Neon Lotus

by Marc Laidlaw

  “It is we, the Tibetans, who belong to the land.”

  ***

  In the dark, Marianne lay listening to the breathing of the sleeper nearest to her. Jetsun Dorje was a black shape silhouetted against the constant, reassuring glow of the shrine. He smiled in his sleep and she found herself smiling along with him, as if he’d told her another of his jokes. His humor was infectious.

  “Mm,” Tara whispered. “With his bow today, he looked like another Gesar of Ling—a national hero!”

  “He might be one someday,” Marianne thought. “He is handsome, isn’t he?”

  “And he likes you, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “You could do worse, I think.”

  “I hardly know him, Tara. Besides, what do you know of love? Human love?”

  “There you go again! I’m not a nun, Marianne.”

  “I know that. You’re a yidam. You understand principles, abstractions, religious truths—”

  “And you think there is no principle behind physical love? Close your eyes, girl. I know it’s hard to look away from him, but close them for a moment.”

  She lowered her eyelids slowly. She had the feeling of entering a cavern, descending into total darkness. It was easy to imagine that Rainbow Tara held her by the hand, but it was so dark that not even the yidam could be seen. “Where are we going?”

  “Into the flesh. I won’t have you underestimating me. I’m no good to you if you don’t believe in me.”

  Now the darkness twisted into shapes of light. As they went floating out through space, she looked up and saw a huge glowing body, translucent, naked, female. The face was blurred by distance. As they approached, the body expanded, becoming ever more enormous. The skin began to look immaterial, gaseous, more a veil than a wall. The pores gaped like vast doors to admit them. Ahead she could see the inner regions of the body, and to her surprise she discovered that it was mainly made of empty space, barely sketched upon by lines of matter.

  They flew inward, deeper. The substance of flesh parted like silvery curtains to admit them.

  “We come to the chambers of the heart,” Tara said.

  She expected turbulence, but the place was oddly still. There was a radiance in the air, a warm and honey-scented force that seemed compounded of sound and light.

  Tara moved out into the air, forming flowing mudras with her fingers. Every gesture caused a spray of light to fan forth; luminous trails soon filled the air. Marianne felt as if she were looking at a ritual schematic, lines of power which—properly drawn—would invoke some primal force, a spiritual current akin to electricity.

  Tara turned on Marianne and made swift brushing gestures across her eyes. Sparks danced briefly and when they passed she found that she and Tara were no longer alone in the chamber of the heart.

  Ahead of them floated a couple, blue in color, sitting at the center of a spinning eight-spoked wheel of blue light. The man was cross-legged, and in his lap was a blue woman. Their arms were around each other; her legs were behind his back. Except for their rotation at the hub of the wheel, they did not move; yet they were alive, glowing with power. She felt a rush of erotic energy, as if she were the one in the blue man’s lap. The couple’s ecstasy was a tangible force that blew from them in the form of a wind rushing in every direction at once, a wind so fine that it passed through everything it met.

  The man, she saw, had four arms. His two upper arms were clasped behind the woman’s back, and in his palms he held a black jewel. His two lower arms held a vajra wand and a lotus. The woman, in turn, held what looked like a fan-bladed flaying knife and a bowl made from the crown of a human skull. Her three eyes gave her a fierce expression that was scarcely diminished when she smiled at her consort and revealed teeth sharp as little knives.

  Marianne thought that the lovers were aware of her, but her presence caused them no embarrassment. Their bliss washed over her like a blessing.

  “Chenrezi and the Mother,” Tara said. “There’s your abstract principle, Marianne. The fusion of emptiness and appearance is bliss. Only ignorance and blind desire keep you from perceiving the universe as it is. You could be like them, you know, absorbed in bliss.”

  The spokes of the great blue wheel swept past her one by one, with a thrumming sound. She shook her head.

  “I don’t think so, Tara. I have other things to do.”

