The Yoga Zapper--A Novel, page 16
That evening, Shanti brought out her harmonium and led kirtan. She sang about the divine love of Radha and Krishna, the Eternal Lovers, a song of both the love and longing Radha feels when apart from Krishna. That night her voice soared, clean and strong and full of color, and deeply moved the chanters’ souls. After the kirtan, the young pilgrims rushed to her and remarked on the power of her voice and the elders all smiled, knowing full well what stirred in the heart of this beautiful, sweet, young woman.
Chapter Twenty
On Pilgrimage, End of Satya Yuga
They were now ‘officially’ a couple as no reason existed to hide their obvious attachment. Despite the liberties Parvata Rishi allowed, Shanti remained an obedient daughter, knowing full well her father’s expectations.
Steve spent as much time as possible in her company. They ate together, did chores together, walked together and sang the evening kirtans together. With their relationship open and accepted by all, their connection grew deeper and their affection manifested in a natural and unhindered manner. Steve felt his fondness grow deeper, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He had girlfriends and loved them, but this time he fell deeply in love. Maybe, he reflected, for the first time, he allowed himself to truly love.
They had traded the cows and oxen for provisions a few days back and, now, each carried a bundle. They ate was what they brought, supplemented with fruits, roots, berries and nuts found in the forests. The river rushed rapidly and the path proved harder to follow. Sometimes, the waters suddenly turned or fell from high cliffs, forcing a circuitous and difficult climb. Shambala, still some distance away, hid in the stately peaks now looming large. The real test began; the weeks of journey so far, a prelude.
* * * * *
Just a few soft clouds wreathed the silver mountains and teal-colored skies painted the beautiful sky. Trekking in the high cliffs on a path only a few feet wide, Steve and Shanti, though starting the morning at the head of the column, found themselves well at its end by noon.
As they traversed a bend, the trail unexpectedly opened up into a twenty-foot wide promontory sticking out over the plains. A large boulder sat invitingly at the far edge of the overhang. Steve slumped on it, dropping his cloth-covered bundle on the ground. He looked over the green forest, stretching unendingly, with the river cutting through it. The distance traveled surprised him and he searched for Mahavan, but it remained too far away to be visible. Shanti dropped her pack and sat next to him. She wore a light brown sari with a cream-colored top, black sandals, a small black bindi on her forehead and she breathed fast, the trek being difficult, and the load, heavy.
Shanti started the conversation, the American lifestyle being so foreign and, yet, so intriguing to her. He amazed her with his descriptions of mechanical contraptions and she intrigued him with her portrayals of the various siddhis, attainments, which yogis achieved through their sadhana. Steve spoke many times about growing up in Kansas City and riding his bike near the river, while she detailed the journeys made to the different holy tirthas, places of pilgrimage. Their experiences, while so different, served not to distance them, but instead formed a source of continuous fascination. Yet, for Steve, the natural simplicity and deep satisfaction of Satya Yuga felt far more meaningful.
“You grew up in Kansas City with your mother, didn’t you?” she asked.
The mention of his mother brought a touch of sadness. He waited a few moments and let it pass. “Yes.”
“And you also studied there?”
“Yes. The university was close to my home.”
“It’s good that you lived with your mother while you studied.”
“No,” he laughed. “I didn’t stay at home. I rented an apartment near the campus.”
“Oh!” replied Shanti, shocked, unable to comprehend not taking care of elders. “Why?” she questioned. “Why did you leave your mother all alone?”
“Well…” started Steve, uncertainly. “I needed the space to study. And…I had girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends?”
Steve hesitated. How could he explain this? Shanti would have a hard time comprehending the cultural difference.
“Yes. In America, the custom is to have boyfriends and girlfriends.”
She reflected for a few seconds, trying to grasp the concept. “So after you get a girlfriend, you get married?”
“Something like that,” he responded, smiling nervously as she contemplated his answer.
“So why didn’t you marry any of your girlfriends?”
Steve stopped. He was treading dangerous ground. He said nothing. Shanti looked straight at him with intense green eyes.
“Well?”
“It’s not that simple. That’s not the way it happens.”
Shanti’s eyes gleamed. “Oh really? And how does it work.”
Steve sweated under his kurta. “Shanti,” he finally explained, “American culture is completely unlike yours. The way things function is very dissimilar. A girlfriend means something completely different.”
Shanti looked him up and down with steely eyes. “Maybe you can explain it to me.”
Steve opened his mouth, but no words came.
“Am I your girlfriend?” she demanded.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “I mean, no…!”
Shanti’s face flushed red. She spun around furiously, her back turned to him. “So what am I?” she challenged, not looking at him. “Who am I to you?”
Steve breathed in deeply. The confusion in his mind cleared. He understood the need for honesty. He reached for her arm and gently turned her around. “I love you very much and I’ve never loved anyone more than you,” he declared with shining eyes. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”
Shanti glanced hesitantly for a couple of seconds, reached forward, held his hands and smiled. None could doubt her heart. Steve sighed with relief. That was close. He changed the subject.
“You’re very attached to your father, aren’t you?”
