A brief note to the reader. In this chapter is the first of many songs and within them you will find italicized proverbs. The majority are Tibetan in origin though a few well known Western proverbs are included. Do please enjoy and your comments are always very welcome. D and J.

 

Chapter Three

 

Many people believe Chamara to be a mythic place, and it has been described as such in the ancient Tibetan Buddhist texts. It is not surprising that people have relegated it to the depths of the legends from which it sprung — an island continent off the southern coast of India deep within which lies the fortress known as Crystal Light Palace wherein Padmasambhava dwells among a race of cannibal demons. Living there among these creatures, Padmasambhava, Padma to his friends, is able to keep them on the island, relatively happy, and beguile them into a brand of forgetting that distracts them from their inborn desire to wage war on humankind and eat human flesh. For nearly a thousand years, Padmasambhava has resided among the demons, inventing fantastic games of chance and running races of all sorts, keeping the demons content to live their lives in relative peace rather than venturing out as they had done in times past, wreaking havoc on all that they encountered.

Padma’s days were long but he rarely tired of his work; truth be known, he always loved games of strategy and games of chance and now he had nearly endless time for invention and play. Occasionally, he would become nostalgic for his times in other buddhafields and would venture to these celestial realms. But he knew he could be gone for long as the demons here needed him. Rarely, some celestial being or another would come to visit him and they would wax philosophic about their times together, recalling the seeding of Buddhism into Tibet and the taming of the demons there. Padma would recount his burning at the hands of the Zahor King in retribution for cavorting with the King’s daughter, Mandarava, or he would reminiscence about his various other consorts, all of whom he professed to still be in love with, although he spent his nights alone and his days with the deadly demons. This island, well to the south and concealed through Padma’s excellent vajra tent practice, would have been a tropical paradise were it not inhabited by so many cannibals and other nasties. It was quite cut off from the world and centuries would pass with barely a lost canoe reaching its cliff-lined shores. None who ventured onto the island would last more than a day or two before being roasted, puréed, or made into one of a hundred inventive soups. The cannibals all loved soup. Why this was no one knew and it, like so much else, remains a mystery to this day.

Given all this, it was no wonder that word of the pandemic had not reached the island. It was truly a pandemic, yet there still remained a few spots that neither had heard of it nor were affected by it. The demons carried on; the gambling games continued all in blissful ignorance of the suffering that was engulfing the greater world. The sun, reveling in its own long won independence, rose up each day in the east, cast its luminous rays impartially on all those sunning themselves as well as those taking their places in caskets throughout the world, traversed the sky, and then settled in for the night, reddening the western sky. The stars moved, animals grazed in spaces more open than they ever remembered, and the air, for the moment less polluted, circulated. The virus continued its inexorable spread.

Gesar went to his wardrobe and tried to decide whether to dress up as a tiger cub, which had worked well for Avalokiteshvara when he last went to Chamara, or simply to hike up his chuba and head on out. He was spending an inordinate amount of time on this rather absurd and unnecessary detail when he heard a buzzing. Though it had been some centuries since he had heard this particular hum, he recognized it instantly. Cringing like a three-year-old child, he watched as a turquoise bee the size of a crab apple flew around his head three times and came to rest in the space just in front of his nose. In fact, she was so close that Gesar had to cross his eyes to focus on the bee, and when he finally achieved this, his Aunt Manéné began to sing.

 

The song is Ala Ala Ala.

Thala brings the melody.

Listen now, my sweet Gesar,

To your auntie’s rambling song.

For many centuries you have dwelled

In these pristine, heavenly realms—

Your mind at peace and grasping all things

As the unborn space of existence,

Timelessly passing before your frame.

Ageless, perfect, resting in your mind,

Equipoise itself emitting peace.

Such a lovely scene, indeed!

As you have been told, this will not stand.

The time is ripe, truly, overripe,

For you to rouse yourself to action.

The planet for which you loftily

Profess a deep and endless compassion

Is standing helpless to fix itself.

The people of that planet suffer

A great pestilence in the form of disease

That brings death and, after all these deaths,

Famine that will threaten the species

With an extinction as pure as that

Visited upon the dinosaurs.

Your help is needed to end this plague.

You must not hesitate further as

Now is the correct time to act.

Too, too many have delayed too long.

As the ancient Tibetan proverbs spoke:

Better to snuff out the life of both

Sparks and enemies when they are small.

At this point it is too late for that.

The leaders of the world are in disarray,

Spiritual and secular leaders

Fight amongst and betwixt themselves.

Countries have abandoned all sense

And as good as any ancient Tibetan proverb:

They add to the flames of suffering,

Like kerosene on a burning house.

Hoarding food and medical supplies,

Lying about transit and work safety,

Erecting ineffective borders,

And taking down those that would work—

Insanity itself is loose and free

To pile death upon destruction

Until an unpeopled earth

Is returned to nonhuman species.

