Valley of Flowers Page 5

  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 into 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.

  Arjuna backed off again to take more practice swings. The twisted set of body instructions that followed seemed not to be coming from an otherwise sane man. To the uninitiated, Arjuna's swing may have looked like it had come up from one or more layers of Dante’s hell. It occurred to Nicolas the old man's swing, known at one time as The End-bringer, could not possibly have been manifested from the known world. To him, Arjuna’s swing looked to be an odd dance mix of hop, tap, bop, with a bit of boogie thrown in.

  Then his swing did change. His swing had acquired more finer, poetic lines. Indeed, his swing no longer seemed to be punishing some wayward sinner. Still Arjuna finished hands-up high as if caught in a crime.

  A breeze came to open the youth's shutters to an altered way of seeing. Strong wisps arrived to say Arjuna's swing was a thing to cherish. Next thing Nicolas heard his mind say was that he should appreciate all things. This included, he assumed, Arjuna's twisting up follow through.

  The old man wailed away on yet another practice swing. The club hit the ground at impact. This offered up another thing to love called turf. The fantastic god-creation known as Arjuna's swing went wild yet again. Gladly it seemed his swing had finished arms, elbows, hands up high. A changed man, Nicolas saw the old man's swing as a thing of utmost beauty.

  One more blow came down hard onto the earth. The turf that rose seemed to pop up and ask, Why me? In place of actual kindness, Nicolas felt that the breeze had meant for him to be a bit more honest. This may have resulted in him coughing up a lung from laughter.

  He heard in his head the call for him to accept all swing gyrations. Nicolas listened to his mind say, These too are born and created things. It meant each was lovely, a thing to cherish and not scoff at. He looked at Arjuna's swing that seemed to be a series of extreme wrongdoings. He wanted to know how something as beautiful and natural as a golf swing could go so wrong.

  As he did not want to be detected for any sniper grinning, his head shot down to stare at the grass that had become so exceedingly interesting. He thought to assume the guise of a practicing philosopher. From this down-looking position Nicolas heard another swing fly by. He stifled a smirk. He suffocated it sufficiently. Nicolas was then hard at work inventing an expression he could show more publicly. He went back to observing Arjuna's efforts at getting started.

  After more practice swings, the old man suddenly backed off his three-point stance. He stepped away from the plate to escape from some undetermined pressure. He took in a larger scope of the flower fairway.

  Arjuna studied all he surveyed. He peered at the Indian Himalayas made up of vanilla ice cream. The upturned cones with ice cream on top appeared vast and majestic. They looked moderately eaten also from a few bright-lit days.

  Arjuna thought of those residing in the heavenly beyond. Without a word, he headed to the one teed up. He went step by slow step. The old man went as one attempting to get back his swag or say-so.

  Nicolas sent his head back down. He studied once more the same patch of grass that had so fascinated him. He feared what might come at any time from Arjuna's sudden moves at the ball. Nicolas hid another urge to crack up.

  One question loomed in the gloom. It seemed destined to remain beyond his efforts at mind control. The idea crept close and stayed. The thought parked there in his little bean. The suggestion seemed as if it might remain until someone brave happened along to tell Arjuna a thing or two about the ease of hitting a little white ball, which was not even moving.

  Arjuna took another turn at things. This induced yet one more gash on the ground. A gash too showed on the youth's now-hurting face.

  Nicolas saw yet another clump of grass pop up. It looked like a newly awoken visitor. The grass seemed determined to relate a grievance to a park ranger.

  Arjuna's next swing saw more grass pop up to complain. A chunk flew to one area. It appeared to look for outside help.

  Arjuna's slashing at the ground opened up something more. Nicolas might have suffered a wider grin had his hand not reached up then to save the day. He was glad the old man had not turned and looked his way. In place of finding out, Arjuna had discovered a good grip. Yet even this required more adjustments.

  A familiar query arrived in the youth's mind. It swirled as if carried on the wind. The thought suggested Nicolas give up his quest for overall fairness. His mind seemed to be telling him to quit his claim that all should be deemed lovely.

  Another question could be heard in the remote regions of his mind. His thinker pushed the idea forward. It asked aloud what he would only dare muster under his breath.

  Both breeze and boy confided in one another. Rebellion brewed within the ranks. Together in the youth's outgoing breath, the two, acting like juvenile delinquents, managed to say in unison, faint though none too vaguely, "Could that swing have ever actually worked?"

