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Author's Note

This story is intended to be both a partner to the novel ‘The Pilgrim Kamanita,’ written by Karl Gjellerup in 1906, and a tale that stands on its own. There is no need to have read the earlier book in order to make sense of this one, however, should you wish to go to the source from which many of the characters and scenes of this tale have sprung, an English version of it is to be found on this same web-site at www.abhayagiri.org/main/book/366/.

This book is being published here as a ‘serial novel,’ which is to say that it that it will appear one chapter at a time, on the first day of every month, over the next couple of years. The plan is that, after the entire twenty-six chapters of the story have been released, a pdf file of the complete book will be posted, and available for free download.

Finally, gentle reader, please note that the original author (Karl Gjellerup) switched freely between using Sanskrit (the language of the Northern Buddhist and Hindu scriptures) and Pali (the language of the Southern Buddhist scriptures) during the course of his tale. In our efforts to be true to his original style we have maintained this mixture of usage.

Amaro Bhikkhu
Abhayagiri Monastery
December 2008

* * * * * * * * * * * *

abulum, pabulum, mabulum, bis;
Brekulum, speculum, mekulum, mis.
Brekkek, kekkek, kekkek, kekkek!
Koax, Koax, Koax!
Ualu, Ualu, Ualu!
Quaouauh!”/

Krishna was delirious in the heat; he was surrounded by bonfires at each of the cardinal points of the compass and the midday sun was roasting his brain gently in the pan of his newly-shaved skull. His mazed mind swam:

Mingin foref, klege shanesto,
Aingee corses criestme padwo;
Munmanc hanim torseba orstsper,
Equin picar, poogisp bitur?

Norinic misms stind bionobte,
Ismst magulthr, gedgerl chedge;
Foitidi tieratt recodm myrac,
Flati percut, berigdin fyflac!

Fragments of spells and mantras Page 2 of 27

he had picked up from a dozen different wandering monks and yogis he had met mixed and melded themselves together in the hot feverish soup of his consciousness. Scriptural teachings, half-remembered dreams, rhymes in foreign languages and frog-songs from the nearby swamp joined together in a kaleidoscopic chorus of confusion.

In the midst of the giddy drifts of sound and images inside, mingling with the roar of flames and the tickles of running sweat outside, a clear and distinct question voiced itself in his mind:–– How on earth did I end up here?

* * *

When Krishna first set out from Ujjeni it was with an intense and buoyant glee. The road seemed to spring beneath his feet as if the way itself was rejoicing in his journey. The dawn light was fresher, the birdsong more rapturous and the green growth along the verges rang with a vibrant life such as he was sure he had never known before.

The mood accompanied him through several days – light and dark alternated swiftly, and the sun and moon shot back and forth like shuttles in a loom. He was blissfully happy just to be free of the tensions he had been experiencing in his home and it was easy enough to mistake the mere cessation of pain – like having an aching tooth pulled – for some kind of permanent bliss of freedom. Just to be out from under his mother’s oppressive, suffocating wing – as he felt it – was a conscious delight whenever the realization of his new state of being came to mind:

“I’m free! I’m really free,” he grinned up at the high fluffy clouds that speckled the great blue dome of sky, washed clean and radiantly peacock-blue above him. He might not have much of an idea about what the spiritual path was or where to find it, or how he was going to develop all those wonderful magical powers he was sure he was heir to, but he was certain that these were not to be discovered through the life Page 3 of 27

of a merchant in Ujjeni.

His immediate destination was completely vague at first – in the flush of leaving Ujjeni and making sure he had not been followed by his family, this detail had been of no concern to him. As that glow of relief diminished and the realities of life on the road announced their demanding presence – camping out by the wayside and now the need to find food every day, since his supply of flatbread and dried fruit was long gone – the question of:–- Where am I going? repeatedly came to mind.

On the one hand he was determined to be a good samana, a yogi who has severed all ties with the family in order to pursue the spiritual goal. On the other he had his pet theory that his sister Tamba had somehow survived and that she was the mysterious red-haired woman that Dusaka had stressed would be so crucial in his path to understanding life’s mysteries.

He was equally determined to learn more about the Death-defeating mangala he carried and to train himself to use it in the most effective way he could to help the devas, indeed, perhaps to win ever-lasting fame by using it to bring about some kind of final defeat of Death. On this last point he was more than somewhat murky-headed but he had faith it would become clear enough in time.

* * *

How he was to find the red-haired woman, and if she was Tamba or someone else altogether, well, Dusaka had not given him a clue on that. The last he knew of his sister was that she had been lost on the road to Kosambi. So, if he was to seek her, that would mean he should bend his steps toward the east. This idea kept clashing with the ‘to be a wanderer, you’re supposed to give up family ties’ principle. However, while these two voices argued with each other, and while he was plodding along one evening behind the oxcart of a local villager, another, utterly sensible thought Page 4 of 27

sidled in and he knew it was the right one to follow: “Just go where your feet carry you and keep your eyes peeled for this mentor. Maybe she’ll be Tamba, maybe not.”

Sometimes Krishna would find lodging in a village, if the terrain was harsh or there was no water to be found in the countryside but usually, like most wanderers, he stayed out in the woods and wild lands away from the country roads. Early in the mornings he would sit silently on some rock or beneath a great tree and try to focus his mind – following the breath to calm his thoughts or sometimes repeating a mantra, as Dusaka had taught him so often in Ujjeni.

