the Warrior Caste?” Prajnatara asked, warming to the subject quickly.
“Yes.”
“It must have been difficult turning your back on the family tradition to follow The Way.”
“It has been a humbling experience,” he answered truthfully.
“And do you think your father was right?”
“About what, Master?”
“About understanding many things from one.”
“I am not in a position to judge, Master. I gave up such pursuits a long time ago to follow The Way.”
“You don’t think The Way can be found in strategy?”
“I don’t know where it can be found. That is why I am here.”
“What do you know, Sardili?”
He saw the mischief in Prajnatara eyes. “I know it’s not common to see monks wrestling,” he answered stiffly.
“True, but your father sounds like a very wise man,” Prajnatara persisted.
“My father was a warrior. The Way is a way of peace …”
“Ah, beware of trying to define The Way with words, Sardili. It goes against the very essence of The Way.”
“Then please tell me, what is the essence of The Way?”
“Actions, not words, Sardili,” Prajnatara said loudly, clapping the back of his hand into his palm, then shook his head in bitter disappointment. “If only you had listened to your father instead of a lot of silly old monks! It’s too late now. You’re stuck with us. So come, let us see you wrestle. I will get Brother Jaina to select a suitable opponent for you.”
“It would be better if they wrestle among themselves,” Sardili warned.
“Oh come, Sardili,” Prajnatara laughed, “what are you afraid of?”
Sardili looked into the master’s face to see if he was serious and found he could not tell. He stripped down to his loincloth, as the other wrestlers had done, and Brother Jaina welcomed him onto the mat. “Do you wish to warm up, Sardili?” he asked.
Sardili was loose from the earlier exercises and his huge lean muscles glistened with a fine sheen of sweat.
“I am warm, thank you Brother Jaina,” he said.
Jaina called out an opponent for him, a big youth as tall as Sardili, though not quite as broad. Sardili smiled at the young man, but the youth simply watched him warily. They circled for a moment, before going into a clinch. The youth moved quickly, pushing and pulling fiercely to unweight the stranger who had appeared on their mat. Twice he attempted a throw, but Sardili was as immovable as a rock. The youth switched suddenly to a standing submission, hoping to lock one of Sardili’s arms in both of his own. It was then that Sardili tired of the boy’s childish antics. There was a blur, nothing more, as the youth was spinning in the air. It seemed to the startled onlookers that Sardili would drop the boy on his head, but Sardili turned him at the last instant and sent him crashing down safely on his back.
The youth groaned, stunned by the fall. Sardili looked to Brother Jaina, unsure of the rules of the match, but Jaina said nothing. It seemed a submission was needed to end the bout. Sardili knelt beside the boy and waited for him to recover. Slowly the youth rose to his knees and reached out to take hold again. It was a mistake. Sardili seized his wrist and pulled. His left leg snaked around the outstretched limb and trapped it between both knees. He raised his hips. “I submit!” the youth cried urgently.
Sardili released the lock and helped his opponent to his feet, massaging his elbow joint until the pain had subsided and some movement had been restored.
One by one, the other wrestlers came out to face him, each more reluctant than the last. At first, he allowed them a little dignity before defeat, a few moments to attempt a throw or submission. But after a while he tired of their dismal efforts and, without quarter, slammed them into the mat and wrapped them in excruciating locks and chokes. Each opponent submitted to a different hold, many of which had never been seen before, each yelped in pain and tapped frantically to be released. After each match, Sardili took time to treat the area of the body that he had traumatized only moments earlier.
Soon he had disposed of all the young wrestlers and only Brother Jaina remained. Sardili rose to leave the mats, unwilling to expose the young monks’ instructor to a humiliating defeat, but Brother Jaina called him back. Prajnatara nodded his approval for the bout and Sardili returned to the center of the mat.
Brother Jaina turned out to be a strong and skilful wrestler, but he was no match for Sardili, who forced him to submit in little more than a minute. To Jaina’s surprise, he did not feel Sardili’s enormous strength at work, nor his considerable weight. Sardili defeated him with a level of skill that required no strength, skill Jaina had seen only in the greatest wrestlers in the land. He bowed to Sardili while the young monks regarded the newcomer with barely concealed wonder.
In the evening, Prajnatara took Sardili aside and asked him to instruct the wrestling from that day forth. He agreed, and soon became something of a celebrity among his students, who progressed rapidly under his expert supervision.
Sardili enjoyed his new role as a teacher, but as the days became weeks and then months, he grew disillusioned with his life at the temple. The long hours of meditation and study brought him no closer to the enlightenment he sought. He tried discussing his concerns with Prajnatara, but Prajnatara evaded the subject, talking instead of the weather, the flowers in his gardens, or the progress of Sardili’s wrestling students. When Sardili pressed him on the subject, Prajnatara struck him hard on the chest and reminded him that he would not find what he was seeking in the temple.
The days grew shorter. Summer gave way to autumn and in those long silent hours of the evening, Sardili came to realize that his quest was over. There was no prize awaiting him in Prajnatara’s temple. No treasure to be discovered. No truth. No nirvana. It was time to abandon his fruitless search and dedicate himself to a more realistic goal, though he had no idea what that might be.
The hour was late when he went to inform Prajnatara of his departure. The temple lamps had already been extinguished and only a single candle burned in the corridor. He moved silently to the master’s quarters, not wishing to wake the sleeping monks, and knocked softly on the door.
Brother Jaina answered and stepped aside to let him in. Prajnatara was seated at his desk with paperwork laid out before him. He looked up with a smile. “You look concerned, Sardili. Come in. Take a seat. Talk to us. You will be a welcome respite from the tedious business of running a temple. What can Brother Jaina and I do for you?”
“Nothing. I am leaving,” Sardili answered.
“Leaving? So soon after arriving? Are you sure about this, Sardili?”
“Yes. I decided you were right. I won’t find what I’m looking for in this temple. I have come to thank you for your teachings and your hospitality, but The Way is not for me. It’s time I did something different.”
Prajnatara turned to give Sardili his full attention.” Different in what way?” he demanded with a frown.
“More purposeful.”
“The Way is eminently purposeful, Sardili.”
“Not if one cannot find it.”
“Perhaps you seek it too hard,” Prajnatara sighed.
“And perhaps you talk in riddles,” Sardili answered, unable to contain his mounting frustration.
“What will you do instead?” Brother Jaina asked.
“I have not decided yet.”
“Will you return to your family?”
“Perhaps.”