  9

  Nicolas concerned himself with the old man’s hand and arm movements. He thought they were far too harried and also hurried. Nicolas felt there were needless gestures in them for such an easy task as hitting a little white ball.

  As with the clubs, the one teed-up looked almost bored. It appeared fed up with all the swing practice and dealt with it simply by ignoring it. The ball appeared to be in a state it had always been in: looking relaxed with who and what it was, while waiting for someone other to get his act together.

  Nicolas Kumar felt sorry for the ball, along with himself, for dragging both up here for this.

  The ball remained parked atop the tee as any glamorized person. It sat fat on its sleek red throne. The one teed up had the look of a hot-shot celebrity pro, accustomed to being catered to.

  In comparison with Arjuna, the little ball looked markedly composed. It seemed to not have one worldly care. The look on the old man’s face suggested the ball had, as if by magic, become something of a soothe-saying mystic. It occurred to him the ball could even start levitating.

  Arjuna's concentration switched up then. He went from being somewhat interested in the ball to all-out hypnotic. He then had a look on his face of disbelief. The old man seemed incredulous as to how this one thing could outdo him in the matter of mind control.

  Concerning the old man's stance, Nicolas thought it was a bit askew. It seemed Arjuna's body was aiming left towards the tribal regions of Pakistan. The clubhead, on the other hand, looked to have altogether different travel plans. It appeared to be heading right in the general direction of Kathmandu. This set up seemed bent on dying a miserable death.

  It’s a stance and swing worthy of a few giggles, thought Nicolas.

  He then went back to considering the old man's everlasting requirement to shift about so. He felt Arjuna need not mess with his grip so often. What really is the point in all that? he told himself.
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  As if he had heard, the old man left off the agreement, or mafia goon contract he seemingly had out on the grip. He let go his hold some on the one nearly strangled to give his trousers a hike. Still unsure about hitting, Arjuna went at his pants as a seamstress might in taking up the slack.

  The old man gave his pants a tug, one side then the other, as if this would set things right or situate positive all that made life wretched in this world: hunger, poverty, disease.

  When Arjuna appeared to have settled the matter with his pants, though issues remained, he viewed with equal eye the eternal restlessness of all in the Valley of Flowers. He stared at this wild. He added a few half-practice swings for no good reason.

  "He might cut down on his pace," said Nicolas softly so no one could hear. Yes, that would be one thing he could do, agreed another inside. "Among many," chimed in the first, in a voice nobody could possibly catch. He’s doing his best as coach or life guide, said the second from within. But he cannot be expected to do everything. Nicolas told himself also, Well, it is true he is good with his life-fielding drills. He is good with his strategies too, said this one who made the other stay quiet inside. Of this there is no smidgen of doubt. But he cannot be expected to do everything.

  Arjuna viewed his chosen landing spot out on the fairway. He focused on one spot two hundred or so meters out. The old man stood ready to make any minute now an attempt at it by not thinking too much. He had always believed it was best to step up simply, concentrate on a particular color, an ocean-blue maybe, then swing all out.

  Nevertheless, Arjuna understood once age catches up with any morning walker he is put back more times than he gets going forward.

  With this knowing gift, the old man smiled at his current predicament. He became happy, fully aware where he was now physically, and from how amusing this must seem to those standing by waiting patiently.

  To combat his known deficits, he thought to just breathe in deep and relax.

  The value of the breath or breathing correctly is underrated, considered the old man. He thought how much he enjoyed being up in these mountains. Arjuna was happiest, he knew, being in the glorious untamed. He felt glad too being in the company of this fine young fellow.

  The old man understood well that while held in by age in the immediate present, he was free to travel into his past, and do so whenever he liked.

  Although he did have yearnings for his drive to attain good height, length, then have it sit up nicely on some turf, he knew it may not happen that way and he was content with that.

  In performing any life duty, the old man thought it well and good to intellectually plan it first, but then be willing to let go of the intellect, to carry on intuitively, to allow any idea to develop and live as it might. He thought this ideal for his stage in life, known as the sannyasi or one in full retirement. He believed it was best to use his powers of letting go. He felt the intellect, or splendid mind gift should also be used selectively.

