The Mountain Shadow

by Gregory David Roberts

  ‘Rule Number One – there are no gurus!’ the entire group responded, quickly and firmly.

  ‘And Rule Number Two?’

  ‘Rule Number Two – you are your own guru!’

  ‘And Rule Number Three?’

  ‘Rule Number Three – never surrender the freedom of your mind.’

  ‘And Rule Number Four?’

  ‘Rule Number Four – inform your mind with everything, without prejudice!’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Idriss laughed. ‘That’s enough. Personally, I don’t like rules. They’re like the map of a place, rather than the place itself. But I know some people do like rules, and need them, so there you are. Four more damn rules. Maybe Rule Number Five, if you get there, should be There are no rules.’

  The group laughed with him, settling more comfortably on their stools and chairs.

  Idriss was something more than seventy years old. Although he walked with the help of a long staff, his thin but healthy frame was flexible. From time to time he crossed his legs effortlessly on the easy chair, without the assistance of his hands.

  His curly, grey hair was cut close to the scalp, throwing all of the attention to his eloquent brown eyes, the magnificent swoop of his hooked nose, and the swollen crest and quiver of his dark, full lips.

  ‘If I recall correctly, Karla,’ he began softly, ‘our last discussion was on the subject of obedience. Is that right?’

  ‘It is, master-ji.’

  ‘Please, Karla, and all of you. We are one searching mind here, and one heart in friendship. Call me Idriss, as I also call you by your names. Now, tell us your opinion on the subject, Karla, finally.’

  Karla looked back at the teacher, her eyes a forest on fire.

  ‘You really wanna know, Idriss?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. Adore me. Worship me. Obey me. Me, Me, Me, that’s all God ever says.’

  The students gasped, but Idriss laughed with open delight.

  ‘Ha! And now you see, my young seekers after wisdom, why I so highly prize Karla’s opinion!’

  The students murmured among themselves.

  Karla stood, walked to the edge of the mesa, and lit a cigarette. She stared out at the surrounding hills and valleys. I knew why she’d left. She was uncomfortable with being told that she was right; she’d rather be considered clever or funny, even if she was wrong.

  ‘Adoration is submission,’ Idriss said. ‘All religions, like all kingdoms, require you to submit, and obey. Of all the tens of thousands of faiths that have existed since the beginning of human time, only those that could enforce obedience have survived. And when obedience decays, the devotion that depended on it becomes as remote as the once great religion of Zeus, Apollo, and Venus, which for so long ruled all the world it knew.’

  ‘But, Idriss, are you saying we should be proud, and not obedient?’ a young man asked.

  ‘No, I’m not. Of course not,’ Idriss replied softly. ‘And you’re quite right to raise the point, Arjun. What I’m saying has nothing to do with pride. There is much to be gained by lowering your head and falling to your knees once in every while. None of us should ever be so proud that we cannot fall on our knees and admit that we do not know everything, and that we are not the centre of the universe, and that there are things for which we should be justly ashamed, and also happily grateful. Do you agree?’

  ‘Yes, Idriss,’ several students replied.

  ‘And pride, the good pride that we need to survive in a brutal world, what is it? Good pride does not say I am better than someone else, which is what bad pride says. Good pride says For all my faults, I have a born right to exist, and I have a will, which is the instrument I can use to improve myself. In fact, it is quite impossible to change and improve yourself without a measure of good pride. Do you agree?’

  ‘Yes, Idriss.’

  ‘Good. What I’m telling you is this: kneel in humility, kneel in the knowledge that we are all connected, every one of us, and every living thing, kneel in the knowledge that we are all together in this struggle to understand and belong, but don’t blindly obey anyone, ever. Do you young people have anything to offer on this point?’

  There was a pause, as the students looked at one another.

  ‘Lin. Our new visitor,’ Idriss asked me quickly. ‘What do you say?’

  I was already there, thinking of prison guards who’d beaten men in prison.

  ‘Enough obedience will let people do just about anything to other people,’ I said.

  ‘I like that answer,’ Idriss said.

  Praise from the wise is the sweetest wine. I felt the warmth of it inside.

  ‘Obedience is the assassin of conscience,’ Idriss said softly, ‘and that is why every lasting institution demands it.’

  ‘But surely we must obey something?’ the Parsi student asked.

  ‘Obey the laws of the land, Zubin,’ Idriss replied, ‘except where they would cause you to act in a manner that is not honourable. Obey the Golden Rules. Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you, and do not do to others, what you would not have them do to you. Obey your instinct to create and love and learn. Obey the universal law of consciousness, that everything you think or say or do has an effect greater than zero, even if it’s only an effect on yourself, which is why you must try to minimise the negative in what you think and say and do, and maximise the positive. Obey the instinct to forgive, and to share with others. Obey your faith. And obey your heart. Your heart will never lie to you.’

  He paused, looking around at the students, many of them writing notes on what he’d said. He smiled, then shook his head, and began to cry.

  I looked at Abdullah. Is he crying? Abdullah nodded, and then flicked his head at the students. Several of them were crying, too. After a while, Idriss spoke though his tears.

