LL on Danmei AI Translations

Chapter 1

Thu, 13 Aug 2026 12:49:51 +0000

Chapter 1#

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 anoint 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 which to sleep for as long as he chose to remain. The beggar accepted the food with the courtesies of a Brahmin, but declined to eat anything other than bread and fruit. He accepted, too, the dark garment of Ratri’s Order, casting aside his begrimed smock. Then he looked upon the cell and the fresh sleeping mat that had been laid for him.“I do thank you, worthy priest,” he said, in a voice rich and resonant, and altogether larger than his person.“I do thank you, and pray your goddess smile upon you for your kindness and generosity in her name.” The priest smiled at this himself, and still hoped that Ratri might pass along the hall at that moment, to witness his kindness and generosity in her name. She did not, however. Few of her Order had actually seen her, even on the night when she put on her power and walked among them: for only those of the saffron robe had attended Sam’s awakening and were certain as to his identity. She generally moved about the monastery while her followers were at prayer or after they had retired for the evening. She slept mainly during the day; when she did cross their sight she was well-muffled and cloaked; her wishes and orders she communicated directly to Gandhiji, the head of the Order, who was ninety- three years old this cycle, and more than half blind. Consequently, both her monks and those of the saffron robe wondered as to her appearance and sought to gain possible favor in her eyes. It was said that her blessing would ensure one’s being incarnated as a Brahmin. Only Gandhiji did not care, for he had accepted the way of the real death. Since she did not pass along the hall as they stood there, the priest prolonged the conversation,“I am Balarma,” he stated.“May I inquire as to your name, good sir, and perhaps your destination?““I am Aram,” said the beggar,“who has taken upon himself a ten-year vow of poverty, and of silence for seven. Fortunately, the seven have elapsed, that I may now speak to thank my benefactors and answer their questions. I am heading up into the mountains to find me a cave where I may meditate and pray. I may, perhaps, accept your kindly hospitality for a few days, before proceeding on with my journey.““Indeed,” said Balarma,“we should be honored if a holy one were to see fit to bless our monastery with his presence. We will make you welcome. If there is anything you wish to assist you along your path, and we may be able to grant this thing, please name it to us.” Aram fixed him with his unblinking green eye and said,“The monk who first observed me did not wear the robe of your Order.” He touched the dark garment as he said it.“Instead, I believe my poor eye did behold one of another color.““Yes,” said Balarma,“for the followers of the Buddha do shelter here among us, resting awhile from their wanderings.““That is truly interesting,” said Aram,“for I should like to speak with them and perhaps learn more of their Way.““You should have ample opportunity if you choose to remain among us for a time.““This then shall I do. For how long will they remain?““I do not know.” Aram nodded.“When might I speak with them?““This evening there will be an hour when all the monks are gathered together and free to speak as they would, save for those who have taken vows of silence.““I shall pass the interval till then in prayer,” said Aram.“Thank you.” Each bowed slightly, and Aram entered his room. That evening, Aram attended the community hour of the monks. Those of both Orders did mingle at this time and engage in conversation. Sam did not attend it himself, nor did Tak; and Yama never attended it in person. Aram seated himself at the long table in the refectory, across from several of the Buddha’s monks. He talked for some time with these, discoursing on doctrine and practice, caste and creed, weather and the affairs of the day.“It seems strange,” he said after a while,“that those of your Order have come so far to the south and the west so suddenly.““We are a wandering Order,” replied the monk to whom he had spoken.“We follow the wind. We follow our hearts.““To the land of rusted soil in the season of lightnings? Is there perhaps some revelation to occur hereabout, which might be enlarging to my spirit were I to behold it?““The entire universe is a revelation,” said the monk.“All things change, yet all things remain. Day follows night… each day is different, yet each is day. Much of the world is illusion, yet the forms of that illusion follow a pattern which is a part of divine reality.““Yes, yes,” said Aram.“In the ways of illusion and reality am I well-versed, but by my inquiry I did mean to know whether perhaps a new teacher had arisen in this vicinity, or some old one returned, or mayhap a divine manifestation, the presence of which it might profit my soul to be aware.” As he spoke, the beggar brushed from the table before him a red, crawling beetle, the size of a thumbnail, and he moved his sandal as if to crush it.“Pray, brother, do not harm it,” said the monk.“But they are all over the place, and the Masters of Karma have stated that a man cannot be made to return as an insect, and the killing of an insect is a karmically inoperative act.““Nevertheless,” said the monk,“all life being one, in this monastery all do practice the doctrine of ahimsa and refrain from taking life of any sort.““Yet,” said Aram,“Patanjali does state that it is the intention rather than the act which governs. Therefore, if I killed with love rather than malice, it would be as if I had not killed. I confess that this was not the case and that malice was present-therefore, even if I did not kill I do bear the burden of the guilt because of the presence of that intention. So I could step upon it now and be none the worse for it, according to the principle of ahimsa. Since I am a guest, however, I of course respect the practice and do not do this thing.” With this, he moved his sandal away from the insect, which stood immobile, reddish antennae pricked upward.“Indeed, he is a scholar,” said one of the Order of Ratri. Aram smiled.“Thank you, but it is not so,” he stated.“I am only a humble seeker of truth, and on occasion in the past have I been privileged to overhear the discourses of the learned. Would that I might be so privileged again! If there were some great teacher or scholar in the vicinity, then I would most surely walk across a bed of hot coals to sit at his feet and to hear his words or observe his example. If-” He stopped then, for all eyes had suddenly turned upon the doorway at his back. He did not move his head, but reached out to crush a beetle that stood near his hand. The tip of a small crystal and two tiny wires protruded through the broken chitin of its back. Then he turned, his green eye sweeping across the row of monks seated between himself and the doorway, and he looked upon Yama, who wore breeches, boots, shirt, sash, cloak and gloves all of red, and about whose head was twisted a turban the color of blood."‘If?’” said Yama.“You were saying ‘if’? If some sage or some avatar of the godhead resided in the vicinity, you should like to make his acquaintance? Is that what you were saying, stranger?” The beggar rose from the table. He bowed.“I am Aram,” he stated,“a fellow seeker and traveler with all who wish enlightenment.” Yama did not return the salute.“Why do you spell your name backward, Lord of Illusion, when all your words and actions herald it before you?” The beggar shrugged.“I do not understand what you say.” But the smile came again to his lips.“I am one who seeks the Path and the Right,” he added.“I find that hard to believe, after witnessing at least a thousand years of your treachery.““You speak of the lifetime of gods.““Unfortunately, I do. You have made a serious mistake, Mara.““What may that be?““You feel that you must be permitted to leave here alive.““I admit that I anticipate doing so.““Not considering the numerous accidents which might befall a lone traveler in this wild region.““I have been a lone traveler for many years. Accidents always happen to other people.““You might believe that even if your body were destroyed here, your atman would be transferred remotely to another body located elsewhere. I understand that someone has deciphered my notes, and the trick is now possible.” The beggar’s brows moved a quarter of an inch lower and closer together.“You do not realize the forces which even now contain this building, defending against any such transfer.” The beggar stepped to the center of the room.“Yama,” he stated,“you are a fool if you think to match your puny fallen powers against those of the Dreamer.““Perhaps this is so. Lord Mara,” Yama replied,“but I have waited too long for this opportunity to postpone it further. Remember my promise at Keenset? If you wish to continue your chain of existence you will have to pass through this, the only door to this room, which I bar. Nothing beyond this room can help you” now. Mara then raised his hands, and the fires were born. Everything was flaming. Flames leapt from the stone walls, the tables, the robes of the monks. Smoke billowed and curled about the room. Yama stood in the midst of a conflagration, but he did not move.“Is that the best you can do?” he asked.“Your flames are everywhere, but nothing burns.” Mara clapped his hands and the flames vanished. In their place, its swaying head held at almost twice the height of a man, its silver hood fanned, the mechobra drew into its S-shaped strike position. Yama ignored it, his shadowy gaze reaching now like the probe of a dark insect, boring into Mara’s single eye. The mechobra faded in mid-strike. Yama strode forward. Mara fell back a pace. They stood thus for perhaps three heartbeats, then Yama moved forward two paces farther and Mara backed away again. Perspiration blistered upon both their brows. The beggar now stood taller and his hair was heavier; he was thicker about the waist and broader across the shoulders. A certain grace, not previously apparent, accompanied all his movements. He fell back another step.“Yes, Mara, there is a deathgod,” said Yama between clenched teeth.“Fallen or no, the real death dwells in my eyes. You must meet them. When you reach the wall you can back no farther. Feel the strength go out of your limbs. Feel the coldness begin in your hands and your feet.” Mara’s teeth bared in a snarl. His neck was as thick as a bull’s. His biceps were as big about as a man’s thighs. His chest was a barrel of strength and his legs were like great trees of the forest.“Coldness?” he asked, extending his arms.“I can break a giant with these hands, Yama. What are you but a banished carrion god? Your frown may claim the aged and the infirm. Your eyes may chill dumb animals and those of the lower classes of men. I stand as high above you as a star above the ocean’s bottom.” Yama’s red-gloved hands fell like a pair of cobras upon his throat.“Then try that strength which you so mock. Dreamer. You have taken on the appearance of power. Use it! Best me not with words!” His cheeks and forehead bloomed scarlet as Yama’s hands tightened upon his throat. His eye seemed to leap, a green search-light sweeping the world. Mara fell to his knees.“Enough, Lord Yama!” he gasped.“Wouldst slay thyself?” He changed. His features flowed, as though he lay beneath restless waters. Yama looked down upon his own face, saw his own red hands plucking at his wrists.“You grow desperate now, Mara, as the life leaves you. But Yama is no child, that he fears breaking the mirror you have become. Try your last, or die like a man, it is all the same in the end.” But once more there was a flowing and a change. This time Yama hesitated, breaking his strength. Her bronze hair fell upon his hands. Her pale eyes pleaded with him. Caught about her throat was a necklace of ivory skulls, but slightly paler than her flesh. Her sari was the color of blood. Her hands rested upon his own, almost caressing…“Goddess!” he hissed.“You would not slay Kali…? Durga…?” she choked.“Wrong again, Mara,” he whispered.“Did you not know that each man kills the thing he loved?” and with this his hands twisted, and there was a sound of breaking bones.“Tenfold be your damnation,” he said, his eyes tightly closed.“There shall be no rebirth.” His hands came open then. A tall, nobly proportioned man lay upon the floor at his feet, his head resting upon his right shoulder. His eye had finally closed. Yama turned the corpse with the toe of his boot. body,” he said to the monks, not turning toward them.“Build a pyre and burn this"Spare none of the rites. One of the highest has died this day.” Then he removed his eyes from this work of his hands, turned upon his heel and left the room. That evening the lightnings fled across the skies and the rain came down like bullets from Heaven. The four of them sat in the chamber in the high tower that rose from the northeast corner of the monastery. Yama paced the room, stopping at the window each time he came to it. The others sat watching him, listening.“They suspect,” he told them,“but they do not know. They would not ravage the monastery of a fellow god, displaying before men the division of their ranks- not unless they were certain. They were not certain, so they investigated. This means that time is still with us.” They nodded.“A Brahmin who renounced the world to find his soul passed this way, suffered an accident, died here the real death. His body was burnt and his ashes cast into the river that leads to the sea. This is what occurred… The wandering monks of the Enlightened One were visiting at the time. They moved on shortly after this occurrence. Who knows where they went?” Tak stood as nearly erect as he could.“Lord Yama,” he stated,“while it may hold for a week, a month – possibly even longer-this story will come apart in the hands of the Master to judge the first of any of those here present in this monastery who pass within the Halls of Karma. Under the circumstances, I believe some of them may achieve early judgment for just this reason. What then?” Yama rolled a cigarette with care and precision.“It must be arranged that what I said is what actually occurred.““How can that be? When a man’s brain is subject to karmic play-back, all the events he has witnessed in his most recent cycle of life are laid out before his judge and the machine, like a scroll.““That is correct,” said Yama.“And have you. Tak of the Archives, never heard of a palimpsest-a scroll which has been used previously, cleaned, and then used again?““Of course, but the mind is not a scroll.““No?” Yama smiled.“Well, it was your simile to begin with, not mine. What’s truth, anyway? Truth is what you make it.” He lit his cigarette.“These monks have witnessed a strange and terrible thing,” he continued.“They saw me take on my Aspect and wield an Attribute. They saw Mara do the same-here, in this monastery where we have revived the principle of ahimsa. They are aware that a god may do such things without karmic burden, but the shock was great and the impression vivid. And the final burning is still to come. By the time of that burning, the tale I have told you must be true in their minds.““How?” asked Ratri.“This very night, this very hour,” he said,“while the image of the act flames within their consciousness and their thoughts are troubled, the new truth will be forged and nailed into place… Sam, you have rested long enough. This thing is now yours to do. You must preach them a sermon. You must call forth within them those nobler sentiments and higher qualities of spirit which make men subject to divine meddling. Ratri and I will then combine our powers and a new truth will be born.” Sam shifted and dropped his eyes.“I don’t know if I can do it. It’s been so long…““Once a Buddha, always a Buddha, Sam. Dust off some of your old parables. You have about fifteen minutes.” Sam held out his hand.“Give me some tobacco and a paper.” He accepted the package, rolled himself a cigarette.“Light?… Thanks.” He drew in deeply, exhaled, coughed.“I’m tired of lying to them,” he finally said.“I guess that’s what it really is.““Lying?” asked Yama.“Who asked you to lie about anything? Quote them the Sermon on the Mount, if you want. Or something from the Popul Voh, or the Iliad. I don’t care what you say. Just stir them a bit, soothe them a little. That’s all I ask.““Then what?““Then? Then I shall proceed to save them-and us!” Sam nodded slowly.“When you put it that way… but I’m a little out of shape when it comes to this sort of thing. Sure, I’ll find me a couple truths and throw in a few pieties-but make it twenty minutes.““Twenty minutes, then. And afterward we pack. Tomorrow we leave for Khaipur.““So soon?” asked Tak. Yama shook his head.“So late,” he said. The monks were seated upon the floor of the refectory. The tables had been moved back against the walls. The insects had vanished. Outside, the rain continued to fall. Great-Souled Sam, the Enlightened One, entered and seated himself before them. Ratri came in dressed as a Buddhist nun, and veiled. Yama and Ratri moved to the back of the room and settled to the floor. Somewhere, Tak too, was listening. Sam sat with his eyes closed for several minutes, then said softly:“I have many names, and none of them matter.” He opened his eyes slightly then, but he did not move his head. He looked upon nothing in particular.“Names are not important,” he said.“To speak is to name names, but to speak is not important. A thing happens once that has never happened before. Seeing it, a man looks upon reality. He cannot tell others what he has seen. Others wish to know, however, so they question him saying, ‘What is it like, this thing you have seen?’ So he tries to tell them. Perhaps he has seen the very first fire in the world. He tells them, ‘It is red, like a poppy, but through it dance other colors. It has no form, like water, flowing everywhere. It is warm, like the sun of summer, only warmer. It exists for a time upon a piece of wood, and then the wood is gone, as though it were eaten, leaving behind that which is black and can be sifted like sand. When the wood is gone, it too is gone. ’ Therefore, the hearers must think reality is like a poppy, like water, like the sun, like that which eats and excretes. They think it is like to anything that they are told it is like by the man who has known it. But they have not looked upon fire. They cannot really know it. They can only know of it. But fire comes again into the world, many times. More men look upon fire. After a time, fire is as common as grass and clouds and the air they breathe. They see that, while it is like a poppy, it is not a poppy, while it is like water, it is not water, while it is like the sun, it is not the sun, and while it is like that which eats and passes wastes, it is not that which eats and passes wastes, but something different from each of these apart or all of these together. So they look upon this new thing and they make a new word to call it. They call it ‘fire. ‘“If they come upon one who still has not seen it and they speak to him of fire, he does not know what they mean. So they, in turn, fall back upon telling him what fire is like. As they do so, they know from their own experience that what they are telling him is not the truth, but only a part of it. They know that this man will never know reality from their words, though all the words in the world are theirs to use. He must look upon the fire, smell of it, warm his hands by it, stare into its heart, or remain forever ignorant. Therefore, ‘fire’ does not matter, ’earth’ and ‘air’ and ‘water’ do not matter. ‘I’ do not matter. No word matters. But man forgets reality and remembers words. The more words he remembers, the cleverer do his fellows esteem him. He looks upon the great transformations of the world, but he does not see them as they were seen when man looked upon reality for the first time. Their names come to his lips and he smiles as he tastes them, thinking he knows them in the naming. The thing that has never happened before is still happening. It is still a miracle. The great burning blossom squats, flowing, upon the limb of the world, excreting the ash of the world, and being none of these things I have named and at the same time all of them, and this is reality-the Nameless.“Therefore, I charge you-forget the names you bear, forget the words I speak as soon as they are uttered. Look, rather, upon the Nameless within yourselves, which arises as I address it. It hearkens not to my words, but to the reality within me, of which it is part. This is the atman, which hears me rather than my words. All else is unreal. To define is to lose. The essence of all things is the Nameless. The Nameless is unknowable, mightier even than Brahma. Things pass, but the essence remains. You sit, therefore, in the midst of a dream.“Essence dreams it a dream of form. Forms pass, but the essence remains, dreaming new dreams. Man names these dreams and thinks to have captured the essence, not knowing that he invokes the unreal. These stones, these walls, these bodies you see seated about you are poppies and water and the sun. They are the dreams of the Nameless. They are fire, if you like.“Occasionally, there may come a dreamer who is aware that he is dreaming. He may control something of the dream-stuff, bending it to his will, or he may awaken into greater self-knowledge. If he chooses the path of self-knowledge, his glory is great and he shall be for all ages like unto a star. If he chooses instead the way of the Tantras, combining Samsara and Nirvana, comprehending the world and continuing to live in it, this one is mighty among dreamers. He may be mighty for good or for ill, as we look upon him-though these terms, too, are meaningless, outside of the namings of Samsara.“To dwell within Samsara, however, is to be subject to the works of those who are mighty among dreamers. If they be mighty for good, it is a golden time. If they be mighty for ill, it is a time of darkness. The dream may turn to nightmare.“It is written that to live is to suffer. This is so, say the sages, for man must work off his burden of Karma if he is to achieve enlightenment. For this reason, say the sages, what does it profit a man to struggle within a dream against that which is his lot, which is the path he must follow to attain liberation? In the light of eternal values, say the sages, the suffering is as nothing; in the terms of Samsara, say the sages, it leads to that which is good. What justification, then, has a man to struggle against those who be mighty for ill?” He paused for a moment, raised his head higher.“This night the Lord of Illusion passed among you-Mara, mighty among dreamers-mighty for ill. He did come upon another who may work with the stuff of dreams in a different way. He did meet with Dharma, who may expel a dreamer from his dream. They did struggle, and the Lord Mara is no more. Why did they struggle, deathgod against illusionist? You say their ways are incomprehensible, being the ways of gods. This is not the answer.“The answer, the justification, is the same for men as it is for gods. Good or ill, say the sages, mean nothing for they are of Samsara. Agree with the sages, who have taught our people for as far as the memory of man may reach. Agree, but consider also a thing of which the sages do not speak. This thing is ‘beauty, ’ which is a word-but look behind the word and consider the Way of the Nameless. And what is the way of the Nameless? It is the Way of Dream. And why does the Nameless dream? This thing is not known to any dweller within Samsara. So ask, rather, what does the Nameless dream?“The Nameless, of which we are all a part, does dream form. And what is the highest attribute any form may possess? It is beauty. The Nameless, then, is an artist. The problem, therefore, is not one of good or evil, but one of esthetics. To struggle against those who are mighty among dreamers and are mighty for ill, or ugliness, is not to struggle for that which the sages have taught us to be meaningless in terms of Samsara or Nirvana, but rather it is to struggle for the symmetrical dreaming of a dream, in terms of the rhythm and the point, the balance and the antithesis which will make it a thing of beauty. Of this, the sages say nothing. This truth is so simple that they have obviously overlooked it. For this reason, I am bound by the esthetics of the situation to call it to your attention. To struggle against the dreamers who dream ugliness, be they men or gods, cannot but be the will of the Nameless. This struggle will also bear suffering, and so one’s karmic burden will be lightened thereby, just as it would be by enduring the ugliness; but this suffering is productive of a higher end in the light of the eternal values of which the sages so often speak.“Therefore, I say unto you, the esthetics of what you have witnessed this evening were of a high order. You may ask me, then, ‘How am I to know that which is beautiful and that which is ugly, and be moved to act thereby?’ This question, I say, you must answer for yourself. To do this, first forget what I have spoken, for I have said nothing. Dwell now upon the Nameless.” He raised his right hand and bowed his head. Yama stood, Ratri stood, Tak appeared upon a table. The four of them left together, knowing the machineries of Karma to have been defeated for a time. They walked through the jagged brilliance of the morning, beneath the Bridge of the Gods. Tall fronds, still wet with the night’s rain, glistened at the sides of the trail. The tops of trees and the peaks of the distant mountains rippled beyond the rising vapors. The day was cloudless. The faint breezes of morning still bore a trace of the night’s cold. The clicking and buzzing and chirping of the jungle accompanied the monks as they walked. The monastery from which they had departed was only partly visible above the upper reaches of the treetops; high in the air above it, a twisting line of smoke endorsed the heavens. Ratri’s servitors bore her litter in the midst of the moving party of monks, servants and her small guard of warriors. Sam and Yama walked near the head of the band. Silent overhead, Tak followed, passing among leaves and branches, unseen.“The pyre still blazes,” said Yama.“Yes.““They burn the wanderer who suffered a heart attack as he took his rest among them.““This is true.““For a spur of the moment thing, you came up with a fairly engaging sermon.““Thanks.““Do you really believe what you preached?” Sam laughed.“I’m very gullible when it comes to my own words. I believe everything I say, though I know I’m a liar.” Yama snorted.“The rod of Trimurti still falls upon the backs of men. Nirriti stirs within his dark lair; he harasses the seaways of the south. Do you plan on spending another lifetime indulging in metaphysics-to find new justification for opposing your enemies? Your talk last night sounded as if you have reverted to considering why again, rather than how.““No,” said Sam,“I just wanted to try another line on the audience. It is difficult to stir rebellion among those to whom all things are good. There is no room for evil in their minds, despite the fact that they suffer it constantly. The slave upon the rack who knows that he will be born again-perhaps as a fat merchant – if he suffers willingly-his outlook is not the same as that of a man with but one life to live. He can bear anything, knowing that great as his present pain may be, his future pleasure will rise higher. If such a one does not choose to believe in good or evil, perhaps then beauty and ugliness can be made to serve him as well. Only the names have been changed.““This, then, is the new, official party line?” asked Yama.“It is,” said Sam. Yama’s hand passed through an invisible slit in his robe and emerged with a dagger, which he raised in salute.“To beauty,” he said.“Down with ugliness!” A wave of silence passed across the jungle. All the life-sounds about them ceased. Yama raised one hand, returning the dagger to its hidden sheath with the other.“Halt!” he cried out. He looked upward, squinting against the sun, head cocked to his right.“Off the trail! Into the brush!” he called. They moved. Saffron-cloaked bodies flashed from off the trail. Ratri’s litter was borne in among the trees. She now stood at Yama’s side.“What is it?” she asked.“Listen!” It came then, riding down the sky on a blast of sound. It flashed above the peaks of the mountains, crossed over the monastery, whipping the smokes into invisibility. Explosions of sound trumpeted its coming, and the air quaked as it cut its way through the wind and the light. It was a great-looped tau cross, a tail of fire streaming behind it.“Destroyer come a-hunting,” said Yama.“Thunder chariot!” cried one of the mercenaries, making a sign with his hand.“Shiva passes,” said a monk, eyes wide with fear.“The Destroyer…““Had I known at the time how well I wrought,” said Yama,“I might have numbered its days intentionally. Occasionally, do I regret my genius.” It passed beneath the Bridge of the Gods, swung above the jungle, fell away to the south. Its roar gradually diminished as it departed in that direction. Then there was silence. A bird made a brief piping noise. Another replied to it. Then all the sounds of life began again and the travelers returned to their trail.“He will be back,” said Yama, and this was true. Twice more that day did they have to leave the trail as the thunder chariot passed above their heads. On the last occasion, it circled the monastery, possibly observing the funeral rites being conducted there. Then it crossed over the mountains and was gone. That night they made camp under the stars, and on the second night they did the same. The third day brought them to the river Deeva and the small port city of Koona. It was there that they found the transportation they wished, and they set forth that same evening, heading south by bark to where the Deeva joined with the mighty Vedra, and then proceeded onward to pass at last the wharves of Khaipur, their destination. As they flowed with the river, Sam listened to its sounds. He stood upon the dark deck, his hands resting on the rail. He stared out across the waters where the bright heavens rose and fell, star bending back upon star. It was then that the night addressed him in the voice of Ratri, from somewhere nearby.“You have passed this way before, Tathagatha.““Many times,” he replied.“The Deeva is a thing of beauty under the stars, in its rippling and its folding.““Indeed.““We go now to Khaipur and the Palace of Kama. What will you do when we arrive?““I will spend some time in meditation, goddess.““Upon what shall you meditate?““Upon my past lives and the mistakes they each contained. I must review my own tactics as well as those of the enemy.““Yama thinks the Golden Cloud to have changed you.““Perhaps it has.““He believes it to have softened you, weakened you. You have always posed as a mystic, but now he believes you have become one – to your own undoing, to our undoing.” He shook his head, turned around. But he did not see her. Stood she there invisible, or had she withdrawn? He spoke softly and without inflection:“I shall tear these stars from out the heavens,” he stated,“and hurl them in the faces of the gods, if this be necessary. I shall blaspheme in every Temple throughout the land. I shall take lives as a fisherman takes fish, by the net, if this be necessary. I shall mount me again up to the Celestial City, though every step be a flame or a naked sword and the way be guarded by tigers. One day will the gods look down from Heaven and see me upon the stair, bringing them the gift they fear most. That day will the new Yuga begin.“But first I must meditate for a time,” he finished. He turned back again and stared out over the waters. A shooting star burnt its way across the heavens. The ship moved on. The night sighed about him. Sam stared ahead, remembering.

