A Dream Immortal: Seven Tales from Seven Realms of the Spirit

By Astika Royal Mason

An Hindu prince soon to be a slave, a mysterious stranger with magical powers, a prideful monk abandoned in a deserted monastery, a successful Chinese famer accused of murder, the son of a Zen priest living in rural Kansas, an old man obsessed with trees gradually slipping into dementia, the child star of a local television show who thinks she’s a duck—what could they possibly have in common? A heart, a soul, and a vision of themselves that lead them to a destiny beyond their imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781663236326

Astika Royal Mason

Astika Royal Mason, a student of Indian Spiritual Master Sri Chinmoy, has been a meditation instructor for almost a half century. He has practiced in both monastic and non-monastic communities. A universalist at heart, he believes that the essential experience of Spirit is similar for all people regardless of belief or ethnicity. A Dream Immortal is a collection of short stories that illustrates the influence of personal consciousness on our human destiny. He is currently working on Xin, a sci-fi fantasy novel about the neglect of the heart and the potential consequence of Man’s mental and intellectual development moving at a faster evolutionary pace than his emotional development. His first novel, The City of The Goddess is soon to be published in serial form. He is currently collecting his poetic works to be complied in an anthology entitled, Psyche in the Pre-Dawn Sky.

Book preview

CONTENTS

Foreword

Satyajaya: The Story of a Righteous Man

The Stranger

The Clacker & the Bell

The Cultivator

The True Dharma

The Acorn & The Oak

The Burning House

FOREWORD

A novel will be of a high and noble order

the more it represents of inner, and the less it represents of outer, life;

and the ratio between the two will supply a means of judging any novel…"

~ Arthur Schopenhauer

What applies to novels will, of course, apply to poetry, novellas and short stories as well. Indeed, this quote from the early nineteenth century German philosopher clarifies the value of all literature, as opposed to the mass of pulp fiction one finds in the general marketplace. The real subject of all the arts is Man, and no art is more valuable to mankind than that which opens to our view the hidden source of our motives, thoughts and emotions, and reveals to us an outcome resulting from those inner forces. Certainly, actions speak louder than words, but loud does not mean clear or accurate. Words too fall short in the quest for an ultimate revelation, for no collection of words can match the insights that arise from the deepest realms of consciousness, or those regions beyond mental thought and bodily emotions that I refer to as Spirit.

The subtitle of this book is Seven Tales from Seven Realms of the Spirit, rather than from The Realm of the Spirit, because the collective consciousness of Man finds for itself a release in the consciousness of each individual psyche, and there a chance to explore an infinite range of possibilities, conditions, actions, and results that are unique to that individual. Though external circumstances will play a role in all our lives, it is how we react to those circumstances that makes our story, and that reaction arises in each of us from the movements of consciousness within us, and are often invisible to us. A war happens. One man runs, another fights. The war is not the cause of their story; it is only the landscape upon, or the backdrop against, which their stories take place. The how and why of what happens, and the intensity or degree to which they act and are acted upon, arise from deep within the spirit of the individual. There is actually no need for an external war. A war rages in each of us at every minute, the battle being over whether we are going to be the person we deeply and truly are, or someone else determined by the conditions we encounter.

If we are to be the person we deeply and truly are, first we must know who that person is. This search within ourselves is also a battle against a host of forces, not the least of which is just plain inertia, that voice constantly whispering to us, Why bother? Consciousness, or Spirit, is the one and only protagonist of every story, and there is very little need for an external villain. We have within ourselves our own antagonists, created to oppose our best aspirations, and even the evolutionary aim of consciousness itself, which is to constantly grow wider, deeper and higher in its own awareness.

Astika

Satyajaya

The Story of a

Righteous Man

SATYAJAYA

Righteousness

The storm had made the muddy path up the hill treacherously slick and the path was almost impassable. The elderly Kripama finally had to stop and catch his breath. He set his briefcase down on the grass and felt his shirt. The light cotton kurta was wet with sweat, and the white dhoti wrapped around his waist was spattered with mud, its pleats in disarray. The puddles had forced him to leave the trail several times, and each time he’d had to fight his way through the brush. His seventy-five-year-old body was a mass of aches and pains. Not only had the walk been strenuous, but his rheumatism was acting up, as it often did during the rainy season. And then, there was the lack of sleep. All night long, bright blue jets of lightning had flashed across the storm-driven sky, blasting the valley floor with rolling shockwaves of thunder. By dawn the old man’s nerves were shot and he’d risen from his bed utterly exhausted. But he was not one for making excuses, and the thought of taking a day off was never a serious consideration. He just needed to rest for a moment, to allow his heart rate to return to normal. After that, he’d rearrange his dhoti, and be off again for one final push up the difficult incline.

Kripama hated tardiness. He considered it the sign of a defective character. He was determined not to be late, for he knew only one way to teach character—by example. Half marching, half stumbling, he struggled up the slippery slope until he crested the hill and was greeted, at long last, by the mercifully flat surface of the schoolyard. He pulled a silver watch from his shirt pocket and stared at its hands—six minutes late! Despite the fact that he was late, he took a moment to admire the watch. He relished the beauty of its case. Though made of an inexpensive alloy and not real silver, it could not have been more precious to him if it had been made of pure gold. Some former students, some from as far back as thirty years, had given the watch to him as a gift of gratitude. These were common folk: farmers, shop keepers, and local craftsmen, along with two minor civil servants and a mid-ranking army officer. His former students had presented the watch to him on his seventieth birthday to honor his forty years of service in the district. It was a most precious gift, and he wept sometimes to think of the watch’s real value.

