Nirvana Effect

by Craig Gehring

  We must move. This is no place for a headquarters, thought Manassa.

  “You are to go to town. You are to do as we planned,” Manassa instructed.

  Tomy nodded. He would follow the directions to the letter. “Nockwe will soon have our army ready. When it is ready, so must the village must be ready, and so must Lisbaad be ready. Lisbaad is in your hands, Tomy. Goodbye.”

  “Yes, lord.” Tomy turned to leave.

  “My messenger,” said Manassa.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Tomy, turning back.

  “I need intelligence in regards to Liang.”

  “You will have it,” said Tomy. This was what made Manassa keep Tomy as his messenger. Tomy did not know who Liang was. Tomy would not ask him. Tomy refused to add one single thought to Manassa’s workload - he would rather work without sleep than trouble his god with a single clarification.

  Still, it would be foolish to unnecessarily overstrain his messenger. Manassa took the time to explain: “Liang is a big figure in the Sri Lankan underworld. He practically owns Lisbaad, and controls all of the trade to, from, and through the island,” said Manassa. “I must know more, for I wish for the tribe to enjoy some of his vast resources and consideration. This much I already know. I leave the rest to you.”

  “Yes, lord,” said Tomy. He bowed, then maintained his position, head downturned.

  “You may go, now. Do not fail me.”

  Tomy left the hut.

  “An amazing young man,” said Manassa. It was a comment that Nockwe did not answer. He had not yet been recognized by the throne.

  This amused Manassa. It had been quite easy to revive the old traditions. There was a time when the Onge were more than a mere speck on the map. Their economic model of hunting had given them some fine warriors, and at one time in the distant past their “empire” had actually stretched through Sri Lanka to the southern tip of the Indian mainland. At that time, the Onge had advanced into a centralized feudalism, complete with roughshod court. Manassa drew on their history to show his people their future. Nockwe seemed to know his ancient role and played the part ably enough.

  “Nockwe,” said Manassa. “Give me your brief.”

  “Yes, lord,” said Nockwe. He turned his eyes up to face his people’s god. “All goes as you have foreseen. The gardens are full now with the nectar plants. We have two hundred fifty-six plants. We have twenty liters of the sap and are now producing five liters per day. The replanting experiment continues, with favorable results and four of five surviving thus far. Your personal lab will be complete tonight as an adjunct to the temple, accessible from your sleeping quarters.” The chieftain effortlessly rattled off the facts.

  “Very well.” Manassa was impressed with Nockwe’s easy command of the numbers. Manassa knew it was Nockwe’s administrative talents, not his skill with the spear, which had made him so popular with the people. Unfortunately, the Onge method of choosing rulers eliminated all but the warriors. For the first time in over a century, a warrior-administrator had the helm. “Continue,” prompted Manassa.

  “We have fifty warriors trained in the lightness and battle-ready. We have twenty-five more under training, and four hundred more warriors ready to begin training at your command. At this rate, it will take three months.”

  “For every ten warriors you have trained, you may train four more at once. You must be done in a month. Time is an enemy far worse than any potential dissent,” said Manassa.

  “As you wish, my lord,” acknowledged Nockwe with a respectful nod.

  Manassa did not want any more trainees armed with the lightness than he felt he could control. “Continue,” said Manassa.

  “The inner circle is also fully formed. I recommend that you assign Lock to lead it.”

  “Lock?” asked Manassa.

  “The late Tien’s brother. He would do an admirable job, and could report to you. Though he was trained under the medicine man, he is most loyal.”

  Manassa didn’t hesitate. “You will do it,” said Manassa. “You will lead my inner circle of priests.” Manassa gauged Nockwe’s reaction. The chieftain’s face remained placid, but even outside the trance Manassa sensed with much conflict behind Nockwe’s near-black eyes. “Do you not wish to do so?”