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 2#

One time a minor rajah from a minor principality came with his retinue into Mahartha, the city that is called Gateway of the South and Capital of the Dawn, there to purchase him a new body. This was in the days when the thread of destiny might yet be plucked from out a gutter, the gods were less formal, the demons still bound, and the Celestial City yet occasionally open to men. This is the story of how the prince did bait the one-armed receiver of devotions before the Temple, incurring the disfavor of Heaven for his presumption… Few are the beings born again among men; more numerous are those born again elsewhere. Anguttara-nikaya (I, 35) Riding into the capital of dawn at mid-afternoon, the prince, mounted upon a white mare, passed up the broad avenue of Surya, his hundred retainers massed at his back, his adviser Strake at his left hand, his scimitar in his sash, and a portion of his wealth in the bags his pack horses bore. The heat crashed down upon the turbans of the men, washed past them, came up again from the roadway. A chariot moved slowly by, headed in the opposite direction, its driver squinting up at the banner the chief retainer bore; a courtesan stood at the gateway to her pavilion, studying the traffic; and a pack of mongrel dogs followed at the heels of the horses, barking. The prince was tall, and his mustaches were the color of smoke. His hands, dark as coffee, were marked with the stiff ridges of his veins. Still, his posture was erect, and his eyes were like the eyes of an ancient bird, electric and clear. Ahead, a crowd gathered to watch the passing troop. Horses were ridden only by those who could afford them, and few were that wealthy. The slizzard was the common mount-a scaled creature with snakelike neck, many teeth, dubious lineage, brief life span and a vicious temperament; the horse, for some reason, having grown barren in recent generations. The prince rode on, into the capital of dawn, the watchers watching. Passing, they turned off the avenue of the sun and headed up a narrower thoroughfare. They moved by the low buildings of commerce, the great shops of the great merchants, the banks, the Temples, the inns, the brothels. They passed on, until at the fringe of the business district they came upon the princely hostel of Hawkana, the Most Perfect Host. They drew rein at the gate, for Hawkana himself stood outside the walls, simply dressed, fashionably corpulent and smiling, waiting to personally conduct the white mare within. “Welcome, Lord Siddhartha!” he called in a loud voice, so that all within earshot might know the identity of his guest. “Welcome to this well-nightingaled vicinity, and to the perfumed gardens and marble halls of this humble establishment! To your riders welcome also, who have ridden a goodly ride with you and no doubt seek subtle refreshment and dignified ease as well as yourself. Within, you will find all things to your liking, I trust, as you have upon the many occasions in the past when you have tarried within these halls in the company of other princely guests and noble visitors, too numerous to mention, such as - " “And a good afternoon to you also, Hawkana!” cried the prince, for the day was hot and the innkeeper’s speeches, like rivers, always threatened to flow on forever. “Let us enter quickly within your walls, where, among their other virtues too numerous to mention, it is also cool. " Hawkana nodded briskly, and taking the mare by the bridle led her through the gateway and into his courtyard; there, he held the stirrup while the prince dismounted, then gave the horses into the keeping of his stable hands and dispatched a small boy through the gateway to clean the street where they had waited. Within the hostel, the men were bathed, standing in the marble bath hall while servants poured water over their shoulders. Then did they anoint themselves after the custom of the warrior caste, put on fresh garments and passed into the hall of dining. The meal lasted the entire afternoon, until the warriors lost count of the courses. At the right hand of the prince, who sat at the head of the long, low, serving board, three dancers wove their way through an intricate pattern, finger cymbals clicking, faces bearing the proper expressions for the proper moments of the dance, as four veiled musicians played the traditional music of the hours. The table was covered with a richly woven tapestry of blue, brown, yellow, red and green, wherein was worked a series of hunting and battle scenes: riders mounted on slizzard and horse met with lance and bow the charges of feather- panda, fire-rooster and jewel-podded command plant; green apes wrestled in the tops of trees; the Garuda Bird clutched a sky demon in its talons, assailing it with beak and pinions; from the depths of the sea crawled an army of horned fish, clutching spikes of pink coral in their jointed fins, facing a row of kirtled and helmeted men who bore lances and torches to oppose their way upon the land. The prince ate but sparingly. He toyed with his food, listened to the music, laughed occasionally at the jesting of one of his men. He sipped a sherbet, his rings clicking against the sides of the glass. Hawkana appeared beside him. “Goes all well with you, Lord?” he inquired. “Yes, good Hawkana, all is well, " he replied. “You do not eat as do your men. Does the meal displease you?” “It is not the food, which is excellent, nor its preparation, which is faultless, worthy Hawkana. Rather, it is my appetite, which has not been high of late. " “Ah!” said Hawkana, knowingly. “I have the thing, the very thing! Only one such as yourself may truly appreciate it. Long has it rested upon the special shelf of my cellar. The god Krishna had somehow preserved it against the ages. He gave it to me many years ago because the accommodations here did not displease him. I shall fetch it for you. " He bowed then, and backed from the hall. When he returned he bore a bottle. Before he saw the paper upon its side, the prince recognized the shape of that bottle. “Burgundy!” he exclaimed. “Just so, " said Hawkana. “Brought from vanished Uratha, long ago. " He sniffed at it and smiled. Then he poured a small quantity into a pear- shaped goblet and set it before his guest. The prince raised it and inhaled of its bouquet. He took a slow sip. He closed his eyes. There was a silence in the room, in respect of his pleasure. Then he lowered the glass, and Hawkana poured into it once again the product of the pinot noir grape, which could not be cultivated in this land. The prince did not touch the glass. Instead, he turned to Hawkana, saying, “Who is the oldest musician in this house?” “Mankara, here, " said his host, gesturing toward the white-haired man who took his rest at the serving table in the comer. “Old not in body, but in years, " said the prince. “Oh, that would be Dele, " said Hawkana, “if he is to be counted as a musician at all. He says that once he was such a one. " “Dele?” “The boy who keeps the stables. " “Ah, I see.… Send for him. " Hawkana clapped his hands and ordered the servant who appeared to go into the stables, make the horse-boy presentable and fetch him with dispatch into the presence of the diners. “Pray, do not bother making him presentable, but simply bring him here, " said the prince. He leaned back and waited then, his eyes closed. When the horse-boy stood before him, he asked: “Tell me. Dele, what music do you play?” “That which no longer finds favor in the hearing of Brahmins, " said the boy. “What was your instrument?” “Piano, " said Dele. “Can you play upon any of these?” He gestured at those instruments that stood, unused now, upon the small platform beside the wall. The boy cocked his head at them. “I suppose I could manage on the flute, if I had to. " “Do you know any waltzes?” “Yes. " “Will you play me ‘The Blue Danube’?” The boy’s sullen expression vanished, to be replaced by one of uneasiness. He cast a quick glance back at Hawkana, who nodded. “Siddhartha is a prince among men, being of the First, " stated the host. “‘The Blue Danube, ’ on one of these flutes?” “If you please. " The boy shrugged, “I’ll try, " he said. “It’s been an awfully long time.… Bear with me. " He crossed to where the instruments lay and muttered something to the owner of the flute he selected. The man nodded his head. Then he raised it to his lips and blew a few tentative notes. He paused, repeated the trial, then turned about. He raised it once more and began the quivering movement of the waltz. As he played, the prince sipped his wine. When he paused for breath, the prince motioned him to continue. He played tune after forbidden tune, and the professional musicians put professional expressions of scorn upon their faces; but beneath their table several feet were tapping in slow time with the music. Finally, the prince had finished his wine. Evening was near to the city of Mahartha. He tossed the boy a purse of coins and did not look into his tears as he departed from the hall. He rose then and stretched, smothering a yawn with the back of his hand. “I retire to my chambers, " he said to his men. “Do not gamble away your inheritances in my absence. " They laughed then and bade him good night, calling for strong drink and salted biscuits. He heard the rattle of dice as he departed. The prince retired early so that he might arise before daybreak. He instructed a servant to remain outside his door all the following day and to refuse admission to any who sought it, saying that he was indisposed. Before the first flowers had opened to the first insects of morning, he had gone from the hostel, only an ancient green parrot witnessing his departure. Not in silks sewn with pearls did he go, but in tatters, as was his custom on these occasions. Not preceded by conch and drum did he move, but by silence, as he passed along the dim streets of the city. These streets were deserted, save for an occasional doctor or prostitute returning from a late call. A stray dog followed him as he passed through the business district, heading in the direction of the harbor. He seated himself upon a crate at the foot of a pier. The dawn came to lift the darkness from the world; and he watched the ships stirring with the tide, empty of sail, webbed with cables, prows carved with monster or maiden. His every visit to Mahartha brought him again to the harbor for a little while. Morning’s pink parasol opened above the tangled hair of the clouds, and cool breezes crossed the docks. Scavenger birds uttered hoarse cries as they darted about loop-windowed towers, then swooped across the waters of the bay. He watched a ship put out to sea, tentlike vanes of canvas growing to high peaks and swelling in the salt air. Aboard other ships, secure in their anchorage, there was movement now, as crews made ready to load or unload cargoes of incense, coral, oil and all kinds of fabrics, as well as metals, cattle, hardwoods and spices. He smelled the smells of commerce and listened to the cursing of the sailors, both of which he admired: the former, as it reeked of wealth, and the latter because it combined his two other chief preoccupations, these being theology and anatomy. After a time, he spoke with a foreign sea captain who had overseen the unloading of sacks of grain, and now took his rest in the shade of the crates. “Good morning, " he said. “May your passages be free of storm and shipwreck, and the gods grant you safe harbor and a good market for your cargoes. " The other nodded, seated himself upon a crate and proceeded to fill a small clay pipe. “Thank you, old one, " he said. “Though I do pray to the gods of the Temples of my own choosing, I accept the blessings of any and all. One can always use blessings, especially a seaman. " “Had you a difficult voyage?” “Less difficult than it might have been, " said the sea captain. “That smoldering sea mountain, the Cannon of Nirriti, discharges its bolts against heaven once again. " “Ah, you sailed from the southwest!” “Yes. Chatisthan, from Ispar-by-the-Sea. The winds are good in this season of the year, but for this reason they also carried the ash of the Cannon much farther than any would think. For six days this black snow fell upon us, and the odors of the underworld pursued us, fouling food and water, making the eyes to weep and the throat to burn. We offered much thanksgiving when we finally outran it. See how the hull is smeared? You should have seen the sails – black as the hair of Ratri!” The prince leaned forward to better regard the vessel. “But the waters were not especially troubled?” he asked. The sailor shook his head. “We hailed a cruiser near the Isle of Salt, and we learned of it that we had missed by six days the worst dischargings of the Cannon. At that time, it burnt the clouds and raised great waves, sinking two ships the cruiser did know of, and possibly a third. " The sailor leaned back, stoking his pipe. “So, as I say, a seaman can always use blessings. " “I seek a man of the sea, " said the prince. “A captain. His name is Jan Olvegg, or perhaps he is now known as Olvagga. Do you know him?” “I knew him, " said the other, “but it has been long since he sailed. " “Oh? What has become of him?” The sailor turned his head to better study him. “Who are you to ask?” he finally inquired. “My name is Sam. Jan is a very old friend of mine. " “How old is ‘very old’?” “Many, many years ago, in another place, I knew him when he was captain of a ship which did not sail these oceans. " The sea captain leaned forward suddenly and picked up a piece of wood, which he hurled at the dog who had rounded a piling at the other side of the pier. It yelped once and dashed off toward the shelter of a warehouse. It was the same dog who had followed the prince from the hostel of Hawkana. “Beware the hounds of hell, " said the captain. “There are dogs and there are dogs-and there are dogs. Three different kinds, and in this port drive them all from your presence. " Then he appraised the other once again. “Your hands, " he said, gesturing with his pipe, “have recently worn many rings. Their impressions yet remain. " Sam glanced at his hands and smiled. “Your eyes miss nothing, sailor, " he replied. “So I admit to the obvious. I have recently worn rings. " “So, like the dogs, you are not what you appear to be-and you come asking after Olvagga, by his most ancient name. Your name, you say, is Sam. Are you, perchance, one of the First?” Sam did not reply immediately, but studied the other as though waiting for him to say more. Perhaps realizing this, the captain continued: “Olvagga, I know, was numbered among the First, though he never spoke of it. Whether you are yourself among the First, or are one of the Masters, you are aware of this. So I do not betray him by so speaking. I do wish to know whether I speak to a friend or an enemy, however. " Sam frowned. “Jan was never known for the making of enemies, " he said. “You speak as if he has them now, among those whom you call the Masters. " The seaman continued to stare at him. “You are not a Master, " he finally said, “and you come from afar. " “You are correct, " said Sam, “but tell me how you know these things. " “First, " said the other, “you are an old man. A Master, too, could have upon him an old body, but he would not-any more than he would remain a dog for very long. His fear of dying the real death, suddenly, in the manner of the old, would be too great. So he would not remain so long as to leave the marks of rings deeply imprinted upon the fingers. The wealthy are never despoiled of their bodies. If they are refused rebirth, they live out the full span of their days. The Masters would fear a rising up in arms among the followers of such a one, were he to meet with other than a natural passing. So a body such as yours could not be obtained in this manner. A body from the life tanks would not have marked fingers either. “Therefore, " he concluded, “I take you to be a man of importance other than a Master. If you knew Olvagga of old, then you are also one of the Firstlings, such as he. Because of the sort of information which you seek, I take you to be one from afar. Were you a man of Mahartha you would know of the Masters, and knowing of the Masters you would know why Olvagga cannot sail. " “Your knowledge of matters in Mahartha seems greater than my own – oh, newly arrived sailor. " “I, too, come from a distant place, " acknowledged the captain, smiling faintly, “but in the space of a dozen months I may visit twice as many ports. I hear news- news and gossip and tales from all over-from more than a double dozen ports. I hear of the intrigues of the palace and the affairs of the Temple. I hear the secrets whispered at night to the golden girls beneath the sugar-cane bow of Kama. I hear of the campaigns of the Khshatriya and the dealings of the great merchants in the futures of grains and spices, jewels and silk. I drink with the bards and the astrologers, with the actors and the servants, the coachmen and the tailors. Sometimes, perhaps, I may strike the port where freebooters have haven and learn there the faring of those they hold to ransom. So do not think it strange that I, who come from afar, may know more of Mahartha than you, who may dwell perhaps a week’s faring hence. Occasionally, I may even hear of the doings of the gods. " “Then you can tell me of the Masters, and why they are to be numbered as enemies?” asked Sam. “I can tell you something of them, " replied the captain, “since you should not go unwarned. The body merchants are now the Masters of Karma. Their individual names are now kept secret, after the manner of the gods, so that they seem as impersonal as the Great Wheel, which they claim to represent. They are no longer merely body merchants, but are allied with the Temples. These, too, are changed, for your kinsmen of the First who are now gods do commune with them from Heaven. If you are indeed of the First, Sam, your way must lead you either to deification or extinction, when you face these new Masters of Karma. " “How?” asked Sam. “Details you must seek elsewhere, " said the other. “I do not know the processes whereby these things are achieved. Ask after Jannaveg the sailmaker on the Street of the Weavers. " “This is how Jan is now known?” The other nodded. “And beware the dogs, " he said, “or, for that matter, anything else which is alive and may harbor intelligence. " “What is your name, captain?” asked Sam. “In this port, I have no name at all or a false one, and I see no reason for lying to you. Good day, Sam. " “Good day, captain. Thank you for your words. " Sam rose and departed the harbor, heading back toward the business district and the streets of the trades. The sun was a red discus in the heavens, rising to meet the Bridge of the Gods. The prince walked through the awakened city, threading his way among the stalls displaying the skills of the workmen in the small crafts. Hawkers of unguents and powders, perfumes and oils, moved about him. Florists waved their garlands and corsages at the passer-by; and the vintners said nothing, sitting with their wineskins on rows of shaded benches, waiting for their customers to come to them as they always did. The morning smelled of cooking food, musk, flesh, excrement, oils and incense all churned up together and turned loose to wander like an invisible cloud. Dressed as a beggar himself, it did not seem out of place for him to stop and speak to the hunchback with the begging bowl. “Greetings, brother, " he stated. “I am far from my quarter on an errand. Can you direct me to the Street of the Weavers?” The hunchback nodded and shook his bowl suggestively. He withdrew a small coin from the pouch concealed beneath his tattered garments. He dropped it into the hunchback’s bowl and it quickly vanished. “That way. " The man gestured with his head. “The third street you come upon, turn there to the left. Then follow it past two streets more, and you will be at the Circle of the Fountain before the Temple of Varuna. Coming into that Circle, the Street of the Weavers is marked by the Sign of the Awl. " He nodded to the hunchback, patted his hump and continued on his way. When he reached the Circle of the Fountain, the prince halted. Several dozen people stood in a shifting line before the Temple of Varuna, most stern and august of all the deities. These people were not preparing to enter the Temple, but rather were engaged in some occupation that required waiting and taking turns. He heard the rattling of coins and he wandered nearer. It was a machine, gleaming and metallic, before which they moved. A man inserted a coin into the mouth of a steel tiger. The machine began to purr. He pressed buttons cast in the likenesses of animals and demons. There came then a flashing of lights along the lengths of the Nagas, the two holy serpents who twisted about the transparent face of the machine. He edged closer. The man drew down upon the lever that grew from the side of the machine cast in the likeness of the tail of a fish. A holy blue light filled the interior of the machine; the serpents pulsed redly; and there, in the midst of the light and a soft music that had begun to play, a prayer wheel swung into view and began spinning at a furious pace. The man wore a beatific expression. After several minutes, the machine shut itself off. He inserted another coin and pulled the lever once more, causing several of those nearer to the end of the line to grumble audibly, remarking to the effect that that was his seventh coin, it was a warm day, there were other people waiting to get some praying done and why did he not go inside and render such a large donation directly to the priests? Someone replied that the little man obviously had much atoning to do. There then began some speculation as to the possible nature of his sins. This was accompanied by considerable laughter. Seeing that there were several beggars waiting their turn in line, the prince moved to its end and stood there. As the line advanced, he noted that, while some of those who passed before the machine pushed its buttons, others merely inserted a flat metal disc into the mouth of the second tiger on the opposite side of the chassis. After the machine had ceased to function, the disc fell into a cup and was retrieved by its owner. The prince decided to venture an inquiry. He addressed the man who stood before him in line: “Why is it, " he asked, “that some men do have discs of their own?” “It is because they have registered, " said the other, without turning his head. “In the Temple?” “Yes. " “Oh. " He waited half a minute, then inquired, “Those who are unregistered, and wish to use it-they push the buttons?” “Yes, " said the other, “spelling out their name, occupation, and address. " “Supposing one be a visitor here, such as myself?” “You should add the name of your city. " “Supposing one is unlettered, such as myself-what then?” The other turned to him. “Perhaps ‘’twere better, " he said, “that you make prayer in the old way, and give the donation directly into the hands of the priests. Or else register and obtain a disc of your own. " “I see, " said the prince. “Yes, you are right. I must think of this more. Thank " you. He left the line and circled the fountain to where the Sign of the Awl hung upon a pillar. He moved up the Street of the Weavers. Three times did he ask after Janagga the sailmaker, the third time of a short woman with powerful arms and a small mustache, who sat cross-legged, plaiting a rug, in her stall beneath the low eave of what once might have been a stable and still smelled as if it were. She growled him directions, after raking him upward and down again with oddly lovely brown-velvet eyes. He followed her directions, taking his way up a zigzagging alley and down an outer stair, which ran along the wall of a five- story building, ending at a door that opened upon a basement hallway. It was damp and dark within. He knocked upon the third door to his left, and after a time it opened. The man stared at him. “Yes?” “May I come in? It is a matter of some urgency… " The man hesitated a moment, then nodded abruptly and stepped aside. The prince moved past him and into his chamber. A great sheet of canvas was spread out over the floor, before the stool upon which the man reseated himself. He motioned the prince into the only other chair in the room. He was short and big in the shoulders; his hair was pure white, and the pupils of his eyes bore the smoky beginnings of cataract invasion. His hands were brown and hard, the joints of his fingers knotted. “Yes?” he repeated. “Jan Olvegg, " said the other. “The old man’s eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. He weighed a pair of scissors in his hand. “‘It’s a long way to Tipperary, ’ " said the prince. The man stared, then smiled suddenly. “‘If your heart’s not here, ‘” he said, placing the scissors on his workstand. “How long has it been, Sam?” he asked. “I’ve lost count of the years. " “Me too. But it must be forty – forty-five?-since I’ve seen you. Much beer over the damn dam since then, I daresay?” Sam nodded. “I don’t really know where to begin… " said the man. “For a start, tell me-why ‘Janagga’?” “Why not?” asked the other. “It has a certain earnest, working-class sound about it. How about yourself? Still in the prince business?” “I’m still me, " said Sam, “and they still call me Siddhartha when they come to call. " The other chuckled. “And ‘Binder of the Demons, ‘” he recited. “Very good. I take it, then, since your fortunes do not match your garb, that you are casing the scene, as is your wont. " Sam nodded. “And I have come upon much which I do not understand. " “Aye, " sighed Jan. “Aye. How shall I begin? How? I shall tell you of myself, that’s how… I have accumulated too much bad karma to warrant a current transfer. " “What?” “Bad karma, that’s what I said. The old religion is not only the religion-it is the revealed, enforced and frighteningly demonstrable religion. But don’t think that last part too loudly. About a dozen years ago the Council authorized the use of psych-probes on those who were up for renewal. This was right after the Accelerationist-Deicrat split, when the Holy Coalition squeezed out the tech boys and kept right on squeezing. The simplest solution was to outlive the problem. The Temple crowd then made a deal with the body sellers, customers were brain-probed and Accelerationists were refused renewal, or… well… simple as that. There aren’t too many Accelerationists now. But that was only the beginning. The god party was quick to realize that therein lay the way of power. Having your brains scanned has become a standard procedure, just prior to a transfer. The body merchants are become the Masters of Karma, and a part of the Temple structure. They read over your past life, weigh the karma, and determine your life that is yet to come. It’s a perfect way of maintaining the caste system and ensuring Deicratic control. By the way, most of our old acquaintances are in it up to their halos. " “God!” said Sam. “Plural, " Jan corrected. “They’ve always been considered gods, with their Aspects and Attributes, but they’ve made it awfully official now. And anyone who happens to be among the First had bloody well better be sure whether he wants quick deification or the pyre when he walks into the Hall of Karma these days. “When’s your appointment?” he finished. “Tomorrow, " said Sam, “in the afternoon… Why are you still walking around, if you don’t have a halo or a handful of thunderbolts?” “Because I do have a couple friends, both of whom suggested I continue living-quietly-rather than face the probe. I took their sage advice to heart and consequently am still around to mend sails and raise occasional hell in the local bistros. Else” -he raised a callused hand, snapped his fingers- “else, if not the real death, then perhaps a body shot full with cancer, or the interesting life of a gelded water buffalo, or… " “A dog?” asked Sam. “Just so, " Jan replied. Jan filled the silence and two glasses with a splashing of alcohol. “Thanks. " “Happy hellfire. " He replaced the bottle on his workstand. “On an empty stomach yet… You make that yourself?” “Yep. Got a still in the next room. " “Congratulations, I guess. If I had any bad karma, it should all be dissolved by " now. “The definition of bad karma is anything our friends the gods don’t like. " “What made you think you had some?” “I wanted to start passing out machines among our descendants here. Got batted down at Council for it. Recanted, and hoped they’d forget. But Accelerationism is so far out now that it’ll never make it back in during my lifetime. Pity, too. I’d like to lift sail again, head off toward another horizon. Or lift ship… " “The probe is actually sensitive enough to spot something as intangible as an Accelerationist attitude?” “The probe, " said Jan, “is sensitive enough to tell what you had for breakfast eleven years ago yesterday and where you cut yourself shaving that morning, while humming the Andorran national anthem. " “They were experimental things when we left home, " said Sam. “The two we brought along were very basic brain-wave translators. When did the breakthrough occur?” “Hear me, country cousin, " said Jan. “Do you remember a snot-nosed brat of dubious parentage, third generation, named Yama? The kid who was always souping up generators, until one day one blew and he was so badly burned that he got his second body-one over fifty years old-when he was only sixteen? The kid who loved weapons? The fellow who anesthetized one of everything that moves out there and dissected it, taking such pleasure in his studies that we called him deathgod?” “Yes, I recall him. Is he still alive?” “If you want to call it that. He now is deathgod-not by nickname, but by title. He perfected the probe about forty years ago, but the Deicrats kept it under wraps until fairly recently. I hear he’s dreamed up some other little jewels, too, to serve the will of the gods… like a mechanical cobra capable of registering encephalogram readings from a mile away, when it rears and spreads its fan. It can pick one man out of a crowd, regardless of the body he wears. There is no known antidote for its venom. Four seconds, no more… Or the fire wand, which is said to have scored the surfaces of all three moons while Lord Agni stood upon the seashore and waved it. And I understand that he is designing some sort of jet-propelled juggernaut for Lord Shiva at this moment… things like that. " “Oh, " said Sam. “Will you pass the probe?” Jan asked. “I’m afraid not, " he replied. “Tell me, I saw a machine this morning which I think may best be described as a pray-o-mat-are they very common?” “Yes, " said Jan. “They appeared about two years ago-dreamed up by young Leonardo over a short glass of soma one night. Now that the karma idea has caught on, the things are better than tax collectors. When mister citizen presents himself at the clinic of the god of the church of his choice on the eve of his sixtieth year, his prayer account is said to be considered along with his sin account, in deciding the caste he will enter-as well as the age, sex and health of the body he will receive. Nice. Neat. " “I will not pass the probe, " said Sam, “even if I build up a mighty prayer account. They’ll snare me when it comes to sin. " “What sort of sin?” “Sins I have yet to commit, but which are being written in my mind as I consider them now. " “You plan to oppose the gods?” “Yes. " “How?” “I do not yet know. I shall begin, however, by contacting them. Who is their chief?” “I can name you no one. Trimurti rules-that is, Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. Which of these three be chiefest at any one time, I cannot say. Some say Brahma- " “Who are they-really?” asked Sam. Jan shook his head. “I do not know. They all wear different bodies than they did a generation ago. They all use god names. " Sam stood. “I will return later, or send for you. " “I hope so… Another drink?” Sam shook his head. “I go to become Siddhartha once more, to break my fast at the hostel of Hawkana and announce there my intent to visit the Temples. If our friends are now gods then they must commune with their priests. Siddhartha goes to pray. " “Then put in no words for me, " said Jan, as he poured out another drink. “I do not know whether I would live through a divine visitation. " Sam smiled. “They are not omnipotent. " “I sincerely hope not, " replied the other, “but I fear that day is not far off. " “Good sailing, Jan. " “Skaal. " Prince Siddhartha stopped on the Street of the Smiths, on his way to the Temple of Brahma. Half an hour later he emerged from a shop, accompanied by Strake and three of his retainers. Smiling, as though he had received a vision of what was to come, he passed through the center of Mahartha, coming at last to the high, wide Temple of the Creator. Ignoring the stares of those who stood before the pray-o-mat, he mounted the long, shallow stairway, meeting at the Temple entrance with the high priest, whom he had advised earlier of his coming. Siddhartha and his men entered the Temple, disarming themselves and paying preliminary obeisances toward its central chamber before addressing the priest. Strake and the others drew back a respectful distance as the prince placed a heavy purse in the priest’s hands and said, in a low voice: “I’d like to speak with God. " The priest studied his face as he replied, “The Temple is open to all. Lord Siddhartha, where one may commune with Heaven for so long as one wishes. " “That is not exactly what I had in mind, " said Siddhartha. “I was thinking of something more personal than a sacrifice and a long litany. " “I do not quite follow you… " “But you understand the weight of that purse, do you not? It contains silver. Another which I bear is filled with gold-payable upon delivery. I want to use your telephone. " “Tele…?” “Communication system. If you were of the First, such as I, you would understand my reference. " “I do not… " “I assure you my call will not reflect adversely upon your wardenship here. I am aware of these matters and my discretion has always been a byword among the First. Call First Base yourself and inquire, if it will put you at ease. I’ll wait here in the outer chamber. Tell them Sam would have words with Trimurti. They will take the call. " “I do not know… " Sam withdrew the second purse and weighed it in the palm of his hand. The priest’s eyes fell upon it and he licked his lips. “Wait here, " he ordered, and he turned on his heel and left the chamber. Ili, the fifth note of the harp, buzzed within the Garden of the Purple Lotus. Brahma loafed upon the edge of the heated pool, where he bathed with his harem. His eyes appeared closed, as he leaned there upon his elbows, his feet dangling in the water. But he stared out from beneath his long lashes, watching the dozen girls at sport in the pool, hoping to see one or more cast an appreciative glance upon the dark, heavily muscled length of his body. Black upon brown, his mustaches glistened in moist disarray and his hair was a black wing upon his back. He smiled a bright smile in the filtered sunlight. But none of them appeared to notice, so he refolded his smile and put it away. All their attention lay with the game of water polo in which they were engaged. Ili, the bell of communication, buzzed once more, as an artificial breeze waited the odor of garden jasmine to his nostrils. He sighed. He wanted so for them to worship him-his powerful physique, his carefully molded features. To worship him as a man, not as a god. But though his special and improved body permitted feats no mortal man could duplicate, still he felt uneasy in the presence of an old war horse like Lord Shiva-who, despite his adherence to the normal body matrix, seemed to hold far more attraction for women. It was almost as if sex were a thing that transcended biology; and no matter how hard he tried to suppress the memory and destroy that segment of spirit, Brahma had been born a woman and somehow was woman still. Hating this thing, he had elected to incarnate time after time as an eminently masculine man, did so, and still felt somehow inadequate, as though the mark of his true sex were branded upon his brow. It made him want to stamp his foot and grimace. He rose and stalked off toward his pavilion, past stunted trees that twisted with a certain grotesque beauty, past trellises woven with morning glory, pools of blue water lilies, strings of pearls swinging from rings all wrought of white gold, past lamps shaped like girls, tripods wherein pungent incenses burnt and an eight-armed statue of a blue goddess who played upon the veena when properly addressed. Brahma entered the pavilion and crossed to the screen of crystal, about which a bronze Naga twisted, tail in teeth. He activated the answering mechanism. There was a static snowfall, and then he faced the high priest of his Temple in Mahartha. The priest dropped to his knees and touched his caste mark three times upon the floor. “Of the four orders of gods and the eighteen hosts of Paradise, mightiest is Brahma, " said the priest. “Creator of all. Lord of high Heaven and everything beneath it. A lotus springs forth from your navel, your hands churn the oceans, in three strides your feet encompass all the worlds. The drum of your glory strikes terror in the hearts of your enemies. Upon your right hand is the wheel of the law. You tether catastrophes, using a snake for rope. Hail! See fit to accept the prayer of your priest. Bless me and hear me, Brahma!’ “Arise… priest, " said Brahma, having forgotten his name. “What thing of mighty importance moved you to call me thus?” The priest arose, cast a quick glance upon Brahma’s dripping person and looked away again. “Lord, " said the priest, “I did not mean to call while you were at bath, but there is one among your worshipers here now who would speak with you, on a matter which I take to be of mighty importance. " “One of my worshipers! Tell him that all-hearing Brahma hears all, and direct him to pray to me in the ordinary manner, in the Temple proper!” Brahma’s hand moved toward the shutoff switch, then paused. “How came he to know of the Temple-to-Heaven line?” he inquired. “And of the direct communion of saints and gods?” “He says, " replied the priest, “that he is of the First, and that I should relay the message that Sam would have words with Trimurti. " “Sam?” said Brahma. “Sam? Surely it cannot be… that Sam?” “He is the one known hereabouts as Siddhartha, Binder of the Demons. " “Await my pleasure, " said Brahma, “singing the while various appropriate verses from the Vedas. " “I hear, my Lord, " said the priest, and he commenced singing. Brahma moved to another part of the pavilion and stood awhile before his wardrobe, deciding what to wear. The prince, hearing his name called, turned from the contemplation of the Temple’s interior. The priest, whose name he had forgotten, beckoned him along a corridor. He followed, and the passage led into a storage chamber. The priest rumbled after a hidden catch, then drew upon a row of shelves that opened outward, doorlike. The prince passed through this doorway. He found himself within a richly decorated shrine. A glowing view-screen hung above its altar/control-panel, encircled by a bronze Naga, which held its tail in its teeth. The priest bowed three times. “Hail, ruler of the universe, mightiest of the four orders of gods and the eighteen hosts of paradise. From your navel springs forth the lotus, your hands churn the oceans, in three strides - " “I acknowledge the truth of what you say, " replied Brahma. “You are blessed and heard. You may leave us now. " “?” “That is correct. Sam is doubtless paying you for a private line, is he not?” “Lord…!” “Enough! Depart!” The priest bowed quickly and left, closing the shelves behind him. Brahma studied Sam, who was wearing dark jodhpurs, a sky-blue khameez, the blue-green turban of Urath and an empty scabbard upon a chain belt of dark iron. Sam, in turn, studied the other, who stood with blackness at his back, wearing a feather cloak over a suit of light mail. It was caught at the throat with a clasp of fire opal. Brahma wore a purple crown, studded with pulsating amethysts, and he bore in his right hand a scepter mounted with the nine auspicious gems. His eyes were two dark stains upon his dark face. The gentle strumming of a veena occurred about him. “Sam?” he said. Sam nodded. “I am trying to guess your true identity. Lord Brahma. I confess that I cannot. " “This is as it should be, " said Brahma, “if one is to be a god who was, is and always shall be. " “Fine garments, those you wear, " said Sam. “Quite fetching. " “Thank you. I find it hard to believe that you still exist. Checking, I note that you have not sought a new body for half a century. That is taking quite a chance. " Sam shrugged. “True, " said Brahma. “Life is full of chances, gambles, uncertainties… " “Pray, draw up a chair and sit down. Make yourself comfortable. " Sam did this, and when he looked up again, Brahma was seated upon a high throne carved of red marble, with a matching parasol flared above it. “That looks a bit uncomfortable, " he remarked. “Foam-rubber cushion, " replied the god, smiling. “You may smoke, if you wish. " “Thanks. " Sam drew his pipe from the pouch at his belt, filled it, tamped it carefully and struck it to fire. “What have you been doing all this time, " asked the god, “since you left the roost of Heaven?” “Cultivating my own gardens, " said Sam. “We could have used you here, " said Brahma, “in our hydroponics section. For that matter, perhaps we still could. Tell me more of your stay among men. " “Tiger hunts, border disputes with neighboring kingdoms, keeping up the morale of the harem, a bit of botanical research-things like that-the stuff of life, " said Sam. “Now my powers slacken, and I seek once more my youth. But to obtain it again, I understand that I must have my brains strained. Is that true?” “After a fashion, " said Brahma. “To what end, may I ask?” “That wrong shall fail and right prevail, " said the god, smiling. “Supposing I’m wrong, " asked Sam, “how shall I fail?” “You shall be required to work off your karmic burden in a lesser form. " “Have you any figures readily available as to the percentage that fails, vis-á- vis that which prevails?” “Think not less of me in my omniscience, " said Brahma, stifling a yawn with his scepter, “if I admit to having, for the moment, forgotten these figures. " Sam chuckled. “You say you have need of a gardener there in the Celestial City?” “Yes, " said Brahma. “Would you like to apply for the job?” “I don’t know, " said Sam. “Perhaps. " “And then again, perhaps not?” said the other. “Perhaps not, also, " he acknowledged. “In the old days there was none of this shillyshallying with a man’s mind. If one of the First sought renewal, he paid the body price and was served. " “We no longer dwell in the old days, Sam. The new age is at hand. " “One would almost think that you sought the removal of all of the First who are not marshaled at your back. " “A pantheon has room for many, Sam. There is a niche for you, if you choose to claim it. " “If I do not?” “Then inquire in the Hall of Karma after your body. " “And if I elect godhood?” “Your brains will not be probed. The Masters will be advised to serve you quickly and well. A flying machine will be dispatched to convey you to Heaven. " “It bears a bit of thinking, " said Sam. “I’m quite fond of this world, though it wallows in an age of darkness. On the other hand, such fondness will not serve me to enjoy the things I desire, if it is decreed that I die the real death or take on the form of an ape and wander about the jungles. But I am not overly fond of artificial perfection either, such as existed in Heaven when last I visited there. Bide with me a moment while I meditate. " “I consider such indecision presumptuous, " said Brahma, “when one has just been made such an offer. " “I know, and perhaps I should also, were our positions reversed. But if I were God and you were me, I do believe I would extend a moment’s merciful silence while a man makes a major decision regarding his life. " “Sam, you are an impossible haggler! Who else would keep me waiting while his immortality hangs in the balance? Surely you do not seek to bargain with me?” “Well, I do come from a long line of slizzard traders-and I do very badly want something. " “And what may that be?” “Answers to a few questions which have plagued me for a while now. " “These being…?” “As you are aware, I stopped attending the old Council meetings over a century ago, for they had become lengthy sessions calculated to postpone decision-making, and were primarily an excuse for a Festival of the First. Now, I have nothing against festivals. In fact, for a century and a half I went to them only to drink good Earth booze once more. But, I felt that we should be doing something about the passengers, as well as the offspring of our many bodies, rather than letting them wander a vicious world, reverting to savagery. I felt that we of the crew should be assisting them, granting them the benefits of the technology we had preserved, rather than building ourselves an impregnable paradise and treating the world as a combination game preserve and whorehouse. So, I have wondered long why this thing was not done. It would seem a fair and equitable way to run a world. " “I take it from this that you are an Accelerationist?” “No, " said Sam, “simply an inquirer. I am curious, that’s all, as to the reasons. " “Then, to answer your questions, " said Brahma, “it is because they are not ready for it. Had we acted immediately-yes, this thing could have been done. But we were indifferent at first. Then, when the question arose, we were divided. Too much time passed. They are not ready, and will not be for many centuries. If they were to be exposed to an advanced technology at this point, the wars which would ensue would result in the destruction of the beginnings they have already made. They have come far. They have begun a civilization after the manner of their fathers of old. But they are still children, and like children would they play with our gifts and be burnt by them. They are our children, by our long-dead First bodies, and second, and third and many after-and so, ours is the parents’ responsibility toward them. We must not permit them to be accelerated into an industrial revolution and so destroy the first stable society on this planet. Our parental functions can best be performed by guiding them as we do, through the Temples. Gods and goddesses are basically parent figures, so what could be truer and more just than that we assume these roles and play them thoroughly?” “Why then do you destroy their own infant technology? The printing press has been rediscovered on three occasions that I can remember, and suppressed each time. " “This was done for the same reason-they were not yet ready for it. And it was not truly discovered, but rather it was remembered. It was a thing out of legend which someone set about duplicating. If a thing is to come, it must come as a result of factors already present in the culture, and not be pulled from out of the past like a rabbit from a hat. " “It seems you are drawing a mighty fine line at that point, Brahma. I take it from this that your minions go to and fro in the world, destroying all signs of progress they come upon?” “This is not true, " said the god. “You talk as if we desire perpetually this burden of godhood, as if we seek to maintain a dark age that we may know forever the wearisome condition of our enforced divinity!” “In a word, " said Sam, “yes. What of the pray-o-mat which squats before this very Temple? Is it on par, culturally, with a chariot?” “That is different, " said Brahma. “As a divine manifestation, it is held in awe by the citizens and is not questioned, for religious reasons. It is hardly the same as if gunpowder were to be introduced. " “Supposing some local atheist hijacks one and picks it apart? And supposing he happens to be a Thomas Edison? What then?” “They have tricky combination locks on them. If anyone other than a priest opens one, it will blow up and take him along with it. " “And I notice you were unable to suppress the rediscovery of the still, though you tried. So you slapped on an alcohol tax, payable to the Temples. " “Mankind has always sought release through drink, " said Brahma. “It has generally figured in somewhere in his religious ceremonies. Less guilt involved that way. True, we tried suppressing it at first, but we quickly saw we could not. So, in return for our tax, they receive here a blessing upon their booze. Less guilt, less of a hangover, fewer recriminations-it is psychosomatic, you know – and the tax isn’t that high. " “Funny, though, how many prefer the profane brew. " “You came to pray and you are staying to scoff, is that what you’re saying, Sam? I offered to answer your questions, not debate Deicrat policies with you. Have you made up your mind yet regarding my offer?” “Yes, Madeleine, " said Sam, “and did anyone ever tell you how lovely you are when you’re angry?” Brahma sprang forward off the throne. “How could you? How could you tell?” screamed the god. “I couldn’t, really, " said Sam. “Until now. It was just a guess, based upon some of your mannerisms of speech and gesture which I remembered. So you’ve finally achieved your lifelong ambition, eh? I’ll bet you’ve got a harem, too. What’s it feel like, madam, to be a real stud after having been a gal to start out with? Bet every Lizzie in the world would envy you if she knew. Congratulations. " Brahma drew himself up to full height and glared. The throne was a flame at his back. The veena thrummed on, dispassionately. He raised his scepter then and spoke: “Prepare yourself to receive the curse of Brahma… " he began. “Whatever for?” asked Sam. “Because I guessed your secret? If I am to be a god, what difference does it make? Others must know of it. Are you angry because the only way I could learn your true identity was by baiting you a little? I had assumed you would appreciate me the more if I demonstrated my worth by displaying my wit in this manner. If I have offended you, I do apologize. " “It is not because you guessed-or even because of the manner in which you guessed-but because you mocked me, that I curse you. " “Mocked you?” said Sam. “I do not understand. I intended no disrespect. I was always on good terms with you in the old days. If you will but think back over them, you will recall that this is true. Why should I jeopardize my position by mocking you now?” “Because you said what you thought too quickly, without thinking a second time. " “Nay, my Lord. I did but jest with you as any one man might with another when discussing these matters. I am sorry if you took it amiss. I’ll warrant you’ve a harem I’d envy, and which I’ll doubtless try to sneak into some night. If you’d curse me for being surprised, then curse away. " He drew upon his pipe and wreathed his grin in smoke. Finally, Brahma chuckled. “I’m a bit quick-tempered, ’tis true, " he explained, “and perhaps too touchy about my past. Of course, I’ve often jested so with other men. You are forgiven. I withdraw my beginning curse. “And your decision, I take it, is to accept my offer?” he inquired. “That is correct, " said Sam. “Good. I’ve always felt a brotherly affection for you. Go now and summon my priest, that I may instruct him concerning your incarnation. I’ll see you soon. " “Sure thing. Lord Brahma. " Sam nodded and raised his pipe. Then he pushed back the row of shelves and sought the priest in the hall without. Various thoughts passed through his mind, but this time he let them remain unspoken. That evening, the prince held council with those of his retainers who had visited kinsmen and friends within Mahartha, and with those who had gone about through the town obtaining news and gossip. From these he learned that there were only ten Masters of Karma in Mahartha and that they kept their lodgings in a palace on the southeastern slopes above the city. They made scheduled visits to the clinics, or reading rooms, of the Temples, where the citizens presented themselves for judgment when they applied for renewal. The Hall of Karma itself was a massive black structure within the courtyard of their palace, where a person applied shortly after judgment to have his transfer made into his new body. Strake, along with two of his advisers, departed while daylight yet remained to make sketches of the palace fortifications. Two of the prince’s courtiers were dispatched across town to deliver an invitation to late dining and revelry to the Shan of Irabek, an old man and distant neighbor of Siddhartha’s with whom he had fought three bloody border skirmishes and occasionally hunted tiger. The Shan was visiting with relatives while waiting his appointment with the Masters of Karma. Another man was sent to the Street of the Smiths, where he requested of the metal workers that they double the prince’s order and have it ready by early morning. He took along additional money to ensure their cooperation. Later, the Shan of Irabek arrived at the Hostel of Hawkana, accompanied by six of his relatives, who were of the merchant caste but came armed as if they were warriors. Seeing that the hostel was a peaceable abode, however, and that none of the other guests or visitors bore arms, they put aside their weapons and seated themselves near the head of the table, beside the prince. The Shan was a tall man, but his posture was considerably hunched. He wore maroon robes and a dark turban reaching down almost to his great, caterpillar- like eyebrows, which were the color of milk. His beard was a snowy bush, his teeth shown as dark stumps when he laughed and his lower eyelids jutted redly, as though sore and weary after so many years of holding back his bloodshot orbs in their obvious attempt to push themselves forward out of their sockets. He laughed a phlegmy laugh and pounded the table, repeating, “Elephants are too expensive these days, and no damn good at all in mud!” for the sixth time; this being in reference to their conversation as to the best time of year to fight a war. Only one very new in the business would be so boorish as to insult a neighbor’s ambassador during the rainy season, it was decided, and that one would thereafter be marked as a nouveau roi. As the evening wore on, the prince’s physician excused himself so as to superintend the preparation of the dessert and introduce a narcotic into the sweetcakes being served up to the Shan. As the evening wore further on, subsequent to the dessert, the Shan grew more and more inclined to close his eyes and let his head slump forward for longer and longer periods of time. “Good party, " he muttered, between snores, and finally, “Elephants are no damn good at all… " and so passed to sleep and could not be awakened. His kinsmen did not see fit to escort him home at this time, because of the fact that the prince’s physician had added chloral hydrate to their wine, and they were at that moment sprawled upon the floor, snoring. The prince’s chief courtier arranged with Hawkana for their accommodation, and the Shan himself was taken to Siddhartha’s suite, where he was shortly visited by the physician, who loosened his garments and spoke to him in a soft, persuasive voice: “Tomorrow afternoon, " he was saying, “you will be Prince Siddhartha and these will be your retainers. You will report to the Hall of Karma in their company, to claim there the body which Brahma has promised you without the necessity of prior judgment. You will remain Siddhartha throughout the transfer, and you will return here in the company of your retainers, to be examined by me. Do you understand?” “Yes, " whispered the Shan. “Then repeat what I have told you. " ‘Tomorrow afternoon, " said the Shan, “I will be Siddhartha, commanding these retainers… " Bright bloomed the morning, and debts were settled beneath it. Half of the prince’s men rode out of the city, heading north. When they were out of sight of Mahartha they began circling to the southeast, working their way through the hills, stopping only to don their battle gear. Half a dozen men were dispatched to the Street of the Smiths, whence they returned bearing heavy canvas bags, the contents of which were divided into the pouches of three dozen men who departed after breakfast into the city. The prince took counsel with his physician, Narada, saying, “If I have misjudged the clemency of Heaven, then am I cursed indeed. " But the doctor smiled and replied, “I doubt you misjudged. " And so they passed from morning into the still center of day, the Ridge of the Gods golden above them. When their charges awakened, they ministered to their hangovers. The Shan was given a posthypnotic and sent with six of Siddhartha’s retainers to the Palace of the Masters. His kinsmen were assured that he remained sleeping in the prince’s quarters. “Our major risk at this point, " said the physician, “is the Shan. Will he be recognized? The factors in our favor are that he is a minor potentate from a distant kingdom, he has only been in town for a short period of time, has spent most of that time with his kinsmen and he has not yet presented himself for judgment. The Masters should still be unaware of your own physical appearance " - “Unless I have been described to them by Brahma or his priest, " said the prince. “For all I know, my communication may have been taped and the tape relayed to them for identification purposes. " “Why, though, should this have been done?” inquired Narada. “They should hardly expect stealth and elaborate precautions of one for whom they are doing a favor. No, I think we should be able to pull it off. The Shan would not be able to pass a probe, of course, but he should pass surface scrutiny, accompanied as he is by your retainers. At the moment, he does believe he is Siddhartha, and he could pass any simple lie-detection test in that regard-which I feel is the most serious obstacle he might encounter. " So they waited, and the three dozen men returned with empty pouches, gathered their belongings, mounted their horses and one by one drifted off through the town, as though in search of revelry, but actually drifting slowly in a southeasterly direction. “Good-bye, good Hawkana, " said the prince, as the remainder of his men packed and mounted. “I shalt bear, as always, good report of your lodgings to all whom I meet about the land. I regret that my stay here must be so unexpectedly terminated, but I must ride to put down an uprising in the provinces as soon as I leave the Hall of Karma. You are aware of how these things spring up the moment a ruler’s back is turned. So, while I should have liked to spend another week beneath your roof, I fear that this pleasure must be postponed until another time. If any ask after me, tell them to seek me in Hades. " “Hades, my Lord?” “It is the southernmost province of my kingdom, noted for its excessively warm weather. Be sure to phrase it just so, especially to the priests of Brahma, who may become concerned as to my whereabouts in days to come. " “I’ll do that, my Lord. " “And take especial care of the boy Dele. I expect to hear him play again on my next visit. " Hawkana bowed low and was about to begin a speech, so the prince decided upon that moment to toss him the final bag of coins and make an additional comment as to the wines of Urath-before mounting quickly and shouting orders to his men, in such a manner as to drown out any further conversation. Then they rode through the gateway and were gone, leaving behind only the physician and three warriors, whom he was to treat an additional day for an obscure condition having to do with the change of climate, before they rode on to catch up with the others. They passed through the town, using side streets, and came after a time to the roadway that led up toward the Palace of the Masters of Karma. As they passed along its length, Siddhartha exchanged secret signs with those three dozen of his warriors who lay in hiding at various points off in the woods. When they had gone half the distance to the palace, the prince and the eight men who accompanied him drew rein and made as if to rest, waiting the while for the others to move abreast of them, passing carefully among the trees. Before long, however, they saw movement on the trail ahead. Seven riders were advancing on horseback, and the prince guessed them to be his six lancers and the Shan. When they came within hailing distance, they advanced to meet them. mare. “Who are you?” inquired the tall, sharp-eyed rider mounted upon the white “Who are you that dares block the passage of Prince Siddhartha, Binder of Demons?” The prince looked upon him-muscular and tanned, in his mid-twenties, possessed of hawklike features and a powerful bearing – and he felt suddenly that his doubts had been unfounded and that he had betrayed himself by his suspicion and mistrust. It appeared from the lithe physical specimen seated upon his own mount that Brahma had bargained in good faith, authorizing for his use an excellent and sturdy body, which was now possessed by the ancient Shan. “Lord Siddhartha, " said his man, who had ridden at the side of the Lord of Irabek, “it appears that they dealt fairly. I see naught amiss about him. " “Siddhartha!” cried the Shan. “Who is this one you dare address with the name of your master? I am Siddhartha, Binder of- " With that he threw his head back and his words gurgled in his throat. Then the fit hit the Shan. He stiffened, lost his seating and fell from the saddle. Siddhartha ran to his side. There were little flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were rolled upward. “Epileptic!” cried the prince. “They meant me to have a brain which had been damaged. " The others gathered around and helped the prince minister to the Shan until the seizure passed and his wits had returned to his body. “Wh-what happened?” he asked. “Treachery, " said Siddhartha. “Treachery, oh Shan of Irabek! One of my men will convey you now to my personal physician, for an examination. After you have rested, I suggest you lodge a protest at Brahma’s reading room. My physician will treat you at Hawkana’s, and then you will be released. I am sorry this thing happened. It will probably be set aright. But if not, remember the last siege of Kapil and consider us even on all scores. Good afternoon, brother prince. " He bowed to the other, and his men helped the Shan to mount Hawkana’s bay, which Siddhartha had borrowed earlier. Mounting the mare, the prince observed their departure, then turned to the men who stood about him, and he spoke in a voice sufficiently loud to be heard by those who waited off the road: “The nine of us will enter. Two blasts upon the horn, and you others follow. If they resist, make them wish they had been more prudent, for three more blasts upon the horn will bring the fifty lancers down from the hills, if they be needed. It is a palace of ease, and not a fort where battles would be fought. Take the Masters prisoner. Do not harm their machineries or allow others to do so. If they do not resist us, all well and good. If they do, we shall walk through the Palace and Hall of the Masters of Karma like a small boy across an extensive and excessively elaborate ant hill. Good luck. No gods be with you!” And turning his horse, he headed on up the road, the eight lancers singing softly at his back. The prince rode through the wide double gate, which stood open and unguarded. He set immediately to wondering concerning secret defenses that Strake might have missed. The courtyard was landscaped and partly paved. In a large garden area, servants were at work pruning, trimming and cultivating. The prince sought after weapon emplacements and saw none. The servants glanced up as he entered, but did not halt their labors. At the far end of the courtyard was the black stone Hall. He advanced in that direction, his horsemen following, until he was hailed from the steps of the palace itself, which lay to his right. He drew rein and turned to look in that direction. The man wore black livery, a yellow circle on his breast, and he carried an ebony staff. He was tall, heavy and muffled to the eyes. He did not repeat his salutation, but stood waiting. The prince guided his mount to the foot of the wide stairway. “I must speak to the Masters of Karma, " he stated. “Have you an appointment?” inquired the man. “No, " said the prince, “but it is a matter of importance. " “Then I regret that you have made this trip for nothing, " replied the other. “An appointment is necessary. You may make arrangements at any Temple in Mahartha. " He then struck upon the stair with his staff, turned his back and began to move away. “Uproot that garden, " said the prince to his men, “cut down yonder trees, heap everything together and set a torch to it. " The man in black halted, turned again. Only the prince waited at the foot of the stair. His men were already moving off in the direction of the garden. “You can’t do that, " said the man. The prince smiled. His men dismounted and began hacking at the shrubbery, kicking they way through the flower beds. “Tell them to stop!” “Why should I? I have come to speak with the Masters of Karma, and you tell me that I cannot. I tell you that I can, and will. Let us see which of us is correct. " “Order them to stop, " said the other, “and I will bear your message to the Masters. " “Halt!” cried the prince. “But be ready to begin again. " The man in black mounted the stairs, vanished into the palace. The prince fingered the horn that hung on a cord about his neck. In a short while there was movement, and armed men began to emerge from the doorway. The prince raised his horn and gave wind to it twice. The men wore leather armor-some still buckling it hastily into place-and caps of the same material. Their sword arms were padded to the elbow, and they wore small, oval-shaped metal shields, bearing as device a yellow wheel upon a black field. They carried long, curved blades. They filled the stairway completely and stood as if waiting orders. The man in black emerged again, and he stood at the head of the stair. “Very well, " he stated, “if you have a message for the Masters, say it!” “Are you a Master?” inquired the prince. “I am. " “Then must your rank be lowest of them all, it you must also do duty as doorman. Let me speak to the Master in charge here. " “Your insolence will be repaid both now and in a life yet to come, " observed the Master. Then three dozen lancers rode through the gate and arrayed themselves at the sides of the prince. The eight who had begun the deflowering of the garden remounted their horses and moved to join the formation, blades laid bare across their laps. “Must we enter your palace on horseback?” inquired the prince. “Or will you now summon the other Masters, with whom I wish to hold conversation?” Close to eighty men stood upon the stair facing them, blades in hand. The Master seemed to weigh the balance of forces. He decided in favor of maintaining things as they were. “Do nothing rash, " he stated, “for my men will defend themselves in a particularly vicious fashion. Wait upon my return. I shall summon the others. " The prince filled his pipe and lit it. His men sat like statues, lances ready. Perspiration was most evident upon the faces of the foot soldiers who held the first rank on the stairway. The prince, to pass the time, observed to his lancers, “Do not think to display your skill as you did at the last siege of Kapil. Make target of the breast, rather than the head. “Also, " he continued, “think not to engage in the customary mutilation of the wounded and the slain-for this is a holy place and should not be profaned in such a manner. “On the other hand, " he added, “I shall take it as a personal affront if there are not ten prisoners for sacrifice to Nirriti the Black, my personal patron-outside these walls, of course, where observance of the Dark Feast will not be held so heavily against us… " There was a clatter to the right, as a foot soldier who had been staring up the length of Strake’s lance passed out and fell from the bottom stair. “Stop!” cried the figure in black, who emerged with six others – similarly garbed-at the head of the stairway. “Do not profane the Palace of Karma with bloodshed. Already that fallen warrior’s blood is- " “Rising to his cheeks, " finished the prince, “if he be conscious – for he is not slain. " “What is it you want?” The figure in black who was addressing him was of medium height, but of enormous girth. He stood like a huge, dark barrel, his staff a sable thunderbolt. “I count seven, " replied the prince. “I understand that ten Masters reside here. Where are the other three?” “Those others are presently in attendance at three reading rooms in Mahartha. What is it you want of us?” “You are in charge here?” “Only the Great Wheel of the Law is in charge here. " “Are you the senior representative of the Great Wheel within these walls?” “I am. " “Very well. I wish to speak with you in private-over there, " said the prince, gesturing toward the black Hall. “Impossible!” The prince knocked his pipe empty against his heel, scraped its bowl with the point of his dagger, replaced it in his pouch. Then he sat very erect upon the white mare and clasped the horn in his left hand. He met the Master’s eyes. “Are you absolutely certain of that?” he asked. The Master’s mouth, small and bright, twisted around words he did not speak. Then: “As you say, " he finally acknowledged. “Make way for me here!” and he passed down through the ranks of the warriors and stood before the white mare. The prince guided the horse with his knees, turning her in the direction of the dark Hall. “Hold ranks, for now!” called out the Master. “The same applies, " said the prince to his men. The two of them crossed the courtyard, and the prince dismounted before the Hall. “You owe me a body, " he said in a soft voice. “What talk is this?” said the Master. “I am Prince Siddhartha of Kapil, Binder of Demons. " “Siddhartha has already been served, " said the other. “So you think, " said the prince, “served up as an epileptic, by order of Brahma. This is not so, however. The man you treated earlier today was an unwilling impostor. I am the real Siddhartha, oh nameless priest, and I have come to claim my body-one that is whole and strong, and without hidden disease. You will serve me in this matter. You will serve me willingly or unwillingly, but you will serve me. " “You think so?” “I think so, " replied the prince. “Attack!” cried the Master, and he swung his dark staff at the prince’s head. The prince ducked the blow and retreated, drawing his blade. Twice, he parried the staff. Then it fell upon his shoulder, a glancing blow, but sufficient to stagger him. He circled around the white mare, pursued by the Master. Dodging, keeping the horse between himself and his opponent, he raised the horn to his lips and sounded it three tunes. Its notes rose above the fierce noises of the combat on the palace stair. Panting, he turned and raised his guard in time to ward off a temple blow that would surely have slain him had it landed. “It is written, " said the Master, almost sobbing out the words, “that he who gives orders without having the power to enforce them, that man is a fool. " “Even ten years ago, " panted the prince, “you’d never have laid that staff on " me. He hacked at it, hoping to split the wood, but the other always managed to turn the edge of his blade, so that while he nicked it and shaved it in places, the grain held and the staff remained of a piece. Using it as a singlestick, the Master laid a solid blow across the prince’s left side, and he felt his ribs break within him… He fell. It was not by design that it happened, for the blade spun from out his hands as he collapsed; but the weapon caught the Master across the shins and he dropped to his knees, howling. “We’re evenly matched, at that, " gasped the prince. “My age against your fat… " He drew his dagger as he lay there, but could not hold it steady. He rested his elbow on the ground. The Master, tears in his eyes, attempted to rise and fell again to his knees. There came the sound of many hooves. “I am not a fool, " said the prince, “and now I have the power to enforce my orders. " “What is happening?” “The rest of my lancers are arrived. Had I entered in full force, you’d have holed up like a gekk in a woodpile, and it might have taken days to pull your palace apart and fetch you out. Now I have you in the palm of my hand. " The Master raised his staff. The prince drew back his arm. “Lower it, " he said, “or I’ll throw the dagger. I don’t know myself whether I’ll miss or hit, but I may hit. You’re not anxious to gamble against the real death, are you?” The Master lowered his staff. “You will know the real death, " said the Master, “when the wardens of Karma have made dog meat of your horse soldiers. " The prince coughed, stared disinterestedly at his bloody spittle. “In the meantime, let’s discuss politics, " he suggested. After the sounds of battle had ended, it was Strake-tall, dusty, his hair near matching the gore that dried on his blade – Strake, who was nuzzled by the white mare as he saluted his prince and said, “It is over. " “Do you hear that, Master of Karma?” asked the prince. “Your wardens are dog meat. " The Master did not answer. “Serve me now and you may have your life, " said the prince. “Refuse, and I’ll have it. " “I will serve you, " said the Master. “Strake, " ordered the prince, “send two men down into the town – one to fetch back Narada, my physician, and the other to go to the Street of the Weavers and bring here Jannaveg the sailmaker. Of the three lancers who remain at Hawkana’s, leave but one to hold the Shan of Irabek till sundown. He is then to bind him and leave him, joining us here himself. " Strake smiled and saluted. “Now bring men to bear me within the Hall, and to keep an eye on this Master. " He burned his old body, along with all the others. The wardens of Karma, to a man, had passed in battle. Of the seven nameless Masters, only the one who had been fat survived. While the banks of sperm and ova, the growth tanks and the body lockers could not be transported, the transfer equipment itself was dismantled under the direction of Dr. Narada, and its components were loaded onto the horses of those who had fallen in the battle. The young prince sat upon the white mare and watched the jaws of flame close upon the bodies. Eight pyres blazed against the predawn sky. The one who had been a sailmaker turned his eyes to the pyre nearest the gate-the last to be ignited, its flames were only just now reaching the top, where lay the gross bulk of one who wore a robe of black, a circle of yellow on the breast. When the flames touched it and the robe began to smolder, the dog who cowered in the ruined garden raised his head in a howl that was near to a sob. “This day your sin account is filled to overflowing, " said the sailmaker. “But, ah, my prayer account!” replied the prince. “I’ll stand on that for the time being. Future theologians will have to make the final decision, though, as to the acceptability of all those slugs in the pray-o-mats. Let Heaven wonder now what happened here this day-where I am, if I am, and who. The time has come to ride, my captain. Into the mountains for a while, and then our separate ways, for safety’s sake. I am not sure as to the road I will follow, save that it leads to Heaven’s gate and I must go armed. " “Binder of Demons, " said the other, and he smiled. The lancer chief approached. The prince nodded him. Orders were shouted. The columns of mounted men moved forward, passed out through the gates of the Palace of Karma, turned off the roadway and headed up the slope that lay to the southeast of the city of Mahartha, comrades blazing like the dawn at their back.