As he navigated his way through the puddles in the schoolyard, he cupped a hand over his eyes and squinted skyward. The storm had passed, and the sun was about to burn through the thinning clouds. Soon, the muddy schoolyard would be baked as hard as a clay pot. It was while surveying the sky that he noticed the hole in the schoolhouse roof. His heart sank. The wind hadn’t been particularly violent down in the valley, but here on the ridge, it had ripped yet another hole in the roof, which had been repaired only a month ago. Kripama shook his head in disappointment. I will have to find better workmen, he thought to himself.

The local patrolman had already unlocked the schoolhouse, and seeing the door wide open, Kripama quickened his pace. His students would be wondering what happened to him, imagining all sorts of things—that the old man had been arrested by the army, or had finally kicked the bucket! They were a high-strung lot from three different villages and for them the slightest deviation from established routine was an invitation to riot. Knowing this, however, did not prepare Kripama for the scene that greeted his eyes when he stepped through the doorway. The students were jostling with each other for a better look at two boys fighting in the center of the room.

Stop! Stop this instant! Kripama shouted as he rushed into the room. The startled students turned and stared at him in disbelief, apparently astonished to see their teacher. Perhaps they thought he really had died, or perhaps they simply could not believe they’d been caught misbehaving yet again, caught in exactly the behavior they’d promised to renounce only a week earlier. The little mob of unruly students parted as Kripama advanced to reveal two fighters still grappling with each other on the dirt floor of the classroom. Kripama stood over them, watching them roll about in the puddle that had formed under the hole in the roof.

Get up! Get up! he commanded in his most authoritative voice. The two boys suddenly stopped fighting and looked up wide-eyed at their teacher glaring down at them. Forgetting the fight, they sprang to their feet and stood at attention in front of Kripama. Their anger quickly turned to shame as they stood before their teacher. No longer enemies, they were now allies facing a common threat. Kripama gave them a harsh look to let them know what a disgrace they were! Their muddy kurtas hung limply from their drooping shoulders, the thin cloth clinging to their bony ribs. Their eyes, half hidden under the tangled locks of wet hair, were fixed on the floor. Neither boy dared to look up.

Kripama let the two boys stand at the center of the room, surrounded by their peers, as he glared at them. He wanted them to feel his displeasure. What do you think you are doing? he barked. Both offenders attempted to answer at once, but he stopped them in mid-sentence. You first! he said, looking at the youngest. The lad tried to answer coherently, but he had not quite caught his breath, so Kripama waited without breaking eye contact with the panting youth. Finally, accompanied by a flood of bitter tears, the boy announced that he had been fighting for his honor. It seemed his honor depended on the return of a certain lost pencil. By his account, he had lost the pencil on the path leading up to the school and the older boy had picked it up. The problem started when the older boy refused to return it, though he knew perfectly well who the pencil belonged to and that it was not his to keep. Not one to waste his breath on what he knew would be a futile negotiation, the younger had opted for an immediate frontal assault to secure his property.

Kripama turned to the older student for his account. The older boy was considerably less forthcoming, and he took care not to make eye contact with his teacher. Most of what the older boy said was under his breath and incomprehensible, but he did manage to mumble something about the law of finders, keepers. Without saying a word, Kripama turned from the boys and walked to his desk, that being an unfinished pine board lashed to a bamboo frame. He set his briefcase down on the desk and turned to face the class.

Sit down! he said harshly. He then took a seat himself, but not as he usually did in the chair behind his desk. Instead, he stepped out from behind the desk and sat down on the bare floor in front of his students. They understood the gesture. As if one person, the entire class sat down with him, forming a half circle around him. I’m not going to bite you! he said to the front row boys. Come closer! That’s right! Form a tight crescent right here around me.

The response was not immediate, there being an understandable hesitancy on the part of the students about sitting very close to their angry teacher, so Kripama repeated the command. Come closer! Come on, be brave . . . quickly, quickly!

Kripama sat on the floor with his students because he wanted to change the mood of the room. This was something he did occasionally to take the edge off the strict discipline he required. He’d come into class angry and this was his way of trying to dispel the tension he’d created. The boys understood this, but were wary of becoming too cozy with their teacher. They had learned from past experience that when Kripama said, Be brave! it was not an invitation to become careless or overtly familiar.

One by one, the students pulled their grass mats forward until they had formed a semi-circle around their teacher. At least they remember how to sit, Kripama thought to himself. He surveyed the class, taking care that his gaze lingered for a moment on each boy’s face. Over his years as a teacher, Kripama had perfected this particular gaze. It was generous and kind, yet somehow remained strict and demanding. It kept them on their toes, but let them know he was on their side. The two fighters chose to sit at the back of the class where they hoped to remain unnoticed for the rest of the day, but their strategy failed. You two, back there, Kripama said looking at them. Come up! Come up and sit here in front of me.

As the two former combatants placed their mats in front of their teacher, they made a show of not wanting to sit close to each other, but Kripama quickly put a stop to that nonsense. He instructed the two boys to sit shoulder to shoulder with each other. This they did reluctantly. Once again, the teacher surveyed his class making sure all his students were sitting upright, were obediently silent, and attentive with their notebooks and pencils at the ready. All were, except the one who had been deprived of his pencil. The impoverished one sat forlornly opening and closing his notebook, utterly at a loss for what to do. Kripama leaned back, took a pencil from his desk, and handed it to the lad. You will return this at the end of our class, he said.

