The War of the Realms

by C Steven Meldrum

  each student to understand this truth so they might become immortal. “His students muttered among themselves and said they did not

  understand him. So, the rishi told them a story.

  “Once the demon hoards from the realm of the Asuras laid siege at the

  very gates of Heaven. The jealousy, corruption and greed of the demi-gods led

  them to the blessed isle where they thought to take by force what they could

  not achieve by prayer and meditation.

  “The Devas rallied the strength of Heaven and won a great battle against

  the Asuras. They did not realise, however that it was the Supreme God Vishnu

  who handed them victory. In unabashed ignorance, pride and conceit the

  Devas declared they had won the war by their own strength. This angered

  Vishnu who thought to cure them of their pride, and so appeared before them

  in the guise of a bent old man with a long trailing beard. He hid his true identity

  but could not hide his power and magnificence and although the Devas could

  not say who it was, they knew him for a powerful being and wanted to find

  out who he was.

  “Agni, the god of fire, volunteered first to try to find out who the old man

  was. When Agni approached him, Vishnu asked, ‘Who are you?’ to which

  Agni replied: ‘I am Agni, the god of fire. I am all powerful and I know all

  there is to know! And who, may I ask are you, for we can see you are not

  simply an old man.’ The Supreme Being laughed and said: ‘Look, here is a

  blade of grass. I will tell you who I am if you show me your power and burn

  it, if you can!’ ‘Too easy!’ said Agni and called upon all his might to shrivel

  the blade of grass. He tried until the light upon Heaven was low in the sky and

  the shadows cast by Mt Kailash were long. Try as he did however, the blade

  of grass was as green and unburnt as it was when the old man presented it to

  him. He hung his head in shame and bade the old man farewell. Returning to

  the Devas he admitted his defeat.

  “Next to test his wits against the old man was Vayu, the wind god. As

  Vayu approached him, Vishnu asked, ‘Who are you?’ to which Vayu replied

  ‘I am Vayu, the god of the winds. I can summon mighty forces; cyclones,

  hurricanes, blizzards, tempest and the forces of the coriolis storm to sweep all

  away before me!’ ‘I see,’ replied the old man. ‘Can you sweep away this blade

  of grass?’ ‘No trouble!’ replied Vayu. He called on his tremendous powers

  and might to sweep the blade of grass away, yet it did not move a fraction of

  an inch. After much time was spent, Vayu too, bowed to the old man and

  returned to the Devas with head bowed in failure.

  “Then, in desperation, the Devas asked their King, Indra, to talk to the

  old man and ascertain by his arts the true identity of this enigmatic being. He

  agreed and walked through the gardens of Heaven in search of the old man.

  Instead, Indra came upon a beautiful woman sitting before a fountain and bade

  her tell him where the old man was. She was Uma, the Golden Goddess,

  personification of light and beauty, daughter of the mountains and of Heaven.

  Uma told him; ‘You call yourselves gods? You are less than fools! It was none

  other than Vishnu, the Supreme Being. He won the battle against the Asuras

  for you but in your pride and ignorance you have shown yourselves less worthy than the Tiryag-yoni. He has taught you how worthless you are without

  His grace. He has cured you of your pride!’

  “On hearing this, the Devas realised their folly and begged to be forgiven.

  They bowed down low in humility and were rewarded for their abjuration.” “The rishi said to his students, ‘Thus from humility comes respect and

  from understanding comes wisdom and from study comes knowledge. Neither

  is adequate alone as the honourable man knows. Go and learn your object in

  life; for God is Truth. Do not make the mistake of the Devas and think you

  know all there is to know. All you will achieve is ignorance and sorrow.’”

  We stood at the top of a mountain before a mighty stupa. The landscape stretched away to infinity and I saw many paths leading along different trails. I thought about those words the Sera Ngari live by: Strength and Honour.

