The Long Road to Nalanda

By Thupten Lekshe

Set in a mythical India at the start of the first millennium, The Long Road to Nalanda is the story of a young outcaste, Abhi, who is offered as blood sacrifice to the giant snake God, Jwala.

Abhi, a feisty young adolescent, must discover how she can overcome the dark forces raging against her. Intent on revenge, she travels through a collapsed empire where rival groups are competing for dominance. Abhi is befriended by a bunch of misfits, but, unable to make sense of her survival, she resorts to a desperate act of vengeance.

Will Abhi’s fateful action trigger the fall of a kingdom, as foretold in the ancient prophecy? And who will Abhi become if she emerges from the ashes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thupten Lekshe
• Release date: May 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781925786408

Book preview

beings.

Prologue

I, Abhi, sit here in the ruins of Nalanda University and still I listen to the voices of all the masters I have served. It is as though they are calling to me down through the ages. Everything passes, everything falls to dust. And yet with each passing, something lives on, renewed in each moment.

I am old again and already close to death.

Another one.

I see a pattern in the trail of the stars, in the faces of the moon, the way the sun rises, the mighty trees, the rain falling. I see a pattern in all the untold seasons.

Let me tell you.

Let me say how it all began and how it came to pass that I sit now in the wreckage of these once mighty halls of learning, an elder myself ready to pass. One day even these crumbling walls and the mighty image of the Buddha in the Great Hall will be gone. There will be no more students of Nalanda. The last pilgrims will have gone to the Land of Snow—the last witnesses to what has been and what has passed across the high mountains of the North.

What a joy, and a great sadness too, to tell this tale. And I will tell it all. I will tell how it all began, and how the teachers arose—beacons of light in the darkness. How they shone, and rose again and again, carried to the four corners of the world. And I will tell you of the Great Masters, their lives carved out by the way of the Awakening. I will tell you all and I will not hide any of the darkness I have seen.

You must bear witness and carry my words so The Way can unfold anew in your own time as foretold by the Ancient Ones.

Let me tell you.

My story begins long, long ago, back when the Way of the Awakened One, the Buddha, was no longer the Way of the King, or the people, or the land, as it had been for so long. The King was long gone, dead for half an age, and with him his kingdom and The Way. The leaderless people sought refuge in the gods of the past, and the creatures of the land were afraid again. In this dim past I knew nothing of The Way or of the Ancient Ones, or the masters yet to come.

The first seasons of the first life I remember were hard times. I lived with my sister on the outskirts of our small village. Our family were animal workers and lowly servants of the townspeople and the wealthy landowners. We were neither merchants, nor artists, nor warriors. My parents were descendants of the Nagi, an outcast tribe of snake worshippers. For generations we had served the local lords by tending their animals. Our people had learned the ways of butchering and tanning, and we made ourselves indispensable, even though we were feared and rejected. Our work with dead animals made us revolting to others. But even more, we were feared for our ancient ties to the serpents that protected the waterways and the sacred rivers of the West. Despite being of such low birth, the Nagi were needed, secretly courted for the hardy skins and fresh meat we provided.

We learned all of this from our father, Pa Bala, when we were still too young to really understand. The feeling of rejection we knew well enough from the sharp looks on the faces of the merchants when they came upon my sister, Achala, and me playing on the dusty road bordering our village.

Our mother, Ma Kara, was a woman of great strength and courage, or so we were told. She knew all along there were two of us and she told my father her dream of a great white serpent entering her body and leaving behind an incandescent ball of light. Even before we were born we were named Abhi and Achala, and our mother was determined we would live to fulfil what she believed was an auspicious destiny. And so, when it came to pass that she lay writhing on the birthing table for more than three dawns, she made a terrible decision. She commanded our father to call a Katari Healer to cut open her belly. Our mother lasted one long night holding us to her dying breast before the blood drained from her body and she passed from this world.

So there was the fact that we had brought about the death of our own mother that marked us and kept us apart from our kin. Also, we were delicate females, small from birth, with pale skin and leafy-coloured eyes, so different from our father and the others of our kin. That we were female, and so useless for the work of tanning, was a bitter disappointment for our father. This cast our future even more bleakly.

Despite all this working against us we did have one gift, which made these early years so special—we had each other. The bond of our birth and our mirror-like existence was a constant source of joy and comfort. We spoke to each other silently in our thoughts long before we could utter even one word in our native tongue. We would sit together in silence for many hours watching life revolve around us—feeling the rhythm of the moon passing, and pondering other great mysteries. All this we communicated with our eyes and soft touches. We instinctively understood the language of the sun and the stars, aligning ourselves with nature and the passing of the seasons.