“Of course! Since I was a baby he’s been both a mother and a father to me. I would happily serve him for the rest of my life.” She gazed up at the sky. “But I have no one else. What is it like to live with someone my age, I wonder?”
“Like me?” suggested Steve. Shanti blushed and turned away. She piqued his curiosity. He saw his opportunity to ask her some questions. “Did you ever date anyone?”
“What does that mean, date?” she inquired, innocently enough, brushing her dark hair behind her ears.
“Dating means going out with boys your age.”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed, surprised. “Why would I do anything like that?”
Obviously, dating was not their custom. He hemmed and hawed. “So do you have arranged marriages in your village?”
Shanti jumped off the rock and turned away.
“So you do have arranged marriages!”
Shanti avoided his gaze, slowly nodded her head and backed up the trail. Steve jumped off the rock and followed her.
“Are you promised to someone?”
Shanti scurried up the trail.
Laughing, he followed her. “Are you already given to someone?”
Shanti, practically purple with embarrassment, hurried even more quickly, holding her hands to her ears.
“Is your marriage already arranged?” he shouted, half-jokingly, half-tauntingly.
Shanti stopped, turned around and faced him. Her cheeks burned bright as embarrassment radiated from her face like heat from a flame. Her nostrils flared. She drew herself up, her arms taut by her side and held her chin strong and high.
“No!” she cried. “Do you think that I would allow you to touch me if I was already promised to someone?”
Steve bent over, laughing hysterically.
She gathered herself and, with all the strength and courage she could muster, faced him down.
“And,” she yelled. “I will marry the man my father chooses for me!”
She spun around and ran up the hill as fast as her legs could carry her. Steve stood grounded, watching his beloved running away, disappearing around the corner.
He jumped up and clapped his hands happily. Her words made his spirit soar. Sure, he had embarrassed and maybe even angered her, but he knew in his heart that she too loved him. Why else would talk of marriage evoke such a strong reaction? The world felt new and fresh and life full of promise. He peered up the path. Shanti had long disappeared.
He went back to the rock and picked up the bundles. Catching up with her and the rest of the pilgrims would take some time. He smiled and walked quickly, drinking in the pure, sparkling mountain air, striding ever closer to the mysterious white-capped peaks crowding the horizon.
Chapter Twenty One
On Pilgrimage, End of Satya Yuga
One day, in the fifth week of the pilgrimage, they stopped at a small rocky clearing, deposited their loads and set up camp. The river coursed its way more urgently, dashing among rocks and down steep declines and every once in a while, found respite in valleys or lakes hidden between high hills. Shambala lay not far away.
Steve and Shanti never strayed far from each other. The long hours spent together made him truly appreciate her character. Though still full of childlike innocence, she proved to be fiercely loyal to her duties, ever ready to sacrifice her comforts for her near and dear ones. She would make a formidable wife and mother, he thought on more than one occasion.
As usual, Shanti’s chores included the search for firewood. He joined her, knowing it to be a difficult task in these high mountains as pine trees and short shrubs replaced the broad-leafed deciduous forest.
They walked up the slope above the camp, following the passage of the river for about a quarter of a mile, until Steve spied a small waterfall, about ten feet high, where the river rushed thick and green, roaring as it tumbled over the edge of a valley and smashed onto the rocks below. Climbing up the side of the hill to the top of the waterfall, they discovered a clear, cold lake measuring three stone’s throws across, lying nestled between high hills on the far side and a small gravel beach on their side. Giant rhododendron trees with red and white flowers grew on the opposite shore, their long leaves casting reflections upon the water. The cool air shimmering above the waters lent a touch of the celestial to the already amazing setting.
They walked for about a quarter-mile as Shanti pointed out many dead branches at their feet, washed up from innumerable spring floods. Hard and dry, they made ideal firewood. She bent down and picked up several branches before noticing it. Shielding her eyes, she looked across the waters.
“What is it?” asked Steve. A flock of water ducks, their electric red and green plumage giving a surreal quality to the already colorful setting, swam along the opposite shore and, in the water around them, grew several large lilies and lotuses, their large pan-like leaves floating languidly on the surface.
“Don’t you see it?”
Steve strained his eyes. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, or rather out of the extraordinary, in this already astonishing setting. “No.”
Shanti lifted her arm and pointed at a clump of lotuses directly across. “Look. Right there.”
Steve knotted his eyebrows. “What’s so special about them? We’ve seen so many, much better, ones.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “The one in the middle. Look at its color!”
At the very center of the thicket, framed by the white and pink blossoms of the ordinary lotus flowers, and bathed in the orange and gold sunlight of the late afternoon, sat a large blue lotus, like a king attended by his courtiers or a dancer surrounded by ballerinas. Its size, color, and position suggested mystery and beauty, like a regal peacock among common sparrows. No botanist, yet he recognized it as something extraordinary.
“It’s certainly wonderful,” agreed Steve but, still, Shanti’s extraordinary, all-absorbing interest surprised him.
“Don’t you understand what this is? Don’t you know what this means?”
He shook his head. He wanted to share her excitement but couldn’t follow her thoughts.