These were often the sweetest of times; opening the heart to the stillness before dawn, watching the growing quality of peace within him and then opening his eyes to the new day – sometimes seeing local tree-spirits or naiads of the streams, flower-devas darting and gliding amid the groves.

As his journey progressed, though, the sheer pressure of daily walking for many miles, the growling of hunger when food could not be found or bought or bartered, the raw loneliness of having no friends to keep him company – all these began to wear on Krishna’s spirits. He would get tired and tetchy, stressed, moping along at times and then, when he met a group of other samanas like himself, he’d be so eager for conversation and interaction he would overwhelm these fellow yogis with his torrents of excited chatter, so they would invariably find some excuse to get away.

All this made his mind restless and plagued with doubts, so his times of quiet meditation in the early dawn and at his night-time camps became more and more fraught and filled with mental chatter. He also noticed that the more frazzled and unsettled he became the less able he was to see any devas or spirits.

* * *

In some ways Krishna was quite pleased with how he was adapting to the life Page 5 of 27

of a spiritual seeker – his unshod feet had hardened themselves to the lanes, roads and rocky trails he followed and he had become adept at finding secluded places to camp – but, along with his humbling struggles with meditation, he felt he was also not living up to his ideals in other areas.

He knew, for instance, that true wanderers, the kind of samana he aspired to be, never used money of any kind. Rather they subsisted on whatever was offered to them when they went through a village or town, or they lived on seeds, roots, leaves and fruits that they gathered for themselves in the forest.

He had always felt, during their classes with the brahmin pundit and the teacher of mathematics, that he was quick to learn and that his knowledge was comprehensive. Little did he suspect then that the kind of knowledge that would prove most useful to him was not in that curriculum. He now struggled helplessly when he attempted to build a fire; he could hardly find anything whatsoever to eat in the woods other than the most obviously familiar fruits – which were rare and very seasonal; and he knew no remedies whatsoever for the bites of the thousands of mosquitoes that swarmed around him every evening while he tried to sit and calm his mind – for he might be immune to death on account of the mangala around his neck but he was still certainly subject to being fed upon by the insect horde.

When he had set out, with scarcely a thought to the contrary, he had wrapped up tightly the heavy parcel of jeweled necklaces, golden rings and bracelets, earrings and armbands that had been his inheritance on his completion of sixteen Rains. These were his valuables so had packed them for the journey.

As his food supplies had dwindled, he had found it very hard to go through villages with his empty bowl in the hope of meagre alms when he could trade a bracelet – or just pay with some gold or silver Page 6 of 27

cash that he had – and thereby provide his belly with much more ample fare. His cache of gold was sizeable and it took very little to make a market stall-keeper happy, or a family of farmers, and to cause them to offer whatever fine food they had. He was embarrassed by this way of supporting himself but the logic of the grumbling demon of his appetite was without flaw:– I’m hungry; this wealth is rightly mine; let my family make good karma by having provided support for a noble samana on his quest…

* * *

Even though he had had the idea of heading east, and had not formed any desire to go against that, for reasons he was not quite sure of he found himself steadily trekking north toward Uttarakuru, to the land of fast-flowing rivers and the great mountains of the Himavant – to the abode of sages.

One evening, several moons into his journey, when Krishna opened his eyes after sitting quietly for some time, he noticed another figure in the moonlight, across the forest glade where he was camped. It looked vaguely like a young man wrapped in a white shawl but, in the dimness, it was hard to tell. He shut his eyes again and continued with his attempts at meditation.

Company was so rare in these northern marches that curiosity had Krishna opening his eyes again soon after and looking intently at this apparition:–– Was it a person or some kind of celestial visitor sitting so still also apparently meditating? It had been many days now since he had seen any kind of ethereal beings, let alone been able to have any converse with them, so curiosity got the better of him. It was also cold by now so he thought that, if he made some moves to light a fire, perhaps there would be a response from this presence – be it a friendly samana or a restless fetch.

His feeble and failing efforts to get a spark to ignite the dry moss of his tinder soon Page 7 of 27

had the desired effect.

“Here, let me try that.” The voice sounded human, genial but with an accent Krishna didn’t recognise.

The fire-building exercise – which the stranger carried out with ease – rapidly led to warm and easy kinship. The young man, it seemed, was indeed a fellow wanderer and was thinking of settling near this place. He had been camping in the area for a few weeks, seeking alms-food each day in the nearby village and he mentioned by-the-by that he had sadly gone without any food that day.

As they chatted together over the fire, the wanderer Surya, for that was his name, waxed expansively about his long-term plans to found a hermitage. He said he had discovered a wonderfully suitable valley, up in the hills near here and that, one day, he hoped to settle there and build a proper temple and an ashram. “Of course, that would take quantities of money that I do not have,” he opened his hands and reached out on either side, to indicate that the two robes he wore were all his worldly goods.

Kirshna too was hungry after his long day’s walk and, at a pause in the account of Surya’s plans, he said, “If there were houses nearby maybe we could find some food for this evening.”

“It’s a bit late to be out for alms, don’t you think?” His new friend replied.

“We could just buy something,” Krishna suggested, not quite sure if Surya would approve of a samana going shopping for his supper.

“Good idea…but with what?” he asked, in a tone that assumed Krishna was as bereft of funds as he was.

