The innkeeper shook his head. “No pilgrims.”
“No?”
“Pilgrims sleep with animals.”
Moments later, Yeshua pinched his nose as he rolled out his sleeping mat in the dingy stable that he shared with horses, camels, and yaks. The innkeeper had brought him a bowl of noodles with stale pieces of carrots and cabbage, but despite his generosity, Yeshua knew he couldn’t stay in a place like this more than one night.
Pema used to say, “What you expect is what you receive.” If so, could he change his sleeping quarters if he believed he deserved better?
The night seemed endless. All the stomping, grunting, and stirring kept him awake. Every time he dozed off, the stench of urine, feces, and rotted hay woke him, and before long he gave up. He rolled up his sleeping mat, wrapped up his possessions, and stepped out in the blue light of daybreak. He filled his lungs with the crisp mountain air and stretched his limbs, pausing to say a prayer. The White Brahmins of Jagannath had imprinted on him the importance of starting each day with a prayer to set a purpose for the hours ahead.
Yeshua walked down a stony path to bathe in the river. The icy water numbed his limbs as he waded in up to his chest. He held out his arms and implored Spirit to charge his body with divine light. Pressing his palms together, he recited the mantras his Buddhist master had taught him. He asked the Blessed One to help him appreciate all he was given this day and graciously accept the lesson in everything. Nothing happened by coincidence.
Yeshua washed his clothes to rid them of the stable stench and rubbed his body dry with grass. His reflection in the quiet water surprised him; with his curly long hair and dark beard, he resembled an Israelite more than a monk. Did the men back home still wear their hair and beards long? Would he be accepted among his neighbors when he got home?
He thought of the slow, arduous walk ahead of him, wondering if he would even make it, when light snowflakes fell on his head. Winter. He had to move on soon. Pema had said the road from sLes to Parvasenpur became impassable during the cold months. Pema. His heart fluttered when he thought of her. Would she make it back before the snows? But the flash of worry dissolved as quickly as it had appeared; Pema was in command of her life. Nature obeyed her. A pang of sadness replaced the concern.
He missed her.
Yeshua hung his wet clothes on the branches of an apple tree, wrapped his new silk robe around himself, and nibbled on a fruit. He imagined himself before a cozy fire and felt the heat spread through his body. Warm and comfortable, he drank from the river until his thirst was quenched, stuffed his sack with as many apples as he could fit, and wondered how long they would last. The thought excited him: he was curious to see how the next weeks would unfold. Who would God place on his path? Smiling, he lay down under the tree, pulled his silk robe over his body, and fell into sweet slumber.
He woke to find himself surrounded by a group of children staring at him. Yeshua drew his robe tighter around him.
“Where you from?”
“Your name?”
“You speak Ladakhi?”
“You have children?”
The questions rained down on him. He looked from one open face to another.
“I’m Issa. From Palestine. Far, far away. Very little Ladakhi.” He answered as fast as he could in a mixture of Pali, Bön, and Sanskrit, using words they seemed to understand. A crowd formed as other villagers gathered to see what the fuss was about.
“You think I look different from you?” he asked.
The children nodded.
“I sound different?”
“Yes, yes!” the children shouted. A couple of adults joined the shouting.
“What if I said we are all the same—in God’s eyes?”
They shook their heads in unison.
“But we are. We look different on the outside, but we are the same on the inside.”
The grown-ups stared at him as if he spoke nonsense, but the children were drawn in by his energy.
“You worship the mountains and the sun, yes? You pray to the rivers. What if none of those alone can protect you? Only Brahman—God—the one who made the mountains and the sun and everything you see around you can keep you safe. And God does not exist only in the things you see. Brahman also lives inside of you.”
Silence. Perhaps they didn’t understand, but they stayed put.
“Think about it,” Yeshua said. “Who is hurt if you become angry with someone? You or the other person?”
“The other person!” someone shouted. The others hushed him.
“Me!” a little girl said, her eyes sparkling.
Everyone nodded.
“And if you help someone, do you feel good or bad?”
