The Transmigrant

by Kristi Saare Duarte

  Over the following days, Yeshua focused on healing her liver to help drive out the toxins. Along with a nutritious diet of berries, herbs, and milk, the three of them restored their health and faith in life together.

  In less than a fortnight, she was up and moving about, and Yeshua, sensing the couple’s need for privacy, resolved to continue his journey. With teary eyes and gifts of a yak wool blanket and fur wraps to protect his feet, the man and his wife sent him on his way.

  Yeshua trekked across fields of yellow mustard plants and through dense forests. Some mornings the fog rose thick from the ground and transformed nature into a dream world, where majestic sal trees revealed themselves like spirits, one by one, along a path that appeared and disappeared before him. His thoughts bounded and rebounded from fear of being lost to joy at being found, from abject terror to supreme bravery, and from the pit of despair to unwavering hope.

  When at last he heard human voices in the distance, he knew he had made it to Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lumbini, Himalayas, AD 17

  Yeshua followed the chatter of voices through a garden brimming with rhododendrons and orchids until at last he came to a cluster of redbrick buildings by a pond covered with pink lotuses. Dozens of monks sat cross-legged, praying under magnificent Bodhi trees, while a group of women cooled their feet in the shallow water of the pond. Children of all ages chased each other around a tall pillar, giggling with delight. Yeshua couldn’t help but giggle along, until his gaze landed on the statue of a horse that adorned the top of the pillar. The hairs on his arms stood right up. King Ashoka’s pillar. The famous king had erected the pillar on the exact spot where Lord Buddha was born.

  “Hello, friend!” A monk with a toothy grin ran up to greet him. His warmth, and the way he had casually wrapped his maroon-colored robe around him, reminded Yeshua of Dhiman. “I’m Omkar. Come sit and share this piece of bread with me.”

  Omkar listened intently as Yeshua told him about his travels, his studies, and his interest in the Buddha. As the morning receded into afternoon, Omkar asked Yeshua to accompany him to Kapilavatthu, a village half a day’s walk away.

  “It was Prince Siddhartha’s—Lord Buddha’s—home, you know, where he grew up. We have a splendid temple and a garden, and many scrolls of sacred scriptures. If you like, you may stay and study with us.”

  “But I don’t speak Pali,” Yeshua said, regretting his response the moment the words crossed his lips. “I mean… You said sacred scriptures?”

  Omkar nodded, flashing his white teeth.

  “I can learn, can’t I?” Yeshua said, and he stood, ready to get back on the road. “That way, is it?”

  The decision was made. Instead of staying in Lumbini, he would continue to Kapilavatthu, where he could learn the language and continue his studies. The mere thought of touching the actual words of the Buddha made him dizzy. Until this day, all his knowledge had come secondhand, from stories. At last he would have the Holy Scriptures at his fingertips!

  The palace where the young prince Siddhartha had grown up was long gone, but the walls around the Kapilavatthu fortress and the palace gardens remained. Red roses, yellow orchids, and pink anemones fought for space below tall nyagrodha trees, creating an ambience as serene as if the Buddha had painted the air with his very soul. In the middle of the garden stood a stupa, a tall mound decorated with white and red stones. A long line of monks and nuns walked in a slow line around the shrine, mumbling quiet prayers.

  “Our temple is farther down the road,” Omkar said, and took Yeshua by the hand.

  They walked through fragrant meadows toward the town center, passing temples of varying size and shape: whitewashed mud huts, rustic timber houses, and solid brick buildings. Like Benares, Kapilavatthu was overrun with holy men, but here everyone was on a quest for enlightenment rather than on a mission to spread his faith.

  “Come. I will introduce you to Master.” They removed their footwear at the entrance of a large rectangular tent and passed through it into a sprawling garden. A warm breeze carried the sweet aroma of jasmine flowers and the smoky scent of incense. In a pond, golden fish played among purple lotuses, producing a bubbly sound as they broke the surface. At the base of another stupa, a dozen maroon-robed monks sat in deep meditation. Yeshua and Omkar took a seat behind the other monks, crossed their legs, and placed their hands, palm up, on their laps.