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 3#

It is said that, when the Teacher appeared, those of all castes went to hear his teachings, as well as animals, gods and an occasional saint, to come away improved and uplifted. It was generally conceded that he had received enlightenment, except by those who believed him to be a fraud, sinner, criminal or practical joker. These latter ones were not all to be numbered as his enemies; but, on the other hand, not all of those improved and uplifted could be counted as his friends and supporters. His followers called him Mahasamatman and some said he was a god. So, after it was seen that he had been accepted as a teacher, was looked upon with respect, had many of the wealthy numbered as his supporters and had gained a reputation reaching far across the land, he was referred to as Tathagatha, meaning He Who Has Achieved. It must be noted that while the goddess Kali (sometimes known as Durga in her softer moments) never voiced a formal opinion as to his buddhahood, she did render him the singular honor of dispatching her holy executioner to pay him her tribute, rather than a mere hired assassin… There is no disappearing of the true Dhamma until a false Dhamma arises in the world. When the false Dhamma arises, he makes the true Dhamma to disappear. Samyutta-nikaya (II, 224) Near the city of Alundil there was a rich grove of blue-barked trees, having purple foliage like feathers. It was famous for its beauty and the shrinelike peace of its shade. It had been the property of the merchant Vasu until his conversion, at which time he had presented it to the teacher variously known as Mahasamatman, Tathagatha and the Enlightened One. In that wood did this teacher abide with his followers, and when they walked forth into the town at midday their begging bowls never went unfilled. There was always a large number of pilgrims about the grove. The believers, the curious and those who preyed upon the others were constantly passing through it. They came by horseback, they came by boat, they came on foot. Alundil was not an overly large city. It had its share of thatched huts, as well as wooden bungalows; its main roadway was unpaved and rutted; it had two large bazaars and many small ones; there were wide fields of grain, owned by the Vaisyas, tended by the Sudras, which flowed and rippled, blue-green, about the city; it had many hostels (though none so fine as the legendary hostel of Hawkana, in far Mahartha), because of the constant passage of travelers; it had its holy men and its storytellers; and it had its Temple. The Temple was located on a low hill near the center of town, enormous gates on each of its four sides. These gates, and the walls about them, were filled with layer upon layer of decorative carvings, showing musicians and dancers, warriors and demons, gods and goddesses, animals and artists, lovemakers and half-people, guardians and devas. These gates led into the first courtyard, which held more walls and more gates, leading in turn into the second courtyard. The first courtyard contained a little bazaar, where offerings to the gods were sold. It also housed numerous small shrines dedicated to the lesser deities. There were begging beggars, meditating holy men, laughing children, gossiping women, burning incenses, singing birds, gurgling purification tanks and humming pray- o-mats to be found in this courtyard at any hour of the day. The inner courtyard, though, with its massive shrines dedicated to the major deities, was a focal point of religious intensity. People chanted or shouted prayers, mumbled verses from the Vedas, or stood, or knelt, or lay prostrate before huge stone images, which often were so heavily garlanded with flowers, smeared with red kumkum paste and surrounded by heaps of offerings that it was impossible to tell which deity was so immersed in tangible adoration. Periodically, the horns of the Temple were blown, there was a moment’s hushed appraisal of their echo and the clamor began again. And none would dispute the fact that Kali was queen of this Temple. Her tall, white-stone statue, within its gigantic shrine, dominated the inner courtyard. Her faint smile, perhaps contemptuous of the other gods and their worshipers, was, in its way, as arresting as the chained grins of the skulls she wore for a necklace. She held daggers in her hands; and poised in mid-step she stood, as though deciding whether to dance before or slay those who came to her shrine. Her lips were full, her eyes were wide. Seen by torchlight, she seemed to move. It was fitting, therefore, that her shrine faced upon that of Yama, god of Death. It had been decided, logically enough, by the priests and architects, that he was best suited of all the deities to spend every minute of the day facing her, matching his unfaltering death-gaze against her own, returning her half smile with his twisted one. Even the most devout generally made a detour rather than pass between the two shrines; and after dark their section of the courtyard was always the abode of silence and stillness, being untroubled by late worshipers. From out of the north, as the winds of spring blew across the land, there came the one called Rild. A small man, whose hair was white, though his years were few-Rild, who wore the dark trappings of a pilgrim, but about whose forearm, when they found him lying in a ditch with the fever, was wound the crimson strangling cord of his true profession: Rild. Rild came in the spring, at festival-time, to Alundil of the blue-green fields, of the thatched huts and the bungalows of wood, of unpaved roadways and many hostels, of bazaars and holy men and storytellers, of the great religious revival and its Teacher, whose reputation had spread far across the land-to Alundil of the Temple, where his patron goddess was queen. Festival-time. Twenty years earlier, Alundil’s small festival had been an almost exclusively local affair. Now, though, with the passage of countless travelers, caused by the presence of the Enlightened One, who taught the Way of the Eightfold Path, the Festival of Alundil attracted so many pilgrims that local accommodations were filled to overflowing. Those who possessed tents could charge a high fee for their rental. Stables were rented out for human occupancy. Even bare pieces of land were let as camping sites. Alundil loved its Buddha. Many other towns had tried to entice him away from his purple grove: Shengodu. Flower of the Mountains, had offered him a palace and harem to come bring his teaching to the slopes. But the Enlightened One did not go to the mountain. Kannaka, of the Serpent River, had offered him elephants and ships, a town house and a country villa, horses and servants, to come and preach from its wharves. But the Enlightened One did not go to the river. The Buddha remained in his grove and all things came to him. With the passage of years the festival grew larger and longer and more elaborate, like a well-fed dragon, scales all a-shimmer. The local Brahmins did not approve of the antiritualistic teachings of the Buddha, but his presence filled their coffers to overflowing; so they learned to live in his squat shadow, never voicing the word tirthika-heretic. So the Buddha remained in his grove and all things came to him, including Rild. Festival-time. The drums began in the evening on the third day. On the third day, the massive drums of the kathakali began their rapid thunder. The miles-striding staccato of the drums carried across the fields to the town, across the town, across the purple grove and across the wastes of marshland that lay behind it. The drummers, wearing white mundus, bare to the waist, their dark flesh glistening with perspiration, worked in shifts, so strenuous was the mighty beating they set up; and never was the flow of sound broken, even as the new relay of drummers moved into position before the tightly stretched heads of the instruments. As darkness arrived in the world, the travelers and townsmen who had begun walking as soon as they heard the chatter of the drums began to arrive at the festival field, large as a battlefield of old. There they found places and waited for the night to deepen and the drama to begin, sipping the sweet-smelling tea that they purchased at the stalls beneath the trees. A great brass bowl of oil, tall as a man, wicks hanging down over its edges, stood in the center of the field. These wicks were lighted, and torches flickered beside the tents of the actors. The drumming, at dose range, was deafening and hypnotic, the rhythms complicated, syncopated, insidious. As midnight approached, the devotional chanting began, rising and falling with the drumbeat, working a net about the senses. There was a brief lull as the Enlightened One and his monks arrived, their yellow robes near-orange in the flamelight. But they threw back their cowls and seated themselves cross-legged upon the ground. After a time, it was only the chanting and the voices of the drums that filled the minds of the spectators. When the actors appeared, gigantic in their makeup, ankle bells jangling as their feet beat the ground, there was no applause, only rapt attention. The kathakali dancers were famous, trained from their youth in acrobatics as well as the ages-old patterns of the classical dance, knowing the nine distinct movements of the neck and of the eyeballs and the hundreds of hand positions required to re-enact the ancient epics of love and battle, of the encounters of gods and demons, of the valiant fights and bloody treacheries of tradition. The musicians shouted out the words of the stories as the actors, who never spoke, portrayed the awesome exploits of Rama and of the Pandava brothers. Wearing makeup of green and red, or black and stark white, they stalked across the field, skirts billowing, their mirror-sprinkled halos glittering in the light of the lamp. Occasionally, the lamp would flare or sputter, and it was as if a nimbus of holy or unholy light played about their heads, erasing entirely the sense of the event, causing the spectators to feel for a moment that they themselves were the illusion, and that the great-bodied figures of the cyclopean dance were the only real things in the world. The dance would continue until daybreak, to end with the rising of the sun. Before daybreak, however, one of the wearers of the saffron robe arrived from the direction of town, made his way through the crowd and spoke into the ear of the Enlightened One. The Buddha began to rise, appeared to think better of it and reseated himself. He gave a message to the monk, who nodded and departed from the field of the festival. The Buddha, looking imperturbable, returned his attention to the drama. A monk seated nearby noted that he was tapping his fingers upon the ground, and he decided that the Enlightened One must be keeping time with the drumbeats, for it was common knowledge that he was above such things as impatience. When the drama had ended and Surya the sun pinked the skirts of Heaven above the eastern rim of the world, it was as if the night just passed had held the crowd prisoner within a tense and frightening dream, from which they were just now released, weary, to wander this day. The Buddha and his followers set off walking immediately, in the direction of the town. They did not pause to rest along the way, but passed through Alundil at a rapid but dignified gait. When they came again to the purple grove, the Enlightened One instructed his monks to take rest, and he moved off in the direction of a small pavilion located deep within the wood. The monk who had brought the message during the drama sat within the pavilion. There he tended the fever of the traveler he had come upon in the marshes, where he walked often to better meditate upon the putrid condition his body would assume after death. Tathagatha studied the man who lay upon the sleeping mat. His lips were thin and pale; he had a high forehead, high cheekbones, frosty eyebrows, pointed ears; and Tathagatha guessed that when those eyelids rose, the eyes revealed would be of a faded blue or gray. There was a quality of-translucency?-fragility perhaps, about his unconscious form, which might have been caused partly by the fevers that racked his body, but which could not be attributed entirely to them. The small man did not give the impression of being one who would bear the thing that Tathagatha now raised in his hands. Rather, on first viewing, he might seem to be a very old man. If one granted him a second look, and realized then that his colorless hair and his slight frame did not signify advanced age, one might then be struck by something childlike about his appearance. From the condition of his complexion, Tathagatha doubted that he need shave very often. Perhaps a slightly mischievous pucker was now hidden somewhere between his cheeks and the corners of his mouth. Perhaps not, also. The Buddha raised the crimson strangling cord, which was a thing borne only by the holy executioners of the goddess Kali. He fingered its silken length, and it passed like a serpent through his hand, clinging slightly. He did not doubt but that it was intended to move in such a manner about his throat. Almost unconsciously, he held it and twisted his hands through the necessary movements. Then he looked up at the wide-eyed monk who had watched him, smiled his imperturbable smile and laid the cord aside. With a damp cloth, the monk wiped the perspiration from the pale brow. The man on the sleeping mat shuddered at the contact, and his eyes snapped open. The madness of the fever was in them and they did not truly see, but Tathagatha felt a sudden jolt at their contact. Dark, so dark they were almost jet, and it was impossible to tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. There was something extremely unsettling about eyes of such power in a body so frail and effete. He reached out and stroked the man’s hands, and it was like touching steel, cold and impervious. He drew his fingernail sharply across the back of the right hand. No scratch or indentation marked its passage, and his nail fairly slid, as though across a pane of glass. He squeezed the man’s thumbnail and released it. There was no sudden change of color. It was as though these hands were dead or mechanical things. He continued his examination. The phenomenon ended somewhat above the wrists, occurred again in other places. His hands, breast, abdomen, neck and portions of his back had soaked within the death bath, which gave this special unyielding power. Total immersion would, of course, have proved fatal; but as it was, the man had traded some of his tactile sensitivity for the equivalent of invisible gauntlets, breastplate, neckpiece and back armor of steel. He was indeed one of the select assassins of the terrible goddess. “Who else knows of this man?” asked the Buddha. “The monk Simha, " replied the other, “who helped me bear him here. " “Did he see” -Tathagatha gestured with his eyes toward the crimson cord- that?” he inquired. The monk nodded. “Then go fetch him. Bring him to me at once. Do not mention anything of this to anyone, other than that a pilgrim was taken ill and we are tending him here. I will personally take over his care and minister to his illness. " “Yes, Illustrious One. " The monk hurried forth from the pavilion. Tathagatha seated himself beside the sleeping mat and waited. It was two days before the fever broke and intelligence returned to those dark eyes. But during those two days, anyone who passed by the pavilion might have heard the voice of the Enlightened One droning on and on, as though he addressed his sleeping charge. Occasionally, the man himself mumbled and spoke loudly, as those in a fever often do. On the second day, the man opened his eyes suddenly and stared upward. Then he frowned and turned his bead. “Good morning, Rild, " said Tathagatha. “You are…?” asked the other, in an unexpected baritone. “One who teaches the way of liberation, " he replied. “The Buddha?” “I have been called such. " “Tathagatha?” “This name, too, have I been given. " The other attempted to rise, failed, settled back. His eyes never left the placid countenance. “How is it that you know my name?” he finally asked. “In your fever you spoke considerably. " “Yes, I was very sick, and doubtless babbling. It was in that cursed swamp that I took the chill. " Tathagatha smiled. “One of the disadvantages of traveling alone is that when you fall there is none to assist you. " “True, " acknowledged the other, and his eyes closed once more and his breathing deepened. Tathagatha remained in the lotus posture, waiting. When Rild awakened again, it was evening. “Thirsty, " he said. Tathagatha gave him water. “Hungry?” he asked. “No, not yet. My stomach would rebel. " He raised himself up onto his elbows and stared at his attendant. Then he sank back upon the mat. “You are the one, " he announced. “Yes, " replied the other. “What are you going to do?” “Feed you, when you say you are hungry. " “I mean, after that. " “Watch as you sleep, lest you lapse again into the fever. " “That is not what I meant. " “I know. " “After I have eaten and rested and recovered my strength-what then?” Tathagatha smiled as he drew the silken cord from somewhere beneath his robe. “Nothing, " he replied, “nothing at all, " and he draped the cord across Rild’s shoulder and withdrew his hand. The other shook his head and leaned back. He reached up and fingered the length of crimson. He twined it about his fingers and then about his wrist. He stroked it. “It is holy, " he said, after a time. “So it would seem. " “You know its use, and its purpose?” “Of course. " “Why then will you do nothing at all?” “I have no need to move or to act. All things come to me. If anything is to be done, it is you who will do it. " “I do not understand. " “I know that, too. " The man stared into the shadows overhead. “I will attempt to eat now, " he announced. Tathagatha gave him broth and bread, which he managed to keep down. Then he drank more water, and when he had finished he was breathing heavily. “You have offended Heaven, " he stated. “Of that, I am aware. " “And you have detracted from the glory of a goddess, whose supremacy here has always been undisputed. " “I know. " “But I owe you my life, and I have eaten your bread. " There was no reply. “Because of this, I must break a most holy vow, " finished Rild. “I cannot kill you, Tathagatha. " “Then I owe my life to the fact that you owe me yours. Let us consider the life-owing balanced. " Rild uttered a short chuckle. “So be it, " he said. “What will you do, now that you have abandoned your mission?” “I do not know. My sin is too great to permit me to return. Now I, too, have offended against Heaven, and the goddess will turn away her face from my prayers. I have failed her. " “Such being the case, remain here. You will at least have company in damnation. " “Very well, " agreed Rild. “There is nothing else left to me. " He slept once again, and the Buddha smiled. In the days that followed, as the festival wore on, the Enlightened One preached to the crowds who passed through the purple grove. He spoke of the unity of all things, great and small, of the law of cause, of becoming and dying, of the illusion of the world, of the spark of the atman, of the way of salvation through renunciation of the self and union with the whole; he spoke of realization and enlightenment, of the meaninglessness of the Brahmins’ rituals, comparing their forms to vessels empty of content. Many listened, a few heard and some remained in the purple grove to take up the saffron robe of the seeker. And each time he taught, the man Rild sat nearby, wearing his black garments and leather harness, his strange dark eyes ever upon the Enlightened One. Two weeks after his recovery, Rild came upon the teacher as he walked through the grove in meditation. He fell into step beside him, and after a time he spoke. “Enlightened One, I have listened to your teachings, and I have listened well. Much have I thought upon your words. " The other nodded. “I have always been a religious man, " he stated, “or I would not have been selected for the post I once occupied. After it became impossible for me to fulfill my mission, I felt a great emptiness. I had failed my goddess, and life was without meaning for me. " The other listened, silently. “But I have heard your words, " he said, “and they have filled me with a kind of joy. They have shown me another way to salvation, a way which I feel to be superior to the one I previously followed. " The Buddha studied his face as he spoke. “Your way of renunciation is a strict one, which I feel to be good. It suits my needs. Therefore, I request permission to be taken into your community of seekers, and to follow your path. " “Are you certain, " asked the Enlightened One, “that you do not seek merely to punish yourself for what has been weighing upon your conscience as a failure, or a sin?” “Of that I am certain, " said Rild. “I have held your words within me and felt the truth which they contain. In the service of the goddess have I slain more men than purple fronds upon yonder bough. I am not even counting women and children. So I am not easily taken in by words, having heard too many, voiced in all tones of speech-words pleading, arguing, cursing. But your words move me, and they are superior to the teachings of the Brahmins. Gladly would I become your executioner, dispatching for you your enemies with a saffron cord-or with a blade, or pike, or with my hands, for I am proficient with all weapons, having spent three lifetimes learning their use-but I know that such is not your way. Death and life are as one to you, and you do not seek the destruction of your enemies. So I request entrance to your Order. For me, it is not so difficult a thing as it would be for another. One must renounce home and family, origin and property. I lack these things. One must renounce one’s own will, which I have already done. All I need now is the yellow robe. " “It is yours, " said Tathagatha, “with my blessing. " Rild donned the robe of a buddhist monk and took to fasting and meditating. After a week, when the festival was near to its close, he departed into the town with his begging bowl, in the company of the other monks. He did not return with them, however. The day wore on into evening, the evening into darkness. The horns of the Temple had already sounded the last notes of the nagaswaram, and many of the travelers had since departed the festival. For a long while, the Enlightened One walked the woods, meditating. Then he, too, vanished. Down from the grove, with the marshes at its back, toward the town of Alundil, above which lurked the hills of rock and around which lay the blue- green fields, into the town of Alundil, still astir with travelers, many of them at the height of their revelry, up the streets of Alundil toward the hill with its Temple, walked the Buddha. He entered the first courtyard, and it was quiet there. The dogs and children and beggars had gone away. The priests slept. One drowsing attendant sat behind a bench at the bazaar. Many of the shrines were now empty, the statues having been borne within. Before several of the others, worshipers knelt in late prayer. He entered the inner courtyard. An ascetic was seated on a prayer mat before the statue of Ganesha. He, too, seemed to qualify as a statue, making no visible movements. Four oil lamps flickered about the yard, their dancing light serving primarily to accentuate the shadows that lay upon most of the shrines. Small votive lights cast a faint illumination upon some of the statues. Tathagatha crossed the yard and stood facing the towering figure of Kali, at whose feet a tiny lamp blinked. Her smile seemed a plastic and moving thing, as she regarded the man before her. Draped across her outstretched hand, looped once about the point of her dagger, lay a crimson strangling cord. Tathagatha smiled back at her, and she seemed almost to frown at that moment. “It is a resignation, my dear, " he stated. “You have lost this round. " She seemed to nod in agreement. “I am pleased to have achieved such a height of recognition in so short a period of time, " he continued. “But even if you had succeeded, old girl, it would have done you little good. It is too late now. I have started something which you cannot undo. Too many have heard the ancient words. You had thought they were lost, and so did I. But we were both wrong. The religion by which you rule is very ancient, goddess, but my protest is also that of a venerable tradition. So call me a protestant, and remember-now I am more than a man. Good night. " He left the Temple and the shrine of Kali, where the eyes of Yama had been fixed upon his back. It was many months before the miracle occurred, and when it did, it did not seem a miracle, for it had grown up slowly about them. Rild, who had come out of the north as the winds of spring blew across the land, wearing death upon his arm and the black fire within his eyes-Rild, of the white brows and pointed ears-spoke one afternoon, after the spring had passed, when the long days of summer hung warm beneath the Bridge of the Gods. He spoke, in that unexpected baritone, to answer a question asked him by a traveler. The man asked him a second question, and then a third. He continued to speak, and some of the other monks and several pilgrims gathered about him. The answers following the questions, which now came from all of them, grew longer and longer, for they became parables, examples, allegories. Then they were seated at his feet, and his dark eyes became strange pools, and his voice came down as from Heaven, clear and soft, melodic and persuasive. They listened, and then the travelers went their way. But they met and spoke with other travelers upon the road, so that, before the summer had passed, pilgrims coming to the purple grove were asking to meet this disciple of the Buddha’s, and to hear his words also. Tathagatha shared the preaching with him. Together, they taught of the Way of the Eightfold Path, the glory of Nirvana, the illusion of the world and the chains that the world lays upon a man. And then there were times when even the soft-spoken Tathagatha listened to the words of his disciple, who had digested all of the things he had preached, had meditated long and fully upon them and now, as though he had found entrance to a secret sea, dipped with his steel-hard hand into places of hidden waters, and then sprinkled a thing of truth and beauty upon the heads of the hearers. Summer passed. There was no doubt now that there were two who had received enlightenment: Tathagatha and his small disciple, whom they called Sugata. It was even said that Sugata was a healer, and that when his eyes shone strangely and the icy touch of his hands came upon a twisted limb, that limb grew straight again. It was said that a blind man’s vision had suddenly returned to him during one of Sugata’s sermons. There were two things in which Sugata believed: the Way of Salvation and Tathagatha, the Buddha. “Illustrious One, " he said to him one day, “my life was empty until you revealed to me the True Path. When you received your enlightenment, before you began your teaching, was it like a rush of fire and the roaring of water and you everywhere and a part of everything-the clouds and the trees, the animals in the forest, all people, the snow on the mountaintop and the bones in the field?” “Yes, " said Tathagatha. “I, also, know the joy of all things, " said Sugata. “Yes, I know, " said Tathagatha. “I see now why once you said that all things come to you. To have brought such a doctrine into the world-I can see why the gods were envious. Poor gods! They are to be pitied. But you know. You know all things. " Tathagatha did not reply. When the winds of spring blew again across the land, the year having gone full cycle since the arrival of the second Buddha, there came one day from out of the heavens a fearful shrieking. The citizens of Alundil turned out into their streets to stare up at the sky. The Sudras in the fields put by their work and looked upward. In the great Temple on the hill there was a sudden silence. In the purple grove beyond the town, the monks turned their heads. It paced the heavens, the one who was born to rule the wind… From out of the north it came-green and red, yellow and brown… Its glide was a dance, its way was the air… There came another shriek, and then the beating of mighty pinions as it climbed past clouds to become a tiny dot of black. And then it fell, like a meteor, bursting into flame, all of its colors blazing and burning bright, as it grew and grew, beyond all belief that anything could live at that size, that pace, that magnificence… Half spirit, half bird, legend darkening the sky. Mount of Vishnu, whose beak smashes chariots. The Garuda Bird circled above Alundil. Circled, and passed beyond the hills of rock that stood behind the city. “Garuda!” The word ran through the town, the fields, the Temple, the grove. If he did not fly alone; it was known that only a god could use the Garuda Bird for a mount. There was silence. After those shrieks and that thunder of pinions, voices seemed naturally to drop to a whisper. The Enlightened One stood upon the road before the grove, his monks moving about him, facing in the direction of the hills of rock. Sugata came to his side and stood there. “It was but a spring ago… " he said. Tathagatha nodded. “Rild failed, " said Sugata. “What new thing comes from Heaven?” The Buddha shrugged. “I fear for you, my teacher, " he said. “In all my lifetimes, you have been my only friend. Your teaching has given me peace. Why can they not leave you alone? You are the most harmless of men, and your doctrine the gentlest. What ill could you possibly bear them?” The other turned away. At that moment, with a mighty beating of the air and a jagged cry from its opened beak, the Garuda Bird rose once more above the hills. This time, it did not circle over the town, but climbed to a great height in the heavens and swept off to the north. Such was the speed of its passing that it was gone in a matter of moments. “Its passenger has dismounted and remains behind, " suggested Sugata. The Buddha walked within the purple grove. He came from beyond the hills of stone, walking. He came to a passing place through stone, and he followed this trail, his red leather boots silent on the rocky path. Ahead, there was a sound of running water, from where a small stream cut across his way. Shrugging his blood-bright cloak back over his shoulders, he advanced upon a bend in the trail, the ruby head of his scimitar gleaming in his crimson sash. Rounding a comer of stone, he came to a halt. One waited ahead, standing beside the log that led across the stream. His eyes narrowed for an instant, then he moved forward again. It was a small man who stood there, wearing the dark garments of a pilgrim, caught about with a leather harness from which was suspended a short, curved blade of bright steel. This man’s head was closely shaven, save for a small lock of white hair. His eyebrows were white above eyes that were dark, and his skin was pale; his ears appeared to be pointed. The traveler raised