lose to the city of Savatthi it may have been, but the world inside the Eastern Gatehouse Monastery was a place apart.

Vasabha and Kesini settled into their new life feeling a strange buoyancy and delight, not despite but rather because of their changed circumstances. The loss of status, from Queen to new and junior lay woman, from King’s Mother to monastery helper, was a massive relief to Vasabha, in contrast to what some around her expected. The nuns, novices and other lay helpers, and aspirants to the monastic life, were steadily impressed, as the days and Moons went by, that Vasabha and her one-handed companion were cheerfully ready to be part of the community in a heartful way and were happy to pick up any chores and tasks asked of them, sometimes even the grubbier the better.

The great joy they both experienced was from two sources. Firstly, the bliss of not having to pretend anything to anyone, even to the extent of mentioning that Vasabha was prone to smelling fragrant not because she was wearing perfume and thereby breaking one of the Precepts¹, but because her mother was a kinnari. She wore this attribute quite casually and, when some doubted it, she was grateful that the Arahant, Sister Uppalavanna, assured others that this was no new deception of Vasabha but was the reality. She could know this directly by being able to see Maggot and Ambaka often around Vasabha and Kesini, and the great Elder had regularly chatted with them herself as well.

Kesini was also quite open about the absence of her hand and, in a similar vein, she would sometimes jokingly mention that the cause of its loss was the very friend she had been serving for the last twenty years, since it was Magandiya² that had set the plan for the burning of the seraglio in place, and that this had been Vasabha in an existence a lifetime or two previously. Accordingly, Vasabha might blush or look sheepish at the reminder but Kesini’s bold good humour was clearly sincere around such memories – she had no hard feelings, resentments concerning the condition she had been living with all these years. She would often say on this, ‘Being one-handed makes you mindful and sharpens your wits. You have to think things through and take nothing for granted, and it also reminds you³ that life is very uncertain and undependable. You should try it sometime!’ She would chuckle.

The second reason for Vasabha’s great contentment was that, at last, after a lifetime of not having known of, let alone met, her real mother at last they were together. There had been a little less time, subjectively, for Maggot in the length of separation – it had not been the nearly forty sun-turnings as it had been for Vasabha – but the time-warped imprisonment by the Queen of the Underworld had been heart wrenching in its apparent endlessness, so, added to the other time spent on the search, the feeling of separation was quite similar – it had felt like five hundred Moons to her.

Vasabha – who now easily answered to ‘Tam’ or ‘Tambaka’ from her mother – felt a profound sense of homecoming, of a warmth and security she had never known in Kapilavatthu. Her family there had been close and friendly enough. Her adoptive parents and sisters and brothers were all good-hearted and kind – although she had never been told that she had been adopted – however, the daily demands, the ceaseless round of duties day after day, had pushed the family world into the background. Once in a while, as a child, in the rare moments of quiet, she would smell something or imagine or remember a strange fragrance, or a sound would cause echoes in her heart, and she would feel a gap, an ache, an unnameable something that was missing amid the closeness of her mother, Nagamundi, and the others. Now that something had been found. The smell, the sounds, the taste of her mother’s breath, that indescribable flow of floral delight⁴ that came from her kinnari mother’s heart, all reached into her being and said, ‘Home!’

The presence too of the deva Ambaka, whom she and Kesini could now see and hear easily, was a similar boost for both of them. Ambaka too carried no grudge about how Vasabha had, in their former lives, been the cause of her death by fire. Like Kesini she forgave her in a full and sincere way and, as her former maidservant and friend did, she looked gratefully upon the profound lessons she had learned in enduring that conflagration with an open and peaceful heart⁵. In addition, she rejoiced in the teaching that, she now learned from Khujjuttara, the Master had given when he received the news about the deaths of Queen Samavati and her women of the court:

‘Mindfulness is the path to the Deathless
Heedlessness is the path to Death
The mindful never die
The heedless are as if dead already.’⁶

Kesini had lived her life in the role of helper and friend. She had been the practical and able companion and support to three great women, as she held them: the sage Gavinna, Queen Samavati in Kosambi and Queen Vasabha in Savatthi; now, after these many twists and turns, as she reached her later years, she was able to be again with these two – who had happened to have been sisters before and half-sisters more recently – and she was able to live closely here in the Eastern Gatehouse Monastery with them. It was almost too good to be true, still, here they all were day after day. She loved their lives amid the shady trees of the monastery, hearing the sounds of crickets at night and the forest chickens by day⁷, the calls of kukals⁸ and the barking guttural clicks of geckos, while the hubbub of the city, with its worldly values and intrigues, carried on as a faint murmur in the background. The community of women monastics and the lay-folk of the monastery were slowly becoming their new family. Life was good and peaceful at last.

---

Krishna had been led by Dusaka into the area of the Gandha-kuti, early the morning after his conversation with Maggot and the others. It came as no surprise to him that, instead of being out on alms-round at dawn, as was his custom, the Master had been waiting for them on the verandah of the kuti. They had brought their travelling gear with them; their robes and bowls were packed and they both bore walking staffs, instead of just Dusaka, as was the norm. Tingri had a sprightly air about her, perked and eager, which was not always the case in the early morning.

The Master, with Ananda sitting close by, welcomed them and indicated the mats on the space in front of him. They all paid their respects and Krishna began.

