Coattail Karma

by Verlin Darrow

  “Yes,” Bhante responded. “We have been chatting while we waited for you.”

  “I told them some of my best jokes,” Chris said. “And then I had to explain them. This is a tough crowd.”

  “Are you here all week?” I asked.

  “Yes. Don’t forget to tip your waitress,” he said.

  Bhante watched us with a gentle smile. My brothers looked confused. Jason was still out of it in his wooden roost. I was surprised that no one had made an effort to rescue him, although it probably would have taken at least three strong men to pull him out.

  I sat down next to Chris and faced the Kasriti Sanganika contingent.

  “You’re glowing,” Chris whispered to me. “Don’t be touching me too. Did you get bitten by a radioactive spider?”

  “So what’s the plan?” I asked Bhante. “What happens next?”

  “First of all,” the robe-clad older man said, “congratulations, Sid. Clearly, you are the one we have all been waiting for. Your current energy signature validates our earlier confidence in you.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t much care what he thought, but I didn’t need to be rude.

  “We will introduce you to the world at the tooth festival,” he added.

  “The tooth festival?” Chris asked.

  “In Kandy, Sri Lanka,” Bhante told Chris. “It’s a sacred event for Therevada Buddhists. Think of it. Buddha’s tooth.” He pivoted to face me. “Sid, perhaps you will be able to demonstrate your energy abilities during the relic parade. The world’s eyes will be on us.”

  I had no idea if I could summon and release energy on a grand enough scale to impress serious Buddhists. Bhante was still studying me, awaiting a response, so I shrugged.

  Bhante continued talking. “Or perhaps I’ll simply vouch for you as Buddha’s clone. I am well known in my homeland, although I have not been there for many years. My appearance alone will garner attention. The unveiling of Buddha’s toe bone—the source of your birth—will ensure that your introduction to the Theravadan community will not pass unnoticed. Our irrefutable provenance all the way back to his son—this cannot be denied. Thus, our movement will be launched one way or another.”

  I nodded, but the idea that you could prove the origin of something that was 2500 years old sounded ridiculous to me.

  “These are exciting times,” the Sri Lankan added.

  I nodded again. I don’t think I was excited enough to suit Bhante. “That sounds good,” I tried. He perked up a bit.

  “Tom has been to film school,” Bhante said.

  “UCLA,” Tom said. I felt like asking him to sing his alma mater or tell me who the quarterback was.

  “So he’ll videotape the proceedings and post them on YouTube and other sites,” Bhante said.

  “Great idea!” Chris said. “I can do the voiceover narration. I’m really good at faking sincerity and authenticity. And it might be fun if I used a Bugs Bunny voice.”

  Once again, Chris’s sense of humor missed the mark with his target audience. I wished I could yell, “Cut!” and we could re-film Chris’s takes.

  “Would you be willing to entertain questions?” Bhante asked me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “What is the nature of your relationship with Jackson?” He leaned forward in anticipation.

  I looked at Chris, who pointed to himself. He was still passing himself off as Jackson.

  “We’re like brothers,” I told Bhante. “We’re very close.” I’m not sure why I settled on this characterization.

  “How is this so?” Bhante asked. “Didn’t you just meet?”

  I shrugged again.

  Bhante addressed another question to me. “Who is the older man who was with you in New Zealand? Is that Mr. Jackson?”

  I pondered how to respond. I felt like confessing at this point, but I decided to just let things unfold.

  Bhante leaned back and watched my face. “That’s fine. I’m certainly not entitled to know anything you don’t care to share.”

  “True dat,” Chris said.

  “But I think perhaps the other man is Marco—who also uses the name Jackson. Why do we need to deceive each other?” Bhante asked.

  This pissed me off. Who the hell was he to talk about integrity? “That’s a good question,” I said with heat. “Tell me why you misrepresented my birth brothers as clones. That’s clearly a much bigger lie.”

  “They are clones!” Jason bellowed. He started to rise from his broken bench slat, his fists clenched.

