Kingdom of the Golden Dragon (Memories of the Eagle and the Jaguar #2)(2)
"May I know what, master?"
"The beauty of the panorama," the lama replied, indicating the endless chain of mountains, the immaculate white of the snow, the brilliant sky.
"It is like the landscape of the moon," the youth observed.
"Possibly… What part of the moon have you visited, Dil Bahadur?" the lama asked, hiding another smile.
"I have not traveled that far as yet, master, but I imagine it like this."
"On the moon, the sky is black and there are no mountains like these. There is no snow, either; everything is rock and ash-colored dust."
"Perhaps some day I shall be able to make an astral voyage to the moon, like my honorable master," the disciple conceded.
"Perhaps…"
After the lama positioned his staff, both took off their tunics and cloaks, which kept them from moving freely, and made four bundles of their belongings. The lama was built like an athlete. His shoulders and arms were pure muscle, his neck was as broad as a normal man's thigh, and his legs as thick as tree trunks. That formidable warrior's body contrasted markedly with his serene face, gentle eyes, and delicate—almost feminine—and always-smiling mouth. Tensing took the bundles one by one, built up momentum by rotating his arm like the vanes of a windmill, and tossed the bundles to the other side of the chasm.
"The fear is not real, Dil Bahadur; it is only in your mind, like all other things. Our thoughts form what we believe to be reality," he said.
"At this moment, my mind is creating a very deep crevasse, master," the prince murmured.
"And my mind is creating a very strong bridge," the lama replied.
He waved to the youth, who stood waiting in the snow, then took one step above the void, planting his right foot at the middle of the wood staff and a fraction of a second later throwing himself forward, reaching the other side with his left foot. Dil Bahadur imitated him with less grace and speed, but gave no sign of nervousness. The master noticed that his student's skin was gleaming with sweat. They quickly dressed and resumed walking.
"Is it much farther?" Dil Bahadur wanted to know.
"Possibly."
"Would it be imprudent, master, to request that you not always answer 'possibly'?"
"Perhaps it would." Tensing smiled, and after a pause added that, according to the instructions on the parchment, they were to continue north. The most difficult portion of their path lay ahead.
"Have you seen the Yetis, master?"
"They are like dragons, they shoot fire from their ears and they have four pairs of arms."
"Amazing!" the youth exclaimed.
"How many times have I told you not to believe everything you hear? Seek truth for yourself," the lama laughed.
"Master, we are not studying the teachings of Buddha, we are simply talking." The disciple sighed, annoyed.
"I have not seen the Yetis in this life, but I remember them from a previous one. We share common ancestors, and several thousand years ago they had a civilization almost as developed as our own, but now they are very primitive and of limited intelligence."
"What happened?"
"They are very aggressive. They killed each other and destroyed everything they had, including the land. The survivors fled to the peaks of the Himalayas and there their race began to decline. Now they are like animals," the lama explained.
"Are there many of them?"
"Everything is relative. They will seem to be many if they attack us and few if they are friendly. In any case, they do not live very long lives but they reproduce easily; therefore I suppose there will be a number of them in the valley. They live in an inaccessible region where no one can find them, but sometimes one of them ventures out in search of food and gets lost. That is possibly the source of the tracks attributed to the Abominable Snowman, as he is called," the lama put forward.
"Their footprints are enormous. They must be giants. Will they still be very aggressive?"
"You ask many questions for which there are no answers, Dil Bahadur," the master replied.
?
Tensing led his disciple through the mountain peaks, leaping chasms, scaling vertical faces, slipping along narrow paths cut into the rock. Occasionally they came across old hanging bridges, but they were in very poor condition and could be used only with great care. When there was wind or sleet, they looked for shelter and waited. Once a day they ate their tsampa, a mixture of toasted barley flour, dried herbs, yak butter, and salt. They found abundant water beneath the crust of ice. Young Dil Bahadur often had the impression that they were walking in circles, because the landscape looked the same, but he said nothing about his doubts: it would be discourteous to his master.
As evening fell, they looked for a sheltered place to spend the night. Sometimes it was nothing but a rift in which they could find comfort protected from the wind, other nights they might find a cave, but occasionally they had no choice but to sleep out in the open, barely shielded by their yak cloaks. Once they set up their austere camp, they sat facing the setting sun, legs crossed, and chanted the essential mantra of Buddha, repeating over and over Om mani padme hum—Hail, precious jewel in the heart of the lotus. The echo would repeat their prayer, multiplying it to infinity among the high peaks of the Himalayas.
During the day's march they gathered sticks and dried grasses, which they carried in their pouches for building the nightly fire and for cooking their food. After the evening meal, they meditated for an hour. During that time the cold left them stiff as ice statues, but they scarcely felt it. They were used to such immobility, which brought them calm and peace. In their Buddhist practices, master and student sat in absolute relaxation, but remained alert. They rid themselves of all the distractions and worries of the world, though they never forgot the suffering that existed everywhere.