Valley of Flowers (7 page)

A
rjuna backed off
again
to take more practice swings. The twisted set
of body instructions that followed seemed not to be coming from an
otherwise sane man. To the uninitiated, Arjuna's swing may have
looked like it had come up from one or more layers of Dante’s hell.
It occurred to
Nicolas
the old man's swing, known at one time as The End-bringer, could
not possibly have been manifested from the known world.
To him, Arjuna’s
swing
looked
to be an odd dance mix of
hop, tap, bop, with a bit of boogie thrown in.

Then his swing did change.
His swing
had
acquired more
finer, p
oetic lines. Indeed
,
his swing no longer seemed to be
punishing some wayward sinner. Still Arjuna finished hands-up high
as if caught in a crime.

A breeze came to open the youth's shutters
to an altered way of seeing. Strong wisps arrived to say Arjuna's
swing was a thing to cherish. Next thing Nicolas heard his mind say
was that he should appreciate all things. This included, he
assumed, Arjuna's twisting up follow through.

The old man wailed away on yet another
practice swing. The club hit the ground at impact. This offered up
another thing to love called turf.
T
he fantastic god
-
creation known as Arjuna's swing went wild
yet again
. Gladly it
seemed his swing had finished arms, elbows, hands up high. A
changed man, Nicolas saw the old man's swing as a thing of utmost
beauty.

One more blow came down hard onto the earth.
The turf that rose seemed to pop up and ask
,
Why me? In place of actual kindness,
Nicolas felt that the breeze had meant for him to be
a bit
more honest. This may have
resulted in him coughing up a lung from laughter.

He heard in his head the call for him to
accept all swing gyrations. Nicolas listened to his mind say, These
too are born and created things. It meant each was lovely, a thing
to cherish and not scoff at. He looked at Arjuna's swing that
seemed to be a series of extreme wrongdoings. He wanted to know how
something as beautiful and natural as a golf swing could go so
wrong.

As he did not want to be detected for any
sniper grinning, his head shot down to stare at the grass that had
become so exceedingly interesting.
He
thought to assume the guise of a practicing
philosopher. From this down-looking position Nicolas heard another
swing fly by. He stifled a smirk. He
suffocated it sufficiently. Nicolas
was
then
hard at work inventing
an
expression he could
show more publicly. He went back to observing Arjuna's efforts at
getting started
.

After more practice swings, the old man
suddenly backed off his three-point stance.
He
stepped away from the plate to escape
from some undetermined pressure.
He
took in a larger scope of the flower
fairway
.

Arjuna
studied all he surveyed.
He
peered at the
Indian
Himalayas made up of vanilla ice
cream. The upturned cones with ice cream on top appeared vast and
majestic. They looked moderately eaten
also
from a few bright-lit days.

Arjuna thought of those residing in the
heavenly beyond. Without a word, he
headed
to the one teed up. He went step by slow
step. The old man went as one attempting to get back his swag or
say-so.

Nicolas sent his head back down. He studied
once more
the same patch
of grass that had so fascinated him. He feared what might come at
any time from Arjuna's sudden moves at the ball.
Nicolas
hid another urge to crack up.

One question loomed in the gloom
. It
seemed destined to remain
beyond his efforts at mind control. Th
e
idea crept
cl
ose
and
stayed
. The thought parked there in his little bean. The
suggestion seemed as if it might remain until someone brave
happened along to tell Arjuna a thing or two about the ease of
hitting a little white ball, which was not even moving.

Arjuna took another turn at things. This
induced yet one more gash on the ground. A gash too showed on the
youth's now-hurting face.

Nicolas saw yet another clump of grass pop
up. It looked like a newly a
woken
visitor. The grass seemed determined to relate
a grievance to a park ranger.

Arjuna's next swing saw more grass pop up to
complain. A chunk flew to
one
area. It appeared to look for outside help.

Arjuna's slashing at the ground opened up
something more. Nicolas might have suffered a wider grin had his
hand not reached up
then
to save the day. He was glad the old man had not turned and looked
his way. In place of finding out
,
Arjuna had discovered a good grip. Yet even this
required more adjustments.

A familiar query arrived in the youth's
mind. It swirled as if carried on the wind. The thought suggested
Nicolas give up his quest for overall fairness. His mind seemed to
be telling him to quit his claim that all should be deemed
lovely.

Another question could be heard in the
remote regions of his mind. His thinker pushed the idea forward. It
asked
aloud
what he
would only dare muster under his breath.

Both breeze and boy confided in one another.
Rebellion brewed within the ranks. Together in the youth's outgoing
breath, the two, acting like juvenile delinquents, managed to say
in unison, faint
though
none too vaguely, "Could that swing have
ever
actually worked?"

