Valley of Flowers (6 page)

As for explaining his sudden departure to
the middling stream, Nicolas broke through all cordons. He thought
to say to this awaiting teacher, I am ready now.

Then he did so. Without
caution, or more concern-for-all hesitation he said,
"
I’m ready
now,
"
and felt
the tiny stings and tingles of a hundred thousand million eyes
pierce onto him.

Arjuna showed his famous grin. His
trademarked boyhood beam was a mix of fun and jest. His gladness
seemed as all in the outside world: doing rather well at this time
and was also quite spacious. It was an occasion of sheer happiness
to him.

His smile could be seen too, Nicolas
thought, as a gateway to some quite cool resilience.

The old man's cheerfulness was a pleasant
surprise to the youth. Nicolas had anticipated a top-to-bottom
chastising by him for storming off the mound that way.

For his part the old man was glad young
Nicolas had, all by himself, removed his opposition on playing up
here. He felt pleased also from the beauty thought he was having
from the old song stating even the longest journey begins with a
solitary step.

His happiness was such he may have declared
four days of celebration.

However, in keeping with tradition, by
attempting to set up some spiritual end, he did not set out to
burst firecrackers. Instead, Arjuna bent low to fetch the
transcendental conch. Soon he had in his hands the overlarge
devadatta, or great battle-shell that was Lord Indra’s loud
gift.

The old man stood smiling. He looked as if
he wanted to exchange a few jokes. He went to put a hand on the
youth's right shoulder. Arjuna seemed ready to tell him he had been
part of one big practical joke.

Smiling, holding something back, the old man
looked as if he were going to tell Nicolas that he had all along
been part of a half-comic reality show, or some nutty TV promo set
up to trap him.

But Arjuna told not one
thing about any joke. He said with understatement,
"
Very well
then.
"
And,
"
If
you insist.
"

H
e stepped back a pace. Arjuna set
about fiddling with the conch by raising the shell with both hands.
He looked as if he were going to play a jazzy tune on a saxophone.
The old man's thoughts too ranged, as he fingered the age-old horn.
Mostly, he wished not to allow what was meant only as a brief
observance to be blown out of all proportion.

Several seconds passed as he tried finding a
good grip. His plan at getting Nicolas to start his play here
seemed to hang in the balance.

Time ticked. The beating heart of the
watcher ticked away.

Nicolas put his hands on his hips in the
western aggressive manner. He questioned whether this teacher was
capable of doing whatever it was he was trying to do.

But then Arjuna did find good grip. He
lowered then raised sharply the conch to his lips. He took in a
breath to fill up his lungs. The trumpet seashell, or great
attribute to Vishnu that was remarkably found in these mountains,
and so was measureless years old, sounded over the Valley of
Flowers. It resonated over this high hill district especially
blessed by Lord Brahma.

Arjuna blew the instrument with the sweetest
strain that might have covered miles. The musical device of ancient
primal energy, which traditionally signals the start of play
anywhere, could again be heard. The old man sounded the horn across
this flowered valley, or outstanding setting for creating perfect
legends.

Louder still, he put out the call to all
youth everywhere to get out there and perform.

Arjuna
lowered the conch
for keeps. He then headed to the rear of the tee box. He returned
the ancient sea-born noise producer.

On coming back, he removed his shawl worn on
this chilly morning. He perceived his younger, more proud-playing
self. The old man went between being young and then old, but
without having much preference.

He took off his jacket. Arjuna went as a
warrior might to the youth's standing pack. As for the clubs, they
looked almost bored. The clubs stood at military attention in the
off chance they might be needed.

Arjuna shifted the irons around to simply
hear their sound. He rested a hand on the driver. He stared out at
the flower valley. He asked for and received one ball. Nicolas
Kumar also provided him with one red tee.

The old man removed the cover of the driver.
He yanked the club out from the youth’s standing pack. He went to
set the ball atop the tee or position-holder. He backed up, step by
slow step. Arjuna stopped a few paces behind and here his
expression changed.

The old man went from appearing friendly to
one familiar with being quite fierce. He seemed used to severe
brooding. He looked ready to stare down this flower fairway
forever.

Arjuna then made a few arm
movements loosely associated with helpful stretching. He
stood the driver against himself. He extended an
arm over his head while the other arm went behind his back where
his two hands clasped. He looked to be turning himself into a
twisted salted pretzel.

The old
man
gauged the length of one spot to hit
his drive. The place he had in mind was sparked by the sun burning
bright. As with the one lit ablaze, all in the valley appeared
filled with limitless fresh beginnings.

He
looked
light-years away.
Arjuna
returned
in his mind to
a
scene that happened
long ago.
He
arrived as if on time to witness again the
very
moment he
had
shown his playing
skills so well.

The young-again
Arjun
a was back then, at
that
prestigious
tourney, set
so d
eep in his past
though not
f
orgotten.
Now any would believe a
miraculous event was about to take place.

8

Arjuna was then in full flashback mode. He
flitted between this one reality as well as all abstract time with
the seeming joy of a boy. He arrived fighting-fit in both arenas,
referred to by life practitioners as then and now.