I am here for one reason alone:

To make clear what it is you must do.

Padmasambhava sleeps just like you

In a land just beyond fantasy,

Useful in his way to his demons

But no use to the world around him.

You and he must now work together.

Assemble your crew from times of old.

They await your call in the silence,

Thinking your bodhisattva vow dead

As corpses pile up in streets and morgues.

Time passes, and with it all the hope

For sanctuary from this dread scourge.

I will be here and there to help you,

But move you must, and with haste!

If you have understood my meaning,

I consider my words a success.

If not, to repeat them is in vain.

And thus, the fate of humans is sealed.

 

With that, the buzzing began to abate and the bee did a few spins around the room like a stunt pilot and a pop was heard as Aunt Manéné disappeared into space itself. Gesar, properly admonished, wrapped himself in his meditation shawl and sat down on his meditation mat, focusing his mind on a power that he had not used in some time. Finally, he settled into a rhythm and with the knack of an unpracticed former bicycle rider out for their first ride in decades, was able to transport himself to Chamara just as the sunset filled the western sky. But his teleportation was as rusty as the old bicycler’s skill and he landed with a thud and a tumble on the beach, a good mile from Padmasambhava’s castle fortress. Immediately he was set upon by some nasty nine foot tall grungy demons with large fangs, claw-like hands, and drooling mouths. They did not seem to be in much of a mood for a lengthy discussion as they tied him up. Whenever he began to shout and tell them just who he was, not to mention how important he and his mission were, they slapped him and told him to pipe down, trussing him a bit tighter and lashing him to the biggest rotisserie that he had ever seen. They then, with their mood significantly improved, went off to fetch firewood, assuring Gesar that they would be back shortly and would not keep him waiting long. Gesar strained at the ropes holding him but was unable to budge them. He knew that he had a knife hidden in his boot. Squirming and tensing against his bonds, he was nearly able to reach his boot, his fingers inches from the knife handle, when he heard the bushes rustling. Gesar was certain the demons were returning with the wood for his roasting pyre when he heard a deep voice laughingly call out, “Well, what and who do we have here? Could it be that after all these years my old student has felt nostalgic enough to pay his root guru a visit? Whatever might be the calamity that has befallen you such that you would risk getting trussed up like a turkey or a duck and suspended over one of my favorite fire pits? Do tell.”

Gesar, not trusting his own relief, replied, “Oh, precious guru, do not think me ungrateful for all that you have done. Please untie me and I will explain. It is not for myself that I have come, but for the entire world realm, or at least for its humans who right now are in desperate need.”

Then, Padma called out to a few of his demons to come and untie Gesar, who fell unceremoniously to the ground in a heap. He stood up, brushed himself off, and had begun to speak when Padmasambhava hushed him and invited him into the castle to sit down to tea and catch up. Gesar was about to object that that would take too long when he saw the castle doors opening and Padma’s rakshasa servant beckoning him inside. Soon they were settled in a lovely library, its walls lined with books from the floor to the high ceiling. More books, some bound liturgical pechas and some ordinary books, which Gesar could see were in a multitude of languages, covered an arrangement of tables as well as the oversized mahogany desk that stood at the far end of the room. A large copper-plated kettle of buttered tea was brought and Gesar and Padmasambhava, sitting on luxurious cushions atop an ornate rug, sipped their tea and, as if on cue, began to speak simultaneously. After they stopped laughing, Padma beckoned Gesar to speak. Taking his time, Gesar related to his old guru all that was happening both throughout the world as well as Manéné’s dire predictions from earlier in the day. Sipping his tea, which he had refilled a number of times, Padmasambhava sat back on his cushion and closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep. Just when Gesar thought that he heard snoring and was about to rouse him, Padma stirred a bit and opened his eyes. He was deep in thought, contemplating Gesar sitting in front of him and feeling the room around him as strangely unfamiliar, almost as though he had not actually lived there these last many hundreds of years.

Padmasambhava then sang an insightful but rather long song, which I, the bard, have summarized as I feared it a trifle boring. He stated that, being cut off from the rest of the planet through circumstances both geographic and magical, he was unaware of the present calamity. Certainly, he would help Gesar in whatever way he could. That Manéné was aware and involved was, of course, useful. Even if she was just a bit irritating at times, still she was this world realm’s greatest sorcerer and would prove, no doubt, to be of great assistance. As for the rest of the team, who did Gesar think would be helpful and, after so many years and so many lives, how would they be found?

Gesar, who had not yet had a chance to sing, threatened me in an uncouth manner when I, the bard, said that I wanted to summarize his song as well. So, here it is.

 

The song goes Ala Ala Ala.

Thala brings the melody.

If you don’t recognize me,

I am Gesar, the supreme lion,

The tamer of beings,

And the leader of warriors.

