The Mountain Shadow (50 page)

He gave me a damp, spongy hug, shook hands with Abdullah, and waved as we walked the gravel path.

‘Come back any time!’ he called. ‘You’re always welcome! We show movies, on Wednesday nights! We serve ice-cold
firni
! And we dance, on Thursdays! I’m learning to dance. Can you believe it?’

Beside him, Tarun made new entries in his notebook.

At the first bend in the path we found Karla waiting for us. She was sitting on a fallen tree, and smoking a cigarette.

‘So, did you piss on his pilgrimage, Shantaram?’

‘You could’ve given me a little more warning, before I saw him,’ I said, feeling beaten by the truth. ‘What the hell happened to him?’

‘He got happy, more or less,’ she answered softly. ‘In his case, a little more than less.’

‘Are
you
happy to see him like this?’

They both stared at me.

‘Oh, come on!’

They continued to stare.

‘Okay, okay,’ I conceded. ‘Maybe . . . maybe I just want my friend back. Don’t you miss him?’

‘Khaled is here, Lin,’ Abdullah replied.

‘But –’

‘Save your breath for the climb,’ Karla said, heading back toward the path. ‘Do you gangsters ever shut up?’

We approached the ascent to the first caves, and she began to run at a slow jog. When we reached the steep climb she was still ahead of us.

As we struggled upwards, I couldn’t help staring at the sand-line curves of her body, contoured by the climb.

Men are dogs
, Didier once said to me,
without the manners
.

‘Are you staring at my ass?’ she asked.

‘Afraid so.’

‘Forgive him, Karla.’ Abdullah said to cover somebody’s embarrassment. ‘He simply stares, because you are climbing like an ape.’

Karla laughed, clutching at the vines on the path to hold her place. That big, true laugh rang through domes of branches risen with the cliff. She held her free hand out to Abdullah, warning him not to say another word until the laughter rushed away from her.

‘Thank you, Abdullah,’ she said at last.

‘Don’t mention.’

And laughing, and joking, we three exiles climbed the mountain that would change everything, for each of us, forever.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

W
HEN WE REACHED THE SUMMIT
there was just enough time to freshen up. Karla changed into a sky-blue
salwar kameez
, and joined us for the last of the lunch that had been served. As we finished, an announcement was made that Idriss was on the mountain. I looked back toward the steep slope, but everyone else turned to stare at the caves.

‘There’s another way up this mountain?’ I asked Karla.

‘There’s another way up every mountain,’ she purred. ‘Everybody knows that.’

‘O . . . kay.’

Within seconds an older man I assumed to be Idriss and a younger man, both of them wearing white kurta tops and loose, sky-blue calico pants, appeared on a path that led past the women’s cave. The younger man, a foreigner, carried a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

‘Who’s the gun?’

‘That’s Silvano,’ Karla replied.

‘What’s the rifle for?’

‘To frighten tigers away.’

‘There are tigers?’

‘Of course. On the next mountain.’

I wanted to ask how close the next mountain was, but Idriss spoke.

‘Dear friends,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘That’s quite a climb, even on the easy path. I apologise for being late. A squabble of philosophers set upon me this morning.’

His deep, gentle voice tumbled from his chest and hummed into the air. It seemed to roll around us on the mesa. It was a voice that comforts: a voice that could wake you softly from a nightmare.

‘What was their dilemma, master-
ji
?’ a student asked.

‘One of them,’ he replied, fishing a handkerchief from the pocket of his kurta and wiping his forehead, ‘had produced an argument to prove that happiness was the greatest of all evils. The others couldn’t defeat his argument. So, naturally, they became desperately unhappy. They wanted me to relieve them of their distress by refuting the argument.’

‘Did you do it, Idriss?’ another student asked.

‘Of course. But it took forever. Would anyone but philosophers fight so hard against the proposition that happiness is a good thing? And then, when their minds were convinced that happiness was a good thing, the sudden surge of all their pent-up happiness was too much for them. They lost control. Has anyone here seen hysterical philosophers?’

The students looked around at one another.

‘No?’ Idriss prodded. ‘Just as well. And there’s a lesson. The more slender your grip on reality, the more dangerous the world becomes. On the other hand, the more rational the world you find yourself in, the more carefully it must be questioned. But enough of that, let’s get started. Gather around, and get comfortable.’

The devotees and students brought stools and chairs, ranging them in a semicircle around Idriss, who lowered himself gently into an easy chair. The young man with the rifle, Silvano, sat a little behind Idriss and to his right. He sat on a hard wooden stool, his back rigid and his eyes passing back and forth among us. Very often his eyes stopped on me.

Abdullah leaned in to speak to me.

‘The Italian with the rifle, Silvano, is watching you,’ he whispered, with a little flick of his head.

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention,’ he replied gravely.

‘I see that we have a new visitor to our little study group,’ Idriss said, looking at me.

I turned to see if he wasn’t staring at someone behind me.

‘It’s a pleasure to have you with us, Lin. Khaderbhai spoke of you quite often, and I’m very glad you could come.’

Everyone turned to look at me. They smiled and nodded, welcoming me. I looked back at the holy man, resisting the temptation to say that Khaderbhai, for all the many conversations on philosophy we’d shared, had never once mentioned Idriss to me.

‘Tell us, Lin,’ he asked, smiling widely, ‘are you looking for enlightenment?’

‘I didn’t know anyone lost it,’ I replied.

It wasn’t exactly rude, but it wasn’t as respectful of the famous teacher’s dignity as it should’ve been. Silvano bristled, clutching reflexively at the barrel of the rifle.

