I ran behind the raised stage and took cover in a jumble of fallen rocks.
“Jai Maha Mudra!”
“Jai Maha Mudra!”
“Jai Guru Vishnu!”
“Jai Guru Vishnu!”
Okay, Adina, I thought. Lead me to her.
CHAPTER 63
Adina materialized at the top of the aluminum staircase connecting the stage to the desert floor. She raced down the metal steps, her hair a rippling stream. I watched from my hiding place as she hurried to the far side of the curved rock. She glanced both ways and disappeared.
At first I couldn’t find an opening—it was as if Adina had passed through solid stone. But my fingers discovered a dark cleft, camouflaged by surrounding folds of rock. I sidled through, holding my suitcase close.
I emerged into arid landscape. A footpath wound into the desert, first climbing, and then dropping steadily through scrub and dry growth. A small lizard scuttled by. In the growing dark, pink rockface took on the marbled lividity of morbid flesh.
Behind me, a didgeridoo yowled.
They couldn’t be far—Adina had arrived quickly once my cheer for Maha Mudra became a group demand.
The trail veered left. Below, a copse of fan palms rose from yet another mineral outcropping.
Palm trees in the desert? Bizarre.
Under the palm trees’ fanned tops, shaggy fronds formed thick beards, silvered by moonlight. They looked like ancient desert sages.
I cocked my head at an unexpected sound.
Water—only a trickle, but unmistakable. I was getting close. Earth. Water. Sky. Space. A desolate oasis; a barren grove. The ideal setting for the ganachakra ritual.
Fire, too. Inside a long, shallow pit, lined with stone, mesquite logs spat tongues of flame. Woven baskets were stacked in a nest nearby.
And then I saw it, just past the fire pit: a human mandala. The fan palm sentinels were watching over concentric circles of Maha Mudra followers dressed in jewel-colored robes. Six circles of ten, and a central quadrant of four.
Sixty-four.
Or maybe only 63.
The middle square was missing its fourth occupant. The three already there were familiar. TJ’s caftan was canary yellow; Colin, still in bright orange; and Adina, as I’d already seen, in snowy white. The inner quadrant color scheme of the Kalachakra Mandala. Orange. Yellow. White.
Only maroon was absent.
They sat in lotus position on what looked like animal skins. Displayed inside the incomplete square was an exquisite namchuwangdan mosaic constructed out of colored glass, bottle caps, and broken tile. It was both crude and powerful.
And seated on a throne in its center, wrapped in cobalt blue silk and daubed with a blood red bindi, was a demon disguised as a saint.
A voice floated up to me: “. . . drink of the elixir of life . . .”
Low, clear, neutral.
“. . . quicksilver and sulfur . . . blood of the woman, seed of the man . . .”
Neither male, nor female.
“. . . sacred sukra . . . the Power of Ten . . .”
The voice of my nighttime terrors.
Palden Lhamo, protect me. Give me strength.
The throne was a stack of rocks draped in embroidered gold. Maha Mudra’s dark curtain of hair was topped with a five-sectioned crown, each section bearing the mantra of a corresponding deity. Below the crown, midbrow, the bindi seemed to glow. Her left hand grasped a goblet of hammered silver, half-full of reddish liquid.
“I drink the highest immovable,” Maha Mudra said. “Bodhicitta nectar. Mystic alchemy.”
The chalice rose.
Don’t.
The image wavered like water.
Can’t breathe.
I clutched at my closing throat.
Can’t . . .
A cold muzzle pressed against the nape of my neck.
“Do. Not. Move,” said a young woman’s voice.
My suitcase started to slide, setting loose a cascade of pebbles. As it tumbled to the bottom of the slope, the acolytes scrambled to their feet. They spun in place, searching until they had me located. And now I could see the brandished blades and spears, the chains, cleavers, skewers and clubs. My three-bladed dagger would be about as effective as a butter knife.
I cast off the clutch of panic with a fierce expulsion of breath. I had to commit to this, or die. I turned my head slightly. “Don’t shoot me, Brittany,” I said to my would-be huntress. I heard a quick intake of breath.