‘Venerable Master, Blessèd One, I have troubled you, other members of the Sangha and many lay-folk over the years. Despite all this I remain sincerely faithful to your teachings, so kindly imparted to me. I am still reeling from the destruction of so many thousands of your clan, your family, as well as the flower of Kosalan youth and nobility that subsequently perished too. I know you have given me reassurances and offered all forgiveness for any part I unwittingly, foolishly had in those tragedies but still, the heart aches.’ He paused as those familiar waves of regret and remorse washed through him.

‘I wish to go into the wilderness alone, or at least with my treasured and respected mentor and friend Dusaka, and Tingri,’ he smiled down at the dog beside him, her head on Dusaka’s knee. ‘It amazes me he still has the patience to guide me, even now when I almost have more white hair on my head than he does.’ Krishna glanced over to his wrinkled and dreadlocked mentor, who still appeared the same age as he was when he had arrived at their gate in Ujjeni fifty Rains ago. It was a mystery how Tingri seemed the same age too but he had long since abandoned any idea of figuring out how the pair of them achieved this.

‘We are intending to wander into the north, to spend time in seclusion in the Himavant, so we seek your blessing and any advice you may wish to offer before we go.’

‘Krishna, you have been my disciple for forty Rains, first as a novice, then as a bhikkhu. You have indeed strayed from the Path in the past.’ He paused as if reviewing Krishna’s involvement with Kitagiri, Devadatta and then Kapilavatthu in his history. ‘We all make mistakes and part of the Path is that of acknowledging them and learning from them, as I have said to you before.

‘It is wise of you to travel with the Great Being Dusaka. He can keep you under his wing and help you not to get into trouble again but, I declare to you, you are indeed capable of learning, Krishna, so one day you should be ready to take leave of the guidance of Dusaka too.’

Krishna’s heart leapt at the words; such a categorical statement by the Buddha, he knew, was evidence of an immutable fact in the universe. ‘I can learn! He said that! I can!’ While he was distracted by this excited internal flush the Master paused again, waiting for Krishna’s full attention to refocus.

‘You say you seek solitude but, necessarily, you will encounter villagers and other travellers, groups of people here and there. Do you feel ready to share the Dharma teachings in a way that respects the traditions and understanding of the Tathagata? You will not always be able to defer to the Mahasattva⁹.

‘One who is invited to share reflections on the Dharma in an assembly should not tremble when they arrive, even in the midst of a field of fierce debaters; one should not miss things out, out of fear to speak, thus concealing one’s true message; one should speak without wavering, without hesitation, or prevarication when asked a question – if you can meet these various standards you are one who is worthy to represent the Dharma-Vinaya in assemblies¹⁰. Do you feel you can embody these qualities, when needed?’

To his surprise, before he could think too much, Krishna heard himself say, ‘Yes, now after so much guidance from you, Blessèd One, I can, I feel I can.’

The Master smiled. ‘In addition, one final point, if some samana or brahmin asks you, “When an Arahant passes away, what happens to them with the breakup of the body, after death?” – being asked thus, how would you answer?’¹¹

‘If they were to ask me this, Venerable Master, I would answer in this way: “Material form, feelings, perceptions, mental formations such as thoughts and emotions, and sense-consciousness are all impermanent; that which is impermanent is subject to affliction and is therefore unsatisfactory; what is unsatisfactory has ceased and passed away.” Being asked thus, Venerable Master, that is how I would reply.’

‘Good, good, Krishna.’ The Master’s smile blessed him again and his affirmation warmed Krishna’s heart even more. The Master added, ‘Formerly, Krishna, and also now, I just describe unsatisfactoriness, suffering, and the cessation of such suffering. You have my approval for your journey and I offer you encouragement for your ongoing spiritual endeavours. If you persist in your efforts, eventually you will reach the end of the Path to Enlightenment.’

Krishna was deeply pleased to have his understanding confirmed and to have received the blessing, the agreement of the Master for his seclusion in the great forest beneath the Himalayan mountains, the abode of sages and the location of so many tales of spiritual struggles and holy people, not to mention the prediction of his eventual enlightenmen! He was lost in his thoughts and hardly noticed that the Master and Dusaka, and occasionally Tingri, were speaking quietly for quite some time. Krishna could not pick up what was being said, in spite of them sitting quite close by, for reasons unknown and unknowable to him.

Dusaka at last gave him a nod. ‘Time to go.’ Krishna emerged from his reverie, they bowed to the Master and to Ananda, and took their leave.

As they walked out of the gate of the Jetavana Krishna remarked, ‘You know, it’s strange. I keep meaning to ask the Master about the mangala, the protection against death. I still carry the amulet you gave me¹², which has preserved me through a few scrapes, as you know, but my interpretations of it, meaning firstly, to live indulgently – assuming “Sooner! More!” meant “consume every experience you can and as soon as possible too”. Then going to the other extreme and assuming it meant self-denial, “The sooner you give up things and the more you give up, the better!” – both of these were, I learnt, truly misguided, but when I meet the Master I keep forgetting to ask what it was that the sage Gavinna meant. That prophecy was clearly relating to me:¹³

‘“When the kindly queen has burned
And she who caused it has gone too,
The darkling brother will return
Give him the key, this you must do.”