“Oh, I’ve got something that might do.” He reached round for his travelling bundle and unearthed the tightly-wrapped package of his father’s jewelry. He fished out a handsome brass ring with a large semi-precious stone in it and said, “I’ve been swapping bits and pieces along the way for food and occasional lodging. This should cover us for a bite to eat, as long Page 8 of 27

as we can find a house or two nearby.”

The eyes of his companion flicked briefly over the cloth-covered bundle, then fixed in a closer study on the ring. “That’s a fair-sized amethyst if I’m not mistaken. Where did you get this? It’s not stolen is it?” He laughed, to be sure Krishna knew he meant this as a joke.

“No, not at all. It’s my inheritance from my father. I grew up in Ujjeni to the south of here and they make a lot of fine jewelry there. See, the gold is reddish where fine traceries of it are chased into the brass – that’s an Ujjeni trademark.”

“There’s a few houses not too far from here,” Surya spoke matter-of-factly, “including that of an old brahmin who’s quite well-off. I could take that down and see if he’ll trade it for a meal for the two of us.”

This sounded like a fine idea to Krishna so he gave his new friend the ring and he took off into the moonlit forest, keen to get to the village before the hour grew too late.

* * *

Surya seemed to return remarkably quickly – Krishna felt he had only been staring into the fire and feeding it dead branches for scarcely an hour – and his new friend was bearing smiles and an armful of goodies. He unfolded the contents of his wrap and displayed a fine array of freshly cooked rice, curries, sweet-meats and fruit, all of which had been carefully packaged in banana leaves and pinned with slivers of bamboo.

“Wow!” Krishna was impressed, “You certainly know how to find the right places.”

“And not only that – look,” he opened his hand and showed Krishna three fat gold kahapanas. This was a lot of money.

“They were just sitting down to supper and so all this was ready-made. The old fellow – who I’ve met a few times – is a brahmin but he’s crazy for fine jewels. He took one look at the ring and swore he Page 9 of 27

had to have it, at any price. He wouldn’t hear of just giving us some food for it. The giddy old fool gave us ten times its value – here you go.” He dropped the three weighty coins into Krishna’s palm and set about dividing up the enticingly aromatic food. This was the best meal Krishna had had in quite a while – things were definitely looking up.

As they were finishing off the last grains of rice and the final crumbs of the sweet dainties, the conversation had got back around to Surya’s plans for the hermitage. The high valley sounded like a great place to live and meditate, and soon Surya and Krishna were hatching wild schemes, outdoing each other with their visions of what they’d build up there and the kind of fine spiritual community they would develop.

Krishna was suddenly struck by a great idea: “You know, if that brahmin’s so smitten with Ujjeni jewelry, we could trade the rest of my stash here, get a huge return in gold kahapanas from the old fellow and then we could buy the land up in the hills. If he’s foolish enough to see value where it really isn’t, we’d be foolish not to take advantage of that.” As usual Krishna felt that his display of logic was flawless. “What do you reckon?”

Surya admitted that he was impressed by the idea, but he still needed some persuading that it was a practical possibility. Krishna was so taken by his own brilliant scheme, and fuelled by a full belly and the fire-lit camaraderie, that he finally got his friend to agree to speak to the brahmin about the plan on the morrow.

When the time came to rest for the night, Krishna lay for a long time by the fire, watching the moon move between the tree-tops, listening to the sounds of the forest night and fantasizing freely about the paradisical hermitage up in the high valleys. He even saw vividly the way sparkle-eyed Tamba would walk in one day, dressed in the robes Page 10 of 27

of a female wanderer, her dusty red dread-locks pinned up in a bun with a pair of eagle-bones, and say: “Krishna – I have been looking for you.”

The next morning Krishna agreed to stay and look after the campsite while Surya went with the bundle to visit the brahmin’s house; it would be a lot easier for both of them to set out from there to go up and see this hidden valley, than for both of them to go all the way into the village and then to have to backtrack again.

Surya waved goodbye at dawn and took off by the same trail as colour washed into the day. The forest birdsong was raucous and brought a bright delight to Krishna’s heart. He sat on a flat rock beside the stream and he waited, vainly attempting to still his sixteen-year-old thoughts and to bring his mind to peace. Plans upon plans and fantasies of their future ashram among the clouds swarmed and tumbled like the spume of the mountain torrent.

And he waited…
And he waited…
And he waited…

It was well past noon and shafts of sunlight formed brilliant pools of colour on the forest floor. He was hungry and, by now, getting anxious and impatient. If his friend was somehow lost or injured he didn’t even know in which direction to look for him, beyond the edge of the glade.

His straining ears, eager for the sound of his friend, picked up some kind of approaching noise. He sprang to his feet but at first could not tell what he was hearing. Then below him, further down the stream, he realized it was the sound of gently clanking bells.

A small herd of goats came up the hillside, picking their way among the rocks, followed by a pair of tattered goat-girls – they were youngsters, may be ten or eleven Rains, and looked very much like sisters. They were chatting cheerfully with each other; when they saw him they noticed his anxious look. The elder girl grinned Page 11 of 27

toothily.

“Have you seen a young man this morning, white robes, carrying a package around here?” Krishna inquired sounding a little hapless and oppressed. The two girls muttered something to each other he couldn’t hear, then the elder said: “Don’t think you’re going to see your ‘package’ again mister. That fellah’s well-known around these parts.”

Krishna’s heart sank.