‘Please, Master,’ he said, his deep voice riffling spiky malice. ‘Allow me to enlighten him.’

‘Put the rifle down, Romeo,’ I replied, ‘and we’ll find out who sees the light first.’

Silvano had a lightly muscled, athletic frame and moved it gracefully. Square-jawed and square-shouldered, with soft brown eyes and an expressive mouth, he looked more like an Italian fashion model or movie star than a holy man’s acolyte, or so it seemed to me then.

I didn’t know why he didn’t like me. Maybe the cuts and bruises on my face made him think he had to prove something. I didn’t care: I was so angry at Khaled and Fate that any fight would do.

Silvano stood. I stood. Idriss waved his right hand gently. Silvano sat, and I slowly sat down again.

‘Please forgive Silvano,’ Idriss said gently. ‘Loyalty is his way of loving. I think the same might be said of you, isn’t it so?’

Loyalty. Lisa and I couldn’t find a way to be in love with each other. I was in love with Karla, a woman who was married to someone else. I’d resigned my heart from the brotherhood of the Sanjay Company, and had a conversation about murdering Sanjay in the same day. Loyalty is something you need for things you don’t love enough. When you love enough, loyalty isn’t even a question.

Everyone was staring at me.

‘Sorry, Silvano, rough decade,’ I said.

‘Good. Very good,’ Idriss said. ‘Now, I want, no, I
need
you two boys to be friends. So, I will ask you to come here, both of you, in front of me, and shake hands with one another. Bad vibrations will not help us move toward enlightenment, will they, boys?’

Silvano’s square jaw clenched on his reluctance, but he stood up quickly and took a step to stand before Idriss. His left hand held the rifle. His right hand was free.

A foolish impulse to resist being told what to do held me in place. The students began to murmur, their hushed voices buzzing between them. Idriss looked at me. He seemed to be suppressing a smile. His brown eyes glittered, more brilliant than the jewels in Khaled’s attic.

Silvano squirmed, anger and humiliation pressing his lips together hard. White ridges formed around his mouth.

I didn’t care, in that empty instant. The Italian had started it, by asking for permission to enlighten me. I was happy to show him some lights of my own. And I was happy to leave the mountain, the sage, Abdullah and Karla, that minute.

Karla slammed an elbow into my ribs. I stood, and shook hands with Silvano. He made a contest of it.

‘Thank you,’ Idriss said at last, and we released our knuckle-crushing grip. ‘That was . . . enlightening. Now, take your places, and let’s get started.’

I returned to my chair. Abdullah was shaking his head slowly. Karla hissed a single word at me.

‘
Idiot!
’

I tried to frown, but couldn’t, because she was right.

‘Okay,’ Idriss said, his eyes glittering. ‘For the benefit of our visitor, what is Rule Number One?’

‘Rule Number One – there are no gurus!’ the entire group responded, quickly and firmly.

‘And Rule Number Two?’

‘Rule Number Two – you are your own guru!’

‘And Rule Number Three?’

‘Rule Number Three – never surrender the freedom of your mind.’

‘And Rule Number Four?’

‘Rule Number Four – inform your mind with everything, without prejudice!’

‘Okay, okay,’ Idriss laughed. ‘That’s enough. Personally, I don’t like rules. They’re like the
map
of a place, rather than the place itself. But I know some people do like rules, and need them, so there you are. Four more damn rules. Maybe Rule Number Five, if you get there, should be
There are no rules
.’

The group laughed with him, settling more comfortably on their stools and chairs.

Idriss was something more than seventy years old. Although he walked with the help of a long staff, his thin but healthy frame was flexible. From time to time he crossed his legs effortlessly on the easy chair, without the assistance of his hands.

His curly, grey hair was cut close to the scalp, throwing all of the attention to his eloquent brown eyes, the magnificent swoop of his hooked nose, and the swollen crest and quiver of his dark, full lips.

‘If I recall correctly, Karla,’ he began softly, ‘our last discussion was on the subject of obedience. Is that right?’

‘It is, master-
ji
.’

‘Please, Karla, and all of you. We are one searching mind here, and one heart in friendship. Call me Idriss, as I also call you by your names. Now, tell us your opinion on the subject, Karla, finally.’

Karla looked back at the teacher, her eyes a forest on fire.

‘You really wanna know, Idriss?’

‘Of course.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. Adore me. Worship me. Obey me.
Me, Me, Me
, that’s all God ever says.’

The students gasped, but Idriss laughed with open delight.

‘Ha! And now you see, my young seekers after wisdom, why I so highly prize Karla’s opinion!’

The students murmured among themselves.

Karla stood, walked to the edge of the mesa, and lit a cigarette. She stared out at the surrounding hills and valleys. I knew why she’d left. She was uncomfortable with being told that she was right; she’d rather be considered clever or funny, even if she was wrong.

‘Adoration is submission,’ Idriss said. ‘All religions, like all kingdoms, require you to submit, and obey. Of all the tens of thousands of faiths that have existed since the beginning of human time, only those that could enforce obedience have survived. And when obedience decays, the devotion that depended on it becomes as remote as the once great religion of Zeus, Apollo, and Venus, which for so long ruled all the world it knew.’

‘But, Idriss, are you saying we should be proud, and not obedient?’ a young man asked.

‘No, I’m not. Of course not,’ Idriss replied softly. ‘And you’re quite right to raise the point, Arjun. What I’m saying has nothing to do with pride. There is much to be gained by lowering your head and falling to your knees once in every while. None of us should ever be so proud that we cannot fall on our knees and admit that we do not know everything, and that we are not the centre of the universe, and that there are things for which we should be justly ashamed, and also happily grateful. Do you agree?’