He thought about the plan he had to build a little home in the far end of his village. He would have animals, work in the fields, and catch fish in the river with Ayushi. He didn’t feel like he was driven out to the desert to become a judge, neither did he feel like a hero or some sort of chosen one. He had no interest in it. He came because of Ayushi. Mama Jala’s voice echoed inside his head: “Johannan, you are a child and not a man, and you must do as you are told.” These were the words that would fly out of her mouth when she chased him around the village to beat him as a punishment. He caught his breath—for once, he agreed with her words.
“Great Spirit, you must be gravely mistaken.” Johannan’s mind drifted onto all the mischief he had gotten up to at home with his friends. Mama was always complaining about him, blaming him for things going wrong, and most of the time she was right. There were so many better-behaved children in his village— he should have selected one of them.
“I am not even a man yet.” Johannan had hoped the Muhandae would change his mind. His head dropped to face the ground, “And what’s worse, I left home against Mama’s wishes. She will never forget that. She never forgets anything.”
The Muhandae stared at Johannan with compassion; he could see that he was frightened and felt very alone. His voice softened, “Johannan, I have weighed your heart in the wilderness and brought you out here to me. Do not be afraid.”
The Muhandae’s words were of no consolation to him. How was this all going to affect him? Would he still be able to live a normal life? Spend time with his friends and laugh at their silly pranks? A shadow of regret was beginning to creep in. He shook his head—so many people had told him to turn back, but he refused to listen.
Mama was right—she said my stubbornness would get me into trouble one of these days.
He recalled something she used to say: “A stubborn man will always find himself by himself.” This was very fitting for the situation.
He envisioned the scowl of her disappointment and anger. “Oh, Mama, I never listened, but you were right all along. You were always right. I am a stubborn and bad child,” he muttered, feeling a quiver of regret. Johannan was annoyed with himself for being so headstrong. He knew he could never get out of this, but he tried nonetheless.
“B-but I cannot be a Judge. I know nothing about such things, Great Spirit. Can you pick another person?”
The beginning of the Muhandae’s response seemed like his request had fallen on deaf ears. His tone was like a tremor. Johannan was too frightened to object another time.
“I shall teach you the ways of the Ambassador and multiply your knowledge rapidly through dreams and visions. As of this day, you, Johannan, are a seventh-dimension Ambassador, a Judge, and you will bring judgment on the lands you enter. Go from here to the land of Bhutan and wait there till you receive further instruction.”
Johannan’s heart sunk; he had no choice. He saw what the Great Spirit was capable of. On the other side of things, he knew Ayushi would be able to see if he kept his part of the arrangement. A fatigued voice crept from the depths of his throat, “I will go, Great Spirit.”
CHAPTER 14
A crown of stars
Questions filled Johannan’s mind. He was desperate to get home. A geyser of motivation began to empower him. Just a few errands, and all this will be all over.
As he was about to ask how long it would take to complete his tasks, a long strand of his glowing hair flicked past his eyes in the building gusts of wind.
“M-My hair!” He panicked, pulling handfuls before his face. “What’s happened to my hair?”
“Johannan!” the Muhandae called, loud and clear enough to grab his full attention. Johannan released his hair from his tight grip to focus upwards.
“You are now a seventh-dimension Ambassador, a Judge, and the power of my judgment will be with you. The state of your hair is not permanent, and it will revert to its original state. However, it will come to pass that whenever I am nearby, or with you, the authority of the Soburin will rest upon your frame, and your hair will begin to transform into its present state. Like the stalking drafts that bring burning glory to scattered embers. I will be the wind, and your hair will be my glowing flint.
You, Johannan, will be like the Soburin who walks to and fro in the heavens above, and so you shall be on the earth.
You will know in times of peril that I am there beside you, to defend and protect you, for the rest of your days here on earth.”
Johannan expressed a sigh, he felt relieved that this wasn’t a permanent change. But he couldn’t have this happen to him at home, in front of all the villagers, the women, and the children. His mind already began to devise suggestions. He’d have to wear a hat all the time. What would Mama think of his hair like this? Obviously, she’d hate it, and she definitely wouldn’t let him wear a hat indoors. Out of embarrassment, she’d probably sheer it all off while he was sound asleep. Mama was like that—she’d never let this one rest. He could imagine Ketan and the others laughing at his bald head for a long time. What had he gotten himself into? Johannan felt like the Great Spirit had cornered him and plundered all his hope.
Chilled gusts of desert winds continued to develop. The white nimbus cloud began to ascend. When they had disappeared, Johannan filled his water skins. He had never been to Bhutan before, and he was quite eager to get there, to have this journey over and done with. The sooner he could complete his tasks, the sooner Ayushi would be able to see. He could get back home and face Mama Jala head-on. He would be delighted right now if he could go back to just one of the times she was scolding him. A particular scenario sprang to mind: Mama was chasing him out of the village entrance because of the mischief he had gotten up to with Ketan. She could never catch him straight away, but that turned Mama into a crafty trickster. He once overheard her complaining to the neighbours about how he was as hard to catch as catching an eel with your bare hands. He remembered being a few steps outside the entrance, peering in at the younger children playing outside their homes. He felt horrible, staying out there until night. Mama was waiting, up to her crafty schemes again. She knew the hunger and cold would drive him back home—then she’d get him. He remembered being frightened of what Mama was going to do to him.
