16
The Ocean Teacher
The old monk grinned at me while I stared open-mouthed. Fortunately, Mr. Kadam came to my rescue and gently guided me to a table.
Kishan was already eating, not caring that I had caused a scene. Figures. The tigers only think of two things—food and girls. Usually in that order.
Mr. Kadam set my bowl down and pulled out a chair for me. I sat and stirred my yogurt while surreptitiously glancing at the wizened old man. He was happily humming as he continued to fill his plate one small item at a time. When he was finished, he sat down across from me and smiled as he dug into his eggs.
Mr. Kadam ate quietly. Kishan returned to the buffet and filled his plate again. I kept silent and sipped my juice. I was too nervous to eat and had no idea if it was proper to talk or ask questions, so I just followed Mr. Kadam’s lead.
Long finished with our meal, we watched the Ocean Teacher eat, as he slowly took one bite at a time and chewed methodically. Finally finished, he carefully wiped his mouth and said, “You know, my favorite memories of my mother are winding the threads for her weaving, assisting her in tending the sheep, and helping her stir the breakfast porridge. I always think of my mother when I eat breakfast.”
Mr. Kadam sagely nodded. Kishan grunted. The Ocean Teacher looked at me and grinned.
Hoping it was okay to speak, I asked, “Did you grow up on a farm then? I thought Lamas were born to be Lamas.”
He cocked his head at me and happily answered, “Yes, is the answer to both questions. My parents were poor farmers who grew enough food to sustain themselves and sell a bit at market. My mother was a weaver who could make beautiful cloth. My parents named me Jigme Karpo. They didn’t know who I was at the time. I had to be found.”
“You had to be found? Found by whom?”
“The regent is always searching for reincarnations of former Lamas. He usually has a vision showing him where to find the new incarnation of a certain person and sends out a search party. In my case, they knew to look for a farmhouse resting on a hill with a tall, climbing rosebush growing next to our water well.
“After asking around, they found my home and knew it was the right place. Items from previous Lamas were brought in and shown to me. I picked up a book that belonged to the previous Ocean Teacher. The search party felt confident then that I was the reincarnation of that past Lama. At that time, I was two years old.”
“What happened to you then?”
Mr. Kadam interrupted and patted my hand, “I am curious as well, Miss Kelsey, but perhaps he has only a short time to spend with us, and we should focus on other matters.”
“Right, sorry. I let my curiosity carry me away.”
The Ocean Teacher leaned forward and thanked the monks who cleared the table. “I can spare a few minutes to answer your question, young lady. To sum it up, I was taken from my family and began my training with a kind old monk. My mother wove the material for my first maroon robe.
“I began training as a novice monk and had my head shaved. My name was changed, and I received a wonderful education in all subjects including art, medicine, culture, and philosophy. All of these experiences fashioned me into the man sitting before you. Did that answer your question, or did my explanation generate several more questions?”
I laughed. “It generated several more.”
“Good!” He smiled. “A mind with questions is a mind open to understanding.”
“Your childhood and background are so different from mine.”
“I imagine yours is just as interesting.”
“What do you do here?”
“I train the Dalai Lamas.”
I stared at him. “You teach the teacher?”
He laughed. “Yes. I’ve trained a couple of them. I’m a very old man, but we are not so dissimilar. I’ve had the opportunity to meet people from all over the world, and I find that all people are fundamentally alike. We are one human family. Perhaps we have different clothes, our skin is of a different color, or we speak various languages, but that is on the surface only. We all have dreams and seek for the things that will bring true happiness. To know all the world, I just need to learn about myself.”
I nodded.
Mr. Kadam interjected, “As you are aware, we have come to seek the wisdom of the Ocean Teacher. We have a task to perform, and we ask for your guidance.”
The monk pushed back the sleeves of his robe and stood. “Then come. Let us adjourn to a different room that offers more privacy.” He stood up carefully with the support of two monks who quickly maneuvered to walk beside him, but the Ocean Teacher, though slow, walked without assistance.
“You said you taught two of the Dalai Lamas, so that means you must be—”
“One hundred and fifteen.”
“What?” I gasped.
“I am one hundred and fifteen years old and proud of it.”
“I have never met someone who lived that long.” I quickly realized that I indeed knew three men who had lived that long and looked at Mr. Kadam who smiled and winked at me.
The Ocean Teacher didn’t notice my strange expression as he went on, “If a man wishes to do a thing and has enough passion to find a way . . . he will achieve it. I wished to live a long life.”
Mr. Kadam stared thoughtfully at the monk for a moment, and said, “I am older than I seem as well. I am humbled by you, sir.”