  ‘It took so long, fourteen billion years, for this part of the universe to bring into being a consciousness, right here, capable of knowing and actually calculating that it took fourteen thousand million years to make the calculation. We don’t have the right to throw those fourteen billion years away. We don’t have the moral right to waste or damage or kill this consciousness. And we don’t have the right to surrender its will, the most precious and beautiful thing in the universe. We have a duty to study, to learn, to question, to be fair and honest and positive citizens. And above all, we have a duty to unite our consciousness, freely, with any free consciousness, in the common cause of love.’

  I came to hear that speech many times from Idriss, and in modified forms from some of his students, and I liked it, in all its forms. I liked Idriss the mind: but what he said immediately after that speech made me like Idriss the man.

  ‘Let’s tell jokes,’ he said. ‘I’ll go first. I’ve been wanting to tell this all day. Why did the Zen Buddhist keep an empty bottle of milk in his refrigerator? Anyone? No? Give up? It was for guests who drink black tea!’

  Idriss and the students laughed. Abdullah was laughing out loud, happily and freely, something I’d never seen in all the years that I knew him. I painted that laugh on a wall of my heart. And in a small, simple way I loved Idriss for releasing that happiness in my stern friend.

  ‘Okay, okay, my turn!’ Arjun said excitedly, standing to tell his joke.

  One by one the other students stood to tell their jokes. I left, threading my way through the rows of students to find Karla, at the edge of the mesa.

  She was writing notes from the lecture Idriss had given, but she wasn’t using a notepad. She was writing the notes on her left hand.

  Long sentences looped their way back and forth across her hand, up along the length of each finger to the nail, and down again to the knuckle, and then in between the fingers, across the webbing and up again, between two more fingers.

  T
he words continued on the palm-side of her hand, until the whole span of skin, hand and fingers, was covered with a tattooed web of words, like henna decorations on the hands of a Bombay bride.

  It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life: I’m a writer. I found the strength at last to move my eyes and stare out at the forest, already smothered by the heavy swell of cloud.

  ‘So that’s why you asked me to tell you a joke,’ I said.

  ‘It’s one of his things,’ she replied, raising her eyes to stare ahead. ‘He says that the one sure sign of a fanatic is that he has no sense of humour. So, he gets us to laugh, at least once every day.’

  ‘Are you buying it?’

  ‘He’s not selling anything, Lin. That’s why I like him.’

  ‘Okay, what do you think of him?’

  ‘Does it matter, what I think?’

  ‘Everything about you matters, Karla.’

  We faced one another. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I wanted to kiss her.

  ‘You’ve been talking to Ranjit,’ she said, a frown searching my eyes.

  I stopped thinking about kissing her.

  ‘He’s a talkative guy, your husband.’

  ‘What did he talk about?’

  ‘What would he talk to me about?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me!’

  She was speaking softly, but it was still like a trapped animal’s cry. She calmed down.

  ‘What, exactly, did he tell you?’

  ‘Lemme guess,’ I murmured. ‘You and Ranjit do this to people for kicks, right?’

  She smiled.

  ‘Ranjit and I do have an understanding, but not about everything.’

  I smiled.

  ‘You know what,’ I said. ‘To hell with Ranjit.’

  ‘I’d agree with you,’ she said, ‘if I didn’t think I might have to join him there one day.’

  She looked away at the clouds, churning over the distant city, and the first rain showers simmering and frothing at the edges of the forest.

  I was confused, but I was mostly confused when I talked to Karla. I didn’t know if she was telling me something intimate about her and Ranjit, or talking about us. If she was talking about Ranjit, I didn’t want to know.

  ‘Big storm,’ I said.

  She looked back at me quickly.

  ‘It was because of me, wasn’t it?’

  ‘What was because of you?’

  She shook her head, and then stared at me again, her green eyes the only bright things left in the grey-sky world.

  ‘What Ranjit talked to you about,’ she said, suddenly determined and clear. ‘He’s worried about me, I know. But the fact is, he’s the one who needs help, not me. He’s the one in danger.’

  She stared into my eyes, trying to read my thoughts. I was reading what looked like pure and honest concern for her husband. It hurt more, somehow, than Concannon’s club.

  ‘What do you want, Karla?’

  She frowned, let her eyes fall from mine, and then raised them to stare at me again.

  ‘I want you to help him,’ she said, almost as if it were an admission of guilt. ‘I’d like him to stay alive, for a few more months, and that’s not a sure thing.’

  ‘A few months?’

  ‘Years would be acceptable, but a few months are essential.’

  ‘Essential for what?’

  She looked at me, trying out emotional responses, before relaxing in a smile.

  ‘My peace of mind,’ she said, not telling me anything.

  ‘He’s a big boy, Karla, with a big bank account.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  I stared back at her for a moment, and then smiled my way into a soft laugh.

  ‘You’re something, Karla. You’re really something.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘All that stuff, this morning, asking me if I came up here because of you, just to throw me off the track, because you came up here to ask me to help Ranjit.’

  ‘Do you think I’m lying to you?’