“Good!” Some of the older children chimed in this time.
“When we help others and think positive thoughts, we become one with God. We feel him in our hearts. And when we are as pure and good as we can be, we cannot die. And we won’t be reborn. We are already one with God.”
Yeshua combed his fingers through his long locks and scanned the crowd to make sure they followed.
“Like the Lord Buddha?” a young man asked. “I’ve heard pilgrims speak about him.”
Yeshua nodded to the young man and smiled. “Yes. Lord Buddha was one of many who came to this world to teach others how to reach oneness with God.”
He looked across the crowd, enveloping them in a circle of white light. “You can feel safe in the limitless power of love within you. You have no need of idols or sacrifices. They can only separate you from God. Be kind to one another, that’s all you need to know. Open your hearts and share your love with your fellow men and women—and children—for you are one with God.”
Yeshua glowed with excitement and love. He was drenched in sweat. Where had the words come from? His speeches had always been guided, but this time it felt as if God had entered his body and spoken through him. And they had understood him.
Eventually, the crowd broke up, and Yeshua returned to the bazaar. His stomach grumbled, but he didn’t want to beg anymore. Whatever he needed, God would provide. He leaned against a wall and watched the children chase each other around the stalls, slipping and sliding in the fresh snow. What a blissful land. Even the women were free. They never lowered their eyes in conversations with men, whether the men were old or young, married or single. Some women even had two or three husbands. And why not? In other lands, men took more than one wife; why shouldn’t the women do the same?
One of the girls he had met last night squatted next to him. “How was the inn?” she asked in a language that resembled Bön with a different tone. It would take some time to learn.
Yeshua shook his head. “Not inn—stable.”
The girl frowned. Yeshua wanted to tell her not to worry about him, but he couldn’t find the words. How could he explain he would be quite all right whatever happened? But before he could form a sentence, she darted away. Yeshua watched her run, her long gown flapping around her trim legs. He sank down to sit on top of his sack, overcome by dizziness. It had been hours since he had eaten the apples. His stomach craved something more substantial.
“Here, eat!” As if summoned, a Punjabi merchant appeared and handed him a bowl of salty barley noodles, cottage cheese, and shredded turnips. Yeshua accepted the food with both hands. He brought the hot bowl to his lips.
“Thank you kindly, my friend.”
The merchant showed him to a tent where other travelers were dining. Relieved to communicate in Sanskrit, a language he had mastered, Yeshua took his time finishing his meal.
This group of merchants was traveling to Luoyang in the Han Empire to trade cottons and salts for silk, the most lucrative of all commodities. The profits could keep their families fed for several years, but Yeshua wondered if they weren’t driven by less altruistic needs. As a man sporting a long, white mustache pointed out, “Why stay with an ugly witch at home when you can buy as many pretty women on the road as you want?”
The
others chuckled in agreement, but Yeshua’s smile faded. He remembered how he had once admired the traders, how they had seemed incredibly wise and interesting. Now he realized they were nothing but weak men, seduced by money and sex. Their wealth had poisoned them. Perhaps it was better to be poor. Perhaps the less a person owned, the closer he could be to God.
Before he could ponder further, the girl reappeared at the opening of the tent and motioned for him to follow. Yeshua wiped his mouth and thanked the merchant for his hospitality. He could hear the men snicker as he left with the graceful girl.
“I’m Stanzin,” she said, and took his hand as they climbed a path along the soft curves of a low hill toward a field farther out from the village. “My family—we are nomads. My father welcomes you.” Yeshua wasn’t sure if she spoke in simple sentences for his sake or if the language was that basic. “I’m Issa. From Palestine.”
“Pali.” She beamed. Once again, Yeshua wanted to explain that he was from a land very far away, but did it really matter what culture had raised him?
On a plateau outside the village, dozens of yurts had been raised among a herd of yaks. The icy wind sent flurries whirling in the air, dancing across the grassy plain, blurring the backdrop of jagged peaks. Stanzin disappeared into one of the yurts. Moments later, a fierce-looking man appeared in the doorway. Wide as a bull and as hairy as a macaque, he peered at Yeshua from under bushy brows. A shiver ran down Yeshua’s spine and he took a deep breath, but then the man’s face broke out in a single-toothed smile, and he engulfed Yeshua in a firm embrace. “Welcome to our home, Issa.”
