LITMIR.BIZ

      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.