Tiger's Quest

by Colleen Houck

  I said, “Okay, so ’fess up. Why’d you throw the game? You’re not a good bluffer, you know. I could read your expression. You saw the move and deliberately skipped over me. What happened to doing whatever it takes to win?”

  “I still do whatever it takes to win. Perhaps by losing the game, I won something better.”

  I laughed. “Won something better? What do you think you won?”

  He pushed the game to the side of the table and stretched his hand across to hold mine. “What I won was seeing you happy, happy like you were. I want to see your smile come back. You smile and laugh, but it never reaches your eyes. I haven’t seen you really happy these last few months.”

  I squeezed his hand. “It’s hard. But, if Kishan, the ultimate competitor, is willing to throw a game, then, for you, I’ll try.”

  “Good.” He let go of my hand reluctantly and stood up to stretch.

  I set the game on the shelf and said, “Kishan, I keep having nightmares about Ren. I think Lokesh is torturing him.”

  “I’ve been dreaming of Ren as well. I’ve dreamed that he begs me to keep you safe.” He grinned. “He also threatens me to keep my hands to myself.”

  “He’d definitely be saying that. Do you think it’s a dream or a true vision?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  I pressed my hands on top of the game. “Every time I try to save him or help him escape, he pushes me away as if I’m the one in danger. It feels real, but how do we know?”

  Kishan wrapped his arms around me from behind and hugged me. “I’m not sure, but I do feel he’s still alive.”

  “I feel the same.” He turned to leave. “Kishan?”

  “Yes?”

  I grinned. “Thanks for letting me win. And for keeping your hands to yourself. Mostly.”

  “Ah, but you forget, this is just one battle. The war is far from over, and you will find that I make a formidable opponent. In any arena.”

  “Fine,” I offered. “Then it’s a rematch. Tomorrow.”

  He bowed slightly. “I look forward to the challenge, bilauta. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Kishan.”

  The next day at breakfast, I picked Mr. Kadam’s brain about the Dalai Lama, Buddhism, karma, and reincarnation. Kishan quietly listened while curled up at my feet as the black tiger.

  “You see, Miss Kelsey, karma is the belief that everything you do, everything you say, every choice that you make, affects your present or your future. Those who believe in reincarnation live with the hope that if they make good choices and sacrifices in life now, they will have a brighter future or a better position in the next life.

  “Dharma is about maintaining order in the universe and following the rules that govern all mankind in civil and religious customs.”

  “So if you follow your dharma, you’ll have good karma?”

  Mr. Kadam laughed. “I suppose that is an accurate statement. Moksha is the state of nirvana. When you have passed the tests the mortal world offers and you rise above it to a state of higher consciousness, you reach enlightenment or moksha. For this person, there is no rebirth. You become a spiritual being, and the temporal worldly things are no longer of import. The passions of the flesh become meaningless. You become one with the eternal.”

  “You’re kind of an eternal being now. Have you experienced moksha? Do you think it’s possible to attain it while you’re alive?”

  “That’s an interesting question.” He sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. “I would have to say that, despite my many years on this planet, no. I have not experienced total spiritual enlightenment; however, I have not truly sought after it either. My relationship with the divine is perhaps still a quest I have yet to take. That is not one I wish to tackle at this very moment though. Instead, how about a walk to the marketplace?”

  I nodded, eager to see something new and focus on the more immediate quest at hand. The market was full of interesting products. We passed stands selling statues of Buddha, incense, jewelry, clothing, books, postcards, and malas—similar in purpose to Catholic prayer beads. Other interesting items we saw for sale were singing bowls and bells— which were used to produce sounds that helped focus energies and were also used in certain religious ceremonies and during meditation. I saw prayer flags and woven or painted thangkas. Mr. Kadam said the banners taught myths, showed important historical events, or depicted the life of Buddha.

