LITMIR.BIZ

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time. It’s cold tonight. Come inside and sit with me. Keep me company.”

      “I’m coming, mother.”

      She looked at the shadows where Kuang was hiding, turned away, and was gone before he could say anything.

      He waited for a minute, before returning to the barracks. The empty room was cold and silent. He lay on his bunk and closed his eyes, thinking of Weilin. Kissing her again. It was a dangerous game he was playing but he did not care. Whatever happened, he had to find a way to be alone with her again.

      Monks Enter Nalanda

      “There it is, Master,” Vanya cried, “Nalanda!”

      The point of a giant stupa rose over the treetops, glinting gold against the blue sky, and Bodhidharma felt his heart quicken. He had read many descriptions of Nalanda and seen its golden tower in countless paintings, yet nothing had prepared him for the sight of it rising before him. Nalanda was the jewel in the Buddhist crown, a monastery the size of a city, the greatest temple on earth. Monks came from all over the world to sit in its lofty lecture halls and study in its libraries, which, it was said, housed over a million books and scrolls. The stupa towered over everything, dwarfing the trees that grew nearby, reminding all living things of their place in the world—they were a mere speck in the universe, their lives as temporal as that of an insect, over in the blink of an eye.

      Nalanda’s outer wall was high enough to defend a fortress. A row of brightly colored flags fluttered in the warm breeze and palm swifts darted overhead. At the entrance, two guards stood by enormous doors of black wood and iron. The doors barred the way inside save for a small gap between them. There was a young man talking with the guards and as they drew nearer, Bodhidharma could hear them discussing a passage from the Lankavatara Sutra. He turned to Vanya for an explanation.

      “They do this, Master,” Vanya whispered loud enough for all to hear. “They ask questions about the scriptures. It’s a test. You can’t enter Nalanda unless you know the answers.” He lowered his voice so that only Bodhidharma could hear, “I have tried several times myself, but they were never satisfied. I think it’s because I’m not of noble birth.”

      Moments later, the young man was turned away by the guards and brushed past them in obvious distress. Then the elder of the guards glanced at the two waiting figures. “State your business at Nalanda,” he said curtly.

      “I am here to meet with The Venerable Ananda,” Bodhidharma said.

      The guard glanced at the wild-looking monk, taking in the shabby robe, the bare feet, and the skin beaten black by the sun. He was little more than a beggar. “The Venerable Ananda does not give an audience to casual visitors,” the guard said.

      Bodhidharma had only to produce Prajnatara’s letter of introduction, but he did not. Instead he planted himself firmly before the guard. “He will see me.”

      “On what business?”

      “No business of yours, Brother,” Bodhidharma answered, “and before I see him, perhaps you can enlighten me on this practice of turning away young monks who wish to study and barring the gates of a monastery to visitors?”

      The younger guard stepped across to stand by the shoulder of his companion, who was about to answer when Vanya hurried forward and spoke quickly. “Brother Guards, it appears you have failed to recognize Master Bodhidharma! He is a disciple of Master Prajnatara himself and has traveled all the way from Pallava to meet with The Venerable One.” He leaned closer to the guard, speaking in a whisper, “You’re keeping him waiting at the gate like a novice. Do you think that wise?”

      The senior guard hesitated.

      “Perhaps you want to debate the scriptures with him?” Vanya smiled.

      “No one is allowed into Nalanda without the correct papers or authority,” the junior guard said. “Those are our orders.”

      “You are following orders. That is very commendable,” Bodhidharma said, keeping his gaze fixed on the senior guard, who looked more closely at the stranger before him. This time he noticed the expanse of hard muscle beneath the threadbare robe. The man was built like one of the wrestlers who competed in the arena at Rajagriha. His bulging forearm suggested many years of wielding weapons and the calloused fist that gripped the walking staff was that of a Vajramukti master, able to shatter bone as easily as snapping a twig. The guard looked into the fierce black eyes and saw that if the stranger wished to enter, two guards would not delay him for more than a heartbeat. At that moment, Bodhidharma smiled.

      The guard made up his mind. “I will escort you personally,” he said, hushing the objections of the younger guard with a frown.

      He led Bodhidharma into the monastery and Vanya hurried after them before anyone could object. In the broad courtyard, monks and nuns strolled in pairs, deep in conversation. Novices hurried to their lessons with scrolls under their arms and senior monks sat with one another in the shade of the many trees. The guard led Bodhidharma and Vanya down a wide avenue that ran between the many lecture halls, libraries, and temples of Nalanda. They entered a beautiful garden with fruit trees and flowerbeds of orange, purple, white, and yellow. Young monks bathed in tranquil pools of spring water. Towering above them all was the great stupa of Nalanda, so high that from where they looked, its top disappeared from view.

      They entered a great hall lit by a wall of lamps and decorated with exquisite tapestries depicting scenes from The Buddha’s life. A gong as tall as a man stood in the entrance and reflected the flickering lamplight in its gleaming surface. An attendant monk emptied incense from a burner and ghostly clouds of white dust caught the lamplight and swirled up toward the ceiling.

      The guard spoke privately with the attendant before bowing to Bodhidharma and taking his leave. The attendant introduced himself and led the two visitors down a maze of dark halls and passages. They climbed several long flights of stairs and Vanya became breathless with the exertion. On the upper floors, the corridors were brighter and the ceilings higher. These were the living quarters of the senior monks and sunlight poured in through high windows, falling on bookshelves filled with scrolls and manuscripts, comfortable seating areas and quiet rooms for private study. They passed a little meditation hall that housed a beautiful gilded shrine, complete with offerings to The Buddha and freshly cut flowers from the gardens.

      At the end of the corridor, they came to an ornate screen door and the attendant tapped it once. After a brief wait, the screen opened a crack and another monk appeared. They spoke quietly and the screen door slid shut again. Vanya walked in circles impatiently while Bodhidharma took his time examining the paintings on the wall. Finally the door slid open and an older monk appeared with a smile. He invited Bodhidharma inside and instructed the attendant to show Vanya to his quarters.

      Bodhidharma found himself in a lofty chamber with high windows. The walls were decorated with silk tapestries crafted with an artistry he had never before encountered and intricately carved panels gilded in silver and gold. The air brought a faint waft of incense, mixed with a subtle floral scent that reminded him of his homeland.

      An old man was seated by the window at the far end of the room. He wore a simple orange robe like any other monk and no visible adornments, but The Venerable Ananda emanated power and Bodhidharma knew him instantly. He went closer, pressing his palms together in greeting and bowed low. The grandmaster looked up, noticing his visitor for the first time, and squinted to get a better view. With a yelp of delight he rose on unsteady legs and hurried forward until he was one step away. Here he stopped to examine the unkempt monk from head to foot, his mouth working silently as he did, before bowing long and low.

      When Ananda straightened, he was beaming with delight. He extended his hands in welcome and Bodhidharma took them. Ananda squeezed, shaking them gently, his grip surprisingly strong, then released them and embraced him warmly. “Bodhidharma,” he said, his voice light and reedy, “you are exactly as I imagined you! Prajnatara describes you perfectly. It is wonderful to meet you at last. I am so very happy that you have come.”

      “It’s a pleasure to be here. I have dreamed of seeing Nalanda for many years,” Bodhidharma

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