Military Orders
Page 12
It did not help that they were filming on the deck of a large, artificial boat, in a giant pool, and the vigorous dancing sent the boat swaying, with predictable results. Already one lady had fallen into the water. Others had tumbled during filming, with at least one sprained ankle. And everyone was complaining of the cold.
He watched as the coordinator patiently corrected one of the ladies, who just could not make the correct moves. Again he fingered the Buddhist charm, thinking wryly that this was supposed to be a protector. Yet on this movie so much had gone wrong.
He was making a Bollywood version of Noah’s Ark. Like all Bollywood directors, he was always seeking exotic new locations, and Melbourne, one of Australia’s largest cities, seemed ideal. In particular, it boasted one of the movie world’s best horizon tanks, a specially constructed pool whose water seemed to stretch to the horizon.
Patrick Stewart and Gregory Peck came to this tank in 1996 for a television remake of the Moby Dick story. Jon Voight and Mary Steenburgen flew in a couple of years later for a US television version of Noah’s Ark.
Chodrak had secured a good deal for the tank, which wasn’t used much any more, and of course Australia was home to many exotic animals. So the procession of animals into the ark included kangaroos, wallabies, koalas, echidnas and wombats, all of which he knew would spice up the movie and enhance its appeal to the Indian filmgoers.
But too much had gone wrong. Somehow he imagined Australia as a hot country, but now was the middle of winter, and Melbourne could be very cold. They had been drenched by torrential rain. Equipment had broken down. The delays had pushed up production costs, and he guessed he was probably quarter of a million dollars over budget. For a two-million-dollar movie - typical for a Bollywood production - that was perilous.
Unless he could somehow bring the production costs sharply down - almost impossible at this late stage - or raise the extra money, his future was bleak. He was already an outsider - of Tibetan heritage, a Buddhist - who had managed through hard work and determination to break into the cliquey and cut-throat Mumbai movie world. But a disaster like this movie was shaping up to be would see him cast once more back into the wilderness.
The dancers were going through their routine again, dancing and singing, although they did not actually need to raise their voices. All the songs had been pre-recorded, and in fact some of them had already been released to the public, in advance of the movie, to generate audience anticipation.
At last it was starting to look good. Chodrak had confidence in his ability to create drama and spectacle, and this was extravaganza at its peak. The ladies were all dressed in a glittering array of bright red and yellow costumes, and each was generously fitted out with the finest fake jewelry that money could buy. Chodrak smiled as they went through their routine, bodies swaying, arms waving, fingers gesturing, eyelids fluttering, warm and inviting smiles on their faces. Then he grabbed the half-eaten egg sandwich on the table beside him and pushed it into his mouth. He had upset the crew by ripping up the catering contract and ordering in boxes of sandwiches each day. They were disgusting - white bread that looked like cardboard - but it saved money.
He finished his sandwich. The dance coordinator walked over. That was actually quite difficult. She had to climb down a ladder into the water, and then wade through the pool.
She clambered out. “I believe we are at last ready to film.” She was a Guardajiti. The head cameraman was Punjabi. Chodrak was of Tibetan origin, one of the few in Bollywood. So English was the language always spoken on the set, even though the movie itself was in Hindi.
“At last,” said Chodrak. “Enough rehearsals to last a lifetime.”
They conversed some more. Then the cameras started rolling.
But it was at this point that Chodrak noticed something odd. Two young men had appeared, seemingly from nowhere. They had somehow boarded the boat and had gotten into a position behind the dancers. They were carrying signs, and they were jumping up and down.
“Cut!” shouted Chodrak. He looked around at the half-dozen members of his crew who were with him on the hillside. “Who are those fellows there, behind the dancers?”
It was clear that no one knew.
This is absurd, thought Chodrak. He walked down, climbed into the pool - the water was frigid - and strode across to the boat. The ladder was at the back. He climbed up. The young guys were right in front of him.
“Hey, you,” he shouted. “What’s going on?” Everyone on the boat and on the hillside was watching.
The two men turned. Chodrak could read their signs. They said, “Save Our Story!!”
“Save our story,” said one of the young guys.
Chodrak looked at them. They were quite similar in appearance, both beanpole skinny with wavy brown hair. They wore jeans and sweaters. “This is a movie set,” said Chodrak. “I must ask you to leave.” He had unfortunately dispensed with all security, at the same time as he sacked the caterers, and did not relish a confrontation. He was a short man, and, though he did not lack in toughness, these two young men were both considerably taller. He decided it would be wise to stay civil.
“Save our story,” said the other young guy. He jerked his banner up and down.
“What on earth do you mean?” asked Chodrak. “What are those signs? What do you want? Is this some kind of demonstration?”
“Leave our story alone.”
“What are you talking about? What story?”
“You are making an Indian movie about Noah’s Ark. But that is our story.”
“Your story? My good fellow, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Noah’s Ark is from the Bible. It is our story.”
