Shambhala (9 page)

“Tendwa?” Raja calls out as he pops up onto a steep rock, which flattens at its summit.

“Yeah, thanks! Maybe leave a bit for the rest of the forest,” a leopard shouts up to a monkey, who mocks him with a hoot and ha as he throws a bare stick down from a tree above. Hearing Raja behind him, he quickly turns. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” he says, smiling in his white fluffy face as a stick comes flying down from the monkey above, knocking the leopard on the head. “Yeah, thank you, come again!” he shouts up condescendingly as the monkey mocks with a laugh. “It’s no wonder we’re not vegetarians, Raja. These damned monkeys eat nearly half the forest in one sitting, speaking of which, I see you have brought a feast for us. Well done,” he says, noticing Bahi standing on the rock above him, where Raja stands proudly peering down.

“Ha, ha, no, no, Tendwa. This is my friend, Bahi.”

“Well well. Has the king gone soft or just mad, paling around with humans?” Tendwa asks as he effortlessly pounces up the rock to sniff Bahi. Bahi cautiously stiffens to alert.

“A bit of both, I suppose,” Raja quickly fires back. “Besides I’ve come for the spotted deer. My palate doesn’t fancy a distasteful human. No offense, Bahi.”

“None taken,” Bahi says in relief.

“He is looking for a place called Shambooz, Shamlala, Shamalamadingdang.”

“Shambhala,” Bahi interjects.

“Oh, sure sure. I know of it,” Tendwa says with certitude.

“You do?” Bahi asks, eyes lighting up.

“Sure. It’s not far from here,” Tendwa says, walking closer, sniffing Bahi again.

“Can you please take me there?”

“Sure, but why you wanna go there anyway?”

“It’s the sun and moon, the place of wisdom, where I can find the answers to all my questions,” Bahi says excited.

Fly feels his excitement, “Sun and moon buzz!”

“Oh sure, sure it is, lil’ buddy,” Tendwa says, turning to Raja and making a kookoo face that alludes to Bahi’s seeming insanity. He then looks serious. Before turning back he looks into Bahi’s eyes, his topaz leopard eyes twinkling in the silence as he sizes him up.

“Sun and moon, buzz!” Fly circles in the air in hysteria, breaking the awkward silence.

“Well, if you’re a friend of Raja’s, you’re a friend of mine,” Tendwa says quickly, changing the mood.

“Sun and moon, buzz!”

“Alright already, you’re worse than the damn monkeys. I suppose this is your friend too,” Tendwa says referring to Fly.

Raja shrugs and smiles in affirmation. Tendwa walks close to Raja. “You will have to explain this odd turn of events at a later date,” he whispers to a smiling Raja. “Well, come on, then. It’s only a few minutes from here.”

“A few minutes! That’s great, thanks!” Bahi says in excitement.

“Yeah yeah, sun and moon, stars and fairy dust. C’mon, you freak,” Tendwa says, murmuring the last part under his breath.

Tendwa leads the crew as they all walk along a winded path, twisting upward. Small rocks lie upon the fine, dusty dirt laden with brown, fallen pine needles. Trees shoot out horizontally from the roots on the rock-and-dirt wall to their left, then shoot straight up to the sky, some twisting in unique patterns. To their right, the path steeply drops off, lined with trees that seem to hold the path up, probably the only thing that keeps it in tact during the monsoonal floods. White sun makes its way through the otherwise cool, shaded path as they walk.

They come to a flat overlook were the trees drop off into the valley, visible below. An empty road can be seen in the distance, and just below, a busy street. People walk back and forth, often stopping at the many street vendors set up along a row on one side. Small tables propped up with thick, wooden sticks are laid out with golden statues and jewelry. Some sell colorful clothing and wool socks. Shops and cafes tightly pack the narrow street. They can hear the commotion of the town from above. Horns honking, people talking, music flowing through the air.

“Well, here you go: sun and moon,” Tendwa says.