Perhaps if our father had not betrayed us it would have all turned out so differently.

PART ONE

ABHI’S REVENGE

1

Marbles

It was still early morning as we trudged along behind our father, Pa Bala, on the way to the Temple of Sacrifice. Suddenly a woman called out: Red devils! Our father just kept walking, refusing to acknowledge the woman’s insult. I felt as though someone had stabbed me. I wanted to shout out, but Achala squeezed my hand to restrain me.

Our own father is a coward! I hissed under my breath.

My sister shook her head firmly. It is just his way of protecting us.

We arrived at the ancient temple and Pa Bala left us alone with the horde of other children. The temple had crumbling red-brick walls and eight pillars supporting a domed roof. It was dark and mysterious inside, and the mumbled chanting of adults only added to my fear of the place. Above the columns and broken walls rose a tall pink pyramid painted on the outside with a curled snake. Inside the circle of the snake was a carved eye that stared at us malevolently.

Achala and I stood to one side as the children pushed and shoved each other vying for the best position for the glass bead game. We knew this game well. My sister had trained me and we considered ourselves as glass bead masters. The bare ground outside the temple was beaten smooth by the frequent gatherings of our people, the Nagi, and it made a perfect surface for the glass bead game. After our encounter on the way to the temple I felt out of sorts, but I joined Achala on the edge of the group.

Get back! I will smooth out the playing circle! shouted one of the larger boys. He was almost a man, with wispy stubble growing from his chin and fat, hairy legs. The rest of the children gathered around as he traced a circle in the dirt, carefully removing any interfering pebbles. The boy had appointed himself the game leader. He cleared a space so that each player could aim at the small glass balls thrown into the circle. These were the prize beads and they had to remain exactly where they fall. The lead boy challenged the rest of us to try to knock free any of the prize beads with our own glass balls. If the prize beads broke free, we could claim them, but if our own balls landed inside the circle we had to surrender them.

Achala nudged me playfully and I smiled as she held out the lone glass bead we possessed. Despite our frantic polishing it remained a poor specimen with a dull, scratched surface. I took the ball from Achala and stepped boldly into the gaggle of children, holding our glass bead in my outstretched palm. The lead boy inspected my specimen and laughed, shaking his head. This is a worthless piece of shit.

It is a magic bead, declared Achala.

The boy laughed loudly. It is rubbish, he sneered.

Using Achala for protection, I stepped closer to the circle of prize beads. The children watched as I crouched down, taking aim at a shiny black agate in the centre. We had developed a powerful flicking action by placing the glass ball between thumb and forefinger. I had practised my aim with my sister many times.

Hey, what are you playing at? You can’t do that! shouted the boy.

Before he could stop me, my glass bead burst forth, striking the ground only once before forcing the jet-black agate from the circle.

It is ours! I shouted.

I grabbed our prize and quickly joined Achala, secretly passing the black bead to her behind my back.

You red devil! You cheated! shouted the hairy boy, lunging in my direction.

I easily eluded him, darting to and fro between the children.

Achala called out, We won it fairly. It is ours.

The rest of the children joined in, screaming out red devils! and singing in a high pitch, fight, fight!

Taking me by surprise, the hairy boy grabbed me by the neck and dragged me down. Pinning my hand to the ground he prized open my empty fist. At that moment Achala appeared like a wild cat, jumping on the boy’s back. She clawed at his throat and bit his flailing hands.

A deep, guttural voice could be heard from outside the jeering pack of children, Desist, desist!

Two burly men, the guards of the temple, pushed aside the crowd, lifted Achala and myself into the air, and carried us effortlessly before dumping us clumsily at the feet of Pa Bala. Beside our father stood the head of the temple and the leader of the Nagi, Elder Klesh. Pa Bala pulled me to my feet and slapped me across the back of the head. He had exceptionally large hands and the blow sent me sprawling. Picking me up, he brought his broad face close enough to hiss in my ear, What were you thinking child? You have disturbed the ceremony.

I looked into his deep brown eyes and smelt the putrid odour of goat urine that always clung to him. All the while, behind him, Elder Klesh looked down on us coldly. As usual the younger one is unruly, he said, in his thin reedy voice.

She stole our black bead! shouted the boy who had attacked me.

Silence! demanded Klesh as he adjusted his roughly hewn robe. This is not the place for the games of children. He nodded to one of the temple guards who quickly apprehended the boy and delivered a sharp blow across his backside.

