The Bodhisattva in Black

By Veneeta Singha

The spiritually guided precepts of communal harmony and livelihood, often obscured by social injustices, are confronted with metaphysical change and the human condition. Dani, Dor and the monastic order decipher the universal message of preservation through camaraderie and root causes. An inevitable consequence of upheaval, struggling relations revert their prominence in everyday living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veneeta Singha
• Release date: Jan 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224030842

Veneeta Singha

Consultant

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Veneeta Singha

The Bodhisattva in Black

A Novel

First published by REEDSY 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Veneeta Singha

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Veneeta Singha asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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Our teachings are rooted in the Buddha …

Excerpt from a Sutra

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter I

Adirt-worn sign that read, " Mi casa, su casa ," lay half-broken at the end of a stony and deserted road. The signboard was made of flat, decrepit wood and painted in quick splashes of white lettering with a hidden hook at the back made of silver. It had lain at this precise spot for many days without any disturbance and human derision. The crows from nearby would peck around it for signals and a relatable story yet it did not change position nor the symbolism that evoked an unconscious, inert tautology. The sun’s rays lightened its message but, in equal measure, left without warning and trace. Brick walls around this token emblem displayed a colourful, unwashed pleasantness that had grown into a familiar scene and arrangement. There were a few overgrown bushes in the left corner, sitting implacably as if nature’s virtue itself had lost the power to nurture. The grainy mud underneath scuffled in the breeze and hid this minuscule podium in a bitter void. The letters on the sign could have been a child’s homework just as it could have decrypted many conspiracies within the overwhelming public historicity called a citadel.

The fading horizon appeared in the clear distance and resumed existence in an ineffable way, as a counter-inference, without a single deviation. The late afternoon’s silence crept into the place in tandem with a sundown that brazenly etched the skies with clouded arcs. The day’s passing was not shallow as in the past nor ungainly. People were walking towards their hillside homes holding lunch boxes in their hands. A young girl skipped around a tree and waved to her friends on a school bus. The recurring sounds were not unlike the gramophone, elementary and visible. Carefully preserved and spartan, the Ignis Monastery shone a few beams to the residents who were working in the fields. The monastery gates held an aged secret to the universe that few did not admire. Although the frescoes were Buddhist and Nepali by origin, it proposed a sturdy, hieroglyph presence. A young monk had prepared the evening’s rituals and was immersed in playing a rope game The cemented playground was defined by bold lines in white and red which cordoned off every angle to the casual onlooker.

Time accrues its own moulds and clay, Dani said to the young engineer sitting beside him in the front of the house. He had finished his three-month-long studio work in town and was handed a few projects to appraise. Unstipulated and open to every possibility, Dor was of the opposite persuasion. It is the high tides you do not care to understand, Dor replied with a smirk. The fallow lands from your youth are not open any longer but the fields are like Persian carpets at this time of the season. The momentary anguish over lost horizons will pass. The arcs in the sky were turning dark and heavy. Dani laughed at this repartee and waited for evening to arrive. His cosy apartment on the third floor had caused a stir amongst the local populace. He felt pleased that the unchanging change discourses were tousled by an ideal of renewal. Dor, on the other hand, was not convinced of any real accrual or benefit. A mentality of counter-transformation was prevalent in many circles and places which he identified as real, adverse, mighty. The province was disguised by social reservations and it was destined to forge an