  At the appointed time, Kishan, Mr. Kadam, and I were ushered into the business office of the Dalai Lama. It was a testament to Mr. Kadam’s resources that we’d even gotten this far since usually only dignitaries made it into this office. We were met by an austere man dressed in a typical business suit who indicated that he would do an initial screening and that if our case proved urgent enough, he would refer us to an upper office.

  He invited us to sit, and I was content to let Mr. Kadam wade through the interview. The man asked several questions about our purpose. Mr. Kadam again answered vaguely, hinting that the answers to his questions were not meant for just anyone’s ears. The man was intrigued and pressed harder for answers. Mr. Kadam’s reply was that the information we needed to share must be heard only by the Ocean Teacher.

  At those words, I noticed a slight shift in the man’s eyes. The interview ended, and we were led into another room where we were met by a woman who continued the same line of questioning. Mr. Kadam kept to the same answers as before. He responded politely without giving away too much information.

  “We are pilgrims seeking an audience on a matter of great import to the people of India.”

  She waved her hand. “Please explain. What exactly is of great import?”

  He smiled and leaned forward. “We are on a quest that has led us to the great country of Tibet. Only within its borders can we find what we are seeking.”

  “Are you seeking riches? For you won’t find any here. We are a humble people and have nothing of worth.”

  “Money? Treasure? These are not our purpose. We have come to seek the knowledge that only the Ocean Teacher possesses.”

  Again, when Mr. Kadam mentioned the Ocean Teacher our interviewer abruptly paused. She stood and asked us to wait. Half an hour later, we were guided into an inner sanctum. The accommodations were more humble than the last two rooms. We sat upon old, wobbly wooden chairs. A reticent monk dressed in red robes entered. He looked down on us from his beaked nose for a long moment and then took a seat.

  “I understand you wish to speak with the Ocean Teacher.”

  Mr. Kadam bowed his head in silent acknowledgement.

  “You have not shared your reasons with the others. Would you share them with me?”

  Mr. Kadam spoke, “The words I would give you would be the same words I gave to the others.”

  The monk nodded brusquely. “I see. Then I am sorry, but the Ocean Teacher has no time to meet with you, especially as you have been unforthcoming as to your purpose. If the matter you wish to discuss is deemed important enough, your message will be conveyed.”

  I spoke up, “But it’s very important that we speak with him. We would share our reasons, but it’s a matter of trusting the right people.”

  The monk looked thoughtfully at each of us. “Perhaps you would answer one last question.”

  Mr. Kadam nodded.

  The monk pulled a medallion from around his neck, handed it to Mr. Kadam, and said, “Tell me, what do you see?”

  Mr. Kadam replied, “I see a design similar in nature to the yin-yang symbol. The yin or dark side represents the female and the yang, which is the light side, represents the male. These two sides are in perfect balance and harmony with one another.”

  The monk nodded as if he expected that answer and stretched out a hand. His expression was closed. I knew he was going to dismiss us.

  I hurried to interject, “May we look at the medallion?”

  His hand arrested in midair before handing the medallion to Kishan.

  Kishan turned the
medallion back and forth for a moment and whispered, “I see two tigers, one black and one white, each chasing the other’s tail.”

  The monk pressed his hands on the desk as I took the medallion and nodded with interest. I quickly glanced at Mr. Kadam, and then at the monk, who was now leaning forward waiting for me to speak.

  The medallion was similar to a yin-yang symbol, but a line divided the medallion in half. The outline of white and black could be identified as cats, so I could easily see why Kishan had said they were tigers, each with a strategically placed dot for an eye. The tails curled around the center and twisted together around the bisecting line.

  I looked up at the monk. “I see part of a thangka. A long, central thread, which is female, serves as the warp and the white and black tigers are both male and wrap around her. They are the weft which complete the fabric.”

  The monk inched closer. “And how is this thangka woven?”

  “With a divine shuttle.”

  “What does this thangka represent?”

  “The thangka is the whole world. The fabric is the story of the world.”

