Nirvana Effect

by Craig Gehring

  Edward laughed, too.

  Mahanta continued, “You are right - to you, I am not. To the West, I am not. To a Christian, or a Jew, or Muslim, or any monotheist, I am not. But to my people, I am. I have fulfilled their prophecies. I am what they have always wanted. And I will lead them to civilization and freedom. You cannot slight me or my manipulations for that. If you do, you are not who I think you are.”

  “We are an odd couple,” said Edward. “If anyone were to write a book about this, they could title it, ‘The Priest and the Heretic.’”

  “Or ‘The God and the White Devil’,” said Mahanta. “In any event, my status has given me control of the tribe’s resources. Already they have begun to harvest the substance per my instructions. The Onge are at our disposal to carry forward the research of this substance as far as we can before we need to leave.”

  “What do you plan to research about it?” asked Edward.

  “That is up for discussion,” said Mahanta. This surprised Edward. “I have some ideas, but I wanted to give you all the facts that I have on the nirvana effect, the plant sap it comes from, everything, and have you trance on it before we set on a course of investigation. We can discuss it all as we walk back to the temple. If you’re willing, I’ll inject you with the substance again.”

  Edward nodded. He was more than willing.

  15

  “Concentrate this time upon unlocking your mind, and upon the mysteries of this substance,” urged Mahanta. He pulled a syringe from a medical pack at his side. He drew a clear liquid from a penicillin vial. The medicine had obviously been replaced by the drug.

  Edward had no reservation. The after-pain was inevitable. He knew he would be facing that many times further in his research. And obviously, Mahanta had survived many doses. To Edward’s scientific mind, there was nothing to fear.

  The native wasted no time in injecting Edward. The drug took effect almost instantly. Edward noted there must have been outward signs of the lleychta going to work, because Mahanta was nodding with approval.

  Edward closed his eyes. It helped the trance. I can’t waste time; every microsecond counts. He reviewed all the facts. Indeed, he reviewed all of them.

  His whole education flew into view, sorted by relevance, probable veracity, and importance.

  It was as though his mental filing system had transformed from a mere “date and place” tabbing to a sophisticated cross-indexed catalog in a blink of his mind‘s eye.

  Every fact could be reached, as he might reach every drop of water in a lake, and yet the important facts stood out brilliantly. His whole education was at his fingertips, ready for access at a speed far faster and a relevance far more refined than any internet search. He briefly indulged in wondering at the capacities of his mind. How much data is actually there? Is some of it delusion? All of it? He had to keep in mind that he was still under the influence of a drug, no matter how wonderful that drug might seem.

  Perhaps this was what Mahanta meant by “unlocking his mind”. Its function was certainly enhanced, and all in what was perhaps ten minutes in real time. He wondered if the effect would last after the trance. Already, he had more control of his body than he’d ever had before his first trance. He wondered if it would be the same with his education.

  Edward turned off his hearing, and most of his other perceptions as well in order to aid his concentration. A dull sense of touch remained, and of course automatic control of body function. Focus. It was all too tempting to venture down the rambling paths of speculation. He had a job to do.

  The vital data surrounding the substance were few. He examined them all. Mahanta had done well relaying everything he’d encountered so far.

  The substance came from the sap of a tree that for all Mahanta or Edward knew was found only on this island.

  Edward verified this by ransacking his memories. Towards the end of his schooling, he had flipped page by page through a botany book which catalogued every known form of exotic tree in the Eastern world. It had been a particularly boring day in Botany and he’d kept the appearance of business by looking at all the pictures.

  In his mind’s eye, the memory hung suspended in front of him and played like a 3-D movie with full sound and fifty other perceptions. As he examined the recall, he felt like he was back in Botany. He even felt the boredom.

  He found he could slow the memory down or even stop it. This surprised him, but seemed natural enough. He had plenty of memories in his past that hung suspended like that in one crucial moment, though he’d never thought to press the “rewind” or “fast forward” buttons.

  He could freeze the “playing” of the memory at each flip of the page and study its contents. In such a wise he re-examined every page of the book.