“He offered to sell your valuables then?” They laughed but then tried to suppress their mirth out of courtesy, seeing Krishna’s shattered expression. “He a real scamster, that one. He pops up, makes a killing then disappears for months. He’s from round here – that’s why we know ’im – but he’s as slippery as a greased eel in marsh-muck. Sorry sir, but I’d say g’bye to whatever it was you gave ’im. He’s famous for not getting caught – and he keeps the headmen sweet – so they’re not likely to help you either. Where’re you from anyway?”

They chatted for a while as the goats strayed and nibbled the bushes and the grass beside the stream. Krishna warmed to the ragged girls and told them a bit of his tale. As he packed up he fished out the three fat gold coins he had been given the evening before.

“This is all I’ve got left… but… I’m a wanderer, how did he know that I’d have anything precious?”

“Well mister, you’re not exactly lean, like most wanderers are.” At this Krishna noticed that it was true, he’d never really thought of it before, but he was more well-fleshed than most he met on the road – even more so than these two skinny village girls.

“I reckon he saw you had been eating well and he figured: ‘Here’s a bush with some berries on, let’s give this one a try.’”

Krishna was impressed by the wits of this northern child – she was pretty sharp for one so young – but this appreciation did little to allay his wounded pride at being so easily duped, and for the loss of all his resources. Page 12 of 27

“Well, at least I have these,” he reflected, jiggling the three coins on his palm.

The smaller girl, who was much more shy, whispered something to her sister. They both looked at the coins and frowned.

“What’s the matter?” Krishna’s heart sank again.

“Well, mister, I wouldn’t try using those kahapanas to buy anything, not unless you plan to leave town pretty quick. She turned to the younger girl who rummaged in the folds of cloth at her waist and produced an almost identical thick gold coin.

“Dad gave me this as a keepsake when that fellah done ‘im last year – that’s why we know ’im” – she held it out for Krishna to look at and gave him a gap-toothed smile. “Looks like real gold but it’s filled with lead – good isn’t it?”


When Krishna asked around the village people were less than helpful: “Be off with you, you black scoundrel – ‘stolen jewels’ my eye! What are you, some runaway slave?’ What do you take us for?” He had forgotten the negative effect his skin-colour often had on people now that he was away from Ujjeni, and especially since he no longer had the wealth which had, up to this time, always purchased him a fond welcome. He was just another penniless, dark-skinned wayfarer, alone on the road. He was an outsider, and the further north he went, the fairer folks tended to be. After trying a few more houses, and getting very short shift at the headman’s hall, as the sisters had predicted, he pulled his tail between his legs and left the village – glum, sulky, forlorn and very lonely, he rued his greed and his folly.

* * *

This woe-laden funk stayed with him over the next few days, regularly being given extra torque by the blunt unfriendly treatment he received at the hands of many villagers. He knew that wanderers were, by definition, casteless but he couldn’t help but notice how the rejections and insults he received most often bore upon his colour. Sometimes Page 13 of 27

wanted to cry out: “But I’m a vaisha, born of the merchant caste! I grew up in a palace! My sister’s the Queen of Vamsa!” He managed to restrain the urge most of the time but still he couldn’t help himself pointedly speaking in his well-educated accent to impress those who scoffed at and scorned him. Although even this tactic would backfire sometimes and he’d get the response, “Well, didn’t you crawl out of the drains of a posh house” or suchlike.

He had never in his life thought of his skin as being anything other than handsome and impressive, for that was the message he got from his mother and his friends as he grew up in Ujjeni. He kept forgetting, and was rudely reminded now that he was out in the world, that sharing the hue as well as the name of the Dreaming God, was a liability not a blessing.

He as now very aware that, when he came to a town or village, he was only to use the wells designated for the outcastes, the candalas and matangas, and those who followed ‘unclean’ professions such as the dung-collectors, butchers and the corpse-carriers. He had just arrived at such a well in a small prosperous town, about ten leagues south of Jalandhara. He waited for the two middle-aged women – dark complexioned and in threadbare sarongs – to fill their jars, and was about to run the bucket down to haul himself some water when a voice called out across the small courtyard.

“Hey!” There were three well-dressed young kshatriya men striding into the enclosure. “There’s a new tax on the well here.”

The two women looked frightened and perplexed. “But this is ours, the candalas, it’s always been ours – there’s no tax, there can’t be.” They were worried.

“Well there is now – just been introduced,” Krishna could see that the three would-be gallants had been drinking, “Come on – cough up! Empty your purses.” They laughed and shared the hilarious wit of this demand with each other.

“But we Page 14 of 27

have no money…” The stockier of the two candala women pleaded.

“No money! What? How can this be? Everyone has money,” again the three revelers guffawed at their own great humour. “Well,” the leader carried on, “if that’s the case, you’ll just have to pay us in kind.” He rocked on his heels as his addled mind searched for a suitable barter.

“Dance!” He grinned and raised his arm as if he was a master of ceremonies conducting a troupe of performers. “Dance for us, fair ladies, and your payment will have been fulfilled.”

“Leave them alone,” barked Krishna, moving into the space between the two women and their tormentors.

“Out of the way, black boy – you’re spoiling the view.”

“Leave them alone, go home, sober up and grow up.” Krishna’s voice was cold, angry and serious.

“Oooooh… the big black matanga’s giving orders to the nobles – isn’t that the wrong way round?” They creased up once more at the brilliance of the repartee.

“No, seriously, Snowflake, we’re here to watch a dancing show and if you don’t mind your manners, well, you’ll have our blades to answer to.” The leader’s tone was less jovial now as the reality of the face-off was sinking in.

