Shambhala (18 page)

“Feel it Bahi, the fears, the unworthiness, accept them, allow yourself to just feel them.”

Bahi goes very deep inside, feeling the discomfort of his inner demons of fear. Slowly he opens his eyes to look at Bharat.

“Pawo,” Bharat says.

“Pawo?” Bahi asks, readjusting his eyes to the bright sunlight.

“It means one who is brave, the warrior. The warrior masters himself in order to help others. Only when you can feel your enemies inside and know them, can you conquer them. A true warrior does not escape these, does not run away. He stands and fights the inward battle. The Pawo comes to realize, like the painter who paints the monster, that these inner demons or enemies are nothing but his own creations. Yet if we spend our lives running scared of these, we breathe life into them and allow them to dictate our lives. The end result is that we cannot help anyone, because we can not even help ourselves,” Bharat shakes his head.

“Pawo,” Bahi says under his breath.

“The path toward Shambhala can be traveled only by a true warrior, a Pawo, for these inner demons will do all they can to impede you from getting there. Again when I say
warrior
, I mean not the ones who make war on others. That is anger and aggression, and that’s how we got into this mess in the first place. Those are the warriors who allow the inner enemies to run their lives. It means to be brave and not be afraid of yourself. This warrior I talk about is selfless. When we are afraid of ourselves and the seeming problems of the world, we become very selfish. And so we build our little security nests and choose the
X
because it feels safe. We stay outside searching because we fear the darkness inside. Ignorantly, like children, we create our own suffering. So, Bahi, do you wish to be a Pawo or a fearful child?”

“A Pawo,” Bahi instantly answers.

“Feel it. Be sure. Why do you want this?”

“Because I want the truth.”

“But why?”

Bahi thinks of all the suffering he has encountered along his journey, the homeless woman, Kamini, the spider, and so on. The thought of the endless suffering in the world ignites great compassion, giving him a sense of strength. “I want to help others. I want to lead them to liberation from the suffering they’re creating for themselves and others, and I know that in order to do this I need to find Shambhala, where I will find these answers. I will be able to find the answers there, won’t I?” he asks, exposing his misgivings.

“Perhaps, Bahi, perhaps. More importantly, would you be willing to sacrifice your own happiness, your own opportunity for liberation in Shambhala in order for someone else to get there?”

“I would,” he says quickly from his heart, as Ajee pops into his mind.

“I know you would, and this is why I will teach you the way of the Pawo. Tonight I will show you who you thought you were, and then we can begin to look at who you truly are.”

“Thank you, Maha Bharat, thank you,” Bahi says, finally feeling assurance for the first time that he may actually reach Shambhala. “So now what?”

“Now I meditate, and when the sun reaches a pinkish hue, come to the cottage.”

“What should I do in the meantime?” Bahi asks, realizing he will have the entire day.

“Meditate, think about and meditate on what we just went over. Be firm in your resolve to walk the path of the warrior, for once you step on this path, completion is the only option, no matter how many lifetimes it takes you.” Saying this, Bharat slowly walks off to the cottage.

Bahi stands in the sun for hours contemplating the conversation, coming to a strong resolve to walk the path of the warrior, to lead others to liberation by finding Shambhala and finding the answers he seeks. The day has seemed to go by very quickly, and before he knows it the sun has dropped down, creating a beautiful scene of pinkish orange hues that softly lay upon the valley’s horizon.

Making his way to the cottage, he can smell the spicy, sweet fragrance of food being prepared. And having taken only a bowl of porridge early in the morning, his stomach rumbles with excitement and anticipation of a meal. His mouth waters as he opens the cottage door. Steam from the meal, which is prepared and setting on the table, pulls him into the cottage as he seemingly floats in ecstasy toward it.

“Sit,” Bharat directs, wiping his hands on the red towel.

Bahi sits, taking in the feast of noodles and vegetables. “I am so grateful for all you are doing for me,” he expresses.

“You did all of this. It’s your karma, your actions that allow you to receive my teachings and meals, so thank yourself.” Saying this, he places his hands in prayer. “Let us be thankful to all the kindness of sentient beings who made it possible for this meal to be on this table, to the kind and selfless Earth as well,” Bahi closes his eyes as gratitude wells up in his mind, “and to repay this kindness we enjoy and savor this meal,” Bharat says picking up his fork.

Bahi smiles as he takes a sip of water from the wooden cup before him. Mixing the noodles around on the white plate, he remembers the Baba and the wise teachings of how all of this is dependant upon causes and conditions, like Bharat said, ‘to bring this to his plate.’

