Namaste

by Sean Platt

  “But it is, Amit. Karma is action and reaction: debts being paid. You could not repay the world for your mother, but you could overpay it for another … if there was another who required your vengeance. You thought Nisha was what you needed. But what you actually needed was another dead lamb, so you could settle the score for its slaughter.”

  “Action and reaction,” said Amit. “Like tipping dominoes.”

  Woo stepped closer, his manner almost enthusiastic. Amit had to refrain from thrusting his fist through the older man’s face. Doing so would feel very good. But was it the right choice?

  “Exactly!” said Woo. “You do understand. Why did I not take you with me? Because you were not ready. There would have always been a seed of doubt inside you. You had the gift of rage, and it made you like no fighter I have ever seen. I could teach you to meditate and make congress with that rage, but you would always wonder if unleashing was right. You had to see for yourself what it could do, and how it could serve you. I could not drag you behind me like a brainwashed disciple, Amit. That was what I tried to do with Rafi, but Rafi’s conditioning was too thick. Morality bound his hands behind his back. He would never sacrifice anyone other than you, and he couldn’t even do that. You had to come here on your own. Today, you stand before me as a merciless killer, rage personified. I can see it thickening the veins in your neck and scalp. You are trying to control it, and failing. Your lip belies teeth clenched beneath. Your hands are open, but I can see you fighting to keep them that way. Your eyes are turbulent, but before they were wild and untamed. Now they are focused and pure, because you have finally tasted the blood you have wanted all your life.”

  “And now,” said Amit, “I am going to kill you.”

  Woo laughed. Then he smiled, reached out, and adjusted the folds of Amit’s robe. When he looked up, a rocket of hatred launched from him into the old man. Superhuman strength kept Amit’s hands open and at his sides, just as it kept his teeth from gnashing.

  “Of course,” said Woo. “That is why we opened the gates, and allowed you to enter.”

  Chapter 28

  AMIT’S NECK PULSED LIKE A ticking clock. The room was nearly silent after Woo stepped back — only distant sounds of exertion from an in-progress training whispered from across the compound, though blood throbbed in his veins hard enough that Woo had to hear it.

  “You want me to kill you.”

  “No man wants to die. But it is for the greater good, and I am prepared.”

  “You are out of your mind.”

  Woo shook his head. “Step back from the precipice and think, Amit: You dispatched two bosses — Telford, a fool, and his boss, Alfero, who understood the ways in which Sri’s aims clashed with his organization’s, and therefore probably saw this coming. The deaths of those two key men mean that the shadow monk’s connection to the organization is effectively severed. The larger organization will be angry, and search for those who stung them, but you are Sri, and will be able to hide — or defeat any who come. This compound has ideals higher and purer than the old monastery’s, but I am from the old guard, and have reservations deep within me that you do not. I can kill, but I cannot torture. I can manifest cruelty, but cannot orphan children, as you have done. You are the machine that I am not and cannot be. Now that you have blossomed, you are the leader this order needs.”

  Amit felt the anger recede, driven back by cold water. He took a step away from Woo, his hands suddenly clammy.

  “I am not like you.”

  “But you are, Amit. And you are so much better. You always had potential. When we sparred, I won because I was older and was a sensei. I knew what you knew because I’d taught it to you. Without that advantage, I could never have matched you. You were too fast. Pure and precise in your strikes. Your fingers and toes could do things I’d never seen. You could interpret the movements of your foes before they were made, almost as if you could smell the chemicals fueling their muscles. I’ve watched you parry strikes seconds before they came, then unseat the attacker by the time the strikes were launched. I’ve watched you dance around opponents as if they were frozen. I am told that Alfero’s men stood around a car that should have been your coffin, peppering holes with machine guns. How did you survive? Did you anticipate it? Did you know what they would do, and use it to your advantage? You just escaped three dozen highly trained shadow assassins. I do not know how you do what you do and never have, but all that ever — ever — held you back when we trained was a sense of moral restraint.”