The Ocean Teacher turned and clasped Mr. Kadam’s hand. His eyes twinkled with mirth. “It’s being around monks and monasteries that does that. It keeps me humble too.”
The two men laughed. We followed him through winding gray corridors to a large room with a smooth stone floor and a large polished desk. He indicated we should sit as we passed a comfortable lounging area. We all sank into soft upholstered chairs as the Ocean Teacher pulled up a plain wooden chair that had been hidden behind his desk and sat to talk with us.
When I asked if he would prefer a more comfortable chair, he replied, “The more uncomfortable my chair is, the more likely I will get up and keep busy doing things that need doing.”
Mr. Kadam nodded and began, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
The monk grinned. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I must admit, I’ve been curious to know if the tiger’s quest would happen in this lifetime. Now that I think of it, I was born near the city of Taktser, which, translated, means ‘roaring tiger.’ Perhaps it was my destiny all along to be the one to meet those who are to journey on this quest.”
Mr. Kadam asked excitedly, “You know of our quest?”
“Yes. From before the time of the first Dalai Lama, the story of two tigers has been handed down in secret. The strange medallion is the key. When this young man said that he saw two tigers, one black and one white, we knew you were likely the right ones. Others have seen the cats and often identify the white tiger, but no one has identified the black cat as a tiger, and certainly no one has spoken of the line down the middle being linked to the divine weaver. That’s how we knew it was you.”
I ventured, “So you can help us then?”
“Oh, most definitely, but first, I have one request of you.”
Mr. Kadam smiled magnanimously. “Of course, what may we do for you?”
“Can you tell me about the tigers? I know of the place you seek and how to advise you, but . . . the tigers were never explained, and their place in the quest was held in deepest secret. Is this something you know of?”
Kishan, Mr. Kadam, and I looked at each other for a moment. Kishan raised an eyebrow when Mr. Kadam slightly nodded.
Mr. Kadam asked, “Is this room secure?”
“Yes, of course.”
Mr. Kadam and I both turned to Kishan. He shrugged his brawny shoulders, stood up, and morphed into his tiger form. The black tiger blinked his golden eyes at the monk and growled softly then sat on the floor beside me. I leaned over to scratch his sooty ears.
The Ocean Teacher sat back in the chair with surprise. Then he rubbed his bald head and laughed with glee. “Thank you for trusting me with this amazing gift!”
Kishan changed back into a man and sat down in the chair again. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a gift.”
“Ah, and what would you call it?”
“I’d call it a tragedy.”
“There is a saying in Tibet, ‘Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.’” The monk sat back in his chair and touched a finger to his temple. “Instead of wondering why this has happened, perhaps you should consider why this has happened to you. Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.”
He turned his attention hopefully to me. “And what of the white tiger?”
I spoke, “The white tiger is Kishan’s brother, Ren, who has been captured by an enemy.”
He tilted his head, considering, “One’s enemy is often the best teacher of tolerance. And what of you, my dear? How do you fit into this quest?”
I raised my hand, turned, and let the power bubble up inside me. It flowed through my hand, and I aimed for the flower sitting in a vase on his desk. My hand sparkled, and a pinpoint of white light surged toward the flower. The bloom glowed for just a moment before disappearing in a soft puff of ash that lightly rained down upon the wooden desk.
“I am the central line of the tiger medallion, the warp. My role is to help free the two tigers.” I indicated the quiet man on my right. “And Mr. Kadam is our guide and mentor.”
The Ocean Teacher did not seem shocked by my power. Happy as a little boy on Christmas morning, he clapped his hands together. “Good! Wonderful! Now, let me help you with what I can.”
He rose, took the tiger medallion from around his neck, where it had laid hidden in his voluminous robe and pushed it into a slot near his bookshelf. A narrow cupboard opened, from which he took out an ancient scroll preserved in glass and a vial filled with a green, oily substance.
He indicated we should step closer. As we circled his desk, he carefully turned the glass containing the ancient scroll to display what was inside.
“This scroll has existed for centuries and lists the signs associated with the tiger medallion and those who come to claim it. Tell me, what do you know of your quest already?”
Mr. Kadam showed him the translation of the prophecy.
“Ah, yes. The beginning of this scroll contains more of the same with only a few differences. Your prophecy says I am to do three things for you, and these I will do. I am to unfold the scrolls of wisdom, anoint your eyes, and lead you to the spirit gates. This ancient document you see before you is the scroll that is said to hold the wisdom of the world.”
I asked, “What does that mean?”