“Where? I think you are mistaken,” Bahi says thinking there must be a miscommunication.

“You see that blue sign?” Tendwa says, pointing his furry paw.

“Yeah, I think so,” Bahi says, squinting.

“Next door. Now follow it up.” Bahi looks to the café next to the blue sign and scanning up a couple of flights sees a sign that reads, “Shambhala.” Steep stone steps lead to the top of the building, where the sign points with a red arrow.

“What is this city?” Bahi asks.

Raja shrugs unknowingly, keeping quiet as he has since they began to walk.

“They call It Dharamsala. I sit and observe these whacky characters often. I can read your human language, you know—even speak to humans. You’re the only one I’ve talked to in years. The last guy I said hello to ran off in a craze, and I think he is still under psychiatric help,” Tendwa laughs and stretches as the rest look off onto the city street. “Yeah, it’s my curse, black magic,” Tendwa says completing his stretch.

“It sounds more like a blessing or a gift. I can speak to the animals, I have that gift, like you,” Bahi smiles.

“That’s what I say. You hear that, King?” Tendwa says to Raja, who is deep in primal stare a few feet away, looking down into the valley below. “What’s that?” Raja says, turning back toward them.

“It’s a gift I have, not a curse. I agree with the human here. I am talented, indeed,” Tendwa says proudly.

“Yeah, we’ll see how much of a gift it is when those witch doctors who cast the spell come looking for you again.”

“Come on, why you always have to steal my thunder, Raja?”

“Cuz I’m the King, and the King is late for stag-and-spotted-deer feast, so I must bid you all a fond farewell,” Raja says, stalking back to the tree, where he watches grazing stag below.

“You’re gonna kill those stags?” Bahi asks, looking down then over at Raja.

“I’m going to eat, Bahi. It’s how I survive. Tendwa and I don’t have the good fortune as you do to be able to survive otherwise,” Raja says looking back to the stags.

“Well then, how do I get down to this road?” Bahi asks, figuring he’ll waste no time in investigating this Shambhala below.

“Follow this trail down and the first road you see. Make a right. That leads right to it. That’s this road here.”

“Thank you so very much for everything, Raja,” Bahi’s hands are in prayer position and his smile exhibits the deep gratitude he expresses. “Thank you, Tendwa for showing me here. Good luck with your reading and human communications,” Bahi says to end on a good note.

“Yes, yes. I hope you find what you’ve been searching for down there. I have always wondered what it was like in those places,” Tendwa expresses.

“Well if it’s what I have been told, I will come back and welcome you. All are welcome at Shambhala.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tendwa says, laughing as his mind flashes back to the last time he crept into a café and escaped near death from the hysterical locals. They chased him out with pitchforks and sticks, as the owner let loose a shot from his gun, just missing Tendwa as he swiftly ran off. “I visited a café like this once. Once!” He laughs again. “OK, we’re heading this way, good bye, friends,” Tendwa concludes.

“Good bye, buzz!”

“Good bye, my good friends.”

“See ya around, little buddy,” they all talk over each other saying their goodbyes as they part ways.

Bahi and Fly make their way back down the winding path. “I am pretty excited to get down here, Fly,” Bahi says, covering up his wariness of finding Shambhala so easily.

“Sun and moon?”

“You’re a creature of few words aren’t you?” Bahi says as he lets out a laugh.

WALKING JUST A
short distance, they step onto a crossroad, where men stand in relaxed banter around small, black-and-yellow auto-rickshaws awaiting customers to usher through the city. One driver notices his prospect in Bahi as they draw near. “Hello, friend, where are you going?” the rickshaw driver asks.

“Shambhala!” Bahi says proudly, prompting the man to quickly give up his pitch, as he turns away in the realization that a rickshaw is unnecessary for such a short distance ahead.