“Jai Maha Mudra!” I called to the faces below.
CHAPTER 64
Maha Mudra was motionless on her throne. I descended, my eyes locked on her features. But there wasn’t enough light to be sure. I had to get closer. Brittany followed behind me, her Browning .22-250 trained.
My suitcase lay askew at the foot of the fire pit. I bent and grasped its handle.
“Jai Maha Mudra,” I repeated to the group as I straightened. “I’ve journeyed long and hard to get here.” I aimed the next words at Maha Mudra. “I am not a stranger. You know me. And I know you. I know who you are.”
Maha Mudra said nothing.
I touched my robe. “I am here to be your empty vessel. I am here to prove myself worthy. I belong to you.”
Maha Mudra motioned the crowd to sit. She nodded her chin slightly to Brittany. Brittany lowered the Browning and reclaimed her spot on the outermost rim.
“So. You have found me,” Maha Mudra said.
“Yes.”
“Come closer.”
I stepped between the rows of followers until I reached the center, and the throne. I could feel their gazes attach like hooks.
I studied the striking face before me.
There were differences, of course. The thick fall of black hair. A softening around the jaw; a fullness to the lips. The synthetic progesterone had done its work.
But the eyes. The eyes were the same. Black pools, ringed with gold. Like luminous mirrors: in themselves, nothing, but reflecting everything.
Nawang, I thought.
“Adi Buddha,” I said, and dropped to my knees.
Shock rippled through the surrounding group.
“You can stand, Lama Tenzing,” my brother replied. If in fact Nawang was still my brother. Maybe brother-sister was a better description. The ganachakra path to the divine required the merging of both energies, the masculine and the feminine, in order to achieve the highest state—holy hermaphrodite; cosmic androgyne. A symbolic transformation, not a literal one.
But Nawang had never been one for half measures.
I rose. He raked my body with his gaze.
“You look almost the same,” Nawang said. “I thought you’d be more changed.”
“I have been fasting,” I said. “I retook the vows. I wanted to be ready for you.”
The gold in his eyes seemed to catch the light.
I mentally reviewed the translated texts, and my recorded therapy session, blessing Sonam for his eastern insight, and Eric for his western wisdom.
“But you, Nawang. I can see the shift. You walked the hero’s path for so many years. And now you have untied the knots within, haven’t you?”
Nawang’s nod was barely perceptible. “It is true. The lotus circles flow freely. The fire is ready for a final unleashing.”
I indicated the group.
“And these are your adepts?”
“Yes. We only await the ascent of the full moon.”
“Who is to be your wisdom consort? Brittany?”
Nawang glanced in her direction. His smile was fond. “No. Brittany is still somewhat unskilled.”
“Adina?”
“Adina. Dear dakini Adina. She’s better suited as karma mudra, aren’t you, beloved?”
Adina’s face flushed with pleasure.
This surprised me. According to the texts the final initiations required young karma mudras, ideally none older than 19 or 20. By including Adina, Nawang had ventured off the proscribed map. Which was bad, but
also good. It was time to play my first card.
“So you have not yet chosen your wisdom consort?”
“I have not,” Nawang said.
“Choose me,” I said.
The crowd murmured in protest. I pushed ahead.
“Think about it. You have integrated the polarity of the sexes. You have tasted nirvana. You have crossed the threshold. You do not need karma mudras as dakini crones, or yogis as observers. You need a member of your own tribe. One who shares your noble blood.”
Nawang wavered, his ego doing battle with the desire to succeed on his own terms. I adjusted.
“You predicted this yourself, Nawang,” I said. “You found me when I was lost. First, as a child. And again, as an adult. You let me know you had never left me. You drew me here to your side. He is coming. That’s what you said. And now it’s time, and I am here. Only I can help you achieve the final perfection.”
“No!” This, from Adina. “Maha Mudra, Tenzing can’t be trusted!”
Nawang’s nostrils flared, his hostility at the interruption palpable. He collected himself.
“Adina, beloved, lead the others in chant.”