They are cheats, accused the boy in a sullen tone that was hardly audible.

My father dragged me from the shame of that encounter back to our tiny hut. We passed the main centre of our encampment with the rest of the Nagi peering out darkly from their thatched huts. We headed down the rough dirt track that led to our own dwelling. Overgrown ferns slashed at my legs from the encroaching jungle as Pa Bala pushed me ahead of him.

Achala trailed behind. It was only a game, Father, she called out, trying to keep up. We were only playing. Please Father, it wasn’t Abhi’s fault.

But he would not listen. I cursed furiously under my breath and tried to run off into the underbrush only to be restrained by my father. We arrived at our hut and Pa Bala pushed me inside with a hard blow across my legs. I landed on the grass mat that our mother had woven to cover the damp ground.

What is wrong with you, child? Are you a demon sent to torment me? It is always the same, the same trouble, the same stubbornness.

We were only playing, I whined.

We were with the others, like you told us, Achala chimed in.

In truth we both knew it was useless to argue with him.

At last he said what was really on his mind. Nothing has changed since the death of your mother.

He stood over me as I lay hunched against the earth wall of our crude shelter. It wasn’t my fault, I moaned.

My words were like a hot wind to his anger. He stepped towards me menacingly. Be quiet!

I stared at him and covered my head with my arms. Achala tried to pull him away from me. In his fury he struck out and knocked her down. For a moment he quivered with rage, his hands clenched in huge fists as he stared down at Achala. Pa Bala looked to the heavens, beating his head with his fists.

When will be the end of this? he bellowed, his face twisted in anguish. Within seconds, he was gone.

Achala crawled over to me.

I hate him! I spat out.

Achala groaned and rubbed her cheek. Dear Abhi, you shouldn’t blame him, she mumbled softly.

But I shook my head.

A father needs a wife, she said.

I hate him, I repeated, with increased resolve.

There was a long silence. I saw the red mark on Achala’s cheekbone and she winced as I touched her.

At least we kept the black bead, she said with a grin as she held out the prize in the palm of her hand.

I smiled at her. We won’t give up, I declared.

We enjoyed the silence. I took heart from the good cheer of my sister and felt the power of our twin-ship pass between us.

2

Elder Klesh

We have three distinct seasons in our land—the rains, the flowering season, and what we call Atapa, the unbearable hot season, when an evil wind blows interminably and the putrid stench from the tanning sheds wafts over us. In such times we dream of escaping to the far-off mountains, where, it was said, there was always fresh air and rivers the colour of the sky.

When we were younger we were small for our age, but with tough muscular legs and big hands like our father. We were strong, boyish but graceful; that was how Achala described us. She was the cheerful one.

We both had a strange, exotic appearance. Our sharp features, high cheekbones, large leaf-coloured eyes, freckled skin and flash of red hair made us stand out amongst the dark-skinned Nagi.

I was jealous of Achala’s easygoing charm, but it was simply impossible to quell my nervous energy. Once, when we were no more than five seasons old, Pa Bala insisted we eat our meals in silence. I could not stop my wriggling even as I kept my hands still on the table. Achala could barely stifle her giggling as I waved my arms madly every time our father turned away. It was true enough that I had a stubborn streak; I could not help myself. I felt there was some badness inside me. Achala said it was just my fighting spirit and that I should enjoy it.

Our home was right on the edge of the ramshackle village. In the hot season the stench from the tanning vats was further away and only just bearable. We made the most of the one cramped room that was our home. We were able to sleep, cook and play all in the same tiny space. The walls were rammed earth, topped by a thatched roof that leaked pitifully in the rainy season and was shelter for spiders and soldier ants.

Pa Bala no longer slept with us as he had done when we were infants. The Nagi had a strict rule that after ten seasons a lone father must leave his female children with the women of the village. But no one came to care for us. The untimely death of our mother and our strange pale appearance acted like a curse.

We were not always sure where Pa Bala slept at night. Occasionally he would forget and lie snoring before the dead ashes of our cooking fire.

My big problem with our father began at our birth. He held me responsible for the death of our mother. I was born later than Achala, and, according to Pa Bala, it was only because of me that the Katari Healer had to cut our mother open. My father bore my mother’s death heavily and he could not forgive me. If I was late in any way he would berate me, What is wrong with you Abhi? How long must I wait? You will be the death of me, child, just as you were your mother.

I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t mean it, I would reply.

It is your own stubborn nature, girl, and nothing more.

This was the refrain I came to know so well as I grew into womanhood.