At that moment, the schoolhouse door swung open and a bright light flooded the room. At the center of this light, like wick of a candle in the midst of its flame, was the dark silhouette of a man. The boys turned and Kripama squinted to see who the intruder might be. Despite the bright light shining directly into his eyes, Kripama recognized the man immediately. It was Amal the roofer. He and his crew were looking for business in the wake of the storm. The roofer did not announce himself, or make any gesture to get Kripama’s attention. Unschooled as he was in the social graces, Amal stood politely in the doorway waiting until it was convenient for the teacher to address him. Amal was typical in this respect of most villagers, who were deferential to authority figures. The roofer was offering Kripama the respect he was due as the headmaster of the district.

Though both men were from the same village, fate had taken them down different paths. Kripama, the older man, had attended the university on a scholarship. He possessed what some called a high-minded disposition. Others called it high-handed. Amal, on the other hand, had not graduated from any school at any level; yet he was the most successful by village standards, having a successful business due mainly to his energetic personality. He was muscular, and plain-spoken, far from eloquent, but the two men had one thing in common. They were proud of their heritage. Though most manual laborers wore shorts, Amal always wore the traditional dhoti, just as Kripama did. The men were close in other ways as well, but this was their one visible connection.

I see you have noticed the hole in our roof, Kripama said, getting up from the floor and walking to greet the man.

Each man bowed to the other. And I am prepared to offer you a solution to your problem for the same fee as last time, Amal declared, his attempt at eloquence bringing a smile to the teacher’s face.

But your last repair didn’t hold, Kripama countered, assuming a cool and business-like demeanor. This hole is in exactly the same place as the one you patched.

Amal shrugged and raised his hands, waving them above his head in a movement like two whirlwinds. It was a very fierce storm, Master, and you know how the gods like to play jokes on us. They create storms to amuse themselves, and they poke holes in roofs wherever they like. We will be busy for days repairing the damage from this storm, but I’m offering to mend the school’s roof right now, before we do anyone else’s.

Why should I hire you again? Kripama asked skeptically, hoping to make clear his disappointment with the last job.

The village roofer was startled by the question and seemed a little offended. Still, he managed a broad smile, which revealed the gaps of several missing teeth. You should rehire me, because we both know, Master, only my price is within your budget!

Ah! So, that is how it is! Kripama sighed. He allowed a little smile to acknowledge how quickly he’d been defeated in the negotiation. Well then, I suppose I should give you another chance.

The foreman smiled politely, but something in the man’s expression suggested Kripama should not assume he was doing the roofer a great favor.

Kripama caught the man’s meaning, but was determined to communicate his insistence that the work be done better this time. Wanting to make his point without insulting the man in front of the students, Kripama looked up at the hole in the roof making sure his disappointment showed on his face. It wasn’t a big hole, but its presence suggested there might be other places on the roof that were damaged as well. He turned to the roofer and asked pointedly, For the exact same price?

The roofer nodded, still managing to smile.

And you will check over the entire roof, making sure everything is secure?

The roofer’s smile turned to a frown, but he nodded his agreement.

Then we have a deal! Kripama said extending his hand to close the negotiation before Amal could change his mind. When will you start? he asked. Today is impossible, of course. As you can see there is a class in session. Tomorrow is another school day, so I suppose the day after tomorrow is the earliest . . .

The foreman interrupted him. We will do it now.

Now! Kripama exclaimed. But I’m conducting class! Suppose one of your workers falls through the roof? He could injure my students.

Amal gave Kripama a wounded look. Master, we are professionals! he protested. We move about as lightly as little birds. You won’t even notice we are here. There is no danger to anyone, least of all to your students.

The idea of conducting class while workers patched the roof seemed impractical to Kripama. He could not imagine his students being able to concentrate with a commotion going on right over their heads. However, Amal insisted that now was what made his generous offer possible. Any minute the truck with the roofing materials would arrive. He was present at that moment only because the school was the designated place for his crew to meet the truck. It would be a simple matter to have his crew do the work right then and there. Otherwise . . .

Kripama got the picture. I suppose the materials on your truck have been purchased by others who expect these materials to be used on their homes, Kripama said ruefully. You realize I won’t have anything to do with theft.

Amal’s face reddened. Master, please! First you imply that I’m incompetent, and now that I’m a thief! Please stop before you suggest I’m also a rebel sympathetic to the revolution! The man’s expression suddenly changed, and a jagged yellow grin appeared.

In fact, Amal was a well-known supporter of the revolution. Most of the locals knew he smuggled supplies to the guerrillas encamped in the surrounding mountains. Kripama knew this as well. He also knew that most of the peasants in the valley sided with the guerrillas. Several of his students had uncles, brothers, or other family members who were armed and hiding in the mountains, though none would admit it. Missing family members were always said to be off visiting relatives, or to have died unexpectedly. In this country, the dead were cremated and their ashes scattered, so there were no graves authorities could dig up to check on the accuracy of death claims. That was fortunate for the villagers, because many of the claims were false—necessary lies to protect the family, because when the army came, it was never for a friendly visit.

I want nothing to do with theft! Kripama reiterated. Send me a proper bill and the district will pay.

Again, the toothless grin returned. Master, you and I both know the district has no money! Or, if they do, they are very forgetful and never remember to pay.

I will pay, Kripama promised.

Amal acknowledged the offer but wouldn’t have it. The poor repair their own roofs, he replied with a grin. The people we work for are wealthy and will not mind if we donate a small part of what they have purchased to the school. They are very patriotic and pay their taxes quite happily! So, for them, this is like a tax; only this time the tax will go to the school instead of the army. I promise you, Master, they will be very happy to pay this tax, especially since they won’t know about it!