his hand and spoke to this man, saying, “Good afternoon, pilgrim. " The man did not reply, but moved to bar his way, positioning himself before the log that led across the stream. “Pardon me, good pilgrim, but I am about to cross here and you are making my passage difficult, " he stated. “You are mistaken, Lord Yama, if you think you are about to pass here, " replied the other. The One in Red smiled, showing a long row of even, white teeth. “It is always a pleasure to be recognized, " he acknowledged, “even by one who conveys misinformation concerning other matters. " “I do not fence with words, " said the man in black. “Oh?” The other raised his eyebrows in an expression of exaggerated inquiry. “With what then do you fence, sir? Surely not that piece of bent metal you bear. " “None other. " “I took it for some barbarous prayer-stick at first. I understand that this is a region fraught with strange cults and primitive sects. For a moment, I took you to be a devotee of some such superstition. But if, as you say, it is indeed a weapon, then I trust you are familiar with its use?” “Somewhat, " replied the man in black. “Good, then, " said Yama, “for I dislike having to kill a man who does not know what he is about. I feel obligated to point out to you, however, that when you stand before the Highest for judgment, you will be accounted a suicide. " The other smiled faintly. “Any time that you are ready, deathgod, I will facilitate the passage of your spirit from out its fleshy envelope. " “One more item only, then, " said Yama, “and I shall put a quick end to conversation. Give me a name to tell the priests, so that they shall know for whom they offer the rites. " “I renounced my final name but a short while back, " answered the other. “For this reason, Kali’s consort must take his death of one who is nameless. " “Rild, you are a fool, " said Yama, and drew his blade. The man in black drew his. “And it is fitting that you go unnamed to your doom. You betrayed your goddess. " “Life is full of betrayals, " replied the other, before he struck, “By opposing you now and in this manner, I also betray the teachings of my new master. But I must follow the dictates of my heart. Neither my old name nor my new do therefore fit me, nor are they deserved-so call me by no name!” Then his blade was fire, leaping everywhere, clicking, blazing. Yama fell back before this onslaught, giving ground foot by foot, moving only his wrist as he parried the blows that fell about him. Then, after he had retreated ten paces, he stood his ground and would not be moved. His parries widened slightly, but his ripostes became more sudden now, and were interspersed with feints and unexpected attacks. They swaggered blades till their perspiration fell upon the ground in showers; and then Yama began to press the attack, slowly, forcing his opponent into a retreat. Step by step, he recovered the ten paces he had given. When they stood again upon the ground where the first blow had been struck, Yama acknowledged, over the clashing of steel, “Well have you learned your lessons, Rild! Better even than I had thought! Congratulations!” As he spoke, his opponent wove his blade through an elaborate double feint and scored a light touch that cut his shoulder, drawing blood that immediately merged with the color of his garment. At this, Yama sprang forward, beating down the other’s guard, and delivered a blow to the side of his neck that might have decapitated him. The man in black raised his guard, shaking his head, parried another attack and thrust forward, to be parried again himself. “So, the death bath collars your throat, " said Yama. “I’ll seek entrance elsewhere, then, " and his blade sang a faster song, as he tried for a low-line thrust. Yama unleashed the full fury of that blade, backed by the centuries and the masters of many ages. Yet, the other met his attacks, parrying wider and wider, retreating faster and faster now, but still managing to hold him off as he backed away, counterthrusting as he went. He retreated until his back was to the stream. Then Yama slowed and made comment: “Half a century ago, " he stated, “when you were my pupil for a brief time, I said to myself, ‘This one has within him the makings of a master. ’ Nor was I wrong, Rild. You are perhaps the greatest swordsman raised up in all the ages I can remember. I can almost forgive apostasy when I witness your skill. It is indeed a pity… " He feinted then a chest cut, and at the last instant moved around the parry so that he lay the edge of his weapon high upon the other’s wrist. Leaping backward, parrying wildly and cutting at Yama’s head, the man in black came into a position at the head of the log that lay above the crevice that led down to the stream. “Your hand, too, Rild! Indeed, the goddess is lavish with her protection. Try this!” The steel screeched as he caught it in a bind, nicking the other’s bicep as he passed about the blade. “Aha! There’s a place she missed!” he cried. “Let’s try for another!” Their blades bound and disengaged, feinted, thrust, parried, riposted. Yama met an elaborate attack with a stop-thrust, his longer blade again drawing blood from his opponent’s upper arm. The man in black stepped up upon the log, swinging a vicious head cut, which Yama beat away. Pressing the attack then even harder, Yama forced him to back out upon the log and then he kicked at its side. The other jumped backward, landing upon the opposite bank. As soon as his feet touched ground, he, too, kicked out, causing the log to move. It rolled, before Yama could mount it, slipping free of the banks, crashing down into the stream, bobbing about for a moment, and then following the water trail westward. “I’d say it is only a seven- or eight-foot jump, Yama! Come on across!” cried the other. The deathgod smiled. “Catch your breath quickly now, while you may, " he stated. “Breath is the least appreciated gift of the gods. None sing hymns to it, praising the good air, breathed by king and beggar, master and dog alike. But, oh to be without it! Appreciate each breath, Rild, as though it were your last-for that one, too, is near at hand!” “You are said to be wise in these matters, Yama, " said the one who had been called Rild and Sugata. “You are said to be a god, whose kingdom is death and whose knowledge extends beyond the ken of mortals. I would question you, therefore, while we are standing idle. " Yama did not smile his mocking smile, as he had to all his opponent’s previous statements. This one had a touch of ritual about it. “What is it that you wish to know? I grant you the death-boon of a question. " Then, in the ancient words of the Katha Upanishad, the one who had been called Rild and Sugata chanted: “‘There is doubt concerning a man when he is dead. Some say he still exists. Others say he does not. This thing I should like to know, taught by you. ’ " Yama replied with the ancient words, “‘On this subject even the gods have their doubts. It is not easy to understand, for the nature of the atman is a subtle thing. Ask me another question. Release me from this boon!’” “‘Forgive me if it is foremost in my mind, oh Death, but another teacher such as yourself cannot be found, and surely there is no other boon which I crave more at this moment. ‘” “‘Keep your life and go your way, ‘” said Yama, plunging his blade again into his sash. “‘I release you from your doom. Choose sons and grandsons; choose elephants, horses, herds of cattle and gold. Choose any other boon-fair maidens, chariots, musical instruments. I shall give them unto you and they shall wait upon you. But ask me not of death. ‘” “‘Oh Death, ’ " sang the other, “’these endure only till tomorrow. Keep your maidens, horses, dances and songs for yourself. No boon will I accept but the one which I have asked-tell me, oh Death, of that which lies beyond life, of which men and the gods have their doubts. ‘” Yama stood very still and he did not continue the poem. “Very well, Rild, " he said, his eyes locking with the other’s, “but it is not a kingdom subject to words. I must show you. " They stood, so, for a moment; and then the man in black swayed. He threw his arm across his face, covering his eyes, and a single sob escaped his throat. When this occurred, Yama drew his cloak from his shoulders and cast it like a net across the stream. Weighted at the hems for such a maneuver, it fell, netlike, upon his opponent. As he struggled to free himself, the man in black heard rapid footfalls and then a crash, as Yama’s blood-red boots struck upon his side of the stream. Casting aside the cloak and raising his guard, he parried Yama’s new attack. The ground behind him sloped upward, and he backed farther and farther, to where it steepened, so that Yama’s head was no higher than his belt. He then struck down at his opponent. Yama slowly fought his way uphill. “Deathgod, deathgod, " he chanted, “forgive my presumptuous question, and tell me you did not lie. " “Soon you shall know, " said Yama, cutting at his legs. Yama struck a blow that would have run another man through, cleaving his heart. But it glanced off his opponent’s breast. When he came to a place where the ground was broken, the small man kicked, again and again, sending showers of dirt and gravel down upon his opponent. Yama shielded his eyes with his left hand, but then larger pieces of stone began to rain down upon him. These rolled on the ground, and, as several came beneath his boots, he lost his footing and fell, slipping backward down the slope. The other kicked at heavy rocks then, even dislodging a boulder and following it downhill, his blade held high. Unable to gain his footing in time to meet the attack, Yama rolled and slid back toward the stream. He managed to brake himself at the edge of the crevice, but he saw the boulder coming and tried to draw back out of its way. As he pushed at the ground with both hands, his blade fell into the waters below. With his dagger, which he drew as he sprang into a stumbling crouch, he managed to parry the high cut of the other’s blade. The boulder splashed into the stream. Then his left hand shot forward, seizing the wrist that had guided the blade. He slashed upward with the dagger and felt his own wrist taken. They stood then, locking their strength, until Yama sat down and rolled to his side, thrusting the other from him. Still, both locks held, and they continued to roll from the force of that thrust. Then the edge of the crevice was beside them, beneath them, above them. He felt the blade go out of his hand as it struck the stream bed. When they came again above the surface of the water, gasping for breath, each held only water in his hands. “Time for the final baptism, " said Yama, and he lashed out with his left hand. The other blocked the punch, throwing one of his own. They moved to the left with the waters, until their feet struck upon rock and they fought, wading, along the length of the stream. It widened and grew more shallow as they moved, until the waters swirled about their waists. In places, the banks began to fall nearer the surface of the water. Yama landed blow after blow, both with his fists and the edges of his hands; but it was as if he assailed a statue, for the one who had been Kali’s holy executioner took each blow without changing his expression, and he returned them with twisting punches of bone-breaking force. Most of these blows were slowed by the water or blocked by Yama’s guard, but one landed between his rib cage and hipbone and another glanced on his left shoulder and rebounded from his cheek. Yama cast himself into a backstroke and made for shallower water. The other followed and sprang upon him, to be caught in his impervious midsection by a red boot, as the front of his garment was jerked forward and down. He continued on, passing over Yama’s head, to land upon his back on a section of shale. Yama rose to his knees and turned, as the other found his footing and drew a dagger from his belt. His face was still impassive as he dropped into a crouch. For a moment their eyes met, but the other did not waver this time. “Now can I meet your death-gaze, Yama, " he stated, “and not be stopped by it. You have taught me too well!” And as he lunged, Yama’s hands came away from his waist, snapping his wet sash like a whip about the other’s thighs. He caught him and locked him to him as he fell forward, dropping the blade; and with a kick he bore them both back into deeper water. “None sing hymns to breath, " said Yama. “But, oh to be without it!” Then he plunged downward, bearing the other with him, his arms like steel loops about his body. Later, much later, as the wet figure stood beside the stream, he spoke softly and his breath came in gasps: “You were-the greatest-to be raised up against me-in all the ages I can remember… It is indeed a pity… " Then, having crossed the stream, he continued on his way through the hills of stone, walking. Entering the town of Alundil, the traveler stopped at the first inn he came to. He took a room and ordered a tub of water. He bathed while a servant cleaned his garments. Before he had his dinner, he moved to the window and looked down into the street. The smell of slizzard was strong upon the air, and the babble of many voices arose from below. People were leaving the town. In the courtyard at his back, preparations for the departure of a morning caravan were being made. This night marked the end of the spring festival. Below him in the street, businessmen were still trading, mothers were soothing tired children and a local prince was returning with his men from the hunt, two fire-roosters strapped to the back of a skittering slizzard. He watched a tired prostitute discussing something with a priest, who appeared to be even more tired, as he kept shaking his head and finally walked away. One moon was already high in the heavens-seen as golden through the Bridge of the Gods – and a second, smaller moon had just appeared above the horizon. There was a cool tingle in the evening air, bearing to him, above the smells of the city, the scents of the growing things of spring: the small shoots and the tender grasses, the clean smell of the blue-green spring wheat, the moist ground, the roiling freshet. Leaning forward, he could see the Temple that stood upon the hill. He summoned a servant to bring his dinner in his chamber and to send for a local merchant. He ate slowly, not paying especial attention to his food, and when he had finished, the merchant was shown in. The man bore a cloak full of samples, and of these he finally decided upon a long, curved blade and a short, straight dagger, both of which he thrust into his sash. Then he went out into the evening and walked along the rutted main street of the town. Lovers embraced in doorways. He passed a house where mourners were wailing for one dead. A beggar limped after him for half a block, until he turned and glanced into his eyes, saying, “You are not lame, " and then the man hurried away, losing himself in a crowd that was passing. Overhead, the fireworks began to burst against the sky, sending long, cherry-colored streamers down toward the ground. From the Temple came the sound of the gourd horns playing the nagaswaram music. A man stumbled from out a doorway, brushing against him, and he broke the man’s wrist as he felt his hand fall upon his purse. The man uttered a curse and called for help, but he pushed him into the drainage ditch and walked on, turning away his two companions with one dark look. At last, he came to the Temple, hesitated a moment and passed within. He entered the inner courtyard behind a priest who was carrying in a small statue from an outer niche. He surveyed the courtyard, then quickly moved to the place occupied by the statue of the goddess Kali. He studied her for a long while, drawing his blade and placing it at her feet. When he picked it up and turned away, he saw that the priest was watching him. He nodded to the man, who immediately approached and bade him a good evening. “Good evening, priest, " he replied. “May Kali sanctify your blade, warrior. " “Thank you. She has. " The priest smiled. “You speak as if you knew that for certain. " “And that is presumptuous of me, eh?” “Well, it may not be in the best of taste. " “Nevertheless, I felt her power come over me as I gazed upon her shrine. " The priest shuddered. “Despite my office, " he stated, “that is a feeling of power I can do without. " “You fear her power?” “Let us say, " said the priest, “that despite its magnificence, the shrine of Kali is not so frequently visited as are those of Lakshmi, Sarasvati, Shakti, Sitala, Ratri and the other less awesome goddesses. " “But she is greater than any of these. " “And more terrible. " “So? Despite her strength, she is not an unjust goddess. " The priest smiled. “What man who has lived for more than a score of years desires justice, warrior? For my part, I find mercy infinitely more attractive. Give me a forgiving deity any day. " “Well taken, " said the other, “but I am, as you say, a warrior. My own nature is close to hers. We think alike, the goddess and I. We generally agree on most matters. When we do not, I remember that she is also a woman. " “I live here, " said the priest, “and I do not speak that intimately of my charges, the gods. " “In public, that is, " said the other. “Tell me not of priests. I have drunk with many of you, and know you to be as blasphemous as the rest of mankind. " “There is a time and place for everything, " said the priest, glancing back at Kali’s statue. “Aye, aye. Now tell me why the base of Yama’s shrine has not been scrubbed recently. It is dusty. " “It was cleaned but yesterday, but so many have passed before it since then that it has felt considerable usage. " The other smiled. “Why then are there no offerings laid at his feet, no remains of sacrifices?” “No one gives flowers to Death, " said the priest. “They just come to look and go away. We priests have always felt the two statues to be well situated. They make a terrible pair, do they not? Death, and the mistress of destruction?” “A mighty team, " said the other. “But do you mean to tell me that no one makes sacrifice to Yama? No one at all?”’ “Other than we priests, when the calendar of devotions requires it, and an occasional townsman, when a loved one is upon the death-bed and has been refused direct incarnation-other than these, no, I have never seen sacrifice made to Yama, simply, sincerely, with good will or affection. " “He must feel offended. " “Not so, warrior. For are not all living things, in themselves, sacrifices to Death?” “Indeed, you speak truly. What need has he for their good will or affection? Gifts are unnecessary, for he takes what he wants. " “Like Kali, " acknowledged the priest. “And in the cases of both deities have I often sought justification for atheism. Unfortunately, they manifest themselves too strongly in the world for their existence to be denied effectively. Pity. " The warrior laughed. “A priest who is an unwilling believer! I like that. It tickles my funny bone! Here, buy yourself a barrel of soma-for sacrificial " purposes. “Thank you, warrior. I shall. Join me in a small libation now – on the Temple?” “By Kali, I will!” said the other. “But a small one only. " He accompanied the priest into the central building and down a flight of stairs into the cellar, where a barrel of soma was tapped and two beakers drawn. “To your health and long life, " he said, raising it. “To your morbid patrons-Yama and Kali, " said the priest. “Thank you. " They gulped the potent brew, and the priest drew two more. “To warm your throat against the night. " “Very good. " “It is a good thing to see some of these travelers depart, " said the priest. “Their devotions have enriched the Temple, but they have also tired the staff considerably. " “To the departure of the pilgrims!” “To the departure of the pilgrims!” They drank again. “I thought that most of them came to see the Buddha, " said Yama. “That is true, " replied the priest, “but on the other hand, they are not anxious to antagonize the gods by this. So, before they visit the purple grove, they generally make sacrifice or donate to the Temple for prayers. " “What do you know of the one called Tathagatha, and of his teachings?” The other looked away. “I am a priest of the gods and a Brahmin, warrior. I do not wish to speak of this one. " “So, he has gotten to you, too?” “Enough! I have made my wishes known to you. It is not a subject on which I will discourse. " “It matters not-and will matter less shortly. Thank you for the soma. Good evening, priest. " “Good evening, warrior. May the gods smile upon your path. " “And yours also. " Mounting the stairs, he departed the Temple and continued on his way through the city, walking. When he came to the purple grove, there were three moons in the heavens, small camplights behind the trees, pale blossoms of fire in the sky above the town, and a breeze with a certain dampness in it stirring the growth about him. He moved silently ahead, entering the grove. When he came into the lighted area, he was faced with row upon row of motionless, seated figures. Each wore a yellow robe with a yellow cowl drawn over the head. Hundreds of them were seated so, and not one uttered a sound. He approached the one nearest him. “I have come to see Tathagatha, the Buddha, " he said. The man did not seem to hear him. “Where is he?” The man did not reply. He bent forward and stared into the monk’s half-closed eyes. For a moment, he glared into them, but it was as though the other was asleep, for the eyes did not even meet with his. Then he raised his voice, so that all within the grove might hear him: “I have come to see Tathagatha, the Buddha, " he said. “Where is he?” It was as though he addressed a field of stones. “Do you think to hide him in this manner?” he called out. “Do you think that because you are many, and all dressed alike, and because you will not answer me, that for these reasons I cannot find him among you?” There was only the sighing of the wind, passing through from the back of the grove. The light flickered and the purple fronds stirred. He laughed. “In this, you may be right, " he admitted. “But you must move sometime, if you intend to go on living-and I can wait as long as any man. " Then he seated himself upon the ground, his back against the blue bark of a tall tree, his blade across his knees. Immediately, he was seized with drowsiness. His head nodded and jerked upward several times. Then his chin came to rest upon his breast and he snored. Was walking, across a blue-green plain, the grasses bending down to form a pathway before him. At the end of this pathway was a massive tree, a tree such as did not grow upon the world, but rather held the world together with its roots, and with its branches reached up to utter leaves among the stars. At its base sat a man, cross-legged, a faint smile upon his lips. He knew this man to be the Buddha, and he approached and stood before him. “Greetings, oh Death, " said the seated one, crowned with a rose-hued aureole that was bright in the shadow of the tree. Yama did not reply, but drew his blade. The Buddha continued to smile, and as Yama moved forward he heard a sound like distant music. He halted and looked about him, his blade still upraised. They came from all quarters, the four Regents of the world, come down from Mount Sumernu: the Master of the North advanced, followed by his Yakshas, all in gold, mounted on yellow horses, bearing shields that blazed with golden light; the Angel of the South came on, followed by his hosts, the Kumbhandas, mounted upon blue steeds and bearing sapphire shields; from the East rode the Regent whose horsemen carry shields of pearl, and who are clad all in silver; and from the West there came the One whose Nagas mounted blood-red horses, were clad all in red and held before them shields of coral. Their hooves did not appear to touch the grasses, and the only sound in the air was the music, which grew louder. “Why do the Regents of the world approach?” Yama found himself saying. “They come to bear my bones away, " replied the Buddha, still smiling. The four Regents drew rein, their hordes at their backs, and Yama faced them. “You come to bear his bones away, " said Yama, “but who will come for yours?” The Regents dismounted. “You may not have this man, oh Death, " said the Master of the North, “for he belongs to the world, and we of the world will defend him. " “Hear me, Regents who dwell upon Sumernu, " said Yama, taking his Aspect upon him. “Into your hands is given the keeping of the world, but Death takes whom he will from out the world, and whenever he chooses. It is not given to you to dispute my Attributes, or the ways of their working. " The four Regents moved to a position between Yama and Tathagatha. “We do dispute your way with this one. Lord Yama. For in his hands he holds the destiny of our world. You may touch him only after having overthrown the four Powers. " “So be it, " said Yama. “Which among you will be first to oppose me?” “I will, " said the speaker, drawing his golden blade. Yama, his Aspect upon him, sheared through the soft metal like butter and laid the flat of his scimitar along the Regent’s head, sending him sprawling upon the ground. A great cry came up from the ranks of the Yakshas, and two of the golden horsemen came forward to bear away their leader. Then they turned their mounts and rode back into the North; “Who is next?” The Regent of the East came before him, bearing a straight blade of silver and a net woven of moonbeams. “I, " he said, and he cast with the net. Yama set his foot upon it, caught it in his fingers, jerked the other off balance. As the Regent stumbled forward, he reversed his blade and struck him in the jaw with its pommel. Two silver warriors glared at him, then dropped their eyes, as they bore their Master away to the East, a discordant music trailing in their wake. “Next!” said Yama. Then there came before him the burly leader of the Nagas, who threw down his weapons and stripped off his tunic, saying, “I will wrestle with you, deathgod. " Yama laid his weapons aside and removed his upper garments. All the while this was happening, the Buddha sat in the shade of the great tree, smiling, as though the passage of arms meant nothing to him. The Chief of the Nagas caught Yama behind the neck with his left hand, pulling his head forward. Yama did the same to him; and the other did then twist his body, casting his right arm over Yama’s left shoulder and behind his neck, locking it then tight about his head, which he now drew down hard against his hip, turning his body as he dragged the other forward. Reaching up behind the Naga Chief’s back, Yama caught his left shoulder in his left hand and then moved his right hand behind the Regent’s knees, so that he lifted both his legs off the ground while drawing back upon his shoulder. For a moment he held this one cradled in his arms like a child, then raised him up to shoulder level and dropped away his arms. When the Regent struck the ground, Yama fell upon him with his knees and rose again. The other did not. When the riders of the West had departed, only the Angel of the South, clad all in blue, stood before the Buddha. “And you?” asked the deathgod, raising his weapons again. “I will not take up weapons of steel or leather or stone, as a child takes up toys, to face you, god of death. Nor will I match the strength of my body against yours, " said the Angel. “I know I will be bested if I do these things, for none may dispute you with arms. " “Then climb back upon your blue stallion and ride away, " said Yama, “if you will not fight. " The Angel did not answer, but cast his blue shield into the air, so that it spun like a wheel of sapphire, growing larger and larger as it hung above them. Then it fell to the ground and began to sink into it, without a sound, still growing as it vanished from sight, the grasses coming together again above the spot where it had struck. “And what does that signify?” asked Yama. “I do not actively contest. I merely defend. Mine is the power of passive opposition. Mine is the power of life, as yours is the power of death. While you can destroy anything I send against you, you cannot destroy everything, oh Death. Mine is the power of the shield, but not the sword. Life will oppose you, Lord Yama, to defend your victim. " The Blue One turned then, mounted his blue steed and rode into the South, the Kumbhandas at his back. The sound of the music did not go with him, but remained in the air he had occupied. Yama advanced once more, his blade in his hand. “Their efforts came to naught, " he said. “Your time is come. " He struck forward with his blade. The blow did not land, however, as a branch from the great tree fell between them and struck the scimitar from his grasp. He reached for it and the grasses bent to cover it over, weaving themselves into a tight, unbreakable net. Cursing, he drew his dagger and struck again. One mighty branch bent down, came swaying before his target, so that his blade was imbedded deeply in its fibers. Then the branch lashed again skyward, carrying the weapon with it, high out of reach. The Buddha’s eyes were closed in meditation and his halo glowed in the shadows. Yama took a step forward, raising his hands, and the grasses knotted themselves about his ankles, holding him where he stood. He struggled for a moment, tugging at their unyielding roots. Then he stopped and raised both hands high, throwing his head far back, death leaping from his eyes. “Hear me, oh Powers!” he cried. “From this moment forward, this spot shall bear the curse of Yama! No living thing shall ever stir again upon this ground! No bird shall sing, nor snake slither here! It shall be barren and stark, a place of rocks and shifting sand! Not a spear of grass shall ever be upraised from here against the sky! I speak this curse and lay this doom upon the defenders of my enemy!” The grasses began to wither, but before they had released him there came a great splintering, cracking noise, as the tree whose roots held together the world and in whose branches the stars were caught, as fish in a net, swayed forward, splitting down its middle, its uppermost limbs tearing apart the sky, its roots opening chasms in the ground, its leaves falling like blue-green rain about him. A massive section of its trunk toppled toward him, casting before it a shadow dark as night. In the distance, he still saw the Buddha, seated in meditation, as though unaware of the chaos that erupted about him. Then there was only blackness and a sound like the crashing of thunder. Yama jerked his head, his eyes springing open. He sat in the purple grove, his back against the bole of a blue tree, his blade across his knees. Nothing seemed to have changed. The rows of monks were seated, as in meditation, before him. The breeze was still cool and moist and the lights still flickered as it passed. Yama stood, knowing then, somehow, where he must go to find that which he sought. He moved past the monks, following a well-beaten path that led far into the interior of the wood. He came upon a purple pavilion, but it was empty. He moved on, tracing the path back to where the wood became