  Yeshua connected with the peace of the monks around him and fell into a state of tranquility and bliss.

  Dong. Dong. Dong.

  The clang of a gong brought him back to reality. Yeshua opened one of his eyes and peeked at the standing monk who was hitting a large bronze disk with a padded stick.

  Dong. Dong. Dong.

  Pause.

  Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

  One by one, the monks rose and congregated in a circle. As one, they started walking around the stupa. Yeshua and Omkar followed behind them in mindful silence. After circling the mound three times, they began to chant as they walked:

  Iti pi so Bhagavâ-Araham Sammâ-sambuddho.

  Vijjâ-carana sampanno Sugato Lokavidû Anuttarro Purisa-damma-sârathi

  Satthâ deva-manussânam Buddho Bhagavâti.

  Yeshua mimicked the chant as best he could but stumbled on the words. Despite its similarity to Sanskrit, the Pali language confused him. All he understood was that the verses referred to the Buddha and his enlightenment.

  The walking and humming continued for hours. When the blisters on Yeshua’s feet broke, he lifted his consciousness from his body to his third eye, aware that his body did not truly exist. As if in a dream, the pain dissolved, his feet healed, his exhaustion evaporated, and his voice gained strength as he trailed the others around and around and around, until he lost all sense of self.

  Dong. Dong. Dong.

  Pause.

  Dong. Dong. Dong.

  Pause.

  Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

  Once again, the gong brought Yeshua back to the present, but this time his body was energized and his mind at peace. Around him, the garden radiated with a healing force, and he hungered for more.

  “You want to meet Master?” Omkar put his arm around Yeshua’s shoulders. “He’s a bodhisattva, you know—very, very close to enlightenment. You’ll like him, I think.”

  Inside the tent, monks rested on sleeping mats or squatted in groups and chatted in hushed voices. The master stood alone in a corner, observing his companions. Dwarf-like and plump with a high forehead and one eye half closed, he didn’t resemble any other holy man Yeshua had ever seen. His good eye caught on Yeshua, and he gestured for him to come closer.

  “Namaskaar, Bhikkhu!” the master said, and bowed low.

  “Namaskaar.” Yeshua bowed even lower. The master’s energy flashed through him as they connected on a soul level and, without words, exchanged memories from many lifetimes.

  “Welcome to Kapilavatthu,” the master continued after what seemed an eternity of silent communication. “You shall stay and study with us. You are most welcome.”

  Yeshua bowed once more, having no words. He had never met anyone like this, who could read his mind. And it frightened him.

  “What does bhikkhu mean?” he asked Omkar later as they walked together in the velvety night.

  “‘Monk.’ Master calls us all monk to defy our ego-consciousness, our separation from one another, and we call him Master.”

  Yeshua nodded. It could be nice to be anonymous for a while.

  In this temple, the monks depended solely on alms from the community. Every morning, the monks walked around town with their begging bowls. Not allowed to ask for food, they had to accept anything that was placed in their bowls. Sometimes they received enough food for the entire day, other times they ate only in the morning and went hungry until the next day. Material for their robes had to be donated by the villagers. If a monk received only patches of fabric, he must wait until he had co
llected enough pieces to sew an entire robe. Yeshua was impatient to discard his soiled white robe and to dress like everyone else in the sangha.

  Omkar read him the long and complicated list of precepts that Lord Buddha had prescribed for monks who followed the righteous path. Monks were not allowed to steal or murder, of course, nor were they allowed to pretend to have reached a higher state of consciousness. Master could not say that he was already enlightened, and Omkar could not pretend to be a bodhisattva. A monk could not keep an extra robe after receiving a new one, or accept a robe as a gift from another monk. They were not allowed to own a rug made of silk or a blanket made of wool, which meant that Yeshua had to donate his yak-wool blanket to someone else in need.

