Starbook (34 page)

Sometimes an innovation repeated becomes a tradition. This one took place in the presence of the king and the royal bards who recorded what they witnessed in their future songs and legends. The prince, as if in the grip of a poetic vision, under the spell of a sublime rhythm, wanted all slaves freed and returned home to their tribes. He wanted the elders and the rich and the chieftains to share their wealth and their food with the poor. He wanted to know how big the world was, and what the people on the other side of the world looked like. He wanted to find out if they knew things his people didn't know, to link hands with them. He wanted to know why the elders hadn't taken sufficient interest in the rest of the world. He had visions, he said, that all people were children of the stars; and he wanted to meet all his sisters and brothers of the earth. He wanted to know if there were better ways of living, of governing, of improving the life of his people.

The elders were silent as the prince spoke; but the king, when he heard the avalanche of questions, laughed and laughed, as if there were nothing runnier than seeking knowledge about the wide world and its varied people. He laughed as if his son's quest for extensive knowledge were a wonderful joke. The son sensed a disquieting wisdom in his father's laughter, but he was not deterred, in fact he felt oddly encouraged.

'Nothing is as it seems, my son,' said his father, in between his bursts of laughter. 'Everything goes into reverse. What is up is down, what is down is up.'

The prince asked as many questions as the rising sun asks the sleeping earth. That day, in legend, became known as the Day of the Great Questions; and in the future it would become a tradition, a day in which people would ask one another the important questions of life, and attempt to answer them in song, in meditation, or in art. The bards exaggerate when they sing that the prince asked questions that lasted seven days; but they speak the truth when they sing that after that day the prince never asked the elders another question ever again.

The elders were concerned about his new desire for knowledge about distant people across the sea. They feared that new knowledge would render them irrelevant.

'If he wants to know so much about the world why don't we give him to the white spirits,' one of them muttered, 'then he can find out all the knowledge he wants.'

If they had not been so inward-looking things might have been very different when the white wind blew ...

Now that the prince had sufficiently recovered, now that the prince was home for a brief visit, now that the prince was enlightened enough to hear without ears, and to see without his eyes, the king, his father, decided to spend some sublime time alone with his son, to talk to and listen to him, and to impart what little he knew of the mysteries of things, of kingship. And while the son slept he spoke over the sleeping form, knowing he was speaking into ears that would hear without resistance, into ears that would hear purely, and into a mind that would remember nothing of what was said except its pure spirit. The prince would act from this knowledge that deep down he would have made his own.

And so in silence, the king said:

'There are barbarians of the high as much as there are barbarians of the low. There are barbarians of the nobility and barbarians of the chieftaincy. There are barbarians of the intelligent too, my son. Don't let the clever words or the brilliant mind of anyone blind you to the fact that they can also be stupid. There are more intelligent people who are imbeciles than imbeciles who are wise. Intelligence is a form of blindness; it prevents people from seeing the truth. People value their mental power too much even as it increases their fundamental errors. Trust more someone who has simplicity of spirit, goodness of soul, a fearless heart and an enquiring mind. Beware of people who use the word "I" too much. Beware of people who trust only what they have seen, or heard, or touched, or smelt; they are limited people and are easy to deceive and corrupt; for whatever they are is founded on the limitation of their senses. People's convictions don't amount to much. People's passions don't amount to much. Do not fear sorcerers or those who conjure for the devil. So long as you do not believe in it evil cannot harm you. And fear is the greatest and most powerful form of belief. So do not fear anything. There is only one true cure for fear, my son, and that is knowledge. Knowledge of the true ancient way of the tried and tested mysteries that was brought down to us from our ancestors. Keep to the path that has led to your light and all else will follow. Notice the higher comedy in most things. You have your own way, but ever have a place in your heart for humour.

'All power is but the shadow of true power.' I have heard of a man who grieved because he thought he had conquered the world; he had nothing more to do. He could have conquered himself. Afterwards all the lands he conquered turned to dust. Only fragments of stories remained. He could have found heaven in a single thought. His is one of the greatest comedies in the human story. There are kings who do not know what they are kings for. A human being ought to know what they are human for. It is a strange blindness to live a life, roaming the earth, without understanding why. There is no tragedy greater than a god that does not know itself. There is no greater comedy than a human being who looks at their reflection in a calm river and sees a complete stranger that is them.

'We have three bodies in one. Only one of them endures. But nothing perishes. Everything remembers. All time is here. Don't worry yourself with passing sufferings, fashions, ideas, notions, conceits, disasters, failures. All are illusions. Maintain a sublime detachment from all things, and the greatest love will shine through you. Be silent. Be still. Sometimes our minds are our worst enemies. Do not hold preferences too strongly. Be guided by that clear voice within. Drink the cup of suffering that life gives you when it does. Pass through the narrow space. Do not cling to any fixed ideas of who or what you are. You are more than whatever you think in simplicity. Being a prince is nothing compared to a man or woman who has discovered that deep down in them there are gods. Humility makes you great. Who can destroy the air or the invisible thing that makes the universe real? Be as nothing; be everything. Do not fear loss. Nothing is lost on the way that is not found among the stars. A way has been shown for you to reach me when you need to; and the wisest of the universe are here for you in that clear voice within. All the guidance you will ever need is within you, as part of your own mysterious nature. All human beings are princes and princesses, but only very few know their kingdom.