‘And she said it had been written in flame by the Eternal Youth, Sanat Kumara himself so… so why do I keep forgetting to ask him?’¹⁴

While Krishna posed this question to Dusaka he failed to notice that he was now neglecting to ask Dusaka too. Tingri sniffed and yipped in her way that served as her version of a wry smile and a chuckle.

---

When Sariputta and Moggallana had left with the majority of Devadatta’s new disciples, he had become so enraged and frustrated that he had burst some vessels in his throat and coughed up blood in his fury. It had started as an emotional reaction but it was, from that time, the beginning of a chronic illness too. The sickness continued for many Moons, with losses of blood and increasing weakness¹⁵. Over and over, being confined to a resting, immobile state, Devadatta was caused to look back over his life and reflect, since although his body was debilitated his mind was ever active.

He reviewed his childhood and the sense of competition that there had been with his cousin from his earliest memories – Siddhartha had always been the favourite¹⁶: more handsome, better behaved, cleverer, more athletic, more thoughtful of other’s needs – from the first, it had been sickening.

As he went over these memories there began to dawn, along with the litany of perceived slights, a sense of, ‘His goodness, his excellence is only a source of grief because it made me feel inferior. Not everyone can be the best – that’s how nature works – one lion is the strongest, one hawk is the fastest – and, in all those years, even when we were little children, did he ever gloat over me? Did he ever flaunt a victory or rejoice in making me look bad?’ His mind searched and, even though it was so used to finding fault and resenting, he could not find anything. This, in his weakened state, made it easier for the insight to float to the surface that, ‘All the conflict or tension there has ever been has only come from one place, my mind, my jealous heart. He really has done right by me, at every turn. Even when he called me “a gob of phlegm” in front of the whole community, his pointed words were, in truth, a perfect match for the rude, ungrateful and selfish place that my suggestion I lead the Order had come from. He has not cherished so much as a hair’s tip of hatred towards me. And, in very truth, towards the murderer Devadatta, the robber Angulimala, the mad elephant Nalagiri, he has manifested the same love as he has for his son Rahula.’

Devadatta was surprised at how clearly now he saw his faults and his succession of errors of judgement. Finally, able to endure no longer the pangs of remorse, he called his few disciples to his abiding place beneath the trees of the forest at Gayasisa.

‘My friends, disciples, faithful companions – Katamoraka, Khandadevi-putta, Surama – I have decided, now that my life appears to be ebbing away, that I should make peace with my esteemed and worthy teacher, my brother-in-law, my cousin, my partner in this troubled journey of our lives, Lord Buddha Gotama. Please make preparations for the journey to the Jetavana. I believe I will need to be carried as my limbs will not be able to bear me so far. I can barely walk to the bathing place here in the forest, let alone the many leagues to Kosala.’

The three Elders shot shocked and confused, aggrieved looks at each other. After so many years of incessant fault-finding and negativity how could their teacher’s view have changed so much? They each spoke with him, there and then, to ascertain whether he really meant what he said, in full awareness, or whether this was the fevers talking and that his mind would change to an opposite view in a few hours or days.

After some time, when the day had passed and all of them had spoken with him, they clustered together in their own part of the monastery area and discussed, with furrowed brows, what they should do.

‘I’m amazed, to be frank,’ said Katamoraka, ‘it’s quite the about-face, but he seems clearly set on it.’

‘We’re all surprised,’ Khandhadevi-putta was scowling, ‘and it feels almost disrespectful toward the principles we’ve followed since, well, way back… but…’

‘But it’s what our master wants,’ Surama filled in. ‘As good disciples we should listen and respect his wishes and, as we’ve all seen today, the message is consistent. He’s not wandering in his head, he knows what he’s saying and he has said it repeatedly. So, I feel the only choice we have is to organize the journey and it should begin as soon as possible.”

---

The grumbles continued for a little while, Khandadevi-putta even at one point striding back through the forest to speak to Devadatta again, rousing him from his sleep to say, in great agitation, ‘When you enjoyed good health, you constantly maintained enmity towards the Teacher; we will not lead you to him now!’

The weary, sad look in Devadatta’s eyes, the yearning in his voice, dissolved the indignation in his student. With words wreathed in sorrow and sincerity, Devadatta said, “’Do not destroy me. I have indeed nursed a hatred towards the Teacher but he never returned that. He never cherished for a finger-snap even a shred of negativity towards me. I beg you,’ his voice now weak, ‘take me there, to him.’

The preparations thus began the next day, to create a litter on which to carry Devadatta. The group was small so the carrying duties fell to the three Elders and the couple of local lads who had been helping out with different tasks around the monastery area of the Gayasisa forest. By the next morning they were ready to set out.

Word spread quickly once the small party had crossed into Kosala and they had drawn near to Savatthi. When the news of Devadatta’s approach was definite and not just a rumour, monks approached the Buddha, somewhat anxiously, to let him know, ‘Venerable Master, we hear that Devadatta is on his way to see you.’

On receiving the news, the Master was quiet for a moment then gently said, ‘He will not succeed in seeing me in this present existence.’ The monks took this in, appreciating the gravity of the statement, that it was categorical, but still the agitated concern was in the air:– Hadn’t Devadatta tried to kill the Master? Defame him? Hadn’t he tried to cause a schism? There was a lot to worry about!

