Climbing Chamundi Hill (3 page)

THE LEPER

Just to the west of this district was a land of luxurious mountain forests. The ruler of that paradise was an avid hunter who favored the more defenseless animals for his game.

One day he spotted a young buck grazing at the
edge of a clearing and raised his weapon for a kill. Just as he was about to release the bowstring, a strange figure appeared between the animal and his arrow. The king lowered the bow and squinted, for what he saw astounded him. He could tell it was a man, possibly old, but so badly misshapen that it was hard to be sure. The man's skin was blotchy with large ulcerous spots, many of them oozing a yellowish-gray fluid, and large flakes were peeling off. His hair was wildly disheveled and dusty, his black teeth protruding through distorted lips. He was naked but for some filthy rags around his bony waist; his emaciated body was crooked like the branch of an old olive tree. As the king lowered his bow, the hideous creature prostrated itself in exaggerated humility.

“I am so sorry for interrupting your hunt, Your Majesty. Please forgive me…”

But the king was too bewildered to mind. “Who are you?” he asked. “And what is the matter with you? Are you sick, or are you a demonic spirit? You have the appearance of a ghoul, but your eyes look sad as only human eyes can be.”

The man approached, lowering himself further. “I am no demon, sir, but a pathetic mortal here to protect this innocent animal.”

“So your interference with the royal hunt was not an accident?” boomed the king in a thunderous, majestic rage. “Don't you know that I am the king and lord of all these lands? Why is this animal worth losing your life for?”

“Your Majesty, I know the forest belongs to you.” The man remained low at the king's feet. His voice, surprisingly, gave no evidence of fear. “But I am here to protect you too.”

At this the king broke into laughter. “Protect me? What could you possibly mean by that?”

The man hesitated briefly before speaking. “This awful condition that you see, it's leprosy. I did not always look like this.” He sank into a sad reverie for a few moments, then continued. “It's a moral disease. You don't just become a leper; it finds you if you commit a sin. With Your Majesty's indulgence, I shall tell you what happened.”

The king nodded and dismounted, and the two men sat in the shade of a banyan tree. The leper kept a respectful distance from the king, but immediately began his story.

“Many years ago I owned a farm in the foothills of the magnificent Himalayan range, far to the north. My land bordered on meadows and forests in which a variety of fruit trees and brilliant flowers grew, where bees hummed as they produced nectarlike honey. Into that heavenly wilderness one day my favorite cow wandered, so I went looking for her. For days I searched, but there were too many canyons and ravines in which the dense thicket could hide an entire herd of cows. Despair robbed me of all sense of time and direction—I soon became lost. I grew hungry and tired but kept looking for my precious cow. Then I saw a large tinduka tree rich with ripe fruits growing on the edge of a precipice overlooking a river with
majestic waterfalls. It was a frightening place, but I climbed the tree like a fool, looking to reach the ripest fruit at the very end of the overhanging branches. Suddenly the branch to which I was clinging broke, and I fell down, screaming in terror.

“I plunged into the water, reaching the bottom instantly. Fortunately, I managed to push off. The current and fate then swept me onto dry land. I was shivering from the shock and the cold water, but felt lucky to find my body intact. After some time I began to look around for a way to get out, but the place was a trap. The river ran down the canyon, churning through noisy rapids, walled on both sides with sheer rock cliffs. There was no getting out. I saw a few tinduka fruits, which are too sweet by the time they fall from the tree to the ground. Still, I fed on these and drank from the river. In a matter of days—it was obvious—I would be dead. There was no point in yelling, for no traveler would likely come by that remote place. Despondent, I sank to the ground and stayed there, crying and eating the dwindling supply of fruit.

“On the fourth day of my imprisonment there—I was already delirious with despair—I heard a voice from the top of the cliff. ‘Who are you down there? Are you man or animal?' I couldn't see the caller, but I cried back as loudly as I could, ‘I'm a man. I fell down a few days ago while looking for my cow.'

“‘Are you hurt?' the strange raspy voice asked kindly. I managed to focus my eyes on a form above the cliff just under the fruit tree. It was a large black ape with shiny eyes. I hesitated before answering,
‘I'm not hurt, but I am in great distress. I fear that I shall die soon.'