Adina’s features took on an uncharacteristic meekness. She closed her eyes. “Hram hram hram hram,” she murmured.
“Hram hram hram hram hram hram,” the others joined in. The chant provided a low, pulsing undercurrent of sound.
Nawang’s eyes bore into mine. “Is this true, little brother? Are you not to be trusted? Still?”
I dropped to my knees again, but this time to open the suitcase. I slipped the cat’s-eye ring on my right pinkie finger. Then I picked up the vajra hammer with my left hand and stood.
Adina’s chanting faltered for a moment. Then she continued.
“I will prove my devotion.” I hefted the hammer. “This tho-ba crushes any obstruction to liberation. It holds untold power. Its head is a meteorite, formed during the first Kali Yuga, millions of years ago.”
My words had ignited lust. Nawang stared at the hammer, his gaze avid.
“Whoever holds this vajra hammer has power over all, and feels no pain. This is the true scepter of the Adi Buddha.”
I put down the vajra hammer, slipped the ring off, and kissed the amber cat’s-eye. “I purify myself for you, with earth, fire, air, water, and ether.” With my left hand I pressed the ring against my right thigh, hip, upper arm, and shoulder, finishing at the crown of my head. I put the ring on, my left ring finger this time.
Could I do this next part? I had to.
“I offer you my skin . . .” I pulled the phurba still tucked in my robe and scraped the blade, lightly skinning the inside of my right forearm. Blood welled as I dropped the dagger. The blade clinked against the shards of the namchuwangdan mosaic. “I offer you my bone.”
And your arm is rigid and detached . . .
That’s it . . .
And the arm is numb . . .
An immovable iron bar.
I stretched out my right arm. Raised my left, hammer held high. The blow was swift and sure, a direct hit on the unhealed ulna bone.
Crack.
I felt the bone rebreak, but the pain was distant, a faint echo of the real thing. I didn’t even flinch.
I held up my dangling arm, dripping blood. “Jai Adi Buddha.”
The chanting sputtered into silence as bodies shifted. A few even squirmed, but Nawang was mesmerized by my wounded limb.
“Give me the tho-ba,” Nawang said, reaching for it.
“Let me serve you,” I replied. “And send the others away. You don’t need them. You have me.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“You heard him,” he called out. “Go on then. Leave us. Join the others below.”
No one moved a muscle. Adina laughed softly, as if at a private joke. Her pupils were dilated after the chanting. All of theirs were. They were held captive by some kind of loyalty deeper and more dangerous than any chemical could induce.
Nawang returned his attention to me. “What can I do? They need me too much. They are ready to make the sacrifice, to cut the cords of ignorance. They will suffer, maim, even kill for me. They know they cannot ever die, for I am their Adi Buddha.” He leaned close. “Careful. Mystic love is explosive. And addictive, Tenzing.”
So is hatred, I thought.
He held out his hand. “Give me the tho-ba,” he commanded.
His followers stiffened, watching closely. Withholding was no longer wise. I handed over the vajra hammer. He touched the blue-black head.
“How auspicious that we should meet again on this night, on Saka Dawa Duchen.” He caressed the meteorite. “Do you remember our last full moon together, Lama Tenzing?”
“I remember Bhim,” I said.
Nawang chuckled, a dark sound.
“Poor Bhim. He was my first. A bit clumsy. I thought I knew everything back then, but I knew nothing. How naive, to think that practicing the law of inversion was enough to take me to the pinnacle.”
“I was in awe,” I said. “You dared to break every precept. Lying. Stealing. Smoking ganja.”
“Copulation,” he savored the word. “Taking the life of another. Of course, I hadn’t yet learned that others could break the precepts for me.”
I made my voice hushed. “You were like a king to me. Like Kalachakra. You still are.”
Nawang stroked the shaft of the vajra hammer, visibly relaxing. I almost had him where I wanted him.
“Our father knew,” I said. “Apa always knew you were the special one. Let me serve you, Nawang. Let me take on the role of Maha Mudra. Let me be your candali, your shakti flame.”
Nawang motioned me close. He drew back his lips, more grimace than smile. His eyes were windows into pure evil.