After dinner Bahi graciously accepts his task of cleaning the dishes, and when he finishes up, he comes over to the small area in front of the Buddha statue. Bharat prostrates three times before sitting, and Bahi does the same.

“We prostrate not because the Buddha needs us to bow down to him. We offer food and drink and incense and so forth not because the Buddha needs things. We do this for ourselves. Prostration teaches us respect and reverence. When we are bowing, we are bowing to ourselves, the God, Buddha, the source, whatever you may call it, which is in all things and living beings. We are recognizing this every time we bow—unity, interconnection. As we offer we practice giving, selflessness. These things we do for our psychological mind, to develop habits that empower us to help others and recognize that we are not separate from anything,” Bharat says, eyes fixed upon the statue that sits with strength amongst the soft smoke of incense that dances around it’s body. He looks over at Bahi, who sits to the right of him. “So to realize who you are, first you must look at who you are not.” Saying this, he snaps his fingers, sending Bahi into a deep nod of hypnosis. “Search yourself, Bahi. Remember who you were, how you got here.”

Bahi’s mind brings him to the log where he hit his head. It’s as though he is actually there. He remembers Bandar and all his kindness and help.

“What happened before this?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” he mumbles in a hypnotic state, head hanging low.

“Yes, you do. Feel it, Bahi. Who were you? How did you get to that log?”

Bahi goes deeply into the dark abyss of his mind, where he attempts to look around, but sees nothing, when suddenly he is on a busy city street making a phone call as a taxi nearly hits him. He feels very busy as he pans out and sees himself, “Paul!” He exclaims.

“Very good,” Bharat says, “Who was Paul?”

“Paul was me,” Bahi sits, as the memories flood in. He remembers his busy life, the family he now misses, and all the hardships and joys. Opening his eyes, he says, “I remember,” still calm from the meditative state.

“Very good, this Paul character, is this you?”

“It was me.”

“So are you now Bahi?”

“I, I don’t know, I’m not Paul anymore, so yes, I am Bahi.”

“And one day will you be someone else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bahi, Paul, whatever you call yourself, you need to realize you are constantly changing and that the true nature of who you are is the answer you seek at Shambhala.”

“Yes, so who is that?” Bahi asks.

“This you need to answer for yourself. My job is to give you the tools necessary to reach Shambhala, but it’s up to you to get there. It’s up to you to discern if there even is such a place.”

“What do you mean? It exists, doesn’t it?”

“It exists just as much as Paul or Bahi does,” Bharat answers. “Do you still wish to know who you are?”

“Yes, now more than ever,” Bahi pleads.

“Bahi, remember as a warrior your obligation, your mission, is to help others. Everything you do is for the benefit of all sentient beings and the Earth. Keep this resolve strong and all you seek will be found. So rise now, Pawo, for the journey is long and our time on this Earth is as brief as this candle. Make no haste on your quest.”

“But I still don’t know where to go,” Bahi says nervously.

“In the morning you will leave. I will give you a direction, but it is up to you to discern the right path. You are the boss. Trust your feelings. Go into the dark house and allow the soft light to illuminate what you seek, and you will not fail.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You were ready when you were born. Your whole life has been leading up to this moment, Bahi. Trust in that order, surrender to the integrity of order.”

“What if I fail?”

“What if you succeed?” Bharat asks as he closes his eyes in meditation.

Bahi sits, nervous. His hopes of having all the answers laid out for him are dispelled. Closing his eyes slightly, he goes within. In his meditation he feels a sense of power, and remembering his life in New York, feels an urgency to press on toward Shambhala so he can quickly return and help others.

That night, Bahi lies awake in the barn, reflecting on what Bharat has taught him. Remembering his life is like coming out of a movie feeling the emotion of it all, but still there is a sense of disconnect. He allows the fears and doubts to arise and meditates dissecting them, logically examining the lies he has been telling himself in the form of fantastic fear. The inner demons begin to lose power as they struggle to hold on. Slowly he feels more empowered, more confident, and a clarity of mind that gives way to peace settles him into a deep night’s rest.

AGAIN BAHI AWAKES
to a flickering candle, which dances to a warm orange glow on the wall of the barn. Rubbing his eyes, he feels his beard, which has seemed to grow thicker overnight. Rising up, he makes his way over to the candle, and picking it up he walks out of the barn. He feels he has done this a thousand times before. The weather has seemed to grow starkly colder than the day before as he bundles tightly in his blanket. Making his way to the cottage, he thinks of how these past few days have felt like months. He feels more confident, stronger, and excited to get along on his journey. Coming into the cottage, he sits down across from Bharat, who smiles, head tilted. “You are ready?”

“I think so. I feel very different from when I came here a couple of days ago.”

