Roger Zelazny "Lord of Light"
Original scan by none. Proofing, layout by Nadie. (v3.0)
It is said that fifty-three years after his liberation he returned from
the Golden Cloud, to take up once again the gauntlet of Heaven, to oppose
the Order of Life and the gods who ordained it so. His followers had prayed
for his return, though their prayers were sin. Prayer should not trouble one
who has gone on to Nirvana, no matter what the circumstances of his going.
The wearers of the saffron robe prayed, however, that He of the Sword,
Manjusri, should come again among them, The Boddhisatva is said to have
heard. . .
He whose desires have been throttled,
who is independent of root,
whose pasture is emptiness --
signless and free --
his path is as unknowable
as that of birds across the heavens.
Dhammapada (93)
His followers called him Mahasamatman and said he was a god. He
preferred to drop the Maha- and the -atman, however, and called himself Sam.
He never claimed to be a god. But then, he never claimed not to be a god.
Circumstances being what they were, neither admission could be of any
benefit. Silence, though, could.
Therefore, there was mystery about him.
It was in the season of the rains . . .
It was well into the time of the great wetness. . .
It was in the days of the rains that their prayers went up, not from
the fingering of knotted prayer cords or the spinning of prayer wheels, but
from the great pray-machine in the monastery of Ratri, goddess of the Night
The high-frequency prayers were directed upward through the atmosphere
and out beyond it, passing into that golden cloud called the Bridge of the
Gods, which circles the entire world, is seen as a bronze rainbow at night
and is the place where the red sun becomes orange at midday.
Some of the monks doubted the orthodoxy of this prayer technique, but
the machine had been built and was operated by Yama-Dharma, fallen, of the
Celestial City; and, it was told, he had ages ago built the mighty thunder
chariot of Lord Shiva: that engine that fled across the heavens belching
gouts of fire in its wake.
Despite his tall from favor, Yama was still deemed mightiest of the
artificers, though it was not doubted that the Gods of the City would have
him to die the real death were they to learn of the pray-machine. For that
matter, though, it was not doubted that they would have him to die the real
death without the excuse of the pray-machine, also, were he to come into
their custody. How he would settle this matter with the Lords of Karma was
his own affair, though none doubted that when the time came he would find a
way. He was half as old as the Celestial City itself, and not more than ten
of the gods remembered the founding of that abode. He was known to be wiser
even than the Lord Kubera in the ways of the Universal Fire. But these were
his lesser Attributes. He was best known for another thing, though few men
spoke of it. Tall, but not overly so; big, but not heavy; his movements,
slow and fluent. He wore red and spoke little.
He tended the pray-machine, and the giant metal lotus he had set atop
the monastery roof turned and turned in its sockets.
A light rain was falling upon the building, the lotus and the jungle at
the foot of the mountains. For six days he had offered many kilowatts of
prayer, but the static kept him from being heard On High. Under his breath,
he called upon the more notable of the current fertility deities, invoking
them in terms of their most prominent Attributes.
A rumble of thunder answered his petition, and the small ape who
assisted him chuckled. "Your prayers and your curses come to the same. Lord
Yama," commented the ape. "That is to say, nothing."
"It has taken you seventeen incarnations to arrive at this truth?" said
Yama. "I can see then why you are still doing time as an ape."
"Not so," said the ape, whose name was Tak. "My fall, while less
spectacular than your own, nevertheless involved elements of personal malice
on the part of -- "
"Enough!" said Yama, turning his back to him.
Tak realized then that he might have touched upon a sore spot. In an
attempt to find another subject for conversation, he crossed to the window,
leapt onto its wide sill and stared upward.
"There is a break in the cloud cover, to the west," he said.
Yama approached, followed the direction of his gaze, frowned, and
nodded.
"Aye," he said. "Stay where you are and advise me."
He moved to a bank of controls.
Overhead, the lotus halted in its turning, then faced the patch of bare
sky.
"Very good," he said. "We're getting something."
His hand moved across a separate control panel, throwing a series of
switches and adjusting two dials.
Below them, in the cavernous cellars of the monastery, the signal was
received and other preparations were begun: the host was made ready.
"The clouds are coming together again!" cried Tak.
"No matter, now," said the other. "We've hooked our fish. Out of
Nirvana and into the lotus, he comes."
There was more thunder, and the rain came down with a sound like hail
upon the lotus. Snakes of blue lightning coiled, hissing, about the
mountaintops.
Yama sealed a final circuit.
"How do you think he will take to wearing the flesh again?" asked Tak.
"Go peel bananas with your feet!"
Tak chose to consider this a dismissal and departed the chamber,
leaving Yama to close down the machinery. He made his way along a corridor
and down a wide flight of stairs. He reached the landing, and as he stood
there he heard the sound of voices and the shuffling of sandals coming in
his direction from out a side hall.
Without hesitating, he climbed the wall, using a series of carved
panthers and an opposing row of elephants as handholds. Mounting a rafter,
he drew back into a well of shadow and waited, unmoving.
Two dark-robed monks entered through the archway.
"So why can she not clear the sky for them?" said the first.
The second, an older, more heavily built man, shrugged. "I am no sage
that I can answer such questions. That she is anxious is obvious, or she
should never have granted them this sanctuary, nor Yama this usage. But who
can mark the limits of night?"
"Or the moods of a woman," said the first. "I have heard that even the
priests did not know of her coming."
"That may be. Whatever the case, it would seem a good omen."
"So it would seem."
They passed through another archway, and Tak listened to the sounds of
their going until there was only silence.
Still, he did not leave his perch.
The "she" referred to by the monks could only be the goddess Ratri
herself, worshiped by the order that had given sanctuary to the followers of
Great-Souled Sam, the Enlightened One. Now, Ratri, too, was to be numbered
among those fallen from the Celestial City and wearing the skin of a mortal.
She had every reason to be bitter over the whole affair; and Tak realized
the chance she was taking in granting sanctuary, let alone being physically
present during this undertaking. It could jeopardize any possibility of her
future reinstatement if word of it got out and reached the proper ears. Tak
recalled her as the dark-haired beauty with silver eyes, passing in her moon
chariot of ebony and chromium, drawn by stallions black and white, tended by
her guard, also black and white, passing up the Avenue of Heaven, rivaling
even Sarasvati in her glory. His heart leapt within his hairy breast. He had
to see her again. One night, long ago, in happier times and better form, he
had danced with her, on a balcony under the stars. It had been for only a
few moments. But he remembered; and it is a difficult thing to be an ape and
to have such memories.
He climbed down from the rafter.
There was a tower, a high tower rising from the northeast comer of the
monastery. Within that tower was a chamber. It was said to contain the
indwelling presence of the goddess. It was cleaned daily, the linens
changed, fresh incense burnt and a votive offering laid just within the
door. That door was normally kept locked.
There were, of course, windows. The question as to whether a man could
have entered by means of any of these windows must remain academic. Tak
proved that an ape could.
Mounting the monastery roof, he proceeded to scale the tower, moving
from brick to slippery brick, from projection to irregularity, the heavens
growling doglike above him, until finally he clung to the wall just below
the outer sill. A steady rain fell upon him. He heard a bird singing within.
He saw the edge of a wet, blue scarf hanging over the sill.
He caught hold of the ledge and raised himself until he could peer
inside.
Her back was to him. She wore a dark blue sari, and she was seated on a
small bench at the opposite end of the room.
He clambered onto the sill and cleared his throat.
She turned quickly. She wore a veil, so that her features were
indistinguishable. She regarded him through it, then rose and crossed the
chamber.
He was dismayed. Her figure, once lithe, was wide about the waist; her
walk, once the swaying of boughs, was a waddle; her complexion was too dark;
even through the veil the lines of her nose and jaw were too pronounced.
He bowed his head. "'And so you have drawn near to us, who at your
coming have come home," he sang, "'as birds to their nest upon the tree.'"
She stood, still as her statue in the main hall below.
"'Guard us from the she-wolf and the wolf, and guard us from the thief,
oh Night, and so be good for us to pass.'"
She reached out slowly and laid her hand upon his head.
"You have my blessing, little one," she said, after a time.
"Unfortunately, that is all I can give. I cannot offer protection or render
beauty, who lack these luxuries myself. What is your name?"
"Tak," he told her.
She touched her brow. "I once knew a Tak," she said, "in a bygone day,
a distant place. . ."
"I am that Tak, madam."
She seated herself upon the sill. After a time, he realized that she
was weeping, within her veil.
"Don't cry, goddess. Tak is here. Remember Tak, of the Archives? Of the
Bright Spear? He stands yet ready to do thy bidding."
"Tak. . ." she said. "Oh, Tak! You, too? I did not know, I never heard.
. ."
"Another turning of the wheel, madam, and who knows? Things may yet be
better than even once they were."
Her shoulders shook. He reached out, drew back his hand.
She turned and took it.
After an age, she spoke: "Not by the normal course of events shall we
be restored or matters settled, Tak of the Bright Spear. We must beat our
own path."
"What mean you?" he inquired; then, "Sam?"
She nodded.
"He is the one. He is our hope against Heaven, dear Tak. If he can be
recalled, we have a chance to live again."
"This is why you have taken this chance, why you yourself sit within
the jaws of the tiger?"
"Why else? When there is no real hope we must mint our own. If the coin
be counterfeit it still may be passed."
"Counterfeit? You do not believe he was the Buddha?"