a wilderness. Here, the ground was damp and a faint mist sprang up about him. But the way was still clear before him, illuminated by the light of the three moons. The trail led downward, the blue and purple trees growing shorter and more twisted here than they did above. Small pools of water, with floating patches of leprous, silver scum, began to appear at the sides of the trail. A marshland smell came to his nostrils, and the wheezing of strange creatures came out of clumps of brush. He heard the sound of singing, coming from far up behind him, and he realized that the monks he had left were now awake and stirring about the grove. They had finished with the task of combining their thoughts to force upon him the vision of their leader’s invincibility. Their chanting was probably a signal, reaching out to – There! He was seated upon a rock in the middle of a field, the moonlight falling full upon him. Yama drew his blade and advanced. When he was about twenty paces away, the other turned his head. “Greetings, oh Death, " he said. “Greetings, Tathagatha. " “Tell me why you are here. " “It has been decided that the Buddha must die. " “That does not answer my question, however. Why have you come here?” “Are you not the Buddha?” “I have been called Buddha, and Tathagatha, and the Enlightened One, and many other things. But, in answer to your question, no, I am not the Buddha. You have already succeeded in what you set out to do. You slew the real Buddha this day. " “My memory must indeed be growing weak, for I confess that I do not remember doing this thing. " “The real Buddha was named by us Sugata, " replied the other. “Before that, he was known as Rild. " “Rild!” Yama chuckled. “You are trying to tell me that he was more than an executioner whom you talked out of doing his job?” “Many people are executioners who have been talked out of doing their jobs, " replied the one on the rock. “Rild gave up his mission willingly and became a follower of the Way. He was the only man I ever knew to really achieve enlightenment. " “Is this not a pacifistic religion, this thing you have been spreading?” “Yes. " Yama threw back his head and laughed. “Gods! Then it is well you are not preaching a militant one! Your foremost disciple, enlightenment and all, near had my head this afternoon!” A tired look came over the Buddha’s wide countenance. “Do you think he could actually have beaten you?” Yama was silent a moment, then, “No, " he said. “Do you think he knew this?” “Perhaps, " Yama replied. “Did you not know one another prior to this day’s meeting? Have you not seen one another at practice?” “Yes, " said Yama. “We were acquainted. " “Then he knew your skill and realized the outcome of the encounter. " Yama was silent. “He went willingly to his martyrdom, unknown to me at the time. I do not feel that he went with real hope of beating you. " “Why, then?” “To prove a point. " “What point could he hope to prove in such a manner?” “I do not know. I only know that it must be as I have said, for I knew him. I have listened too often to his sermons, to his subtle parables, to believe that he would do a thing such as this without a purpose. You have slain the true Buddha, deathgod. You know what I am. " “Siddhartha, " said Yama, “I know that you are a fraud. I know that you are not an Enlightened One. I realize that your doctrine is a thing which could have been remembered by any among the First. You chose to resurrect it, pretending to be its originator. You decided to spread it, in hopes of raising an opposition to the religion by which the true gods rule. I admire the effort. It was cleverly planned and executed. But your biggest mistake, I feel, is that you picked a pacifistic creed with which to oppose an active one. I am curious why you did this thing, when there were so many more appropriate religions from which to choose. " “Perhaps I was just curious to see how such a countercurrent would flow, " replied the other. “No, Sam, that is not it, " answered Yama. “I feel it is only part of a larger plan you have laid, and that for all these years – while you pretended to be a saint and preached sermons in which you did not truly believe yourself-you have been making other plans. An army, great in space, may offer opposition in a brief span of time. One man, brief in space, must spread his opposition across a period of many years if he is to have a chance of succeeding. You are aware of this, and now that you have sown the seeds of this stolen creed, you are planning to move on to another phase of opposition. You are trying to be a one-man antithesis to Heaven, opposing the will of the gods across the years, in many ways and from behind many masks. But it will end here and now, false Buddha. " “Why, Yama?” he asked. “It was considered quite carefully, " said Yama. “We did not want to make you a martyr, encouraging more than ever the growth of this thing you have been teaching. On the other hand, if you were not stopped, it would still continue to grow. It was decided, therefore, that you must meet your end at the hands of an agent of Heaven-thus showing which religion is the stronger. So, martyr or no, Buddhism will be a second-rate religion henceforth. That is why you must now die the real death. " “When I asked ‘Why?’ I meant something different. You have answered the wrong question. I meant, why have you come to do this thing, Yama? Why have you, master of arms, master of sciences, come as lackey to a crew of drunken body-changers, who are not qualified to polish your blade or wash out your test tubes? Why do you, who might be the freest spirit of us all, demean yourself by serving your inferiors?” “For that, your death shall not be a clean one. " “Why? I did but ask a question, which must have long since passed through more minds than my own. I did not take offense when you called me a false Buddha. I know what I am. Who are you, deathgod?” Yama placed his blade within his sash and withdrew a pipe, which he had purchased at the inn earlier in the day. He filled its bowl with tobacco, lit it, and smoked. “It is obvious that we must talk a little longer, if only to clear both our minds of questions, " he stated, “so I may as well be comfortable. " He seated himself upon a low rock. “First, a man may in some ways be superior to his fellows and still serve them, if together they serve a common cause which is greater than any one man. I believe that I serve such a cause, or I would not be doing it. I take it that you feel the same way concerning what you do, or you would not put up with this life of miserable asceticism – though I note that you are not so gaunt as your followers. You were offered godhood some years ago in Mahartha, as I recall, and you mocked Brahma, raided the Palace of Karma, and filled all the pray-machines of the city with slugs… " The Buddha chuckled. Yama joined him briefly and continued, “There are no Accelerationists remaining in the world, other than yourself. It is a dead issue, which should never have become an issue in the first place. I do have a certain respect for the manner in which you have acquitted yourself over the years. It has even occurred to me that if you could be made to realize the hopelessness of your present position, you might still be persuaded to join the hosts of Heaven. While I did come here to kill you, if you can be convinced of this now and give me your word upon it, promising to end your foolish fight, I will take it upon myself to vouch for you. I will take you back to the Celestial City with me, where you may now accept that which you once refused. They will harken to me, because they need me. " “No, " said Sam, “for I am not convinced of the futility of my position, and I fully intend to continue the show. " The chanting came down from the camp in the purple grove. One of the moons disappeared beyond the treetops. “Why are your followers not beating the bushes, seeking to save you?” “They would come if I called, but I will not call. I do not need to. " “Why did they cause me to dream that foolish dream?” The Buddha shrugged. “Why did they not arise and slay me as I slept?” “It is not their way. " “You might have, though, eh? If you could get away with it? If none would know the Buddha did it?” “Perhaps, " said the other. “As you know, the personal strengths and weaknesses of a leader are no true indication of the merits of his cause. " Yama drew upon his pipe. The smoke wreathed his head and eddied away to join the fogs, which were now becoming more heavy upon the land. “I know we are alone here, and you are unarmed, " said Yama. “We are alone here. My traveling gear is hidden farther along my route. " “Your traveling gear?” “I have finished here. You guessed correctly. I have begun what I set out to begin. After we have finished our conversation, I will depart. " Yama chuckled. “The optimism of a revolutionary always gives rise to a sense of wonder. How do you propose to depart? On a magic carpet?” “I shall go as other men go. " “That is rather condescending of you. Will the powers of the world rise up to defend you? I see no great tree to shelter you with its branches. There is no clever grass to seize at my feet. Tell me how you will achieve your departure?” “I’d rather surprise you. " “What say we fight? I do not like to slaughter an unarmed man. If you actually do have supplies cached somewhere nearby, go fetch your blade. It is better than no chance at all. I’ve even heard it said that Lord Siddhartha was, in his day, a formidable swordsman. " “Thank you, no. Another time, perhaps. But not this time. " Yama drew once more upon his pipe, stretched, and yawned. “I can think of no more questions then, which I wish to ask you. It is futile to argue with you. I have nothing more to say. Is there anything else that you would care to add to the conversation?” “Yes, " said Sam. “What’s she like, that bitch Kali? There are so many different reports that I’m beginning to believe she is all things to all men - " Yama hurled the pipe, which struck him upon the shoulder and sent a shower of sparks down his arm. His scimitar was a bright flash about his head as he leapt forward. When he struck the sandy stretch before the rock, his motion was arrested. He almost fell, twisted himself perpendicularly and remained standing. He struggled, but could not move. “Some quicksand, " said Sam, “is quicker than other quicksand. Fortunately, you are settling into that of the slower sort. So you have considerable time yet remaining at your disposal. I would like to prolong the conversation, if I thought I had a chance of persuading you to join with me. But I know that I do not-no more than you could persuade me to go to Heaven. " “I will get free, " said Yama softly, not struggling. “I will get free somehow, and I will come after you again. " “Yes, " said Sam, “I feel this to be true. In fact, in a short while I will instruct you how to go about it. For the moment, however, you are something every preacher longs for-a captive audience, representing the opposition. So, I have a brief sermon for you. Lord Yama. " Yama hefted his blade, decided against throwing it, thrust it again into his sash. “Preach on, " he said, and he succeeded in catching the other’s eyes. Sam swayed where he sat, but he spoke again: “It is amazing, " he said, “how that mutant brain of yours generated a mind capable of transferring its powers to any new brain you choose to occupy. It has been years since I last exercised my one ability, as I am at this moment-but it, too, behaves in a similar manner. No matter what body I inhabit, it appears that my power follows me into it also. I understand it is still that way with most of us. Sitala, I hear, can control temperatures for a great distance about her. When she assumes a new body, the power accompanies her into her new nervous system, though it comes only weakly at first. Agni, I know, can set fire to objects by staring at them for a period of time and willing that they burn. Now, take for example the death-gaze you are at this moment turning upon me. Is it not amazing how you keep this gift about you in all times and places, over the centuries? I have often wondered as to the physiological basis for the phenomenon. Have you ever researched the area?” “Yes, " said Yama, his eyes burning beneath his dark brows. “And what is the explanation? A person is born with an abnormal brain, his psyche is later transferred to a normal one and yet his abnormal abilities are not destroyed in the transfer. Why does this thing happen?” “Because you really have only one body-image, which is electrical as well as chemical in nature. It begins immediately to modify its new physiological environment. The new body has much about it which it treats rather like a disease, attempting to cure it into being the old body. If the body which you now inhabit were to be made physically immortal, it would someday come to resemble your original body. " “How interesting. " “That is why the transferred power is weak at first, but grows stronger as you continue occupancy. That is why it is best to cultivate an Attribute, and perhaps to employ mechanical aids, also. " “Well. That is something I have often wondered about. Thank you. By the way, keep trying with your death-gaze-it is painful, you know. So that is something, anyway. Now, as to the sermon-a proud and arrogant man, such as yourself-with an admittedly admirable quality of didacticism about him-was given to doing research in the area of a certain disfiguring and degenerative disease. One day he contracted it himself. Since he had not yet developed a cure for the condition, he did take time out to regard himself in a mirror and say, ‘But on me it does look good. ’ You are such a man, Yama. You will not attempt to fight your condition. Rather, you are proud of it. You betrayed yourself in your fury, so I know that I speak the truth when I say that the name of your disease is Kali. You would not give power into the hands of the unworthy if that woman did not bid you do it. I knew her of old, and I am certain that she has not changed. She cannot love a man. She cares only for those who bring her gifts of chaos. If ever you cease to suit her purposes, she will put you aside, deathgod. I do not say this because we are enemies, but rather as one man to another. I know. Believe me, I do. Perhaps it is unfortunate that you were never really young, Yama, and did not know your first love in the days of spring… The moral, therefore, of my sermon on this small mount is this-even a mirror will not show you yourself, if you do not wish to see. Cross her once to try the truth of my words, even in a small matter, and see how quickly she responds, and in what fashion. What will you do if your own weapons are turned against you, Death?” “You have finished speaking now?” asked Yama. “That’s about it. A sermon is a warning, and you have been warned. " “Whatever your power, Sam, I see that it is at this moment proof against my death-gaze. Consider yourself fortunate that I am weakened - " “I do indeed, for my head is about to split. Damn your eyes!” “One day I will try your power again, and even if it should still be proof against my own, you will fall on that day. If not by my Attribute, then by my blade. " “If that is a challenge, I choose to defer acceptance. I suggest that you do try my words before you attempt to make it good. " At this point, the sand was halfway up Yama’s thighs. Sam sighed and climbed down from his perch. “There is only one clear path to this rock, and I am about to follow it away from here. Now, I will tell you how to gain your life, if you are not too proud. I have instructed the monks to come to my aid, here at this place, if they hear a cry for help. I told you earlier that I was not going to call for help, and that is true. If, however, you begin calling out for aid with that powerful voice of yours, they shall be here before you sink too much farther. They will bring you safely to firm ground and will not try to harm you, for such is their way. I like the thought of the god of death being saved by the monks of Buddha. Good night, Yama, I’m going to leave you now. " Yama smiled. “There will be another day, oh Buddha, " he stated. “I can wait for it. Flee now as far and as fast as you can. The world is not large enough to hide you from my wrath. I will follow you, and I will teach you of the enlightenment that is pure hellfire. " “In the meantime, " said Sam, “I suggest you solicit aid of my followers or learn the difficult art of mud-breathing. " He picked his way across the field, Yama’s eyes burning into his back. When he reached the trail, he turned. “And you may want to mention in Heaven, " he said, “that I was called out of town on a business deal. " Yama did not reply. “I think I am going to make a deal for some weapons, " he finished, “some rather special weapons. So when you come after me, bring your girl friend along. If she likes what she sees, she may persuade you to switch sides. " Then he struck the trail and moved away through the night, whistling, beneath a moon that was white and a moon that was golden.

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter 4#

It is told how the Lord of Light descended into the Well of the Demons, to make there a bargain with the chief of the Rakasha. He dealt in good faith, but the Rakasha are the Rakasha. That is to say, they are malefic creatures, possessed of great powers, life-span and the ability to assume nearly any shape. The Rakasha are almost indestructible. Their chiefest lack is a true body; their chiefest virtue, their honor toward their gambling debts. That the Lord of Light went to Hellwell at all serves to show that perhaps he was somewhat distraught concerning the state of the world… When the gods and the demons, both offspring of Prajapati, did battle with one another, the gods seized upon the life-principle of the Udgitha, thinking that with this would they vanquish the demons. They meditated upon the Udgitha which functions through the nose, but the demons pierced it through with evil. Therefore, with the breath one smells both that which is pleasant and that which is foul. Thus the breath is touched by evil. They meditated upon the Udgitha as words, but the demons pierced it through with evil. Therefore, one speaks both truth and falsehood. Thus words are touched by evil. They meditated upon the Udgitha which functions through the eye, but the demons pierced it through with evil. Therefore, one sees both what is pleasing and what is ugly. Thus the eye is touched by evil. They meditated upon the Udgitha as hearing, but the demons pierced it through with evil. Therefore, one hears both good things and bad. Thus the ear is touched by evil. Then did they meditate upon the Udgitha as the mind, but the demons pierced it through with evil. Therefore, one thinks what is proper, true, and good, and what is improper, false, and depraved. Thus the mind is touched by evil. Chhandogya Upanishad (I, ii, 1-6) Hellwell lies at the top of the world and it leads down to its roots. It is probably as old as the world itself; and if it is not, it should be, because it looks as if it were. It begins with a doorway. There is a huge, burnished metal door, erected by the First, that is heavy as sin, three times the height of a man and half that distance in width. It is a full cubit thick and bears a head-sized ring of brass, a complicated pressure-plate lock and an inscription that reads, roughly, “Go away. This is not a place to be. If you do try to enter here, you will fail and also be cursed. If somehow you succeed, then do not complain that you entered unwarned, nor bother us with your deathbed prayers. " Signed, “The Gods. " It is set near the peak of a very high mountain named Channa, in the midst of a region of very high mountains called the Ratnagaris. In that place there is always snow upon the ground, and rainbows ride like fur on the backs of icicles, which sprout about the frozen caps of cliffs. The air is sharp as a sword. The sky is bright as the eye of a cat. Very few feet have ever trod the trail that leads to Hellwell. Of those who visited, most came only to look, to see whether the great door really existed; and when they returned home and told of having seen it, they were generally mocked. Telltale scratches about the lock plate testify that some have actually sought entrance. Equipment sufficient to force the great door could not be transported or properly positioned, however. The trail that leads to Hellwell is less than ten inches in width for the final three hundred feet of its ascent; and perhaps six men could stand, with crowding, upon what remains of the once wide ledge that faces that door. It is told that Pannalal the Sage, having sharpened his mind with meditation and divers asceticisms, had divined the operation of the lock and entered Hellwell, spending a day and a night beneath the mountain. He was thereafter known as Pannalal the Mad. The peak known as Channa, which holds the great door, is removed by five days’ journey from a small village. This is within the far northern kingdom of Malwa. This mountain village nearest to Channa has no name itself, being filled with a fierce and independent people who have no special desire that their town appeal on the maps of the rajah’s tax collectors. Of the rajah, it is sufficient to tell that he is of middle height and middle years, shrewd, slightly stout, neither pious nor more than usually notorious and fabulously wealthy. He is wealthy because he levies high taxes upon his subjects. When his subjects begin to complain, and murmurs of revolt run through the realm, he declares war upon a neighboring kingdom and doubles the taxes. If the war does not go well, he executes several generals and has his Minister of Peace negotiate a treaty. If, by some chance, it goes especially well, he exacts tribute for whatever insult has caused the entire affair. Usually, though, it ends in a truce, souring his subjects on fighting and reconciling them to the high tax rate. His name is Videgha and he has many children. He is fond of grak-birds, which can be taught to sing bawdy songs, of snakes, to which he occasionally feeds grak-birds who cannot carry a tune, and of gaming with dice. He does not especially like children. Hellwell begins with the great doorway high in the mountains at the northernmost comer of Videgha’s kingdom, beyond which there are no other kingdoms of men. It begins there, and it corkscrews down through the heart of the mountain Channa, breaking, like a corkscrew, into vast cavernways uncharted by men, extending far beneath the Ratnagari range, the deepest passageways pushing down toward the roots of the world. To this door came the traveler. He was simply dressed, and he traveled alone, and he seemed to know exactly where he was going and what he was doing. He climbed the trail up Channa, edging his way across its gaunt face. It took him the better part of the morning to reach his destination, the door. When he stood before it, he rested a moment, took a drink from his water bottle, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, smiled. Then he sat down with his back against the door and ate his lunch. When he had finished, he threw the leaf wrappings over the edge and watched them fall, drifting from side to side on the air currents, until they were out of sight. He lit his pipe then and smoked. After he had rested, he stood and faced the door once again. His hand fell upon the pressure plate, moved slowly through a series of gestures. There was a musical sound from within the door as his hand left the plate. Then he seized upon the ring and drew back, his shoulder muscles straining. The door moved, slowly at first, then more rapidly. He stepped aside and it swung outward, passing beyond the ledge. There was another ring, twin to the first, on the inner surface of the door. He caught at it as it passed him, dragging his heels to keep it from swinging so far as to place it beyond his reach. A rush of warm air emerged from the opening at his back. Drawing the door closed again behind him, he paused only to light one of the many torches he bore. Then he advanced along a corridor that widened as he moved ahead. The floor slanted abruptly, and after a hundred paces the ceiling was so high as to be invisible. After two hundred paces, he stood upon the lip of the well. He was now in the midst of a vast blackness shot through with the flames of his torch. The walls had vanished, save for the one behind him and to the right. The floor ended a short distance before him. Beyond that edge was what appeared to be a bottomless pit. He could not see across it, but he knew it to be roughly circular in shape; and he knew, too, that it widened in circumference as it descended. He made his way down along the trail that wound about the well wall, and he could feel the rush of warm air rising from out of the depths. This trail was artificial. One could feel this, despite its steepness. It was precarious and it was narrow; it was cracked in many places, and in spots rubble had accumulated upon it. But its steady, winding slant bespoke the fact that there was purpose and pattern to its existence. He moved along this trail, carefully. To his left was the wall. To his right there was nothing. After what seemed an age and a half, he sighted a tiny flicker of light far below him, hanging in midair. The curvature of the wall, however, gradually bent his way so that this light no longer hung in the distance, but lay below and slightly to his right. Another twisting of the trail set it directly ahead of him. When he passed the niche in the wall wherein the flame was cached, he heard a voice within his mind cry out: “Free me, master, and I will lay the world at thy feet!” But he hurried by, not even glancing at the almost-face within the opening. Floating upon the ocean of black that lay beneath his feet, there were more lights now visible. The well continued to widen. It was filled with brightening glimmers, like flame, but not flame; filled with shapes, faces, half-remembered images. From each there rose up a cry as he passed: “Free me! Free me!” But he did not halt. He came to the bottom of the well and moved across it, passing among broken stones and over fissures in the rocky floor. At last he reached the opposite wall, wherein a great orange fire danced. It became cherry-red as he approached, and when he stood before it, it was the blue of a sapphire’s heart. It stood to twice his height, pulsing and twisting. From it, little flamelets licked out toward him, but they drew back as if they fell against an invisible barrier. During his descent he had passed so many flames that he had lost count of their number. He knew, too, that more lay hidden within the caverns that open into the well bottom. Each flame he had passed on the way down had addressed him, using its own species of communication, so that the words had sounded drumlike within his head: threatening words, and pleading, promising words. But no message came to him from this great blue blaze, larger than any of the others. No forms turned or twisted, tantalizing, within its bright heart. Flame it was, and flame it remained. He kindled a fresh torch and wedged it between two rocks. “So, Hated One, you have returned!” The words fell upon him like whiplashes. Steadying himself, he faced the blue flame then and replied: “You are called Taraka?” “He who bound me here should know what I am called, " came the words. “Think not, oh Siddhartha, that because you wear a different body you go now unrecognized. I look upon the flows of energy which are your real being-not the flesh that masks them. " “I see, " replied the other. “Do you come to mock me in my prison?” “Did I mock you in the days of the Binding?” “No, you did not. " “I did that which had to be done, to preserve my own species. Men were weak and few in number. Your kind fell upon them and would have destroyed them. " “You stole our world, Siddhartha. You chained us here. What new indignity would you lay upon us?” “Perhaps there is a way in which some reparation may be made. " “What is it that you want?” “Allies. " “You want us to take your part in a struggle?” “That is correct. " “And when it is over, you will seek to bind us again. " “Not if we can work out some sort of agreement beforehand. " “Speak to me your terms, " said the flame. “In the old days your people walked, visible and invisible, in the streets of the Celestial City. " “That is true. " “It is better fortified now. " “In what ways?” “Vishnu the Preserver and Yama-Dharma, Lord of Death, have covered the whole of Heaven, rather than just the City-as it was in days of old-with what is said to be an impenetrable dome. " “There is no such thing as an impenetrable dome. " “I say only what I have heard. " “There are many ways into a city. Lord Siddhartha. " “You will find them all for me?” “That is to be the price of my freedom?” “Of your own freedom-yes. " “What of the others of my kind?” “If they, too, are to be freed, you must all agree to help me lay siege to that City and take it. " “Free us, and Heaven shall fall!” “You speak for the others?” “I am Taraka. I speak for all. " “What assurance do you give, Taraka, that this bargain will be kept?” “My word? I shall be happy to swear by anything you care to name – " “A facility with oaths is not the most reassuring quality in a bargainer. And your strength is also your weakness in any bargaining at all. You are so strong as to be unable to grant to another the power to control you. You have no gods to swear by. The only thing you will honor is a gambling debt, and there are no grounds for gaming here. " “You possess the power to control us. " “Individually, perhaps. But not collectively. " “It is a difficult problem, " said Taraka. “I should give anything I have to be free-but then, all that I have is power – pure power, in essence uncommittable. A greater force might subdue it, but that is not the answer. I do not really know how to give you satisfactory assurance that my promise will be kept. If I were you, I certainly would not trust me. " “It is something of a dilemma. So I will free you now-you alone-to visit the Pole and scout out the defenses of Heaven. In your absence, I will consider the problem further. Do you likewise, and perhaps upon your return an equitable arrangement can be made. " “Accepted! Release me from this doom!” “Know then my power, Taraka, " he said. “As I bind, so can I loose-thus!” The flame boiled forward out of the wall. It rolled into a ball of fire and spun about the well like a comet; it burned like a small sun, lighting up the darkness; it changed colors as it fled about, so that the rocks shone both ghastly and pleasing. Then it hovered above the head of the one called Siddhartha, sending down its throbbing words upon him: “You cannot know my pleasure to feel again my strength set free. I’ve a mind to try your power once more. " The man beneath him shrugged. The ball of flame coalesced. Shrinking, it grew brighter, and it slowly settled to the floor. It lay there quivering, like a petal fallen from some titanic bloom; then it drifted slowly across the floor of Hellwell and re-entered the niche. “Are you satisfied?” asked