“‘Don't lose hope,' I heard him say, ‘I'll get you out of there. But first let me bring you some nourishment.' The ape disappeared and shortly thereafter a shower of ripe fruit descended on me: bananas, mangoes, and berries. They landed all around, but I ate reluctantly because I was sick of fruit. Meanwhile, the ape disappeared again. He later told me that he went looking for a sack, which he filled with rocks, in order to practice carrying me up the cliff. I thought he had abandoned me, but the next day I awoke to see him climbing down with great skill. It was only when he reached me that I realized how large he was—and how human were his eyes. He told me to get on his back, and I wasted no time. Hanging on to his thick neck as best I could and shutting my eyes tightly, I felt the huge muscles of his back and shoulders as he began to scale the sheer rock. It was a long, difficult climb. With little for him to grasp, the ape often had to suspend himself with only one hand, while his other reached upward to find a new holding spot. His breathing became increasingly strained as the heat of the sun sent rivers of perspiration down his body.

“When we finally made it to the top—as I looked back down, it seemed like a miracle to me—the ape lay down panting on the grass and told me that he desperately needed some rest. ‘I must close my eyes for an hour or two. The climb wore me out. After I wake up, I shall lead you out of the forest.' Then
he added, ‘These woods are dangerous, my friend. There are predators here that will gladly pounce on me as I sleep. I ask you to keep watch for dangerous animals. If I'm attacked and killed, you will surely die as well, so don't fall asleep!'

“I was thrilled to be useful to him. It was the least I could do for the compassionate creature who risked his own life to save a stranger from certain death. I resolved to stay awake and keep a vigilant eye despite my own fatigue. The ape sank into a deep sleep as I sat next to him. The minutes crawled by and turned to hours, while the evening stretched long ahead. Having spent several days in the canyon surviving on a few bites of fruit each day, I was starving for something more substantial than fruit. The thought of eating meat wormed its way into my head and refused to depart. I looked down at the peaceful figure of the ape, lying trustingly on his back with outstretched arms—like a prince on his royal bed. He suddenly took on the appearance of food, a cooked dish. There was so much of him, and I was so hungry…

“I knew these thoughts were sinful even as I watched them play inside my head. But the hunger was so raw I couldn't stop. After all, what harm could a thought do? Then it occurred to me that the ‘law for times of emergency' would actually allow me to kill my savior! It was an old and revered law. A holy man once ate polluting dog meat citing this law…Of course that's complete nonsense, I know it now, but at the time it seemed so persuasive. Before long, I decided to stop my hesitation, this
indecisive fantasizing, and I picked up a large stone. I took a good aim at the ape's head and swung down with both arms, already seeing the kill. But then, I don't know, something nudged my hand at the last instant, and I missed. The stone brushed the side of the ape's head inflicting a serious bruise, but failed to kill him. Instead, the animal jumped up and looked around for his attacker. The minute his deep brown eyes met mine he knew. A flash of utter bewilderment passed across his face, and then a profound sadness, such as I had never seen, softened his features.

“‘What are you doing, my friend?' he asked in a strangely calm voice.

“His inquisitive eyes were now irresistibly clear, which made me confess on the spot. I told him that I tried to kill him, and I told him why. That made him even sadder, and a few tears appeared in his eyes. ‘I cannot imagine the sufferings,' he said, ‘that would make you do something so treacherous. Nor can I tell you how sorry I feel to have caused you such a powerful temptation. It must have been impossible to resist—please forgive me.' He spoke with no trace of anger, or even reproach. How could any of this be his fault? His behavior made no sense to me at the time; I just felt shame and a strong desire to disappear, which he must have perceived, for he told me to follow him out of the woods. We walked a long way in silence.