To the Triple Gem, I supplicate.

To the gods above and below, I supplicate.

To the local spirits and demons, I supplicate.

Today, I ask all of you for aid.

Never in this world realm

Has such a force been reckoned with

Nor, brought on by ignorance,

Has such a horrendous karma

Been laid on so many innocents.

Unlike former times, when dramatic

Missions pitted us as enemies,

Now is the time of great concordance.

Now is the time of grand alliance.

As the ancient proverbs bespoke:

The start of a deed may be excellent,

But if the end brings no result, it has no meaning.

The year starts out with sowing excellent seeds,

But if the soil is barren, there will be no hay.

Now we are truly all for the other,

And the other must be first.

Now our bodhisattva vows are calling

And now we must act.

First to aid us is Gyatsha,

Strong and able he will be of great help.

Next is Drukmo, beautiful and tactful,

Then, Ne’uchung, unmatched in brilliance,

And last, Michung whose discerning mind

And eloquence are beyond compare.

Perhaps we will need more warriors,

But with these four, and you Padma, and Manéné,

We will meet and start our campaign.

First we will find these true warriors

Using the skillful means so common

In this strange and frightening present day.

Though we are strong, we have no plan—

It is not through strength alone we win,

But cunning, insight, and strategy

Will bring us to victory at last.

May the gods help us in our quest,

May the strength of our will prevail,

And the compassion of our true hearts

Find glory in the hard days to come.

If these words resonate in your skull

It is good for all.

If not, then hope must be abandoned.

 

Thus Gesar sang and Padma and he sat for a while until both, grasping the challenge, began to form plans and, invoking the great space between thoughts, they summoned Manéné. She appeared instantly, and then the three sat, seated around the great mahogany desk, discussing the situation in detail. Manéné had given up the bee costume and came in her usual garb as a dakini dressed in white feathers and lace. She arrived on a grand, winged turquoise horse accompanied by five equally striking ladies similarly dressed and astride magical steeds. As soon as Manéné took her seat the other dakinis and their horses dissolved back into the vast space from whence they had come.

Padmasambhava began, “We are here, as you both know, to attempt to help with this current pandemic. We are all, I must say, a bit rusty in terms of dealing with the present day cultures. When last we all met, there was no ‘new world’ for the ‘old world’ to infect.”

Manéné, with her white feathers ruffled, interjected, “You can, this once, speak for yourself. I, for one, have been out and about these last thousand years. And while the two of you have, no doubt, at least in your own minds, contributed to the overall good of the universe, I have had the more mundane task of relating to life here on earth. So, in this situation, as in dramas long past, it will be up to me to bring skillful means to bear upon this outbreak.”

Gesar added, “I think that Manéné is right. Certainly, I have been completely out of this world’s loop for so long that I barely recognize a thing about it. New countries, Tibet gone, iron birds flying (at least until recently), all this and so much more that I have been oblivious to. I must admit that I am somewhat ashamed of my distance at this time of need. Whatever help you, Manéné, can give us will be greatly appreciated. First, I think we need to locate our warrior force, bring it together, and come up with a plan. How are we going to accomplish that?”

Manéné responded, “It turns out that Ne’uchung and Michung are both doctors living in the United States: Ne’uchung is a geneticist and Michung, well, has been mainly an administrator although he does have advanced training in infectious disease which should be helpful. While I have not been in contact with either of them for centuries, I do have their cellphone numbers and can text them, though whether either of them will believe it is me and answer, we will just have to wait and see. As for Gyatsha, well that is another matter altogether.”

Padma was taken back, “What, have you lost him? Did he die for real this time? Has his mind been taken over by his own arrogance, as it seemed it might? Tell us quickly what you know.”

“Surprisingly, it was not his arrogance or pride that was his undoing, nor was it passion, lust, or envy.” Manéné said, “Just good old ignorance and sloth took our poor Gyatsha away. Last I heard, he had abandoned Atlantic City and was in Bali, living in a resort and not doing much of anything other than basking in the sun, drinking, and enjoying the native sights and sounds. From all accounts, it might be difficult to pluck him from his tropical paradise.”

Gesar urged, “We are going to have to try at least. How about I head to Bali while the two of you contact Ne’uchung and Michung and we all meet. Manéné, do you have any ideas about where we should meet?”

“Hmm, perhaps Madison, Wisconsin would be best,” she answered. “It is central and Ne’uchung is already there and if we need to go somewhere else, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Padmasambhava spoke up, “Sounds like a plan. Gesar, how much time do you need to get Gyatsha and meet us?”

Gesar answered, “Give me two days and I will be there, Gyatsha in tow if necessary. And we will be able to get those cool phones too, right?”