Siddhartha. “Yes, " came the reply, after a time. “Your power is undimmed. Binder. Free " me once more. “I grow tired of this sport, Taraka. Perhaps I’d best leave you as you are and seek assistance elsewhere. " “No! I gave you my promise! What more would you have?” “I would have an absence of contention between us. Either you will serve me now in this matter, or you will not. That is all. Choose, and abide by your choice-and your word. " “Very well. Free me, and I will visit Heaven upon its mountain of ice, and report back to you of its weaknesses. " “Then go!” This time, the flame emerged more slowly. It swayed before him, took on a roughly human outline. “What is your power, Siddhartha? How do you do what you do?” it asked him. “Call it electrodirection, " said the other, “mind over energy. It is as good a term as any. But whatever you call it, do not seek to cross it again. I can kill you with it, though no weapon formed of matter may be laid upon you. Go now!” Taraka vanished, like a firebrand plunged into a river, and Siddhartha stood among stones, his torch lighting the darkness about him. He rested, and a babble of voices filled his mind-promising, tempting, pleading. Visions of wealth and of splendor flowed before his eyes. Wondrous harems were paraded before him, and banquets were laid at his feet. Essences of musk and champac, and the bluish haze of burning incenses drifted, soothing his soul, about him. He walked among flowers, followed by bright-eyed girls who bore his wine cups, smiling; a silver voice sang to him, and creatures not human danced upon the surface of a nearby lake. “Free us, free us, " they chanted. But he smiled and watched and did nothing. Gradually, the prayers and the pleas and the promises turned to a chorus of curses and threats. Armored skeletons advanced upon him, babies impaled upon their blazing swords. There were pits all about him, from which fires leapt up, smelling of brimstone. A serpent dangled from a branch before his face, spitting venom. A rain of spiders and toads descended upon him. “Free us-or infinite will be thy agony!” cried the voices. “If you persist, " he stated, “Siddhartha shall grow angry, and you will lose the one chance at freedom which you really do possess. " Then all was still about him, and he emptied his mind, drowsing. He had two meals, there in the cavern, and then he slept again. Later, Taraka returned in the form of a great-taloned bird and reported to him: “Those of my kind may enter through the air vents, " he said, “but men may not. There are also many elevator shafts within the mountain. Many men might ride up the larger ones with ease. Of course, these are guarded. But if the guards were slain and the alarms disconnected, this thing might be accomplished. Also, there are times when the dome itself is opened in various places, to permit flying craft to enter and to depart. " “Very well, " said Siddhartha. “I’ve a kingdom, some weeks’ journey hence, where I rule. A regent has been seated in my place for many years, but if I return there I can raise me an army. A new religion moves now across the land. Men may now think less of the gods than once they did. " “You wish to sack Heaven?” “Yes, I wish to lay open its treasures to the world. " “This is to my liking. It will not be easily won, but with an army of men and an army of my kind we should be able to do it. Let us free my people now, that we may begin. " “I believe I will simply have to trust you, " said Siddhartha. “So yes, let us begin, " and he moved across the floor of Hellwell toward the first deep tunnel beading downward. That day he freed sixty-five of them, filling the caverns with their color and their movement and their light. The air sounded with mighty cries of joy and the noise of their passage as they swept about Hellwell, changing shape constantly and exulting in their freedom. Without warning, then, one took upon itself the form of a flying serpent and swept down toward him, talons outstretched and slashing. For a moment, his full attention lay upon it. It uttered a brief, broken cry, and then it came apart, falling in a shower of blue-white sparks. Then these faded, and it was utterly vanished. There was silence in the caverns, and the lights pulsed and dipped about the walls. Siddhartha directed his attention toward the largest point of light, Taraka. “Did that one attack me in order to test my strength?” he inquired. “To see whether I can also kill, in the manner I told you I could?” Taraka approached, hovered before him. “It was not by my bidding that he attacked, " he stated. “I feel that he was half crazed from his confinement. " Siddhartha shrugged. “For a time now, disport yourselves as you would, " he said. “I would have rest from this task, " and he departed the smaller cavern. He returned to the bottom of the well, where he lay down upon his blanket and dozed. There came a dream. He was running. His shadow lay before him, and, as he ran upon it, it grew. It grew until it was no longer his shadow but a grotesque outline. Suddenly he knew that his shadow had been overrun by that of his pursuer: overrun, overwhelmed, submerged and surmounted. Then he knew a moment of terrible panic, there upon the blind plain over which he fled. He knew that it was now his own shadow. The doom which had pursued him no longer lay at his back. He knew that he was his own doom. Knowing that he had finally caught up with himself, he laughed aloud, wanting really to scream. When he awoke again, he was walking. He was walking up the twisted wall-trail of Hellwell. As he walked, he passed the imprisoned flames. Again, each cried out to him as he went by: “Free us, masters!” And slowly, about the edges of the ice that was his mind, there was a thawing. Masters. Plural. Not singular. Masters, they had said. He knew then that he did not walk alone. None of the dancing, flickering shapes moved through the darkness about him, below him. The ones who had been imprisoned were still imprisoned. The ones he had freed were gone. Now he climbed the high wall of Hellwell, no torch lighting his way. But still, he saw. He saw every feature of the rocky trail, as though by moonlight. He knew that his eyes were incapable of this feat. And he had been addressed in the plural. And his body was moving, but was not under the direction of his will. He made an effort to halt, to stand still. He continued to advance up the trail, and it was then that his lips moved, forming the words: “You have awakened, I see. Good morning. " A question formed itself in his mind, to be answered immediately through his own mouth: “Yes, and how does it feel to be bound yourself, Binder-in your own body?” Siddhartha formed another thought: “I did not think any of your kind capable of taking control of me against my will-even as I slept. " “To give you an honest answer, " said the other, “neither did I. But then, I had at my disposal the combined powers of many of my kind. It seemed to be worth the attempt. " “And of the others? Where are they?” “Gone. To wander the world until I summon them. " “And what of these others who remain bound? Had you waited, I would have freed them also. " “What care I of these others? I am free now, and in a body again! What else matters?” “I take it, then, that your promised assistance means nothing?” “Not so, " replied the demon. “We shall return to this matter in, say, a lesser moon or so. The idea does appeal to me. I feel that a war with the gods would be a very excellent thing. But first I wish to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh for a time. Why should you begrudge me a little entertainment after the centuries of boredom and imprisonment you have wrought?” “I must admit, however, that I do begrudge you this use of my person. " “Whatever the case, you must, for a time, put up with it. You, too, shall be in a position to enjoy what I enjoy, so why not make the best of it?” “You state that you do intend to war against the gods?” “Yes indeed. I wish I had thought of it myself in the old days. Perhaps, then, we should never have been bound. Perhaps there would no longer be men or gods upon this world. We were never much for concerted action, though. Independence of spirit naturally accompanies our independence of person. Each fought his own battles in the general conflict with mankind. I am a leader, true- by virtue of the fact that I am older and stronger and wiser than the others. They come to me for counsel, they serve me when I order them. But I have never ordered them all into battle. I shall, though, later. The novelty will do much to relieve the monotony. " “I suggest you do not wait, for there will be no ’later’ , Taraka. " “Why not?” “I came to Hellwell, the wrath of the gods swarming and buzzing at my back. Now sixty-six demons are loose in the world. Very soon, your presence will be felt. The gods will know who has done this thing, and they will take steps against us. The element of surprise will be lost. " “We fought the gods in the days of old… " “And these are not the days of old, Taraka. The gods are stronger now, much stronger. Long have you been bound, and their might has grown over the ages. Even if you command the first army of Rakasha in history, and backing them in battle I raise me up a mighty army of men-even then, will the final result be a thing uncertain. To delay now is to throw everything away. " “I wish you would not speak to me like this, Siddhartha, for you trouble me. " “I mean to. For all your powers, if you meet the One in Red he will drink your life with his eyes. He will come here to the Ratnagaris, for he follows me. The freedom of demons is as a signpost, directing him hither. He may bring others with him. You may find them more than a match for all of you. " The demon did not reply. They reached the top of the well, and Taraka advanced the two hundred paces to the great door, which now stood open. He stepped out onto the ledge and looked downward. “You doubt the power of the Rakasha, eh. Binder?” he asked. Then, “Behold!” He stepped outward, over the edge. They did not fall. They drifted, like the leaves he had dropped-how long ago? Downward. They landed upon the trail halfway down the mountain called Channa. “Not only do I contain your nervous system, " said Taraka, “but I have permeated your entire body and wrapped it all about with the energies of my being. So send me your One in Red, who drinks life with his eyes. I should like to meet him. " “Though you can walk on air, " said Siddhartha, “you speak rashly when you speak thus. " “The Prince Videgha holds his court not far from here, at Palamaidsu, " said Taraka, “for I visited there on my return from Heaven. I understand he is fond of gaming. Therefore, thither fare we. " “And if the God of Death should come to join the game?” “Let him!” cried the other. “You cease to amuse me, Binder. Good night. Go back to sleep!” There was a small darkness and a great silence, growing and shrinking. The days that followed were bright fragments. There would come to him snatches of conversation or song, colorful vistas of galleries, chambers, gardens. And once he looked upon a dungeon where men were hung upon racks, and he heard himself laughing. Between these fragments there came to him dreams and half dreams. They were lighted with fire, they ran with blood and tears. In a darkened, endless cathedral he rolled dice that were suns and planets. Meteors broke fire above his head, and comets inscribed blazing arcs upon a vault of black glass. There came to him a joy shot through with fear, and he knew it to be mainly that of another, but it was partly his, too. The fear-that was all his. When Taraka drank too much wine, or lay panting on his wide, low couch in the harem, then was his grip loosened somewhat, upon the body that he had stolen. But Siddhartha was still weak with the mind-bruise, and his body was drunk or fatigued; and he knew that the time had not yet come to contest the mastery of the demon-lord. There were times when he saw, not through the eyes of the body that had once been his, but saw as a demon saw, in all directions, and stripped flesh and bone from those among whom he passed, to behold the flames of their beings, colored with the hues and shades of their passions, flickering with avarice and lust and envy, darting with greed and hunger, smouldering with hate, waning with fear and pain. His hell was a many-colored place, somewhat mitigated only by the cold blue blaze of a scholar’s intellect, the white light of a dying monk, the rose halo of a noble lady who fled his sight, and the dancing, simple colors of children at play. He stalked the high halls and wide galleries of the royal palace at Palamaidsu, which were his winnings. The Prince Videgha lay in chains in his own dungeon. Throughout the kingdom, his subjects were not aware that a demon now sat upon the throne. Things seemed to be the same as they had always been. Siddhartha had visions of riding through the streets of the town on the back of an elephant. All the women of the town had been ordered to stand before the doors of their dwellings. Of these, he chose those who pleased him and had them taken back to his harem. Siddhartha realized, with a sudden shock, that he was assisting in the choosing, disputing with Taraka over the virtues of this or that matron, maid or lady. He had been touched by the lusts of the demon-lord, and they were becoming his own. With this realization, he came into a greater wakefulness, and it was not always the hand of the demon which raised the wine horn to his lips, or twitched the whip in the dungeon. He came to be conscious for greater periods of time, and with a certain horror he knew that, within himself, as within every man, there lies a demon capable of responding to his own kind. Then, one day, he fought the power that ruled his body and bent his mind. He had largely recovered, and he coexisted with Taraka in all his doings, both as silent watcher and active participant. They stood on the balcony above the garden, looking out across the day. Taraka had, with a single gesture, turned all the flowers black. Lizardlike creatures had come to dwell in the trees and the ponds, croaking and flitting among the shadows. The incenses and perfumes which filled the air were thick and cloying. Dark smokes coiled like serpents along the ground. There had been three attempts upon his life. The captain of the palace guard had been the last to try. But his blade had turned to a reptile in his hand and struck at his face, taking out his eyes and filling his veins with a venom that had caused him to darken and swell, to die crying for a drink of water. Siddhartha considered the ways of the demon, and in that moment he struck. His power had grown again, slowly, since that day in Hellwell when last he had wielded it. Oddly independent of the brain of his body, as Yama had once told him, the power turned like a slow pinwheel at the center of the space that was himself. It spun again faster, and he hurled it against the force of the other. A cry escaped Taraka, and a counterthrust of pure energy came back at Siddhartha like a spear. Partly, he managed to deflect it, to absorb some of its force. Still, there was pain and turmoil within him as the brunt of the attack touched upon his being. He did not pause to consider the pain, but struck again, as a spearman strikes into the darkened burrow of a fearsome beast. Again, he heard his lips cry out. Then the demon was building black walls against his power. But one by one, these walls fell before his onslaught. And as they fought, they spoke: “Oh man of many bodies, " said Taraka, “why do you begrudge me a few days within this one? It is not the body you were born into, and you, too, do but borrow it for a time. Why then, do you feel my touch to be a thing of defilement? One day you may wear another body, untouched by me. So why do you consider my presence a pollution, a disease? Is it because there is that within you which is like unto myself? Is it because you, too, know delight in the ways of the Rakasha, tasting the pain you cause like a pleasure, working your will as you choose upon whatsoever you choose? Is it because of this? Because you, too, know and desire these things, but also bear that human curse called guilt? If it is, I mock you in your weakness, Binder. And I shall prevail against you. " “It is because I am what I am, demon, " said Siddhartha, hurling his energies back at him. “It is because I am a man who occasionally aspires to things beyond the belly and the phallus. I am not the saint the Buddhists think me to be, and I am not the hero out of legend. I am a man who knows much fear, and who occasionally feels guilt. Mainly, though, I am a man who has set out to do a thing, and you are now blocking my way. Thus you inherit my curse-whether I win or whether I lose now, Taraka, your destiny has already been altered. This is the curse of the Buddha-you will never again be the same as once you were. " And all that day they stood upon the balcony, garments drenched with perspiration. Like a statue they stood, until the sun had gone down out of the sky and the golden trail divided the dark bowl of the night. A moon leapt up above the garden wall. Later, another joined it. “What is the curse of the Buddha?” Taraka inquired, over and over again. But Siddhartha did not reply. He had beaten down the final wall, and they fenced now with energies like flights of blazing arrows. From a Temple in the distance there came the monotonous beating of a drum, and occasionally a garden creature croaked, a bird cried out or a swarm of insects settled upon them, fed, and swirled away. Then, like a shower of stars, they came, riding upon the night wind… the Freed of Hellwell, the other demons who had been loosed upon the world. They came in answer to Taraka’s summons, adding their powers to his own. He became as a whirlwind, a tidal wave, a storm of lightnings. Siddhartha felt himself swept over by a titanic avalanche, crushed, smothered, buried. The last thing he knew was the laughter within his throat. How long it was before he recovered, he did not know. It was a slow thing this time, and it was in a palace where demons walked as servants that he woke up. When the last anesthetic bonds of mental fatigue fell away, there was strangeness about him. The grotesque revelries continued. Parties were held in the dungeons, where the demons would animate corpses to pursue their victims and embrace them. Dark miracles were wrought, such as the grove of twisted trees which sprang from the marble flags of the throne room itself-a grove wherein men slept without awakening, crying out as old nightmares gave way to new. But a different strangeness had entered the palace. Taraka was no longer pleased. “What is the curse of the Buddha?” he inquired again, as he felt Siddhartha’s presence pressing once more upon his own. Siddhartha did not reply at once. The other continued, “I feel that I will give you back your body one day soon. I grow tired of this sport, of this palace. I grow tired, and I think perhaps the day draws near when we should make war with Heaven. What say you to this. Binder? I told you I would keep my word. " Siddhartha did not answer him. “My pleasures diminish by the day! Do you know why this is, Siddhartha? Can you tell me why strange feelings now come over me, dampening my strongest moments, weakening me and casting me down when I should be elated, when I should be filled with joy? Is this the curse of the Buddha?” “Yes, " said Siddhartha. “Then lift your curse, Binder, and I will depart this very day. I will give you back this cloak of flesh. I long again for the cold, clean winds of the heights! Will you free me now?” “It is too late, oh chief of the Rakasha. You have brought this thing upon yourself. " “What thing? How have you bound me this time?” “Do you recall how, when we strove upon the balcony, you mocked me? You told me that I, too, took pleasure in the ways of the pain which you work. You were correct, for all men have within them both that which is dark and that which is light. A man is a thing of many divisions, not a pure, clear flame such as you once were. His intellect often wars with his emotions, his will with his desires… his ideals are at odds with his environment, and if he follows them, he knows keenly the loss of that which was old-but if he does not follow them, he feels the pain of having forsaken a new and noble dream. Whatever he does represents both a gain and a loss, an arrival and a departure. Always he mourns that which is gone and fears some part of that which is new. Reason opposes tradition. Emotions oppose the restrictions his fellow men lay upon him. Always, from the friction of these things, there arises the thing you called the curse of man and mocked-guilt! “Know then, that as we existed together in the same body and I partook of your ways, not always unwillingly, the road we followed was not one upon which all the traffic moved in a single direction. As you twisted my will to your workings, so was your will twisted, in turn, by my revulsion at some of your deeds. You have learned the thing called guilt, and it will ever fall as a shadow across your meat and your drink. This is why your pleasure has been broken. This is why you seek now to flee. But it will do you no good. It will follow you across the world. It will rise with you into the realms of the cold, clean winds. It will pursue you wherever you go. This is the curse of the Buddha. " Taraka covered his face with his hands. “So this is what it is like to weep, " he said, after a time. Siddhartha did not reply. “Curse you, Siddhartha, " he said. “You have bound me again, to an even more terrible prison than Hellwell. " “You have bound yourself. It is you who broke our pact. I kept it. " “Men suffer when they break pacts with demons, " said Taraka, “but no Rakasha has ever suffered so before. " Siddhartha did not reply. On the following morning, as he sat to breakfast, there came a banging upon the door of his chambers. “Who dares?” he cried out, and the door burst inward, its hinges tearing free of the wall, its bar snapping like a dry stick. The head of a horned tiger upon the shoulders of an ape, great hooves for feet, talons for hands, the Rakasha fell forward into the room, smoke emerging from his mouth as he became transparent for a moment, returned to full visibility, faded once more, returned again. His talons were dripping something that was not blood and a wide burn lay across his chest. The air was filled with the odor of singed hair and charred flesh. “Master!” it cried. “A stranger has come, asking audience of thee!” “And you did not succeed in convincing him that I was not available?” “Lord, a score of human guardsmen fell upon him, and he gestured… He waved his hand at them, and there was a flash of light so bright that even the Rakasha might not look upon it. For an instant only it lasted-and they were all of them vanished, as if they had never existed… There was also a large hole in the wall behind where they had stood… There was no rubble. Only a smooth, clean hole. " “And then you fell upon him?” “Many of the Rakasha sprang for him-but there is that about him which repels us. He gestured again and three of our own kind were gone, vanished in the light he hurls… I did not take the full force of it, but was only grazed by his power. He sent me, therefore, to deliver his message… I can no longer hold myself together- " With that he vanished, and a globe of fire hung where the creature had lain. Now his words came into the mind, rather than being spoken across the air. “He bids you come to him without delay. Else, he says he will destroy this palace. " “Did the three whom he burnt also take on again their own forms?” “No, " replied the Rakasha. “They are no more… " “Describe this stranger!” ordered Siddhartha, forcing the words through his own lips. “He stands very tall, " said the demon, “and he wears black breeches and boots. Above the waist he has on him a strange garment. It is like a seamless white glove, upon his right hand only, which extends all the way up his arm and across his shoulders, wrapping his neck and rising tight and smooth about his entire head. Only the lower part of his face is visible, for he wears over his eyes large black lenses which extend half a span outward from his face. At his belt he wears a short sheath of the same white material as the garment-not containing a dagger, however, but a wand. Beneath the material of his garment, where it crosses his shoulders and comes up upon his neck, there is a hump, as if he wears there a small pack. " “Lord Agni!” said Siddhartha. “You have described the God of Fire!” “Aye, this must be, " said the Rakasha. “For as I looked beyond his flesh, to see the colors of his true being, I saw there a blaze like unto the heart of the sun. If there be a God of Fire, then this indeed is he. " “Now must we flee, " said Siddhartha, “for there is about to be a great burning. We cannot fight with this one, so let us go quickly. " “I do not fear the gods, " said Taraka, “and I should like to try the power of this " one. “You cannot prevail against the Lord of Flame, " said Siddhartha. “His fire wand is invincible. It was given him by the deathgod. " “Then I shall wrest it from him and turn it against him. " “None may wield it without being blinded and losing a hand in the process! This is why he wears that strange garment. Let us waste no more time here!” “I must see for myself, " said Taraka. “I must. " “Do not let your new found guilt force you into flirting with self-destruction. " “Guilt?” said Taraka. “That puny, gnawing mind-rat of which you taught me? No, it is not guilt, Binder. It is that, where once I was supreme, save for yourself, new powers have arisen in the world. The gods were not this strong in the old days, and if they have indeed grown in power, then that power must be tested-by myself! It is of my nature, which is power, to fight every new power which arises, and to either triumph over it or be bound by it. I must test the strength of Lord Agni, to win over him. " “But we are two within this body!” “That is true.… If this body be destroyed, then will I bear you away with me, I promise. Already have I strengthened your flames after the manner of my own land. If this body dies, you will continue to live as a Rakasha. Our people once wore bodies, too, and I remember the art of strengthening the flames so that they may burn independent of the body. This has been done for you, so do not fear. " “Thanks a lot. " “Now let us confront the flame, and dampen it!” They left the royal chambers and descended the stair. Far below, prisoner in his own dungeon. Prince Videgha whimpered in his sleep. They emerged from the door that lay behind the hangings at the back of the throne. When they pushed aside these hangings, they saw that the great hall was empty, save for the sleepers within the dark grove and the one who stood in the middle of the floor, white arm folded over bare arm, a silver wand caught between the fingers of his gloved hand. “See how he stands?” said Siddhartha. “He is confident of his power, and justly so. He is Agni of the Lokapalas. He can see to the farthest unobstructed horizon, as though it lies at his fingertips. And he can reach that far. He is said one night to have scored the moons themselves with that wand. If he but touch its base against a contact within his glove, the Universal Fire will leap forward with a blinding brilliance, obliterating matter and dispersing energies which lie in its path. It is still not too late to withdraw- " “Agni!” he heard his mouth cry out. “You have requested audience with the one who rules here?” The black lenses turned toward him. Agni’s lips curled back to vanish into a smile which dissolved into words: “I thought I’d find you here, " he said, his voice nasal and penetrating. “All that holiness got to be too much and you had to cut loose, eh? Shall I call you Siddhartha, or Tathagatha, or Mahasamatman-or just plain Sam?” “You fool, " he replied. “The one who was known to you as the Binder of Demons-by all or any of those names-is bound now himself. You have the privilege of addressing Taraka of the Rakasha, Lord of Hellwell!” There was a click, and the lenses became red. “Yes, I perceive the truth of what you say, " answered the other. “I look upon a case of demonic possession. Interesting. Doubtless cramped, also. " He shrugged, and then added, “But I can destroy two as readily as one. " “Think you so?” inquired Taraka, raising both arms before him. As he did, there was a rumbling and the black wood spread in an instant across the floor, engulfing the one who stood there, its dark branches writhing about him. The rumbling continued, and the floor moved several inches beneath their feet. From overhead, there came a creaking and the sound of snapping stone. Dust and gravel began to fall. Then there was a blinding flash of light and the trees were gone, leaving short stumps and blackened smudges upon the floor. With a groan and a mighty crash, the ceiling fell. As they stepped back through the door that lay behind the throne, they saw the figure, which still stood in the center of the hall, raise his wand directly above his head and move it in a tiny circle. A cone of brilliance shot upward, dissolving everything it touched. A smile still lay upon Agni’s lips as the great stones rained down, none falling anywhere near him. The rumbling continued, and the floor cracked and the walls began to sway. They slammed the door and Sam felt a rushing giddiness as the window, which a moment before had lain at the far end of the corridor, flashed past him. They coursed upward and outward through the heavens, and a tingling, bubbling feeling filled his body, as though he were a being of liquid through whom an electrical current was passing. Looking back, with the sight of the demon who saw in all directions, he beheld Palamaidsu, already so distant that it could have been framed and hung upon the wall as a painting. On the high hill at the center of the town, the palace of Videgha was falling in upon itself, and great streaks of brilliance, like reversed lightning bolts, were leaping from the ruin into the heavens. “That is your answer, Taraka, " he said. “Shall we go back and try his power again?” “I had to find out, " said the demon. “Now let me warn you further. I did not jest when I said that he can see to the farthest horizon. If he should free himself soon and turn his glance in this direction, he will detect us. I do not think you can move faster than light, so I suggest you fly lower and utilize the terrain for cover. " “I have rendered us invisible, Sam. " “The eyes of Agni can see deeper into the red and farther into the violet ranges than can those of a man. " They lost altitude then, rapidly. Before Palamaidsu, however, Sam saw that the only evidence which remained of the palace of Videgha was a cloud of dust upon a gray hillside. Moving like a whirlwind, they sped far into the north, until at last the Ratnagaris lay beneath them. When they came to the mountain called Channa, they drifted down past its peak and came to a landing upon the ledge before the opened entrance to Hellwell. They