“I have known many women,” he said, his voice like a hiss. “Men, too. I have eaten uncooked flesh and drunk the sacred tantric fluids. But I have not yet broken the final taboo.”
“We are brothers,” I said. “Let me be your consort. But send the others away.”
“No,” he said. His eyes hardened. “They stay.” He raised his voice. “Let us begin. It is time.”
I had to recalibrate, and fast. Thankfully, I had not underestimated my foe, not this time. His talents might be prodigious, but I still had a few of my own to call on.
I knelt by the open suitcase and pulled out Sonam’s sheaf of papers.
“Look. I have translated the sacred ganachakra ritual for you, so your adepts can understand.”
Nawang seemed pleased by this. I pressed on.
“But first, we must purify the breath and silence the mind. We must meditate. Ready ourselves for your greatest gift.”
Nawang cocked his head, amused.
“And what might that be, Lama Tenzing?”
“Power,” I said. “Remember? You told me this, long ago. And you were right. You still are. We share this desire, for power. But it is yours to claim. The Power of Ten. I am only your vessel, your vase. I am your brother, and you are my god. Let me prepare the people.”
He was mine. He set the vajra hammer on the ground beside his throne and spread his arms to include the human mandala of followers.
“My brother Tenzing will lead us in meditation. Let us begin.”
I took a seat, just in front of the throne, my suitcase at my feet. I could feel brittle bits of the mosaic through my thin monk’s robe. I laid the papers on top of the suitcase.
I was taking a huge risk. Nawang, at least, had a long history of spiritual practice, and his sensitivity, like mine, was extreme. I was banking on the fact that everyone else in this inner circle had at least some familiarity with meditative concentration. I knew they were willing and eager to taste other realms—they were here, weren’t they?
“Let us close our eyes, and settle into a deep awareness of our bodies,” I said.
Nawang’s dark pupils flashed at me one last time before he lowered his eyelids. There was something almost reptilian about the mov
e.
“That’s it . . . that’s it . . .” I glanced at the concentric circles of seekers. Eyes closed, they rustled and got comfortable.
May their hearts and minds be receptive.
“That’s it, that’s it . . . beautiful, Adina . . . Yes, Britt . . .”
A massive chant rose from the desert below us. “Maha Mudra. Adi Buddha. Maha Mudra. Adi Buddha.”
And then, farther away, the faint wail of sirens.
For a moment I panicked. What if it didn’t work? How could I stop this tidal wave?
You remember that you are not alone, Ten. You are never alone.
“Hram hram hram hram,” I chanted, hoping this familiar trigger would further induce a trance state. “Hram hram hram.”
I was not alone, or unprotected. In a darkened van nearby, my fiancée waited, the love of my life. I had Bill and Martha, there for me always. Mike. Kim. The noble Kshatriyas up in Lemoore. Sonam and Eric with their wise men’s tools. And my friends, my best friends, who were chanting right now for my safety and my success. I could do this. I was not alone.
“Hram hram hram,” my voice became a whisper, and then a memory of a whisper. I allowed the restless quiet to deepen into a hushed silence. I started to talk, my voice soothing:
“Everyone here has felt lost and broken, abandoned in some way.”
Including Nawang. Including me.
“And settling deeper into this moment . . .
“We all have a strong desire to do good in the world . . . yes?
“That’s it . . .
“We want companionship as we walk the path . . .
“And preparing to relax very deeply . . .
“We want to belong somewhere . . .
“Commit to something greater than ourselves . . .
“Relaxing into the present moment . . .
“That’s it . . .”
And I reminded us that sometimes our desire to do good and commit can cause us to stray into places that do harm instead.
And I let us know that we should forgive ourselves for these choices.
And I invited us to remember what freedom tastes like.
And I reassured us that saying yes and saying no could both be wise choices.
“And I’m going to ask you each to picture something in your life, something from a happier time that reminds you who you really are, and that you belong, no matter what. And when you open your eyes, you will remember. You will remember that time when you felt steadfast and sure. When you felt loved.”
The Fifth Rule of Ten Page 32