Bharat laughs, “How long do you suppose you have been here, Pawo?”

Bahi thinks, noticing the darkness outside, where the sun is usually already on the rise. “I came three days ago.”

“It has been three months,” Bharat says.

“Three months?” Bahi begins to consider that he has been there for three months. His beard is fuller, even his clothes are worn out more. “But how? I don’t understand.”

“Time is not to be understood. The fabrication of such a convention is illogical in itself. You need not worry about these details. What is important is that you feel ready to leave.”

Bahi searches himself and confidently utters, “I do.”

“Let us eat,” Bharat says, coming into prayer before they silently eat their porridge.

After breakfast Bahi washes up the dishes, still in wonder of how he has been there for such a period of time. It makes sense when he ponders his emotional and physical state, but his mind can’t fathom it. He thinks of how he knew only a fragment of his life before coming there, and now remembers his entire life in New York, and feels even further away from it than when he had amnesia.

Heading outside to meet Bharat, he notices a small satchel in his hand, which he hands to Bahi, “Here are some provisions for your journey.”

Opening the satchel, he finds two small loaves of bread, a bunch of apples, some nuts, and a book of matches that sit on top of a beautiful shawl, which he pulls out. “Beautiful, thank you!”

“This is a special shawl made from the wool of yak. It is highly blessed and will protect you from the coldest of conditions.”

“How can I ever repay you for all the kindness you have given me?” Bahi asks sincerely.

“By giving it away to others when the time presents itself.”

Bahi feels near tears as he begins to draw closer to Maha Bharat for a hug. “All right,” Bharat says, squashing the moment and impeding the hug. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You still have a long journey ahead of you. Come.”

Bharat begins to walk northward, picking up a small canteen that sits on his stoop. They walk a short distance to a still pond framed by ice at its edges. Bahi looks at the striking reflection of trees in the quiet pond. It is like a painting of the sky and pine trees that surround it. Birds fly through the sky in the painting as they watch in reverence of such beauty.

“This is like your mind. There is Shambhala,” Bharat says, pointing to the images cast upon the pond. “Stay with the stillness of this pond, and Shambhala will be clear to you.” Picking up a rock, he lunges it in the air. It comes splashing down in disturbance of the image as ripples echo toward the icy edges. “That rock is like the agitations of your mind, the fears, the grasping outward, the frustrations of searching for a needle outside when all the while it is in the house. These agitate our mind and obscure our view. The inner silence will reveal its beauty, its truth.” Just then the pond becomes still again and the images clear. “Be gentle with yourself and know that the agitation will pass if you don’t keep throwing more rocks. Be patient, Pawo.” Bharat dips the canteen into the water, breaking through some thin ice as he fills it. Sealing it off, he hands the chilled, brown, leathery canteen to Bahi, who slings its thin white rope strap over his shoulder. Bharat walks off again as Bahi follows.

They come to a narrow dirt path, Bahi turns back to see the cottage in the distance. “Will I ever see you again?” he asks.

“I am certain of it,” Bharat says.

“How will I know where to go?”

“Trust your heart, my son, you know the way.”

They stand in silence for a moment before Bharat turns away and begins to walk toward the cottage.

“But which way do I walk?” Bahi yells out.

“Go North my boy!” Bharat yells back as he breaks out in an almost hysterical laughter.

Bahi looks out upon the trail, squinting to see what lies ahead. As the laughter fades, he turns to see Bharat, who is gone from sight. He looks off further and realizes he can’t see the cottage. Running back almost frantically toward the cottage, he finds an empty space, as if there never were a cottage. Catching his breath he laughs. “

Go North,” he says outloud to himself as he turns with a smile. “Go North, my boy,” he says mockingly as he walks, fixing the satchel to his back.
Why is it my relationships seem to keep ending like this
? he thinks, remembering a similar situation with the disappearing Baba.

As he steps onto the path, the silence of the morning exasperates his every step as he crunches rock and dirt underfoot. He thinks of Ajee and begins to whistle loudly as he looks around. After a few moments of whistling he walks more. “Perhaps it’s been too long,” he sadly thinks as he whistles again, coming to a small hill that shades the trail.

“Well, it’s about time!” a voice says from a small hill above him.

“Wolf!” he says excitedly, standing as Ajee leaps down tackling him to the ground and licking his face, playfully laughing as they embrace each other.

Coming back to his feet and brushing off his clothes, he smiles. “What’s new?” Bahi asks.

“I should be asking you that question. I thought I’d never see you again. For a few weeks I would sit atop that hill awaiting your whistle, but then I gave up, and now here you are. So how was it?”

“Amazing!”