As the leagues passed under the feet of Devadatta’s party, carrying him on a stretcher through the countryside, different monks kept coming to the Buddha to let him know, ‘They are getting closer! What should we do?’ To each and every one of the worried appeals the Master gave the same response, ‘Let him do as he likes; he will never succeed in seeing me again.’

As the travelling group reached only a bow-shot from the Jetavana, just passing the nearby lotus-pond, the Master gave the same kind of response once more, ‘Even if he enters the Jetavana, he will not succeed in seeing me,’ for the Master knew, with his unerring inner vision, that the extent of Devadatta’s hurtful actions against the person of the Tathagata made it intrinsically impossible for them to meet once more¹⁷. According to the laws of nature, this could not happen; there was no chance. On account of Devadatta’s past choices, the resultant karma could not be avoided. There was a poignancy in the voice of the Master when he made these pronouncements for he knew of the painful consequences that would be due for his maleficent and now repentant cousin.

The group bearing Devadatta – presuming that they would soon see the Master, as well as being weary and grimy from the road, decided to stop and bathe at the lotus pool within the boundary of the Jetavana. They set the litter down and prepared to help Devadatta join them to get cleaned up in the waters. However, as soon as Devadatta’s feet met the ground they sank into the earth. He immediately realized that the karmic results of his various heinous acts – shedding the Buddha’s blood when a splinter of rock from the boulder he had pushed broke off and cut the Master’s foot, and having deliberately split the Sangha in a schism – was now ripening. His body sank lower and lower as his followers stood frozen in horror around him, all, that is, save Surama, at the back, whose face was wearing a smile of deep satisfaction. Devadatta’s eyes blazed with fear, like a trapped animal awaiting the hunter, as he slid lower and lower.

Just before his jaw reached the ground, however, a shift of light appeared in his eyes, something moved within him. His expression cleared, all fear vanished and he declared:

‘With these bones, with these last breaths
With all the energy of my being,
I go for refuge to the Buddha,
Foremost among humans,
God of gods, trainer of those who can be trained
All seeing, endowed with the auspicious marks
Of a hundred virtues.’
His heart had opened at the close of his life.

With those final words his head was swallowed by the earth, which sealed itself off over him. The air was vibrantly still. Devadatta’s monks and lay helpers were all in shock at this strange and terrible end of their teacher, all that is except Surama, who looked disconsolate and thoroughly disappointed.¹⁸

---

Several Moons had come and gone as Krishna, Dusaka and Tingri ambled their way through the countryside, ever northwards. Along the way, at Dusaka’s prompting, Krishna had responded to a number of invitations to teach to groups of villagers or to answer questions of the farmers and travellers they met in open country.

It was good to be back on the road again, and, somewhat like the feelings of his daughter Vasabha, there was the joyfulness of not having to be anything for anyone, as well as not struggling to find his way so badly. He had Dusaka at his side and so something in him relaxed in a profound and tangible way, even though he realized he was still far from his goal of enlightenment. His bones were older now, soon he would be a man of sixty Rains, but his feet flew lightly over the forest paths, his nose was able to rejoice in the fragrances of the flowers Dusaka pointed out to him, his ears turned fondly to the rustlings of nocturnal creatures, the owls and crickets at night, and the calls and shrieks of monkeys and songbirds during the days.

They reached the vast forest of the Himavant and Dusaka took the lead – he appeared to know the territory extremely well although to Krishna it seemed a massive pathless mystery filled with vines and hidden streams, giant boulders and rocky crevices. Dusaka kept up a murmuring dialogue with Tingri, some of the time, but when they were climbing he compassionately paused their chats so that her shorter legs and smaller lungs could more easily handle the terrain. Krishna followed behind and kept up as well as he could.

Day after day they traversed the invisible paths that Dusaka could discern so easily. His feet finally led them to a beautiful level glade, beside a rushing stream, with copious different fruit trees in the forest around them. For some of these the season was almost over and a few wrinkled or over-ripe fruits remained, some were trees burgeoning with colourful, appealing offerings; others were blossom-laden, entering their season and full of promise for the coming Moons.

Smooth rocks surrounded the clearing. Tingri and Dusaka homed in on what were their chosen spots to camp with practised eye.

‘You’ve been here before,’ Krishna surmised.

‘Oh yes,’ Dusaka replied. ‘See that scooped out rock where young Tingri has parked herself?’ Krishna could see the soft curves of the grey stone under the black and white shag of the dog’s coat. ‘That was flat on top the first time we came here.’

‘What?!’ Krishna was incredulous, his eyes popping open and his hands halting as he unpacked his gear for the camp. ‘Are you saying that that has been worn away just by Tingri sitting on it?’ She yipped, noting that she was being talked about as if she had not been there.

‘Well, not just her. There have been occasional foxes, wildcats, a rabbit or two, some martens and many three-striped palm squirrels¹⁹, various snakes – popular when the rock’s warm but that’s seasonal. All that said, I’d reckon that nine parts in ten of the hollow were on account of Tingri. See, it’s just right for her, and she likes it warm too.’ She sniffed an agreement.

‘This one’s mine,’ Dusaka indicated the wide flattish slab where he was unpacking. Krishna realized that it had the distinct shape made by a cross-legged human form pressed into it, together with a smooth backrest conformed for someone just about Dusaka’s height. Krishna could see that it was worn quite smooth as well.