The busy flow of energy floats down the small city street. Except for the Baba, Bahi hasn’t had much human interaction in a while. The stimulation is inviting as he takes in the surroundings, noting that the main center they pass through is a far cry from the patient bliss of the jungle. Slowly he makes his way up the slightly inclined street, taking in the goings on around him. Two Caucasian men with beards stand tall, next to a white jeep. They carry large backpacks. Bahi passes a small liquor store on his left and diverts his attention to a little pastry shop that seems to be out of place, smack in the middle of a crossroad section that shoots dirt roads in five directions. He stares through a glass showcase that exhibit cakes, rum balls, and other delectables. He remembers what the Baba taught him about how our minds jump to conclusions thinking it will know exactly what this will taste like, when in fact we have no idea. He fantasizes it will melt in his mouth and taste much better than his automatic craving response tries to tell him. Moving along, he passes a vegetable shop that spills out onto the street. A Tibetan man sits under hanging oranges and bok choy on the lip of his shop’s entryway among an array of colorful produce. The strong Asian influence of this city mixes with those of noticeable Indian descent. Looking up, Bahi reads a shop sign, Tibetan Thangha Shop. He remembers that Dharamsala is the place of the Tibetan refugees in exile from the tyranny of the Chinese government. Bahi wonders why most of his general knowledge is still present, but facts of who he is, where he comes from, and his family are still a mystery. He remembers certain facts: can add one plus one, but can’t remember how or when he learned to do so. He passes a momo stand that sits just in front of a yellow temple decked out with red prayer wheels, which make up the temple walls. He watches as a Tibetan woman fries doughy dumplings next to others that she steams in a small, silver steamer sitting upon a green table that reads in yellow paint,
Veg. Momo
. The woman seems humble. The crow’s feet near her eyes give away her long past of sitting in the warm sun, day after day, selling
momos
. Fly sets upon one of the doughy dumplings cooling on a plate. He has a quick taste before being shoed away by a potential customer wearing a camera on his neck. Judging by his straw-like brown hair and white complexion, Bahi guesses he is European, one of many tourists along the tightly packed street with shops selling everything from books and statues to socks and radios. Bahi wishes he had money so he could eat some of the fragrant food all around him. Looking down, a dark Indian woman sits frail and skinny as she straddles an empty cup. “Hello, sir,” she says, with her mangled hand propped out to beg for money. Great compassion wells up as Bahi wishes he had even one rupee to give the woman.

“Sorry, I don’t have,” he says with a frown.

“Sir, please,” she begs as he walks away with a sorrowful heart.

Many a crippled man and woman beg for money along this street frequented by tourists. Contemplating his body and general health, Bahi feels grateful for all he has, wondering why some are born into this life of beggary and degradation while others are born into a world of money and health. Walking more quickly, he begins to doubt that a place of wonder such as Shambhala could even exist in a city like this.
This journey has turned up the most unexpected at every turn, perhaps this is the home of Shambhala
. Thoughts battle as he tries to convince his misgivings.
Why wouldn’t these people just go there?
he wonders. Finally he reaches the small café that sits at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to Shambhala. Looking at the sign that guides him up, he begins to feel that there has been a mistake. He has quick flashes of doubt for the Baba, for Tendwa, for himself. Stroking the soft beard on his face, his fingers run slowly from cheeks to chin as he contemplates.

“Hello, hello,” a soft voice calls. He feels someone pulling on his shirt.

Turning, he notices a woman carrying a baby boy about one year old. She wears tattered clothes wrought with dirt that finds it’s way to her face, blending into her dark skin. “Please. Baby,” she says, putting her hand to her mouth, motioning for food.

“Sorry, I have nothing,” Bahi honestly says.