  “ So, you see young one, you have been given the favour of a very high goddess indeed but there are still many things you do not know. You stand upon the Axis Mundi, Mt Meru in some faiths, Mt Kailash in yours, at the centre of the universe, or in your world, the Holy Mountain. We stand now atop the mountain you seek.”

  I did not even pause to think how this was possible but she continued on. “You see what is before you through the eyes of a godling. Those trails you see take you to the six realms: that of the Devas, the Asuras, the Manushyas: your realm, young one, then the Tiryakas, the Pretas and the Naraka. You now have the gift to pierce the veils between the worlds and this temple to your patron, the Queen Mother, called Koh Ker, is part of you. But this is only the beginning.”

  I sank to my knees in prayer with my hands pressed together above my forehead and prostrated myself on the ground before the temple, giving heartfelt thanks to the Queen Mother. I felt, rather than saw, the goddess kneeling down next to me.

  Suddenly another voice, one of compassion but with all the power of the universe, spoke and I knew I had beheld her before, upon the banks of the river, bathed in love and healing.

  “ Greetings, young Tashigang. You have done well thus far. By the powers of the Budhi Pallien do you stand here although you can come yourself at need. Your party has been waylaid and needs your help. Take your rest and heal, but know that to the kingdom of Shang Shung must you go. The tigress will guide you. It may be that you go to your doom and it may be that what we face cannot be stopped by any arts that you or yours may possess. But listen well. For it is to the realm of fire and shadow that you must in the end come to if you seek to save your Irth.You go with my blessing.”

  The air was still; she had gone. I had not been brave enough to look into her face yet now I berated myself for not having done so. The goddess stood.

  “Let us go, young one. I don’t know what it is called in your tongue but I know our destination as the ancient citadel of Wat Hariphunchai.”

  It took a moment for what she said to sink in. Here then was the guidance that I needed. But I was afraid and still felt as if I was somehow falsely chosen for this; that in searching for the one person to begin such a quest that the gods had somehow got it wrong, that they had overlooked the hero they sought that would make a difference.

  As if she read my self-doubt and my questioning I looked up at her and saw a look of impatience and that fearsome and piercing stare with such power within her that would she wish it, I would be simply snuffed out of existence. The terrible purpose I felt was just over the horizon and becoming more real. I looked into those terrible and powerful eyes and wanted to cower before her and become as a worm to hide within the earth or a lizard to crawl beneath a stone and so escape that terrible gaze. But when she spoke, it was with compassion and patience.

  “I see your fear, Tashi. I see your doubt. I see your questions. Do not think to question the wisdom of the Queen Mother and do not trifle with me. You may think me no more than a jungle spirit so let me introduce myself to you more properly. I am the Budhi Pallien. I am the virgin eternal and first aspect of the Triple Goddess. Do you know me now?”

  As if the knowledge was always part of me I (although I could not have said how I knew), I answered meekly, “You are Vajraveena Sarasvati, the Lady of Melody.” I bowed low to her.

  “Then you also know I am chief conso
rt of Manjushri, the Lord of Wisdom. Perhaps you can appeal to him for more thanI’ve seen from you so far. Come, we have many leagues to cover, both in this and in other realms.”

  As fearsome as she was, the façade evaporated in a second when she smiled at me. “It could be a pleasant journey.” She brandished the tamyen at me and gave it a melodic strum. “I will bring my Veena so that you may know true song and poetry. In the form of the Assamese forest goddess you will know me as Vajra. If I choose to make myself known to others in human form you, and they, will address me as Ussuri.”

  I bowed low to her. When I looked up again, she smiled at me, and I was glad that the fearsome and unearthly mask was gone, given way to a beautiful visage that warmed my heart, as if she was a patient older sister, acknowledging the foibles of a younger brother and resolving to help me tie my laces.

  “Do not fear Tashi. You, who have looked into the very face of death, and have been blessed with the help of the gods themselves, have less to fear than most. By my fangs, by the healing powers of the Tara and through the saving grace of the Queen Mother will you continue to cling to this incarnation. I grant that none of this is easy, but then nothing of worth ever is.”