  “Suni bested me. Easily.”

  Woo chuckled. “Because you did not feel a need to kill him, and held back.”

  “No. It was because anger is a vice. I became angry, and the anger made me predictable.”

  Woo shook his head. “You were outmatched because your anger was misdirected, and you knew it. You saw Suni as your enemy, but your deeper mind knew better. Think, and you will see. Whatever drove you to seek Suni at his monastery was counterpointed by 20 years under his law. You were angry in the moment and needed someone to absorb that anger, but millions of tiny signs over the years contradicted your rage, and swore that Suni was not who you sought.”

  “No.”

  Woo was nodding. “Yes.”

  “I only succeed when suppressing my anger. You were wrong, teaching me to embrace it.”

  Woo’s eyes were full of pity. “You are what you are, Amit. Do not banish your rage; it is part of you as surely as your heart. You must not proceed calmly, which is how Suni would ask you to. You must go forward as you are, rather than feigning serenity. I never told you to bury your emotions, just as I never asked Rafi or Amala to bury theirs. We all have what we have, and must learn to use what the universe gave us. Do not be calm, Amit. You must stay honest enough to be angry. Control that anger, use and focus it so you will see what must be done.”

  Woo moved his shoulders back, subtly presenting his chest as if waiting for Amit to strike.

  “I will not kill you.”

  As the words passed Amit’s lips, he felt their heavy irony. Wasn’t that what he’d come here to do?

  “You must. The successor cannot truly reign while the teacher lives. You are to lead an order of men and women born to do the world’s dirty work. We are the only ones who can cut disease from the planet like surgeons. We are not fogged by prejudice and the ancient grudges of our predecessors. We are not distracted by a complex modern society, and our morals and values are not the ephemeral cobwebs of whim. You cannot imagine the chaos prevented by the Sri throughout our history. We are like a parent, barring destructive children from quarrels. The world would not have survived without our hidden hand, Amit, and it cannot survive going forward without the firmer hand that this new order of shadow monks represents. There are texts in my drawers. They will show you what you need after I am dead. If you are to lead such men and women, you must be more than they are, or their faith in you will falter. It is not sensible for one such as me to simply hand over control. We are not a presidency changing hands with a shake. Killing one’s predecessor is a symbolic act, honored since the dawn of man.” He swallowed. “And so, Amit, is killing one’s father.”

  Amit shook his head. “I will not do it. I am past my anger.” He turned, but his feet felt heavy. He was a man unwilling to accept a suspicious gift. He wanted what felt too dangerous to open.

  “You would walk away?”

  “It is as you said: ‘for the greater good.’”

  His slow feet betrayed him. Woo moved in front again. He put a hand on Amit’s shoulder and lowered his head. “She thought I was going to save her.”

  Amit didn’t respond, but his next step stuttered and encouraged Woo to continue. His voice was low and confidential, almost hypnotic.

  “She was so young, Amit. Only 19 or 20, I believe. She had a family in the city — her mom and one brother. Her father was gone; I do not know where. I was older than she was, yes. But my older age, it turned out, was something that drew her to me. And it was g
ood, because she needed a reason to visit my monastery. She had to see it, because she had to believe what the Sri could do, so that she could believe that our kind would have powerful enemies. And so while we — your Nisha and I — lay beneath sheets, I told her about my ‘next mission.’ It was a false story that evolved over weeks, so it would feel real to her. I did not mind taking the time. I am a monk … but what we did together was ‘for the greater good.’” Woo gave Amit a sly smile.

  The hand on his shoulder was lead. He felt the muscles in his arms clench as if in anticipation. Amit kept his hands open, but felt an invisible force wanting to close them into fists.

  “Have you ever been with a virgin, Amit?” Woo chuckled. “I am sorry. Of course, you have not. You were not even with Nisha. It is just as well, seeing as I was there first.”

