Brother Jaina.”
“It will be awkward,” Jaina continued, “returning home after so long with nothing to show for your efforts.”
Sardili felt his temper rise, and when he noticed Prajnatara and Jaina exchanging a knowing glance, he could contain it no more.
“I see this amuses you both!” He exploded, smashing his hand onto the table and sending papers flying. Brother Jaina flew to his feet to stand between Sardili and his master. Sardili grasped Jaina’s robe and he fought the urge to hurl the smaller man aside.
A splash of cold shocked him. Prajnatara had thrown a jug of water in his face. “Cool down, Sardili,” he ordered.
Sardili released Jaina and pointed a warning finger at Prajnatara. “I would advise you not to strike me a third time,” he growled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Prajnatara said lightly, “but before you go, tell us why you’re so angry?”
Sardili glared at the little master, searching for the words to adequately describe the depth of his disillusionment. “It’s all false,” he said finally, his voice little more than a whisper now. “I have wasted so many years chanting, praying, reciting, debating—and all for nothing. You talk of the truth. You claim to possess it. But the truth is you have nothing. A man could waste a lifetime on this charade.”
He strode across the room and reached for the door.
“You’re quite right, of course,” Prajnatara said casually, taking a scroll from a cabinet and crossing the room to offer it to him. “These scriptures really are quite useless. Tear them up if it makes you feel better. Get rid of everything in this entire temple if you wish. None of it is necessary. Not one single thing.” He turned and swiped a bowl of incense from a nearby shelf. It shattered loudly on the floor creating a cloud of white dust. Sardili watched in bewilderment. It seemed he was not the only one who had lost his self-control.
“Here,” Prajnatara said, taking a carving of The Buddha from his window, “break the stupid little statue into little pieces if you like. It’s just a piece of wood, carved in the shape of a man.” The master’s voice was serious but Sardili still had the feeling he was being mocked.
“Keep your Buddha,” he said angrily, striding from the room.
“Sardili wait, please …”
He ignored the master’s pleas and went to his room to collect his belongings. When he emerged, Brother Jaina was waiting for him. “Sardili,” he said quietly, “at least wait until morning. You can talk with Prajnatara again, when you’re not so angry. Then if you still wish to leave, we will give you supplies for your journey.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“The jungle is a dangerous place at night.”
Brother Jaina was right but Sardili did not care. He yearned for the dark embrace of the jungle and strode from the temple without another word.
“Come back when you’re ready,” Jaina called after him, but Jaina’s words were already lost in the thick night air.
Sardili walked among the gnarled shadows of the moonlit jungle, driven by rage at the monks, the temples, the scriptures, The Buddha, and above all, at himself. He had hurt his father, his mother, his family. He had wasted his youth. Tears of frustration coursed down his cheeks and he left them to fall into the folds of his robe. He walked for hours, directionless, until the sky began to lighten and the first glow of dawn appeared on the horizon. It was only then that he noticed his mouth was dry and his limbs weary.
He stopped in a quiet glade and took a pull of water from his goatskin. By the time he had returned it to his knapsack, a watery sunshine had filtered through the treetops. He rubbed his eyes wearily and rested his head in his hands. His anger had gone, leaving him exhausted. His mind began to replay the events of the previous evening. Prajnatara had reacted strangely to his outburst. He had not disagreed or protested. In fact, he had agreed that it was all pretense. It made no sense.
A dwarf deer wandered into the glade and nibbled on a patch of wild grass, unaware of his presence. Sardili clicked his tongue and the little deer noticed him and darted away. He found himself smiling at the creature’s stupidity. One moment it had thought the glade safe, the next, a place of danger. But the glade had not changed. Only the deer’s mind had changed.
He wondered if he was the same. Could it be so simple?
He dismissed the idea. It was nonsense. But even as he did, he knew it was true, and his life would never be the same. He rose and walked in circles, checking and rechecking his revelation. Was there a flaw in his thinking? A gap in his logic? There was no flaw, no gap. This was beyond intellect or logic. It was something more profound, a simple acceptance that needed to be made. It was the truth about himself.
Until that moment, he had been like the deer, seeing things as he had wanted them to be rather than as they truly were. He had been demanding the truth when it had been under his nose all along. He had been searching for miracles when the miracle of life had been playing out before him every second of every day.
He thought of the Lotus Sermon. How simple the answer seemed now. The flower had been just that—a flower, nothing more, nothing less. It was perfect as it was. To attempt to describe a flower was laughable when its beauty was on display for all to see. Yet only Kasyapa had understood the inadequacy of words. No wonder he had smiled at The Buddha’s little stunt. No wonder The Buddha had handed the lotus to him.
Sardili felt a burning excitement in the pit of his stomach, a delicious secret he now shared. He was walking on air, his mind alive, his senses alert. He had seen the true nature of his own mind, and with it, the true nature of all things. He began to laugh, long and loud, at his own stupidity. His thoughts turned to Prajnatara and his laughter turned to a long howl of shame. How ridiculous he must have appeared to the little master; and how rude, shouting and thumping the table like a spoiled child, manhandling poor Brother Jaina! He had to return to the temple and beg for forgiveness.
He would go soon, and quickly, but not immediately. First, he wanted to continue through the trees and wander beside rivers and streams, fields and flowers, seeing everything in this new and perfect light. He wanted to climb high hills and look down on the earth with new eyes, to visit the towns and villages of India and talk with old men and children, beggars and noblemen, Brahmins and Untouchables. And he wanted to do these things with all the breathless excitement of a newborn child entering the world for the very first time.
It was midnight, some days later, when Sardili returned to the temple. An attendant monk was dozing in the entrance. He woke at Sardili’s appearance and welcomed him back with the news that his room was waiting for him, untouched. Sardili slept peacefully that night, and in the morning he visited Prajnatara in his study once more. He found him sharing breakfast with Brother Jaina and stood before them, wringing his hands in shame.
“Welcome back Sardili,” Prajnatara said with a broad smile, unsurprised to see him.
Sardili took a deep breath. “Master Prajnatara, Brother Jaina … I hardly know where to begin. I behaved disgracefully and I am truly sorry. I have come to beg your forgiveness.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Sardili,” Prajnatara said, holding out his hand to him. “Come and sit with us.”
“I wish to make amends,” he said, taking the master’s hand gratefully.
“Then join us, and have some food.”
“I can’t believe I said such things …” he said, shaking his head, only his dark beard hiding the depth of his embarrassment.
“Think nothing of it. We have each been through the same things. I am just delighted you came back, and if I’m not mistaken, you seem a little happier too?”