  He sat back in his chair and ran a hand over his bald head. I handed him back the medallion. He took it, looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, and then placed it around his neck. He rose.

  “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

  Mr. Kadam nodded. “Of course.”

  We didn’t wait long. The young woman who had interviewed us earlier instructed us to follow her. We did and were given accommodations in a comfortable suite of rooms. Our bags were packed at the hotel and brought to us.

  We took an early dinner together after which Mr. Kadam and Kishan retired to their rooms. Having nothing better to do, I went to mine also. The monks brought me some orange blossom tea. It was an effective soporific, and I soon drifted off to sleep, but I dreamed fitfully of Ren again. In my dream, he was becoming desperate.

  This time Ren was even more fiercely protective of me and demanded that I leave him immediately. He kept saying that Lokesh was getting closer, and he needed me to be as far away from him as possible. The dreams felt real, and I woke up crying. There was nothing I could do. I tried to comfort myself with Durga’s promise to watch over him.

  Kishan joined me at the breakfast buffet the next morning. I was already at the end of the line spooning some yogurt into a bowl when Mr. Kadam entered, stepped behind me, and asked me how I slept.

  I fibbed and said I slept well, but he studied the dark circles under my eyes and patted my hand knowingly. Guiltily, I turned away from Mr. Kadam’s perusal and waited for the monk in front of me as he finished putting fruit onto his plate.

  The monk’s hand shook as he lifted a small piece of slippery mango from the bowl. He dropped it onto his plate with a splat and began the slow process of digging for another piece. Without looking at us, the old monk spoke, “I understand you wish to visit with me.”

  Mr. Kadam immediately clasped his hands together, bowed, and said, “Namaste, wise one.”

  My hand froze in midair—yogurt spoon and all—and I slowly turned to look into the smiling face of the Ocean Teacher.

  16

  The Ocean Teacher

  The old monk grinned at me while I stared open-mouthed. Fortunately, Mr. Kadam came to my rescue and gently guided me to a table.

  Kishan was already eating, not caring that I had caused a scene. Figures. The tigers only think of two things—food and girls. Usually in that order.

  Mr. Kadam set my bowl down and pulled out a chair for me. I sat and stirred my yogurt while surreptitiously glancing at the wizened old man. He was happily humming as he continued to fill his plate one small item at a time. When he was finished, he sat down across from me and smiled as he dug into his eggs.

  Mr. Kadam ate quietly. Kishan returned to the buffet and filled his plate again. I kept silent and sipped my juice. I was too nervous to eat and had no idea if it was proper to talk or ask questions, so I just followed Mr. Kadam’s lead.

  Long finished with our meal, we watched the Ocean Teacher eat, as he slowly took one bite at a time and chewed methodically. Finally finished, he carefully wiped his mouth and said, “You know, my favorite memories of my mother are winding the threads for her weaving, assisting her in tending the sheep, and helping her stir the breakfast porridge. I always think of my mother when I eat breakfast.”

  Mr. Kadam sagely nodded. Kishan grunted. The Ocean Teacher looked at me and grinned.

  Hoping it was okay to speak, I asked, “Did you grow up on a farm then? I thought Lamas were born to be Lamas.”

  He cocked his head at me and happily answered, “Yes, is the answer to both questions. My parents were poor farmers who grew enough food to sustain themselves and sell a bit at market. My mother was a weaver who could make beautiful cloth. My parents named me Jigme Karpo. They didn’t know who I was at the time. I had to be found.”

  “You had to be found? Found by whom?”

  “The regent is always searching for reincarnations of former Lamas. He usually has a vision showing him where to find the new incarnation of a certain person and sends out a search party. In my case, they knew to look for a farmhouse resting on a hill with a tall, climbing rosebush growing next to our water well.

  “After asking around, they found my home and knew it was the right place. Items from previous Lamas were brought in and shown to me. I picked up a book that belonged to the previous Ocean Teacher. The search party felt confident then that I was the reincarnation of that past Lama. At that time, I was two years old.”

