The Breath of God (32 page)

On his left side, Grant felt the cool, hard stone of the lower plaza; on his right was Kristin's warm, soft body. With the assailant's gun no longer pointed at him, his anger returned like a fire rekindled from hot coals by a breath of air.

He had to do something.
But what?

The man was armed, and Grant's only combat experience consisted of a fifth-grade brawl on the playground that resulted in both him and Kyle Mills being sent to the principal's office with bloody noses and busted lips.

The two guards had shot at the assailant from behind the knee wall on the upper plaza.
Why don't they come down here and storm the building?
he wondered. If they didn't move quickly, the man might kill Jigme.

Presumably thinking the same thoughts, Kristin rose to her knees. Before she could stand, the man appeared at the far archway with Jigme held in front of him.

Grant grabbed Kristin's sweater and pulled her back to the ground.

Tim stepped into the plaza using the monk's body as a shield. The guards held their fire. He spotted them immediately crouched behind the knee wall; the floodlights silhouetted the two green uniforms against the white marble of the Taj Mahal. One of them yelled something to Tim that he couldn't understand, but he wasn't planning on following the directions, whatever they were. He dragged the monk toward the scaffolding at the edge of the plaza. He was only a few feet from safety.

“Please don't hurt him. He's just a monk,” a woman's voice pleaded. With his attention focused on the two automatic weapons, Tim had momentarily forgotten about Matthews and Misaki. They were still lying on the ground.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond to the girl, something sharp poked him in the back.

He froze.

He rotated his head slowly. Then he relaxed. He'd reached the edge of the plaza and hit one of the metal supports of the scaffolding. His escape was almost complete. Continuing to hold the semiconscious monk with his left arm, he stepped over the low stone wall and onto the scaffolding. His feet now securely on a wood plank, he glanced at the mechanical lift. Taking the monk with him would be impossible. The guards would be there before he could
lower the lift halfway to the ground. But if he went alone, he could drop the twenty feet to the riverbank instantly. The ground below him was hidden in shadow. He would be motoring down the river before the guards could reposition themselves for a clean shot.

Why aren't the guards doing more?
The thought raged through Grant's mind. His first instinct was to stay on the ground, but now he saw that the man was getting ready to climb over the low wall with his friend, and the guards were still doing nothing.
Where's their backup?

He glanced at the guest house in front of him. Maybe he could run there while the assailant was distracted by the guards. The options swirling in his head stopped when the man raised his gun and fired three shots. The first two hit the knee wall in front of the guards, causing them to duck out of sight.

Time stopped for Grant with the third shot. The man directed it into Jigme's back.

T
HE EARLY MORNING SUN crested the distant mountain peaks, its rays casting an orange glow through Issa's closed eyelids. Sitting with his legs crossed on the ghats, the wide stone steps that led to the river below, Issa heard the world around him awaken: monkeys bickering over food, the call of a hawk soaring, the distant sounds of the town beginning its day, the splashing of those bathing in the river. With each slow breath, he inhaled the mingled smells of spices and smoke drifting from the town's cooking fires. As he sat in relaxed stillness, each of these sensations washed over him like the wind passing over a field of wheat—bending and flowing with the breeze before returning to its natural upright posture.

Following his teacher's instructions, Issa focused his awareness on the moist air moving from the tip of his nose on his inhale, down his throat, and then filling his lungs. His
nephesh
, his breath. He felt alive, as if each breath radiated an energy into his soul, as if his skin itself breathed for him.

“Issa!” An urgent voice beside him interrupted his meditation.

The speaker's hand roughly shook his shoulder.

Issa opened his eyes and blinked at the silhouette of a man outlined by the morning sun.

“They're coming, Master,” his student said, out of breath. “I ran to beat them here. You must leave now.”

Remaining seated, Issa raised his hand and shielded his eyes from the sun's reflection. A man of about twenty years, his own age, but who looked much
older from a life of hard labor, stood in front of him in the dirty rags he wore for clothes. His student, one of fifteen he'd recently been teaching, practically danced from agitation. Issa placed his own hand on top of the one tugging at him to rise and pulled the man down next to him.

“Vinay, sit and calm yourself. Who is coming?”

Issa surveyed the ghats. Most of his other students were seated several steps below them and interrupted their own meditation practice to watch the discussion. He would correct them for that later. The others looked up at them from where they soaked in the cool waters of the holy river. Issa had found it interesting that the people here believed that dunking oneself in the river washed away one's misdeeds, just as the priests in his homeland bathed to purify themselves before entering the temple.

“Issa, the Brahmin priests are coming to arrest you. Oh, this is my fault. If I hadn't agreed to let you teach us ... Please leave now.” Vinay tugged on his teacher's tunic.

“I have done nothing wrong. I am not afraid to speak to them. Now sit still beside me.”

“But, teacher, seeing me with you will only anger them.”

“Let me handle that.”

