Tiger's Quest (30 page)

Mr. Kadam set my bowl down and pulled out a chair for me. I sat and stirred my yogurt while surreptitiously glancing at the wizened old man. He was happily humming as he continued to fill his plate one small item at a time. When he was finished, he sat down across from me and smiled as he dug into his eggs.

Mr. Kadam ate quietly. Kishan returned to the buffet and filled his plate again. I kept silent and sipped my juice. I was too nervous to eat and had no idea if it was proper to talk or ask questions, so I just followed Mr. Kadam’s lead.

Long finished with our meal, we watched the Ocean Teacher eat, as he slowly took one bite at a time and chewed methodically. Finally finished, he carefully wiped his mouth and said, “You know, my favorite memories of my mother are winding the threads for her weaving, assisting her in tending the sheep, and helping her stir the breakfast porridge. I always think of my mother when I eat breakfast.”

Mr. Kadam sagely nodded. Kishan grunted. The Ocean Teacher looked at me and grinned.

Hoping it was okay to speak, I asked, “Did you grow up on a farm then? I thought Lamas were born to be Lamas.”

He cocked his head at me and happily answered, “Yes, is the answer to both questions. My parents were poor farmers who grew enough food to sustain themselves and sell a bit at market. My mother was a weaver who could make beautiful cloth. My parents named me Jigme Karpo. They didn’t know who I was at the time. I had to be found.”

“You had to be found? Found by whom?”

“The regent is always searching for reincarnations of former Lamas. He usually has a vision showing him where to find the new incarnation of a certain person and sends out a search party. In my case, they knew to look for a farmhouse resting on a hill with a tall, climbing rosebush growing next to our water well.

“After asking around, they found my home and knew it was the right place. Items from previous Lamas were brought in and shown to me. I picked up a book that belonged to the previous Ocean Teacher. The search party felt confident then that I was the reincarnation of that past Lama. At that time, I was two years old.”

“What happened to you then?”

Mr. Kadam interrupted and patted my hand, “I am curious as well, Miss Kelsey, but perhaps he has only a short time to spend with us, and we should focus on other matters.”

“Right, sorry. I let my curiosity carry me away.”

The Ocean Teacher leaned forward and thanked the monks who cleared the table. “I can spare a few minutes to answer your question, young lady. To sum it up, I was taken from my family and began my training with a kind old monk. My mother wove the material for my first maroon robe.

“I began training as a novice monk and had my head shaved. My name was changed, and I received a wonderful education in all subjects including art, medicine, culture, and philosophy. All of these experiences fashioned me into the man sitting before you. Did that answer your question, or did my explanation generate several more questions?”

I laughed. “It generated several more.”

“Good!” He smiled. “A mind with questions is a mind open to understanding.”

“Your childhood and background are so different from mine.”

“I imagine yours is just as interesting.”

“What do you do here?”

“I train the Dalai Lamas.”

I stared at him. “You teach the teacher?”

He laughed. “Yes. I’ve trained a couple of them. I’m a very old man, but we are not so dissimilar. I’ve had the opportunity to meet people from all over the world, and I find that all people are fundamentally alike. We are one human family. Perhaps we have different clothes, our skin is of a different color, or we speak various languages, but that is on the surface only. We all have dreams and seek for the things that will bring true happiness. To know all the world, I just need to learn about myself.”

I nodded.

Mr. Kadam interjected, “As you are aware, we have come to seek the wisdom of the Ocean Teacher. We have a task to perform, and we ask for your guidance.”

The monk pushed back the sleeves of his robe and stood. “Then come. Let us adjourn to a different room that offers more privacy.” He stood up carefully with the support of two monks who quickly maneuvered to walk beside him, but the Ocean Teacher, though slow, walked without assistance.

“You said you taught two of the Dalai Lamas, so that means you must be—”

“One hundred and fifteen.”

“What?” I gasped.

“I am one hundred and fifteen years old and proud of it.”

“I have never met someone who lived that long.” I quickly realized that I indeed knew three men who had lived that long and looked at Mr. Kadam who smiled and winked at me.