  Amit swatted Woo’s arm with one hand, forcing him into another step. He could barely see through a red cloud. His head throbbed; the room was beginning to float or rotate. He drew a slow breath, careful not to let Woo hear it, and visualized cool water spilling down to smother glowing coals inside him. He imagined his anger as red paint on large rocks, and his breath as a cleansing stream flowing by them. But the paint was too thick, so rather than water washing it away, his mind showed the river gurgling red, like a rising tide of blood.

  “I told her that the Sri’s next target was a hostile government with an insurgent faction in its heart.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “I do not even remember which government I said it was. I remember crafting fantasies with terrorists. Everyone understands terrorists. I told her that they had caught wind of our plans, and that someone was coming for me. I promised that I was not worried as I summoned ancient emotion to water my eyes. She didn’t understand, because a man like me could not possibly fear for my life. I ran a finger along the long, smooth curve of her naked side and said that I did not fear for my life. I feared for hers. I apologized, said that our forbidden love had put her in jeopardy. She was not swayed. I’d impressed her with my solidity. She wanted to stay, and said that I would protect her. But you see, she couldn’t stay: I needed her to become lost so she could then come to you. I told her that the bad people would find her family. That made her move. She rose from my bed, her smooth, firm breasts exposed in the early light, got dressed, and ran.”

  Amit was facing away from Woo. He closed his eyes for long enough to find his center, but it was no longer there.

  “Of course,” Woo continued, “a vague threat on her family was not enough. If she was to seek solace in your arms, she had to believe. So, when she arrived home, regrettably, my predictions had proven true. Someone — surely a bad man from my imaginary terrorist group — had slit her mother’s throat. I hear her blood soaked the entire set of bedsheets before dripping onto the floor.”

  Amit turned slowly. Woo stepped back, his eyes marred by menace.

  It was true. He remembered Nisha as she’d arrived at the monastery with her 8-year-old brother, Sameer. Like any shadow monk, Amit’s mind was almost photographic. He recalled the way Nisha’s thin socks, inside her thin shoes, were spotted with blood, as if she’d stepped through a puddle. She and Sameer were terrified, chattering about a secret they could only divulge to a certain sensei named Woo, not knowing they were in the wrong place. The two compounds would look similar to the uninitiated. He had assumed that Nisha heard of Woo in the city. Now he understood her insistence. She wasn’t seeking an elder. She was looking for her lover — and, hopefully, her savior.

  In front of Amit, the sliver-haired man gave a rueful smile.

  “You could not have known any of this, Amit, but in a karmic sense, it was truly your fault. There was one and only one monk at the old monastery who would treat her as more than a burden — one and only one man who I knew would argue with the abbot for her protection. Only one man strong-willed and bullheaded enough to force the abbot to accept Nisha and Sameer. Only one man who, once they were under the order’s protection, would know what it was like to lose someone. Not that she’d tell you once she realized she was in the wrong monastery, I imagine (I’d sworn her to secrecy about our relationship and probably terrified her into silence about the rest), but you’d sense it, wouldn’t you? The others wouldn’t take her into their hearts, but you would. And if you hadn’t? Well, she would have been useless, and could have resumed an orphaned life selling flowers in the square.”

  Amit met Woo’s eyes. “You are a monster.”

  “It was all necessary, Amit. To open you like a nut, crack your shell, and release the leader inside you.”

  “I am not your leader.”

  Woo shoved him. “I told them to film it. To record the moment they slit her throat. My monks found a cellular phone on the bodies you left, and brought it to me. They made her beg. They told her she would die, but that it would take time. We knew you were coming; we are Sri and do not miss such things. We wanted to watch you watch her die. I have that on video, too. Would you like to see?”

  A red wall of rage boiled up like a wave. Amit watched the sunlight reflecting in his mentor’s eyes, seeing their intensity and menace. Was this what anger did? Was this the insanity inside? Was this his path, if he succumbed to the devil inside him? He’d been the sword of fate; he’d made those responsible for ills pay with their pain and lives. But in the end, Woo was right. He hadn’t needed to do what he’d done. He’d wanted to — just as he wanted, right now, to drive his fist through the pulpy gray matter of Woo’s brain.