Two workers appeared in the schoolhouse doorway. Both were bent over and breathing heavily, having just climbed the path up to the school. Normally they would have come with the roofing truck, but there had been some trouble getting it started; so, they walked to the school in order to deliver the message that the truck would be late, if it came at all. Amal was visibly displeased to see them. The truck has all the tools and supplies, he said. If the truck doesn’t come, what need do I have for you? You should have waited and come with the truck, or not come at all!

While waiting for the truck, Amal and the two workers strolled around the school house pretending to take note of the damage. Kripama watched as the two new workers joined hands to form a step, and then boosted their boss up to the eave. With his very powerful arms, Amal pulled himself up over the eave and onto the roof. He then began to check for damage in earnest. Kripama watched from below admiring the nimble manner in which the burly man moved about on the flimsy thatched roof. He smiled and thought to himself, There is no point in arguing with these village people. They are a stubborn lot. Once they got it into their heads that they were going to do something—or not do it—there was nothing more to be said.

Satisfied that Amal had the matter under control, Kripama returned to his class. The two surplus workers followed him into the schoolhouse as if they were students and stood at the rear of the room. By now the students were restless, having grown tired of waiting for their teacher; but then, they were always restless. Kripama made an announcement. Because the roof is in need of repair, he said, today’s class will be shorter than usual. He said this without knowing whether the truck would arrive, or if any work would actually be done. Instead of the usual classroom assignments, today I’m going to tell you a story. Your homework will be based on your comprehension of this story.

Taking his place on the floor in front of his students again, Kripama instructed them to put their pencils aside. "Close your notebooks and do not write anything down. This is a comprehension test, so just listen carefully with your full attention. The story I have to tell you is a story about character. It is a tale of what a man can be; indeed, of what he must be if that man has any hope of discovering within himself the truth of his own existence. I am not speaking of your village wisdom, or the clever little sayings you hear every day, most of which you should probably ignore. No, I am speaking of a very deep truth. A very powerful truth that cannot be said with words. This truth will vex your entire life, if you do not acquire it; and if acquired, it will haunt you if you do not live it faithfully. This is an invisible truth of the heart that governs our affairs and, in the end, determines our fate, whether we recognize it or not. It is a truth hidden in the depths of every man’s heart and I truly hope that each of you will one day discover it within your own heart and then be brave enough to live it."

The students looked at each other, uncertain of what to think. They had never received this kind of instruction before. Yes, they understood that by truth their teacher probably meant something that had to do with character. This was because Kripama often spoke of character, usually in conjunction with some bad behavior they had just displayed; but he’d never approached the topic in this way, and no one could remember him suspending the normal class instruction in order to tell them a story. A general confusion was visible on everyone’s face, so Kripama asked if anyone had a question. It was a futile gesture. Every schoolboy knows not to voluntarily reveal his ignorance. Seeing no raised hands, Kripama launched directly into his story.

Many years ago, he began, "in fact, several centuries ago, long before this nation was a nation, this valley and the surrounding mountains were divided into several small kingdoms. At that time, the people were happy and they enjoyed long periods of peace. This was, in part, because the ruling families of these various kingdoms were relatives of each other and they had agreed not to fight. It helped that, at that time, these kingdoms were approximately equal in power; but ambition is always a threat to peace. As fate would have it, a king of poor character and great ambition ascended to the throne in one of those kingdoms. As you know, there are good kings and bad kings, good governments and bad governments, and there are always good and bad people in every kingdom. Most people are patient and keep the civil order even under a bad king; however, when a very bad king comes to power, things can go wrong quite quickly.

Why is this? Kripama asked. There was no reply from his students. Well, he said, for one thing, a very bad king tends to become a law unto himself, and he will imagine that the laws that exist do not apply to him. A bad king will always find ways to make good laws into bad laws. In the end, there is no justice for anyone anywhere. As you can imagine, people in those days always prayed that their king would be a man of high character and that he would possess a kind and generous heart. Most people in those days believed their kings were divinely ordained, appointed by God to be the king. Some even believed their king was a god. Some of the kings also believed this as well. Of those, some did their very best to serve the interests of their people in a godly way; but, as you can imagine, there were some kings who felt their people and the world were put here simply for their convenience and enjoyment. Most kings, indeed, most people, do not understand that the gods exist in order to love and serve the world, that a god is just a being of love. A king is also a servant first and foremost.

Kripama paused and looked at his students. We are always thinking about kings and rulers, judging them to be either good or bad, but I want you to take a moment to consider the importance of good character in the ordinary citizen. If you are a citizen of good character, then you will recognize good character in others. A nation of good citizens cannot be ruled by a very bad king. So, ask yourself, ‘Is my character good? Could I tell the difference between a good king and a bad one?’

Most of the students were puzzled by the comment, because they had never asked themselves that question. Kripama continued by saying, What if you were in the company of some very bad men, but those men were being nice to you, maybe giving you lots of money? Would you walk away from them, or would you stay with them? Would you be happy to serve a king, if that king was cruel to others, but nice to you? What if the king was good, but did much more for others than for you? Would you still admire him? But let’s not just talk about kings. If a stranger stood before you dressed in filthy rags, could you see past his dirty clothes? Could you see his true character? Could you recognize a noble, kingly man, if that man was a slave?

No one answered Kripama’s question, so he attempted to restate his point. The citizen who lacks character will always be fooled in these matters. Without character we become the victims of those without character. If you do not dive deeply into yourself and consciously cultivate goodness in your heart, you will always be confused about the character and intentions of others. You will gradually begin to see goodness as weakness. Eventually, you will come to despise the good.

