the temple grounds, and a tranquil bathing pool glistened in the shade of a banyan tree.
The main door was unlocked. He pushed it open. The entrance was empty, but he could hear rhythmic chanting coming from the corridor that led away from the hall. He waited, expecting someone to appear. When no one came, he made his way down the dim corridor. The familiar smell of incense floated on the cool air. He came to a door ajar and peered inside. Young monks were studying the Sutras, and their earnest faces reminded him of a time when he had dedicated himself to understanding the sacred texts. Now he had begun to despise the same texts for their endless contradictions. Not one had revealed the truth to him.
A man appeared at his side. “Can I help you, Brother?”
Sardili was startled to see it was Prajnatara staring up at him, looking no older than the day he had seen him in the park almost ten years earlier. The slight frame and soft features gave Prajnatara an almost boyish look and he stood no higher than Sardili’s chest, but there was firmness in his stance that belied his gentle appearance. Sardili bowed and pressed his palms together in the traditional Buddhist greeting.
“My name is Sardili,” he said.
Prajnatara waited for him to continue.
“I have come to study here, if you will accept me,” he added.
“What is it you seek, Sardili?” Prajnatara asked.
“I seek what every monk seeks—enlightenment.”
“And what do you suppose that to be?” Prajnatara asked, his expression puzzled, as if Sardili had brought up a fascinating new topic for discussion.
“To see the world as it truly is,” he said, “to know my own mind…”
“You don’t know yourself, Sardili?”
Sardili shrugged.
“Yet you have studied a long time?” Prajnatara probed.
“Yes.”
Prajnatara waited for him to say more, but Sardili had no wish to elaborate. “I ask to be accepted as a student,” was all he said.
Prajnatara studied him silently for a minute, then shook his head. “You are too old for this temple, Sardili. All our students are young. You won’t fit in. I regret to say the answer is ‘No.’”
Sardili had never been refused entry to a temple before and found himself at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry,” Prajnatara continued, turning to go, “I hope you haven’t come far.”
“Wait, please,” Sardili stepped closer, “I have come far. It has taken me years to find you …”
Prajnatara stopped but did not look back, “You won’t find what you’re seeking in this temple.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to fit in.”
“It won’t help.”
Sardili put his hand on the little master’s arm. “Please, Master Prajnatara, I beg you to reconsider.”
“Take you hands off me,” Prajnatara said icily. “One monk must never lay a hand on another in this temple. That is our sacred rule.”
Sardili released him and took a step back. This was a disaster. “I’m sorry, truly. Please forgive me, it’s just that …”
Prajnatara turned back to face him, looking him up and down once more as if seeing him for the first time, then slapped him hard across the face.
Sardili was stunned. In all his years at the Military Academy no blow had ever caught him so unaware. His first instinct was to strike Prajnatara down, but he fought the urge. His second was to touch his own cheek, which smarted from the blow, but he refused to show he’d been hurt.
“Now you may join us,” Prajnatara said, “if you wish.”
Sardili stared in astonishment at the little man who, it seemed, had so little fear for his own safety.
“What do you say?” Prajnatara demanded.
“I thought you said one monk must never lay a hand on another,” Sardili said through clenched teeth.
“Did I say that?” Prajnatara asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes you did. I believe you called it a sacred rule.”
“Rules are for children, Sardili.”
Sardili’s eyes bored into the little master’s with barely contained violence.
“Make up your mind,” Prajnatara smiled, turning and walking away. He had almost reached the end of the corridor when Sardili, beaten, shouted after him, “I will join!”
Prajnatara hurried back, a broad smile on his face now. He seized Sardili’s hands and clutched them to his breast, “You will? Are you sure, Sardili? I am so pleased, especially after I treated you so poorly. You would be perfectly justified in leaving and never returning. But you will stay?”
“I came to study,” Sardili said struggling to control his temper, “and that’s what I will do.”
“Well I’m delighted to hear it,” Prajnatara said happily, “but please don’t be too determined my dear Sardili, as it can rather get in the way of things. Now, let me think … You can join the classes, starting from tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll get Brother Jaina to show you around and help you settle in. Don’t go away. I’ll be right back. I’m so delighted that you came to join us, truly I am.”
Sardili waited over an hour and when the little master eventually reappeared, he was accompanied by a thick-set monk with a square jaw and a heavy brow. Prajnatara introduced them to one another, and as he did Sardili thought he saw a fleeting look pass between Prajnatara and Brother Jaina. Then Brother Jaina led him away to the tiny monk’s cell that would be his home for the foreseeable future.
The room was empty except for a roll of bedding on the floor and a chest for his belongings. When Brother Jaina had gone, he arranged his few possessions in the chest and sat on the floor. A great loneliness came over him, and he vowed it would be the last time he joined a new temple in search of the answers that had eluded him for so long.
The next day began with the dawn call to meditation. At the sound of the bell, the novice monks filed into the cool hall and took their places on rows of cushions. Prajnatara was waiting at the front. When they were all seated, he lit an incense burner and rang a tiny bell to signal the start of the meditation. The sweet chime seemed to go on forever.
When meditation ended, they ate a light breakfast and studied the Sutras with one of the senior monks. With the sound of the temple gong, Brother Jaina arrived and called them outside to exercise before the searing midday heat descended. They performed the yoga asanas, which Sardili knew well and followed easily; but what happened next came as a surprise. The young monks fetched thick reed mats from the temple and laid them down on the hard earth. When this was done, Brother Jaina began to instruct them in wrestling. Sardili noticed they practiced a form that had originated in Kerala, a form now common throughout India.
Prajnatara appeared at his side. “Are you surprised, Sardili?” he asked with a smile.
“I have never seen wrestling in a temple before,” Sardili answered.
“We find it helps students to concentrate if they are fit and healthy. Brother Jaina did a little wrestling in Kerala before he joined our order. Tell me, do you wrestle yourself?”
“Once, a long time ago.”
“Splendid! Where did you learn?”
“My father taught me.”
“How fascinating! Your father was a wrestler?”
“No. My father was a general, but