  No picture matched. No description matched. The plant, indeed, was a totally unknown mutation apparently populating only this island.

  Edward’s concentration flitted back to the rest of his conversation with Mahanta on the way back to the temple. The plant’s sap had long been used by Onge medicine men as a hallucinogenic. Mahanta became curious after he saw the medicine man smoke it and then catch a fly between his fingers as easily as he might catch a ball. Mahanta wondered how such a substance could make an old man so agile.

  Mahanta later learned the art of distillation from an earlier missionary and subsequently distilled the sap. He found that it contained a hallucinogenic compound separate and apart from the substance which produced the nirvana effect. When he drank the distilled substance, he received a watered down version of the effect - heightened senses, bodily control, a sort of numbed version of the full-blown trance.

  Mahanta got the idea of injection from the last doctor that had visited the village, a non-denominational whom the Jesuits had set up to start a clinic. The clinic failed, but not before the doctor taught an interested youth some first aid procedures and what medicine he could grasp, including vaccination and the administration of penicillin.

  Injected in the blood stream, the full effects of the liquid were realized.

  The after-pain. What is it?

  Edward’s mind scanned again through his whole education and experience, and threw out some possibilities.

  A side effect - naturally. Sensory overload? Shock? Dehydration?

  It could be one or a combination of all three.

  Perhaps it’s from the chemicals in the sap. Perhaps they aren’t all distilled out.

  The answer, at least in part, came to him in a flash of certainty.

  Nerve damage. That was it.

  He sensed it not so much from his past but rather from a searching examination of the present condition of his body. There was a terrific amount of output coming from his brain, a terrific amount of electricity being handled. His nerves couldn’t handle it. They were like the muscles broken down during a hard workout – only nerves don’t heal like muscles.

  He sensed his nerves were diffusing the charge as best they could, but it was still too much.

  It hurt, actually. The perception was too much and caused a definite pain. In trance, he was able to shut it off and ignore it. After trance, he would no longer be able to. Thus, the after-pain.

  He scanned the memories of his body’s recovery from the three injections. Somehow, his body had known to rebuild the nerves. The pain receded day by day as the nerves rebuilt. They were not conditioned, now, into greater strength. They were a bit weaker, if anything.

  The after-pain was the damage caused by too much perception - too much current along the nerve channels.

  His first hunch, sensory overload, was right, but not in the sense he’d originally meant. He was thinking psychologically, not in the raw electronics of the human body.

  Is this substance lethal? Damaging?

  He worried over the problem, but could find no answer. He needed more data. Certainly, his nerves weren’t back to normal, yet. Prolonged use could possibly damage his nerves beyond his ability to heal.

  Any way out of the after-p
ain?

  This question, he knew, was what should be his first line of research. Its solution would permit much more trance time.

  The problem had many facets. He worked all of them. Two simple answers stood above the rest that flooded his mind.

  The nerves must grow stronger. Or the impact of the nirvana effect must be lessened.

  A thousand solutions flashed to him. He picked out the best few, keeping in mind that he wouldn’t be trancing during most of whatever conditioning he planned. Pain shut-off would not really be an option. He rolled to his next question.

  What is my plan? And Mahanta’s plan…is it true? Can Mahanta be trusted?

  And perhaps a more relevant question: Can I trust myself?

  Tapping. Something was tapping Edward’s cheek. He opened his eyes. Mahanta was slapping his face hard. It felt like a gentle nudge each time. Edward instantly turned his present-time perceptions back on. His face stung like hell. His arm, too; Mahanta must have pinched him there to no avail.

  “Do you hear it?” asked Mahanta.

  Of course he did. As soon as his perceptions were running a wealth of data came rushing to him.

  A fight. A challenge. The busy hubbub, the shouts as clear as though he were in the thick of it.

  “What’s happening? I can’t tell from here outside of trance.”

  Tien. Dook. Edward heard their names murmured, rippling through the crowd.