The boys were shocked to hear their teacher say they might someday despise the good. Seeing this, Kripama said, "It takes a good man to know a good man, and thousands of good citizens if there is to be a good nation. Goodness does not grow on trees. If we are born with it, it is easily lost. The seeds of goodness are there in the heart, but you have to consciously cultivate them, or they won’t grow. If you wish to be good, you must make your heart loving and strong, brave and clear-eyed. Cultivating character is sometimes painful and requires us to make certain sacrifices, but such a good heart is the font of good character, and character is our best protection.

In one of those kingdoms, Kripama continued, "a kingdom that happened to enclose this very valley, there was a king and queen who were much loved, but the couple had no child. The fact that this king had no heir was a cause of great concern to all. Everyone, including the king and queen, prayed that the gods would grant the royal couple a child. When their prayers were finally answered and a son was born, the people rejoiced and felt divinely blessed. This feeling was increased when the king named the infant Satyajaya. In the ancient language, ‘satya,’ meant truth and ‘jaya’ meant victory; but in this case, the king’s intention was that ‘jaya’ should mean ‘to manifest, or to bring into being.’ So, the name Satyajaya meant ‘one who manifests or brings truth into being.’ Naturally, everyone assumed the name indicated the king’s intention to raise a son with firm moral values and a high regard for the truth.

"The people of the kingdom were thrilled by the news of the royal birth. Many celebrations were planned. Every household was set to celebrate in some way. Some of the celebrations were to be light-hearted, while others would be serious, some were public, while others would be quite private. The most private celebration of all was the blessing of the royal heir by the king and queen’s royal mentor, their guru. This was to occur on the first full moon after the birth of the child. On that day the new born, the king, the queen, and the royal mentor were the only ones permitted to be present.

"The blessing was held in the royal birth chamber. At the appointed time, the mentor entered and the king and queen bowed to him. The mentor then bowed to the king and queen. By then, the mentor would have already spent several hours in prayer and meditation to ensure that he was able to be a conduit for a divine energy. Only then could he offer the highest blessings of heaven for the child and the royal parents. The child lay on a silk cloth in a jeweled bassinet. The king and queen knelt before the child as the mentor lifted the veil that covered the bassinet. Each movement and gesture of the ritual had its own special meaning. This lifting of the veil symbolized the royal child’s arrival in this world, coming to us from a world that is veiled to our human eyes. When the infant’s face became fully visible, however, the mentor stepped back in astonishment. He did not place his hand on the child’s head to give the blessing. The king looked up to see the mentor swaying back and forth unsteadily, and for a brief moment the king feared the man might pass out. The king would have thought it a bad omen if the royal mentor fainted at the first sight of the child. The queen also noticed that the mentor was unsteady on his feet, but she thought he had been entranced at the sight of the child—a good omen, one that predicted a wonderful future for the child and the kingdom.

"The queen’s optimism faded when the mentor refused to bless the child. With no explanation, the man turned and ran from the room! Naturally, the king and queen were shocked. What could be the reason for such strange behavior? The child’s face and body were perfect in every way, so why such a startling reaction? In desperation, the king ran down the hallway shouting for the mentor to return, but the man pretended not to hear. The mentor had been merely walking swiftly, so as not to attract attention to himself, but when the king came after him, he began running as fast as he could.

Now, a king’s command must be obeyed, Kripama reminded his students. "Such an important matter as the blessing of the royal child must not be neglected. With no guards present, the king was forced to run after the mentor himself. The king finally caught up with him in the palace garden. Taking hold of the man’s arm, the king first demanded and then begged the mentor to return to the birth chamber and bless the child. The mentor stubbornly refused. The mentor looked terrified and he could only declare, ‘It is not for us mortals to bless the gods.’

"‘What?’ the king exclaimed. ‘Satyajaya is a god?’ In his astonishment, the king released the mentor’s arm, and the man wasted no time in making his escape. He ran from the garden and into the nearby woods without offering any further explanation. The king called out to him, ‘Teacher, at least tell me which god?’ The mentor didn’t answer; he never even looked back. He only ran deeper into the woods until he disappeared from sight.

"When the king returned to the birth chamber, he found the queen in tears, and it took several minutes for her to recover her composure. Finally, she asked the king why the mentor fled and why he did not obey the king’s order to return and bless the child. Though the king was quite confused himself, he needed to comfort his queen, so he said, ‘The royal mentor told me our son is a god, and that ‘It is not for mortals to bless the gods.’

"As the king and queen gazed once more upon their perfectly formed child, and the queen asked the king why the mentor had looked so frightened when he ran away, the king could only reply, ‘Perhaps the mentor had never before seen a god. I suppose that would be a shock to any man. Only a man like our mentor could recognize a god in the mortal body of a babe.’ Leaning over the bassinet, both parents smiled down on their beautiful son. ‘Now, you and I are looking at our new god,’ the queen said, ‘and I see nothing to be afraid of.’

"From that moment on, the royal couple considered their son to be of divine birth, but wisdom and a genuine sense of humility prevented them from presenting their son as anything more than a delightfully mortal child. They didn’t want to raise the expectations of the kingdom, or put any undue pressure on the prince. Sometimes they would look at each other, however, and smile in a way that revealed something more than the normal parental pride.

"The following morning, the king dispatched a courier to fetch the royal mentor. The king wasn’t mad at the mentor, on the contrary, he had both a great respect and deep affection for the man, but he wanted a clearer explanation of why the mentor had not blessed the child. When the courier returned to the palace, however, he reported that the mentor’s ashram was deserted. The local people said the guru fled with his disciples in the middle of the night and it was rumored that he would ask for protection from the neighboring king.