She laughed, briefly. "Sam was the greatest charlatan in the memory of
god or man. He was also the worthiest opponent Trimurti ever faced. Don't
look so shocked at my saying it. Archivist! You know that he stole the
fabric of his doctrine, path and attainment, the whole robe, from
prehistorical forbidden sources. It was a weapon, nothing more. His greatest
strength was his insincerity. If we could have him back . . ."
"Lady, saint or charlatan, he is returned."
"Do not jest with me, Tak."
"Goddess and Lady, I just left the Lord Yama shutting down the
pray-machine, frowning his frown of success."
"The venture was against such mighty odds. . . . Lord Agni once said
that no such thing could ever be done."
Tak stood.
"Goddess Ratri," he said, "who, be he god or man, or anything between,
knows more of such matters than Yama?"
"I have no answer for that question, Tak, because there is none. But
how can you say of a certainty that he has netted us our fish?"
"Because he is Yama."
"Then take my arm, Tak. Escort me again, as once you did. Let us view
the sleeping Boddhisatva."
He led her out the door, down the stairs, and into the chambers below.
Light, born not of torches but of the generators of Yama, filled the
cavern. The bed, set upon a platform, was closed about on three sides by
screens. Most of the machinery was also masked by screens and hangings. The
saffron-robed monks who were in attendance moved silently about the great
chamber. Yama, master artificer, stood at the bedside.
As they approached, several of the well-disciplined, imperturbable
monks uttered brief exclamations. Tak then turned to the woman at his side
and drew back a pace, his breath catching in his throat.
She was no longer the dumpy little matron with whom he had spoken. Once
again did he stand at the side of Night Immortal, of whom it has been
written, "The goddess has filled wide space, to its depths and its heights.
Her radiance drives out the dark."
He looked but a moment and covered his eyes. She still had this trace
of her distant Aspect about her.
"Goddess. . ." he began.
"To the sleeper," she stated. "He stirs."
They advanced to the bedstead.
Thereafter to be portrayed in murals at the ends of countless
corridors, carved upon the walls of Temples and painted onto the ceilings of
numerous palaces, came the awakening of he who was variously known as
Mahasamatman, Kalkin, Manjusri, Siddhartha, Tathagatha, Binder, Maitreya,
the Enlightened One, Buddha and Sam. At his left was the goddess of Night;
to his right stood Death; Tak, the ape, was crouched at the foot of the bed,
eternal comment upon the coexistence of the animal and the divine.
He wore an ordinary, darkish body of medium height and age; his
features were regular and undistinguished; when his eyes opened, they were
dark.
"Hail, Lord of Light!" It was Ratri who spoke these words.
The eyes blinked. They did not focus. Nowhere in the chamber was there
any movement.
"Hail, Mahasamatman -- Buddha!" said Yama.
The eyes stared ahead, unseeing.
"Hello, Sam," said Tak.
The forehead creased slightly, the eyes squinted, fell upon Tak, moved
on to the others.
"Where . . . ?" he asked, in a whisper.
"My monastery," answered Ratri.
Without expression, he looked upon her beauty.
Then he shut his eyes and held them tightly closed, wrinkles forming at
their corners. A grin of pain made his mouth a bow, his teeth the arrows,
clenched.
"Are you truly he whom we have named?" asked Yama.
He did not answer.
"Are you he who fought the army of Heaven to a standstill on the banks
of the Vedra?"
The mouth slackened.
"Are you he who loved the goddess of Death?"
The eyes flickered. A faint smile came and went across the lips.
"It is he," said Yama; then, "Who are you, man?"
"I? I am nothing," replied the other. "A leaf caught in a whirlpool,
perhaps. A feather in the wind. . ."
"Too bad," said Yama, "for there are leaves and feathers enough in the
world for me to have labored so long only to increase their number. I wanted
me a man, one who might continue a war interrupted by his absence -- a man
of power who could oppose with that power the will of gods. I thought you
were he."
"I am"-- he squinted again"-- Sam. I am Sam. Once-- long ago . . . I
did fight, didn't I? Many times . . ."
"You were Great-Souled Sam, the Buddha. Do you remember?"
"Maybe I was . . ." A slow fire was kindled in his eyes.
"Yes," he said then. "Yes, I was. Humblest of the proud, proudest of
the humble. I fought. I taught the Way for a time. I fought again, taught
again, tried politics, magic, poison . . . I fought one great battle so
terrible the sun itself hid its face from the slaughter-- with men and gods,
with animals and demons, with spirits of the earth and air, of fire and
water, with slizzards and horses, swords and chariots-- "
"And you lost," said Yama.
"Yes, I did, didn't I? But it was quite a showing we gave them, wasn't
it? You, deathgod, were my charioteer. It all comes back to me now. We were
taken prisoner and the Lords of Karma were to be our judges. You escaped
them by the will-death and the Way of the Black Wheel. I could not."
"That is correct. Your past was laid out before them. You were judged."
Yama regarded the monks who now sat upon the floor, their heads bowed, and
he lowered his voice. "To have you to die the real death would have made you
a martyr. To have permitted you to walk the world, in any form, would have
left the door open for your return. So, as you stole your teachings from the
Gottama of another place and time, did they steal the tale of the end of
that one's days among men. You were judged worthy of Nirvana. Your atman was
projected, not into another body, but into the great magnetic cloud that
encircles this planet. That was over half a century ago. You are now
officially an avatar of Vishnu, whose teachings were misinterpreted by some
of his more zealous followers. You, personally, continued to exist only in
the form of self-perpetuating wavelengths, which I succeeded in capturing."
Sam closed his eyes.
"And you dared to bring me back?"
"That is correct."
"I was aware of my condition the entire time."
"I suspected as much."
His eyes opened, blazing. "Yet you dared recall me from that?"
"Yes."
Sam bowed his head. "Rightly are you called deathgod, Yama-Dharma. You
have snatched away from me the ultimate experience. You have broken upon the
dark stone of your will that which is beyond all comprehension and mortal
splendor. Why could you not have left me as I was, in the sea of being?"
"Because a world has need of your humility, your piety, your great
teaching and your Machiavellian scheming."
"Yama, I'm old," he said. "I'm as old as man upon this world. I was one
of the First, you know. One of the very first to come here, to build, to
settle. All of the others are dead now, or are gods -- dei ex machini. . .
The chance was mine also, but I let it go by. Many times. I never wanted to
be a god, Yama. Not really. It was only later, only when I saw what they
were doing, that I began to gather what power I could to me. It was too
late, though. They were too strong. Now I just want to sleep the sleep of
ages, to know again the Great Rest, the perpetual bliss, to hear the songs
the stars sing on the shores of the great sea."
Ratri leaned forward and looked into his eyes. "We need you, Sam," she
said.
"I know, I know," he told her. "It's the eternal recurrence of the
anecdote. You've a willing horse, so flog him another mile." But he smiled
as he said it, and she kissed his brow.
Tak leaped into the air and bounced upon the bed.
"Mankind rejoices," observed the Buddha.
Yama handed him a robe and Ratri fitted him with slippers.
Recovering from the peace which passeth understanding takes time. Sam
slept. Sleeping, he dreamed; dreaming, he cried out, or just cried. He had
no appetite; but Yama had found him a body both sturdy and in perfect
health, one well able to bear the psychosomatic conversion from divine
withdrawal.
But he would sit for an hour, unmoving, staring at a pebble or a seed
or a leaf. And on these occasions, he could not be aroused. Yama saw in this
a danger, and he spoke of it with Ratri and Tak. "It is not good that he
withdraw from the world in this way, now," he said. "I have spoken with him,
but it is as if I addressed the wind. He cannot recover that which he has
left behind. The very attempt is costing him his strength."
"Perhaps you misread his efforts," said Tak.
"What mean you?"
"See how he regards the seed he has set before him? Consider the
wrinkling at the edges of his eyes."
"Yes? What of it?"
"He squints. Is his vision impaired?"
"It is not."
"Then why does he squint?"
"To better study the seed."
"Study? That is not the Way, as once he taught it. Yet he does study.
He does not meditate, seeking within the object that which leads to release
of the subject. No."
"What then does he do?"
"The reverse."
"The reverse?"
"He does study the object, considering its ways, in an effort to bind
himself. He seeks within it an excuse to live. He tries once more to wrap
himself within the fabric of Maya, the illusion of the world."
"I believe you are right, Tak!" It was Ratri who had spoken. "How can
we assist him in his efforts?"
"I am not certain, mistress."
Yama nodded, his dark hair glistening in a bar of sunlight that fell
across the narrow porch.
"You have set your finger upon the thing I could not see," he
acknowledged. "He has not yet fully returned, though he wears a body, walks
upon human feet, talks as we do. His thought is still beyond our ken."
"What then shall we do?" repeated Ratri.
"Take him on long walks through the countryside," said Yama. "Feed him
delicacies. Stir his soul with poetry and song. Find him strong drink to
drink-- there is none here in the monastery. Garb him in bright-hued silks.
Fetch him a courtesan or three. Submerge him in living again. It is only
thus that he may be freed from the chains of God. Stupid of me not to have
seen it sooner . . ."
"Not really, deathgod," said Tak.
The flame that is black leapt within Yama's eyes, and then he smiled.
"I am repaid, little one," he acknowledged, "for the comments I, perhaps
thoughtlessly, let fall upon thy hairy ears. I apologize, ape-one. You are
truly a man, and one of wit and perception."
Tak bowed before him.
Ratri chuckled.
"Tell us, clever Tak-- for mayhap we have been gods too long, and so
lack the proper angle of vision-- how shall we proceed in this matter of
rehumanizing him, so as to best serve the ends we seek?"