‘How old are you!?’ He couldn’t help asking. ‘Both of you? This isn’t the only place you stay, I know, so…’

‘Get unpacked, and find your spot, and I’ll tell you a story.’

---

Tingri was very comfortably ensconced on her spot, Krishna had found a soft patch of ground with a rock beside it at the perfect angle to ease his ageing back against, while he sat facing Dusaka. The grizzled sage placed his staff across his knees and over his shoulder, so he could lean and recite simultaneously. The forest went quiet around them and even the mosquitoes ceased to bite.

He began: ‘Sing devas! And rejoice and wonder how
It was that, long ago, Goddess Nü-wa,²⁰
As she repaired the sky, melted she down
Vast quantities of rock, and this was on

‘The Incredible Crags of the mountains
Called Great Fable. She moulded the hot melt
Into thousands of great blocks but then, when
Her work was done, a single block remained.

‘This poor lone stone lay all on its own at
The foot of the mountain, Greensickness Peak.
Since it had been goddess-moulded it was
Blessed with magical powers in full store.

‘It could move at will and it could expand
Or shrink to any size it wanted to.
But there was sadness, shame and resentment
Since all the other blocks repaired the sky.

‘This stone alone had been deemed unworthy
So its years were spent in lamentation.
But one day a being was seen coming
From afar – or was it two? – or perhaps

‘It was two-in-one: a Taoist Elder,
Tousle-haired and limping, propped by a staff;
The other a Buddhist monk, bare-footed
And scabby-headed. Yet then there was one.

‘By the time they/he reached this very stone
And set to talk, or contemplate aside,
The stone had shrunk itself to be the size
Of a precious jade fan pendant. The eye

‘Of the visitor fell soon upon it
“Aha, I see you’re full of magicals!
But you’re smooth, with nowt to recommend you
I shall thus undertake to inscribe you

‘With some words so that anyone you meet
Will know you are indeed something special.
After that I shall take you to a place,
A brilliant, successful, poetic,

‘Cultivated, aristocratical,
Elegant, delectable, opulent,
Luxurious locality on a
Little trip.” The stone was quite delighted.

‘”What words will you cut? Where will we go to?”
“Do not ask,” I replied, for it was I,
“You will know soon enough when the time comes.”
The story I inscribed upon the jade

‘Is your tale too and one yet to be made.
So this is how it was that I appeared
Or at least encroached upon your story
The tale of Precious Jade is close to yours

‘For he too has two girls he is tied to
One with hearty smiles, one a debt of tears,
The Crimson Pearl-Flower whom he brought to life,
And while their story, your story, began

‘In ages long gone by, in truth that tale
Has yet to happen, but surprisingly
Like that of Yeshe Tsogyal that I told²¹,
And Tilopa and Naropa, you see,

‘If it hadn’t happened already somehow,
About it how could I be telling you?
Their passions and follies, joys and sorrows
The ups and downs of fortune of these three,

‘Are foreshadowed, informed by the travails
That you and your sisters of Ujjeni,
And the kinnari and their companions,
Have all known in these sixty Rains just past.

---

‘What we learn best from, unfortunately,
Is the state of pain, especially
The pain of our regrets, the sad refrain
Of the heart when bad choices have been made.

‘We are all the same, young Krishna; you see,
Even the Bodhisattva Gotama²²
In ages past, was moved by gross folly,
Yes, the one who is the Buddha, he too,

‘When living as a yogi near to here,
A need for salt and other essentials,
Brought him into Varanasi city.
His demeanour on alms-round pleased the King

‘Who invited him to set up his camp
In the gardens of the Royal Palace.
He had the ability to fly, so
Each day, the Bodhisattva would rise up

‘And, entering the hall of offering
He would receive his alms-food for the day.
On one occasion, with the King away,
He entered accidentally the wrong

‘Window of the palace halls and there found
The Queen at rest, and not properly dressed.
He was smitten by the sight, like a tree
Felled by an axe. The Queen, named Gentle-Heart

‘Knew not of this but saw the sage walk home.
It was noted that he flew not, he no longer
Had the power. “Like a crow with wings clipped”
He staggered and stayed for a week abed

‘Unable to eat or rest, his good heart
Now aflame with lust, fully enslaved by
The loveliness of the Queen, Gentle-Heart.
When the King returned from the border war

‘The hermit’s absence was made known to him.
“What ails you, Venerable One?” He asked
“My heart is stricken, Sire, by lust alone,
No other ailment afflicts me truly.”

‘“Lust for whom?” The King enquired. “For the Queen.”
“Well then,” with wise magnanimity,
The King pronounced, “She is yours.” The hermit
Was well-pleased. Meanwhile the King exchanging

‘A glance with his Queen, who, kenning well, said,
“Have no fear, Sire, we both respect our sage.
He has lost his way but I will save him.”
The King profusely thanked Queen Gentle-Heart

‘For his concern too was to help their man.
“We need a home,” she said and so the King
Gave them a tumbled-down and grubby shed
Wherein passers-by would themselves relieve.

‘Gentle-Heart refused to enter, she said,
“It’s filthy!!” “What am I to do?” He wailed.
“Why, clean it out!” She said, smiling inside
While playing the harridan to the world.