  Bhante held his hand up to the giant Maori, and Jason calmed down. It was a bit like a dog trainer employing a hand signal to control a pit bull.

  “Perhaps it’s time to reveal our deception,” Bhante said to me. “You’re right. There are no clones. You and Jal and Raj are triplets. We believed you needed to think you were a physical copy of the Buddha or you wouldn’t be willing to accept your calling. Our understanding was that if we went ahead and represented you as a world teacher to the media, you would be loath to cooperate unless you yourself had already accepted this as the truth. So we employed an elaborate ruse to convince you of your special status. There was no time to take a gradual approach to help you let go of your old ideas about yourself. The festival is almost upon us.”

  I frowned and worked to control my anger. “That doesn’t compute. There’s got to be more to it than that. Look at how elaborate all this has been. No one goes to this much trouble and spends this much money just to convince one person that something is so.”

  “They do if they’re religious fanatics,” Chris said. “Trust me, these people are. They think you’re going to be the next Jesus. It’s a whatever-it-takes-to-get-the-job-done deal, bro.”

  My eyes hadn’t strayed from Bhante’s. “And the raid on the cave?” I asked. “Did you lie about that as well?”

  Bhante nodded. “Please forgive me if this was a misjudgment that has caused you suffering, Sid. We felt it was important to create a bonding experience. Working as a team on a dangerous task is an excellent method to achieve this.”

  “A ropes course,” Chris said. “Without the ropes.”

  “We could’ve been killed,” I pointed out.

  Bhante nodded, conceding the point.

  “Do you realize how traumatic these experiences have been?” I asked in a loud voice. I’m sure my anger was evident now. “You kidnapped me, for God’s sake. And a bystander too. And you attacked the core of my personal identity. Forget the cliff. Do you have any idea how harrowing this shit is? Do you?” Now I was shouting.

  Bhante leaned away from me and nodded. I didn’t see any remorse on his face, but at least he wasn’t trying to justify his behavior now.

  I continued, with more heat than ever. “You launched a series of other painful events, as well. I was held at gunpoint, I almost drowned, and I was attacked by thugs several days later. All of this stemmed from your decision to use me for your organization’s own ends—however noble or ignoble they might be. I think you’ve betrayed the Buddhist values that the title ‘Bhante’ stands for. I think you deserve no respect or cooperation whatsoever.” I paused for breath and assessed Bhante’s reaction.

  He’d leaned back, and he held his face rigid except for his eyebrows, which must’ve been up at the top of their range when he froze. Probably no one has spoken to him like this in a long time.

  “Nevertheless,” I said a bit more calmly, “I will work with you—on my terms. But if there’s any more deception or violence, I’m out. If Jason loses his temper again, I’m out. If ‘Tom’ and ‘Charles’ don’t start acting like Raj and Jal—or whoever they really are—I’m out. If you piss me off with another smarmy, self-serving rationalization, I’m out. My cooperation is conditional. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Bhante said in a small voice, looking over my shoulder into space.

  We sat there in pause mode for a while. I think I’d released energy as well as words, but I still wasn’t directly experiencing anything in th
at realm. The absence of energy phenomenon was like a deep ache.

  “Who’s your boss?” Chris finally asked Bhante. “Who really runs the show?”

  “I cannot say,” Bhante replied to me, as if I’d asked. “I have taken a sacred vow.”

  I cocked an eyebrow, and he flinched as though I’d raised a fist.

  “I agree to the end of deception,” he said hurriedly, “but I cannot tell you everything you would like to know. This would represent a betrayal that would serve none of us.”

  “What’s your interest in RGP?” I asked.

  “Again, it would not be wise to reveal this. Let’s just say that Samavati was swept up in events.”

  I stood up. “Let’s just say that you’re screwing around again. This is your last warning. Shall I walk away right now?”

  “Point taken,” Bhante said. “I actually don’t know the answer to your question. We may or may not have an interest in Samavati and RGP.”

  I turned and began to walk away.