“Please!” she pleads, looking as if she will soon cry. The baby stares at Bahi, crusty snot fills his nose. Bahi’s heart, feels their pain of hunger, the jungle has seemed to attune him more with his feelings. Knowing there is nothing he can do for this woman, he turns his back and heads up the steep, cold concrete steps while resolving in his heart that he will help all of these people, if he can obtain the answers from Shambhala. Passing a small café on his left, he proceeds a few more steps to the top, where he reads, painted on the concrete wall,
Shambhala Café
. Stepping in, he is quickly disillusioned, realizing it must have been a coincidence in name and not the Shambhala the Baba told him about. Coming inside, two men, one of Tibetan decent, young, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and another looking almost a mix of Indian and Tibetan, also wearing a trendy t-shirt and jeans, greet him. He walks in toward the back feeling the upset he began to feel when he first saw the place and suppressed the doubt in the hopes that he had found the true Shambhala. Four western travelers sit on the cushioned floor by a window overlooking a short table, preparing to eat. He heads out the back doors that lead to an overhang seating in the afternoon sun. A girl sits and reads as he settles on a steel seat fixed to the wall. One of the men from the entrance drops a menu on the table that shoots out of the railing in front of him. He smiles and looks over at the reading girl, who looks strangely familiar. Looking up, she smiles then looks back at her book. Then she looks up again as Bahi looks off onto the green hills in the distance.

“Where do I know you from?” the girl’s sweet voice softly catches Bahi’s ear as he turns to her.

“Uhm, I wouldn’t know,” he says, deep in thought.

“Where you at Tushita?”

“I just arrived here today. Where is Tushita?”

“It’s just up the hill. Oh, it’s amazing. You have to check it out. I did a retreat there recently,” she says, as Bahi now engages her greenish-brown eyes.

“I know where I know you from. You were in Rishikesh, right?”

“That’s right!” Bahi exclaims remembering the sign where he and Bandar sat on the rooftop.

“Paul. You’re Paul. We met at that café. Remember? I didn’t recognize you with the facial hair.”

“Please forgive me. I don’t remember,” Bahi says searching his memory.

“No, no, it’s definitely you. You were with that other fellow. What’s his name?”

Bahi shakes his head, not knowing.

“Nicholas!” she says with a smile, awaiting confirmation. “Surely you remember, Eva, the Irish girl, you guys were going for a hike to the falls.”

“Eva, you may be right,” Bahi says, now intrigued that she may know him. “I’ve since gotten amnesia from a blow to the head and haven’t remembered a thing since.”

“Oh my God! Are you serious? What are you still doing traveling?” she asks with concern, moving closer to the edge of her seat.

“Well, I don’t know. Good question, Eva. I’ve forgotten everything it seems, well not everything. I mean, I don’t remember who I am, where I am from. You tell me my name is Paul, and you might as well have said Picasso because I draw blanks on my entire past.”

Fly sets upon the woman’s uneaten meal as she is distracted in conversation.

“Are you serious!” she says with alarm. “You need help? I can help you. My father has friends at the embassy. You’re American, right? This is pretty crazy. Let me help you. We can go straight away.” She begins to rise up as Bahi nods her calmly back down.

“Even though I can’t remember my life, I would bet money that this has been the craziest and most fantastic journey I have ever been on. I am on a mission to find out who I truly am. You say I’m Paul. This means nothing to me, and the more I search for who I am, the closer I feel I am coming to the truth, although today I feel further from it.”

“Are you feeling OK?” Eva asks, looking at him strangely. “You need to seek out some help. You may have an aneurism or something. You sound a little off.”

“Look, I realize I must sound pretty crazy, but me losing my memory may be one of the best things that ever happened to Paul,” Bahi says passionately to Eva as the moment slows down. Five seconds of silence feels like five years as they stare into each others eyes. “I am searching for Shambhala.”

“Well congratulations, because here it is,” she says pointing to the inside of the café as she softly laughs.

“No, no, the true Shambhala. This is why I must keep moving on.”

“I think you should see a doctor and get some help. Amnesia is serious business and not for nothing, but you don’t seem to be making a whole lot of sense.”