Inside the yurt, Yeshua was greeted with hugs and kisses from Stanzin’s mother, sisters, and brothers. Their two Tibetan mastiffs danced around him, unable to contain their excitement. The family chattered in chorus, in a language Yeshua barely comprehended, and peppered him with questions without pausing to hear his replies. A boy showed him to the men’s sleeping yurt and pointed to a pile of hay covered with blankets and furs that was to be his bed. Yeshua unpacked his sack, grateful he had found a warm and clean place to stay.
Two days after his arrival, a snowstorm covered the valley and closed sLes off from the rest of the world. All caravans and pilgrims would be stranded here until spring.
Stanzin’s family treated Yeshua like a member of their clan and made him guard their livestock, a grave responsibility. The yaks provided a source of milk and meat, wool for clothing, and a handsome income from the sales of newborn calves.
Every night during the darkest hours, Yeshua and the mastiffs kept watch outside by the fire, armed with a slingshot to protect the family’s yaks and mules from wolves, bears, and snow leopards. In the daytime, Stanzin’s older brothers shooed away any wild asses that sneaked close to eat of the dry bushes needed to feed their own animals. Every so often, Yeshua took advantage of the brief daylight to trudge with the dogs through deep snow to the village and teach anyone who wanted to listen how a person could become one with God. As his renown spread, an increasing number of villagers and travelers gathered to hear Sage Issa speak. He accepted the title with some reluctance, but as long as they listened and learned, they could call him sage or prophet or anything else they liked.
One day a woman brought her unconscious daughter to him. Yeshua took the lifeless toddler in his arms and held the girl up to the ceiling of the fur merchant’s tent where he had been speaking.
“God,” he said, “please save this child.”
He placed the girl on a pile of furs and put his ear to her heart. When he detected a faint beat, he placed his hands on her torso, just as Kahanji had taught him. Pema’s voice rang in his head: “Sickness is of the mind, not of the body. The healthy mind cannot conceive of illness, because it and everything is God. And God is without disease.”
His hands traveled across her body and onto her head. He raised his consciousness to unite with God, to the dimension where everything was possible. The child coughed and convulsed with spasms under his hands, but Yeshua stayed focused. When at last the girl opened her eyes, her mother cried with relief. The little girl’s cheeks colored to a bright pink and Yeshua drew a breath of relief. Pema and Kahanji had been right: healing was possible if you believed everything was already perfect.
After what seemed like years of winter, the first purple flower sprouted through the melting snow, announcing the arrival of spring. The time had come for Yeshua to continue his journey. He had already stayed much longer than planned. And though the Ladakhis had been receptive students, he couldn’t wait to go home and teach his own people how to practice compassion, kindness, and oneness with God.
A long line of sLesians accompanied him to the first bend in the road to Parvasenpur. They waved their good-byes with joy in their hearts.
“Now you know that anything is possible,” Yeshua said when they reached the end of the village. “All you have seen me do, you can do, too. All I am, you can be. God’s gifts belong to us all, every people in every land. God is the bread and water of life.”
He straddled Moshe, the mule they had given him, and raised his hand for one last good-bye. Stanzin, her sisters, and the mastiffs followed him a little farther. The girls sprinkled him and the mule with holy yak milk to keep them safe from wild animals and steady their steps on the icy path.
With a heavy heart, Yeshua pressed his palms together and bowed. They had been so kind. Leaving Stanzin’s family felt like deserting his own kin. Yet again.
Would the good-byes never end?
Chapter Twenty-SIX
Bactria, AD 25
For the first time since he had set out on his own, Yeshua enjoyed his journey. He had the company of Moshe, who carried him for long stretches and whose body provided warmth at night, and he felt closer to God than ever before. Surrounded by love, he was never alone. He had finally realized the meaning of life and death: everything around him was his own creation. The only time was now; the present moment was the same as the past and the same as the future. This life was an illusion. Was he really here, or did he exist only in his mind?