Tak bowed him then to Ratri.
"As Yama has proposed," he stated. "Today, mistress, you take him for a
walk in the foothills. Tomorrow, Lord Yama conducts him as far as the edge
of the forest. The following day I shall take him amidst the trees and the
grasses, the flowers and the vines. And we shall see. We shall."
"So be it," said Yama, and so it was.
In the weeks that followed, Sam came to look forward to these walks
with what appeared at first a mild anticipation, then a moderate enthusiasm,
and finally a blazing eagerness. He took to going off unaccompanied for
longer and longer stretches of time: at first, it was for several hours in
the morning; then, morning and evening. Later, he stayed away all day, and
on occasion a day and a night.
At the end of the third week, Yama and Ratri discussed it on the porch
in the early hours of morning.
"This thing I do not like," said Yama. "We cannot insult him by forcing
our company upon him now, when he does not wish it. But there is danger out
there, especially for one born again such as he. I would that we knew how he
spends his hours."
"But whatever he does, it is helping him to recover," said Ratri,
gulping a sweetmeat and waving a fleshy hand. "He is less withdrawn. He
speaks more, even jesting. He drinks of the wine we bring him. His appetite
is returning."
"Yet, if he should meet with an agent of Trimurti, the final doom may
come to pass."
Ratri chewed slowly. "It is not likely, though, that such should be
abroad in this country, in these days," she stated. "The animals will see
him as a child and will not harm him. Men would consider him a holy hermit.
The demons fear him of old, and so respect him."
But Yama shook his head. "Lady, it is not so simple. Though I have
dismantled much of my machinery and hidden it hundreds of leagues from here,
such a massive trafficking of energies as I employed cannot have passed
unnoticed. Sooner or later this place will be visited. I used screens and
baffling devices, but this general area must have appeared in certain
quarters as though the Universal Fire did a dance upon the map. Soon we must
move on. I should prefer to wait until our charge is fully recovered, but. .
."
"Could not certain natural forces have produced the same energy effects
as your workings?"
"Yes, and they do occur in this vicinity, which is why I chose it as
our base-- so it may well be that nothing will come of it. Still, I doubt
this. My spies in the villages report no unusual activities now. But on the
day of his return, riding upon the crest of the storm, some say the thunder
chariot passed, hunting through the heavens and across the countryside. This
was far from here, but I cannot believe that there was no connection."
"Yet, it has not returned."
"Not that we know of. But I fear . . ."
"Then let us depart at once. I respect your forebodings too well. You
have more of the power upon you than any other among the Fallen. For me, it
is a great strain even to assume a pleasing shape for more than a few
minutes . . ."
"What powers I possess," said Yama, refilling her teacup, "are intact
because they were not of the same order as yours."
He smiled then, showing even rows of long, brilliant teeth. This smile
caught at the edge of a scar upon his left cheek and reached up to the comer
of his eye. He winked to put a period to it and continued, "Much of my power
is in the form of knowledge, which even the Lords of Karma could not have
wrested from me. The power of most of the gods, however, is predicated upon
a special physiology, which they lose in part when incarnated into a new
body. The mind, somehow remembering, after a time alters any body to a
certain extent, engendering a new homeostasis, permitting a gradual return
of power. Mine does return quickly, though, and it is with me fully now. But
even if it were not, I have my knowledge to use as a weapon-- and that is a
power."
Ratri sipped her tea. "Whatever its source, if your power says move,
then move we must. How soon?"
Yama opened a pouch of tobacco and rolled a cigarette as he spoke. His
dark, supple fingers, she noted, always had about then: movement that which
was like the movements of one who played upon an instrument of music.
"I should say let us not tarry here more than another week or ten days.
We must wean him from this countryside by then."
She nodded. "Where to then?"
"Some small southern kingdom, perhaps, where we may come and go
undisturbed."
He lit the cigarette, breathed smoke.
"I've a better idea," said she. "Know that under a mortal name am I
mistress of the Palace of Kama in Khaipur."
"The Fornicatorium, madam?"
She frowned. "As such is it often known to the vulgar, and do not call
me 'madam' in the same breath-- it smacks of an ancient jest. It is a place
of rest, pleasure, holiness and much of my revenue. There, I feel, would be
a good hiding place for our charge while he makes his recovery and we our
plans."
Yama slapped his thigh. "Aye! Aye! Who would think to look for the
Buddha in a whorehouse? Good! Excellent! To Khaipur, then, dear goddess-- to
Khaipur and the Palace of Love!"
She stood and stamped her sandal upon the flagstones. "I will not have
you speak that way of my establishment!"
He dropped his eyes, and with pain dropped the grin from his face. He
stood then and bowed. "I apologize, dear Ratri, but the revelation came so
sudden-- " He choked then and looked away. When he looked back, he was full
of sobriety and decorum. He continued, "That I was taken aback by the
apparent incongruity. Now, though, I do see the wisdom of the thing. It is a
most perfect cover-up, and it provides you both with wealth and, what is
more important, with a source of privy information among the merchants,
warriors and priests. It is an indispensable part of the community. It gives
you status and a voice in civil affairs. Being a god is one of the oldest
professions in the world. It is only fitting, therefore, that we fallen ones
take umbrage within the pale of another venerable tradition. I salute you. I
give thanks for your wisdom and forethought. I do not slander the
enterprises of a benefactor and coconspirator. In fact, I look forward to
the visit."
She smiled and seated herself once more. "I accept your well-oiled
apology, oh son of the serpent. In any event, it is too difficult to remain
angry with you. Pour me some more tea, please."
They reclined, Ratri sipping her tea, Yama smoking. In the distance, a
storm front drew a curtain across half the prospect. The sun still shone
upon them, however, and a cool breeze visited the porch.
"You have seen the ring, the ring of iron which he wears?" asked Ratri,
eating another sweetmeat.
"Yes."
"Know you where he obtained it?"
"I do not."
"Nor I. But I feel we should learn its origin."
"Aye."
"How shall we essay this thing?"
"I have assigned the chore to Tak, who is better suited to the ways of
the forest than we. Even now he follows the trail."
Ratri nodded. "Good," she said.
"I have heard," said Yama, "that the gods do still occasionally visit
the more notable palaces of Kama throughout the land, generally in disguise,
but sometimes in full power. Is this true?"
"Yes. But a year ago did Lord Indra come to Khaipur. Some three years
back, the false Krishna made a visit. Of all the Celestial party, Krishna
the Tireless does cause the greatest consternation among the staff. He
stayed for a month of riot, which involved much broken furniture and the
services of many physicians. He did near empty the wine cellar and the
larder. He played then upon his pipes one night, however, the hearing of
which would have been enough to gain the old Krishna forgiveness for near
anything. But it was not the true magic we heard that night, for there is
only one true Krishna-- swart and hairy, his eyes so red and blazing. This
one did dance upon the tables, causing much havoc, and his musical
accompaniment was insufficient."
"Paid he for this carnage with other than a song?"
She laughed. "Come now, Yama. Let there be no rhetorical questions
between us."
He snorted smoke.
"Surya, the sun, is now about to be encompassed," said Ratri, staring
out and upward, "and Indra slays the dragon. At any moment, the rains will
arrive."
A wave of grayness covered over the monastery. The breeze grew
stronger, and the dance of the waters began upon the walls. Like a beaded
curtain, the rain covered that open end of the porch at which they stared.
Yama poured more tea. Ratri ate another sweetmeat.
Tak made his way through the forest. He moved from tree to tree, branch
to branch, watching the trail below him. His fur was moist, for the leaves
shook small showers down upon him as he passed. Clouds mounted at his back,
but the sun of early morning still shone in the eastern sky and the forest
was a swarm of colors in its red-gold light. About him, birds were singing
from within the tangle of branches, vines, leaves and grasses that stood
like a wall upon either side of the trail. The birds made their music,
insects hummed and occasionally there was a growl or bark. The foliage was
stirred by the wind. Below him, the trail bent sharply, entering a clearing.
Tak dropped to the ground, proceeded on foot. At the other side of the
clearing he took to the trees again. Now, he noticed, the trail was running
parallel to the mountains, even inclining slightly back in their direction.
There was a distant rattle of thunder and after a time a new breeze came up,
cool. He swung on, breaking through moist spider webs, frightening birds
into shrieking flurries of bright plumage. The trail continued to move in
the direction of the mountains, slowly doubling back upon itself. At times,
it met with other hard-packed, yellow trails, dividing, crossing, parting.
On these occasions, he descended to the ground and studied the surface
markings. Yes, Sam had turned here; Sam had stopped beside this pool to
drink-- here, where the orange mushrooms grew taller than a tall man, and
wide enough to shelter several from the rains; now, Sam had taken that
branch of the roadway; here, he had stopped to fix a sandal strap; at this
point, he had leaned upon a tree, which showed indications of housing a
dryad. . . .
Tak moved on, about half an hour behind his quarry, as he judged it--
so giving him plenty of time to get to wherever he was going and to begin
whatever activity so engaged his enthusiasms. A halo of heat lightning
reached above the mountains he was now facing. There was another rumble of
thunder. The trail headed on up into the foothills, where the forest
thinned, and Tak moved on all fours amid tall grasses. It headed steadily
upward, and rocky outcroppings became more and more prominent. Still, Sam
had passed this way, so Tak followed.