  Tara smiled. “Do you think they are something other than yourself? You’re wrong, Marianne. The universe itself is created by a continuous orgasm—it’s just that you can’t always feel it. A veil separates you from reality. Do you know where we are right now? Do you know where Chenrezi and the Mother dwell?”

  She remembered the body of the giant, into which they had flown.

  “We’re in your heart,” Tara said. “Nowhere else. But your own heart is the greatest mystery you will ever encounter.”

  Marianne looked again at the blue lovers. For a moment she felt passion like an ache inside her. Physical desire merged with her spirit’s dream of enlightenment, sending a deep pulse through the chamber. Her own desires joined with the emanations of the divine couple and there was a tremendous reverberation. The darkness began to dissolve, revealing something far deeper within it—an emptiness that terrified her. She feared she might fall into that abyss forever.

  Screaming for Tara, she tried to pull back from the brink. She found no handhold, no security.

  The blue lovers fused into a single figure, a shining blue syllable—HAM—which filled the emptiness with its sound. As she fell, she found herself blown upward through the hollow dark.

  Light kissed her eyes. She opened them, relieved to discover that she was in the tent again, wrapped in blankets, gazing at Jetsun Dorje.

  His eyes were open now.

  “Are you all right? You cried out.”

  “I was having a dream,” she said.

  He got up on his elbows and started to crawl toward her, dragging his blankets along with him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I would never forgive myself if the Great Mother came to harm.”

  “These are only dreams,” she said with a laugh, but in a whisper so as not to disturb Dr. Norbu.

  “Even so. I will sleep close to you. If you are frightened, I will know instantly. I will rescue you from sleep.”

  “I can take care of myself, Jetsun,” she said, drawing her blankets up to her chin.

  “I know that. But if you need help, I am here.”

  He rolled over and wrapped up again, crossing his arms over his chest like a soldier descending to patrol the border of dreams.

  “Thank you, I guess,” she said.

  When she closed her eyes, Tara was waiting there to wink at her.

  “He shows heroic restraint,” said the rainbow girl.

  “I don’t know about that,” thought Marianne. “He might simply fear waking Reting.”

  She thought of the blue lovers coupling in her heart. A curious warmth flowed through her, at once erotic and spiritual. She felt herself becoming a shining syllable that filled the universe with its musical light. That was the last thing she remembered.

  PART THREE: LOTUS SONG

  7. In the Mines of Joy

  For several weeks they traveled as nomads, moving for a few hours each day, then stopping to erect tents. The pace was maddening to Marianne, but Dhondub pointed out that this was no time to rush westward. Wherever the precious ornaments lay hidden, they had been in place for ages. The chieftain was certain that their group was being kept under constant observation, for they were interrogated anew at each town they passed. Gradually, he assured her, the recent events involving the midnight jet would fade from the minds of the overlords. Once that had happened, the nomads would move more quickly. Meanwhile, they made slow but steady progress.

  If the crawling pace was bad for Marianne’s nerves, it did wonders for her spirit. Simply to be in Tibet was miraculous. She learned to ride a horse. While the jeeps
rushed ahead with the tents and some of the heavier equipment, she trotted along, watching the horizons change slowly. Mountains rose and fell to either side of them, and though the land was often green, the peaks were always capped in snow. The plains were broad and empty, but the sky was usually crowded with tumbling clouds. She learned to watch the weather and to detect the coming of storms, but she was always surprised by the hail which fell out of bright skies. Worst of all were the dust storms, blinding winds that slowed their advance still further—although Dhondub said that such storms occasionally worked to their advantage, by obscuring the eyes of Chinese surveillance systems.

  Jetsun Dorje rode beside her, practicing the longbow—which meant that he was often pulling away to chase arrows, then riding back breathless to joke about his own bad shots. The other nomads teased him for a while, but gradually they began to offer advice and he began to improve noticeably. The Tibetans used the bow and arrow purely for sport, firing on inanimate objects or erecting targets of their own. Although the party often startled wild animals into flight or sent pheasants swirling up from the grasses, no one ever aimed an arrow at these creatures. They had other means of gaining food, and refrained from hunting the few beasts that had begun to repopulate the plains. They wore synthetic skins and furs. While the nomads kept the appearance of a completely traditional culture, they were a modern people now. In fact, their technical expertise and penchant for electronic piracy put them far ahead of many others. They had transformed an ancient way of life into something strange and new.