“Leave them alone – attack me if you like but these good people you will not harass.” As he said this he stripped off his upper wrap and stood before them bare to the waist, his hands open and obviously free of weapons. The mangala hung about his neck.

In a sudden lurch the leader of the youths pulled a dagger out of his belt and flew at the apparently defenseless Krishna. He stood his ground, trusting (almost completely) that the charm would do its job. The blade skidded off the skin of his midriff as if it had struck metal. His assailant stumbled, the knife falling from his awkwardly twisted wrist.

“Any more?” Krishna was getting angrier now. The second one tried to skewer him with a longer blade but Page 15 of 27

it met a totally impenetrable wall and his hand skidded up the edge gashing his palm and fingers. He recoiled, staring in disbelief at his bleeding hand.

“I’d take your head off if it wouldn’t defile my sword,” the last of the increasingly anxious trio taunted.

“Try it” – and Krishna offered the side of this neck – just as Dusaka had done.

Whannnggg! The sound of ringing metal reverberated off the walls around the square.

“Now, you scum,” and here Krishna took particular relish in uttering this insult to these upper-caste yahoos, “will carry the water for these good women you have insulted. Go on, pick up their jars and take them where they need to go.” He needed no weapon other than their cowardice.

Without a word they stumbled over clumsily, raised the jars to their heads and bore them from the well, shocked and shamed almost to sobriety. Krishna picked up their fallen weapons and urged the two candala women to show the humbled warrior-nobles the way. He felt supremely powerful and pleased that, at least today, he had been able to do some good in the world.

When he parted company with the women and their families, having tossed the knives and swords disdainfully after the retreating youths, he was surprised that they seemed as distressed as ever and that they scarcely thanked him for his miraculous intervention. The stocky woman saw he was puzzled by their non-committal, almost ungrateful response and pulled herself out of her own tangle of feelings to explain: “We do appreciate that you meant well, lad, and you’ve got a lot of courage – as well as mighty thick skin – but you shouldn’t have shamed those nobs like that. If you’d ’ve left it at the well, we’d ’ve been very happy. Now you made them look the fools all through the town, well, those of our families who survive their spite will be oppressed for generations. You might as well just take a knife to me and Adicca here, and finish off Page 16 of 27

our husbands and kids as well.”

Across the lane, under the shade of a broad tamarind tree, an old man with big earrings and a scruffy little dog shook his head and smiled.

* * *

“I need a teacher, why didn’t I think of that before…” Krishna was muttering to himself, “I wouldn’t keep making such stupid mistakes if I had some proper guidance. And I need to develop better concentration if I’m ever going to hone my psychic powers…‘hone’…ha! I can’t even find them, let alone sharpen them…”

He heard about an encampment of yogis, samanas like himself, out in the forest beside a swampy hollow, just beyond Jalandhara. Once he had found the place he was sure this was going to be just what he needed. Here was a whole crowd of a few dozen like-minded monks who were intent on spiritual development. They did all kinds of elaborate and demanding ascetic practices so the grove had an aura of great spiritual purpose. He was certain he had found his people.

He listened to the various teachers and tried a great variety of meditation systems and yogic disciplines:

—one talked about ‘keeping the postures even’ so he tried to sit for an hour, walk for an hour, lie for an hour and stand for an hour in rotation all day and night.

—one talked about ‘the cessation of perception and feeling’ so he tried become like a boulder.

—one stood on his left leg all day and all night, assuring Krishna that the more pain he felt the more bad karma he had burned off. “So how much have you burned off so far? And how much more do you have to go?” The yogi smiled in a wincing sort of way and said: “I don’t know, but if I need to find out that sort of thing, I just ask Guru-ji.” He indicated an aged monk who had dangled from a tree branch by one arm for 40 years – his long beard now mingled with the bushes Page 17 of 27

below his feet

—one tried to persuade Krishna that he was the most austere of all the renunciants but when, as Krishna joined him in piercing huge numbers of fine rods through his skin, his new student observed that he didn’t seem to have renounced competitiveness, the teacher displayed what he called ‘holy wrath’ but which looked to young Krishna rather like garden-variety anger.

—one advocated the ‘practice of the five fires’ and, like many of these endeavours, for a few weeks the ardent Krishna threw himself into this training with great gusto.

The four big fires on all sides and the pitiless sun above – this was designed to aid his cultivation of spiritual and psychic strength – the external heat was intended to invoke and evoke ‘tapas’ or inner psychic heat, the power and insight of the awakened sage. So far, after five moons of the five fires, Krishna had only developed some significant powers of endurance and a few brief flashes of inner vision.

These latter had come at times when, overcome by exhaustion and heat, something in him had relaxed (or snapped) and a vision of those he had known in the past welled into view.

The very first one had involved his sisters Amba and Tamba. It opened in an upstairs room in a wooden house Krishna did not recognize. Through the window he could see a few other houses, with palm trees and bananas so it seemed to be in a village somewhere, rather than in a big city. In the few seconds of the first part of the vision all he saw was a skinny, chestnut-and-auburn haired girl of nine or ten Rains who looked very much like Tamba, as far as he could remember her. She had only been five when he had waved his last goodbye.

She was sitting with a woman he didn’t recognize at all; Tamba was combing out the woman’s hair and they seemed to relate like mother and daughter, rather than mistress and servant.