“Legend, myth, stories of mankind’s origin—all of these are based on eternal truths, and some of those truths are contained here. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Haven’t you read it?”
“No, not at all. In my philosophy, it is unnecessary to know all truths. Part of the process of enlightenment is to discover truth for yourself through self-introspection. None of the former Dalai Lamas have read these scrolls either. They were not meant for us. They were held in safekeeping to be given to you when the time is right.”
Mr. Kadam asked, “If the scroll was handed down and held in secret by the Dalai Lamas, then how was it passed to you?”
“The scrolls and the secret must be held by two men. The Dalai Lama doesn’t know who the next Dalai Lama will be, so he entrusts his teacher. When his teacher dies, he entrusts that teacher’s reincarnation. When the Dalai Lama dies, the teacher shares the secret with the next Dalai Lama so that the scroll is never lost. With the current Dalai Lama in exile, the duty falls to me.”
I said, “Do you mean to say that these scrolls have been held for centuries for . . . us?”
“Yes. We have passed down the secret as well as the instructions detailing how we would find the ones to give this to.”
Mr. Kadam bent to examine the scroll in the glass. “Amazing! I yearn to examine this.”
“You must not. I was told the scroll was not to be read until the fifth sacrifice was complete. It’s even been suggested that to open it early would cause a catastrophe of the gravest kind.”
I muttered, “The fifth sacrifice? But, Mr. Kadam, we still don’t even know what that will be.” I turned to the Ocean Teacher. “All we know of so far are the four sacrifices and the four gifts. We won’t know the fifth until much later. Are you sure we can be successful in our quest without reading the scroll?”
The monk shrugged. “It is not for me to know. My duty is to place this in your care and fulfill my other two obligations. Come. Sit here, young lady, and let me anoint your eyes.”
He pulled a chair over for me, approached me with the green vial, and addressed us, “Tell me, Mr. Kadam, in your studies, have you come across a people called the Chewong?”
Mr. Kadam took a seat. “I confess . . . no, I have not.”
I sniggered softly. That’s an amazing fact in and of itself. Mr. Kadam not knowing something? Is it even possible?
“The Chewong are from Malaysia . . . fascinating people. There is tremendous pressure on them now to convert to Islam and mainstream into Malaysian society; however, there are several who fight for their rights to keep their language and culture. They are a peaceful people, nonviolent. In fact, they have no words for warfare, corruption, conflict, or punishment in their language. They have many interesting beliefs. One noteworthy ideal relates to communal property. They feel it’s dangerous and wrong to eat alone, so they always share their meals with one another. But, the belief that applies to you concerns the eyes.”
I licked my lips nervously. “Umm, what exactly do they do to the eyes? Serve them for supper?”
He laughed. “No, nothing like that. They say their shamans or religious leaders have cool eyes while the average person is considered to have hot eyes. A person with cool eyes can see different worlds and can discern things that may be hidden from ordinary view.”
Mr. Kadam was intrigued and began asking many questions while my eyes darted to the green, oily liquid that the monk was dripping onto his dry, papery fingers.
“Uh, I have to warn you that I have an eye phobia. My parents had to hold me down to get drops in my eye when I had pinkeye as a child.”
“Not to worry,” the Ocean Teacher said. “I will anoint your closed eyelids and share a few words of wisdom with you.”
I relaxed considerably and obediently closed my eyes. I felt his warm fingers stroke across my closed lids. I expected the gooey stuff to drip down my cheeks, but it was thicker, more like a lotion, and smelled sharp and medicinal. The smell tickled my nose and reminded me of the menthol rub my mother used to put on my chest to help me breathe easier when I was sick. My eyelids tingled and turned icy cold. I kept them closed while he spoke softly.
“My advice for you, young one, is to tell you that the very purpose of life is to be happy. In my own limited experience, I have found that, as we care for others, the greater is our own sense of well-being. It puts the mind at ease. It helps remove whatever fears or insecurities we may have and gives us the strength to cope with any obstacles we encounter. Also, when you need guidance, meditate. I have often found answers through meditation. Lastly, remember the old saying that ‘love conquers all’ is true. As you give love, you will find it returns to you magnified.”
I carefully cracked open my eyes. I felt no pain or discomfort, but they were slightly sensitive. Now it was Kishan’s turn. We switched places, and the monk dipped his fingertips once more. Kishan closed his eyes, and the substance was swiped across his closed eyelids.
“Now for you, black tiger. You are young of body but old of soul. Remember, no matter what sort of difficulties you must endure and no matter how painful your experiences, you must not lose hope. Losing faith is the only thing that can truly destroy you. The lamas say, ‘To conquer yourself and your weaknesses are a greater triumph than to conquer thousands in battle.’