Overhead, the pollen-colored Bridge of the Gods vanished as the clouds
rolled steadily eastward. Lightning flashed, and now the thunder followed
quickly. The wind came faster here in the open; the grasses bent down before
it; the temperature seemed suddenly to plummet.
Tak felt the first drops of rain and dashed for the shelter of one of
the stands of stone. It ran like a narrow hedge, slightly slanted against
the rain. Tak moved along its base as the waters were unleashed and color
deserted the world along with the last bit of blue in the sky.
A sea of turbulent light appeared overhead, and three times spilled
streams that rode crazy crescendo down to splash upon the stone fang curving
blackly into the wind, about a quarter mile up the slope.
When Tak's vision cleared, he saw that which he did now understand. It
was as though each bolt that had fallen had left a part of itself, standing,
swaying in the gray air, pulsing fires, despite the wetness that came
steadily down upon the ground.
Then Tak heard the laughter-- or was it a ghost sound left in his ears
by the recent thunder?
No, it was laughter-- gigantic, unhuman!
After a time, there came a howl of rage. Then there was another flash,
another rumble.
Another funnel of fire swayed beside the stone fang.
Tak lay still for about five minutes. Then it came again-- the howl,
followed by three bright flashes and the crash.
Now there were seven pillars of fire. Dared he approach, skirting these
things, spying upon the fang peak from its opposite side?
And if he did, and if-- as he felt-- Sam was somehow involved, what
good could he do if the Enlightened One himself could not handle the
situation?
He had no answer, but he found himself moving forward, crouched low in
the damp grass, swinging far to his left.
When he was halfway there it happened again, and ten of the things
towered, red and gold and yellow, drifting and returning, drifting and
returning, as though their bases were rooted to the ground.
He crouched there wet and shivering, examined his courage and found it
to be a small thing indeed. Yet, he pushed on until he was parallel to the
strange place, then past it.
He drew up behind it, finding himself in the midst of many large
stones. Grateful for their shelter and the cover they provided against
observation from below, he inched forward, never taking his eyes from the
fang.
He could see now that it was partly hollow. There was a dry, shallow
cave at its base, and two figures knelt within it. Holy men at prayer? He
wondered.
Then it happened. The most frightful flashing he had ever seen came
down upon the stones-- not once, or for a mere instant. It was as if a
fire-tongued beast licked and licked about the stone, growling as it did so,
for perhaps a quarter of a minute.
When Tak opened his eyes, he counted twenty of the blazing towers.
One of the holy men leaned forward, gestured. The other laughed. The
sound carried to where Tak lay, and the words: "Eyes of the serpent! Mine
now!"
"What is the quantity?" asked the second, and Tak knew it to be the
voice of Great-Souled Sam.
"Twice, or none at all!" roared the other, and he leaned forward,
rocked back, then gestured as Sam had done.
"Nina from Srinagina!" he chanted, and leaned, rocked, and gestured
once more.
"Sacred seven," Sam said softly.
The other howled.
Tak closed his eyes and covered his ears, expecting what might come
after that howl.
Nor was he mistaken.
When the blaze and the tumult had passed, he looked down upon an eerily
illuminated scene. He did not bother counting. It was apparent that forty of
the flame like things now hung about the place, casting their weird glow:
their number had doubled.
The ritual continued. On the left hand of the Buddha, the iron ring
glowed with a pale, greenish light all its own.
He heard the words "Twice, or none at all" repeated again, and he heard
the Buddha say "Sacred seven" once more, in reply.
This time he thought the mountainside would come apart beneath him.
This time he thought the brightness was an afterimage, tattooed upon his
retina through closed eyelids. But he was wrong.
When he opened his eyes it was to look upon a veritable army of
shifting thunderbolts. Their blaze jabbed into his brain, and he shaded his
eyes to stare down below.
"Well, Raltariki?" asked Sam, and a bright emerald light played about
his left hand.
"One time again, Siddhartha. Twice, or not at all."
The rains let up for a moment, and, in the great blaze from the host on
the hillside, Tak saw that the one called Raltariki had the head of a water
buffalo and an extra pair of arms.
He shivered.
He covered his eyes and ears and clenched his teeth, waiting. After a
time, it happened. It roared and blazed, going on and on until finally he
lost consciousness.
When he recovered his senses, there was only a grayness and a gentle
rain between himself and the sheltering rock. At its base only one figure
sat, and it did not wear horns or appear to possess more arms than the
customary two.
Tak did not move. He waited.
"This," said Yama, handing him an aerosol, "is demon repellent. In the
future, I suggest you annoint yourself thoroughly if you intend venturing
very far from the monastery. I had thought this region free of the Rakasha,
or I would have given it to you sooner."
Tak accepted the container, placed it on the table before him.
They sat in Yama's chambers, having taken a light meal there. Yama
leaned back in his chair, a glass of the Buddha's wine in his left hand, a
half-filled decanter in his right.
"Then the one called Raltariki is really a demon?" asked Tak.
"Yes-- and no," said Yama, "If by 'demon' you mean a malefic,
supernatural creature, possessed of great powers, life span and the ability
to temporarily assume virtually any shape-- then the answer is no. This is
the generally accepted definition, but it is untrue in one respect."
"Oh? And what may that be?"
"It is not a supernatural creature."
"But it is all those other things?"
"Yes."
"Then I fail to see what difference it makes whether it be supernatural
or not-- so long as it is malefic, possesses great powers and life span and
has the ability to change its shape at will."
"Ah, but it makes a great deal of difference, you see. It is the
difference between the unknown and the unknowable, between science and
fantasy-- it is a matter of essence. The four points of the compass be
logic, knowledge, wisdom and the unknown. Some do bow in that final
direction. Others advance upon it. To bow before the one is to lose sight of
the three. I may submit to the unknown, but never to the unknowable. The man
who bows in that final direction is either a saint or a fool. I have no use
for either."
Tak shrugged and sipped his wine. "But of the demons. . . ?"
"Knowable. I did experiment with them for many years, and I was one of
the Four who descended into Hellwell, if you recall, after Taraka fled Lord
Agni at Palamaidsu. Are you not Tak of the Archives?"
"I was."
"Did you read then of the earliest recorded contacts with the Rakasha?"
"I read the accounts of the days of their binding. . . "
"Then you know that they are the native inhabitants of this world, that
they were present here before the arrival of Man from vanished Urath."
"Yes."
"They are creatures of energy, rather than matter. Their own traditions
have it that once they wore bodies, lived in cities. Their quest for
personal immortality, however, led them along a different path from that
which Man followed. They found a way to perpetuate themselves as stable
fields of energy. They abandoned their bodies to live forever as vortices of
force. But pure intellect they are not. They carried with them their
complete egos, and born of matter they do ever lust after the flesh. Though
they can assume its appearance for a time, they cannot return to it
unassisted. For ages they did drift aimlessly about this world. Then the
arrival of Man stirred them from their quiescence. They took on the shapes
of his nightmares to devil him. This is why they had to be defeated and
bound, far beneath the Ratnagaris. We could not destroy them all. We could
not permit them to continue their attempts to possess the machines of
incarnation and the bodies of men. So they were trapped and contained in
great magnetic bottles."
"Yet Sam freed many to do his will," said Tak.
"Aye. He made and kept a nightmare pact, so that some of them do still
walk the world. Of all men, they respect perhaps only Siddhartha. And with
all men do they share one great vice."
"That being. . .?"
"They do dearly love to gamble. . . . They will make game for any
stakes, and gambling debts are their only point of honor. This must be so,
or they would not hold the confidence of other gamesters and would so lose
that which is perhaps their only pleasure. Their powers being great, even
princes will make game with them, hoping to win their services. Kingdoms
have been lost in this fashion."
"If," said Tak, "as you feel, Sam was playing one of the ancient games
with Raltariki, what could the stakes have been?"
Yama finished his wine, refilled the glass. "Sam is a fool. No, he is
not. He is a gambler. There is a difference. The Rakasha do control lesser
orders of energy beings. Sam, through that ring he wears, does now command a
guard of fire elementals, which he won from Raltariki. These are deadly,
mindless creatures-- and each bears the force of a thunderbolt."
Tak finished his wine. "But what stakes could Sam have brought to the
game?"
Yama sighed. "All my work, all our efforts for over half a century."
"You mean-- his body?"
Yama nodded. "A human body is the highest inducement any demon might be
offered."
"Why should Sam risk such a venture?"
Yama stared at Tak, not seeing him. "It must have been the only way he
could call upon his life-will, to bind him again to his task
-- by placing himself in jeopardy, by casting his very existence with
each roll of the dice."
Tak poured himself another glass of wine and gulped it. "That is
unknowable to me," he said.
But Yama shook his head. "Unknown, only," he told him. "Sam is not
quite a saint, nor is he a fool."
"Almost, though," Yama decided, and that night he squirted demon
repellent about the monastery.
The following morning, a small man approached the monastery and seated
himself before its front entrance, placing a begging bowl on the ground at
his feet. He wore a single, threadbare garment of coarse, brown cloth, which
reached to his ankles. A black patch covered his left eye. What remained of
his hair was dark and very long. His sharp nose, small chin, and high, flat
ears gave to his face a foxlike appearance. His skin was tight-drawn and
well-weathered. His single, green eye seemed never to blink.