The scene then changed and there was Page 18 of 27

a teenaged Amba – she looked quite different, being more grown up, but he was sure it was her because of the crowd of poor and sick people in the hall. He’d heard the story of the fence she had invented; he also recognized her lovely smile.

Lastly there was a brief flash of her, looking divinely beautiful on a throne, beside a fierce-looking, dark-bearded king. And that was it.

Some weeks earlier, when he had been trying the ‘keep the postures even’ discipline, in a moment in the middle of the night he had seen, with great lucidity, the profile of his mother as she read his farewell letter – composed over many hours on a palm-leaf. She slowly mouthed each word as she inched her way through it, for she had never been a scholar but the words were too painful and personal to allow her to ask for help in reading it.

Then he saw her at the riverbank looking distraught and urgent.

Then he saw a length of cloth swirling in the current of the River Carmanvati, cloth just like the sarong she had been wearing.

He wondered:–– Had she fallen? Had she drowned herself? He chewed his lip nervously as he sat there in the night, his thoughts and emotions churning like that same river in its spate. Finally, he reflected: “Well, I’ve got to let go of family ties anyway – perhaps it’s for the best – one less thing for me to worry about.” Part of him felt resolved by formulating things in this way; another part, deep in his heart, quaked and was disquieted.

The last of his visions had come close to the end of the rainy season while he had been trying to meditate on being as rock-like as possible.

The intuition had been growing in him that all of the teachings and disciplines that were practiced in this grove of ascetics were missing a basic point. The men there had a definite commitment – true indeed – but no one actually seemed to Page 19 of 27

be happy or free on account of all their efforts. He was disappointed and therefore felt he needed a fresh direction. “How did I end up here?!” he wondered – this misery really isn’t of much use to any of us here.”

These thoughts had been brewing for a few weeks and, as he faithfully sat there with the monsoon rains sluicing down all over him while he stoically remained immobile, the cheerful, craggy face of Dusaka appeared before him.

“I need to find a teacher – like you,” he heard his own voice pronounce.

“Why is that?” Dusaka-of-the-vision replied.

“I need to develop my psychic powers, so I can read situations more wisely. I also need to find out how to use the meditation to actually experience happiness and freedom – not just to assume it will come to me somehow, out of some blind belief that the experience of pain is a holy virtue.”

“Are you sure the psychic powers will help?”

“Of course! So where should I go to find such a teacher?”

“If that was going to be helpful, Taxila would be a good place to look, but are you sure that’s the main thing you need?”

“Of course! You know that!”

“I do? Well, well…”

* * *

Ant Bee and Maggot had felt very honoured when, just as they were about to set off on their own, the great heavenly king Vessavana, Kuvera of the Yakkhas, had given them his personal blessing.

“As you know – dear ones – I am not only monarch of the yakkha race but also the lord and protector of water- and tree-devas and all of the earth-spirit clan. As your father and one who is avowed to guard the safety of the world, I will give you aid in the form of these cintamani-vijja – they are wish-fulfilling stone charms and, when one of you holds theirs the others may easily know their thoughts. In this way may you never be lost to each other.”

He Page 20 of 27

reached out his huge, horned and bejeweled hand and gently dropped a precisely-cut stone of deepest azure into their cupped palms. “May your instincts guide you well and your good hearts protect you. Should you prove correct in your intuition, we shall come to your aid if you need us. In the meantime Queen Samudajja will be my arm and my flame to lend you strength.”

* * *

They headed northwest, as Bee had suggested and combed high and low for any trace they could find. Eventually they backtracked all the way to the Simsapa Grove outside of Kosambi and Bee decided to see if she could discern any lines of scent and resonance from there.

The pull she felt – backed by the slenderest of familiar fragrances – was again to the north and west.

“We should head for Uttarakuru, I’m sure that’s it. I feel Minti’s call in my veins.” The others were not certain, this could be a long wild-pixie chase, but they decided to trust Bee anyway and not to hold back.

Their journey took them through endless forests, along rivers, through grassy valleys and everywhere they asked if anyone had seen signs of the lost kinnari. They met garden-devas, forest- and park-devas, medicinal-herb pixies, water-spirits and many rukkha-devas of the forest giant trees – very few had any hopeful news.

Finally, after many long days and increasingly rugged countryside, as they wearily approached a huge body of water, Bee lit up, “There!” she cried. The others could see nothing. The tall magenta-clad kinnari raced to the edge of the bushes on the lakeshore and reached to pick something up – it was a single long white hair.

They were now right at the edge of Simbali Lake. On its northern shore they saw a strange woody construction half-way up a vast crag. It was like a bird’s nest but the ‘twigs’ were the size of whole branches and there were even entire tree-trunks woven in to it as well.

“I think, my friends, Page 21 of 27

I will jussst go under water for a while.” Queen Samudajja was eying the giant nest with extreme concern. By way of explanation she added, “We nagas are the favourite food of the garuda, the giant eagles, it will be for the bessst that I lie low for a while, if we are going to linger here.”

She assumed her serpentine form and slid gently into the lake.
The three kinnaris, with their aspara companions, Rhamba and Salassa, could discern a distinct but subtle fragrance around there – many kinnaris seem to have passed through. They were pondering if and how they should approach the nest to consult with its occupant when over head the silhouette of giant wings fully obscured the sun and half the sky.

