The Yoga Zapper--A Novel, page 11
“Look,” exclaimed Steve. “I cooked all these myself!”
“And he did it without using his book!” Shanti proclaimed. They both laughed and took the puris outside to be offered and served.
Chapter Fourteen
The Village of Mahavan, End of Satya Yuga
The big day arrived. The long hours spent in the fields harvesting crops and the toil of threshing grains ended as the bounty of the land demanded labor for only eight months of the year. Peacocks danced in the trees and wind blew fresh from the mountains. Kartik, the autumn season, the time for festivals, music, song, dance and pilgrimages, had finally appeared.
They awoke early and took their baths. Excitement and urgency filled the air. Steve and Shanti went over the bundles of clothes, provisions, and the parchments that the rishi insisted on taking. Foodstuffs—dried, pickled or preserved, prepared in large quantities, stood ready. Each party had grains tied in large bundles, to be transported by cows. His theoretical approach to life, ingrained from living in a culture disconnected from nature, amused Shanti, as did his crude attempts at preparing food, starting fire or weaving cloth. Despite his clumsiness, she carefully taught him the practical crafts, always persevering until he got it right.
The entire village gathered at the banyan tree for the customary early morning meeting part spiritual discussion, part worship and some scheduling of daily chores. Only fifty or so villagers would embark on the pilgrimage; the rest, for various reasons, stayed behind.
The rishi spoke. He planned to follow the course of the river as far as possible into the mountains. The journey promised to be pleasant, as forests, providing fuel and shelter, bordered the river, and the path, fairly clear of entangling undergrowth. Such a pilgrimage had not been attempted in this Satya Yuga. The journey would last at least a month, maybe more, whereas most of the other seasonal pilgrimages to the nearby holy rivers took only a week. Difficulties and hardships were expected.
“Due to the quality of time and owing to our long lives, we are able to meditate for thousands of years at a stretch,” he mentioned. “As you know, the prescribed spiritual practice, the sadhana, for this age is deep meditation. In Treta Yuga, the next age, the recommended practice is the performance of elaborate yajnas, fire rituals. In the third age, Dwapara Yuga, the stipulated practice is the opulent worship of the Deity form of God in temples. Finally, in Kali Yuga, the age of degradation, the specified spiritual process is sankirtana, the chanting of names of God, either solitarily within the heart, or congregationally.”
Steve remembered hearing this during his stay at the Hare Krishna temple.
“It is the least demanding of all practices, but surprisingly, even this simple process will prove difficult for most people. Finally, at the end of Kali Yuga all spiritual practices will die out.”
Steve raised his hand. “Why is that?”
“Because Kali Yuga is characterized by sick hurry and divided aims. Things divide as time passes. In Satya Yuga, we have only one class of people, the brahmanas or spiritualists, and only one culture, varnashrama dharma, spiritual culture. In Kali Yuga, innumerable divisions in society will appear along with an incredible number of occupations, most of them unhealthy. Humanity, once singular, will split into many competing parts, and by acting against the common welfare, destroy itself.”
“How can we protect ourselves?” asked Steve.
“That’s the reason for this pilgrimage. For you, this age seems free from any contamination. But for those of us living long lives, I assure you, we can feel the end of Satya Yuga in our very bodies. We could meditate for tens and tens of thousands of years, but now it is becoming difficult even for those expert in this practice.
“We are going to a sacred valley named Shambala. There, our spiritual practices will be protected and our teachings preserved. Young man, you are very fortunate to participate in something that few have the good fortune to see.”
Steve stared at the roots of the banyan tree. The discussion with Parvata Rishi raised more questions than answers. Would Jack be at Shambala? A dull fear and dread suddenly arose in the pit of his stomach. He shuddered. Steve couldn’t give meaning to this feeling—did thinking about Jack produce this sensation? How fortunate he was to be in Satya Yuga before the eventual unraveling of humanity! Did this cause fear, that he would be forced to leave the shelter of this time and place?
After the meeting, the villagers took a hearty morning meal and gathered at the temple where a mood of sadness, a feeling of going away and leaving behind a close, dear friend, reigned. They observed one last darshan of the Deities, considered to be the lords of the village, before setting off.
They lined up at the village’s entrance, the elders first, then the single men and women. Of the families, only Visnuyasha, his wife Sumati and their son joined them, the pilgrimage in the mountains considered too demanding for children. Steve stood towards the end of the line next to Shanti. Suddenly, several men, gaunt, long-haired, with an other-worldly look in their eyes, emerged from the jungle like spirits materializing from some ethereal place. Their appearance surprised him, but the pilgrims showed genuine pleasure at their appearance.
“Who are they?” he whispered to Shanti.
“These are the yogis living in the Tapovan forest. Some of them have been meditating, standing or sitting in the same asana for over thirty thousand years. Their presence in our pilgrimage is most unusual and is a great blessing.” She clasped her palms together and bowed down toward their direction. Steve followed her example.
Accompanied by the clash of cymbals and the boom of mridangas, they started at a leisurely pace. They chanted, women with trilling, melodious voices and the men with deep, commanding tones, the prayers to Narasimha deva, God in his form as Guardian, beseeching his protection during the difficult weeks ahead.