“I know it is from the Bible. Everyone knows that. But what do you mean that it is your story? Who are you?”
“It is a Christian story.”
“And?”
“We are Christians? It is our story.”
“You wrote the Bible?” He expected the guy to smile, but he appeared to lack humor.
“The Bible is the basis of our civilization. The stories of the Bible are the key to our world. Take them away and we are left with anarchy.” He sounded as if he were reciting from an essay he had written. “You are trying to steal our story.”
“Did you know that the story of Noah’s Ark is in the Koran?” asked Chodrak.
The two young men appeared stunned. “It was probably in the Bible first,” said one of them, somewhat hesitantly.
“Yes, probably,” conceded the director. “I do believe the Bible might have been written before the Koran.” He was starting to regard these guys as more than a little naive. “But why can’t I make my movie?”
“Because you are a Hindu. It is not your story.”
“Let me ask you something, my fine young fellows. How do you know that I am not a Christian? India has many Christians, you know.”
This further confounded the men.
“Are you a Christian?” ventured one.
Chodrak laughed. “No, I am not. Nor am I a Hindu. I am a Buddhist. A Tibetan Buddhist.”
The two men did not seem to know what to make of this. They looked at each other.
“Making movies in India?” said one.
“Yes, a Tibetan Buddhist making movies in Bollywood. Though admittedly I was born in India. My parents were exiles.”
“Are there many Tibetans making movies in Bollywood?” The guys had now lowered their banners. They seemed interested in Chodrak.
“I’m about the only one.”
“We’ve been studying comparative religion. Tibetan Buddhism is quite an important part of it. But we don’t actually know much about it. We’ve never met any Tibetans.”
“Well, now you’ve just met your first one.” Chodrak looked around at all the cast and crew, impatiently watching him. He needed to get back to shooting the movie. “Look…”
“Is that a Buddhist thing?” One of the guys was pointing. “That pendant around your neck.”
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“This is a Buddhist protector,” he said. He removed it and handed it across.
“It looks like a man riding on the back of a big cat.”
“That’s a snow tiger. And that man, he’s known as Dorje Shugden.”
Chapter 25
Melbourne, Australia
Chodrak placed the charm back around his neck. He decided he would talk to these students, at least long enough to ensure they did not disrupt filming. In any case, he enjoyed discussing religion. As the son of a former Buddhist priest, living in the hedonistic - yet still largely Hindu - Bollywood milieu of Mumbai, he had grown accustomed to being forced to defend his religion.
“I’ll talk further to you guys,” he said. “But can I ask you very politely not to disrupt our filming any further. We are already behind schedule and our costs are mounting up day by day. We’ll be taking a lunch break soon. Why don’t you come and sit with me, up there on that grass slope?”
They accompanied him and sat on the grass, so he at last could resume the filming. And then, to his amazement, and for about the first time during the whole troubled shoot, everything seemed to go exceedingly smoothly. In fact, by the time they stopped for lunch they were even ahead of the day’s schedule.
These two young fools are bringing me luck, thought Chodrak to himself.
The film crew had the use of an old warehouse on the site, and the crew retreated there for lunch. Chodrak, though he had never actually been to Tibet, still clearly possessed strong Tibetan genes, as he was quite comfortable sitting and eating outside in the chill. Also, he wanted to discomfit the young men.
Over more sandwiches he decided to go straight onto the offensive. “I was at your great gallery a couple of weeks ago, right after I arrived in Melbourne. The National Gallery of Victoria. Do you know that?”
“Ah…it’s in the city somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Haven’t you been there?”
The two guys shook their heads. Chodrak decided they were even more naive than he initially thought. “It is full of beautiful Christian art. Painters like Hans Memling and Nicolas Poussin. Do you know them?” More shakes of the head. “They had something else, as well. A painting of Noah’s Ark, from India. From the seventeenth century. Noah’s Ark is a universal story, you know.”
“It’s a Christian story,” said one of the men. “About God’s love for the world. About how he hates injustice. It has shaped how we live in the West. But in India the Hindus and Buddhists don’t even believe in God.”
“Well, you shouldn’t always make assumptions about what individual people believe. In any case, it’s a beautiful story.”
“That’s why we’re here. It’s a Christian story.”
“Wouldn’t you say it’s actually a Jewish story? It is from your Old Testament.”
“Well, yes.”
“And it’s a Muslim story. Noah features prominently in the Koran. He’s an important prophet.”
The two guys seemed unsure of what to make of this.
Chodrak laughed. “I’ll tell you what - you let us borrow the Noah story and we’ll let you have yoga. And some good curries.” He expected some reaction from the young men, but they seemed humorless as well as naive.
“My father was a priest,” he continued. “A Tibetan Buddhist priest. He fled Tibet and went to a town in northern India called Dharamsala. But he worshipped this particular deity…” He fingered the pendant that he wore around his neck. “The Dorje Shugden. There was a big dispute within Tibetan Buddhism about that, and he ended up leaving the priesthood and getting married, and then moving to Mumbai, where I was brought up.”