The Ocean Teacher didn’t notice my strange expression as he went on, “If a man wishes to do a thing and has enough passion to find a way . . . he will achieve it. I wished to live a long life.”

Mr. Kadam stared thoughtfully at the monk for a moment, and said, “I am older than I seem as well. I am humbled by you, sir.”

The Ocean Teacher turned and clasped Mr. Kadam’s hand. His eyes twinkled with mirth. “It’s being around monks and monasteries that does that. It keeps me humble too.”

The two men laughed. We followed him through winding gray corridors to a large room with a smooth stone floor and a large polished desk. He indicated we should sit as we passed a comfortable lounging area. We all sank into soft upholstered chairs as the Ocean Teacher pulled up a plain wooden chair that had been hidden behind his desk and sat to talk with us.

When I asked if he would prefer a more comfortable chair, he replied, “The more uncomfortable my chair is, the more likely I will get up and keep busy doing things that need doing.”

Mr. Kadam nodded and began, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

The monk grinned. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I must admit, I’ve been curious to know if the tiger’s quest would happen in this lifetime. Now that I think of it, I was born near the city of Taktser, which, translated, means ‘roaring tiger.’ Perhaps it was my destiny all along to be the one to meet those who are to journey on this quest.”

Mr. Kadam asked excitedly, “You know of our quest?”

“Yes. From before the time of the first Dalai Lama, the story of two tigers has been handed down in secret. The strange medallion is the key. When this young man said that he saw two tigers, one black and one white, we knew you were likely the right ones. Others have seen the cats and often identify the white tiger, but no one has identified the black cat as a tiger, and certainly no one has spoken of the line down the middle being linked to the divine weaver. That’s how we knew it was you.”

I ventured, “So you can help us then?”

“Oh, most definitely, but first, I have one request of you.”

Mr. Kadam smiled magnanimously. “Of course, what may we do for you?”

“Can you tell me about the tigers? I know of the place you seek and how to advise you, but . . . the tigers were never explained, and their place in the quest was held in deepest secret. Is this something you know of?”

Kishan, Mr. Kadam, and I looked at each other for a moment. Kishan raised an eyebrow when Mr. Kadam slightly nodded.

Mr. Kadam asked, “Is this room secure?”

“Yes, of course.”

Mr. Kadam and I both turned to Kishan. He shrugged his brawny shoulders, stood up, and morphed into his tiger form. The black tiger blinked his golden eyes at the monk and growled softly then sat on the floor beside me. I leaned over to scratch his sooty ears.

The Ocean Teacher sat back in the chair with surprise. Then he rubbed his bald head and laughed with glee. “Thank you for trusting me with this amazing gift!”

Kishan changed back into a man and sat down in the chair again. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a gift.”

“Ah, and what would you call it?”

“I’d call it a tragedy.”

“There is a saying in Tibet, ‘Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.’” The monk sat back in his chair and touched a finger to his temple. “Instead of wondering
why
this has happened, perhaps you should consider why this has happened to
you
. Remember that
not
getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.”

He turned his attention hopefully to me. “And what of the white tiger?”

I spoke, “The white tiger is Kishan’s brother, Ren, who has been captured by an enemy.”

He tilted his head, considering, “One’s enemy is often the best teacher of tolerance. And what of you, my dear? How do you fit into this quest?”

I raised my hand, turned, and let the power bubble up inside me. It flowed through my hand, and I aimed for the flower sitting in a vase on his desk. My hand sparkled, and a pinpoint of white light surged toward the flower. The bloom glowed for just a moment before disappearing in a soft puff of ash that lightly rained down upon the wooden desk.

“I am the central line of the tiger medallion, the warp. My role is to help free the two tigers.” I indicated the quiet man on my right. “And Mr. Kadam is our guide and mentor.”

The Ocean Teacher did not seem shocked by my power. Happy as a little boy on Christmas morning, he clapped his hands together. “Good! Wonderful! Now, let me help you with what I can.”

He rose, took the tiger medallion from around his neck, where it had laid hidden in his voluminous robe and pushed it into a slot near his bookshelf. A narrow cupboard opened, from which he took out an ancient scroll preserved in glass and a vial filled with a green, oily substance.