The old man threw in plenty of crowd sounds
to go with his imagining. Arjuna recalled the virulent hand claps
he had always received in his day. The large crowd shouted from all
four grand directional points of the compass save one. They cheered
him on wildly as their valiant hero.

Arjuna’s army, three bands fifty and he at
the helm as their brigade commander, was surely back again. The
gambling rebel in him too had returned, and with plenty of time on
his hands. The one with the great charisma
then r
ecalled the thunderous applause he
had always received from his once magnificent army. This resounded
deafeningly
now in
his
ears.
Arjuna’s
mind had
only
just come back to
the valley when a gigantic roar lit up over one section of this
fantastic flower crowd.

Arjuna watched his self as in real-time
video. He saw his younger self bend to tee up on the opening hole
of his first major. He recalled just
a
day earlier at practice when paired with two
well
-
known players. Both
were in mid-careers at the time, and one had afforded him a
challenge-promoting comment.

The remark had at first mortified him.
Later, as the days turned into months then years that too piled up,
the words only gladdened him.
He
surmised that this moment had helped shape him as
a player as well as into a mature man. It added to his cherished
memories of the yesteryears.

The incident took place after one of the
pair of marquee names, considered among the game's legends,
grimaced while watching Arjuna take another nervous hack at the
ball. This famous player said to the other, and loud enough so
Arjuna could hear it, 'What’s this kid doing here?'

Another recollection came to him.
he
recalled with
warm
fondness the
satisfied look on the venerable man himself. He recognized the
grand master of this celebrated tourney. The great gentleman
appeared to welcome this brand of tough mental competition. He was
in his chair at the time and smiling, looking as if he were
enjoying a well-earned breather. In utterless awe, Arjuna thought
it remarkable that this man is voted,
even in this modern day and age,
time after time
still, as the greatest player who ever lived.

Arjuna
returned
then
to this flowered valley, designed by some
unperceived greatness.

A picture appeared of this famous player. It
showed in the sky beside one mountain peak. It was nearest the
heavens also.
It
looked
to have been from the time of his greatest triumph
,
achieving golf's Grand Slam.

The
image Arjuna had in mind was the size of a building’s hoarding. It
looked to entice all who might try their luck up here with the
message,
Come relax with the Divine
.
Flash forward to today on a superb,
bright-lit summer’s morning
,
the
message rumbled with authority.

Arjuna’s consciousness
came back to
register a practice swing. The
old man understood the decision to swing had been made on his
behalf while he was away. He wanted to know how this could happen
without him being
properly
informed.

His fidgety reflexes perked up
then
. He gripped the upstart driver
in an effort to quell
a
rebellion.
The youthful Arjuna,
with the down-to-earth manner, appeared ready to take up the big
swing. He
looked
all
set to go with his flamboyant, go-for style that
was all out.

His body went through a flurry of whipped-up
activities. One more practice swing was administered, and this time
he was present. The swing effort was a genial
leg-spinner
, sweetened for any
situational humor on primetime TV
. It was over in a flash
when the
club
rose at
the follow through in apparent high triumph.

Arjuna remained pointing his arms
to
wards
the heavens. His
follow through looked to be a solemn flag-hoist. This seemed to be
one for the guys. He rested the club on
to
his shoulder to the memory of those he was fond
of recalling.

In his heart Arjuna knew they were
temporarily inhabiting the grandest of all pasturelands, to get
refreshed, before returning to compete again, with an equal amount
of style along with a whole lot of grace.

With his feet somewhat planted, the old man
hitched up his pants. Arjuna did this a time or two more in a
routine that could pass as a ritual in
a
pagan religion. This was quite entertaining to
young Nicolas. He looked to have benefited immensely. He thought it
curious to get ready this way, one in which nobody could forget
soon.

The once-assured or one called King by his
legion of
loyal
followers
,
and
b
egrudgingly so by his
competitors, turned his hips to stand better over the ball.

Suddenly he backed away from it. He stepped
out of the pocket to walk a few paces behind. The old man gave ball
and
flower
fairway a
long look. He did this while furiously reforming his grip on the
driver.

Some time passed before Arjuna went back
into it. He had a look on his face that could scare crows.

The old man
stepped up and
took his stance over a ball he
perceived as being intimidated by him. Man and ball
then
gave one another a wink-wink
knowingness over who was
truly
the boss here. This stare
-
down left one participant a tad undecided.
After which that one backed off.

Again,
Arjuna
stepped away from the plate.
The old man
took several quick
quarter-swings. The stern look upon his face, along with the
sorrowful shaking of his head,
seemed
to suggest that stepping away was indeed
needed.

He came back
in
to it. Arjuna settled into his stance. When he
seemed persuaded by it, a waft of wind arrived to thwart him. The
wind came in
again
to
antagonize more. Nicolas gave no thought to the breeze. He was
concerned only with the swing of this past master.

The chill air calmed. It moved Arjuna to
arrive at some acceptance. Soon he was a mere dot presence in the
glory of All. No friend, the wind kicked up again to chide him.

Nicolas was glad not to be the one at the
plate at this time. He heaved a sigh of relief that it would not be
him teeing off there and then. For the moment he was happy not to
be the one getting that kind of unwanted wind attention.