He sat there for perhaps twenty minutes before one of Sam's monks
noticed him and mentioned the fact to one of Ratri's dark-robed Order. This
monk located a priest and passed the information to him. The priest, anxious
to impress the goddess with the virtues of her followers, sent for the
beggar to be brought in and fed, offered new garments and given a cell in
Original scan by none. Proofing, layout by Nadie. (v3.0)
It is said that fifty-three years after his liberation he returned from
the Golden Cloud, to take up once again the gauntlet of Heaven, to oppose
the Order of Life and the gods who ordained it so. His followers had prayed
for his return, though their prayers were sin. Prayer should not trouble one
who has gone on to Nirvana, no matter what the circumstances of his going.
The wearers of the saffron robe prayed, however, that He of the Sword,
Manjusri, should come again among them, The Boddhisatva is said to have
heard. . .
He whose desires have been throttled,
who is independent of root,
whose pasture is emptiness --
signless and free --
his path is as unknowable
as that of birds across the heavens.
Dhammapada (93)
His followers called him Mahasamatman and said he was a god. He
preferred to drop the Maha- and the -atman, however, and called himself Sam.
He never claimed to be a god. But then, he never claimed not to be a god.
Circumstances being what they were, neither admission could be of any
benefit. Silence, though, could.
Therefore, there was mystery about him.
It was in the season of the rains . . .
It was well into the time of the great wetness. . .
It was in the days of the rains that their prayers went up, not from
the fingering of knotted prayer cords or the spinning of prayer wheels, but
from the great pray-machine in the monastery of Ratri, goddess of the Night
The high-frequency prayers were directed upward through the atmosphere
and out beyond it, passing into that golden cloud called the Bridge of the
Gods, which circles the entire world, is seen as a bronze rainbow at night
and is the place where the red sun becomes orange at midday.
Some of the monks doubted the orthodoxy of this prayer technique, but
the machine had been built and was operated by Yama-Dharma, fallen, of the
Celestial City; and, it was told, he had ages ago built the mighty thunder
chariot of Lord Shiva: that engine that fled across the heavens belching
gouts of fire in its wake.
Despite his tall from favor, Yama was still deemed mightiest of the
artificers, though it was not doubted that the Gods of the City would have
him to die the real death were they to learn of the pray-machine. For that
matter, though, it was not doubted that they would have him to die the real
death without the excuse of the pray-machine, also, were he to come into
their custody. How he would settle this matter with the Lords of Karma was
his own affair, though none doubted that when the time came he would find a
way. He was half as old as the Celestial City itself, and not more than ten
of the gods remembered the founding of that abode. He was known to be wiser
even than the Lord Kubera in the ways of the Universal Fire. But these were
his lesser Attributes. He was best known for another thing, though few men
spoke of it. Tall, but not overly so; big, but not heavy; his movements,
slow and fluent. He wore red and spoke little.
He tended the pray-machine, and the giant metal lotus he had set atop
the monastery roof turned and turned in its sockets.
A light rain was falling upon the building, the lotus and the jungle at
the foot of the mountains. For six days he had offered many kilowatts of
prayer, but the static kept him from being heard On High. Under his breath,
he called upon the more notable of the current fertility deities, invoking
them in terms of their most prominent Attributes.
A rumble of thunder answered his petition, and the small ape who
assisted him chuckled. "Your prayers and your curses come to the same. Lord
Yama," commented the ape. "That is to say, nothing."
"It has taken you seventeen incarnations to arrive at this truth?" said
Yama. "I can see then why you are still doing time as an ape."
"Not so," said the ape, whose name was Tak. "My fall, while less
spectacular than your own, nevertheless involved elements of personal malice
on the part of -- "
"Enough!" said Yama, turning his back to him.
Tak realized then that he might have touched upon a sore spot. In an
attempt to find another subject for conversation, he crossed to the window,
leapt onto its wide sill and stared upward.
"There is a break in the cloud cover, to the west," he said.
Yama approached, followed the direction of his gaze, frowned, and
nodded.
"Aye," he said. "Stay where you are and advise me."
He moved to a bank of controls.
Overhead, the lotus halted in its turning, then faced the patch of bare
sky.
"Very good," he said. "We're getting something."
His hand moved across a separate control panel, throwing a series of
switches and adjusting two dials.
Below them, in the cavernous cellars of the monastery, the signal was
received and other preparations were begun: the host was made ready.
"The clouds are coming together again!" cried Tak.
"No matter, now," said the other. "We've hooked our fish. Out of
Nirvana and into the lotus, he comes."
There was more thunder, and the rain came down with a sound like hail
upon the lotus. Snakes of blue lightning coiled, hissing, about the
mountaintops.
Yama sealed a final circuit.
"How do you think he will take to wearing the flesh again?" asked Tak.
"Go peel bananas with your feet!"
Tak chose to consider this a dismissal and departed the chamber,
leaving Yama to close down the machinery. He made his way along a corridor
and down a wide flight of stairs. He reached the landing, and as he stood
there he heard the sound of voices and the shuffling of sandals coming in
his direction from out a side hall.
Without hesitating, he climbed the wall, using a series of carved
panthers and an opposing row of elephants as handholds. Mounting a rafter,
he drew back into a well of shadow and waited, unmoving.
Two dark-robed monks entered through the archway.
"So why can she not clear the sky for them?" said the first.
The second, an older, more heavily built man, shrugged. "I am no sage
that I can answer such questions. That she is anxious is obvious, or she
should never have granted them this sanctuary, nor Yama this usage. But who
can mark the limits of night?"
"Or the moods of a woman," said the first. "I have heard that even the
priests did not know of her coming."
"That may be. Whatever the case, it would seem a good omen."
"So it would seem."
They passed through another archway, and Tak listened to the sounds of
their going until there was only silence.
Still, he did not leave his perch.
The "she" referred to by the monks could only be the goddess Ratri
herself, worshiped by the order that had given sanctuary to the followers of
Great-Souled Sam, the Enlightened One. Now, Ratri, too, was to be numbered
among those fallen from the Celestial City and wearing the skin of a mortal.
She had every reason to be bitter over the whole affair; and Tak realized
the chance she was taking in granting sanctuary, let alone being physically
present during this undertaking. It could jeopardize any possibility of her
future reinstatement if word of it got out and reached the proper ears. Tak
recalled her as the dark-haired beauty with silver eyes, passing in her moon
chariot of ebony and chromium, drawn by stallions black and white, tended by
her guard, also black and white, passing up the Avenue of Heaven, rivaling
even Sarasvati in her glory. His heart leapt within his hairy breast. He had
to see her again. One night, long ago, in happier times and better form, he
had danced with her, on a balcony under the stars. It had been for only a
few moments. But he remembered; and it is a difficult thing to be an ape and
to have such memories.
He climbed down from the rafter.
There was a tower, a high tower rising from the northeast comer of the
monastery. Within that tower was a chamber. It was said to contain the
indwelling presence of the goddess. It was cleaned daily, the linens
changed, fresh incense burnt and a votive offering laid just within the
door. That door was normally kept locked.
There were, of course, windows. The question as to whether a man could
have entered by means of any of these windows must remain academic. Tak
proved that an ape could.
Mounting the monastery roof, he proceeded to scale the tower, moving
from brick to slippery brick, from projection to irregularity, the heavens
growling doglike above him, until finally he clung to the wall just below
the outer sill. A steady rain fell upon him. He heard a bird singing within.
He saw the edge of a wet, blue scarf hanging over the sill.
He caught hold of the ledge and raised himself until he could peer
inside.
Her back was to him. She wore a dark blue sari, and she was seated on a
small bench at the opposite end of the room.
He clambered onto the sill and cleared his throat.
She turned quickly. She wore a veil, so that her features were
indistinguishable. She regarded him through it, then rose and crossed the
chamber.
He was dismayed. Her figure, once lithe, was wide about the waist; her
walk, once the swaying of boughs, was a waddle; her complexion was too dark;
even through the veil the lines of her nose and jaw were too pronounced.
He bowed his head. "'And so you have drawn near to us, who at your
coming have come home," he sang, "'as birds to their nest upon the tree.'"
She stood, still as her statue in the main hall below.
"'Guard us from the she-wolf and the wolf, and guard us from the thief,
oh Night, and so be good for us to pass.'"
She reached out slowly and laid her hand upon his head.
"You have my blessing, little one," she said, after a time.
"Unfortunately, that is all I can give. I cannot offer protection or render
beauty, who lack these luxuries myself. What is your name?"
"Tak," he told her.
She touched her brow. "I once knew a Tak," she said, "in a bygone day,
a distant place. . ."
"I am that Tak, madam."
She seated herself upon the sill. After a time, he realized that she
was weeping, within her veil.
"Don't cry, goddess. Tak is here. Remember Tak, of the Archives? Of the
Bright Spear? He stands yet ready to do thy bidding."
"Tak. . ." she said. "Oh, Tak! You, too? I did not know, I never heard.
. ."
"Another turning of the wheel, madam, and who knows? Things may yet be
better than even once they were."
Her shoulders shook. He reached out, drew back his hand.
She turned and took it.
After an age, she spoke: "Not by the normal course of events shall we
be restored or matters settled, Tak of the Bright Spear. We must beat our
own path."
"What mean you?" he inquired; then, "Sam?"
She nodded.
"He is the one. He is our hope against Heaven, dear Tak. If he can be
recalled, we have a chance to live again."
"This is why you have taken this chance, why you yourself sit within
the jaws of the tiger?"
"Why else? When there is no real hope we must mint our own. If the coin
be counterfeit it still may be passed."
"Counterfeit? You do not believe he was the Buddha?"
