Dhiman walked away, shaking his head.
But what if it was true? Yeshua understood the suttas better and grasped the lessons faster than most of the monks. In Palestine, he had discussed the Torah with the temple priests many years ago. And on the way to Sindh, he had spoken to men of every faith and impressed them with his wisdom.
Yeshua slung the broom as far as he could. It crashed to the ground with a bang.
“Your anger proves that your desire to be a master makes you suffer.”
Dhiman had returned, and handed Yeshua the broom. He put his arm around him and squeezed his shoulder. “When you try to preserve your self, you raise yourself higher than all others. But you’re no better or worse than anyone else. We are all one.”
Reluctantly, Yeshua had to admit Dhiman was right—he yearned for recognition. Still, what if he really was Buddha reborn?
From that day onward, Yeshua worked hard to detach himself from everything he previously had thought important. The Buddha had said an enlightened being recognizes his own self in all beings, all beings in his own self, and looks at everything with an impartial eye. Yeshua tried to absorb the lessons with an open mind, aware that the teachers were perfect in their imperfection. The less he tried to control his life, the more his days passed without worry. And once he gave up seeking permission to teach the locals, the people of the village approached him with questions whenever he left the monastery. Thus he shared his lessons in secret.
Teaching was invigorating. When he sat with a group who drank in his every word, he felt complete. Most villagers didn’t know much about the Buddha, and were curious to learn about the wise man from the East. In return, they taught Yeshua about Surya, Indra, and Mangala, the deities of heaven, and Saraswati, Vishnu, and Lakshmi, the gods of earth. They shared stories from the Vedas and epics from the Smritis. The more Yeshua learned, the more he understood the connection between the teachings of the Torah, the lessons of the Buddha, and the wisdom of the Vedas: the goal of all three was to reach Nirvana, oneness with God. Soon he looked for any excuse to leave the monastery and spent less time doing his chores and attending his daily lessons.
In the end, Dhiman was the one who sent him away. “They know you’ve been teaching outside the monastery,” he said, his eyes cold.
Yeshua looked at his friend, stunned. “I was just speaking to some people in the village. I didn’t really teach them...”
“Yeshua, you know the rules here. You agreed to obey them.”
“But it didn’t lead anywhere. I wasn’t progressing.”
“You’re such a fool. I brought you here to learn, to reach a higher consciousness. And you threw it all away.”
Yeshua’s stomach cramped. He had become arrogant, had considered himself better than the elders, thought they would never find out. But just like in Palestine, some laws could not be broken.
“I’ll never forget your kindness,” he called after Dhiman. “I’m sorry. I am. But perhaps the Buddha is calling me.” Yeshua kicked a stone and sent it rolling down the path. “I want to follow in his footsteps.”
Dhiman turned around. “You still don’t understand, do you?” His voice was soft with compassion. “His message, that’s what’s important, not where his body moved. Perhaps your father was right; perhaps God’s work is not for you. Go home. Be a carpenter. Do what you were born to do.”
Yeshua stepped forward to embrace Dhiman, but his friend turned his back and walked away. Dhiman shut the gate between them, leaving Yeshua outside.
Tears rolled down Yeshua’s face as he slung his belongings onto his back and walked up the hill, away from the monastery.
Chapter Nine
Satavahana, AD 10
Loneliness haunted him on his aimless walk across the hills. Dhiman had been his companion day and night for over a year. The always kind, laughing monk had taught him more than anyone else in the world, and now Yeshua was alone in a foreign land with no one to comfort or guide him.
The first few days, he struggled with direction. He couldn’t return to Galilee. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to marry, give up his dream of becoming a priest. Should he really follow the Buddha’s footsteps? If only he had begged Dhiman to let him stay. Surely, he would have been forgiven if he had promised to change his ways.
What would God want him to do?
Gathering courage from his meditations, Yeshua decided he might as well continue his search. He set off toward Jagannath, a place the villagers had told him about, where the sea was endless and the air heavy with fervor, and where the mystical White Brahmins resided.