"‘That’s absurd!’ the king protested. ‘I have nothing but love for the man.’ The courier bowed and said he was willing to travel to the neighboring kingdom and ask the mentor to return, promising him that he had nothing to fear, but the king sent the courier away. He understood that if his mentor had fled in that way, it was so he wouldn’t have to give the king the explanation the king wanted.

"Although the king and queen were very discreet, a rumor began to circulate that the royal mentor had refused to bless the child. According to the holy scriptures of that kingdom, there were only two reasons why the royal mentor would refuse to bless a royal baby—one was very good, the other very bad. Despite the scriptures, many felt the mentor’s refusal to be of no consequence. The child was beautiful and the king and queen were obviously happy. What could be a better omen of good things to come? Others, however, pointed to fact that the mentor had fled in fear, asking another king for protection. That could only be a bad omen. Rumor after rumor arose. It was whispered that the prince might be of supernatural origin. Some said he was a god. Others feared he might be a demon. At court there was never any question that the royal child was a darling little god, but other opinions were whispered in alleyways and drinking halls.

"It was the prince himself who tipped the scales of public opinion in his favor. He grew up to be a delightfully normal young man, bright but not brilliant, talented but not overly so. He was a handsome and pleasant young man without conceited airs or affectations. In other words, he was exactly what the people were hoping for. The king and queen were naturally pleased to see their son grow up so pleasantly normal and were more than a little relieved not to have to address the ‘god issue’ after all.

"Satyajaya may have been of a divine birth, but he was pleasantly normal in every respect. If he was a god, then it seemed he was a new kind of god, one who lived in his human skin quite comfortably. If there was any problem with the prince at all, it was that he grew up much too rapidly to suit the king and queen. Before they knew it, the prince was engaged, married, and then a father himself. The prince was loved by the people and a favorite at court. The old king began to think of stepping down from his throne and enjoying a peaceful retirement. One day while riding on a hunt, the prince received a message from his father requesting him to return to the palace at once. Normally, the king would have sent a palace messenger. This time, however, the message was carried by the Minister of Protocol. Astride his powerful horse, the prince opened the envelope and read the message: The King wishes an audience with the Crown Prince at the Prince’s earliest convenience."

Kripama explained to his students that at your earliest convenience, means immediately when the request comes from your king—or from a teacher. It was a very curious message made all the more so by the fact that it was delivered by a minister of state. Satyajaya asked the minister what this audience with the king was to be about, but the minister confessed he had no idea. All he could say was that, from the king’s expression, it seemed quite important. The prince, suddenly concerned, left the hunting party and returned to his father’s palace at a gallop.

"The king was sitting alone when the prince entered the throne room. Satyajaya approached his father and bowed. The king came straight to the point. ‘My son, I believe the time has come for you to ascend to this throne.’

"The prince was shocked! Was his father dying? Fearing that might be the case, the prince began to weep like a child. The king was touched by this spontaneous display of love, but he rebuked his son. ‘What is this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Certainly not the behavior or a king!’ Satyajaya quickly composed himself and stood looking up at his father in silence.

"‘Fear not, dear boy,’ the king laughed. ‘I’m as healthy as an ox, and expect to live forever; but I don’t think the people of this kingdom want to see me rule forever. No! Your day has come. The people are eager to see you on this throne, and I am even more eager than they are.’

"Satyajaya protested. If his father was healthy, then there was no reason for him to step down. To reinforce his argument, the prince declared he didn’t think he was ready for the job.

"The king smiled. ‘Nonsense, I say you are more than ready. If anyone doubts this, let them be reassured by the fact that I’ll be here to advise you. No one will question your decisions if I stand behind them.’

"Satyajaya always found it very difficult to argue with his father and he could think of nothing to say in reply. ‘Many years ago,’ the king said, ‘I was asked by a minister if I regretted anything about being king. I told him the saddest thing about being king is that I fear I shall leave the throne vacant and the nation in danger. This was before you were born. A carpenter, a fisherman, a shop keeper—they live to see their children take over the family business, but not a king. A king has to die before his child can ascend to the throne. Well, I intend to put a stop to that miserable tradition. I want the pleasure of seeing the crown on your head. I want that memory floating above my eyelids when I pass from this world.’

"The king explained that his early retirement would be advantageous to both the prince and the nation. ‘In the old days,’ the king said, ‘we had few enemies, but in recent years some of our neighbors have grown greedy and are not to be trusted. As you know, we have a tradition that governs the transition from one king to the next. If I were to die before you officially ascended to the throne, I fear one or more of our greedy neighbors might attempt to exploit the situation.’

‘"You mean Ravanajatu,’ Satyajaya said.

"‘That is exactly who I mean, but we’re not to say it,’ the king replied, ‘not officially at least, and not out loud. Your early coronation, with me standing behind the throne, is the best way to deter our neighbor’s greed, wouldn’t you agree? My wisdom and experience, along with your youthful energy, and the people’s goodwill, should deter any of the surrounding kings from challenging you. With you on the throne, and me in retirement, it will be like having two kings for the price of one!’ The old king laughed and then smiled affectionately at Satyajaya. ‘Now come up here to the throne and kneel before me. I want to give you my blessing.’

"Though the prince felt sad that his father was giving up the throne, he could find no fault with his logic. The royal lineage had been challenged when his grandfather came to the throne. His grandfather had been the previous king’s nephew and not his son. This had resulted in a bitter lineage dispute with other close relatives. Some of the neighboring kings, most notably Ravanajatu, had hoped Satyajaya’s father and mother would remain childless, so they could assert his claim to the kingdom. Satyajaya’s father was undeniably sound in his reasoning. The prince would simply have to prepare himself to become king more quickly than he had previously thought.