She laughed, briefly. "Sam was the greatest charlatan in the memory of
god or man. He was also the worthiest opponent Trimurti ever faced. Don't
look so shocked at my saying it. Archivist! You know that he stole the
fabric of his doctrine, path and attainment, the whole robe, from
prehistorical forbidden sources. It was a weapon, nothing more. His greatest
strength was his insincerity. If we could have him back . . ."
"Lady, saint or charlatan, he is returned."
"Do not jest with me, Tak."
"Goddess and Lady, I just left the Lord Yama shutting down the
pray-machine, frowning his frown of success."
"The venture was against such mighty odds. . . . Lord Agni once said
that no such thing could ever be done."
Tak stood.
"Goddess Ratri," he said, "who, be he god or man, or anything between,
knows more of such matters than Yama?"
"I have no answer for that question, Tak, because there is none. But
how can you say of a certainty that he has netted us our fish?"
"Because he is Yama."
"Then take my arm, Tak. Escort me again, as once you did. Let us view
the sleeping Boddhisatva."
He led her out the door, down the stairs, and into the chambers below.
Light, born not of torches but of the generators of Yama, filled the
cavern. The bed, set upon a platform, was closed about on three sides by
screens. Most of the machinery was also masked by screens and hangings. The
saffron-robed monks who were in attendance moved silently about the great
chamber. Yama, master artificer, stood at the bedside.
As they approached, several of the well-disciplined, imperturbable
monks uttered brief exclamations. Tak then turned to the woman at his side
and drew back a pace, his breath catching in his throat.
She was no longer the dumpy little matron with whom he had spoken. Once
again did he stand at the side of Night Immortal, of whom it has been
written, "The goddess has filled wide space, to its depths and its heights.
Her radiance drives out the dark."
He looked but a moment and covered his eyes. She still had this trace
of her distant Aspect about her.
"Goddess. . ." he began.
"To the sleeper," she stated. "He stirs."
They advanced to the bedstead.
Thereafter to be portrayed in murals at the ends of countless
corridors, carved upon the walls of Temples and painted onto the ceilings of
numerous palaces, came the awakening of he who was variously known as
Mahasamatman, Kalkin, Manjusri, Siddhartha, Tathagatha, Binder, Maitreya,
the Enlightened One, Buddha and Sam. At his left was the goddess of Night;
to his right stood Death; Tak, the ape, was crouched at the foot of the bed,
eternal comment upon the coexistence of the animal and the divine.
He wore an ordinary, darkish body of medium height and age; his
features were regular and undistinguished; when his eyes opened, they were
dark.
"Hail, Lord of Light!" It was Ratri who spoke these words.
The eyes blinked. They did not focus. Nowhere in the chamber was there
any movement.
"Hail, Mahasamatman -- Buddha!" said Yama.
The eyes stared ahead, unseeing.
"Hello, Sam," said Tak.
The forehead creased slightly, the eyes squinted, fell upon Tak, moved
on to the others.
"Where . . . ?" he asked, in a whisper.
"My monastery," answered Ratri.
Without expression, he looked upon her beauty.
Then he shut his eyes and held them tightly closed, wrinkles forming at
their corners. A grin of pain made his mouth a bow, his teeth the arrows,
clenched.
"Are you truly he whom we have named?" asked Yama.
He did not answer.
"Are you he who fought the army of Heaven to a standstill on the banks
of the Vedra?"
The mouth slackened.
"Are you he who loved the goddess of Death?"
The eyes flickered. A faint smile came and went across the lips.
"It is he," said Yama; then, "Who are you, man?"
"I? I am nothing," replied the other. "A leaf caught in a whirlpool,
perhaps. A feather in the wind. . ."
"Too bad," said Yama, "for there are leaves and feathers enough in the
world for me to have labored so long only to increase their number. I wanted
me a man, one who might continue a war interrupted by his absence -- a man
of power who could oppose with that power the will of gods. I thought you
were he."
"I am"-- he squinted again"-- Sam. I am Sam. Once-- long ago . . . I
did fight, didn't I? Many times . . ."
"You were Great-Souled Sam, the Buddha. Do you remember?"
"Maybe I was . . ." A slow fire was kindled in his eyes.
"Yes," he said then. "Yes, I was. Humblest of the proud, proudest of
the humble. I fought. I taught the Way for a time. I fought again, taught
again, tried politics, magic, poison . . . I fought one great battle so
terrible the sun itself hid its face from the slaughter-- with men and gods,
with animals and demons, with spirits of the earth and air, of fire and
water, with slizzards and horses, swords and chariots-- "
"And you lost," said Yama.
"Yes, I did, didn't I? But it was quite a showing we gave them, wasn't
it? You, deathgod, were my charioteer. It all comes back to me now. We were
taken prisoner and the Lords of Karma were to be our judges. You escaped
them by the will-death and the Way of the Black Wheel. I could not."
"That is correct. Your past was laid out before them. You were judged."
Yama regarded the monks who now sat upon the floor, their heads bowed, and
he lowered his voice. "To have you to die the real death would have made you
a martyr. To have permitted you to walk the world, in any form, would have
left the door open for your return. So, as you stole your teachings from the
Gottama of another place and time, did they steal the tale of the end of
that one's days among men. You were judged worthy of Nirvana. Your atman was
projected, not into another body, but into the great magnetic cloud that
encircles this planet. That was over half a century ago. You are now
officially an avatar of Vishnu, whose teachings were misinterpreted by some
of his more zealous followers. You, personally, continued to exist only in
the form of self-perpetuating wavelengths, which I succeeded in capturing."
Sam closed his eyes.
"And you dared to bring me back?"
"That is correct."
"I was aware of my condition the entire time."
"I suspected as much."
His eyes opened, blazing. "Yet you dared recall me from that?"
"Yes."
Sam bowed his head. "Rightly are you called deathgod, Yama-Dharma. You
have snatched away from me the ultimate experience. You have broken upon the
dark stone of your will that which is beyond all comprehension and mortal
splendor. Why could you not have left me as I was, in the sea of being?"
"Because a world has need of your humility, your piety, your great
teaching and your Machiavellian scheming."
"Yama, I'm old," he said. "I'm as old as man upon this world. I was one
of the First, you know. One of the very first to come here, to build, to
settle. All of the others are dead now, or are gods -- dei ex machini. . .
The chance was mine also, but I let it go by. Many times. I never wanted to
be a god, Yama. Not really. It was only later, only when I saw what they
were doing, that I began to gather what power I could to me. It was too
late, though. They were too strong. Now I just want to sleep the sleep of
ages, to know again the Great Rest, the perpetual bliss, to hear the songs
the stars sing on the shores of the great sea."
Ratri leaned forward and looked into his eyes. "We need you, Sam," she
said.
"I know, I know," he told her. "It's the eternal recurrence of the
anecdote. You've a willing horse, so flog him another mile." But he smiled
as he said it, and she kissed his brow.
Tak leaped into the air and bounced upon the bed.
"Mankind rejoices," observed the Buddha.
Yama handed him a robe and Ratri fitted him with slippers.
Recovering from the peace which passeth understanding takes time. Sam
slept. Sleeping, he dreamed; dreaming, he cried out, or just cried. He had
no appetite; but Yama had found him a body both sturdy and in perfect
health, one well able to bear the psychosomatic conversion from divine
withdrawal.
But he would sit for an hour, unmoving, staring at a pebble or a seed
or a leaf. And on these occasions, he could not be aroused. Yama saw in this
a danger, and he spoke of it with Ratri and Tak. "It is not good that he
withdraw from the world in this way, now," he said. "I have spoken with him,
but it is as if I addressed the wind. He cannot recover that which he has
left behind. The very attempt is costing him his strength."
"Perhaps you misread his efforts," said Tak.
"What mean you?"
"See how he regards the seed he has set before him? Consider the
wrinkling at the edges of his eyes."
"Yes? What of it?"
"He squints. Is his vision impaired?"
"It is not."
"Then why does he squint?"
"To better study the seed."
"Study? That is not the Way, as once he taught it. Yet he does study.
He does not meditate, seeking within the object that which leads to release
of the subject. No."
"What then does he do?"
"The reverse."
"The reverse?"
"He does study the object, considering its ways, in an effort to bind
himself. He seeks within it an excuse to live. He tries once more to wrap
himself within the fabric of Maya, the illusion of the world."
"I believe you are right, Tak!" It was Ratri who had spoken. "How can
we assist him in his efforts?"
"I am not certain, mistress."
Yama nodded, his dark hair glistening in a bar of sunlight that fell
across the narrow porch.
"You have set your finger upon the thing I could not see," he
acknowledged. "He has not yet fully returned, though he wears a body, walks
upon human feet, talks as we do. His thought is still beyond our ken."
"What then shall we do?" repeated Ratri.
"Take him on long walks through the countryside," said Yama. "Feed him
delicacies. Stir his soul with poetry and song. Find him strong drink to
drink-- there is none here in the monastery. Garb him in bright-hued silks.
Fetch him a courtesan or three. Submerge him in living again. It is only
thus that he may be freed from the chains of God. Stupid of me not to have
seen it sooner . . ."
"Not really, deathgod," said Tak.
The flame that is black leapt within Yama's eyes, and then he smiled.
"I am repaid, little one," he acknowledged, "for the comments I, perhaps
thoughtlessly, let fall upon thy hairy ears. I apologize, ape-one. You are
truly a man, and one of wit and perception."
Tak bowed before him.
Ratri chuckled.
"Tell us, clever Tak-- for mayhap we have been gods too long, and so
lack the proper angle of vision-- how shall we proceed in this matter of
rehumanizing him, so as to best serve the ends we seek?"