‘Once it was cleaned she pressed him for the rest
Of all household needs. One by one she asked
Him for: a bed; a stool; a rug; a pot.
Back and forth the former hermit ferried,

‘Item by item until, at the end,
After fetching water and a thousand
Other things, he sat himself exhausted,
Beside his new bride on the bed, she said,

‘As she took him by the whiskers and she
Drew his face to hers, “Have you forgotten
That you are a Holy Man!? Well, have you!”
As if waking from a dream the hermit

‘Regarded the Queen with thanks, seeing what
She had done for him. He asked, gratefully,
“May I restore you to the King?” She smiled.
“If His Majesty will have me, that is.”

‘They returned forthwith to the palace gate
And asked for entry; they were homespun clad,
Not sure they would be allowed in again.
The guards teased them skilfully; the entire

‘Royal Household seemed privy to the plot
The sage begged for an audience, meanwhile
Queen Gentle-Heart stayed quiet, her mien
Straight-faced, though inwardly rejoicing that

‘Their wholesome subterfuge had worked its charm.
An audience with the King was granted
Following much pleading, and then at last,
The hermit asked the King if he, out of

‘Great compassion, would forgive his foolish,
His selfish craving which had now passed by,
And accept Gentle-Heart back to his side
As Queen. The King, unable to resist

‘The chance to play “hard-to-please”, but not just
From childish sport but to drive the message
Deep into the sage’s heart. His duty
As a grateful student was to give aid²³

‘To his teacher who had lost the pathway,
That he had to them so well expounded.
At last, “After some consideration”,
The King agreed to take his wife again

‘As Queen and consort. At this moment the
Powers of the sage returned and all was
As it had been before that fateful day.
The King and Queen confessed to their teacher,

‘Their belovèd and respected master,
That they had schemed together as to how
To save him, so they asked for forgiveness
For their rudeness in so deceiving him,

‘And, Queen Gentle-Heart too apologised
For the indignities she put him to
In her effort to break the spell, that glaze
That had warped his vision and caused him to

‘Lose the Path, for a little while. The sage
Of course forgave them and asked them in turn
To forgive him, once again, for now he
With renewed intent, would return to the

‘Himavant. There he would give his whole heart
To his meditation and endeavour
To learn from these recent lessons they gave.
Thus the sage back to the forest flew just

‘Next to where we sit. The story shows us
How often the best of us can get lost
And how our friends and even our students
Can help us when we lose our way. In that

Life the hermit was the Bodhisattva
Gotama, today our Blessèd Master,
Ananda was King, Uppalavanna
The wise Queen was, the nun of powers great.

‘The message here
From these ups and downs,
Is: wisdom’s always in us,
Though we act like clowns.’

---

Krishna sat quietly, listening to the susurration of the forest night. The air was rich with a luminous charge.

There was a lot to take in from Duaska’s recitation, but it couldn’t all have been recited – a lot of it had to have been spontaneous as so much was specific to him and his friends, his family. Either way his heart was full and no words were needed for now.

Late into the night they were all still sitting in their places when a question came to him:

‘Dusaka, what happened, or will happen – I’m not sure how to phrase it – to Precious Jade once you took him or will take him on that promised jaunt to the interesting poetic place?’

‘Precious Jade takes the monk’s robes, just the same as you.’

‘Did he, will he, find a mangala, to protect against death and help answer the big questions, to defeat death and go beyond?’

‘Now that,’ Dusaka gave his best, most sagely nod, ‘is a good question’; silence hovered and, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, Krishna was fully satisfied with that.

---

Muñca was back in the Realm of Gandharvas, his section of the Realm of the Four Guardians. He was at home but he was ill at ease. Despite being reasonably well-respected there (unlike in the Tavatimsa Heaven) he kept noticing what he took to be suspicious looks out of the corner of his eye. When he followed these anxieties up, engaged with other gandharvas and apsaras in conversation, his fears were regularly proved groundless but he could not rest. He was seeing threats and accusations, enemies on every side.

He decided, after long deliberation, that if he could change his appearance, and create a fully fresh identity, all his troubles would be over. In his travels he had heard of the esoteric rejuvenation methods of the kumbhandas, which were also members of his group of Realms, as dwellers in the Southern Quarter of this domain of the Four Guardians, and simultaneously in the Underworld.

The ruler of the upper regions of the South was King Virulhaka; in the Underworld it was Queen Oghabala, whom he had come dangerously close to meeting previously. He decided to seek aid below and damn the risks of discovery. He had enemies everywhere, or so he felt, so he had to do something.

He put on the most suitable apparel he could find – indicative of an elder gandharva, as he was advancing in their deva-years, but not too flashy or tasteless – and descended to the Underworld. He adopted his most easeful and respectful bearing, assuring the guards he met in the caves that he belonged there, as a visitor of distinction, and that he was the kind of person who, when asking for an audience with Her Chthonic Majesty should be granted such without question.

When he was conducted into Her Presence he felt both pleased (to have been received) and terrified at the awesome entity before him. She was huge and, as he had heard, shockingly but magnificently ugly, to a degree that made her irresistible to gaze at.

‘DOES WHAT YOU SEE PLEASE YOU, VISITOR? OR DOES IT PERHAPS APPAL? YOU STARE, SO SOMETHING MUST BE COMPELLING YOU.’ A sub-sonic rumble was felt through Muñca’s feet so he took that to mean she was laughing, teasing him.