  “My lord…” Nockwe breathed deeply and gathered his thoughts. “It is not that I do not wish to. It is the ultimate in opportunity…I wish only to serve you and the tribe. It is only that I fear that I should fail you if I were to stretch myself too thin. To run the tribe in the coming months will become a formidable challenge in and of itself. Your security and your vision are of course the tribe’s most important assets. And the tribe is key to your vision coming true. I feel I cannot ably handle all of it.”

  Manassa sat down in his throne. Nockwe knelt. “You will do it. You will have assistants, you will organize it, but you will do it. I have foreseen it,” said Manassa.

  Nockwe must gain a religious significance to the people, or he will become worthless to me. His wise words will fall upon deaf ears; a single priest of my inner circle will hold more sway than the great chieftain.

  Nockwe acquiesced after consideration. He did a good job of burying his frustration. “Yes, lord,” said Nockwe. “As you wish.”

  “Please see to it. And continue your brief.”

  “The tribe is 1,163 -” said Nockwe.

  “I thought it 1,162.”

  “We had a birth,” said Nockwe.

  “Very well. We need more of those. Encourage it whatever way you can.”

  “Yes, lord. We have food stores for three months. As your messenger reported, we have guns right now for only twenty warriors. We have seven cars, with a total capacity of thirty-five soldiers. Two are larger vehicles, vans.”

  “This must be remedied immediately,” said Manassa. I need more resources. “Tomy is working on it, but now you must remedy it as well. There is no use in training our warriors with weapons they don’t have, or educating them in the culture of the West without giving them the swordpoint that won Westerners their culture. We must have at least five hundred guns, at minimum. Two thousand of different types would be best, but not necessary at this time. Small handguns all the way up to semi-automatic rifles. Armor if you can find it. These are things we’ll need to find in Sri Lanka. There are only so many of these on the island.”

  Manassa paced a bit, then leaned against the arm of his throne. “Start a forward post in Sri Lanka,” Manassa ordered.

  “Yes, lord.”

  “Is there anything else you have to report?” asked Manassa.

  “Not at this time, my lord.”

  “Very well. I have a question for you, then,” said Manassa. Nockwe’s body tensed. Yes, he senses it. “You helped Edward, you warned him.” It wasn’t really a question.

  Nockwe’s tired eyes shot wide, but he did not otherwise move. He was speechless.

  “In all things the chieftain serves the tribe,” said Manassa. “I do not think you served the tribe in this. Are you no longer chieftain?”

  Nockwe’s mouth opened and closed. There was nothing he could say.

  “Explain your motives, Nockwe.”

  “In all things I do serve the tribe. But this was not out of service, but of honor. I am a loyal man. I felt that since he saved my life, I should at least give him warning.”

  “Warning of what?”

  Nockwe locked eyes with Manassa. “Of his impending death.”

  Manassa could not deny it, so he didn’t take it up anymore. “Tell me, Nockwe, do you owe favors to any more outsiders? Does your honor call you to help any more white men?”

  Nockwe maintained his composure. “An important question, Manassa. My debt with Edward is discharged. I only serve the tribe and have always served the tribe.”

  “You realize you may have created quite a setback,” said Manassa.

  “I did not think that I did anything that you did not already foresee and plan for.”

  Actually, Manassa hadn’t se
en it. The idea that Nockwe would do such a thing was totally foreign to him. Manassa toyed again with the idea of getting rid of Nockwe. He’d been working it over in his mind for the past day.

  I am spread too thin, already. The chieftain is smart, loyal. By his actions, he is unique in that he does not buy into my godhood, and yet does not neglect my power. He does serve the tribe; in this he’s utterly predictable. I understand what he did with Edward.

  Manassa’s thoughts turned to the opposite end of the spectrum. Perhaps he could awaken Nockwe with the drug, as he had done with Edward. I could trust him more than that white man. That white man has too many crazy ideas in his head, ideas I didn’t even know about until after I gave him the drug. I had not yet grown up, that week ago.