“It is very serious Eva,” he says placing his hand on hers. An uncertain awkwardness about this familiar stranger alarms her. Bahi says, “I look around me and see all these people—everyone: all of them, you, me, everyone is suffering. From the homeless man with no legs in the street to you and me. We think we know who we are, grasping onto this self we perceive to be real, all the while distracting ourselves from the reality of our suffering minds. You ask me who I am, and I tell you I have no idea, and in fact I believe this is a better idea than most. We are all journeying, reaching for answers to explain the truth, reaching for happiness at every turn, hoping the next reach will be the final answer to our lasting peace, but it isn’t and so I tell you, Shambhala is the place where I will reach last. Shambhala is where I am headed, and when I get there I vow to lead everyone who wishes to go.”

Eva pulls her hand out from under the ranting Bahi, “OK let’s just pretend for a moment that you’re not stark mad and say there even is a Shambhala outside of the fantasy and fairy tales. What makes you think that you will be able to find it? Do you know how many men have tried? I’ve read stories of people devoting their lives to this search and never even coming close.”

Bahi stares in an awkward silence as insecure butterflies rush his stomach, twitching his face muscles with doubt. Eva’s stern manner turns quickly compassionate. “Look, I understand your passion, I truly do, but we have to look at the reality, use fact. What do you have to go on that this place even exists?”

“I have journeyed a long way since Rishikesh, met with some amazing beings far beyond the scope of normal intelligence, the embodiment of wisdom. They have assured me that it exists. Eva, beautiful Eva,” Bahi says now, lightening the mood, “Have you ever felt something so strongly that you know it’s right, that’s it’s real. Something you can’t explain to others without sounding a bit crazy but you just know?”

“I suppose I have, yes,” she says in an attempt to placate him.

“Well let’s say that you met some people, a wise man you just know you can trust. Everything about him embodies truth. And this wise man tells you that this feeling you have inside is true and in fact directs you where to find it, concrete and real. Would you ever be able to stop looking?”

“I guess I wouldn’t, unless of course I had amnesia and forgot,” Eva says in comic relief. “Do you even have any money or food?”

“No, not at the moment.”

“Please order some food. I’ll pay.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, I insist. Look, I admire your courage and resolve. I question you only out of concern. Please order something. I’ll pay. I insist. It’s the least I can do for an old friend,” she says, realizing he doesn’t even know the fleeting nature of their meeting in Rishikesh.

“Thank you, Eva,” he says from the heart. “You said I was with a friend in Rishikesh?”

“Yes, the two of you were supposed to meet me after your hike. I know now why you hadn’t. Here, use this pad to write down your order. Don’t be shy. Order whatever you like. The food here is great.”

As he peruses the menu, Bahi thinks hard to remember his friend, but only shadowy figures appear in his mind. “Look, I don’t mean to have come off crazy or delusional. It’s been a long day. I promise. I’m harmless.”

“Well, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Eva says with a flirtatious smile.

“Do you have any recommendations?” Bahi says, diverting her attention from his blushing face.

“Get the falafel, it’s amazing.”

Following her recommendation, he orders the falafel and some ginger lemonade. The two sit and talk long after the meal is gone. Looking off into the valley, they watch as the sun shifts over the building, casting rays down upon the mountainous hills.

“You probably could use a good shower. Why not come to where I am staying? I could get you a room. You can clean up, get a good night’s sleep.”

“I don’t. . . No, I couldn’t,” Bahi says, internally hoping she insists again.

“Look, Paul, I want to help you. It’s the least I can do for you. I wouldn’t feel right otherwise. I also know a good doctor here in Dharamsala if you want to see him.”

“For what? I’m healthy as a horse,” Bahi says flexing his muscles comically.

They both have a laugh, and after paying the bill they leave the café, descending the concrete steps as dusk pours in. Fly zips to follow behind them. As they walk in silence down the still-busy dirt road, Bahi reflects on the events that have led him to the café.
What are the chances of meeting her here? Perhaps this was the reason for me coming here?
he thinks.

Second guessing himself after the conversation with Eva, he looks up at the rising mountains, remembering the Baba’s instructions to go North and about the meditation that will act as his map to get to Shambhala. A feeling of assurance wells up inside of him, almost as if the Baba were walking next to him.