As soon as he left Sindh, he disposed of his monk’s robe and reverted to his Galilean tunic and mantle, stirring up laughter from the children as he passed. He had grown significantly since he left home, and the short tunic and tight mantle made him appear like a poor vagrant compared with the immaculate locals in their colorful robes and turbans.
At first, he struggled to communicate in a mix of Sanskrit and Sindhi, but soon enough he captured the essence of Prakrit dialects. And thus, he was rarely alone for long periods of time. Even the poorest of families invited him to stay for the night and offered him their best sleeping mat in a room shared by several generations with hardly an inch of space between them.
The farther he walked from the tolerant region of Sindh, the more apparent the disparity in social standing between men.
“My esteemed friend,” a priest said, while scooping up spicy chana masala with fingers like fat sausages from their shared bowl, “I could not help but observe that you were speaking to a builder earlier. And I must tell you—it is not clever for a man of your position to communicate with Shudras. It will do you no good at all. These craftsmen are simple-minded, if you must know, filthy and ignorant. Their only use is serving the twice-born, like you and me.”
Yeshua almost choked on his stew. Of course the priest could not know that Yeshua was a craftsman by birth. Because of his lighter skin, although darkened from the sun, everyone assumed he belonged to the priestly caste.
Yeshua couldn’t resist provoking the priest. “How can you be sure they haven’t been born before?”
The priest laughed so hard, his belly fat bounced up and down and bits of food burst from his mouth. By now, Yeshua was used to being laughed at. He lowered his head and joined his hands in reverence. He didn’t mind being ridiculed as long as people answered his questions.
“It’s in the Rig Veda, as you surely must know. Primal man was divided into four castes: His mouth became the Brahmins, and that’s why we Brahmins are able to speak of wise matters. His arms became the Kshatriyas; that’s why the soldiers and kings can fight so well. His thighs became the Vaishyas; see how strong the merchants and landowners are. But the simple craftsmen and servants, the Shudras, were made from his feet. And you know how dirty and smelly feet are. They step on everything. Feces, spit, fish heads—any kind of rubbish. And that’s why we know they have never been born before.”
“Of course, of course,” Yeshua said. “And the others?”
“What others? There are no others.” The priest scratched the stubble on his chin.
“The ones who work behind closed doors in the markets, the ones who never speak to me. The untouchables; is that what you call them?”
“You must never speak to them, Issa!” The priest sputtered with contempt, his fists clenched white. “Dirty rats, they are. Meat-eating filth!” The priest leaned away to distance himself from Yeshua as much as the narrow room allowed. “You haven’t spoken to them, have you? Haven’t touched them? Eaten their food?”
Yeshua smiled his sweetest smile. “Of course not,” he said. “Why would I ever do that?”
But he had spoken to them. They just hadn’t answered. Every time Yeshua approached, they fled. It wasn’t until Yeshua learned they could get killed for simply talking to a Brahmin that he stopped trying to befriend them.
The priest explained that speaking to, touching, or eating food prepared by the un
touchables would pollute the higher castes to the extent that they could lose their status in society and become untouchables themselves.
While crossing the Shipra River on a raft, the boatman asked if Yeshua was headed to Ujjayini, a town upriver. “You mustn’t miss it. Oh no, you most certainly will regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t see this magnificent town. Only one day’s walk north, not very far at all.”
Yeshua looked in the direction up the lush riverbed where the boatman was pointing.
“You see,” the boatman said, “many years ago, when Ujjayini was the capital of the entire Avanti kingdom, there came a time when the demigods felt weak and powerless. They approached Lord Brahma for advice on how to restore their health. Lord Brahma told them to churn the milky ocean to obtain the nectar of immortality. But the demigods were so frail, they had no choice but to ask the demons for help with the churning. In turn, they promised to share the treasure. The demigods and demons took turns agitating the ocean, until one day, a pot filled with the sweetest nectar rose from its depths. When the demigods saw this treasure, they no longer wanted to share it, because what would happen if the demons grew too fierce and overpowered them? A fight ensued between the demigods and the demons. During the battle, a few drops of the sacred nectar fell on four towns, one of which was Ujjayini. That’s why it is one of the most sacred places in the world.”