The garuda Dhanañjaya, an elder of the garuda clan, gently came into land at the lakeshore only a bowshot away from the kinnaris. His sharp eyes had spotted the red and pink forms from high above. They came forward with the celestial dancers in their billowing filmy garb, the arms and ankles of the asparas ringed with strings of jade and pearl. Neither they nor the kinnari really looked as if they were dressed for battle so they were surprised when the great eagle said:

“You are going to war.”

He rocked his head to assent to their look of curiosity that he should have surmised their reason for being there. “Word travels fast among the winged ones when there is danger in the air. Are you here among the mountains searching for your kin? You are far from the gardens and gentle woodlands of the plains.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bee began, “my sister and several dozen other kinnaris have been kidnapped. Vepacitti the asura, who dwells far to the east, has been blamed but I feel sure that our kin have been brought near here instead, and maybe not by asuras at all.”

“We garudas try to stay aloof from petty squabbles but we will not sit and watch while the innocent are harmed. I am of Page 22 of 27

the Supanna family and we have the good of all at heart. I heard tell of this gross deed so I will help you, if I can. I have been travelling much of late and when I returned to this lake some little time ago, I picked up the scent of many kinnaris and that of some others too. There were devas and yakkhas in the troop and at least one naga. Strangest of all were the traces of a perfume – it smelled like mountain air and naga blood and of some uniquely rich floral nectars I knew not. The sense of smell of the supanna is almost as keen as our eyes so I know for sure that such a band came through here.”

As the great bird spoke of the strange fragrance, the nearly-arrived group smelled it too – for even now the thinnest of traces of it lingered amid the other elements of the spoor. For Bee it called to mind the night lotus; Ant caught a whiff of kanavera; Maggot meanwhile knew it as the tang of a freshly opened jambu. They also realized, as did Rhamba and her brother, that they had smelled it before, at the Vejayanta Palace and in amongst the party of deva-raiders.

“I do not know for sure if the ones you seek are nearby but there is rumour from the feathered children of the Parvati Valley, close to Kulluta village, that a certain cave there has had enchantments put upon it. Any creature, be they with feathers, scales, skin or carapace, that has tried to enter there of late has fallen dead, as if pole-axed, at the door.

“The tiny ones who sing their words told this truth to me. So, now you must ask yourselves, for what reason would such a spell be put in place, other than if there was aught inside that the spell-binders wanted to keep hidden?”

* * *

“There are forms, monks, cognizable by the eye that are delightful, lovely, agreeable, pleasing, sensually enticing, tantalizing. If one Page 23 of 27

relishes them, welcomes them and remains fastened to them, that person is said to be one fettered by forms cognizable by the eye. That person has gone over to Mara’s camp; they have come under Mara’s power; they have been caught in Mara’s snare so that they are fettered with the bondage of Mara. The Evil One can do with them as he likes.”

Krishna was reciting these potent words, that he had learned from a fellow samana in the grove of the ascetics, as he approached the village of Kulluta.

He had asked for the whereabouts of the well for wanderers and outcastes and had just rounded the corner to find the spot; it was at the edge of the last grove of trees before the houses began. It was late afternoon and the place was quite deserted, only one other person was around.

As he drew close to the well he saw that it was a young woman who had just filled a large jarful of water. In a deft and well-practised manœuvre she swung the jar up onto her head, not spilling a single drop. She then, in the same fluid motion, began to walk down the lane into the village proper.

Her sarong was tight and her hips undulated in an easy rhythmic motion – the age-old mark of walking so that the burden stayed at the exact same height while the carrier moved along, thus not wasting energy or spilling the contents by the load being bounced up and down.

Completely forgetting his own thirst and his interest in bathing after a long day’s walk, Krishna’s eyes became transfixed by the hypnotically rolling oscillation of the figure he was now following.

It took him a moment to realize that, up above the swaying focus of his attention there dangled a long thick pony-tail that swung in perfect syncopation with it. It was five different shades of red: auburn, ginger, russet, chestnut and flaming orange; and around the girl’s head there buzzed a busy throng of flies.



Page 24 of 27

Notes and References:

Page 240 — Brekkek, kekkek, kekkek, kekkek!... This small collection of odd words comes from Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce, p. 4. On this passage Joseph Campbell writes: ‘The guttural sound “brékkek kóax,” borrowed from Aristophanes’ comedy ‘The Frogs,’ suggests a swampy damp terrain…“Ualu” and “Quáouauh”: Welsh cries of lament.’ (‘A Skeleton Key to Finnegans Wake,’ p. 31).

Page 240 — surrounded by bonfires…. This is the ascetic yogic discipline called ‘The Five Fires’ – it is still practiced today, as are all of the austerities described here, by Hindu yogis.

Page 240 — Mingin foref, klege shanesto… These words are an adaptation of Heather Moore’s inspired CAPTCHA security code poems, as described on her ‘Skinny laMinx’ weblog – http://www.skinnylaminx.com/2008/11/security-poetry.html.

Page 241 — a good samana… The samanas, or wanderers, are part of the highly varied clan of spiritual seekers in India. They are meditators and ascetics who live a homeless and harmless life. They are often contrasted with the brahmins; these are householders having families and playing the role of ritual priests. ‘Samana’ literally means ‘a calm one’ – it is also the origin of the word ‘shaman’ in European lore.

Page 242 — following the breath to calm his thoughts… This is the meditation called ‘mindfulness of breathing.’ It is a method greatly praised by the Buddha and practiced by him throughout his long life as a monk. See, for example, M 118 & S 54.11 “If anyone, bhikkhus, speaking rightly could say of anything: ‘It is a noble dwelling, a divine dwelling, the Tathāgata’s dwelling,’ it is of concentration by mindfulness of breathing that one could rightly say this.”