  A monk could not touch, kiss, embrace, or have sexual intercourse with a woman. He should not flirt, ask for a sexual favor, or arrange a marriage with her. And he absolutely must not ejaculate, unless it happened as an accident while asleep.

  The rules went on and on. Yeshua wondered if he would ever remember them all. When Omkar finally came to the standards of eating, Yeshua just stopped listening. As long as he had access to the sacred scriptures, he would follow whatever rules the temple prescribed.

  One afternoon after Yeshua’s arrival, Omkar and Yeshua went for a walk by the Banganga river, to discuss the Vedas, the Yehudi scriptures, and the wisdom of the Buddha.

  “I am very pleased I was born a man,” Omkar said. “Man is the marvel of the universe compared with other creatures, is he not, Issa?”

  Yeshua followed Omkar’s line of vision as he gazed up at the treetops where downy bluebirds swung on leafy branches and chirped cheerfully.

  “We are the only ones with minds that may be perfected,” Omkar continued. “Although every living being has a soul, even tiny worms and colossal elephants, we are the only ones who can reach enlightenment. Just think about it: everything else in the world is bound by the laws of rebirth. They have to evolve over many lifetimes until they are reborn as men.”

  “And the women?” The question was out before Yeshua could hold back.

  “The women will also become men, of course. And then men will evolve to even higher forms of life.”

  Yeshua shook his head, amused. “Omkar, who taught you this?”

  “Master, of course—all masters. Everyone.” He peered at Yeshua with a furrowed brow. “Why do you find this amusing?”

  Yeshua straightened his face. “Omkar, you are a wise man. But you can’t learn everything from others. You must find the truth within yourself. Everything you need to know is already inside you.”

  Omkar walked in silence as he contemplated Yeshua’s words.

  “You remember your life as a monkey?” Yeshua asked. “Or a spider? Perhaps as a butterfly?”

  “Of course not.”

  Yeshua put his arm around him. “See? If your only proof of having evolved from a worm is that someone said so, you’re simply guessing. You need to reach within.” Yeshua patted Omkar’s chest. “That’s where you’ll find answers.”

  “You think I can’t evolve? That’s a terrible thought.”

  Yeshua picked a yellow flower from the tall grass, sniffed it, and handed it to Omkar. “Every living being can evolve into perfection of its own kind. I know you don’t believe in God, but hear me out: if God is Self and Self can’t die, there is no death. There is only evolution—and perfection.”

  “As a man?”

  “No, not as a man. As Self.”

  Omkar nodded. He clutched the yellow flower to his heart, as if the plant held all the wisdom in the world. On the way back to the temple, they discussed more trivial matters, like how many days it would take to gather enough fabric for Yeshua’s robe and how to best dispose of his old clothes. But along the way, Yeshua thought about teaching. Omkar was a wise man, but he still had questions that begged for answers. Yeshua didn’t have all the answers, but he longed to share the knowledge he had. Yet at the same time, he wanted to stay in Kapilavatthu as long as possible.

  How could he do both?

  One full moon cycle after arriving in Kapilavatthu, Yeshua had collected enough pieces of fabric to sew together his very own robe. Omkar helped him dye the robe maroon, as the Buddha had prescribed, and thus he became a full-fledged member of the sangha. No longer did he have to walk behind the others when collecting alms, or sit in the back during daily lessons.

  When Master brought him to a sealed-off area in the back of the tent and opened the lid of a rectangular basket, Yeshua’s cheeks flushed with excitement. Inside were dozens of rolled-up scrolls, etched palm leaves, and inscribed pieces of birch bark.

  “Once you have learned to read, you may study these.” Master’s warm voice could have melted butter.

  Yeshua beamed. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for all his life. Ever since he’d found out a carpenter could not study the Torah, he had yearned to read sacred scrolls. And now Master had chosen him as one of the monks who could touch the scriptures.