  Woo shoved him harder. Amit did not resist. His back struck a table set with glasses, and they chattered as they wobbled.

  “She was nothing,” Woo said, his own anger beginning to show on his usually-sedate features. “She was an innocent girl who had harmed nobody. Her mother was a seamstress. They were poor, but happy. We watched them, so that we’d know if they — and she — were the tools we needed. The others knew, you know. We used organization men to kill her, but the order came from the top. We all knew what was at stake. Just as you must know what is at stake.”

  Amit watched Woo, now more fascinated by his face than his words. He was doing exactly as Woo had taught him: setting his anger aside without banishing it, holding it ready but refusing to pick it up. Now no weapon could harm him.

  Slowly, Amit shook his head.

  “Stop listening to the voice of the abbot!” Woo spat. He struck Amit in the chest, but the strike was small and pathetic, almost petulant. “You have a right to your darkness! We meditate on existence, but existence is not clean and pure! You have desires! We all have desires! Rafi loved Amala. Amala loved you. Rafi hated you. I lusted after Nisha, and you loved her. You are only powerful because of your vulnerability, don’t you see? As is the order! We cannot evolve inside the lines! The world makes rules, and we must not blindly obey them. You are permitted to hate me. To do otherwise is to be less than human!”

  “No. I will not play your game.”

  “This is the world, Amit! You cannot understand what hangs in the balance! You cannot turn your back! You have embraced your rage already. There is no return to innocence! You have become what you must be — the only leader who can take this order to what is next!” He shook his head. “There are growing tumors, Amit. Suni has turned his back. More and more, the elders meditate for peace. But peace is not realistic, because the other side carries a knife. He would have the Sri sit with crossed legs, humming mantras as evil rises. How dare you be so selfish as to turn away? The greater good, Amit! The greater good!”

  Amit did the one thing Woo wasn’t prepared to counter. He put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I forgive you.”

  “You cannot! What about my crimes? What about the order? What about the world, Amit, and doing what must be done?”

  Amit shook his head. “You told me to embrace my anger, but to never choose my courses of action based upon it. To never pick up a weapon laid at my feet by another and impale myself with it. An insult is only as sharp as I allow.” He closed his eyes, then made
a tiny bow using only his head. He spoke the truth that had been turning inside his throat like a rusty screw: “Nisha is dead, and nothing I have done has changed that.”

  Woo shoved him again, now devolved into a schoolyard bully rather than the highly trained leader of a league of elite assassins. “You are weak! I was right to leave you behind!”

  “I am not weak.”

  “You will not do what must be done! You are choosing yourself over what is necessary! You see the inevitable, yet put hands palm to palm on your chest and wish me well? Do you not see, Amit? Do you really not see how the Sri are necessary? Is your mind truly so blind, after all your training? Will you really turn your back?”

  Amit reached out, took the older monk by the shoulders, and pulled him into an embrace. Woo thrashed, kicking at him. The sensei had been unquestionably right about one thing: Amit was always the best among them. Woo was unable to escape.

  “I forgive you.”

  “I killed her! I killed the girl you traveled the world to avenge! I gave the order!”

  “I forgive you.”

  “I tricked her! I betrayed her! I used her! She was never more than a pawn! I slaughtered her mother and orphaned her brother! I ordered her throat slit, her blood spilled, and her last breath documented!”

  “I forgive you,” Amit repeated, squeezing tighter.

  “You are a fool!” Woo spat, still thrashing. “You are blind! You are turning away from what is sensible and logical! The order, Amit! The world needs us!”

  Amit squeezed tighter. The embrace was warm, and necessary. Inside his mind, the red rocks washed clean. He watched the red fog disperse to mist and then nothing. The world stopped revolving, and his head cleared.

  There was a small crack, like the sound of a piece of kindling broken over a knee, and Woo stopped struggling.