“You look different, in a good way. You seem stronger,” Ajee says, sensing a noticeable difference in Bahi’s energy.

Bahi smiles. “Come Wolf, we have a long journey ahead of us. Are you still up to it?”

“Well, let’s see, I did have plans to wait on a hill for my friend. Oh wait, here you are, haha, of course Bahi, lead the way!”

Together again, they go off northward. The day seems to stay cool in spite of the shining sun.

“So tell me,” Ajee says as the cold morning air outlines his breath with fog, “did he tell you where to find Shambhala?”

Bahi stops walking, and looking North toward the massive, snow-lined mountains that sit among the rich blue sky, he says, “He taught me how to find it,” he says feeling an assurance that he would.

“So, no map, or directions?”

“Oh there’s a map, Wolf, and it lies right here,” Bahi points to his chest and smiles.

Ajee looks in silent confidence that Bahi knows the way. And looking toward the mountains, Ajee takes a deep inhale, exhaling a thick, warm breath that swirls out into the crisp, dense air.

“Those mountains are not to be taken lightly, my friend. There is much one must be aware of, believe me. I grew up there.”

“Well then, how fortunate I am to have you on this journey with me,” Bahi says, beginning to walk toward the mountains ahead as Ajee follows.

As the sun rises directly above them, the air turns to an afternoon cool from the cold of morning, and their breath is no longer visible. After walking several hours they sit to enjoy some bread and apples from the satchel. They enjoy each other’s company once again. Finishing up their lunch, they keep on toward the mountains, which seem to be moving away from them with every step.

“These mountains seem closer than they are. We’ve walked so much, and still they seem the same distance as this morning,” Bahi says.

“We’ll get there. Probably by nightfall we’ll be at the foothills,” Ajee assures as they walk the vast, open field.

The ground is dry, and trees that once secured the field in the shelter of leaves now stand barren, like a collection of sticks sporadically strewn about. Frosted rocks line the bed of what was once a river as they pass by. They notice the smell of fire from a nearby village. The scent settles into their senses as they quietly walk on, allowing only the sounds of the ground below their feet to be heard. Ajee runs along, often hanging his head low to smell the ground as Bahi takes in the immense beauty of the Himalaya Mountains, almost dreamlike, inviting serenity with a single glance. The days are shorter now, and the sun begins to dip behind the western hills.

“Maybe we should set up camp and continue in the morning,” Bahi suggests.

Ajee looks around the open, vast field, “I agree.”

Placing his satchel on the ground, Bahi gathers some rocks to create a large circle, fashioning a fire pit. Ajee gathers pieces of dried, dead wood and sticks. Completing the fire pit, Bahi joins him, gathering a large bundle of wood that is sure to keep them warm all night. Each piece of wood is strategically placed. Bahi uses dried leaves to catch the heat from his matches. A small flame slowly engulfs a few slim sticks, which surrounds larger pieces in flames. Ajee had run off, as he often did, at the onset of the fire.

Flames are reflected in Bahi’s eyes as he sits and watches the fire grow. Glancing off at the mountains that are now large shadows of mystery upon the darkening sky, Ajee walks up behind Bahi, dropping a rabbit at his feet.

“Again?” Bahi asks, feeling bad for the little brown rabbit that lies mangled and lifeless.

“If you don’t want to end up like that rabbit, I suggest you eat and keep your energy high.”

Bahi nods in agreement and proceeds to cook the rabbit, which he pierces through with a stick, remembering how he cooked it the last time.

“Do you eat anything but rabbit?” Bahi asks rhetorically.

“Of course I do. But these buggers are easy to catch in a jiffy. Maybe tomorrow we can have a goat. I saw a heard off by the mountain,” Ajee says as his eyes widen pulling a smile across his face.

“Rabbit is fine,” Bahi says, trying to picture how he would even begin to cook a goat, and remembering the old goat, who was so good to him.

As the night settles in, they eat the rabbit, along with some bread, washing it all down with water from the canteen. The fire blazes strongly as thick white smoke clouds up toward the stars. Bahi takes out the shawl that was given to him by Bharat and appreciates the intricate design of a colorful tree of dark blues—rich reds and saturated yellows—that intertwine to create a swirling tree with birds laid upon the soft canvas of a light gray. Laying his old shawl on the ground for bedding, he wraps himself with Bharat’s shawl, warming him instantly.
Wow
, he thinks,
this is quite a shawl
! Ajee curls up next to him, and the two watch the flames dance in the pit, enjoying the show as the heat from the fire penetrates their cores, energizing them in a relaxing warmth as they drift off to sleep. Ajee sleeps the night with one eye open, knowing the dangers of being in an open field at night.