One night he woke from the sound of a singsong voice. Pema. She lay beside him, in the flesh, and looked at him with that broad, angelic smile. His love had come back to him! Yeshua drowned her with kisses, holding her in a tight embrace, nuzzling her neck, until he could no longer keep his eyes open and drifted into sleep.
When he awoke, she was gone. Only the honeyed scent of her skin remained. She had appeared to prove that space and time exist only in our minds. He smiled. He only wished she could have stayed a little longer.
The path to Parvasenpur led him over high mountain passes and across shaky suspension bridges, past golden prairies and dry desert valleys. He encountered caravans that had been stalled for the winter, and befriended nomads who invited him to share their meals. Ever since Yeshua had stopped obsessing about hunger, his meals had been more frequent—and tastier. Letting go of wants and needs had made his life simpler, leaving him with no needs or wants at all.
In some stretches, the alpine landscape displayed a sea of pink rocks and gray pebbles under a boundless blue sky; in others, the scenery bragged of lush oases where delicate yellow and pink flowers peeked up through high grass. He collected dry branches for firewood whenever he walked past a cluster of trees and was careful to cross streams in the early morning, as by midday the melting snow had changed them into rushing rivers.
The town of Parvasenpur reminded him of Kapilavatthu with its green fields surrounded by tall forests. It marked the end of the most treacherous leg of his journey. From there onward, the path would trail downhill into warmer climates. Yeshua celebrated his feat with a day’s rest by the Dal Lake while Moshe grazed the nearby meadows.
Refreshed after a bath in the lake, Yeshua tied Moshe to a tree and went to the market to exchange his furs for a woolen coat and a lighter cotton robe to wear under his worn silk wrap. The Kushan food was spicy and delicious, rich with the flavor of cardamom, chilies, and cloves—a welcome cha
nge from the bland dumplings of sLes. But he found himself picking out the meat from his bowl. He hadn’t tasted flesh since boyhood, and the mere thought of consuming animals made him queasy.
Although he was tempted to stay and rest in Parvasenpur for a while longer, Yeshua was more eager to continue homeward. When an Egyptian merchant insisted he join their caravan, Yeshua gladly accepted. The next morning, he and Moshe set off westward beside his new merchant friend and hundreds of overpacked camels and horses. Yeshua struggled to converse in the Aramaic he hadn’t spoken for many years and thought he misheard what the Egyptian told him. Herod Archelaus had run Judea into ruin and subsequently had been dismissed and banished to Gaul, leaving Judea to be ruled directly by the ruthless Romans. His brother, Herod Antipas, in turn, had let power go to his head and had built a brand-new Galilean capital, Tiberias, on the southwest shore of Lake Kinneret. Yeshua remembered how, as a boy, he had wanted to join the coming Messiah in fighting the Romans and kicking them out of their country.
Was it too late to fight back?
In less than two new moons, the caravan reached Rawalpindi, where a lifetime ago Yeshua and Dhiman had bid good-bye to their fellow travelers and turned south to Sindh. Yeshua smiled when he thought of his wise friend. Surely Dhiman would be the head monk of his temple by now.
And then he thought about Ramaa, the delicate girl with large brown, antelope eyes and her shaved head. Had she remained at the hermitage? Was she even alive? If he went to fetch her now that they were adults, would she follow him? Would she marry him?
Pining for his first love paralyzed him. When the caravan left Rawalpindi, he stayed behind. Every morning, he awoke determined to return to Ramaa and save her from a life of misery, but the longer he waited to leave, the more his resolve wavered. She wouldn’t want to see him. He would remind her of the life she had lost. Yet as the day progressed, he changed his mind over and back again until his head spun and he thought he was going insane. Was she even the same person? Pema would have said that Ramaa was nothing but an image of a perfect being that Yeshua had created in his mind over the years. If he went after her, he would face a woman of flesh and blood with flaws like everyone else.
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