‘Nay, Your Chthonic Majesty, it is not attraction or aversion that I experience, only awe at Your Majesty’s might and power.’ He bowed gracefully to the floor of the great cave chamber.

The semblance of a smile crossed the Queen’s crag-like face and she beckoned him to a seat.

‘WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE TO THIS DIM DANK DOMAIN, GANDHARVA? SURELY YOU ARE MORE AT HOME IN THE LANDS OF SPACE AND LAVISH LIGHT.’

‘I come in search of youth – to be completely frank. I am agèd as my tribe goes, losing my strength, and my looks, so it may be vanity but I seek the famed Cauldrons of Youth²⁴ that are spoken of in whispered rumours and I would fain ask for the favour, the blessing, of the cauldrons to restore my vitality.’ He had prepared the speech far in advance so he hoped it made the appropriate impression.

‘FORTUNE FAVOURS YOU, SMALL ONE.’ She paused, looking closely at him. ‘MY ELDEST SON, PRINCE IOHANA IS IN A STATE MUCH LIKE YOUR OWN. HE IS OLD FOR A KUMBHANDA, SINCE I AM FABULOUSLY ANCIENT,’ her basso profundo laugh rumbled like a small earthquake again.

‘HE IS DUE TO MARRY, AT LAST, AND HIS BRIDE IS A YOUNG NEREID, AN APSARA OF THE WATERS²⁵. HE IS BESOTTED WITH HER AND SHE IS A FINE GIRL – I HAVE APPROVED THE MATCH. SHE IS FAIR TO LOOK UPON, AS MY SON PUTS IT: “HER EYES ARE THE COLOUR OF THE WINE-DARK SEA, HER SKIN WITH THE SHEEN OF COAL.” IT’S A LITTLE POETICAL OF A WAY TO DESCRIBE HER BUT HE FEELS HE NEEDS A REJUVENATION BEFORE THEY WED, SO SHE CAN HAVE A BEING CLOSER TO HER AGE – TO ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES – TO SERVE AS HER LIFE PARTNER. WE HAVE THE CAULDRONS BEING PREPARED AS WE SPEAK. YOU CAN FOLLOW HIM IN THE CEREMONY TOMORROW.’

This was more favourable than Muñca could have dared hope for. He bowed gratefully to the Queen and backed out of her awesome presence.

---

Alyona the Nereid princess was indeed fair to look upon while Prince Iohana, as an aging Kumbhanda, was not so easy on the eye, as Muñca reckoned.

The ceremony was set up in a large cave hall that was on a branch off the main throne room. A huge crowd of the kumbhanda royals and courtiers and their families were gathered. This was a rare rite and there were significant powers being employed to bring about the magical transformations desired. Everything was arranged very beautifully, despite being in the dark confines of the Underworld. Lanterns were in abundance, exquisite embroidered hangings decked the walls behind the three giant copper cauldrons. The floor and the exteriors of the vessels were inscribed with complex yantras and words of power, in the runes of the ancient carvings of the kumbhandan mages.

The Queen and her retinue were seated, she at the centre on a throne almost as gigantic as the one in the main chamber. She beckoned to Muñca to draw close.

‘YOU, NATURALLY, HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS BEFORE. I AM HAPPY TO DO THIS FOR MY SON. HE IS NOT THE SHARPEST CHISEL IN THE TOOLRACK, AS THEY SAY, BUT HE IS HONOURABLE AND HE HAS A PURE HEART, AND THAT’S WHAT MATTERS MOST, SO SAY I; WHAT SAY YOU ON THIS?’ She cast an enquiring glare in his direction.

In full diplomatic, not-wanting-to-say-anything-wrong mode, Muñca agreed completely. ‘Oh yes, Your Chthonic Majesty, I am of the same mind entirely, without virtue we are finished.’ Her gaze lingered on him for a moment then she commanded, ‘BEGIN!’ Drums began to be pounded, filling the hall with echoes.

There were different contents in each of the three cauldrons. The first was boiling oil, the second was boiling water and the last was cool water, fresh from the icy lakes of the mountains. Muñca, now having turned his attention to the prospect ahead, began to experience great trepidation. His armpits started to moisten as he sat there, as was characteristic of an ageing deva, and he could smell the rank tang of his own fear. It suddenly hit him that neither the Queen, nor any of her ministers, had hinted let alone spoken directly about what he might be expected to pay, or how, by way of a fee. It was too late to back out now but he was anxious, not just about the ritual, but also about what price they might ask of him as an elder gandharva.

That inner voice²⁶ that had prompted him so often, when he was engaged in one of his ‘projects’ – like the trip through the realms with those foolish kinnaris and the others – was strangely absent. There was an unaccustomed inner quiet.

He asked himself:– Why do I do those things? I even went to the trouble of collecting the babe’s piece of comforting shell from the Kosambi forest floor to cement my story. Why do I go to such lengths? I suppose it gives me a sense of power, a thrill, to know something that others do not know, and to twist them around according to my will, but, so what? What value does that have for me in the long run? It’s just…

His musings were broken off by the burly and wrinkled Prince, with an ample girth and not much hair on top, climbing the steps to the cauldron of boiling oil. Without any hesitation he dunked himself in the seething liquid and then rose up, head dripping and lathering himself, as if he were in a bathhouse. He looked very comfortable and happy. The fires were definitely blazing beneath, and the shimmering air and oil fumes told Muñca it had indeed been raised to a great heat – this was extraordinary!