  Farther to the west, evidence of human habitation became more obvious. Sometimes on the horizon they saw smokestacks billowing gray fumes into the crystal-blue atmosphere. Dhondub pointed out regions where whole hills had been carved away in the endless search for mineral ore. They spent two days crossing an abandoned oil field where nothing remained now but skeletal, corroded rigs that creaked in the steady wind. They made a wide detour around an area that the map showed marked with nuclear symbols. According to Dhondub this was a nuclear waste dump, guarded by mercenaries whose duties were little hampered by regional law. He was of the opinion that the guards set over the waste were far more dangerous than the stuff itself.

  Early one afternoon, Marianne rode along in the chieftain’s jeep as he went scouting ahead of the party. They reached the end of a valley between two low mountain ranges which they had been following for over a week. The skirts of the mountains began to recede at a speed that seemed unnatural now that she had adjusted to the pace of the horses. Beyond the valley, she could see the pale shapes of higher peaks. The land was growing more rugged.

  Dhondub steered through the sparse vegetation, stirring up dust and gravel, heading toward the wrinkled shade of the foothills. As they drew near the mountains, Marianne thought she saw another trail of dust running to intercept their own.

  By the time they entered a deep cleft in the rocky slopes, she could see tire tracks on the earth ahead of them. They drove around a jagged bend and came upon another jeep parked in deep shadow. The dust had not yet settled around its tires. A Tibetan man in dark glasses, knit cap, and a tattered orange parka sat on the hood, lighting a long pipe.

  “Gyayum Chenmo!” he said, unfolding his lanky legs and sliding down from the hood.

  “This is Sonam Gampo,” Dhondub said.

  The man bowed to her. “My name is ‘Persistent Prospector for Opportunities Benefiting the Great Common Good.’ The district governor chose my name. My friends call me simply ‘Common Good.’”

  Marianne laughed. “Not even ‘Great Common Good’?”

  He made a humble gesture. “I’m not as great as all that.”

  “How is life in the Mines of Joy?” Dhondub asked.

  “No more rotten than usual, but I am desperate to leave all the same. If only I weren’t so important to the governor. . . .”

  “Then you wouldn’t have half the mobility you enjoy now,” Dhondub said.

  “I could be a nomad like you!”

  Dhondub shrugged. “You had the misfortune of being born in a mining town rather than a tent. Be glad that you’re free to drive out on your own. Your fellow citizens must be envious.”

  “They’re too worn-out to waste themselves on envy,” Common Good said. He sighed and sank back against the fender of the jeep. “Well, I have something for you.”

  “So you signaled. Did you bring it along?”

  Common Good shook his head. “Oh no, that’s the problem. It was sheer luck that got her in; I wouldn’t risk her life or mine trying to smuggle her out. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She is like one possessed—almost a madwoman at times. There’s something in her soul that I don’t understand. But she says she has seen the flower.”

  “Flower?” Marianne said. “Do you mean the lotus of the west?”

  Common Good’s eyes lit up. “A lotus, yes! She won’t tell me more, only that a miraculous lotus had bloomed in the snow of the mountains. Whenever I ask her a question, she goes crazy and answers in riddles.”

  Rainbow Tara listened through Marianne, intent on every word. Now she whispered, “The lotus has given her a yidam, a protector. We must meet this woman, Marianne. I’m sure she will speak to me.”

  “Where is she?” Marianne blurted.

  Common Good smiled nervously. “In my home. Safe enough, unless someone decides to inspect the place. I’ve been careful to arouse no official suspicion; I kiss the governor’s boots at every opportunity, now that I must. I hope that hasn’t made him suspicious.”

  “Can we go there?”