  “Wait! Wait!” Bhante called. “It’s true. I’m just accustomed to…well, sounding wise. It’s hard for me to say, ‘I don’t know.’ But in this case, I truly don’t.”

  I could sense that he was telling the truth now. I strode back and sat down.

  “So let’s talk about logistics,” I said. “Are you providing transportation and housing for myself and my contingent—to Sri Lanka, I mean?”

  “We get huffy when he calls us his entourage,” Chris said.

  “Are we including the real Marco as well?” Bhante asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think so. And maybe a nice beagle.”

  “A nice one?” Jason asked. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Bhante said. “We’ll need to leave in three days’ time in any case.”

  “All right,” I said. “Now I think I need a bathroom. Right away. Is there an Indian version of Montezuma’s Revenge?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. We call it Delhi Belly,” Raj/Tom answered. “You haven’t been drinking beverages with ice cubes in them, have you? People forget about that.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  He pointed to a nearby building. I sprinted to the bathroom and almost made it in time.

  Chapter Twenty

  I became very familiar with the—thank God—Western-style toilets at the pilgrim center. The next morning, while other visitors toured the Baba-significant sites in the area—his home across town, his favorite meditation spot, the Meher Baba Trust library in the city—I lay on my cot, visited the bathroom, and made minor forays around the grounds.

  I didn’t feel as deathly ill as when I’d suffered food poisoning a few years earlier, but whatever the bacteria were up to was a lot worse than ordinary diarrhea. When Marco returned from wherever he had been, he told me he could cure me, but that instead I needed to crap out toxins and release non-spiritual energy. I’d be much better off after I’d gone through it, he said. Apparently, my physical system was undergoing an updating to become better able to house and support the new energy. Intestines 2.0—the sequel.

  Anyway, Marco disappeared after telling me that. Chris reported he’d taken a taxi to run errands in the city, but neither of us knew exactly what that meant.

  Bhante and his people took off shortly after our meeting, precluding my getting to know my brothers for who they really were. I’d been looking forward to that. Raj—who said he really was named Raj—said that he’d email Chris our trip itinerary to Kandy once he’d made the arrangements from the Sri Lankan end. Jal—who was Jal—shook my hand and told me that I was a trouper and a good sport. Jason apologized for his latest outburst before he left with the others. It was obvious that his energy had shifted in response to what I’d sent when we shook hands.

  I didn’t see Burt, but I heard he’d decided to stay at the center for a while. He was reputed to be very grateful for my energetic help.

  The men’s dorm, a long, narrow room with two rows of mosquito-netted cots, was basic, but given that we were paying the equivalent of eighteen dollars a night, I could hardly complain. A row of small, high windows on one wall faced a series of black and white photos of Baba on the opposite wall. He’d sported various looks through the years—he’d been fairly dashing in the 1930s, for example.

  There were a few simple pieces of wooden furniture, most notably a foot locker at the foot of each bed. The lighting was adequate. The temperature? Very hot.

  That afternoon, I was able to sit on a bench in the square courtyard in the middle of the center and carry on a conversation with Chris. It was a well-tended garden area, with brick walkways, several small shade trees, and a pergola covered with passionflower vines. We sat under it, but it was still hot enough that most everyone else chose to lounge on the big porch in front of the building or sack out in their dorm rooms.

  “So how are you doing?” I asked Chris after I’d filled him in on my recent adventures. “Is all this okay with you?”

  “Sure. I’m flexible. I miss Karma, though.”

  “Do you think she’d like it here?” I hadn’t thought about Chris’s dog for quite a while.

  “Naw. It’s too hot here.” He shook his big head, flicking sweat onto my cheek.

  “What do you make of Marco, Chris?” I asked.

  “I dunno. He’s got all these powers and he’s kind of a fun guy, but there’s something off about him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m in no position to judge him. Don’t get me wrong. But sometimes I get this vibe that the whole thing’s a performance—a way he’s decided to act—for whatever reason somebody like Marco does things. I mean, I’m grateful for how he’s helped me—between answering questions and sending me energy, I’m certainly way cooler now—but I’m still wondering how it’s all going to turn out.”