Tak bowed him then to Ratri.
"As Yama has proposed," he stated. "Today, mistress, you take him for a
walk in the foothills. Tomorrow, Lord Yama conducts him as far as the edge
of the forest. The following day I shall take him amidst the trees and the
grasses, the flowers and the vines. And we shall see. We shall."
"So be it," said Yama, and so it was.
In the weeks that followed, Sam came to look forward to these walks
with what appeared at first a mild anticipation, then a moderate enthusiasm,
and finally a blazing eagerness. He took to going off unaccompanied for
longer and longer stretches of time: at first, it was for several hours in
the morning; then, morning and evening. Later, he stayed away all day, and
on occasion a day and a night.
At the end of the third week, Yama and Ratri discussed it on the porch
in the early hours of morning.
"This thing I do not like," said Yama. "We cannot insult him by forcing
our company upon him now, when he does not wish it. But there is danger out
there, especially for one born again such as he. I would that we knew how he
spends his hours."
"But whatever he does, it is helping him to recover," said Ratri,
gulping a sweetmeat and waving a fleshy hand. "He is less withdrawn. He
speaks more, even jesting. He drinks of the wine we bring him. His appetite
is returning."
"Yet, if he should meet with an agent of Trimurti, the final doom may
come to pass."
Ratri chewed slowly. "It is not likely, though, that such should be
abroad in this country, in these days," she stated. "The animals will see
him as a child and will not harm him. Men would consider him a holy hermit.
The demons fear him of old, and so respect him."
But Yama shook his head. "Lady, it is not so simple. Though I have
dismantled much of my machinery and hidden it hundreds of leagues from here,
such a massive trafficking of energies as I employed cannot have passed
unnoticed. Sooner or later this place will be visited. I used screens and
baffling devices, but this general area must have appeared in certain
quarters as though the Universal Fire did a dance upon the map. Soon we must
move on. I should prefer to wait until our charge is fully recovered, but. .
."
"Could not certain natural forces have produced the same energy effects
as your workings?"
"Yes, and they do occur in this vicinity, which is why I chose it as
our base-- so it may well be that nothing will come of it. Still, I doubt
this. My spies in the villages report no unusual activities now. But on the
day of his return, riding upon the crest of the storm, some say the thunder
chariot passed, hunting through the heavens and across the countryside. This
was far from here, but I cannot believe that there was no connection."
"Yet, it has not returned."
"Not that we know of. But I fear . . ."
"Then let us depart at once. I respect your forebodings too well. You
have more of the power upon you than any other among the Fallen. For me, it
is a great strain even to assume a pleasing shape for more than a few
minutes . . ."
"What powers I possess," said Yama, refilling her teacup, "are intact
because they were not of the same order as yours."
He smiled then, showing even rows of long, brilliant teeth. This smile
caught at the edge of a scar upon his left cheek and reached up to the comer
of his eye. He winked to put a period to it and continued, "Much of my power
is in the form of knowledge, which even the Lords of Karma could not have
wrested from me. The power of most of the gods, however, is predicated upon
a special physiology, which they lose in part when incarnated into a new
body. The mind, somehow remembering, after a time alters any body to a
certain extent, engendering a new homeostasis, permitting a gradual return
of power. Mine does return quickly, though, and it is with me fully now. But
even if it were not, I have my knowledge to use as a weapon-- and that is a
power."
Ratri sipped her tea. "Whatever its source, if your power says move,
then move we must. How soon?"
Yama opened a pouch of tobacco and rolled a cigarette as he spoke. His
dark, supple fingers, she noted, always had about then: movement that which
was like the movements of one who played upon an instrument of music.
"I should say let us not tarry here more than another week or ten days.
We must wean him from this countryside by then."
She nodded. "Where to then?"
"Some small southern kingdom, perhaps, where we may come and go
undisturbed."
He lit the cigarette, breathed smoke.
"I've a better idea," said she. "Know that under a mortal name am I
mistress of the Palace of Kama in Khaipur."
"The Fornicatorium, madam?"
She frowned. "As such is it often known to the vulgar, and do not call
me 'madam' in the same breath-- it smacks of an ancient jest. It is a place
of rest, pleasure, holiness and much of my revenue. There, I feel, would be
a good hiding place for our charge while he makes his recovery and we our
plans."
Yama slapped his thigh. "Aye! Aye! Who would think to look for the
Buddha in a whorehouse? Good! Excellent! To Khaipur, then, dear goddess-- to
Khaipur and the Palace of Love!"
She stood and stamped her sandal upon the flagstones. "I will not have
you speak that way of my establishment!"
He dropped his eyes, and with pain dropped the grin from his face. He
stood then and bowed. "I apologize, dear Ratri, but the revelation came so
sudden-- " He choked then and looked away. When he looked back, he was full
of sobriety and decorum. He continued, "That I was taken aback by the
apparent incongruity. Now, though, I do see the wisdom of the thing. It is a
most perfect cover-up, and it provides you both with wealth and, what is
more important, with a source of privy information among the merchants,
warriors and priests. It is an indispensable part of the community. It gives
you status and a voice in civil affairs. Being a god is one of the oldest
professions in the world. It is only fitting, therefore, that we fallen ones
take umbrage within the pale of another venerable tradition. I salute you. I
give thanks for your wisdom and forethought. I do not slander the
enterprises of a benefactor and coconspirator. In fact, I look forward to
the visit."
She smiled and seated herself once more. "I accept your well-oiled
apology, oh son of the serpent. In any event, it is too difficult to remain
angry with you. Pour me some more tea, please."
They reclined, Ratri sipping her tea, Yama smoking. In the distance, a
storm front drew a curtain across half the prospect. The sun still shone
upon them, however, and a cool breeze visited the porch.
"You have seen the ring, the ring of iron which he wears?" asked Ratri,
eating another sweetmeat.
"Yes."
"Know you where he obtained it?"
"I do not."
"Nor I. But I feel we should learn its origin."
"Aye."
"How shall we essay this thing?"
"I have assigned the chore to Tak, who is better suited to the ways of
the forest than we. Even now he follows the trail."
Ratri nodded. "Good," she said.
"I have heard," said Yama, "that the gods do still occasionally visit
the more notable palaces of Kama throughout the land, generally in disguise,
but sometimes in full power. Is this true?"
"Yes. But a year ago did Lord Indra come to Khaipur. Some three years
back, the false Krishna made a visit. Of all the Celestial party, Krishna
the Tireless does cause the greatest consternation among the staff. He
stayed for a month of riot, which involved much broken furniture and the
services of many physicians. He did near empty the wine cellar and the
larder. He played then upon his pipes one night, however, the hearing of
which would have been enough to gain the old Krishna forgiveness for near
anything. But it was not the true magic we heard that night, for there is
only one true Krishna-- swart and hairy, his eyes so red and blazing. This
one did dance upon the tables, causing much havoc, and his musical
accompaniment was insufficient."
"Paid he for this carnage with other than a song?"
She laughed. "Come now, Yama. Let there be no rhetorical questions
between us."
He snorted smoke.
"Surya, the sun, is now about to be encompassed," said Ratri, staring
out and upward, "and Indra slays the dragon. At any moment, the rains will
arrive."
A wave of grayness covered over the monastery. The breeze grew
stronger, and the dance of the waters began upon the walls. Like a beaded
curtain, the rain covered that open end of the porch at which they stared.
Yama poured more tea. Ratri ate another sweetmeat.
Tak made his way through the forest. He moved from tree to tree, branch
to branch, watching the trail below him. His fur was moist, for the leaves
shook small showers down upon him as he passed. Clouds mounted at his back,
but the sun of early morning still shone in the eastern sky and the forest
was a swarm of colors in its red-gold light. About him, birds were singing
from within the tangle of branches, vines, leaves and grasses that stood
like a wall upon either side of the trail. The birds made their music,
insects hummed and occasionally there was a growl or bark. The foliage was
stirred by the wind. Below him, the trail bent sharply, entering a clearing.
Tak dropped to the ground, proceeded on foot. At the other side of the
clearing he took to the trees again. Now, he noticed, the trail was running
parallel to the mountains, even inclining slightly back in their direction.
There was a distant rattle of thunder and after a time a new breeze came up,
cool. He swung on, breaking through moist spider webs, frightening birds
into shrieking flurries of bright plumage. The trail continued to move in
the direction of the mountains, slowly doubling back upon itself. At times,
it met with other hard-packed, yellow trails, dividing, crossing, parting.
On these occasions, he descended to the ground and studied the surface
markings. Yes, Sam had turned here; Sam had stopped beside this pool to
drink-- here, where the orange mushrooms grew taller than a tall man, and
wide enough to shelter several from the rains; now, Sam had taken that
branch of the roadway; here, he had stopped to fix a sandal strap; at this
point, he had leaned upon a tree, which showed indications of housing a
dryad. . . .
Tak moved on, about half an hour behind his quarry, as he judged it--
so giving him plenty of time to get to wherever he was going and to begin
whatever activity so engaged his enthusiasms. A halo of heat lightning
reached above the mountains he was now facing. There was another rumble of
thunder. The trail headed on up into the foothills, where the forest
thinned, and Tak moved on all fours amid tall grasses. It headed steadily
upward, and rocky outcroppings became more and more prominent. Still, Sam
had passed this way, so Tak followed.