 

 

Chapter Four

 

Gyatsha indeed was enjoying the sun, and the drinks were far more delicious than the chang he used to drink in the cold Tibetan nights. The virus had decimated the tourism trade in Bali, as it had in so many other places, though this he didn’t particularly mind. The grand resort where he had been living had allowed him to stay on as they were keeping on a skeleton crew and, as long as he kept to his cabana and cooked for himself, which he pretty much did anyway, they had no reason to kick him out. He had his books and his internet to keep him busy. He read mostly detective and adventure novels, and kept abreast of the pandemic sweeping most of the world but, blissfully, not as yet, his own.

He was finishing up his usual lunch of fresh fruit and yogurt, thinking how incredible the Balinese fruit was, compared again to the cold Tibetan plateau, where fruit was as rare as a visible constellation in the daylight. Such a quaint metaphor from his childhood was running through his brain when he heard a loud cracking, thundering sound just outside his cabana. The cabana itself shook and his next thought was along the lines of, “The virus may not kill me but this earthquake or volcano surely will.” This thought was accompanied by the thought that all thousand-year-old people have when confronted by their imminent mortality, “Well, it’s probably about time, though surprisingly I still don’t feel quite ready.” The shaking stopped and, noticing that he was still alive, Gyatsha went out to his veranda to have a look around. He noted a dark complexioned man with black hair and two long braids flowing down his back. The man’s haughty air pulled at Gyatsha’s brain as it fought for recollection. Then, as he caught sight of the dzi beads and turquoise vajras knitted into the braids he called out, “Gesar!” running over to embrace him.

The two men held each other for a long moment and then, stepping back, Gesar, with a sense of urgency, spoke, “I myself have been vacillating between the formless realm and space itself, engaged in deep meditation and attempting to develop the perfect blend of emptiness and compassion. In this state and from quite a distance, I was gazing at the great green earth and saw the pandemic spreading across the globe, like the sunrise illuminating the earth in the morning or the spread of darkness as the sun retreats at night. This not being a time for inaction, I went for counsel to Amitabha and then to Chamara where Padma and Manéné and I came up with a plan. And you, Gyatsha, are a vital part of the plan; your strength and courage are essential to our success and in turn our success is vital to saving the species. I know that there are good arguments for letting the humans pass, yet our compassion must lead us to try to help.”

Looking deeply into the eyes of his friend and compatriot, Gyatsha responded in song.

 

The song begins with Ala Ala Ala.

Thala brings the melody.

Though this is a great time of sorrow,

My heart fills with joy and cheer.

Seeing you, my friend, after these years

Is as bracing as diving into

A Tibetan winter lake.

I bow down to the gods above and below.

May mind reach its own blissful state.

If you don’t recognize this place,

It is Bali, a realm certainly of the gods.

If you don’t recognize me, I am

Gyatsha, long ago a great warrior,

But, truth be told, my compassion ran

Dry as an unfed oasis in the desert sun.

For centuries I have merely existed,

Never progressing, never dying,

Merely surviving as year followed year.

My memories kept alive for no reason.

Breath followed breath for no reason.

Each day I arose and thought of you

And our many battles and victories.

But, the memories were hollow—

You were gone and I could not go on

To find a purpose or direction.

So as history unfolded around me

I contributed nothing but hot air

And a prodigious amount of scat.

But now you, my half-brother, have returned.

Certainly the world needs you now

And, while it has in the past as well,

Now is the time of its greatest battle.

I pray you are here to enlist me.

If you think I would take much persuading,

You are sorely mistaken.

Those of us, the few long-lived ones

From the high Tibetan Plateau,

Who fought and strategized with you

Are forever in your kindly debt.

We would never forsake you

Nor not follow you on a quest for good.

Though many years are long past,

We remain true to the great king,

The one who united and ruled Tibet,

Conquering demons from four directions

And bringing peace and prosperity to all.

Lead the way and allow

My oaths to you to flourish.

 

After the song was over, Gesar, much relieved, responded, “My beloved and cherished brother, Gyatsha, your words fill me with hope. For centuries, it is true we have been apart and I, for my part, while not lounging on a pacific isle, also have done little to help tame this world’s suffering. I believed foolishly that, after Tibet was united and all seemed to get along, peace would follow for eons to come. Somehow, I thought that I had even read it, maybe in the red leather journal of the old mothers. But clearly that has not been the case. History repeats itself, in Tibet and elsewhere, manifesting an endless cycle of suffering and strife. As one day dawns or one era passes, a new day or new era is born, but this latest pandemic promises a birth unlike any before. It promises, in fact, a stillbirth, threatening the generally cognizant species of humans with extinction. You will come with me to the United States where much of the old crew is waiting and we will counsel until a grand solution is found. I am so happy to hear you willing. Just between you and me, Manéné was not so sure that I could convince you to leave this little bit of paradise. Let us eat and drink and in the morning we will be off.”