  She turned to go. I followed her and immediately felt the fresh breeze of the mountains in my face, the massive amur Vajra at my side, my cudgel in my hand and the wadi at my feet.

  Jigme rode point as he led us to the nearest settlement where we might find help. After a quick discussion it was decided that we should try for the outpost town of Muru with its small monastery that overlooked the stunning azure basin of Lake Dangra in the heart of the Chang Tang. But it was at least ten leagues south-east of where the attack happened and we moved as quickly as we could in order to get there before the sun set, our yaks piled with the bodies of those who had succumbed during the fight in the valley.

  We moved along the road at a steady pace but in a very sombre mood. Pemba rode next to me and explained that among the raiders that had them bottled in the dead-end of a creek-bed, whose sheer sides were two spurs of the hill that I had managed to climb, were several Sidus who lent their firepower to the bandits, hence the number of dead. I told him I knew. But I still could not fully comprehend the senselessness of the attack and the deaths and injuries that had resulted. I wept silently.

  I had carried the still form of the woman out of the wadi and placed her gently across the saddle of one the mounts, then tied this and the other mounts together and ridden back towards the valley where the attack had occurred. I met others that had come from different directions, some carrying the dead and others nursing wounds. The bodies of the bandits were piled atop one another at the narrow end of the valley where it became little more than a ravine with a small creek at the bottom. One of the warrior-priests took the woman from me and led me to where the dead and injured were. As if in a daze I followed behind and explained that three had come after me, although one seemed different. I felt like I wanted to be sick even remembering that ghostly howl and the putrid face of death bent over me.

  Seeing the numbers of dead and injured I could not believe I had survived. My life seemed to be racing out of control at the moment. Mere months ago, I was running amok with my friends and looking forward to my ordination and then hopeful of selection into the Honour Guard. Since then however, I had nearly been killed, had watched a friend die and had conversed with the very gods themselves (if I could trust in my own experiences, let alone what everyone else told me). And now this! Normally a lingkhor was a private pilgrimage. I supposed myself lucky that Abbott Tomas had insisted on an escort.

  In a daze I looked for Dorje and found him with the injured. He was near death. As good as he was at combat, he could not avert the energy weapon that had caught him in the chest and face. His face was a blackened mess and a large hole was clear through his torso. He would not live out the night.

  Four others were dead and six, including Dorje, carried varying degrees of injury, including the warrior-priest Tsering who had saved us from the turgite. His name meant“long life”. It left only myself, Pemba, the other black robe and two retainers unscathed.

  A low growl woke me from my reverie. And from next to me, Pemba asked casually who the woman was that lay in the cart further back in the train. I answered only that she had saved my life and I hoped to do the same for her once we reached the outpost.

  “Was she one of the raiders?” At the same time Vajra growled at me, “ Strange that he was not killed, and not even slightly injured. Can I have him?”

  “No!” I said a bit too loudly.

  “Only asking Tashi.”

  “What?” I said, now looking at Pemba. “Sorry Pemba, I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Chapter 10: Rogel “… where each of us walks his own profound path, set not wholly by the Fates, whose designs are larger, and not wholly by the self, whose choices are at best whimsical and capricious, led in greed, and fear for the self and without any thought of the larger universe or with any particular degree of

  noble purpose.” Excavated at archaeological site at Kulen, Southern Bhotia NBD-2874-AGH675 25th day of Kaladrak 22,456 (fragments compiled by chief archaeologist Professor Tenzin Prekung) and attributed to the God King Sududanghotani

  As we came over the last hill that dropped towards Muru, with a crisp wind at our backs and a salutary sun having just dropped below the not-toodistant jagged heights of the western horizon, we saw monks, townspeople and farmers rushing toward us. Some came along the roadway while others came from across the dry fields and still others from the squat, mud-brick dwellings that formed the village with the temple at its centre. A massive chorten behind it was the landmark we had followed for the past few watches.