The problem, Kripama explained to his students, "lay in the kingdom’s tradition that when a king died, there was a period of mourning to be observed before the new king could be crowned. During the period of mourning, the old king’s ministers were in charge of the kingdom. The heir apparent would then build a new palace for himself and his family. Once the new palace was built, the heir apparent would be crowned and the old king’s palace was torn down. Then, and only then, was the transition between rulers complete.

"In ancient times, a king’s palace was just an elaborate grass hut and a new palace could be quickly constructed, but this ancient tradition had not been adapted to that present reality—royal palaces were no longer grass huts. To build a royal palace was now an expensive and time-consuming project, made all the more so by the expectation that a new palace should always be bigger and better than the old one. As Satyajaya thought about this, he realized just how wise his father was to step down ahead of his death. It would give Satyajaya time to build his palace without endangering the throne or the nation. Satyajaya also realized that his palace would have to be complete before his father could safely abdicate.

"As Satyajaya bowed low and touched his father’s feet, he said, ‘Father, your wish is my command. When I am king, I will come to you every day for advice. You are a truly great king; in you I will have the wisest counselor any king could ever hope to have.’

"The old king laughed. ‘Come to me as often as you like, but know that I shall have only one unalterable piece of advice for you—never forget that as king you are only a servant of the people. An ordinary servant has but one master; you will have thousands. Every man, woman, and child in this kingdom will be your master. A king exists for one reason only—to serve his people. Always put the interests of the people ahead of your own interest. Love the gods, trust in yourself, and keep your word once it is given. Obey and be humble before the law. Never think that, as king, you are the law. The law must be above everyone, even the king. Otherwise, there is no law.’ The king smiled at his son and said, ‘I give you this counsel now and forever. Never will it change. As for the throne, a king’s fate is always uncertain.’ The old man waved one hand through the air as if shooing away a fly. ‘We kings come and go, like leaves in the wind, but a righteous man is a king forever, whether on or off the throne. If, as king, you can remain a righteous man, then my son, then you will be a king among kings forever.’

"Satyajaya had often heard his father speak to ambassadors and ministers in this way, but the king had never spoken to him like that. Previously, the king had spoken to his son only in a loving and very familial way. Now, upon hearing the king’s noble admonishment directed at him, Satyajaya felt a thrill course though his body. He better understood now what would be expected of him as a king. He felt lifted, empowered by his father’s words, ready to assume the great responsibility that was before him. Not wanting to lose this sensation, he kept apart from others, even his wife. For the rest of the day, he wandered about alone, absorbed in his own thoughts about righteousness. It was as if he had suddenly stumbled onto a shining new world. The word ‘righteousness’ burned in Satyajaya’s heart like the noonday sun.

‘If the law is truly above the king,’ Satyajaya mused, ‘then it is a king’s duty to make the law righteous and truly holy, for there can be nothing above a king but that which is holy. The law must be wise and perfectly benevolent.’ This realization came to him like a thunderbolt and it chased away any thought he might have had about being unfit to be king. He had always wondered and worried about why he’d been born into such a privileged position. Now, it was clear to him. He was to be a servant to the whole nation, a task that would challenge his every talent and ability. The thought infused him with a bright sense of purpose. He raised his eyes to the heavens and said, ‘Oh, ye gods, allow me to never forget I am thy humble servant. May humility before you be my greatest strength.’

Kripama’s story was interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling up next to the schoolhouse. The truck was belching smoke. Its engine was running in an uneven manner, and when the truck came to a stop, its brakes squealed with a harsh metallic sound. The two workers who had been listening to Kripama’s story left the classroom to join the work crew. The driver left the engine of the truck running and the smell of diesel fumes began filling the classroom. Kripama sent a student outside to complain. The driver sent the student back with the message that he didn’t want to turn the engine off for fear that it wouldn’t start up again. A few minutes later the truck was moved to a new location.

Yet another worker appeared in the classroom doorway. This one was quite young, the same age as some of Kripama’s students, but he had the look of an old man. The lad was dressed in a ripped t-shirt and a terribly soiled pair of shorts, perhaps the only pair he owned. It was the boy’s knees, however, that caught Kripama’s attention. They were nearly black from crawling about on the roofs of countless houses. Pink fissures crisscrossed the calloused skin where it had broken open to reveal the raw flesh. The sight of the boy caused a pain in Kripama’s heart. He rose once again from his seat on the floor because he felt a need to know what was going on outside. He made a point of smiling at the young worker as he passed by him.

Outside, the sun was slowly burning its way through the overcast sky. The glare was quite bright, and Kripama was forced to cup one hand over his eyes so he could see. The truck was parked not far away, its bed piled high with thatching grass and other materials. Kripama counted four, five . . . no, six workers, including the boy and driver.

Do you have everything you need? Kripama asked Amal. Without waiting for an answer, he tried to change the foreman’s mind about starting the work immediately. He explained his situation again. I can send the students home early, he said, but I shall need time to give them their assignment and complete the story I am telling them as part of that assignment. Are you sure you can’t go to just one other job and then return?

Not possible! Amal replied, without looking up from the bundle of thatch he was struggling with. He repeated in a sing-song voice his earlier assurance, Do not worry, Master! We will not disturb your boys, not in the least. We are just like little birds when we work. You won’t even notice we are here.

Kripama surveyed the crew. Their work had not yet begun and already they seemed exhausted. Apart from the boy, not one looked to be under sixty years of age. Other than the foreman, there was no one who seemed fit enough to even do the work, much less tip-toe around like a little bird. The thought of them crawling overhead on a weakened roof did not appeal to Kripama at all.