The autumn season brought dry, pleasant weather and they followed the path along the river bank which ran between sun and shade, between forest and grass, between water and land. Steve glanced at Shanti. She walked in an unhurried, easy to maintain, measured gait, a necessity for conserving energy during the long journey. The dappled sunshine danced over her body as she moved her limbs rhythmically to an inner beat only she heard. His movements reflected hers, his arms swung just as hers did and his steps abided hers. He felt contentment at her side, as if they had spent all their lives next to each other, as if meant to be thus always. Uncomplicated and natural, her smile came readily and often, and her speech remained artless and unaffected. He only had to be himself, with no need to impress—she needed nothing, since who she was and what she had were available for everyone to see. Complete, and rather than giving or taking, she only shared.
They walked along the path, glancing sideways at each other, smiling and chatting, through the uncharted miles and uncounted days, always stepping up toward the snow-capped mountains on the distant horizon.
* * * * *
On Pilgrimage, End of Satya Yuga
The rishi stuck to his promise to Steve, but the early morning yoga lessons went slowly. He started with the less challenging asanas, but yoga forced Steve to approach his mind and body in unfamiliar ways. He took careful notes and studied them every evening, but the sadhana of yoga remained problematic. One evening, Shanti came by as Steve sat near a bonfire on the dry sandy river bank, puzzling through his notes from the morning’s class. She glanced at his handbook, filled with sketches of different asanas, descriptions of the movements and of the muscles involved.
“You won’t learn yoga that way,” she mentioned gently.
“Why not?”
“Yoga can’t be approached by the mind.”
Steve laughed incredulously. “How else do you to understand things, if not with your brain?”
Shanti contemplated his answer. “Come,” she said, “let’s practice yoga for a while.”
“Sure.”
“We can start with the Savasana, the dead man’s pose.”
“What’s that?”
“Just lie down on the ground, imitating a dead man.”
“That’s easy,” he laughed.
“This asana can be the easiest or the most difficult,” Shanti revealed. Steve lay down on the sand and closed his eyes. And waited.
“What do we do now?”
Shanti giggled. “It’s been what, a few ticks of time?”
“Maybe,” he answered sheepishly. “But I lay here like a dead man.”
“No. You thought that you lay like a dead man.”
“What do you mean?”
Shanti pulled her dark hair behind her ears. “The point of this asana is not to think. A dead man doesn’t think. Slow your breath as much as possible, keep still and loosen your muscles. Let your energy flow out of your fingertips, your toes, your head.”
“How do I do that?”
“Very easily. Listen to your body.”
He knit his eyebrows, still puzzled.
“Transfer your consciousness out of your mind, where it now is, and into your toes, your fingers, your breath. This is called listening to your body.” Steve regarded her dubiously.
“Go ahead. Try.”
Steve once again lay flat on the ground and tried shutting his mind. Remembering her advice, he concentrated on his fingertips, loosening them, let them lie flat, allowing his nerves to relax, gently pushing feeling and energy out of them. He repeated the process with his toes, then moved his consciousness into his lungs, becoming aware solely of the air being impelled and expelled from his chest. The longer he did this, the slower and more relaxed his breathing became. He continued for some time until his mind allowed no further relaxation. Once again, thoughts crept into his brain this morning’s breakfast, the sound of the river, the crackle of the fire. He opened his eyes.
Shanti smiled, her teeth gleaming in the dark, the fire reflecting on her face. “That’s better,” she exclaimed. “Actually, the point of Savasana is to transfer the mind outside your awareness. Advanced yogis can remain in this asana for hundreds, even thousands of years, hardly ever breathing, moving their consciousness completely out their bodies and into the astral plane, to return upon will.”
“Wow! This asana is way too difficult for me!” he exclaimed.
“Okay. Let us just meditate.” Steve got up and sat on the ground in padmasana, his legs crossed.
“That’s fine. Now close your eyes and follow me.” She started by controlling her breath. Steve moved his awareness into his chest, becoming mindful of the air filling his lungs, of its leaving his body, feeling the energy circulating in his heart. He continued this for several long minutes.
“Now breathe through your kidneys.”
“Through my kidneys?”
“When you breathe, keep your awareness centered on your kidneys. Transfer the feeling of breathing over to them.”
“Let me try,” he replied, doubtfully. As he breathed, he moved his consciousness to his kidneys, feeling energy enter his organs with each intake and experiencing energy leave upon breathing out.
“Is this what you mean by listening to your body?”
“Yes. This is one way of listening to your body.”
He opened his eyes. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “I think I’m getting the hang of this.”
“Good! The more you engage in sadhana, the easier and deeper it gets.”
“I can see that!”
“The key is trusting yourself. Our minds, hearts, and bodies keep telling us things but we’re too busy to listen. In Kali Yuga, one connects to the world and to one’s body with mostly the mind. But knowledge is not always just linear nor to be realized in only one way. Here in Satya Yuga we are much more connected not just with this world, but also to our inner natures.”
“So the key is in believing myself, to trust what my body and mind are telling me?”
“And your heart,” she added.