In the days before the turning of our thirteenth season, the time was fast approaching when we would no longer be children. Although in our faces we were almost identical, with green eyes and fair skin, there was a subtle difference between us. Achala was rounder, more feminine in her hips and chest; she already had the first blush of womanhood, whilst I remained more boyish. I was growing breasts, but unlike Achala, who was proud of her new body, I resented the floppy movement of additional flesh when I ran.

It was around this time that Elder Klesh visited us. We were grinding wheat husks on the dirt track outside our hut. I had invented another game to challenge the rest of the children of the village. We needed to practise before we tried the game on the others, and so, while we worked, Achala tested me. I had to turn away while she hid some secret treasure under her grinding stone.

Well, what is it? she asked.

I was about to blurt out my first guess when Achala interrupted me, You have only three guesses and I will not say if you are warm or cold. You have to answer with no hints.

With my eyes closed I focussed on Achala’s grinding stone as though I had some special power to see what was hidden below. I had a good idea what was under the stone, but before I could speak a voice rang out behind us.

Daughters of Pa Bala!

We turned as one and saw the thin figure of Elder Klesh standing close. He wore a rough tattered cloak over his baggy trousers and tunic, and leaned on a wooden stick. His ugly face with its hooked nose and jutting-out chin gave the impression of constant displeasure.

Yes, Elder, we replied in unison, remaining seated and bowing our heads as Pa Bala had taught us.

You will stand, he commanded.

We rose quickly, leaning awkwardly with our shoulders touching. Achala reached out for my hand behind our backs. I felt the smooth shape of the glass bead in her palm. I could not help but smile—it was the bead she had hidden under her stone and I had guessed correctly.

You will show me, said Klesh, but Achala pretended not to understand.

He jabbed his stick at our feet. Do not play with me, he warned. He pulled Achala’s hand forward. Show me!

Achala uncurled her fingers. Just a black marble, a glass bead, she said.

Elder Klesh watched her silently. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised us. My sister held my hand and squeezed tightly.

You have grown, said Klesh softly.

His subdued voice made me shiver.

Where is Pa Bala? he demanded. "Where is your father?’

Achala shrugged and I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Never before had someone with such authority come to our lowly dwelling. Something seemed dangerous about his unexpected visit and we felt each other’s fear.

This is your home? asked Klesh, pointing to our small hut. Achala pushed my foot as I was about to speak. We both stared at the ground suppressing the urge to look him in the eye. Standing to one side he motioned for us to join him.

Once inside our cramped quarters Elder Klesh remained standing, leaning heavily on his stick.

I will wait, he said, taking the seat reserved for our father.

We perched ourselves on the edge of our sleeping platform, still close together for reassurance. The silence lengthened and Klesh sat impassively, his fingers moving incessantly.

Our father might not return until morning, said Achala.

This is a meeting he cannot avoid, replied Klesh.

We continued to wait, wriggling uncomfortably as the old man watched us.

When our father at last made his appearance, he did not pause when he found the leader of the community waiting for him. Pa Bala nodded and the two men moved outside. Achala and I hung by the doorway to overhear their conversation.

I see the time has come, said our father.

We could hear the irritation in Klesh’s voice. I have told you many times. You know only too well the moon is almost full and they are showing the signs.

Achala looked at me with wide eyes.

I should see them fully into womanhood, said Pa Bala.

There was a long silence and then a lowered inaudible response from Klesh.

They are still only children, said Pa Bala.

Klesh replied solemnly, You would be wise to keep your agreement. We are the Nagi.

We heard nothing for a long while. We stared at each other wondering what agreement they were referring to. Our father had never mentioned this to us.

At last we heard the heavy footsteps of the elder depart and our father came inside. He placed his hand affectionately on Achala and stroked her hair. A wistful expression remained on his face as he looked down at her.

Late into the night our father sat hunched before the low embers of the cooking fire, sipping from a bamboo tube of fermented millet juice. I had never seen him so wistful before and I knew it was a bad sign. That night I could hardly close my eyes.

3

The Flower Garden

When Achala and I finally stirred on the next dawn we were alone. As usual, Achala rose quickly to stoke the fire before setting off to collect fresh goats’ milk from our neighbour, Garbha. The warmth of Achala’s body still lingered in our sleeping skins, and I dozed on, hidden in our special nest. I remembered the encounter with Elder Klesh, and a wave of fear flooded through my body as I recalled the tension that his visit generated. I remembered how our father had sipped his millet beer all night long, and again I worried. I wondered if the meeting with Klesh had something to do with our attending the Ceremony of Offering to Jwala. It was an event we had been told about often enough and the full moon was almost here.