“You have a responsibility to help lead your family in the right direction. This includes your immediate family as well as your global family. Good intentions are not sufficient to create a positive outcome; you must act. As you take part and become actively engaged, answers to your questions will appear. Lastly, like a great rock is not disturbed by the buffetings of the wind, the mind of a judicious man is steady. He exists as a stanchion, a stalwart support. Others can cling to him, for he will not falter.”
The Ocean Teacher put the stopper back in the vial, and Kishan blinked his eyes open. The green substance had disappeared from his lids. He sat next to me and stretched out his hand to touch my arm. The man who was the Ocean Teacher, a great lama of Tibet, held out his hand to shake Mr. Kadam’s.
He said, “My friend. I sense that your eyes have already been opened, and you have seen more things that I can imagine. I leave this scroll in your hands and ask that you come to visit with me from time to time. I would like to know how this journey ends.”
Mr. Kadam bowed gallantly. “I would consider it a great honor, wise one.”
“Good. Now only one thing remains on my agenda, and that is to guide you to the spirit gate.” He explained, “Spirit gates mark the boundary between the physical world and the spirit world. As you pass through them, you cleanse yourself of weighty earthy matters and focus on the spiritual. Do not touch the gate until you are ready to enter, for that is forbidden. The known gates are in China and Japan, but there is one in Tibet which has been kept secret. I will show you on the map.”
He rang for a fellow monk to bring in a map of Tibet.
“The gate you seek is a simple, humble one. You must travel there on foot and take only basic provisions, for to find the gate you must prove that you walk by faith. The gate is marked with the simple prayer flags of the nomads. The journey will not be easy, and only the two of you may access the gate. Your mentor will have to stay behind.”
He showed us a path where we could begin the ascent. I gulped as I recognized the location despite my inability to decipher the language. Mount Everest. Fortunately, it seemed that the spirit gate was not located at its peak, but it was, in fact, only a short distance past the snow line. Mr. Kadam and the Ocean Teacher spoke animatedly about the best route to take while Kishan listened intently.
How could I possibly do this? I have to. Ren needs me. Finding this new place and object was what would help me find Ren, and nothing would keep me from doing that, not even altitude sickness or a freezing cold mountain.
The scroll was given to Mr. Kadam as well as the maps and a detailed explanation, including directions, to the spirit gate. Kishan’s warm hand picked up mine.
“Kelsey, are you alright?”
“Yes. I’m just a little scared about the trip.”
“Me too. But, remember, he said it requires faith.”
“Do you have faith?”
Kishan considered, “Yes. I think I do. More than I did anyway. What about you?”
“I have hope. Is that good enough?”
“I think it is.”
The Ocean Teacher shook our hands warmly, winked, and excused himself. He left flanked by his escorts. A monk led us to our room, so we could gather our belongings.
Mr. Kadam spent the rest of the day preparing for our trip. Kishan and I packed lightly, remembering the warning to take little with us. Mr. Kadam determined that we would bring no food or water, knowing that the Golden Fruit would sustain us. He told me that he had tested the limitations of the Fruit and said that it seemed to work from as far away as one hundred feet and though it could not produce water, it could make a variety of other beverages. He recommended hot herbal teas and sugar-free drinks to stay hydrated. I thanked him and wrapped it carefully in my quilt before placing the bundle in my backpack.
We debated the merits of a tent for a long time and decided on a large sleeping bag instead. They didn’t feel I could carry a tent up the mountain, and I needed room in my backpack for Kishan’s clothing, Fanindra, and all the weapons. Kishan would have to change to tiger form and back, so he would need the warm clothes.
The next day, we drove to the base of the mountain. After arriving, Mr. Kadam walked with us for a while and then hugged us both briefly. He told us that he would set up a camp at the base and would eagerly wait for our return.
“Be very careful, Miss Kelsey. The journey will no doubt be difficult. I’ve put all my notes in your bag. I hope that I’ve remembered everything.”
“I’m sure you did. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Hopefully, we’ll be back before you know it. Maybe time will stop like it did in Kishkindha. Take care of yourself. And if for some reason we don’t come back, will you tell Ren—”
“You will come back, Miss Kelsey. Of that I am certain. Go off now, and I will see you soon.”
Kishan changed into a black tiger, and we started up the mountain. Half an hour later, I turned to see how far we’d come. The Tibetan plain swept out before us as far as the eye could see. I waved at Mr. Kadam’s small figure far below, then turned, climbed between two rocks, and set my feet on the path ahead.