Overhead, the pollen-colored Bridge of the Gods vanished as the clouds
rolled steadily eastward. Lightning flashed, and now the thunder followed
quickly. The wind came faster here in the open; the grasses bent down before
it; the temperature seemed suddenly to plummet.
Tak felt the first drops of rain and dashed for the shelter of one of
the stands of stone. It ran like a narrow hedge, slightly slanted against
the rain. Tak moved along its base as the waters were unleashed and color
deserted the world along with the last bit of blue in the sky.
A sea of turbulent light appeared overhead, and three times spilled
streams that rode crazy crescendo down to splash upon the stone fang curving
blackly into the wind, about a quarter mile up the slope.
When Tak's vision cleared, he saw that which he did now understand. It
was as though each bolt that had fallen had left a part of itself, standing,
swaying in the gray air, pulsing fires, despite the wetness that came
steadily down upon the ground.
Then Tak heard the laughter-- or was it a ghost sound left in his ears
by the recent thunder?
No, it was laughter-- gigantic, unhuman!
After a time, there came a howl of rage. Then there was another flash,
another rumble.
Another funnel of fire swayed beside the stone fang.
Tak lay still for about five minutes. Then it came again-- the howl,
followed by three bright flashes and the crash.
Now there were seven pillars of fire. Dared he approach, skirting these
things, spying upon the fang peak from its opposite side?
And if he did, and if-- as he felt-- Sam was somehow involved, what
good could he do if the Enlightened One himself could not handle the
situation?
He had no answer, but he found himself moving forward, crouched low in
the damp grass, swinging far to his left.
When he was halfway there it happened again, and ten of the things
towered, red and gold and yellow, drifting and returning, drifting and
returning, as though their bases were rooted to the ground.
He crouched there wet and shivering, examined his courage and found it
to be a small thing indeed. Yet, he pushed on until he was parallel to the
strange place, then past it.
He drew up behind it, finding himself in the midst of many large
stones. Grateful for their shelter and the cover they provided against
observation from below, he inched forward, never taking his eyes from the
fang.
He could see now that it was partly hollow. There was a dry, shallow
cave at its base, and two figures knelt within it. Holy men at prayer? He
wondered.
Then it happened. The most frightful flashing he had ever seen came
down upon the stones-- not once, or for a mere instant. It was as if a
fire-tongued beast licked and licked about the stone, growling as it did so,
for perhaps a quarter of a minute.
When Tak opened his eyes, he counted twenty of the blazing towers.
One of the holy men leaned forward, gestured. The other laughed. The
sound carried to where Tak lay, and the words: "Eyes of the serpent! Mine
now!"
"What is the quantity?" asked the second, and Tak knew it to be the
voice of Great-Souled Sam.
"Twice, or none at all!" roared the other, and he leaned forward,
rocked back, then gestured as Sam had done.
"Nina from Srinagina!" he chanted, and leaned, rocked, and gestured
once more.
"Sacred seven," Sam said softly.
The other howled.
Tak closed his eyes and covered his ears, expecting what might come
after that howl.
Nor was he mistaken.
When the blaze and the tumult had passed, he looked down upon an eerily
illuminated scene. He did not bother counting. It was apparent that forty of
the flame like things now hung about the place, casting their weird glow:
their number had doubled.
The ritual continued. On the left hand of the Buddha, the iron ring
glowed with a pale, greenish light all its own.
He heard the words "Twice, or none at all" repeated again, and he heard
the Buddha say "Sacred seven" once more, in reply.
This time he thought the mountainside would come apart beneath him.
This time he thought the brightness was an afterimage, tattooed upon his
retina through closed eyelids. But he was wrong.
When he opened his eyes it was to look upon a veritable army of
shifting thunderbolts. Their blaze jabbed into his brain, and he shaded his
eyes to stare down below.
"Well, Raltariki?" asked Sam, and a bright emerald light played about
his left hand.
"One time again, Siddhartha. Twice, or not at all."
The rains let up for a moment, and, in the great blaze from the host on
the hillside, Tak saw that the one called Raltariki had the head of a water
buffalo and an extra pair of arms.
He shivered.
He covered his eyes and ears and clenched his teeth, waiting. After a
time, it happened. It roared and blazed, going on and on until finally he
lost consciousness.
When he recovered his senses, there was only a grayness and a gentle
rain between himself and the sheltering rock. At its base only one figure
sat, and it did not wear horns or appear to possess more arms than the
customary two.
Tak did not move. He waited.
"This," said Yama, handing him an aerosol, "is demon repellent. In the
future, I suggest you annoint yourself thoroughly if you intend venturing
very far from the monastery. I had thought this region free of the Rakasha,
or I would have given it to you sooner."
Tak accepted the container, placed it on the table before him.
They sat in Yama's chambers, having taken a light meal there. Yama
leaned back in his chair, a glass of the Buddha's wine in his left hand, a
half-filled decanter in his right.
"Then the one called Raltariki is really a demon?" asked Tak.
"Yes-- and no," said Yama, "If by 'demon' you mean a malefic,
supernatural creature, possessed of great powers, life span and the ability
to temporarily assume virtually any shape-- then the answer is no. This is
the generally accepted definition, but it is untrue in one respect."
"Oh? And what may that be?"
"It is not a supernatural creature."
"But it is all those other things?"
"Yes."
"Then I fail to see what difference it makes whether it be supernatural
or not-- so long as it is malefic, possesses great powers and life span and
has the ability to change its shape at will."
"Ah, but it makes a great deal of difference, you see. It is the
difference between the unknown and the unknowable, between science and
fantasy-- it is a matter of essence. The four points of the compass be
logic, knowledge, wisdom and the unknown. Some do bow in that final
direction. Others advance upon it. To bow before the one is to lose sight of
the three. I may submit to the unknown, but never to the unknowable. The man
who bows in that final direction is either a saint or a fool. I have no use
for either."
Tak shrugged and sipped his wine. "But of the demons. . . ?"
"Knowable. I did experiment with them for many years, and I was one of
the Four who descended into Hellwell, if you recall, after Taraka fled Lord
Agni at Palamaidsu. Are you not Tak of the Archives?"
"I was."
"Did you read then of the earliest recorded contacts with the Rakasha?"
"I read the accounts of the days of their binding. . . "
"Then you know that they are the native inhabitants of this world, that
they were present here before the arrival of Man from vanished Urath."
"Yes."
"They are creatures of energy, rather than matter. Their own traditions
have it that once they wore bodies, lived in cities. Their quest for
personal immortality, however, led them along a different path from that
which Man followed. They found a way to perpetuate themselves as stable
fields of energy. They abandoned their bodies to live forever as vortices of
force. But pure intellect they are not. They carried with them their
complete egos, and born of matter they do ever lust after the flesh. Though
they can assume its appearance for a time, they cannot return to it
unassisted. For ages they did drift aimlessly about this world. Then the
arrival of Man stirred them from their quiescence. They took on the shapes
of his nightmares to devil him. This is why they had to be defeated and
bound, far beneath the Ratnagaris. We could not destroy them all. We could
not permit them to continue their attempts to possess the machines of
incarnation and the bodies of men. So they were trapped and contained in
great magnetic bottles."
"Yet Sam freed many to do his will," said Tak.
"Aye. He made and kept a nightmare pact, so that some of them do still
walk the world. Of all men, they respect perhaps only Siddhartha. And with
all men do they share one great vice."
"That being. . .?"
"They do dearly love to gamble. . . . They will make game for any
stakes, and gambling debts are their only point of honor. This must be so,
or they would not hold the confidence of other gamesters and would so lose
that which is perhaps their only pleasure. Their powers being great, even
princes will make game with them, hoping to win their services. Kingdoms
have been lost in this fashion."
"If," said Tak, "as you feel, Sam was playing one of the ancient games
with Raltariki, what could the stakes have been?"
Yama finished his wine, refilled the glass. "Sam is a fool. No, he is
not. He is a gambler. There is a difference. The Rakasha do control lesser
orders of energy beings. Sam, through that ring he wears, does now command a
guard of fire elementals, which he won from Raltariki. These are deadly,
mindless creatures-- and each bears the force of a thunderbolt."
Tak finished his wine. "But what stakes could Sam have brought to the
game?"
Yama sighed. "All my work, all our efforts for over half a century."
"You mean-- his body?"
Yama nodded. "A human body is the highest inducement any demon might be
offered."
"Why should Sam risk such a venture?"
Yama stared at Tak, not seeing him. "It must have been the only way he
could call upon his life-will, to bind him again to his task
-- by placing himself in jeopardy, by casting his very existence with
each roll of the dice."
Tak poured himself another glass of wine and gulped it. "That is
unknowable to me," he said.
But Yama shook his head. "Unknown, only," he told him. "Sam is not
quite a saint, nor is he a fool."
"Almost, though," Yama decided, and that night he squirted demon
repellent about the monastery.
The following morning, a small man approached the monastery and seated
himself before its front entrance, placing a begging bowl on the ground at
his feet. He wore a single, threadbare garment of coarse, brown cloth, which
reached to his ankles. A black patch covered his left eye. What remained of
his hair was dark and very long. His sharp nose, small chin, and high, flat
ears gave to his face a foxlike appearance. His skin was tight-drawn and
well-weathered. His single, green eye seemed never to blink.
He sat there for perhaps twenty minutes before one of Sam's monks
noticed him and mentioned the fact to one of Ratri's dark-robed Order. This
monk located a priest and passed the information to him. The priest, anxious
to impress the goddess with the virtues of her followers, sent for the
beggar to be brought in and fed, offered new garments and given a cell in