Perhaps it is today? I thought with dread.

In a short while Achala returned carrying a small clay pot and humming merrily to herself. Garbha has been generous. We will have flatbread today, she said, her face beaming. It was clear enough she was not bothered at all by the visit of the elder the previous day.

I wanted to share my fears but could not bring myself to upset Achala’s good humour. I rose quickly, busying myself by grinding maize. My fears eased as I worked the millstone. Achala stoked the fire and then mixed our maize flour with milk. It wasn’t long before I heard a low hiss on the cooking plate. I brushed my hair and the rich smell of roasting flatbread soothed me.

Achala laughed aloud. You are waiting like a dog, Abhi.

I made a playful barking sound and we ate together in a contented silence. We finished the meal with a shared cup of hot mint-water. Achala looked at me intently. We had a special way of communicating—as though we were one mind—and by Achala’s quiet manner and mischievous look, I knew immediately she had interrupted our father’s visit to our neighbour.

What was he doing there? I asked.

Achala rolled her eyes with a sly grin. We already knew that men and women did strange things to each other. The other Nagi children had told us about mating, but we had only a vague idea what was involved. If the actions of animals were anything to go by we were not impressed.

How could they behave like this? I screwed up my nose in disgust at the thought of our neighbour putting her arms around our father as they slept. Garbha of all women should know better, I snorted.

Our neighbour was beautiful in her own serious way—very thin, with pockmarked skin, but with radiant olive-brown eyes. It was hard not to stare at her.

She is a woman without a man, explained Achala.

It occurred to me that if our neighbour was on good relations with our father he might very well confide in her. Now was the moment to share my fears with Achala.

Perhaps he has told her of the visit of Elder Klesh? I blurted out.

Achala shook her head.

Perhaps they are talking even now, I added. A new idea had come to me. We should creep into her garden and spy on them!

Achala’s eyes widened as she considered my suggestion. But they will hear us.

Now the idea took full hold and there was no way I could get rid of it. I will crawl like a mouse and no one will hear me.

I don’t think so, warned Achala.

Her objection only made me more determined. How else are we to know? We have to find out.

Achala took a deep breath. Although she was more cautious than me, it was clear she was also worried about Klesh’s mysterious visit.

Why not? she said at last, nodding her head. We are a team, so we will work together.

We made our way with bare feet to the back of our dwelling. A low rock wall protected our row of huts from foraging animals, but it did not work too well, and the frequent breaches were rarely repaired. We crept unseen from the forest side and then squeezed our way into Garbha’s flower garden. We heard the low murmur of voices from the open window of Garbha’s hut, but could not make out clearly what was being said.

In a flash of insight, I remembered what I had discovered once in this very garden. Achala and I were on one of our meanders when we discovered the flowers of Garbha. It was drizzling with rain and the single row of scarlet and saffron-coloured petals hung so delicately. I was spellbound by the slow dripping of the flower heads. A strange trance had come over me, in which every sound, even the most distant birdcall, stood out clearly in my mind. The trance came unbidden to me and I sat for a long time perfectly still. My eyes remained fixed on the drifting rain and the splashes of red and gold. I was transfixed, yet alert—for once in my short life, I was completely relaxed. When I finally came back to myself I had no idea what had happened. Achala worried I had caught some kind of sickness and we made a pact not to tell anyone about the flower garden or my sudden immobile trance. But after this first occasion I discovered there were other times I could sit in complete stillness for long periods. It was as though I had discovered a frozen time when sounds and rainbow colours dropped from the sky. I needed a strong stimulus to focus my attention, but once I entered the trance of immobility no one could rouse me.

Now we sat together hidden in our neighbour’s overgrown garden and I remembered the power of the trance I had fallen into previously. I signalled for Achala to come beside me and I whispered my plan. I chose a thin gossamer spiderweb to focus on, narrowing my gaze intently on the speck of a spider busily encasing a dead moth. Soon enough, as I gazed at the minute vibrations of the web, I fell into a trance and became acutely attuned to the sounds of the forest.

As I watched ever more closely the gentle weaving of the spider, I relaxed even more deeply, still hearing the distinct, husky voice of Garbha. My dear Bala, it is what any Nagi would do. Your family will be honoured and blessed.

Silence.

I heard a satisfied sigh and then a low groan. You are a good woman, Garbha, said my father. You should have been their mother.

It was not to be, replied our neighbour. To defy the temple is to defy the world. We would be cast out with no people, no village—not even family would help us.

Perhaps I should offer only one. With the other we might all benefit.

There was silence again. I