  Manassa’s tired mind drifted briefly back to his decision with Edward. It had indeed been a stupid mistake, but one he would let ride. In ten more days, Edward might have the cure for the after-pain. If not, maybe Manassa could eventually come up with it himself. Manassa just didn’t have the time; he’d have to study, he’d have to work on it, and there was so much more he needed to accomplish. It would just waste precious trances, and he had to make every single one of them count. Just with the power of the drug in its present form he had much too small an infrastructure and organization. There was hardly any reason he should spend his own time working on the drug’s improvement.

  At first, Manassa had considered just giving Edward the lightness by administering the substance orally. He may have died, then, though, and not been able to work on the after-pain.

  With the after-pain gone, I really would be more the god…right now, all my motions limited by just one trance a day…so long as Edward doesn’t turn on me, it’s worth the risk.

  “Are there not more Edwards? Do you want me to get you another?” asked Nockwe.

  Manassa remembered he was still in audience with Nockwe, a very tense Nockwe who thought he might meet death in this confrontation. He felt so disconnected recently, his mind shifting into and out of the problems and threats at hand. The present held so little threat compared to the future. Manassa was in the present and he was not. He dismissed Nockwe’s query with a wave of his hand. He’d made his decision. “Edward still works for me. If he stops, I can put others in his place. It is your loyalty that I need much more than a white man’s research. I feel after talking to you tonight that I have it. I have a question for you, though. Why do you wish to see my vision through?” asked Manassa.

  “You are the living god, Manassa,” said Nockwe. Manassa looked around the hut, ensuring they were alone.

  “Don’t give me this kcleyp,” said the living god, using a choice Onge expletive. “It is important that everyone else believe that, this is true. But you don’t. There is no need for you to. You may never say this to another being, nor even speak like this to me outside of this temple, even when alone, but you and I both know I am no living god.”

  Nockwe’s face was again frozen. He looked more threatened than before. Manassa could tell the chief did not know how to react. Good.

  Manassa continued. “Except, of course, to the degree that I can exalt our tribe. And in that sense, you could be a living god, too. I would be not a god but a madman to believe otherwise.”

  Nockwe knelt. “My god, I do not -”

  “Nockwe! Stop it! Get up! Stop it! Say it. Say ‘Manassa is Mahanta, and neither are living gods, except by their deeds.’ And quit all this religious kcleyp when we meet in seclusion. Say it!”

  “Manassa is Mahanta,” Nockwe began to say, carefully. Every muscle in his body appeared tense, as though he might flee the temple at any second. He stopped.

  “SAY IT!!!” screamed Manassa.

  “And neither are living gods, except by their deeds,” Nockwe finished quietly.

  Manassa let a silence ride the air between them before he spoke again. “It is a cruel trick, our legends, to deny men their opportunity at godhood, their opportunity to become heroes, by painting anyone with real power as coming down from the heavens or being born of hell,” said Manassa.

  Manassa stepped down close and rested his hands on Nockwe’s shoulders. “Nockwe, if I am ever recorded in our oral histories as a living god, so will you be. We need religion on our side, to keep our men and women disciplined and their morale high. But we would be fools, as the generals of our army, to think of it as anything more than that. The only divinities we have on our sides are our wits, made in the Great Thinker’s image, and our able bodies, which were ultimately created by He who is Unmoved. Things will only go right when you make them to go right, not because you have me on your side.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Nockwe.

  “Yes, my chieftain,” echoed Manassa, imitating the form with a familiar smile. “Now answer this question, without your kcleyp. Why do you wish to see my vision through?”

  “For the good of the tribe, my lord. It is the natural order of things. Just as the most fit must rule the tribe, so it is with the world. With this nectar of yours, the tribe can soon be the most fit. Our tribe deserves prosperity.

  Manassa nodded. “And who do you serve?”

  “The tribe.”

  “Very good.” Manassa clapped him on the shoulder and hid his disappointment with an encouraging smile. Nockwe was not yet ready to become awakened. Manassa could not afford his loyalty.