stepped within and closed the door. “Pursuit will follow, " said Sam, “and even Hellwell will not stand against it. " “How confident they are of their power, " said Taraka, “to send only one!” “Do you feel that confidence to be unwarranted?” “No, " said Taraka. “But what of the One in Red of whom you spoke, who drinks life with his eyes? Did you not think they would send Lord Yama, rather than Agni?” “Yes, " said Sam, as they moved back toward the well, “I was sure that he would follow, and I still feel that he will. When last I saw him, I caused him some distress. I feel he would hunt me anywhere. Who knows, he may even now be lying in ambush at the bottom of Hellwell itself. " They came to the lip of the well and entered upon the trail. “He does not wait within, " Taraka announced. “I would even now be contacted by those who wait, bound, if any but the Rakasha had passed this " way. “He will come, " said Sam, “and when the Red One comes to Hellwell, he will not be stayed in his course. " “But many will try, " said Taraka. “There is the first. " The first flame came into view, in its niche beside the trail. As they passed by, Sam freed it, and it sprang into the air like a bright bird and spiraled down the well. Step by step they descended, and from each niche fire spilled forth and flowed outward. At Taraka’s bidding, some rose and vanished over the edge of the well, departing through the mighty door which bore the words of the gods upon its outer face. When they reached the bottom of the well, Taraka said, “Let us free those who lie locked in the caverns, also. " So they made their way through the passages and deep caverns, freeing the demons locked therein. Then, after a time-how much time, he could never tell-they had all been freed. The Rakasha assembled then about the cavern, standing in great phalanxes of flame, and their cries all came together into one steady, ringing note which rolled and rolled and beat within his head, until he realized, startled at the thought, that they were singing. “Yes, " said Taraka, “it is the first time in ages that they have done so. " Sam listened to the vibrations within his skull, catching something of the meaning behind the hiss and the blaze, the feelings that accompanied it falling into words and stresses that were more familiar to his own mind: We are the legions of Hellwell, damned, The banished ones of fallen flame. We are the race undone by man. So man we curse. Forget his name! This world was ours before the gods, In days before the race of men. And when the men and gods have gone, This world will then be ours again. The mountains fall, the seas dry out, The moons shall vanish from the sky. The Bridge of Gold will one day fall, And all that breathes must one day die. But we of Hellwell shall prevail, When fail the gods, when fail the men. The legions of the damned die not. We wait, we wait, to rise again! Sam shuddered as they sang on and on, recounting their vanished glories, confident of their ability to outlast any circumstance, to meet any force with the cosmic judo of a push and a tug and a long wait, watching anything of which they disapproved turn its strength upon itself and pass. Almost, in that moment, he believed that what they sang was truth, and that one day there would be none but the Rakasha, flitting above the peeked landscape of a dead world. Then he turned his mind to other matters and forced the mood from him. But in the days that followed, and even, on occasion, years afterward, it returned to plague his efforts and mock his joys, to make him wonder, know guilt, feel sadness and so be humbled. After a time, one of the Rakasha who had left earlier re-entered and descended the well. He hovered in the air and reported what he had seen. As he spoke, his fires flowed into the shape of a tau cross. “This is the form of that chariot, " he said, “which blazed through the sky and then fell, coming to rest in the valley beyond Southpeak. " “Binder, do you know this vessel?” asked Taraka. “I have heard it described before, " said Sam. “It is the thunder chariot of Lord Shiva. “Describe its occupant, " he said to the demon. “There were four. Lord. " “Four?” “Yes. There is the one you have described as Agni, Lord of the Fires. With him is one who wears the horns of a bull set upon a burnished helm-his armor shows like aged bronze, but it is not bronze; it is worked about with the forms of many serpents, and it does not seem to burden him as he moves. In his one hand he holds a gleaming trident, and he bears no shield before his body. " “This one is Shiva, " said Sam. “And walking with these two there comes one all in red, whose gaze is dark. This one does not speak, but occasionally his glances fall upon the woman who walks by his side, to his left. She is fair of hair and complexion, and her armor matches his red. Her eyes are like the sea, and she smiles often with lips the color of the blood of men. About her throat she wears a necklace of skulls. She bears a bow, and upon her belt is a short sword. She holds in her hands a strange instrument, like a black scepter ending in a silver skull that is also a wheel. " “These two be Yama and Kali, " said Sam. “Now hear me, Taraka, mightiest of the Rakasha, while I tell you what moves against us. The power of Agni you know full well, and of the One in Red have I already spoken. Now, she who walks at the left hand of Death bears also the gaze that drinks the life it beholds. Her scepter-wheel screams like the trumpets that signalize the ending of the Yuga, and all who come before its wailing are cast down and confused. She is as much to be feared as her Lord, who is ruthless and invincible. But the one with the trident is the Lord of Destruction himself. It is true that Yama is King of the Dead and Agni Lord of the Flames, but the power of Shiva is the power of chaos. His is the force which separates atom from atom, breaking down the forms of all things upon which he turns it. Against these four, the freed might of Hellwell itself cannot stand. Therefore, let us depart this place immediately, for they are most assuredly coming here. " “Did I not promise you, Binder, " said Taraka, “that I would help you to fight the gods?” “Yes, but that of which I spoke was to be a surprise attack. These have taken upon themselves their Aspects now, and have raised up their Attributes. Had they chosen, without even landing the thunder chariot, Channa would no longer exist, but in the place of this mountain there would be a deep crater, here in the midst of the Ratnagaris. We must flee, to fight them another day. " “Do you remember the curse of the Buddha?” asked Taraka. “Do you remember how you taught me of guilt, Siddhartha? I remember, and I feel I owe you this victory. I owe you something for your pains, and I will give these gods into your hands in payment. " “No! If you would serve me at all, do it at another time than this! Serve me now by bearing me away from this place, far and fast!” “Are you afraid of this encounter. Lord Siddhartha?” “Yes, yes I am! For it is foolhardy! What of your song- ‘We wait, we wait, to rise again!’? Where is the patience of the Rakasha? You say you will wait for the seas to dry and the mountains to fall, for the moons to vanish from the sky-but you cannot wait for me to name the time and the battlefield! I know them far better than you, these gods, for once I was one of them. Do not do this rash thing now. If you would serve me, save me from this meeting!” “Very well. I hear you, Siddhartha. Your words move me, Sam. But I would try their strength. So I shall send some of the Rakasha against them. But we shall journey far, you and I, far down to the roots of the world. There we will await the report of victory. If, somehow, the Rakasha should lose the encounter, then will I bear you far away from here and restore to you your body. I would wear it a few hours more, however, to savor your passions in this fighting. " Sam bowed his head. “Amen, " he said, and with a tingling, bubbling sensation, he felt himself lifted from the floor and borne along vast cavernways uncharted by men. As they sped from chamber to vaulted chamber, down tunnels and chasms and wells, through labyrinths and grottoes and corridors of stone, Sam set his mind adrift, to move down the ways of memory and back. He thought upon the days of his recent ministry, when he had sought to graft the teachings of Gotama upon the stock of the religion by which the world was ruled, He thought upon the strange one, Sugata, whose hands had held both death and benediction. Over the years, their names would merge and their deeds would be mingled. He had lived too long not to know how time stirred the pots of legend. There had been a real Buddha, he knew that now. The teaching he had offered, no matter how spuriously, had attracted this true believer, this one who had somehow achieved enlightenment, marked men’s minds with his sainthood, and then gone willingly into the hands of Death himself. Tathagatha and Sugata would be part of a single legend, he knew, and Tathagatha would shine in the light shed by his disciple. Only the one Dhamma would survive. Then his mind went back to the battle at the Hall of Karma, and to the machinery still cached in a secret place. And he thought then upon the countless transfers he had undergone before that time, of the battles he had fought, of the women he had loved across the ages; he thought upon what a world could be and what this world was, and why. Then he was taken again with his rage against the gods. He thought upon the days when a handful of them had fought the Rakasha and the Nagas, the Gandharvas and the People-of-the-Sea, the Kataputna demons and the Mothers of the Terrible Glow, the Dakshinis and the Pretas, the Skandas and the Pisakas, and had won, tearing a world loose from chaos and building its first city of men. He had seen that city pass through all the stages through which a city can pass, until now it was inhabited by those who could spin their minds for a moment and transform themselves into gods, taking upon them an Aspect that strengthened their bodies and intensified their wills and extended the power of their desires into Attributes, which fell with a force like magic upon those against whom they turned them. He thought upon this city and these gods, and he knew of its beauty and its tightness, its ugliness and its wrongness. He thought of its splendor and its color, in contrast to that of the rest of the world, and he wept as he raged, for he knew that he could never feel either wholly right or wholly wrong in opposing it. This was why he had waited as long as he had, doing nothing. Now, whatever he did would result in both victory and defeat, a success and a failure; and whether the outcome of all his actions would be the passing or the continuance of the dream of the city, the burden of the guilt would be his. They waited in darkness. For a long, silent while they waited. Time passed like an old man climbing a hill. They stood upon a ledge above a black pool, and waited. “Should we not have heard by now?” “Perhaps. Perhaps not. " “What shall we do?” “What do you mean?” “If they do not come at all. How long shall we wait here?” “They will come, singing. " “I hope so. " But there came no singing, or movement. About them was the stillness of time that had no objects upon which to wear. “How long have we waited?” “I do not know. Long. " “I feel that all is not well. " “You may be right. Shall we rise a few levels and investigate, or shall I bear you to your freedom now?” “Let us wait awhile longer. " “Very well. " Again, there was silence. They paced within it. “What was that?” “What?” “A sound. " “I heard nothing and we are using the same ears. " “Not with the ears of the body-there it is again!” “I heard nothing, Taraka. " “It continues. It is like a scream, but it does not end. " “Far?” “Yes, quite distant. Listen my way. " “Yes! I believe it is the scepter of Kali. The battle, then, goes on. " “This long? Then the gods are stronger than I had supposed. " “No, the Rakasha are stronger than I had supposed. " “Whether we win or lose, Siddhartha, the gods are presently engaged. If we can get by them, their vessel may be unattended. Do you want it?” “Steal the thunder chariot? That is a thought… It is a mighty weapon, as well as transportation. What might our chances be?” “I am certain the Rakasha can hold them for as long as is necessary-and it is a long climb up Hellwell. We need not use the trail ourself. I grow tired, but I can still bear us across the air. " “Let us rise a few levels and investigate. " They left their ledge by the black pool, and time beat again about them as they passed upward. As they advanced, a globe of light moved to meet them. It settled upon the floor of the cavern and grew into a tree of green fire. “How goes the battle?” asked Taraka. “We hold them, " it reported, “but we cannot close with them. " “Why not?” “There is that about them which repels. I do not know how to call it, but we cannot draw too near. " “How then do you fight?” “A steady storm of rocks rages about them. We hurl fire and water and great spinning winds, also. " “And how do they respond to this?” “The trident of Shiva cuts a path through everything. But no matter how much he destroys, we raise up more against him. So he stands like a statue, uncreating storms we will not let end. Occasionally, he swerves to kill, while the Lord of Fires holds back the attack. The scepter of the goddess slows those who face upon it. Once slowed, they meet the trident or the hand or the eyes of Death. " “And you have not succeeded in harming them?” “No. " “Where do they stand?” “Part way down the well wall. They are still near to the top. They descend slowly. " “How many have we lost?” “Eighteen. " “Then it was a mistake to end our waiting to begin this battle. The cost is too high and nothing is being gained.… Sam, do you want to try for the chariot?” “It is worth a risk.… Yes, let us try. " “Go then, " he instructed the Rakasha who branched and swayed before him. “Go, and we shall follow more slowly. We will rise along the side of the wall opposite them. When we begin the ascent, redouble your attack. Occupy them entirely until we have passed. Hold them then to give us time in which to steal their chariot from the valley. When this has been accomplished, I will return to you in my true form and we can put an end to the fighting. " “I obey, " replied the other, and he fell upon the floor to become a green serpent of light, and slithered off ahead of them. They rushed forward, running part of the way, to conserve the strength of the demon for the final necessary thrust against gravitation. They had journeyed a great distance beneath the Ratnagaris, and the return trip seemed endless. Finally, though, they came upon the floor of the well; and it was lighted sufficiently so that, even with the eyes of his body, Sam could see clearly about him. The noise was deafening. If he and Taraka had had to rely upon speech for communication, there would have been no communication. Like some fantastic orchid upon an ebon bough, the fire bloomed upon the wall of the well. As Agni waved his wand, it changed its shape, writhing. In the air, like bright insects, danced the Rakasha. The rushing of winds was one loudness, and the rattling of many stones was another. Above it all was the ululating cry of the silver skull-wheel, which Kali waved like a fan before her face; and this was even more terrible when it rose beyond the range of hearing, but still screamed. Rocks split and melted and dissolved in midair, their white- hot fragments leaping like sparks from a forge, out and downward. They bounced and rolled, and glowed redly in the shadows of Hellwell. The surrounding walls of the well were pocked and gouged and scored in the places where the flame and the chaos had touched. “Now, " said Taraka, “we go!” They rose into the air and moved up the side of the well. The power of the Rakasha’s attack increased, to be answered with an intensified counterattack. Sam covered his ears with his hands, but it did no good against the burning needles behind his eyes, which stirred whenever the silver skull swept in his direction. A short distance to his left, a whole section of rock vanished abruptly. “They have not detected us, " said Taraka. “Yet, " answered Sam. “That accursed Fire god can look through a sea of ink to spot a shifting grain of sand. If he turns in this direction, I hope you can dodge his- " “How was that?” asked Taraka, as they were suddenly forty feet higher and somewhat farther to the left. They sped upward now, and a line of melting rock pursued them. Then this was interrupted as the demons set up a wailing and tore loose gigantic boulders, which they hurled upon the gods, with the accompaniment of hurricanes and sheets of fire. They reached the lip of the well, passed above it and scurried back out of range. “We must go all the way around now, to reach the corridor which leads to the door. " A Rakasha rose from out of the well and sped to their side. “They retreat!” he cried. “The goddess has fallen. The One in Red supports her as they flee!” “They do not retreat, " said Taraka. “They move to cut us off. Block their way! Destroy the trail! Hurry!” The Rakasha dropped like a meteor back into the well. “Binder, I grow tired. I do not know whether I can bear us from the ledge outside all the way to the ground below. " “Can you manage it part of the way?” “Yes. " “That first three hundred feet or so where the trail is narrow?” “I think so. " “Good!” They ran. As they fled along the rim of Hellwell, another Rakasha rose up and kept pace with them. “I report!” he cried. “We have destroyed the trail twice. Each time, the Lord of Flames has burnt a new one!” “Then naught more can be done! Stay with us now! We need your assistance in another matter. " It sped on ahead of them, a crimson wedge lighting their way. They rounded the well and raced up the tunnel. When they reached its end, they hurled the door wide and stepped out onto the ledge. The Rakasha who had led the way slammed the door behind them, saying, “They pursue!” Sam stepped over the ledge. As he fell, the door glowed for an instant, then melted above him. With the help of the second Rakasha, they descended the entire distance to the base of Channa and moved up a trail and around a bend. The foot of a mountain now shielded them from the gods. But this rock was lashed with flame in an instant. The second Rakasha shot high into the air, wheeled and vanished. They ran along the trail, heading toward the valley that held the chariot. By the time they reached it, the Rakasha had returned. “Kali and Yama and Agni descend, " he stated. “Shiva stays behind, holding the corridor. Agni leads the pursuit. The One in Red helps the goddess, who is limping. " Before them, in the valley, lay the thunder chariot. Slim and unadorned, the color of bronze, though it was not bronze, it stood upon a wide, grassy plain. It looked like a fallen prayer tower or a giant’s house key or some necessary part of a celestial instrument of music that had slipped free of a starry constellation and dropped to the ground. It seemed to be somehow incomplete, although the eye could not fault its lines. It held that special beauty that belongs to the highest orders of weapons, requiring function to make it complete. Sam moved to its side, found the hatch, entered. “You can operate this chariot. Binder?” asked Taraka. “Make it race through the heavens, spitting destruction across the land?” “I’m sure Yama would keep the controls as simple as possible. He streamlines whenever he can. I’ve flown the jets of Heaven before, and I’m banking that this is of the same order. " He ducked into the cabin, settled into the control seat and stared at the panel before him. “Damn!” he announced, his hand starting forward and twitching back. The other Rakasha appeared suddenly, passing through the metal wall of the ship and hovering above the console. “The gods move rapidly, " he announced. “Particularly Agni. " Sam snapped a series of switches and pressed a button. Lights came on all over the instrument panel and a humming sound began within it. “How far is he?” asked Taraka. “Almost halfway down. He widened the trail with his flames. He runs upon it now, as if it were a roadway. He burn obstacles. He makes a clear path. " Sam drew back on a lever and adjusted a dial, reading the indicators before him. A shudder ran through the ship. “Are you ready?” asked Taraka. “I can’t take off cold. It has to warm up. Also, this instrument board is trickier than I’d thought. " “We run a close race. " “Yes. " From the distance, there came the sounds of several explosions rising above the growing growl of the chariot. Sam pulled the lever forward another notch, readjusted the dial. “I go to slow them, " said the Rakasha, and vanished as he had come. Sam drew the lever two notches farther, and somewhere something sputtered and died. The ship stood silent once more. He pushed the lever back into its former position, spun the dial, pushed the button again. And again a shudder ran through the chariot, and somewhere a purring began. Sam drew the lever one notch forward, adjusted the dial. After a moment, he repeated it, and the purr became a soft growl “Gone, " said Taraka. “Dead. " “Who? What?” “The one who went to stop the Lord of Flames. He failed. " There were more explosions. “Hellwell is being destroyed, " said Taraka. Perspiration upon his brow, Sam waited with his hand on the lever. “He comes now-Agni!” Sam looked through the long, slanted shield plate. The Lord of Flames came into the valley. “Good-bye, Siddhartha. " “Not yet, " said Sam. Agni looked at the chariot, raised his wand. Nothing happened. He stood, pointing the wand; and then he lowered it, shook it. He raised it once more. Again, no flame issued forth. He reached behind his neck with his left hand, performed some adjustment upon his pack. As he did this, light streamed from the wand, burning a huge pit in the ground at his side. He pointed the wand again. Nothing. Then he began running toward the ship. “Electrodirection?” asked Taraka. “Yes. " Sam drew back upon the lever, adjusted the dial farther. A huge roaring grew about him. He pressed another button and there came a crackling sound from the rear of the vessel. He moved another dial as Agni reached the hatch. There was a flash of flame and a metallic clanging. He rose from his seat and moved out of the cabin and into the corridor. Agni had entered, and he pointed the wand. “Do not move-Sam! Demon!” he cried, above the roar of the engines; and as he spoke, his lenses clicked red and he smiled. “Demon, " he stated. “Do not move, or you and your host will burn together!” Sam sprang upon him. Agni fell easily when he struck, for he had not believed that the other would reach him. “Short circuit, eh?” said Sam, and hit him across the throat. “Or sunspots?” and he struck him in the temple. Agni fell to his side, and Sam hit him a final blow with the edge of his hand, just above the collarbone. He kicked the wand the length of the corridor, and as he moved to close the hatch he knew that it was too late. “Go now, Taraka, " he said. “This is my fight from here on. You can do nothing more. " “I promised my assistance. " “You have none to give, now. Get out while still you can. " “If such is your will. But I have a final thing to say to you – " “Save it! Next time I’m in the neighborhood- " “Binder, it is this thing I learned of you-I am sorry. I – " There was a terrible twisting, wrenching sensation within his body and mind, as the death-gaze of Yama fell upon him and struck deeper than his own being. Kali, too, looked into his eyes; and as she did so, she raised her screaming scepter. It was as the lifting of one shadow and the falling of another. “Good-bye, Binder, " came the words within his mind. Then the skull began its screaming. He felt himself falling. There was a throbbing. It was within his head. It was all about him. He was awakened by throbbing, and he felt himself covered with aches, as with bandages. There were chains upon his wrists and his ankles. He was half seated on the floor of a small compartment. Beside the doorway sat the One in Red, smoking. Yama nodded, said nothing. “Why am I alive?” Sam asked him. “You live for purposes of keeping an appointment made many years ago in Mahartha, " said Yama. “Brahma is particularly anxious to see you once again. " “But I am not especially anxious to see Brahma. " “Over the years, that has become somewhat apparent. " “I see you got out of the mud all right. " The other smiled. “You are a nasty man, " he said. “I know. I practice. " “I gather your business deal fell through?” “Unfortunately, yes. " “Perhaps you can try recouping your losses. We’re halfway to Heaven. " “Think I’d have a chance?” “You just might. Times change. Brahma could be a merciful god this week. " “My occupational therapist told me to specialize in lost causes. " Yama shrugged. “What of the demon?” Sam asked. “The one who was with me?” “I touched it, " said Yama, “hard. I don’t know whether I finished it or just drove it away. But you needn’t worry about it again. I doused you with demon repellant. If the creature still lives, it will be a long time before it recovers from our contact. Maybe never. How did it happen in the first place? I thought you were the one man immune to demonic possession. " “So did I. What’s demon repellant?” “I found a chemical agent, harmless to us, which none of the energy beings can stand. " “Handy item. Could’ve used it in the days of the binding. " “Yes. We wore it into Hellwell. " “That was quite a battle, from what I saw of it. " “Yes, " said Yama. “What is it like-demonic possession? What does it feel like to have another will overriding your own?” “It is strange, " said Sam, “and frightening, and rather educating at the same time. " “In what ways?” “It was their world first, " said Sam. “We took it away from them. Why shouldn’t they be everything we hate them for being? To them, we are the demons. " “But what does it feel like?” “To have one’s will overridden by that of another? You should know. " Yama’s smile vanished, then returned. “You would like me to strike you, wouldn’t you, Buddha? It would make you feel superior. Unfortunately, I’m a sadist and will not do it. " Sam laughed. “Touché, Death, " he said. They sat in silence for a time. “Can you spare me a cigarette?” Yama passed him one, lit it. “What’s First Base like these days?” “You’ll hardly recognize the place, " said Yama. “If everyone in it were to die at this moment, it would still be perfect ten thousand years from now. The flowers would still bloom and the music would play and the fountains would ripple the length of the spectrum. Warm meals would still be laid within the garden pavilions. The City itself is immortal. " “A fitting abode, I suppose, for those who call themselves gods. " “Call themselves?” asked Yama. “You are wrong, Sam, Godhood is more than a name. It is a condition of being. One does not achieve it merely by being immortal, for even the lowliest laborer in the fields may achieve continuity of existence. Is it then the conditioning of an Aspect? No. Any competent hypnotist can play games with the self-image. Is it the raising up of an Attribute? Of course not. I can design machines more powerful and more accurate than any faculty a man may cultivate. Being a god is the quality of being able to be yourself to such an extent that your passions correspond with the forces of the universe, so that those who look upon you know this without hearing your name spoken. Some ancient poet said that the world is full of echoes and correspondences. Another wrote a long poem of an inferno, wherein each man suffered a torture which coincided in nature with those forces which had ruled his life. Being a god is being able to recognize within one’s self these things that are important, and then to strike the single note that brings them into alignment with everything else that exists. Then, beyond morals or logic or esthetics, one is wind or fire, the sea, the mountains, rain, the sun or the stars, the flight of an arrow, the end of a day, the clasp of love. One rules through one’s ruling passions. Those who look upon gods then say, without even knowing their names, ‘He is Fire. She is Dance. He is Destruction. She is Love. ’ So, to reply to your statement, they do not call themselves gods. Everyone else does, though, everyone who beholds them. " “So they play that on their fascist banjos, eh?” “You choose the wrong adjective. " “You’ve already used up all the others. " “It appears that our minds will never meet on this subject. " “If someone asks you why you’re oppressing a world and you reply with a lot of poetic crap, no. I guess there can’t be a meeting of minds. " “Then let us choose another subject for conversation. " “I do look upon you, though, and say, ‘He is Death. ‘” Yama did not reply. “Odd ruling passion. I’ve heard that you were old before you were young… " “You know that is true. " “You were a mechanical prodigy and a weapons master. You lost your boyhood in a burst of flame, and you became an old man that same day. Did death become your ruling passion in that moment? Or was it earlier? Or later?” “It does not matter, " said Yama. “Do you serve the gods because you believe what you have said to me-or because you hate the larger portion of humanity?” “I did not lie to you. " “Then Death is an idealist. Amusing. " “Not so. " “Or could it be. Lord Yama, that neither guess is correct? That your ruling passion- " “You’ve mentioned her name before, " said Yama, “in the same speech wherein you likened her to a disease. You were wrong then and you are still wrong. I do not care to hear that sermon over again, and since I am not at the moment sinking in quicksand, I will not. " “Peace, " said Sam. “But tell me, do the ruling passions of the gods ever change?” Yama smiled. “The goddess of dance was once the god of war. So it would seem that anything can change. " “When I have died the real death, " said Sam, “then will I be changed. But until that moment I will hate Heaven with every breath that I draw. If Brahma has me burnt, I will spit into the flames. If he has me strangled, I will attempt to bite the executioner’s hand. If my throat is cut, may my blood rust the blade that does it. Is that a ruling passion?” “You are good god material, " said Yama. “Good god!” said Sam. “Before whatever may happen happens, " said Yama, “I have been assured that you will be permitted to attend the wedding. " “Wedding? You and Kali? Soon?” “At the full of the lesser moon, " Yama replied. “So, whatever Brahma decides, at least I can buy you a drink before it occurs. " “For that I thank you, deathgod. But it has always been my understanding that weddings are not made in Heaven. " “That tradition is about to be broken, " said Yama. “No tradition is sacred. " “Then good luck, " said Sam. Yama nodded, yawned, lit another cigarette. “By the way, " said Sam, “what is the latest vogue in celestial executions? I ask purely for informational purposes. " “Executions are not held in Heaven, " said Yama, opening a cabinet and removing a chessboard.