By now, Yeshua was used to hearing fantastical stories. He didn’t even blink.
“I’m sad to tell you,” the boatman said as he pulled the raft onto the shore. “The most sacred Kumbh Mela festival ended a few days ago. You would have enjoyed it. Not to worry—you won’t regret it if you go. There is no other place quite as enchanting.”
The boatman was right: Ujjayini did not disappoint. Serenity radiated from the very earth. Few voices were heard, and the people who did speak lowered their voices to mere whispers. Both men and women smiled his way and, more important, smiled at each other. Everyone walked slowly, scanning the ground before planting their next step as if afraid to hurt the soil. Goats, cows, and elephants shared the streets with humans, and children gently steered them away from the market stalls with friendly pats and kind words. And he had never before seen a place so clean. Abba would have loved it.
This was paradise.
Exhausted from the suffocating heat, Yeshua rested in the shadow of a temple painted in cheerful greens and pinks. The passing locals wore either pristine white or colorful robes or walked around completely uncovered. Yeshua blushed at the sight. He had only ever seen Dhiman and his brothers naked before, and here unclothed strangers paraded in front of him without shame.
“Welcome to Ujjayini, brother,” a white-clad, barefoot monk said through the white mask that covered his mouth.
Yeshua pressed his palms together. “Namaste.”
“Come. Let me show you our most magnificent temple.”
“Yes, it’s extraordinary.”
“Oh heavens, not this one. You must never enter the Mahakaleshwar Jyotirlinga, my brother. It’s a most dangerous Shiva temple, you see. No, what I will show you is something truly breathtaking—the temple of Jain.”
Yeshua had never heard anyone refer to Shiva as evil, but he accepted the invitation out of curiosity.
As they walked, the monk swept the ground in front of them with a brush of twigs. “I’m gently removing God’s small creations, the insects, to not harm or kill them.”
Yeshua tried to step in the monk’s exact footsteps, careful not to offend his beliefs.
At the Jain temple, a whitewashed structure with a pointed steeple, the monk removed his white robe, entered a shallow mikveh pool for purification, and gestured for Yeshua to follow suit. The water burned, almost as hot as the air. Yeshua washed himself quickly and wrapped himself with a fresh white robe that the monk handed him. By the temple door, the monk dipped his finger into a bowl of saffron-colored paste and smeared it onto his forehead. With a content grin, he reached out and smudged the space between Yeshua’s eyebrows.
“A clean body helps the mind enter a spiritual dimension,” he said. “Like cleansing bad karma.”
In the cool inner sanctum of the temple, Yeshua sagged to his knees from heat exhaustion, no longer able to stand upright. His head swirled from dehydration. He closed his eyes to stop his head from spinning and focused on his breath, trying to think of nothing. Nearby, he heard the monk shuffling around.
When his heart rate had slowed and the feeling of panic had subsided, Yeshua opened his eyes. The white walls of the sanctum had been decorated with symbols: a red cross with its four arms bent at right angles and a hand with a wheel drawn in the middle of the palm. At the front stood a marble statue of a man sitting cross-legged, his palms facing upward and a peaceful smile on his face.
The monk nodded when he saw Yeshua had regained his energy. “I’m Harikesh. Most welcome to our temple.”
“Issa.” Yeshua rose to greet him. He motioned to the statue. “I see you follow the Lord Buddha.”
“Oh no, not the Buddha. It’s Mahavira. He lived a long, long time before the Buddha. In fact, he was perhaps one of the Buddha’s best teachers.”
Yeshua suppressed a smile. It didn’t seem likely.
“And like the Buddha, Mahavira was a prince who left his home at thirty years of age, achieved enlightenment, and soon thereafter died.”
“Died?” That seemed like a tragic end for someone who had just found what he was searching for.
“Yes. He was quite an ascetic, bless his soul. He gave up eating and died from starvation. Thus he was liberated from the circle of rebirth.”