He indicated we should step closer. As we circled his desk, he carefully turned the glass containing the ancient scroll to display what was inside.

“This scroll has existed for centuries and lists the signs associated with the tiger medallion and those who come to claim it. Tell me, what do you know of your quest already?”

Mr. Kadam showed him the translation of the prophecy.

“Ah, yes. The beginning of this scroll contains more of the same with only a few differences. Your prophecy says I am to do three things for you, and these I will do. I am to unfold the scrolls of wisdom, anoint your eyes, and lead you to the spirit gates. This ancient document you see before you is the scroll that is said to hold the wisdom of the world.”

I asked, “What does that mean?”

“Legend, myth, stories of mankind’s origin—all of these are based on eternal truths, and some of those truths are contained here. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Haven’t you read it?”

“No, not at all. In my philosophy, it is unnecessary to know all truths. Part of the process of enlightenment is to discover truth for yourself through self-introspection. None of the former Dalai Lamas have read these scrolls either. They were not meant for us. They were held in safekeeping to be given to you when the time is right.”

Mr. Kadam asked, “If the scroll was handed down and held in secret by the Dalai Lamas, then how was it passed to you?”

“The scrolls and the secret must be held by two men. The Dalai Lama doesn’t know who the next Dalai Lama will be, so he entrusts his teacher. When his teacher dies, he entrusts that teacher’s reincarnation. When the Dalai Lama dies, the teacher shares the secret with the next Dalai Lama so that the scroll is never lost. With the current Dalai Lama in exile, the duty falls to me.”

I said, “Do you mean to say that these scrolls have been held for centuries for . . .
us
?”

“Yes. We have passed down the secret as well as the instructions detailing how we would find the ones to give this to.”

Mr. Kadam bent to examine the scroll in the glass. “Amazing! I yearn to examine this.”

“You must not. I was told the scroll was not to be read until the fifth sacrifice was complete. It’s even been suggested that to open it early would cause a catastrophe of the gravest kind.”

I muttered, “The fifth sacrifice? But, Mr. Kadam, we still don’t even know what that will be.” I turned to the Ocean Teacher. “All we know of so far are the four sacrifices and the four gifts. We won’t know the fifth until much later. Are you sure we can be successful in our quest without reading the scroll?”

The monk shrugged. “It is not for me to know. My duty is to place this in your care and fulfill my other two obligations. Come. Sit here, young lady, and let me anoint your eyes.”

He pulled a chair over for me, approached me with the green vial, and addressed us, “Tell me, Mr. Kadam, in your studies, have you come across a people called the Chewong?”

Mr. Kadam took a seat. “I confess . . . no, I have not.”

I sniggered softly.
That’s an amazing fact in and of itself. Mr. Kadam not knowing something? Is it even possible?

“The Chewong are from Malaysia . . . fascinating people. There is tremendous pressure on them now to convert to Islam and mainstream into Malaysian society; however, there are several who fight for their rights to keep their language and culture. They are a peaceful people, nonviolent. In fact, they have no words for warfare, corruption, conflict, or punishment in their language. They have many interesting beliefs. One noteworthy ideal relates to communal property. They feel it’s dangerous and wrong to eat alone, so they always share their meals with one another. But, the belief that applies to you concerns the eyes.”

I licked my lips nervously. “Umm, what exactly do they do to the eyes? Serve them for supper?”

He laughed. “No, nothing like that. They say their shamans or religious leaders have
cool eyes
while the average person is considered to have
hot eyes
. A person with cool eyes can see different worlds and can discern things that may be hidden from ordinary view.”

Mr. Kadam was intrigued and began asking many questions while my eyes darted to the green, oily liquid that the monk was dripping onto his dry, papery fingers.

“Uh, I have to warn you that I have an eye phobia. My parents had to hold me down to get drops in my eye when I had pinkeye as a child.”

“Not to worry,” the Ocean Teacher said. “I will anoint your closed eyelids and share a few words of wisdom with you.”