After his stint in the boiling oil Prince Iohana climbed out, his white loincloth dripping and his mottled skin shining, and he plunged his great bulk into the cauldron of boiling water beside it. He bathed happily there again, then, moving to the last cauldron, his cheerful expression was clearly transforming into a wrinkle-free, smooth visage and the form of his body was noticeably changing too.

He emerged from the last cauldron of icy mountain water and the transformation was impressive. He stood in resplendent glory at the top of the steps, then walked down and bowed before his great mother. She thundered:

‘FRESH AS SPRING,
AS FAIR AS THE DAWN.
THE HANDSOMEST YOUTH
THAT EVER WAS BORN!’

She was waxing even more poetical about her son than he had been about his youthful bride.

Muñca could not wait to follow suit and was quickly down to his loincloth as soon as the Queen gave him the nod. ‘BEGIN!’ She intoned again. Muñca climbed the steps of the first cauldron eagerly, he slipped right in and was immediately boiled alive in the seething oil. He hardly even managed a scream.

The Queen and the Court looked on with grim and sober satisfaction.

‘IDIOT. HE REALLY THOUGHT HE WOULD NOT BE KNOWN HERE. YOU DO NOT FREE PRISONERS THAT ARE ENTERTAINING THE ROYAL PLEASURE, AND EXPECT TO LIVE A LONG AND COMFORTABLE LIFE.

‘◆LET◆THIS◆BE◆KNOWN!◆’ She shook her vast, gnarly head. ‘“TO BE HONOURABLE AND TO HAVE A PURE HEART IS WHAT MATTERS MOST,” I TOLD HIM, AND HE AGREED. HE SHOULD HAVE ASKED HOW THAT MIGHT AFFECT THE RITUAL OF REJUVENATION – I WOULD HAVE TOLD HIM, “THIS WORKS FOR THE VIRTUOUS, NOT FOR THE UNVIRTUOUS²⁷.” HE DID NOT ASK. NOW INSTEAD HE HAS CREATED HIS OWN REWARD FOR HIS CHOICES. ◆SO◆IT◆IS◆.’

---

Moons and Rains came and went in the forest of the Himavant. Krishna’s hair turned completely white and thinned on top while his beard grew steadily thicker. He still considered himself a monk but the motivation to shave regularly, whilst living with Dusaka and Tingri alone, ebbed and faded over the next decades. He took to hacking off the largest excesses of his head-hair but he let his beard grow.

He lost track of the passing years as his enjoyment of the simple forest life, and the endlessly cheering company of Tingri and Dusaka, kept him steadily progressing, as he felt, along the spiritual path.

When he remarked one day about how he seemed to keep in good health and to remain energetic, despite his advancing age, Dusaka explained, ‘The amulet you carry does not just protect you from physical harm, it’s a life-charger as well.’ When Krishna’s gormless expression told him that he had never heard of such a thing, Dusaka elaborated, ‘It gives the bearer a longer than usual life and it keeps you free from disease too – when were you last ill with anything?’ A bushy eyebrow lifted in enquiry. He didn’t wait for Krishna’s response. ‘See, it’s quite the power-source and protector. You’ll live a very long time and have plenty of energy, as long as you don’t lose that amulet, or give it away.’

Krishna therefore made sure he kept this precious possession safe, however, he never got around to asking about what other mangalas there might be and exactly what Gavinna had really meant, or at least he kept forgetting to. He told himself, whenever it came to mind, ‘I’m too old to have any cares about that now.’ But he was wrong again.

A day came when Dusaka surprised him by being packed and tidied up, his precious rock-seat once more just a shiny stone with no human odds and ends around it, as had usually been the case over the thirty Rains they had spent there.

‘Well, I’m off,’ Dusaka declared. ‘Things to do and places to go. You’ll have to find the mangala on your own.’

‘What!?’ Krishna was startled beyond belief. He thought that Dusaka could no longer surprise him. ‘You what?’

Dusaka and Tingri, without a backward glance, pottered off into the forest, heading east, as if it was the most ordinary and natural thing to be doing.

Krishna was left gaping – ‘catching flies in his beard’ as Dusaka would say:– The day that the Master had spoken of, years ago, had come. What was he supposed to do now? Well, it seemed like the message was, ‘You’ll have to find your own way’. And that means exactly what?

Krishna pondered, ‘So, I’ll have to find the mangala on my own.’ Almost without any thought as to why or how, Krishna slowly gathered his things. There were many odds and ends that had accumulated over the years. Wooden tools made from forest timber; a few good needles a yogi had given him when passing through; some fine thin rope that a few villagers had donated, thankful for some advice he had given years previously – such were the precious few items a wandering forest monk might need.²⁸

By the next day he had sorted what to take and what to leave so, trying to emulate his belovèd mentor, the Mahasattva Dusaka, who had cared for and guided him now for over eighty Rains, he walked into the forest, heading west. He had said farewell in gratitude to the beings he had shared the precious glade with, and he did manage to walk away without a backward glance.²⁹

Notes & References