What a waste of life. Wasn’t the purpose of life to learn, grow, and share your knowledge—not suffer and die? Still, he was intrigued by the man who had died for Nirvana.
“You believe in reincarnation?” Yeshua asked.
“Yes.”
“And karma?”
“Certainly.”
But Harikesh’s understanding of karma was different from what Yeshua had learned before.
“Karma is like a delicate substance,” Harikesh said. “It attaches itself to your soul and grows and diminishes, depending on what you do, what you say, and what you think. Although you can’t see it, it stays with you for the rest of your life—and all your lifetimes—until you have eliminated the bad karma by good deeds and purification.”
“You believe in souls?”
Harikesh motioned him to silence. He handed Yeshua a clove from a bowl in front of the Mahavira statue, then pressed another between the ring fingers of each hand, pointed the head of the clove toward Mahavira, and bowed to the statue. He chanted: “I bow down to Arihanta. I bow down to Siddha. I bow down to Acharya. I bow down to Upadhyaya. I bow down to Sadhu and Sadhvi. With these five bows, I destroy the sins among all that is auspicious.”
The prayer offered respect to the enlightened souls on earth, to those already free from reincarnation, and to all spiritual leaders, teachers, monks, and nuns.
“Namo namaha,” Harikesh chanted, over and over, before he paused to explain that the words meant “I salute you,” a pledge to release the karma that bound his soul.
Then Harikesh bowed again and asked his spiritual masters to guide him on his path.
In the days that followed, the cool temple became a welcome refuge from the intense heat. Between prayers, Yeshua and Harikesh rested in the garden under the shade of the fragrant neem trees and discussed the Buddha and Mahavira. Both prophets had taught that nothing good or bad happens without reason. A person’s karma is either inherited from actions in a past life or carried over to the next life by anger, violent thoughts, and immoral actions.
Yeshua loved the pleasant harmony of Jaini life. Like the Sindhi monks, the Jains believed you could become a perfect soul by overcoming desires, attaining the right perception and the right knowledge, and refraining from harmful behavior. Whoever mastered his thoughts conquered the cycle of birth and death. And yet the Jains denied th
e existence of God. They believed the universe had always existed and regulated itself through the laws of nature. No God appeared to offer help in distressful situations; everyone was responsible for their own fortune. Yeshua thought they were wrong, of course. God had always been his companion, and without God, he would be lost.
As the weeks wore on, the Jains’ extreme commitment to nonviolence began to bother him. He had to wear a mask and filter his drinking water several times through a stretched fabric to avoid harming any insects. Walking anywhere took hours because of the constant sweeping before each step. And when a dying cow screamed in pain all night and Yeshua begged the monks to release the poor animal from suffering, they refused. A creature’s agony is part of its karma, they said, and thus the cow had to die on its own to avoid reincarnation. When Yeshua argued, the Jaini monks reminded him that his mind was still tainted. They told him to practice forgiveness. Yeshua had to cover his head with his traveling sack to muffle the shrieks of agony.
One night, Yeshua dreamed that Buddha and Mahavira took him by the hand and led him toward a rising sun where thousands of people were waiting. “Tell them the good news,” they said. “Share your wisdom.”
During early morning meditation, Yeshua contemplated the dream. The two enlightened teachers had suggested he leave Ujjayini and continue his journey east. And although the message confused him, something about the dream felt real. Like when he was a child and God spoke to him during Yom Kippur. Ever since he could remember, he had dreamed about Moses and Abraham. But this dream had been different. Mahavira and the Buddha had spoken directly to him, as if their message held considerable importance. Even now, completely awake, he felt their presence. What would God want him to do? Was it time to continue his journey?
Yeshua looked at the white-clad meditating monks around him, all deep in trance. Staying at this temple with such wise and humble teachers had been a gift, but he didn’t belong here. With his mind made up, he decided to wait until the day got cooler and then quietly leave. Harikesh would probably remind him that having doubts was natural and would ask Yeshua to wait. He’d say that in time Yeshua would feel better.
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