  “Me too,” I said. I adjusted my position to get the glare from a window out of my face. It was an effort.

  “I don’t mean in terms of what’ll happen overall,” Chris clarified. “I mean in terms of who Marco turns out to be—what he’ll do. Most people, I know what to expect. I trust them, or I don’t. I can count on them, or I can’t. I guess I’m operating strictly from a working hypothesis with Marco. There’s enough circumstantial evidence to assume he’s the real deal, so I keep going with that. But there’s no absolute proof, and maybe there can’t be. I dunno. The jury’s still out. And he hasn’t really told me what my role is supposed to be. Why drag me all the way here?” He paused and looked me in the eye. “What about you?”

  “As things have unfolded, I’ve had to go back and forth a few times about Marco,” I said. “Lately,” I continued, “I feel confident Marco is a good guy. In my case, he’s been orchestrating all kinds of wonderful, heart-opening experiences. How can I look that gift horse in the mouth? And without Marco, there would be no Lannie or Faroud or all the rest. Basically, I’d still be a schmo therapist thinking that spiritual energy was a New-Age conceit.”

  What little of my energy was left ebbed away as I spoke. I was groggy, and I could barely focus my vision. I needed to get back in bed; Chris walked me back, and I fell asleep on my bed in about two seconds.

  I woke up to find Sam standing beside my cot. “You’re here!” I croaked. “You’re really okay.”

  Before she could reply, a tall male wearing a doctor’s white coat stepped in front of her, nodded to me curtly, and turned his back to speak to Sam and Marco. In his late fifties, he looked a bit like an Indian Richard Gere—if Richard Gere had just been told that his dog had died. His face seemed to be set in a permanently mournful expression.

  “Where is the record of Mr. Menk’s vaccinations?”

  I resented his intrusion into our reunion, but I was too weak to protest, having expended all my available energy on my first words.

  “We didn’t get any,” Sam told him. She stepped to the side and beamed at me. My heart lightened as though I’d shed some
encrusted casing.

  Sam wore a plain white T-shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops. She’d tied her hair back into a ponytail, and without framing, her bone structure stood out. I loved her high cheekbones. I loved the way her face gleamed with an inner light. My freed heart throbbed with love, almost painfully.

  “Why didn’t you get vaccinations?” the doctor asked. “This is very foolish. We have cholera, yellow fever, typhoid. And for malaria, all you need are inexpensive pills. Why wouldn’t you do these simple things?”

  Sam’s kind, loving expression didn’t change. “Our travel agent didn’t mention it, and we never planned to be overseas, anyway.”

  “This is confusing nonsense,” the doctor said. He turned to Marco. “What do you have to say?”

  “I think we need to focus on the here and now,” Marco said, “not what wasn’t done in the past. Can you help him?”

  “Oh, I very much doubt it.”

  “Why not?” I asked, more loudly than I intended to.

  “Ah, good,” the doctor said, pivoting to face me. “You’re gathering strength. My name is Dr. Kadam. I’m the Trust physician.”

  “Why can’t you help me? Do I have one of those horrible diseases? Am I going to die?”

  I felt feverish, and the turn the conversation had taken catalyzed all sorts of emotions that competed with love. One second, my gut clenched in fear. Then angry energy shot up from my chest into my head. Then I loved everybody.

  “I can’t help you,” the doctor said, “because you aren’t ill—you don’t have any of those diseases. But you should’ve gotten your shots. I must insist on administering them as soon as you are well enough to tolerate them.”

  “So it’s kundalini?” Marco asked.

  “Yes,” the doctor replied. “The sudden release of kundalini energy plays havoc on the G.I. tract. We see this here frequently. Baba’s tomb awakens the serpent that lies asleep at the base of the spine. Then it travels upward, and we have this. The diarrhea and fever usually last a day or two, and then things calm down.”

  “So I’m okay?” I asked.

  “Tip-top,” Dr. Kadam said. “It’s just too much for your system at first. But it’s a blessing—Baba’s blessing.”