Do not worry! Amal insisted. They are as agile as sparrows!

Very well, Kripama said with a sigh. The boy with the worn knees joined the crew and Kripama smiled at him on his way back to the classroom. Sitting down with his students, Kripama was about to begin his story when a heavy ladder crashed against the roof, sending a shower of dust raining down on the class. The little birds are landing! Kripama thought to himself. He tried to ignore the interruption, but then a second ladder found its mark and the whole schoolhouse shook under its impact. The jolt of the ladders was followed by the sound of heavy bundles of thatch being tossed about on the roof. Each bundle landed with a thud and was followed by a small cloud of dust raining down from the roof.

To build a royal palace is no easy task, Kripama began. "A thousand details must be considered, and of course, the very best architect must be employed. At that time, the most renowned architect in the kingdom was a man named Devat. As it happened, Devat and Satyajaya had been boyhood friends, so the prince went to his old friend and asked him to build his palace. Devat accepted the assignment gladly, recognizing it was a rare opportunity to showcase his talent. Of course, an assignment like that brings with it not only great rewards, but also a great many responsibilities. To ensure there would be no unnecessary delays, Satyajaya promised Devat a handsome bonus if he finished the palace on schedule.

"Devat drew up plans for the palace immediately. He designed a large and stately mansion with luxurious apartments, not only for the prince’s family, but for visiting friends and foreign diplomats as well. He designed the palace grounds as a series of beautiful concentric gardens. The effect of these gardens would be to make the palace appear as if it was the center of a wonderfully new and more orderly universe, a place where nature itself could be transformed by the power and wisdom of a great king.

"It was a brilliant but perhaps overly ambitious project. Though work began quickly, was well organized, and proceeded with great vigor, the project fell behind schedule. To make matters worse, the king fell ill, and his condition deteriorated rapidly. Satyajaya became concerned and he implored Devat to bring the project to a conclusion as soon as possible. He said to his friend, ‘I fear my father may be dying. He grows weaker by the day. I want him to see this palace completed before he dies, so make haste! Every room need not be finished before you declare the work done, but do hurry! This is of the utmost importance!’

"Devat promised the prince, ‘By next month’s full moon, the palace will be finished.’

"Satyajaya was delighted to receive Devat’s reply, but he wondered if the architect could keep his promise. The palace was nowhere near completion. Devat reassured the prince that by working day and night, and making a few changes in the plans, the palace could be completed in the time promised. The prince had no choice but to take his friend at his word. What else could he do? It was much too late to hire another architect and the king’s health was failing fast. Even if completed by the promised date, the prince feared that might not be soon enough. Before taking leave of Devat, the prince turned to him and said, ‘Money is no object. Whatever you need, purchase it on my authority, and the exchequer will pay for it. I place my full trust in you, my friend.’

"A larger work force was assembled, and the work continued day and night. Devat remained on the job constantly, sleeping only an hour or two at a time. Despite this effort, however, there were problems. The biggest problem was with the gardens. Devat had ordered twenty-seven marble Gandharvas to ring the gardens. Gandharvas were the guardians of the Celestial Soma, the legendary nectar of the gods. Devat’s order had been placed long ago, but the Gandharvas were late arriving. When they finally did arrive, the architect was shocked to see that all the Gandharvas had female figures. He was absolutely furious, because it was his belief that Gandharvas should be male. The sculptor, however, insisted that the Gandharvas were properly depicted as female, and he refused to take them back. By then, it really didn’t matter. Even if the sculptor had taken them back, there was no time to create new figures. The female Gandharvas would have to do.

Gender was not the only problem with the Gandharvas as far as Devat was concerned. To him, the statues all looked sad. To guard the gardens of a great king, they should look honored and happy, but the more Devat looked at these Gandharvas, the sadder they seemed. This may have been because Devat was under a great deal of pressure and was himself a bit depressed, Kripama speculated. When Devat complained about this to the sculptor, the artist defended the faces he had created. According to him, each face was unique and properly introspective, expressing the sacred nature of their duty. ‘Much more appropriate,’ the sculptor argued, ‘than the happy-go-lucky faces Devat wanted.’ Having prevailed on the issue of gender, however, the sculptor had to give in on the issue of the faces. He reluctantly agreed to cut the heads off all twenty-seven Gandharvas and create new heads with faces that smiled.

As Kripama continued his story, the workmen continued their work on the roof. Dust and pieces of thatch continued to rain down on student and teacher alike. If they are birds, then they must be ostriches! Kripama thought to himself. As Kripama feared, the boys were quite distracted by the activity overhead, and the teacher knew he was losing the battle for their attention. In a loud voice he reminded them that their grades would depend on a thorough understanding of the story, but even this dire warning only succeeded in partially returning the boys’ attention to the subject matter.

In spite of the problems and setbacks, Kripama continued, "Devat was able to complete most of the work as promised. A grand ceremony had already been planned to mark the completion of the royal palace. There would be a grand procession, with the king and queen carried in a palanquin of ivory and gold. The neighboring kings and their important ministers would follow behind in horse-drawn carriages. The procession would circle the palace before stopping at the entrance to the gardens. Satyajaya wanted all the neighboring kings to see how grand the palace was and how smoothly the transition from father to son was going. The palace would be a powerful testament to the kingdom’s prosperity and strength; and no one would fail to notice that it was guarded by smiling and not frowning Gandharvas.

"Though the palace was impressive when viewed from outside, the work was not complete on the inside. For this reason, all the ceremonial events were planned to take place in the gardens. Naturally, the visitors would