How much he preferred to be in that situation now, safe, at home with his friends and the two women that loved him dearly. The condition of his hair still bothered him; perhaps he should just shave it off and return home bald. He clamped down on his teeth and shuddered. What have I done?
Johannan climbed down the steep mountain, and he noticed that as he descended, the sky was getting brighter. The top of the mountain was like midnight, its summit was covered in a dark mist . He marvelled at the sight. The Great Spirit was infinitely more powerful than he could have imagined.
The desert’s scorching sun returned—it seemed like it was saving all its heat just to grudgingly blaze its fury down on him.
CHAPTER 15
Abduction in the wilderness
Johannan finally got to the foot of the mountain. But, it wasn’t quite the same scene as when he had started to climb up. He inspected the area, and something baffled him. The scenery didn’t make sense. The more he examined the area, the more he realised it was the beginning of the desert. This was where he had started!
It was impossible that the many weeks of travelling through the barren wilderness were reduced to mere hours and minutes. Johannan scratched the top of his head in a frustrating curiosity. He spun around in tight circles, searching for something that could explain what was taking place. He couldn’t be dreaming; the damning glower of the sun and the lack of a cool breeze made that very obvious.
He glanced at his waist—the water skins were still full. He was in Yumen again, on the brim of the Gobi desert, without so much as sipping a mouthful of water. His hair had reverted to its normal colour. Then he remembered the quaking words of the lion that his hair was like a glowing flint and would serve as a sign when t
he Muhandae was nearby. It was obvious that he was gone.
Johannan started to make his way to the mountain range of Altun Shan, thinking about this amazing phenomenon. He kept checking his hair every so often to see if it had changed again without his knowing; he didn’t need that to happen at the wrong time.
The weather was changing. He could feel the treacherous caress of the cold winds against the numbing skin of his cheeks, but it didn’t seem to affect him. Pebbles rolled along the ground behind him as he trekked along. He stopped. Something didn’t seem to make any sense. His cloak was pulling him to the left and right. It felt much heavier, thicker, and more solid, almost as if it had been growing.
“You there!”
A tone carrying hostility forced Johannan to smack his forehead with the inside of his hand. He knew that he shouldn’t be hearing anyone’s voice way out here. He had let his guard down. What a fool I am.
“Better the long way back from the desert, the Great Spirit has led me to my death,” he groaned. Another one of Mama’s sayings came to mind: “The long way is tiresome and reliable, but the shortcut is filled with mishaps.”
Those words sprung to life in Johannan’s spirit. All of Mama’s ramblings and complaints were starting to make sense. But, the shortcut was forced upon him. Not that he would have taken Mama’s advice anyway, if given the choice.
It had to be the voice of one of those bandits that the kind fisherman by the Yarlung Tsangpo warned about. Another problem his stubbornness has gotten him into. Johannan turned his head with a disappointing frown; he almost hated himself at that moment.
Five men dressed in tattered clothing were pointing their weapons at him. “What have you got there?” the shortest one said.
Johannan eased the aggressive frown from his face as he didn’t want to draw unnecessary and negative attention to himself. Maybe they will just go away if I talk with them very nicely.
Yeah right! another conflicting voice retorted within him.
At first glance, they didn’t seem like the type to enjoy respectful chatter. They appeared to be more like the kind of men that just took what they wanted. It occurred to Johannan that if they could see that he was just a young boy, maybe they’d let him go, but he didn’t put his hopes on that. He had tried that defence with the Great Spirit, and it hadn’t worked well with him either. That only works with Mama when she’s angry. And she’s the one saying it.
“Nothing, sirs, I’m just a young traveller.” His heart pulsated faster. Their victims’ blood was like a trophy to them. They were the type of men that wouldn’t even wipe the blood from the blade of their weapons. The type that would take the lives of innocent people without giving it any thought.
One of them chuckled, then the others joined in. Johannan feared he was done for.
“A young traveller,” a chubby one mockingly repeated, tilting his head over and nudging the others. “And I thought a traveller was just a traveller.”
One of the men pointed a sharp dagger at Johannan that he had quickly drawn from his side. He drew closer to search him. He patted him down, and with a soft downward swipe he cut the water skins from his waist.
“What’s in those skins?”
“It’s obviously full with wine,” said the tallest one. His red nose and eager stares exposed that he was quite the drunk.
One of the men prodded another man standing next to him with his elbow. “Looks like we have a young traveller that’s a drinker,” he sing-songed.
Johannan held his head down. One of the men tutted, and the others laughed.
“Drinking? And he still has mom’s milk just under his nose.”
The man that had snatched his water skins took a swig and immediately spat a shower of the liquid in Johannan’s face. “Water!” His eyes sprung open as the skin on his face gathered towards his nose. He threw the water skin at Johannan, hitting him in the head.
“Useless as a chicken pulling a chariot. I don’t even think your mother has a use for you! Let’s just throw him over a cliff.”