“A lotus is compared to a spiritually elevated person,” she explained. “It grows in the common water and sprouts from the lowly mud. Yet, like a yogi, who withdraws his senses from the world while yet living in it, it always keeps its head above the murky waters.”
Steve had heard the analogy. The symbol of the lotus, the emblem of transcendence, sprang often in conversations among the villagers. “But what is so special about this one? No doubt it is very beautiful, but other than its color, it’s just another lotus.”
“No!” Shanti said emphatically. “What does its color remind you of?”
Steve dumbly shook his head.
“Blue is the color of the raincloud that moistens the earth and gives life to all things. It is the color of the infinite sky, of space, that stretches on forever. Blue is the color of the Supreme Lord, the origin and the destination of all souls.”
Of course! He immediately remembered seeing paintings of the blue-skinned Krishna holding, in many instances, a long-stemmed blue lotus. Certainly, this flower was not of this world!
He took off his kurta, exposing his bare chest, slipped off his sandals and, making sure to firmly secure the dhoti around his waist, jumped into the water. He gasped. The unexpected coldness startled him.
“No! Stop!” shouted Shanti. The destination lay only a hundred yards away and Steve swam with fast, strong strokes. A natural swimmer, he displayed grace and strength as his powerful strokes propelled him through the water. As he swam, his breathing regulated by years of experience, he wondered whether to get Shanti just the blue lotus or the whole bunch. He looked up and found himself in the middle of the lake instead of being a lot closer to the other shore. Wondering briefly, he put his head down and doubled his efforts. The cold sapped the strength from his arms and legs. He pushed harder, turning his body expertly, breathing the air rhythmically, focusing his energy along his arms and into the tips of his fingers.
He looked again. Not only had he not approached the opposite shore, he had drifted further downstream, away from his target. He turned his head around and saw Shanti shouting frantically. A cold fear jolted him. He immediately realized the situation. An undercurrent had caught him! And it pulled him toward the waterfalls.
Steve turned around and headed back towards Shanti. The undercurrent’s cold blue tentacles swirled between his legs and pulled him, imperceptibly but inescapably, toward the roaring cascade. His thigh muscles, already thrust to the limit, cramped and the cold bunched his calf muscles into painful knots. He put his face down and pushed grimly ahead, coming up for breath after only four strokes, instead of the customary two.
He saw Shanti scampering over the rocks, running alongside as fast as she could, frantically crying out to him. Desperate, he kicked his cramped limbs, pushing them beyond the limit of pain. He heard the dull roar of the falls.
The current sucked Steve, struggling helplessly like a leaf caught in its thick green waters, and tossed his body onto the jagged jumble of black rocks below.
* * * * *
Steve felt a crackling heat. He opened his eyes and saw a small bonfire burning on the gravel beside him. A bed of green reeds lay beneath him. He recognized it as Shanti’s handiwork; she must have laid him there. A throbbing headache crashed in his brain and his whole body felt raw and wounded. A grinding hurt shot up both legs and his bruised ribs pounded. He turned around to look but the effort brought a shooting pain up his neck and into his head. He quickly straightened and lay on his back.
“So you’re finally waking up!” she exclaimed, her face framed by long dark hair. She sat next to him and mopped his head with a wet cloth.
“How long was I out?” he asked weakly.
“Long enough to frighten me half to death.”
She lifted him by the back, helping him to a sitting position. Steve winced, but the soreness felt reassuring. He checked his legs, moving his hands down the limbs, squeezing the joints. At least he suffered no broken bones.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he replied bravely, mostly for her benefit.
She took a deep breath. “Why did you do such a thing?”
Steve looked down, feeling as dull and stupid as the throbbing in his temples. “I did it for you. I wanted to get that lotus for you.”
Shanti turned away, covered her face with her sari, and wiped away her soft tears.
“Why are you crying?” he gently asked.
“I…I almost lost you. I don’t know if I would have been able to bear that. When I dragged you from the water, all bruised and bleeding, I thought you were surely dead.”
He looked up and followed the water running from the waterfall towards their sitting place. So he had floated about twenty feet before Shanti rescued him! The water splashed playfully at the bottom, misting the mosses on the rocks. It did not look so menacing now.
He painfully got up and put his arms around her. His heart thumped as he held her tight, and a deep love and gratitude overwhelmed him. He knew, at this moment and with all certainty, that she had truly and fully conquered his heart.
Shanti wiped the tears from her eyes. “I didn’t realize how close I’ve become to you. When I pulled you out of the water, I thought you were dead. I would have rather died myself!”
They sat for a long time, in each other’s warmth, in close embrace, feeling their hearts beating. After some time, something dark and big and not clearly visible bobbed in the eddies, capturing Steve’s attention. He got up, his whole body aching from the effort, and walked towards it with short steps. Reaching the lapping waters, he immediately recognized it. It was the blue lotus!
He looked back at Shanti gathering her firewood. He hid the flower behind his back and walked up to her. She stopped, straightened and looked expectantly at him. The heat from the fire brought a reddish glow to her face, the golden moon shone through her long wet tresses and her eyes sparkled. He held his breath. She never looked more like a woman. He bent down on his knees and brought the majestic flower in front.