“After some time the ape spoke again. ‘I think I understand all of this better now,' he said, ‘and I must thank you from the bottom of my heart. You
see,' he explained after thinking for a moment, ‘after I pulled you out of the canyon I began to feel pride, even some heroic bluster. And you know, our fall begins with mere trifles, but then in no time at all we plunge into a precipice—a moral abyss—deeper than the one that trapped you: egotism. But now you have wiped off every trace of my vain puffery.' He walked silently, then added, ‘Unfortunately, you did this at a great cost to yourself. This sin will someday bear grave results. In the meantime, please try to avoid repeating this act, and remember that evil deeds usually begin with a thought.' Shortly after that he showed me to my home and disappeared.

“My life returned to normal. I continued to farm, visit the temple, and donate food to the poor, just as I had always done. The shame of my action never fully disappeared, but it was private shame. Only one other being knew what I had done, and he was far away. Still, that knowledge was enough to gnaw at my soul like a minute parasite.

“Years later, a traveling holy man visited our temple to recite the
Ramayana,
the ancient epic about the righteous king Rama, and to teach us morality. In the evening, before he began his sermon, he told us that everything he knew about
dharma,
about morality and religion, had come from his own master, an ape living in the forests of the Himalayan foothills. The ape, he added, had a deep scar in his forehead, by which we should all recognize him as the Enlightened One, the future savior of humanity.

“That same day—the day my hidden shame became true guilt—I fell ill. Within weeks I reached the pitiable condition you see before you. Even my wife and children shunned me, while strangers turned away in horror at my sight. I left civilization behind, vowing to protect the forest animals from the harm of humans. If I may be presumptuous, Your Majesty, I urge you to avoid the sin of unnecessary killing. I do not expect my disease to be cured in this lifetime, but perhaps my future will not be so bleak. My fondest desire is to die for the sake of a helpless animal.”

The king thanked the leper, whom he called a holy man, and returned to his capital. From that day on he forbade all hunting in his forests and lay down his own weapons.

A cloud was covering the sun when the old man finished telling the story, but for some reason I felt hotter than before. My feet were fine, but I felt like sitting down to examine them. We were moving slowly and only made it to the last booth, which was flanked by small nim trees and several fresh-looking tecoma bushes. The old man, who had not looked at me once while narrating the story, now stopped and turned to me with intense curiosity.

“So, my young friend, do you think the king was right to regard him as a saintly man?”

I felt a bit silly being addressed like a pupil by a stranger in a knitted vest on a hot day. Besides, the old eccentric must
have known I wanted to look at my feet—he had a bemused little glint in his eye. It was simplest just to answer.

“No, he was merely honest about doing something awful. I don't think that makes him a saint.”

“And, of course, a saint would never do something that bad?”

“No decent person would do what he did. Sure, I know saints sometimes claim, maybe even boast, that they are the worst sinners of all. I don't think you can trust them on this. Even St. Teresa, my mother's favorite saint, thought of herself as vile. Anyway, usually they whine about little things—a thought, a whiff of temptation. By their reckoning, everyone is a damned sinner. Their mother sinned just having them. Here it's evident this man did something treacherous. Undeniably despicable.”

“Well then, why does the storyteller,” he poked his thumb into his chest and winked at me, “bother saying that the king thought him a holy man?”

“I've no idea. You tell me.” I was looking around now, trying to find a place to sit, or something to lean on. Would he mind if I sat on the floor of the booth? It looked too decrepit to be sacred. My feet didn't hurt, but there was some irritation there, as though something had stung me.

The old man noticed that I wasn't paying much attention and asked my permission to sit down on the step. Embarrassed, I nodded assent and sat down next to him.

“These empty booths…” he gestured with the cane. “In the old days holy men would sit here in meditation or yoga. Pilgrims venerated them like the gods on top of the mountain. Now they're for lovers and old geezers…” He looked away when I began to examine the soles of my feet and
changed the topic. “Do you think this man was going to heal from his leprosy?”

“I don't really know. I do think you're making a lot out of a simple little story.”

“Yes, of course I am. Yes, you're quite right. Please forgive me…” For a few moments we sat in silence. There was no sign of a bite on my feet; they were just chafed a bit. Then the old man continued. “You know, we Indians have long since thought that there is a connection between who you are and how you feel. Even the venerable old Ayurveda tells us that the life of the mind and the health of the body are connected.”