  “What happened to you then?”

  Mr. Kadam interrupted and patted my hand, “I am curious as well, Miss Kelsey, but perhaps he has only a short time to spend with us, and we should focus on other matters.”

  “Right, sorry. I let my curiosity carry me away.”

  The Ocean Teacher leaned forward and thanked the monks who cleared the table. “I can spare a few minutes to answer your question, young lady. To sum it up, I was taken from my family and began my training with a kind old monk. My mother wove the material for my first maroon robe.

  “I began training as a novice monk and had my head shaved. My name was changed, and I received a wonderful education in all subjects including art, medicine, culture, and philosophy. All of these experiences fashioned me into the man sitting before you. Did that answer your question, or did my explanation generate several more questions?”

  I laughed. “It generated several more.”

  “Good!” He smiled. “A mind with questions is a mind open to understanding.”

  “Your childhood and background are so different from mine.”

  “I imagine yours is just as interesting.”

  “What do you do here?”

  “I train the Dalai Lamas.”

  I stared at him. “You teach the teacher?”

  He laughed. “Yes. I’ve trained a couple of them. I’m a very old man, but we are not so dissimilar. I’ve had the opportunity to meet people from all over the world, and I find that all people are fundamentally alike. We are one human family. Perhaps we have different clothes, our skin is of a different color, or we speak various languages, but that is on the surface only. We all have dreams and seek for the things that will bring true happiness. To know all the world, I just need to learn about myself.”

  I nodded.

  Mr. Kadam interjected, “As you are aware, we have come to seek the wisdom of the Ocean Teacher. We have a task to perform, and we ask for your guidance.”

  The monk pushed back the sleeves of his robe and stood. “Then come. Let us adjourn to a different room that offers more privacy.” He stood up carefully with the support of two monks who quickly maneuvered to walk beside him, but the Ocean Teacher, though slow, walked without assistance.

  “You said you taught two of the Dalai Lamas, so that means you must be—”

  “One hundred and fifteen.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “I am one hundred and fi
fteen years old and proud of it.”

  “I have never met someone who lived that long.” I quickly realized that I indeed knew three men who had lived that long and looked at Mr. Kadam who smiled and winked at me.

  The Ocean Teacher didn’t notice my strange expression as he went on, “If a man wishes to do a thing and has enough passion to find a way . . . he will achieve it. I wished to live a long life.”

  Mr. Kadam stared thoughtfully at the monk for a moment, and said, “I am older than I seem as well. I am humbled by you, sir.”

  The Ocean Teacher turned and clasped Mr. Kadam’s hand. His eyes twinkled with mirth. “It’s being around monks and monasteries that does that. It keeps me humble too.”

  The two men laughed. We followed him through winding gray corridors to a large room with a smooth stone floor and a large polished desk. He indicated we should sit as we passed a comfortable lounging area. We all sank into soft upholstered chairs as the Ocean Teacher pulled up a plain wooden chair that had been hidden behind his desk and sat to talk with us.

  When I asked if he would prefer a more comfortable chair, he replied, “The more uncomfortable my chair is, the more likely I will get up and keep busy doing things that need doing.”

  Mr. Kadam nodded and began, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

  The monk grinned. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I must admit, I’ve been curious to know if the tiger’s quest would happen in this lifetime. Now that I think of it, I was born near the city of Taktser, which, translated, means ‘roaring tiger.’ Perhaps it was my destiny all along to be the one to meet those who are to journey on this quest.”

  Mr. Kadam asked excitedly, “You know of our quest?”

  “Yes. From before the time of the first Dalai Lama, the story of two tigers has been handed down in secret. The strange medallion is the key. When this young man said that he saw two tigers, one black and one white, we knew you were likely the right ones. Others have seen the cats and often identify the white tiger, but no one has identified the black cat as a tiger, and certainly no one has spoken of the line down the middle being linked to the divine weaver. That’s how we knew it was you.”