  ‘Talking about keeping Ranjit alive for a few months, is the same as talking about him being dead in a few months. It’s pretty cute, Karla.’

  ‘You think I’m manipulating you?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘That’s not –’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, not smiling. ‘It never did. I love you.’

  She tried to speak, but I put my fingers across her lips.

  ‘I’ll ask around, about Ranjit.’

  Thunder silenced her reply: thunder rumbling into blasts, shaking the forest trees.

  ‘I gotta go,’ I said, ‘if I’m gonna beat that storm back to the city. I have to make sure that Lisa’s okay.’

  I turned to leave, but she held my wrist. It was the tattooed hand: the hand covered with a tracery of words.

  ‘Let me ride with you,’ she said.

  I hesitated. Instinct flinched.

  ‘Just that,’ she said. ‘Let me ride back to town with you.’

  ‘Okay. Okay.’

  We collected our things and made the rounds of the students, saying our goodbyes.

  The students liked Karla. Everyone liked Karla, even when they didn’t want to understand her.

  At the edge of the mesa, Idriss and Silvano came to say goodbye. Silvano still had the rifle slung over his shoulder.

  ‘No hard feelings, Silvano,’ I said, offering my hand.

  He spat on the ground.

  Nice, I thought. Okay, rise above.

  ‘Your name, Silvano, means forest.’

  ‘And what if it does?’ he demanded, his jaw jutting on the words.

  ‘I know it,’ I smiled, ‘because an Italian friend of mine changed his name from Silvano, to Forest. Forest Marconi. And I remember thinking that it’s a beautiful name, in both languages.’

  ‘What?’ Silvano frowned.

  ‘I’m just saying, I have a friend, whose name is Silvano, and I like him very much. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I hope you’ll accept my apology.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course,’ Silvano agreed quickly, reaching out to accept my hand.

  There was no contest in it, and the young Italian smiled at me for the first time.

  ‘You speak Italian?’ he asked.

  ‘I can swear, if it’s required.’

  Idriss laughed.

  ‘You must come back, Lin!’ he demanded. ‘You must hear my little talk on the animal nature, and the human nature. You’ll get a kick out of it. Maybe two kicks!’

  Lightning forked a cobra-strike through the black clouds. The teacher’s face and body were illuminated for an instant with blue-silver light.

  ‘I’d like that,’ I replied, when the flashes of lightning had passed. ‘I’ll make sure to bring my animal nature along.’

  ‘You’re always most welcome.’

  Abdullah, Karla and I made our way down the slopes, clinging to one another from time to time on slippery paths.

  At the gravel parking area, Abdullah used the phone. Waiting for him, I looked around at the brooding sky.

  ‘We might not make it before the storm. It might hit us on the highway.’

  ‘With any luck,’ she grinned. ‘Say, that was a pretty fast turnaround back there with Silvano.’

  ‘He’s okay. It was my fault. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

  ‘Fuck you, Lin. Why do you do that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Allude to things on your mind, but then never tell anyone what they are.’

  ‘That’s a glass house you’re throwing stones at,’ I replied, but she was right, again, and I knew it.

  I wanted to tell her. It was all upside down. Lisa and I were lost. Ranjit was attracting bomb
ers. I was leaving the Sanjay Company. Wars had started between gangs and within them, and the only safe place in the city was somewhere else.

  ‘You should leave town for a while, Karla. I should, too.’

  ‘Not a chance of that yet, Shantaram,’ she laughed, and walked over to the small shop to talk with the attendant.

  Abdullah returned and spoke softly, his head close to mine.

  ‘Sanjay has paid everyone,’ he said. ‘There will be no trouble. But it is as I expected. I must go north to the brothers in Delhi for at least a week. I must go tonight.’

  ‘A week?’

  ‘Not a day less, out of the city.’

  ‘I’m coming with you. You’ve got enemies in Delhi.’

  ‘I have enemies everywhere,’ he said softly, lowering his eyes. ‘As I have friends. You cannot come with me. You will leave for Sri Lanka, and complete your mission there, while this matter of the shooting at Leopold’s is resolved.’

  ‘Slow down, brother. I’m quitting the Sanjay Company, remember?’

  ‘I told that to Sanjay, and –’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I told Sanjay that you want to leave.’

  ‘It should’ve been me who told him,’ I said, quietly angry.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he replied. ‘But I have to leave for Delhi, tonight. I will not be there, when you tell Sanjay, and that would be too dangerous without me. I decided to do it now, to see if his reaction presents any danger to you.’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘Yes, and no. He was surprised, and very angry, but then he calmed down enough to say that if you complete this last mission for the Company, he will allow you to leave. What do you think, Lin?’

  ‘That’s all he said?’

  ‘He also said that if you had any family here, they would already be dead.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And that he will throw you to the dogs, very happily, when your mission is completed.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘All but the cursing. He is a foul-mouthed man, and he will die cursing, Inshallah.’

  ‘When do they want me to leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ he sighed. ‘You take the train to Madras. Then you will leave by cargo ship, for Trincomalee. Company men will be waiting at VT station tomorrow morning, at seven. They will have all of your tickets and instructions.’