balding man says.

“Goot bye,” the third man, who said nothing the whole time, speaks out.

“OK. Thank you,” Bahi says, walking to the other side of the street. “Obama!” he shouts before entering the trail.

“Obama!” they echo back in sync.

“Boo!” Ajee pops out of a bush, startling a laughing Bahi.

“You really gotta stop doing that,” he says as he sits on a rotting log, placing down the spoils of his barter.

“All right, brother, how’d you do it?”

“The good ole bartering system,” he says, laying the shawl on the ground picnic style.

Unraveling the newspaper, he exposes the chickens. Ajee quickly grabs one instinctually and eats it on the dirt, practically inhaling it.

“Easy boy, enjoy it, there’s no race.”

Ajee just keeps on devouring until it’s gone. Bahi, ravished as well, quickly finishes, and they sit with full bellies and a smile.

“Eating is weird, huh?” Bahi asks.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. No matter how much we eat, we are always going to be hungry again,” Bahi explains.

“Welcome to planet Earth, my friend,” Ajee says with a chuckle.

Bahi thinks again about the Baba’s words and of how this is what he means by not being lead to believe external things are lasting happiness—and to just enjoy them as they pass, savoring the moment, not attaching, because soon you will be hungry again and again.
Two students learning the same lessons on different terms, now traveling together
, he thinks.

“All right, let’s move. We don’t have much further. We should be there by sundown if we don’t stop again,” Ajee rallies them up. They briskly move, now full of energy and food for thought. They walk the day and Bahi’s leg feels stronger and less achy in the warm, energizing saturation of beautiful daylight that seems to pour in all directions.