Steve had a moment of sudden realization. It was true that his heart told him something ever since he met Shanti just a few short weeks ago, something he had pushed aside. He looked into her innocent eyes, her ready smile and her glowing face. Yes, she spoke the truth. He hadn’t listened to his heart, not trusted himself. Now he heard it loud and clear. If he wanted her, he just needed to be himself. He didn’t need to write it down, to analyze it.
Steve took out his notebook. “I won’t be needing this anymore,” he declared and tossed it into the fire.
Chapter Fifteen
Kallington, End of Kali Yuga
Acres of red and black stone, criss-crossed with pathways of gray asphalt, and large white fountains limply gurgling shallow basins of tepid water covered President Kallin’s hundred-acre country estate. Pillars, arches, and porticos lined the outside of the faux Greco-Roman style mansion. Jack wandered about aimlessly for an hour, then rested on a stone bench under one of the porticos, leaned back and peered into the sky. The weather turned muggy and cloudy, but again, without rain, and the sun shone dully through the red atmosphere. Bored, he replayed the past two weeks at the estate, but his memory prior to his arrival made no effort to return. His past remained a secret and while it intrigued and occasionally bothered him, did not pull him into despondency. A sudden noise turned his head.
“Oh, hello,” Maya exclaimed, startled to see him.
“Hello, Maya.”
An awkward silence followed. She quickly gathered herself and made to leave.
“No. Please sit down.” Maya hesitated, then sat next to him and crossed her knees. A tight red skirt with a big black belt accentuated the curves of her body and a sparkling, red ruby necklace lay around her neck. The sun danced on the flickering ends of her flame-red hair, burned golden on her full cheeks and shone in her amber eyes.
“You’re what, nineteen years old?” he asked, winking. She laughed incredulously, lowered her head and cocked her eyes in askance. Their previous socializations included only occasional meals and insignificant conversations.
“I bet you say that to every woman,” she remarked.
“What women?” he asked, with large innocent eyes.
“I’m thirty-five,” she finally stated.
“I’m also thirty-five,” he said flatly.
“Oh really?”
“Actually, no. I don’t know my age,” he laughed. He tapped his head as if to demonstrate its emptiness. She smiled, revealing perfect teeth, her dimples deep exclamation points on either side of her soft red lips. She looked ravishing. He couldn’t help taking a risk.
“You know, you’re really good looking,” he stated, looking right into her eyes.
“Well, thank you,” she replied without feeling, looking away, re-crossing her legs.
Jack picked up his courage. “I really like your company. I’d like to see more of you.”
She stared at him questioningly. “Listen. I’m very flattered by your attention, but….”
“What?” interrupted Jack, pretending to be offended. “You don’t like me?”
Maya rolled her eyes. “That’s got nothing to do with it.”
“So what is it?”
“I belong to Kallin. The fact is, I’m his mistress.”
“I didn’t know that,” he lied.
Maya laughed. “You’re a pretty bad liar!”
“I’m serious,” insisted Jack. “But you can’t fault me for trying.”
Maya’s smile disappeared. She got up and faced him. “I’ll give you some advice,” she declared. “Keep away from me.”
“I’m not afraid of Kallin if that’s what you mean.”
Maya snorted with amazement. “You’re either very brave or very stupid.”
“Maybe both,” cracked Jack.
Maya didn’t buy into his humor. “You don’t know anything about Kallin, do you?”
“Well, I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You may be his mistress, but you’re not the only one.” A shadow crossed Maya’s face. “I saw how he looked at that blonde at the breakfast table.”
Maya’s eyes flashed. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“Sorry, sorry, I know. But I couldn’t help notice your hurt.”
Maya glanced away. Her eyelids fluttered. “So what can you do? That’s something I need to deal with.”
Jack jumped up and faced her. “I know I can’t do anything, but I can be here as a friend.” He reached out and held her arm. Maya snatched it away.
“No, you can’t,” she snapped. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your hands and eyes to yourself.”
She quickly walked away. Jack watched her backside sway as her high heels tattooed the asphalt. I don’t care who she belongs to, he concluded. The Hand of God is in Kallington and I’m here with her. The situation turned interesting. He smiled. Maya would certainly be a challenge.
* * * * *
At the Estate, End of Kali Yuga
Maya sat alone in the living room, just after breakfast, thumbing impatiently through a magazine. Kallin left her not just worried, jealous and miserable, but also stir-crazy. Life in the city provided excitement, not the boredom of the country. Jack also showed frustration. Their social lives involved, since the episode in the garden, nothing more than meetings at breakfast, occasionally dinners and a few small conversations.
The phone rang. “Yes, hello, hello!”
“It’s me.”
“Victory to the Hand of God,” she replied, excitedly.
“I hear you want to talk,” he mentioned. She must have left at least a dozen messages. “So what do you want to chat about?”
“I…I’ve been here for three weeks. You’ve never left me alone like this.”
A pause ensued. “You’ll have to wait a little longer but, assuredly, you will come shortly.”
“But….”
“Those are my instructions,” stated Kallin, cutting her off.
“Of course, oh Hand of God,” she agreed. “I’m extremely frustrated. With you gone, there’s absolutely nothing to do.”