Having heard Vinay's warning, the other students stood in alarm; they were all untouchables. Not even considered worthy to be a
Shudra
, they were a people outside caste in a society where position was even more rigidly defined than in his own. Issa raised his hand, signaling them to stay where they were. This entire caste system had disturbed him from the moment he'd first learned of it on his journey with the merchants.

The caste one was born into determined one's fate in this world: at the top were the
Brahmins
, the priests like Issa's teacher, who guided the people in their spiritual lives; the next level were the
Kshatriyas
, the government officials and the warriors; third were the
Vaishyas
, the farmers and the merchants; and last the
Shudras
, the peasants and the laborers. The untouchables did the work, when they could find it, not even suitable for the
Shudras
: preparing bodies for cremation, handling refuse, cleaning animal dung from the streets. Early on, Issa noticed that the top two castes rarely spoke to the
Vaishyas
,
except when they needed something. As Issa had experienced on his journey, the treatment of the
Shudras
was worse, but the members of the four primary castes didn't even consider the untouchables human.

Ever since he'd arrived in this land, Issa had been curious about the untouchables, but they seemed afraid of him, averting their eyes when he approached and hurrying away upon realizing he wanted to talk rather than give them work to do. Although Issa was a foreigner, he was studying with the Brahmins, and thus off limits.

One day Issa encountered Vinay carrying wood to a small shop that made furniture. Issa stopped him and spoke of his own experience building tables with his father. Vinay explained that he was not a craftsman; he only carried wood for the man who made the furniture. Issa made an excuse to wander by the shop each day for the next several weeks to talk to his new friend.

Issa learned from Vinay that the untouchables were not permitted to worship in the temples with the Brahmins, nor were they taught the Vedas, the ancient scriptures which were to these people what the Torah was to his. In Issa's own country, the Pharisees who governed the Temple lived as well as the Romans who ruled his land, but even the laborers were allowed to worship and were taught the law of Moses. When Issa confronted his teacher with this observation, his teacher looked at Issa as if he'd just asked why they did not teach the Vedas to dogs. He then refused to speak of the matter again.

Issa decided that he would take on the responsibility of teaching as many untouchables as he could. Only a student himself, he might not have the skills or the knowledge of a Brahmin priest, but he figured that some spiritual guidance would be better than nothing. After much persuading, Vinay became his first student, and gradually he brought his relatives and friends along. They met along the banks of the holy river before the sun rose or after it set, when they were less likely to be noticed by the Brahmins. Issa wasn't ashamed of his actions, but he thought it best not to advertise them either. Inevitably, word of his associations with the untouchables reached Issa's teacher, who refused to listen to Issa's explanations. He simply told him to stop the nonsense and focus on his own studies. That was two weeks ago.

Issa rose to his feet when he saw the four Brahmin priests dressed in white tunics and sandals approach from the dusty road. Leading the group, with his long white hair flowing behind his back and an equally stark white beard, was Swami Gundalini, the spiritual leader of the temple. Behind the swami, Issa's teacher stared at the ground alongside two other stern-looking older priests. Most troubling, however, were the two soldiers walking behind the four priests.

Maybe Vinay is right
, he thought.
Why did I think I could challenge these men in their own community?
The soldiers wore smug smiles as they strutted down the road in their leather boots and vests. At least their swords were still in their scabbards.

When the group reached the steps where Issa stood, trying to appear relaxed, he bowed deeply from the waist. “
Namaste
, Swami Gundalini. I am honored by your visit.”

“Namaste,”
replied the swami with a nod of his head. “I've heard disturbing reports about you, young Issa.”

“What reports might those be? I have worked diligently since my arrival here. My teacher has told me I am the quickest learner he has taught.” Issa noticed his teacher refused to look at him.

The swami grinned at Issa, displaying white teeth that matched his hair. The grin held no compassion. “I have heard of your quick tongue as well. My young student, we generously opened our doors when you arrived in our land, teaching you the ways of the Vedas. I understand that your practice has become quite advanced. Yet you continue to disobey us by teaching these—these untouchables,” he said, spitting the last word out in the direction of Vinay as if he were trying to rid himself of a bad taste.

“Are the untouchables not also among Brahma's creations?” Issa asked in an innocent tone.

“Do you dare to debate me, boy?”

“I mean no disrespect, Swami, but I am just following what I have been taught.”

“And you have the knowledge to teach our ways, when you are only a recent student yourself?” Without waiting for a response, the swami continued, “But
even a great guru would not waste his time on these creatures. It is not their place in life to worship, nor to understand the eternal; they do not have the mental faculties to comprehend the holy teachings.”

“Swami, I do not pretend to be a master of what I teach. I only share my own experiences with them. But if Brahman, if God, exists within each of us as I have been taught, then he exists in the untouchables as well as the priests. Why shouldn't they discover the same spirit inside of them that is inside of you?”