Valley of Flowers Page 8

  Nicolas stepped out onto the flower fairway. He went into one colorful crowd or hostile social situation. He headed to the flowing water he had once found reassuring. Nicolas reached the stream as any creature might, desperate for its particular brand of salvation.

  His club complaints had been drowned out. Sounds from the rushing stream had quieted his squad of nuisance clubs. The eternal hum of the stream dimmed also the noise going off in his head. He undid his pack and set all down. He bent low to take a sip. Afterwards he saddled up and carried on. Chants of Om Si Ram played in his mind. Nicolas recited this gift not to achieve bliss but for total distraction.

  He next approached one batch of wildflowers that had on guarded smiles. This was in contrast to the bright view he had of them on first arriving.

  Nicolas walked with his pack on his back as a day-laborer. He went along the fast-flowing stream. He could see then the way to cross was by an old stone bridge. The old stone bridge appeared ancient. It looked to date back to the time of the Mahabharata.

  Nicolas continued under his dull umbrella. He went as any sad figure might, gray in the middle of a world full of color. He attempted to stride with purposeful intent. He looked to Arjuna. He thought a riot-like situation was at the spot he now stood. The area seemed chock-full of color.

  He continued with his heavy foot action. Nicolas stomped on a multitude of wildflowers as he went. He crushed color and stem, leaf and bud, with each press down of his heavy hiking boots. It might have appeared he was carrying out target killings.

  The gushing waterfall, known to the locals, the migratory shepherds and nomadic cattle herders, as The Fountain, became louder with each crushing step forward.

  Nicolas crossed the stone bridge. Moments later he reached the front of the lake, or nearest point of entry of his drive. He set down his rucksack. He pulled from his pack a new ball and searched for a suitable place to drop it. Little clear area was found.

  He extended an arm over a spot that looked good enough. He let go. The ball landed fine. But then it rolled over to a colorful flower group.

  Nicolas watched it cuddle up to, or boyfriend one flower. The ball stopped inches from an area he more preferred. This was nothing new. It was often the case with any course-goer who had quite other plans for it.

  After the drop fresh tribes of flowers appeared interested in getting close. Each stood between being a thing alive and one dead. Several pink geraniums seemed to line up to take their chances. Stunning mauve polemoniums stood prettily in his way. Others appeared waiting.

  As for the murder to be administered, in oblong patches, Nicolas did not care for it much. To him, the flowers were simply gathering, giving, benefiting and accepting, in perfect peace with All. He felt the flowers were multiple bests in a grand show of winners. The flowers looked as if it was their birthright destiny also to stand there in his way.

  Nicolas understood that most of the massacring was about to come. He cursed the day he had agreed to come up here for this. Again he told himself he had no real choice.

  He pulled from his pack his pitching wedge. He chose this club to cut through all flower clutter. Nicolas bent back as practice the stems of one flower group. They leaned onto one another. The corralled became one tamed. They stood captured and caged.

  To control these natives into revealing, he bent back their stems more. He hoped to get a better looksee at the ground he would sometime hit. After more proddings he roamed the club with some force. Soon he was sifting through a delightful series of blue forget-me-nots.

  Nicolas looked to the old man who was still searching. He saw him peer into one brilliant patch. He scolded himself for not helping in the search.

  "What were you thinking?" he said.

  Nicolas saw that the old man had unexpectedly found it. He watched him reach down and pick up the ball. Arjuna then turned in his direction. He raised the ball in high triumph. The old man held it up as if match-lit. From this distance he looked like a lighthouse to eternal wisdom.

  Nicolas saw him pocket it to quit. He thought this was his way of accepting his lost chance at securing par or better.

  "Perhaps he is thinking that toiling on this one would be hard to take," Nicolas said to no one flower in particular. It’s like bowling into the nets, his other self added inside. "Maybe the next will be better for him," said the first.

  Arjuna, however, had other thoughts. While he enjoyed the idea of pitting himself against the vagaries of nature, other things were on his mind. He believed it best to focus on this fourth stage in life of the sannyasi or wandering ascetic. He accepted his circumstances as they were. Arjuna sent out his consciousness to be with all in the valley.

  "See the Goddess," said Arjuna. He then had the glorious feeling of self-surrender.

  The old man concentrated next on the flowers that deserved laurels. He sensed their eternal presence. He mixed sight, scent, sound and thought that intermingled inside. Arjuna enjoyed the magic of blended senses. He sensed the grand eternal wonder by simply having enthusiasm for it.

  Arjuna gazed at the waterfall while seeing well into another time. Eyes locked, he witnessed the existence of Is and Is Not. This added greatly to the serenity that surrounded.