The others laughed. Johannan shook his head and waved both hands— he was helpless. Fear held his mouth, and his bottom lip trembled. He couldn’t even speak in his defence.
“Hey! Calm yourself! Let’s just take him in. He’s young—there’s more use to keeping him than throwing him off a cliff,” a bearded man responded.
The red-nosed man ran over and knocked Johannan to the ground with the side of his spearhead. “But he’s so scrawny! Look at him! I say, let him splatter against the rocks.”
The remaining four, including the bearded one, were silent, showing stares of disagreement. The red-nosed man faced Johannan with a disappointing droop to his eyes.
“You hear that, boy! You are coming with us. Goodness knows what they want with you. You look like a shaved bird!” he said, blowing a long blast of air through his flared nostrils.
The first people that came to mind were Ayushi and Mama. Will I ever get to see them again? He knew too well what these men where about. What were they going to do with him, if they weren’t going to kill him? They took his water, and it was all in the world he had. Why did he have to go with them?
The red-nosed man grabbed his arms, tugging him forwards.
“Move it, young traveller!”
The man who had spat in his face playfully dangled his knives in front of Johannan. “Do we have to do something that would speed things up a bit, young traveller?” Despair didn’t allow Johannan to look in his face.
“That will only slow things down, you idiot!” shouted the chubby figure.
The men laughed. The term “young traveller” must have been the joke of the day. Johannan drew in deep breaths through the slight parting of his lips. He couldn’t panic because these men wouldn’t think twice about killing him or beating him to near death. Out here, his life was worth less than two pigs, and that was being generous. He stared into the sky, speaking in a tone of dismay only he could hear. “Not even the sea will flow against me, you said.”
There was all the time in the world now, but no time to dwell on what promises the Great Spirit had made him on the mountain. He felt as though he was abandoned—the Great Spirit never did say how to summon him. The narrow focus of his eyes could’ve started a fire if he stressed any harder for an idea of how to escape. The problem was that these men could probably knock a fly off a camel’s ear with their spears, standing several paces away. He wasn’t going to risk running, waiting for a spear to rip through his back. But, the more he scanned his mind for a plan, the more his brain reciprocated stupid ideas that would get him killed. He’d just have to go along with the men until an idea more effective than running presented itself.
CHAPTER 16
A peculiar figure
After some time, they arrived at a small village, bedded with red mud. The trees were withered and shrivelled. Lifeless shades of hickory and walnut browns clawed towards the sky with a grasp of choking men drawing their last breath. The carefree children were playing outside, and they skipped over to greet the men and escort them in. The village women stared at Johannan with a disgust he had never experienced before.
What did I do to those women? Not even Mama Jala is that bad—she is miserable when you upset her, but at least there has to be a reason. His suggestive thoughts crept in, They are probably just a sad, angry people with nothing better to do but to frown all day.
Johannan noticed that little pigs were left to roam the village, partaking in the same freedom the children had. The place homed a foul smell of unwashed skin and other unpleasant odours. Johannan tried refraining from revealing the frustration in his face, in case he offended anyone. However, losing the fight with the intrusive whiffs had caused him to blink uncontrollably as if an eyelash were trapped in his eye. Maybe if I stopped breathing through my nose, I could avoid this horrid scent and maintain a straight face. A thought of observation added, Do these people actually wait for rain to wash themselves?
Johannan closed his eyes as thoughts of reason kicked in. Well, they don’t have a river like I have back home, maybe that’s why they smell like this.
His suggestive inner tone presented an idea: Not everyone has a river, but maybe if they left enough buckets out in the rain, they could collect enough water to do the things they needed.
They approached the last building in the village. Next to it was an iron cage about a foot taller than he was, with prisoners inside. There was no roof or walls; it was a public exhibition of their cruelty. The captives were malnourished and bore the stench of neglect.
But an overriding conflict of judgment concluded Johannan's thoughts. No, nothing helps, these people are just cruel and nasty. Keep breathing out of the mouth.
The door to the cage squeaked as one of the men hauled it open. The others pushed and kicked Johannan to the ground inside. All of the prisoners huddled up together, rounded up by a threat Johannan had yet to witness. Flies scurried over their muddied skin. Johannan frowned in disgust, and breathing through his mouth was only effective to a point. He sat in the opposite corner of the cage, holding his knees against his chest. The dogs visited the prisoners to lick their skin as their frames collapsed against the cage bars from exhaustion.
“These people are barbaric savages,” he muttered to himself. At least they left him with his cloak for now, which, judging by their level of cruelty, was an obvious blunder. He could, at least, endure the cold night with it. A few hours had passed, and the sun began to surrender the day.
Johannan kept facing the hard muddy grounds to avoid eye contact with the constantly peering eyes of his pallid cellmates.
One of the prisoners got agitated as he stared at Johannan. Maybe it was the fact that he appeared healthy, reminding him of better times that he had buried away many months ago. The man’s eyes detonated into a flaring look, like a wild sow robbed of her piglets. You could count his ribs through his tanned skin from lack of eating as he stepped forward. He had reached his limit.
The Son of Nepal Page 5