Veiled Eyes

 A septuagenarian monk in his seventies alighted from the hut. He was a wizened face, an emaciated body, hollow stomach, revealing ribs one could count by numbers, cheek like cave under jagged cliff, clad in loin clothes. He grinned at Awanti. Awanti disengaged herself from Siddhartha and scurried past him to the monk. The monk knelt down, touched her feet and bowed own. Siddhartha watched the weird behavior in disbelief. The monk rose and greeted Siddhartha clasping two hands. ‘I was expecting you. I have prepared lunch for you two, he said. Siddhartha stood astounded. ‘Come in, we will sit and talk inside, he suggested and pulled the door open for them to slip in. ‘Are you clairvoyant? Can you foresee things? How did you get to know about our arrival in advance? We didn’t speak about it to anyone, Siddhartha expressed his surprise. The elderly monk gave a wry smile. ‘Perhaps, telepathically! I hope you educated fellow understand those terms. ‘So her mother wants her to enter monkshood.The choice cannot be any better for her. Ilooked for some intelligent disciple to carry on after me. I have to pass on knowledge that my Guru bestowed on me before departing to someone capable of holding them. In these seventy-six years of earthly dwelling I didn’t fi nd one. I was afraid I would depart without passing them to anyone and that would break the chain, he said. ‘Do you fi nd the person in her one you were looking for, Siddhartha asked? ‘Yes, you can’t plumb her depth. She is a consciousness and not a body. This consciousness is a continuum. The intelligence is not a cerebral phenomenon. It is far above that. It is the nucleus of the consciousness’ the monk preached. ‘All people are one and same. They owe their birth and death to one and same root. Everyone takes turn. The Guru becomes disciple and the disciple becomes Guru. The drain goes to river and the river comes to drain. You spit on drain and take holy dip in river. One who recognizes this identifi es the right path. He neither spits on drain nor does take holy dip in river. Awanti is a glaring example, he said. That startled Siddhartha. ‘You are talking in riddles. How is Awanti an example to corroborate your theory of equality, Siddhartha asked? ‘Over the last sixty years she was my Guru. Now she is going to be my disciple, he laid bare the secret. Siddhartha looked askance at his face. ‘But how do you prove it, Siddhartha asked? ‘You won’t understand it even if I explain you in simplest possible terms. Tell me, since how long has this four year old girl known you? ‘Barely a week, Siddhartha replied. She lost her mother, left behind her fl esh and blood and traveled all the way from Sri Lanka with a stranger, yes! In these seven days did you notice sense of loss, pain, anguish or any sign of anxiety in her? Did she cry, weep for mother, long to go back? ‘No, Siddhartha replied. What better proof can there be than this, the monk said condescendingly. ‘She is not what you think she is. She is my Guru turned disciple, he affi rmed. ‘But why would a Guru need to relearn a knowledge he gave you, Siddhartha asked? ‘That’s the law of cosmos. The tree has been a seed before growing into a tree. It has to go back to the seed after it outlives its tree life. The seed has to grow into a tree to bear fruits. It can’t say I have been a fruit and why would I want to bear fruits. Every sentient being has to follow the cosmic law, the monk explained to Siddhartha. ‘Awanti was my Guru. She is my disciple. Four years from now my Guru came to my vision and said that he would reincarnate to carry on his knowledge. He solved my pursuit for an ideal disciple. She is perfectly born. She is above attachment of human emotions. She is born on the wrong side of blanket. My Guru chose to be born that way. To you it may look that Ahilya is exploited. It was her choice. The rape set her redemption, th elderly monk said. Siddhartha had already surrendered himself to confusion. He has suspended his reasoning faculty of mind. He would receive everything as they come and apply no reasoning. The monk rose and went in. He came with a tray carrying rice bowls and vegetable curry. They ate together. Awanti looked jubilant. Siddhartha looked at his watch. It was 5 PM. He took leave of the elderly monk clasping his two hands. He caressed Awanti’s head and bid adieu. Siddhartha gave a fi nal look to Awanti before parting. She was waving her hands and smiling. Tears jerked in Siddhartha’s eyes. ‘You don’t need to go back with heavy heart and tearful eyes.You have been chosen for this day. Even if you shed torrents of tear, Awanti’s smile will not be washed away from her face. It is a reunion of the Guru and the disciple. You can’t fathom the joy oozing out of our hearts, the monk said.