  “Luck has no role in this play. You have established your worthiness,” Master said, reading Yeshua’s mind.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kapilavatthu, Himalayas, AD 19

  The Pali language was complicated, almost impossible to learn. In the beginning, Omkar had brought simple fabric scrolls with him on their walks by the river and urged Yeshua to be patient. “Think of the toddlers, how long it takes them to master speaking and know all the words. Why do you think you can learn any faster?”

  But Omkar’s words held no comfort. Yeshua had learned Punjabi, Sindhi, Prakrit, and Sanskrit without much effort; he didn’t understand why Pali had to be so much harder. Perhaps he was too impatient, or maybe his age had caught up with him. Omkar practiced with him for hours, going over words, phrases, and bits of grammar. The process was slow and arduous, and the only highlights were sporadic glimpses of clarity, as on the evening when Yeshua realized he understood every word of their daily chant:

  Like so is he, indeed, the Blessed One,

  The Holy One, and fully enlightened,

  He is graced with clear vision and righteous behavior:

  he is magnificent.

  He knows all the worlds; the incomparable leader of men,

  The teacher of gods and men, he is enlightened and blessed.

  When Omkar’s language lessons were no longer sufficient to advance Yeshua’s fluency in Pali, Yeshua visited the other temples to improve his reading skills. If only he could spend more time practicing reading, he could speed up the learning process and impress Master with his knowledge of Pali in no time. In Kapilavatthu’s biggest, most famous temple, located at the edge of town on the road to Lumbini, Yeshua found what he was looking for: hall after hall of walls covered in flowery script. Yeshua’s heart fluttered with impatience as he sat behind the other monks and pretended to meditate. Between half-closed eyelids, he scanned the walls and deciphered the verses word for word until they formed meaningful sentences.

  He returned to the temple day after day, month after month, until he had read and understood them all. Then he started over again in the first hall, reading the phrases one by one until one day he could read an entire wall without stumbling. On that day, Yeshua ran back to the temple and waited for Master to emerge from his nap.

  When Master finally pushed the curtain aside, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Yeshua sprang toward him.

  “I am ready!” he almost shouted, unable to control his voice. “I can read, Master. I can read Pali!”

  “Can you now?” His teacher squinted at him with an amused smile. He opened the basket and pointed to the scrolls. “Come, let’s see if you are truly ready.”

  With trembling fingers, Yeshua chose a yellowed fabric scroll from the top of the heap. He removed the string, unfurled a partition, and read out loud:

  “‘I listened to...Brahman’s request… And out of...compassion for...all beings, I examined…the world with...the eye of a Buddha.’” Yeshua drew a deep breat
h and tried to still his beating heart. He could do better than this. Perhaps if he ignored Master’s presence, he could read faster. He tried again.

  “‘I saw beings with little...dirt...in their eyes and others with a lot of dirt in their eyes...with great...skills and poor skills.’”

  Yeshua paused again. He didn’t dare look up; he wasn’t sure if he was reading well enough to please Master. He had to read at a better pace. He closed his eyes, gathered the strength in his core, and read the rest of the scripture without hesitation.

  “‘With good qualities and bad qualities, intelligent and not intelligent, and some who saw only fear and blame in the world. Just as in a pond filled with blue and red lotuses, some lotuses thrive submerged under the water, whereas others rest sleepily on the water’s surface, yet some rise straight up and stand tall above all others.’”

  At the end of the scroll, Yeshua stopped, his gaze nailed to the text. Goose bumps covered his arms, and sweat trickled down his spine. These were the Buddha’s words. The Buddha had spoken in parables, just as he did. And he, Yeshua, saw everything the same way. He saw the good and bad in people, and he didn’t judge. They were all equal in the eyes of God, just different. He knew all that.

  When Yeshua looked up, Master was grinning. “Go on. There are many more.”

  Carefully, Yeshua rolled up the scroll, bound it, placed it back in the basket, and picked up another one. He read out loud:

  “‘The king’s minister, Ugga, approached the Buddha, bowed to him, and said: “It is magnificent how wealthy Migara Rohaneyya is, and how astonishing his riches!”

  “‘The Buddha replied: “But what is it he owns? What are those astonishing riches worth?”