  “A challenge,” Edward answered. “Dook has challenged Tien. They are fighting now. The crowd surrounds them.”

  “Dook challenged Tien?“ asked Mahanta. “I would have thought the reverse.”

  Edward furrowed his brow. It was not easy picking out single voices in the crowd, but he could do it. He got his answer from a conversation to a newcomer. “Dook challenges that Tien insulted your honor and conspired with Nockwe to challenge you.”

  “Nockwe?”

  “Yes. I believe he is there,” said Edward. He did not hear Nockwe’s voice, but rather heard a pocket of quiet in one area of the crowd.

  “Dook lies, of course,” said Mahanta. “He is making his move. We must hurry.”

  Mahanta sprinted out of the hut. Edward followed him. It was the first time Edward tried to run while in trance, and it was a bit like first learning to walk. He was too aware of his body, so that the curling of his feet and the pumping of his leg muscles seemed unnatural and the cause of study. He rapidly got the hang of it, and after a dozen steps was catching up with Mahanta. In the trance Edward was able to perfectly place his feet and push forward. He remembered Mahanta’s inhuman sprinting into the woods, as though a rocket were strapped to his back

  The conflict was only fifty yards from the temple. A hundred tribesmen circled and watched.

  Edward studied every one of them. He observed their stances, the way they seemed slack, almost grief-stricken when they looked at Tien. Those with their eyes on Dook had an angry tension about them. A handful had various other reactions. Edward noted those down as possible allies of Dook. It was apparent that the majority of the tribe wanted Tien to live.

  Edward and Mahanta pushed through the crowd toward the edge of the ring of natives. Edward examined these possible members of Dook’s cabal. They looked nervous, but by all signs, none of them were intending to cheat for Dook. They were only spectators today.

  A woman was crying hysterically, as were a few babies.

  Dook and Tien circled one another warily. No one had struck, yet. Dook had a knife in either hand, while Tien had only one long dagger. It was the same he’d tried to use on Edward just a day before.

  Edward spotted that no ally was needed to cheat for Dook. Dook had already done his dirty work. Tien’s skin was a shade of green, and he shook almost imperceptibly. Not just nerves.

  “Dook poisoned him,” Edward muttered to Mahanta.

  Mahanta cursed and spit.

  A tribesman standing next to them jerked his head up in Mahanta’s direction. Recognition dawned. The man backed five feet and knelt at the same time, exclaiming, “Manassa!” He collided into several people as he moved.

  The crowd diverted from the fight for a moment. They knelt, murmuring their god’s name. The nearest to their Manassa had a similar reaction as the first man, shocked that they had not given their god the deserved respect as he’d approached. They quickly restored a healthy distance from Manassa and his white servant.

  Both Dook and Tien glanced at the disturbance, but neither stopped circling.

  Dook lunged at Tien just as he returned his attention to the fight, but Tien managed to sidestep the blow in the nick of time and follow up with a lick of his own. He drew blood on Dook’s dark arm.

  Weakened by the poison, Tien couldn’t follow through like he needed. Dook quickly regained the initiative, swinging low to gash Tien’s shin with his left-handed knife. Tien tripped backward, crying out in surprise.

  Dook charged in to make the kill. Tien was too slow in getting up. Several members of the tribe cried out.

  “At’tan! At’tan!” a deep, booming voice broke over the din. Dook stopped his charge quickly, as though he’d been expecting an interruption. He looked up and then smiled. Edward followed the path of his eyes to Nockwe, who looked tired more than anything else. Dook sheathed his knives and walked away from Tien to the far end of the circle.

  “Nockwe intercedes,” explained Mahana.

  “Dook was planning this all along!” whispered Edward.

  “See!” shouted Dook to the tribe. “See with your own eyes! Nockwe and Tien work together to try to kill our god.” Murmurs rippled through the crowd. They did not believe his words, but there were doubts. The Onge way was one of unwavering suspicion.

  “No mortal can kill our mighty god,” said Nockwe, slowly, using the same deliberate pace he’d used before to address the crowd.