'Throughout your life you will slowly acquire a family of people from all over the world. We have many families. Remember to stop when you have ripened. Call forth what you need only when you need it. Live simply. Carry with you only your shadow, and surrender that in the light. Be light, in spirit and deeds. Don't be above people. Lower yourself without being low. Have dignity without showing it. Be a prince without displaying it. Let your wisdom be invisible to the eyes of men and women. Rule as if the people are ruling themselves. When power is needed, summon and use it. When war is needed then rise and go to war in the highest way, and win in the quickest way, and use it to create better conditions for all. Many things are forgivable if you are truly extending the good in the world. Do not try to be perfect, but only to get better. And don't carry any of my advice in your head. Forget it all. What you need to guide you is in you. Your light is your guide and your power. You have already awoken it and all you have to do is to keep it alive, whatever life brings you. As you know now, you are a child of the stars and all the universe is your home. But the centre of the circle is the home of your home. Dwell there ever, in your heart. And you will transcend death. Then your life will never be a failure or a success, a tragedy or a comedy. It will be immeasurable.'

The prince slept profoundly through the magic hour when his father gazed in silence over his sleeping form. And the prince had dreams of great beauty, which he could not remember, but which had a deep impact on his being, and on his life. Afterwards he found himself both a deeper and a lighter person; he dwelt more naturally in the beautiful silences in the air and he found that he smiled more, that within him grew the mood of an everlasting laughter. He also discovered, a little later, that he could control his visibility. He could be visible or become invisible by choice, by will, using a knowledge, a technique, that was whispered to him in a dream. Afterwards, during his great suffering, which coincided with the years of his great enlightenment, many techniques, many methods, many laws, and a clear elucidation of the way, were whispered to him in dreams. Much later he realised that seeds of the truth were being planted in his sleep and sometimes in the vast moments when he dwelt in contemplation of the wonderful silences in the air. Often he would perceive himself in the centre of a golden circle, and this much later during the worst years of his slavery. He found then that dwelling in the centre of that golden circle transcended the agony of slavery. Beyond the flesh burning in great suffering he knew the sublime fire that was itself an illumination in the throne at the brilliant black centre of the golden circle of light.

Sometimes, in the village of artists, running an errand or taking a rest under a tree in the forest, he would pass through a blue gap in the world and arrive at the torments of his enslavement in an alien land. His bride was gone. His child was gone. He had survived the monstrous crossing of the sea of evil, where slaves lay chained ankle to ankle, wrist to wrist, in the coffin of the hold, in the ship, on the waves of an empire's dream of power. He had arrived in a new land that was rich with blood and guilt and hope. He had survived the lash. He had survived the degradation. He had survived being less than a man, or a dog, or an insect, or a beast. He had survived the loss of his love, his kingdom, his home, his earth. He had survived being forced into a marriage with a wife that was not his wife but the mistress of his owner. He found himself listening, in odd tranquillity, as his owner made love all night to his wife that was not his wife. And he listened on many other nights too, gazing at the stars, dwelling in the sublime fire in the centre of the golden circle. And he knew then as now that it was an odd fate indeed to live through such suffering while being blessed with such illumination. If he were to sum up the paradox of his being, in those moments in the forest, under the tree where he rested, and passed into the blue gaps, and saw distant revelations, he would say it was this: How do you survive the worst with the highest? What is the music of this paradox? What is its song? And can you show anyone its shadow, so they can see the spirit of such a conjunction of the sublime and the horror? And yet, for all time, in the present and future story, the prince found within him the unquenchable mood of an immeasurable laughter. And all this was born on the night when, unknown to him, a father gazed with love on the form of his sleeping son.

On his return to the tribe he found that the gap was a hole of black fire. The mood of the tribe of artists had altered. A cloud of indecipherable doom seemed to hang over everything. The air was light, but the spirit over things was troubling. The maiden was withdrawn. Her delay was wearing her down; delaying her choice of suitor was wearing down the tribe. A mood of violence, of restlessness, of irritation drifted among the buildings and floated with the men, women and children.

The new pupil resumed his service. There wasn't anything he didn't do as servant and pupil. He carried, cleaned, washed, ran errands, bore messages, went to the market, made and unmade the beds, aired the abodes, and sat in stillness among the statues. He cleaned the latrines, fetched water from the wells, washed clothes at the river, brought in wood from the forests, worked on the statues and carvings under precise instructions, and seldom spoke. And all through this he lived within the being and flame of the maiden.

He studied her moods. He learnt to slide into her dreams. He listened in on her thoughts. He lived partly in her life, and partly in his. Mostly he dwelt in her being, as a fragrance dwells in a flower. He was happiest there. Sometimes he smiled. Sometimes he laughed. When he laughed he did so quietly, within himself. Moments later he would hear a wonderful sound of laughter in the wind, circling the village. Not long afterwards the maiden would appear, with a smile on her face; and, with her father serious in his work, she would whisper a joke into her father's ear, as if he wasn't there. Hours later, in the evening, in bed, the father would find himself laughing as he shared the joke that he had only just understood, with his wife.

The maiden's delay was driving a lot of people to the brink of anxiety. Her father strove not to put any pressure on her. Her mother spoke obliquely, and controlled her shaking voice. But they knew, in all fairness, that none of the suitors had yet solved the riddle of the shadow, and so there was nothing to be done. But the tensions and the annoyance did not lessen.

Fights broke out between the suitors. They began to challenge one another to dangerous combat. They fought with weapons, they fought with bare fists, they wrestled. There were many injuries and near-fatalities. And so, informally, it came about that the suitors decided to settle it among themselves through combat. The overall winner of their contest would be deemed the winner of the maiden's hand. They organised this grand contest among themselves, and it was designed to be over within an allotted time. The contest would take place on the rich fields near the shrine. The contest became a formality; announcements were made; a date of commencement was decided. And the tribe whose life was dedicated to art found itself about to witness fighting among suitors who must win in order to justify time spent wooing a maiden who had become priceless because of her unique gifts, her disdain, and her delay.