It was at that moment that Chodrak’s cellphone rang. He answered, and for several minutes spoke animatedly in Tibetan. Then he finished, and replaced the phone in his pocket.
He turned to his companions. “Have you two guys heard of a place out in the middle of Australia called Uluru?”
Chapter 26
Burumarri Creek, Central Australia
Vanya watched as Eddie and Sammie sat again on the red sand outside their house, working on a new painting. She thought back to the words of Uncle Barra - that Sammie was the most spiritual child he had ever encountered. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.
There was a time when she had believed herself to be an intensely spiritual being. But then there was also a time when she drank a lot of alcohol, took drugs and slept with different men. That didn’t mean she wanted those things for her own child.
She had experienced life, grown up, and had also - or so she liked to believe - acquired some wisdom. So she was not at all sure that she liked the idea of a two-year-old boy who was the most spiritual child ever encountered. She wanted Sammie to be just a normal kid.
So they wouldn’t be making the long drive to Alice Springs to see the doctor. But the next time the doctor passed through Burumarri Creek on his rounds she would be there, insisting that he tell her why her boy kept shouting out strange words, and then lapsing into long meditative silences.
She walked outside. This was one of the joys of living out in the desert. It was mid-winter, yet the sun was shining and it was hot enough to wear short pants and a t-shirt.
“Any of you guys needing a tea break?” she asked.
“Hey, this is secret men’s business,” said Eddie. “No women allowed. Right, Sammie?” The little boy smiled at his father.
Vanya smiled too, though once again she was left wondering. Aboriginal tradition dictated that certain rituals and ceremonies - including even the making of a painting using certain designs - were the preserve of men, with women obliged to keep their distance.
Eddie sometimes acted as a traditional Aboriginal man, painting his body and going out into the desert with members of his extended family to perform the ancient rituals. Yet at other times he seemed to be sending it all up, as if he didn’t believe in any of it, that it was all just a game. There was an air of mystery about him. She had to admit that that was a part of his attraction.
She looked at the painting on the ground. She recognized it as one of Eddie’s new series, based on images from one of his Dreamings, the creation stories of his tribe. It told the story of a kangaroo spirit escaping across the desert from its enemies, taking refuge at various water holes along the way and engaging in a sequence of adventures.
Sammie was doing all the cross hatching. This was part of Eddie’s new style. Cross hatching wasn’t normally part of the tradition of this part of Australia. It was normally the preserve of Aboriginal artists in the far north of Australia. But Eddie took pride in breaking tradition, or trying to start new traditions.
Cross hatching involved covering parts of the surface with a myriad of thin, parallel lines, and then more lines drawn at a right angle to these. It resembled a dizzying array of miniature crosses.
Eddie was allowing Sammie to do some of the cross hatching, in burnt red paint, the color of the ground around them, and Vanya was amazed at her son’s ability at such a young age. He was absorbed in the work, and was so meticulous. It was hard to believe he was just two. He was clearly a natural.
Perhaps this is what it meant to be so spiritual. It suggested he was destined to become a great artist. The notion brought another smile to Vanya’s face, and, for a while at least, she felt relaxed.
Chapter 27
Melbourne, Australia
“Cut.” Chodrak gave a silent smile, satisfied that the scene had been wrapped successfully.
Until the ridiculous incursion of those two silly students, just the previous day, it seemed that nothing could go right. Now he was flying. The pool scenes were completed, and all that remained were a few extra shots. The weather had suddenly turned warm. The sky was blue. Maybe those kids really had brought him some good luck.
He stood and watched as the set designer and her assistant moved some props into place for the next quick scene. By the afternoon all should be done, and the next day they would all be flying home to India.
Sure, he had always struggled. Life was never easy. A Tibetan in Mumbai trying to break into films - well, people told him he’d have more chance in Hollywood than in Bollywood. But this money problem threatened to choke off his entire career, which until now had been moving in a pretty steep upward trajectory.
He paced the hillside overlooking the horizon tank. Already the boat was being dismantled. And he thought back to that unexpected phone call of the previous day. A priest friend, knowing he was in Australia, had called to say that the gossip around Dharamsala was that the Dalai Lama had been reincarnated in Australia. Somewhere out in the desert. A place called Uluru. Chodrak found that hard to believe. He knew it wouldn’t happen in Tibet, of course, but Australia? Why would he choose this place?
His friend had been trying to help him. He knew that Chodrak was actually in Australia. On the spot. Perhaps he could make a movie about it, the friend suggested.
That wasn’t going to happen. Chodrak had no money to consider a new movie of any kind. But the fact remained that he knew something that few others did. That the new Dalai Lama was right now a child somewhere in the Australian outback. Near a place called Uluru. That had to be worth something. In fact, if he played it right, it had to be worth a lot.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure he believed it. But that didn’t matter. Some people believed it, and they might be prepared to pay.