  25

  The sun awakened Edward. Too late. He started, but remained in bed to gather his thoughts. He had wanted to be rested when he began his work in Lisbaad, but more importantly he wanted to do his work in the early morning while his face would not be seen or remembered in the harsh shadows of the dawning light.

  Edward lifted himself up and examined the streets below. Morning was in earnest in Lisbaad, and the calls of the street vendors at a nearby market drifted into his room.

  He looked at his room. He hadn’t yet seen it in the light. It was a true dump. Rays of sunlight were actually visible from all the dust mites caroming through the air. The curtains were molded around the edges, and the carpet was hardly a carpet anymore, but rather fuzz growing out of the cement floor. And all this is still splendid compared to the squalor of the Onge. That‘s what you get when you don’t trade and don’t modernize.

  The lingering after-pain was almost gone. The long hike and good night’s rest had effectively cleared his head.

  Edward checked his pack for his medical kit. The syringes of “penicillin” were still in place. Not a drop of the substance could go missing. Even a tiny particle in the wrong person’s hands could spread like a plague of chaos and warfare around the world. Someone getting the whole kit would be disastrous. Edward scarce could contemplate it - except in trance, he had.

  He replayed those possible futures in his mind. A corporate mogul using it for economic monopoly and subjugation; a new Hitler with a weapon that will let him win; a new “freedom” that results in almost everyone a slave. Or the most likely course: anarchy and destruction as the current power structure is toppled, followed by all of the above.

  All if it falls into the wrong hands.

  And who could possibly have the “right hands”?

  That was a question he couldn’t answer. He certainly didn’t feel that he had the right hands. What to do with such a substance? It was the holy grail of medicine, of enlightenment. With it discoveries could be made to bring mankind to a whole new level of survival and happiness. He was sure that many mysteries of the sciences and humanities would be solved in relatively short order.

  And yet, in its raw form introduced to the planet at large, Edward foresaw only destruction.

  Even in the hands of only two men, the future was hazy and full of dangerous possibilities. Mahanta was a wild variable in Edward’s trance calculations. Edward could not predict him because he had the trance, too.

  Certainly, Mahanta sought power. And yet he swore that he didn’t want the Onge to rule the Earth. Edward was sure he wasn’t lying.

  Edward paced to the
mirror over the room’s dirty sink and examined his own dark brown eyes. In a matter of only days, his life had completely changed vectors. Not only was he accelerating exponentially, he was also beginning to align all his decisions and thoughts along the path of this drug and its effects. The nirvana effect.

  It was as though he were a railway engineer on a runaway locomotive, and the longer he remained aboard, the faster the train sped, the more impossible his escape. In trance, he saw the probabilities of the future - and in many of them, the locomotive went over the cliff, down into a gorge, straight into a wall.

  He had to constantly accelerate his actions and remain unpredictable just to stay alive.

  But if I were to stop now and disembark, surely someone far more dangerous will hi-jack this train.

  Edward looked down from the mirror and breathed deeply. He was honest enough with himself to recognize the lie. There was no possibility that he would jump off that train, but not for any reason so humanitarian. He didn’t want to keep the nirvana effect out of the wrong hands so much as keep it in his own.

  The nirvana effect completed him, in a way so personal and so comprehensive that if he were to lose it, he would feel dead.

  All his life, he’d dreamed of a golden path. He’d stood on its first brick, peering with squinting eyes through the fog that obscured it. He’d never gotten beyond that first brick, but he’d never stepped back, either.

  Now that path lay in wait, welcoming before him.

  He could reach his purpose, now. He was alive.

  It was a total addiction, he knew. He’d known it innately since his first trance. It was not a physical addiction or a chemical dependency. Yet at no point for the rest of his life did he foresee walking away from this substance.

  It was as though his entire life before the nirvana effect was simply background information for what lay in the now and in the future.

  He had the fleeting thought that perhaps he was being too hard on himself. Of course he was thinking about the drug. In this span of his life, his decisions concerning it were matters of life or death. Maybe it would be different after he was safe. He did not see any future, however, in which he was ever safe.