  The old man remembered then welcomed the return of his younger playing self. This one appeared to have arrived directly from that long ago major battlefield. He stood by silently.

  To get ready more, the old man evoked the three breathings: prana, vyana and apana. This exercise gives all who try it their ultimate strength in performing an endeavor.

  Arjuna concentrated on this ancient technique in proper breathing. Keep the peace and do not go looking for more excitement, he advised his younger self. This was meant to relax him so he might calmly enjoy the essence.

  But then a cleanliness drive was started by him. Originally, when Arjuna first set out for Europe, then onto America to play professionally, this routine had begun in fun; however, it soon became a psychic need. Mental fret morphed into all-out physical fuss. Then it went permanent.

  On the 1st tee of this Himalayan course known as Truind, the old man's nervous energy, based on fear and anxiety, began covering both forearms and pant legs. His one free hand went to wipe the face of the clubhead. He did this in repeated fast motion. Arjuna's hand rose to wipe a bit of sweat off his forehead. In another incarnation of fearing, the old man moistened his left thumb that wiped again the face of the silver-headed driver. That done, he brushed his cheeks with two fingers. He wiped below the nose. This act went up to his forehead to swab what wetness was retained.

  With his hand acting on fear's behalf, the old man moved to brush down the puff clouds he had for hair. His hand stayed to pat down all on top. A breeze passed by for no apparent reason other than to mess with his crowning achievements.

  Arjuna went about correcting what was undone. He did this in a flash. He made his hand work as a four-fingered comb. His hand behaved also as a kind of towel tool. This helped erase any lingering wetness.

  His hand made the trip down then with his hard-at-work fingers to pluck a time or two at the shoulders’ area. He pulled again at his shirt to be extra certain. In this way he hoped his arms, his shoulders, his armpits also, could get more breathing room.

  Purity achieved, Arjuna negotiated yet another safe spot for his tee shot to land.

  Now the old man looked ready to put in motion the final touches of one more club waggle. Nicolas believed he did this to avoid the actual hitting of the ball. How easy can it be? he shouted in his head. The thing’s not even moving!

  Another practice swing occurred for no reason. Nicolas cleared his throat. He wished to clear the air also by saying a thing or two about Arjuna's inability to get things rolling. Inside he cried out, Well, why not just hit the thing!

  Following more grip renewals, a focused calm appeared on the one with the apparent heavy burden. It may have looked to all and sundry that the old man was ready to hit, and do so with a bit of oomph.

  After all the obsessions over his clothes, his stance, his grip, the clubhead, his face and hair also, at no other time before now did the old man appear ready to do what was required, and what was asked was that he strike a little white ball and end this sordid drama.

  The old man gazed at the Valley of Flowers while Nicolas held back another smile. In place of actually beaming, he again sought the grass for some serious mental help.

  Arjuna shifted. He wiggled his hips to settle in better or perhaps add more comedy to this outdoor amphitheater. He then took the driver back. The club returned to its starting point looking rather reluctant. It came back to its apparent rightful position, stuck behind a little white ball.

  His focus was again on this round ruler. The old man saw the little ball as his equal counterpart in this epic drama by Homer. Arjuna seemed so fixed he appeared catatonic. This was followed by a glance down the flower fairway, as if one contestant had blinked in a stare fight.

  He fretted being thought of as soft on rotund little criminals. Arjuna feared being pelted by small stones also, if he did not take the shot soon. He gazed back at the ground as the two sides of his brain quarreled. They seemed unable to agree on what to do next.

  An abbreviated club waggle brought the old man's focus back onto the club. The clubhead held up behind the ball and above the somewhat moist ground. The ball looked to be performing the sideshow trick known as yogic levitation.

  Except for scattered here and there chatter, blown in on a breeze, the many-flowered valley was an area of perfect silence. The old man's mind too arrived at a place of peace. Stillness overcame him. Quiet too came to Arjuna's vast army of followers with the countless crossed fingers.

  All seemed well and about to get going when Arjuna's one remaining grouse was the actual hitting of the ball.

  He next thought to study his old film clips from his former playing days. He soon gave that up, though. He came in as from out of the cold to the surprise of at least one, himself. More surprise was in store for him when Arjuna noticed the club was inching back.

  At first he could not believe what his eyes were telling him. But then he saw the driver was indeed extending rearward. It moved along a straight line and in earnest this time.