  Dhondub gave her a sharp look. “A nomad would never enter the Mines of Joy.”

  “One of you will have to,” Common Good said. “I’m telling you, I don’t dare bring her out. It would be easier if you arranged to enter the city, to trade or buy supplies.”

  “I won’t deal with a mining town,” Dhondub said. “That would put all my people at risk. Other nomads—”

  “I know those stories,” Common Good said. “But I have no better advice. If you want to see her, you must come into the city.”

  Dhondub sank down against the hood of Common Good’s jeep and gazed at the hills with a sour expression. Common Good lent him his pipe for a moment, but smoking did not improve the chieftain’s mood.

  “No,” he said, “it’s too great a risk. We could all end up conscripted laborers. I don’t even dare pass near the town. Your governor would love the chance to nab a handful of strong new workers. If we resisted there would be bloodshed, and then we would certainly be finished.”

  “I’m the only one who has to go,” said Marianne. “Surely it can't be hard to get one person in and out again.”

  Dhondub scowled. “I can’t let you go in there, of all people.”

  “I’m the only one who can talk to her. My yidam—”

  “Impossible!” Dhondub shouted, banging his hand on the hood.

  Marianne took a step backward, startled by his ferocity It took her a moment to realize that he was not angry with her, but with the obstacle that had suddenly been placed before them.

  An obstacle, yes . . . but also an opportunity.

  “You must bring her out to us,” Dhondub told Common Good.

  “It’s impossible,” the other man said flatly. “I don’t dare come this way again for at least a week.”

  “Then wait until we travel past the Mines, and you can venture the other way to meet us. Bring her then—”

  Marianne felt a great impatience that was only partially Tara’s. “And what if she’s discovered in that time? Dhondub, I know you’re concerned for my safety, but I feel we must speak to this woman as soon as possible.”

  He glowered at her, then turned away. “The Mines of Joy,” he said, with hatred thick in his voice.

  “Now, now,” said Common Good. “That’s my home you’re talking about.”

  “I can’t allow it.”

  “I insist,” said Marianne.

>   He spun toward her, raging. “Who are you to . . . ?” His words died on his tongue. He grew pale, his eyes widened, and then he let his hands fall limp to his sides. He dropped his head. “Forgive me, Gyayum Chenmo.”

  She pressed her lips together and swallowed her usual reprimand. All right, she thought, I will be the Great Mother. Just this once, I will use my prerogative.

  He looked up at her again, silently but visibly pleading with her. “I cannot let any harm befall you. I am sworn to protect you. If I simply let you walk into that place—”

  “She won’t be alone, Dhondub. You forget that I too have sworn protection.”

  Marianne gave Common Good a nod of thanks.

  “All I need to know,” she said, “is where to meet you when I return.”

  “Easier said than done,” Dhondub said. He got up from Common Good’s jeep and walked back to his own. She could tell that he had resigned himself to her decision, although he was far from happy with it.

  “It depends on how long it takes you,” he said. “We can’t stop moving or we’ll end up under arrest. We’ll be bending north to avoid the Mines. The navigation is tricky.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Common Good said. “We’ll stay in contact. This shouldn’t take long, Dhondub.”

  “Perhaps not, if nothing goes wrong,” said the nomad. “But I would never count on that.”

  ***

  An hour later, they drove into a dust storm. Common Good cried out that it was their good fortune, for now no one would question the fact that he had thrown a tarp over the objects in the bed of the jeep. Marianne crouched among tools and toolboxes, receiving frequent blows as they bounced over the rough terrain. Her driver stopped only when the storm became so fierce that he could no longer see the compass on his dashboard. Then he ducked his head under the tarp and huddled there awhile. They shared a canister of tepid black tea while the wind-borne grit scoured the jeep inside and out. Common Good was friendly and seemed glad for the company, but she could not help wishing that she were back with her nomadic friends. By now Reting Norbu would have heard what she had done. She imagined him throwing up his hands at the news, then shaking his head in resignation.