  Within moments we were surrounded by people, some prostrating themselves before me while others ran to help with the dead and the injured; loading them onto carts and other vehicles to take them into town.

  It was a small town indeed. There seemed to be only three or four hundred regular inhabitants and the dozen monks that cared for the outpost monastery, and then whatever outlying farming and nomadic families there were that would come into town for supplies, festivals and to trade.

  I was emotionally and physically exhausted by the time we got there and was happy to get down from my mount, stretch my legs and talk to the people. It was while I was talking to the warrior-priest, Jigme, that I felt a tap on the shoulder. Expecting it to be another peasant wishing to talk to me I saw the silhouetted outline of someone of my own age and slightly taller than me. Suddenly the darkened face broke into a presumptuous grin.

  “Rogel!” I yelled a bit too loudly, and we embraced as brothers. We met with the village elders who provided rooms in the monastery to house us and a larger prayer room to convert to a useable lazaret. We made the wounded as comfortable as we could and stored the dead in a secure room behind the monastery and placed a guard for fear the bodies might be molested. The villagers thought we meant to guard against the feral dogs that barked and yelped excitedly at the smell of so much blood. But my reason was to ward off the pisachas, particularly loathesome types of rakshasas who are devourers of the dead and known as bringers of diseases and wasting fevers. As I found on the night of the ghost-exorcising festival, one of the unfortunate side effects of my newfound ‘abilities’ was being able to see these creatures. As did the priests in the Atharvaveda, I sat in mani and offered prayer to Agni and Nirriti to protect our dead and to devour all pisachas.

  We turned in as early as we could but sleep would not come. My guilt and sorrow consumed me and I could do naught but head back to the lazaret in the cold watches before the dawn and with a bucket of warm water and torn strips of linen, I set to work cleaning the injured and re-dressing their wounds. I have seen worse situations since: battlefields littered with the dead and the dying. The dying are worse because of the screams and the gurgling as life struggles to escape the ruined body and fly upon the
world’s wind to Yama’s eternal embrace.

  I was roused the next morning by Rogel. I had fallen asleep sitting next to Dorje’s pallet and found someone had placed a blanket around me during the night. My neck ached because my chin had been resting against my chest for hours.

  The monks had organised food and beverages for us. I broke my fast on warm tsampa and way-bread, a tough and tasteless, but filling bread that travelled well and did not spoil.

  With heavy hearts, Rogel and I made our way along a path that ran around the lip of a steep cliff to a small outcropping. Wanting to cheer me up, he had promised it boasted a magnificent view out over the valley we had ridden through only yesterday. The valley was crowned on all sides by mighty peaks and this high up, even though we were in the middle of summer, the snow-line plunged a quarter-mile down into the valley. The only remarkable feature of the floor of the valley was the stunning blue of the mighty Lake Dangra. At its southern end rushed a narrow, but swiftly flowing river, and beside the river snaked a trail that disappeared into the distance, the one we should even now have been following. A chill wind blew up from the valley but it was an otherwise pleasant morning.

  Rogel sat next to me looking out over the valley, breathing deeply the fresh mountain air; the sunshine and gentle wind a welcome distraction.

  I was amazed that I was sitting next to Rogel for the first time since the night we lost Lhapka. This was Rogel: the same Rogel I had grown up with, had fought with, had learned with, had gone swimming and exploring with. The same Rogel that had been whisked away to this little village while I languished in fever.

  He explained to me that his expulsion had been hard to bear and he had considered leaving to return to his family in the east of the country. But, he told me, there was nothing there for him but a back-breaking life of farming and wandering the eastern plains with the other nomadic tribes that scavenged and traded from as far away as the poisonous forested lowlands of those southern countries right up to the sweeping prairies of the northern steppes.

  “I never knew my family,” I said.