The Breath of God (29 page)

As he scanned the pathways along the reflecting pools, he began to rub his forearms. How could he have let them out of his sight for even a few seconds?

He turned to run around the edge of the plaza, when a shape at the front of the monument caught his eye. Sitting on the ground in the shadow of the entrance into the Taj Mahal was Kristin Misaki, unlacing her hiking shoes. He instantly understood his mistake. When he rounded the building's corner, he hadn't anticipated their bending over to remove their shoes before entering the building.

Tim walked to about twenty paces from the monument's entrance. When Misaki leaned forward on the balls of her feet to stand, Tim studied her welldefined calf muscles partially exposed from her jeans. He remembered the night when he'd stood inches over her bed. He waited for the stirring in his loins to begin, but again nothing happened. He examined her more intensely. Then a thought occurred to him:
Maybe she is also a part of God's plan for my redemption
.

Distracted by his thoughts, Tim didn't notice her turn her head in his direction.

When he scanned up the length of her body, his eyes met hers. He almost stumbled backward from the force of her glare. Tim quickly looked upward at the illuminated marble above her head. Walking sideways, he pretended to follow the black Arabic text surrounding the opening arch. His sweat turned cold. The force of her stare continued to pummel him. He tried to appear nonchalant, but he knew he'd been caught.

“W
HAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?” Grant called when Kristin walked into the dim inner chamber of the Taj Mahal.

“My boots. And then some creepy perv was staring at me.”

“Well, I can't fault him for that,” he said, earning a slap to his shoulder.

Proceeding further into the dim light of the mausoleum, Grant strained to see the details of the walls around them. The interior had no electric lights. As his eyes adjusted, Grant noticed that the main chamber was an octagon. An arch accented each of the eight walls, which were decorated with the same intricate
pietra dura
inlaid stonework as the exterior.

The glare from several flashlights glinted off the semiprecious stones embedded in the walls. Grant noticed that the green vines climbing the walls bloomed into various multicolored flowers. In a country with as many destitute people as India, he was surprised that millions of dollars in gems could remain in the walls of a building for so many centuries.

“Exquisite, isn't it?” Razi said. “See that flower there?”

Grant followed Razi's finger to the wall beside them. “The one with all the petals?”

“Sixty-four to be exact. The national flower of India. Do you know the species?”

“A lotus,” Kristin said. She ran her fingers along the semiprecious stones as if she were reading Braille.

Jigme approached the wall. “The Buddha is often depicted as sitting on lotus petals. The lotus can grow in the most stagnant of waters, yet no matter
how muddy the conditions, the flowers themselves rise above the dirty water, producing beautifully pure blossoms.”

“So there's hope for us yet,” Grant said. He noticed that Kristin didn't react to his comment but instead gazed intently at the jeweled flower.

Her voice was barely audible. “So ... peaceful.”

The young Muslim said to Kristin, “Islam.”

“What about it?” Grant asked, when Kristin didn't immediately respond.

“The literal meaning of the word
Islam
is ‘peace,'” Razi said. “Not peace in the sense of world peace, but in the sense of an inner peace that comes from surrendering your life to Allah. That is the main thrust of Muhammad's teaching, as well as the invitation of the script embedded in the walls outside this monument.”

“Similarly,” Jigme added, “the word
Buddhism
is from the root word
budh
, which means ‘awakening.' The Buddha also taught his followers to awaken themselves by surrendering to the present moment, so that they could free themselves of
dukkha
and find everlasting peace.”

Grant drummed his fingers on his chin. Meeting Razi was no longer nagging at him. He was convinced that the young Muslim was there to teach him some sort of lesson. “Kinley explained to me that ‘the Buddha' was not another name for Siddhartha but a title that meant ‘the Awakened One,'” he said.

“Razi,” Jigme said, “please tell my friends what you explained to me earlier: how Muhammad first began receiving the visions that became the Koran.”

“As a young man,” Razi said, leading them along the interior wall in a clockwise direction, “Muhammad began visiting a cave on Mount Hira, just outside Mecca, when he needed to escape from the duties of his life. He would sometimes stay up all night praying to Allah to guide him. Late one evening as he lay on the ground deep in prayer, he was visited by the angel Gabriel, who told him that his mission would be to speak to the people about Allah.”

“Curious,” Jigme said. “The Buddha, just before he reached enlightenment and began his ministry, sat beneath the Bodhi tree, meditating day and night. Instead of an angel, he was visited by the Evil One who sought to distract him from his path with threats of violence and offers of lust. The Buddha continued his course, deep in meditation, and then he reached enlightenment.”

A light flicked on in Grant's head. He spoke with his hands as quickly as with his mouth. “Around the age of thirty, Jesus, after his baptism by John and before beginning his ministry, went alone into the desert and sat in deep prayer for forty days and nights. The Gospel of Luke describes him being tempted by Satan, and just like the Buddha, he resisted.” His hands dropped to his side. “In fact, this practice of retreating by himself to pray intensely characterized his entire ministry. In the garden of Gethsemane on the night of his betrayal by Judas, Jesus sat in deep prayer again, while his disciples slept.”