Page 242 — repeating a mantra… This is another classical form of meditation; a single word or a phrase is repeated over and over internally in order to calm and focus the mind. A very common mantra used in Thai Buddhist practice is the word ‘Buddho’ – the name of the Buddha – repeating ‘Bud-‘ on the inbreath and ‘-dho’ on the outbreath.

Page 243 Page 25 of 27

— true wanderers,… never used money… This is a rule still followed by the stricter lineages of Buddhist monastic training and some of the groups of wanderers in India today.

Page 248 — the candalas and matangas… These are two of the lowest rungs in the caste system; the candalas being the ‘untouchables’ (see Ch. 5, note 12) and the matangas also being below the workers caste (the sudras). In the famous incident of Ānanda asking for water at the well from the matanga girl Pakati, she says: “Oh brahmin, I am too lowly and inferior to give you water. Do not ask any service of me for, by that, your purity will be contaminated as I am of low caste.” Ānanda memorably replied: “I did not ask for caste but for water.” The woman thus became very heartened and inspired by him – later even becoming an arahant nun. (See Divyananda, as in ‘The Gospel of Buddha,’ by Paul Carus, 1894).

Page 251 — ‘keeping the postures even’… Ajahn Chah made the same error of interpretation, in respect to this way of establishing mindfulness of the body; he describes his mistake: “At first I took the word ‘consistent (even) at face value, and thought that you should stand for as long as you walk… sit… lie down. I tried this but I couldn’t do it…” From ‘Food for the Heart’ p. 243, Wisdom Publications.

Page 251 — ‘the cessation of perception and feeling’… Rather than this being a rock-like state of insensitivity this term actually refers to the most refined of all levels of meditative concentration.

Page 251 — the more pain he felt the more bad karma he had burned off… As the Buddha recounts in his description of a dialogue with some disciples of Nigantha Nataputta he asked, “But friends, do you know that so much suffering has been exhausted, or that so much suffering has still to be exhausted?” They were under the impression that suffering was being burned off by ‘the performance of piercing austerities’ (M14.17-18). They do Page 26 of 27

not know the answer to the Buddha’s question, yet still they assert, “Pleasure is not to be gained through pleasure, pleasure is to be gained through pain.” To which the Buddha replies, “But friends, I can abide without moving my body or uttering a word, eperiencing the peak of pleasure for… seven days and nights,” indicating that liberating spiritual practice can also be highly enjoyable (M14.20-22).

Page 252 — this misery really isn’t of much use to any of us here… This reflects the Buddha’s own intuition that such painful austerities were fruitless, as described at M 36.30 “…by this racking practice of austerities I have not attained any super-human states, any distinction in knowledge and vision worthy of the noble ones. Could there be another path to enlightenment?”

Page 253 — I am… the lord and protector of water- and tree-spirits… Vessavana is named as such at Jāt. §398

Page 253 — avowed to guard the safety of the world… He is one of the four Great Kings who are also known as the “Lokapala”—the guardians of the world (see, eg D 18.12)

Page 253— cintamani-vijja… This ‘wish-fulfilling gem-charm’ is mentioned at D 11.7; there it is called the ‘manika charm.’

Page 253 — garden-devas, forest- and park-devas, medicinal-herb pixies…. and many rukkha-devas of the forest giant trees… In Pali these are called, respectively: ārāmadevatā, vanadevatā, rukkhadevatā, osadhitinavanappatīsu, adhivatthā devatā; they are mentioned, for example, at S 41.10 where the spiritually accomplished layman Citta is visited by a crowd of such beings while lying on his deathbed.

Page 254 — We nagas are the favourite food of the garudas … In many classical Buddhist legends it is described how the nāgas and the garudās (also known as supannās) are ancient foes of each other, hardly surprising since nāgas are the favourite food of those giant eagles. For example, at D 20.11, the verses recounting a unique mahā-samaya, ‘a mighty gathering,’ describe how:

And the twice-born, winged and clear of sight,
Fierce garuda birds (the nāgas’ foes) have come
Flying here – Page 27 of 27

Citrā and Supannā.
But here the nāga kings are safe: the Lord
Has imposed a truce. With gentle speech
They and the nāgas share the Buddha’s peace.

Page 255 — There are forms, monks… This teaching of the Buddha is found at S 35.115

Page 256 — five different shades of red… To possess ’hair of five colours’ was an attribute of rare auspiciousness in ancient folklore. See, for example, ‘The King of Ireland’s Son,’ by Padraic Colum, with illustrations and decorations by Willy Pogány, p. 288, (Henry Holt and Co. 1916, Dover Publications, 1997):

“A girl she was and wherever the sun was it shone on her, and wherever the breeze was it rippled over her. White as the snow upon a lake frozen over was the girl, and as beautiful as flowers and as alive as birds were her eyes, while her cheeks had the red of fox-gloves and her hair was the blending of five bright soft colors. She looked at Flann happily and her eyes had the kind look that was always in Morag’s eyes. And she came and knelt down, putting her hands on his knees.

‘I am Morag, Flann,’ she said.
‘Morag indeed,’ said he, ‘but how have you become so fair?’
‘I have eaten the berry from the Fairy Rowan Tree,’ said she…”