  The old man recited under his breath then a passage from one holy text. In return for being so mindful, the Goddess offered him yet another spectacular view. The cascading rainbow gave its arching colors willingly. In attendance up there too were a few senior members from Arjuna's playing past.

  The old man looked to the flowers standing nearest him. In each he saw their everlasting presence that can never be affected. He saw in them too a sea of horizons. Arjuna felt free from conflict, fear, agitation, guilt and hurt.

  The sight of these colors gushing over the valley had him standing as any true believer. He inched towards stillness. Through the magic of blended sight, scent, sound and touch, as well as thought, he felt the Divine Force's presence. This re-ignited in him the sense that All is timeless eternity.

  Arjuna reached down to touch one leaf. The old man bent to hold between finger and thumb one fragile petal. He felt this flower's cup was the abode of the Most High. Arjuna vowed to act daily in its service. The old man stood then as an enjoyer. He felt blessed for this illuminative experience. He was glad too for this gift of being meditatively so able.

  For being so mindful, the old man was offered yet another remarkable vision. The soft-spoken rainbow could again be seen. It arched as any high-flying arrow over this hallowed battleground.

  The old man thought, Now is the time for doing.

  He looked to the youth who seemed spoiling for a fight. He smiled. The old man moved to join this fine young fellow. He went as one who had good news to tell. Arjuna had the desire to relate the rhythm and hum of the grand eternal as best he knew it. He wanted to recount what he had only just experienced, though the wish did not possess him.

  To that aim, he walked to his goal of crossing the old stone bridge or mysterious place of both arrival and departure. He went as one who can easily hold in what he had to say.

  Nicolas turned to face the old man. He watched him crush scores of flowers as he went. He saw him walk through the flowered valley where even carrying plastic is a no-no. He saw on the old man's face he was in no real rush to instruct.

  To him, Arjuna appeared not in a hurry to say a thing more, and he relaxed some. Nicolas Kumar watched the old man cross over the stone bridge then come his way.

  "Surely one who is born today is sure to die," said Arjuna, stepping over to him happily. "True too, all alive will live always and never have you not been."

  Arjuna stopped. He looked around. He appeared refreshed. He said, "In time every record will dissolve away. Not one will remain. I can guarantee you not one record will linger on. It is no different with a stone. When touched by the sun's spotless flame and running water long enough, it is sure to look like a chapati bread at the end."

  The old man gazed at one flower nearest him.
He looked back at Nicolas. He said, "Now in playing other courses I ask only that you follow the flight path of the sun. Each day begins in the morning when the sun sets off in the east. It shines in all these places north and south then comes to rest in the west, in Gujarat. The sun’s spotless shine carries on its daily golden way to the Arabian countries. Or you can have it that in a moment's time the sun’s dawning praise signals that you are in India’s east, in the age-old city of Benares perhaps. Halfway through this cycle you are in the south, which could be in the state of Kerala. When the sun sets down to rest you are in the west. As with the course of the sun the ball sets off and rises. It transits up to arrive at some peak. Then it descends. It goes down to rest awhile."

  Arjuna held up. He then added, "Willing is not enough, you must also act. Know too in this one existence you are asked to be courageous."

  Nicolas had a startling revelation. The eye-opener he knew had been hinted at before. And what was giving him such a fright was that he would be going on alone here, into the ceaseless wild.

  15

  Nicolas was surprised he would be taking this news so hard. He closed his eyes and held back his sadness. He switched from using eco-lights to looking at the old stone bridge. In the remaining moments with this good teacher, he judged the stone bridge to be strong and solid. It looked to have lasted a millennia. Now a normal monsoon from his eyes could at anytime be expected. The old man appeared ready to leave when he spoke more.

  "Now the number of hits you take, count them as rows of pearls, linked each-to-each as with every breath you take in and also give back."

  Nicolas first thought to ask this sage what was really on his mind. Instead he throated softly, "But will you not see me through this colorful valley?" He wished to erase then what he had only just said.

  Arjuna remained silent. The old man thought how best to answer the youth’s question. It occurred to him to say that he was at the stage when quiet contemplation, complaints, along with ever-present pain were likely to take over.

  He kept all that to himself, however. Instead, the old man replied by sending out first a sigh that sounded like extreme exhaustion. He breathed in. He said, "I am at the heartfelt most excellent stage in life. I’m seventy-two and have said my last farewell to the game. This course is yours."

  The news was something Nicolas felt might never sink in. As for being left lone here, the idea took him to despair. He held back feelings of heartbreak. Nicolas felt he had been tasked with some new appointment. He concerned himself next with the way ahead. The pathway had claimed sacred ground. Nicolas peered at the snow-clad mountains through moist eyes. They looked like glittering colossals, fresh from a violent storm.