  “And yet you are fool enough to try,” said Dook.

  “Your tongue is full of lies, Dook, but it will soon be cut out,” said Nockwe.

  Dook beckoned him with his hand and once again pulled out both daggers. He was making quite a show. Nockwe pulled out his own dagger, and they began to circle.

  Edward now studied Nockwe. He could tell that Nockwe was moving heavily. He was not in the same shape he’d been in when guiding Edward through the jungle. He looked weary and flat-footed.

  Edward was no student of war, but knew that the wrong time to be tired was with a maniac circling you with bloody daggers in his hands.

  Nockwe attacked repeatedly, striking at the snakelike Dook. The chieftain’s aggression stretched to the point of incaution.

  “Nockwe moves quickly. He must not feel he can withstand a drawn-out battle,” commented Mahanta unnecessarily.

  Dook refused to engage him. He dodged back at every strike, refraining from taking the easy opportunities presented by Nockwe’s over-extension.

  By their shouts, Edward knew the crowd was rooting for Nockwe. They wanted him to live. Yet as the battle petered on, as Nockwe’s step further lost its spring, the natives tired as well. They took on the aspect of a crowd watching an inevitable train wreck.

  Mahanta’s explanation during their last talk echoed in Edward’s mind. If Dook becomes chieftain, he will not long remain so. There will be many hungering for his blood, and many that would seek to take his place. This is a wild variable that could result in both of our deaths and the loss of this discovery. The turmoil that will attain in the tribe will prevent any work from being done as chalk lines are drawn and neighbor fears neighbor until a new ruler rises. I do not have the brute force to bring such a people in line without my chieftain. Under trance I am near invincible, but I am not under trance at all hours of the day and night.

  Unless something drastic happened, Dook would kill Nockwe and become chieftain. Dook will be chieftain today. That calculation was a certainty in Edward’s mind. Already, Nockwe had stopped his lunging, had stopped even his circling, and instead just rotated in place as Dook worked around him, looking f
or an opening. Dook wasn’t worn at all, despite the bleeding from his left arm, and he looked ready to make his kill. Nockwe coughed spasmodically.

  Dook finally leaned to make his first strike. Nockwe feigned to the left, and then swung his body savagely to the right. Dook missed him, but Nockwe caught Dook’s left arm near the first gash and again drew blood. Dook cried out and swung again, but Nockwe ducked his blow and kicked out with all his force, landing his foot squarely into Dook’s abdomen. The smaller man flew backwards and landed in the dirt.

  All eyes were on Dook as he flew, but then went rapidly back to Nockwe. The chieftain hadn’t gotten up from his flying kick. Instead, he trembled on the ground.

  Nockwe strained to lift himself, only to collapse again. Dook was back onto his feet, grabbing his daggers from the ground. His lips curled into a savage smile. The illness had finally overcome Nockwe, as the poison had overcome Tien. Still hunched over from the blow to his stomach, Dook swaggered as best he could to the chieftain. His time had come to claim Nockwe’s flag.

  Nockwe managed to roll himself up to his hands and knees and made a grab for his dagger in the dirt.

  It was to no avail. Dook idly kicked Nockwe in the head. Dook was showboating. The dagger flew back out of Nockwe’s hands as he collapsed again the ground. He pushed the dirt, struggling to get back up. His muscles trembled but would not move him.

  Dook laughed, checking out the horrified crowd. He wasn’t getting the response he wanted, but he was certainly enjoying himself.

  Dook grabbed Nockwe by the hair. “Stand up!” he shouted as he yanked Nockwe into a standing position. Nockwe used the momentum to lunge at Dook, but to no avail. Dook simply threw him by the hair back into the dirt.

  Dook wielded his knife once more to finish the job.

  “At’tan! At’tan!”

  Edward had made an instantaneous calculation of hundreds of factors. Much of his calculation involved the future and his survival chances. The course he chose had many possible dead-ends, most of them immediately, but he felt he had to choose it. He would not have Nockwe’s blood on his hands. Nockwe had spared Edward’s life.