Kristin stared at Jigme. “So what you're trying to tell us is that Muhammad, Jesus, and the Buddha each experienced a spiritual awakening through their practices of deep meditation?”

The true implication of the message contained in the Issa texts suddenly became much clearer to Grant. Jesus had studied meditation during his travels through India. Then another realization hit him. Moses had also had a similar experience. The Jewish prophet spent forty days and nights on the top of Mount Sinai experiencing a vision of God that resulted in the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments.

“But certainly,” Grant said, “you're not suggesting that Muhammad also traveled to India?”

Jigme shook his head. “Why must religion be a history lesson? How the Buddha, Jesus, or Muhammad learned these techniques is irrelevant. Why not focus on what their common experiences teach us about our own lives?”

Grant leaned toward the monk. “But we can't ignore their actual histories. How can we truly evaluate their teachings without stripping away the myths created around these men by their later followers?” He felt his pulse beating in his neck. By trivializing history, his monk friend was coming close to the path Reverend Brady advocated—the path of closing one's eyes to facts. That was why finding the Issa texts was so critical. Sure, he had personal reasons, but this journey was so much bigger than him. It was also about those who were held hostage by the misinformation of people like ...
well, like my father
, he admitted to himself.

“Understanding is a fine goal,” Jigme said, “but it is not enough. If all you do is seek with your mind for knowledge, you will never be satisfied.”

“Are you advocating ignorance as the solution to our problems?” Grant asked.

“No,” Razi interjected. “Jigme and I only ask you to go beyond mere intellectual understanding of these men's teachings. What the Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammad experienced is available to you as well.”

“How is that?”

Jigme replied, “Have you not been practicing what Kinley taught you?”

Grant averted his eyes. When he was stuck in his bed in Bhutan, he found the various meditations Kinley taught to be relaxing at times, but since he'd returned, too many things had happened to him. He didn't have time to sit around and watch his breath or pay attention to the directions of his thoughts.

Jigme placed a hand on his arm. “The truth you seek is not a lesson you can learn, it is one you must experience.”

“But—,” Grant began.

“Oh my!” Razi exclaimed, checking his watch in a manner Grant thought to be a little too obvious. “How late it has become. I should be leaving.” He nodded to Jigme. “And I know you three have other business to conduct.”

Other business?
Grant wondered. Did Razi know the real reason they were there?

After they shook hands all around, Razi turned to leave. Before he exited into the artificial light of the plaza outside, he called over his shoulder to Jigme, “And please, give my regards to Kinley. You have a special teacher.”

Tim watched the Muslim leave the interior of the Taj Mahal alone. The man stepped into his sandals, but instead of walking toward Tim and down the stairs, the Muslim began to stroll around the exterior of the building another time. He craned his neck at the walls above him, and his lips moved subtly, as if reciting a private prayer.

Tim waited for the others to exit. Concealed in shadow, he sat with his back against the minaret on the southeast corner, where he could observe the monument's entrance. To one of the lazy guards who infrequently patrolled
the area, he would appear as a weary tourist enjoying the view of the Tai Mahal silhouetted against the black sky.

“Razi knows Kinley?” Grant asked.

“Speaking of Kinley,” Jigme said, as if Grant had made a statement rather than ask a question, “I suppose the two of you are anxious to hear his message?”

“I thought you'd never bring it up,” Kristin said, smiling.

Jigme lowered his voice and nodded toward the multicolored lotus blossom inset in the wall. “Grant, do you remember the stories of the Buddha's birth?”

Grant studied the stone flower. “As a newborn, Siddhartha walked outside, and lotus flowers bloomed on the ground at his feet.”

“Very good,” Jigme whispered. “Now you are close to discovering the next stop on your journey.”

“We have to go to the Buddha's birthplace?” Grant asked. “Isn't that in Nepal?” Then another question occurred to him:
What journey?

“Is it the birth of the man that is significant or the birth of a movement?” Jigme responded.

“Sarnath!” Kristin exclaimed. “The town the Buddha traveled to after becoming enlightened.”

After a moment, realization dawned on Grant also. “Where he gave his first public lectures?”

Kristin nodded. “I've been there. Sarnath is just a ten-minute drive from Varanasi.”

“Isn't that where you were writing an article before you came to Bhutan?”

“Kinley asked me about my travels there.”

Jigme leaned close to them and whispered, “Visit the Mulgandha Kuti Vihar temple.”

“I saw it on my trip,” Kristin said.

“He remembered you saying so,” Jigme replied. “You will find your answer inside the temple.”

“What does that mean?” Grant asked a bit too loudly. He couldn't help but let the frustration creep into his voice. They had traveled halfway around the world to meet Kinley, only to be told to go to another city. “Will Kinley be there to meet us? Are the texts being kept in the temple?”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that is truly all I know. As I said earlier, Kinley wanted to protect me from knowing too much.”