  Again he thought to leave this paradise. Nicolas wished to do an about-face, head back down the mountain, take the overnight bus, to enjoy once more his wild turn at play with his school chums back in the big city. He wanted to be just as any fortunate city dweller: arrive at the valley and stay briefly, promise to return some day, but only after a number of years had safely gone by.

  Till such times, he thought.

  Nicolas next focused on this guide about to leave him. This raised his fearing speculations. He wished to know if his father had paid this guru. Nicolas Kumar wanted to know if he could treat him as one who is hired, and so make him do as he wished. He felt it was this good teacher's solemn duty to stay here and guide him.

  I mean, why else did he come up here, anyway?

  Nicolas felt not present at the spot he now stood. Time ticked so slowly. This lasted until Arjuna spoke and so decide himself that time should altogether stop.

  "Think of me as an honorary starter," he said. As to this time-honored tradition, the ceremonial starter is a sweet touch. It is a time to witness golf royalty.

  The old man handed the ball back to young Nicolas. He said, "And of course there is always a teacher here to help guide you." He then gave a sweep of his arm over all in the valley. This was in playful imitation of Nicolas from earlier.

  Arjuna turned to leave. He headed towards the stone bridge. He turned back a time or two while walking.

  The youth’s gloomy eyes posed risk of severe flooding. He experienced a sudden upwelling. Nicolas feared falling into uncontrollable crying. He thought this was done only by the saddest saps. He held out hope things would change for the noticeable better. It occurred to him this good teacher could see him crying. He felt it would be one clear directive for him to stay longer, and so he let go, allowing the dams to break. Nicolas open-carried his heart as if it were on his sleeve, blood-red and beating.

  To this water-shedding, a curiously precious commodity in the mountains considering so much rain, he could not then see out. His expression of sorrow reached a peak. He tried clearing up his sight. He saw that Arjuna had not returned but was instead some distance off.

  Still blurry, he watched Arjuna step onto the stone bridge. He saw him hold up on the bridge's crest. He saw him raise his hand in a casual goodbye. Next thing Nicolas knew was that this teacher, this humble guide and good friend to him here would not be coming back.

  Again, he felt the sharp pang of some departure. He was a bit shame-faced for outwardly crying. With no more good counsel to see him on his way, the image of his father made a brief though surprise visit. Nicolas saw his father atop the old stone bridge. His father had on his face the same stern look when he had left to come up here. This visit too would end in heart-wrenching pain.

  He saw his father raise his arm further in a gesture of fond farewell. Nicolas noticed his bracelet, a white ouroboros, slide down not his father's arm but Arjuna's.

  "But how shall I find this honorable teacher?" he shouted in an effort to get back.

  "Easy!" called the old man. And his mischievous grin was again on his tanned face. All grown up, Arjuna sported his boyish smile. He reminisced a moment or so atop the old stone bridge. Then he yelled, "This chant I leave you with!"

  Naughty and witty, the old man hollowed his raised hand. He put it up to his mouth. He did this to guide the vibration of his resonating deep voice. Almost magically the colors of the Kundalini showed brilliantly behind him. Colors as these appeared to gather all round. The sun or grand mark of time also shined. The Grand Chronocator spread a ring of liquid-gold light over all in the Valley of Flowers.

  The old man breathed in deep. He appeared ready to bellow a glad tiding with his trumpeting loud voice.

  Nicolas understood this statement would be meant for him to draw from here, as well as for years after. He knew too this would likely end this major scene between them.

  "Look for one who is wide-eyed and wanders freely!" the old man shouted. And again he sported his boyish smile that many have said could push up mountains.

  Arjuna bent to touch the old stone bridge in a gesture of darshan. He crossed over the bridge. The old man reached the far side of the stream, or nascent new ocean that just now separated them. Again, he opened then hoisted above him his rainbow-colored umbrella. He headed back through the fairway made up of a multitude of colorful wildflowers.

  Nicolas watched him go. He saw him climb the short rise to arrive back onto the 1st tee. He watched Arjuna go behind a small hillock there. Then he was out of sight. Nicolas stared at the spot lit up by a prettifier sun. The departure of this teacher left him feeling so alone.

  16

  Nicolas wore a deserted look. He prepared in his heart for more flower destruction. He stood unmoving, looking as if he were a physicist doing time solving. He attempted next to make light. The one without an anatha or guiding teacher said again he regretted getting out of bed for this. He turned back to look at what lies ahead for him. He saw that nature seemed so exceedingly restless.

  Nicolas surveyed a white flag on a white flagstick. The flag on the green stood beyond the flowers and snow-melt lake. It fluttered in the breeze faithless. The white flag pointed at the ground. This told him he should just lie down and wait for vultures.