9

Nicolas concerned himself with the old man’s
hand and arm movements. He
thought
the
y
were far
too harried and
also
hurried.
Nicolas
felt there were needless gestures in them
for such an easy task
as
hitting a little white ball.

As with the clubs, the one teed-up looked
almost
bored.
It
appeared fed up with
all the swing practice and dealt with it simply by ignoring it. The
ball
appeared
to be in a
state it
had
always been
in: looking relaxed with who and what it was, while waiting for
someone other to get his act together.

Nicolas
Kumar
felt sorry for the ball, along with himself,
for dragging both up here for this.

The ball remained parked atop the tee as any
glamorized person. It sat
fat
on its sleek red throne. The one teed up had the
look of a hot-shot celebrity pro, accustomed to being catered
to.

In comparison with Arjuna,
the little ball
looked markedly
composed.
It
seemed to
not have one worldly care. The look on the old man’s face suggested
the ball had, as if by magic, become something of a soothe-saying
mystic.
It occurred to
him
the ball could
even
s
tart levitating.

Arjuna's concentration switched up then. He
went from being somewhat interested in the ball to all-out
hypnotic. He then had a look on his face of disbelief. The old man
seemed incredulous as to how this one thing could outdo him in the
matter of mind control.

Concerning the old man's stance, Nicolas
thought it was a bit askew. It seemed Arjuna's body was aiming left
towards the tribal regions of Pakistan. The clubhead
,
on the other hand
,
looked to have altogether
different travel plans. It appeared to be heading right in the
general
direction of
Kathmandu. This set up seemed bent on dying a miserable death.

It’s a stance and swing worthy of a few
giggles, thought Nicolas.

He then went back to considering the old
man's everlasting requirement to shift about so. He felt Arjuna
need not mess with his grip so often. What really is the point in
all that? he told himself.

As if he had heard, the old man left off the
agreement, or mafia goon contract he seemingly had out on the grip.
He let go his hold some on the one nearly strangled to give his
trousers a hike.
S
till
unsure about hitting, Arjuna went at his pants as a seamstress
might
in taking up the
slack.

The old
man
gave his pants a tug, one side then the other, as if
this would set things right or situate positive all that made life
wretched in this world: hunger, poverty, disease.

When Arjuna
appeared
to have settled the matter with his pants,
though issues remained, he viewed with equal eye the eternal
restlessness of all in the Valley of Flowers.
He stared at this wild.
He added a few
half-practice swings for no good reason.

"He might cut down on his pace," said
Nicolas softly so no one could hear. Yes, that would be one thing
he could do, agreed another inside. "Among many," chimed in
t
h
e
first
,
in a voice nobody could possibly catch.
He
’s
doing his best as
coach or life guide, said th
e
second from within. But he cannot be expected to
do everything. Nicolas told himself also, Well, it is true he is
good with his life-fielding drills. He is good with his strategies
too, said this one who made the other stay quiet inside. Of this
there is no smidgen of doubt. But he can
not
be expected to do everything.

Arjuna viewed his chosen landing spot
out
on the fairway.
He focused on one spot two
hundred or so meters out. The old man
stood ready to make
any minute now an attempt at it by not thinking too much. He
had
always
believed
it was best to step up
simply, concentrate on a particular color, an ocean-blue maybe,
then swing all out.

Nevertheless,
Arjuna
understood once age catches up with any
morning walker he is put back more times than he gets going
forward.

With this knowing gift, the old man smiled
at his current predicament. He became happy, fully aware where he
was now physically, and from how amusing this must seem to those
standing by waiting patiently.

To combat his known deficits, he thought to
just
breathe in deep and
relax.

The value of the breath or breathing
correctly is underrated, considered the old man.
He
thought how much he enjoyed being up in
these mountains.
Arjuna
was happiest
, he knew,
being in the glorious untamed. He felt glad
too
being in the company of this fine young
fellow.

The old
man u
nderstood
well
that while held in by age in the immediate
present, he was free to travel into his past, and do so whenever he
liked.

Although he did have yearnings for his drive
to attain good height, length, then have it sit up nicely on some
turf, he knew it may not happen that way and he was content with
that.

In performing any life duty, the old man
thought it well and good to intellectually plan it first, but then
be willing to let go of the intellect, to carry on intuitively, to
allow any idea to develop and live as it might.
He
thought this ideal for his stage in
life, known as the
sannyasi
or one in full retirement.
He
believed it was best
to use his powers of letting go.
He
felt
the intellect
,
or
splendid mind gift should also be used selectively.

The old man remembered then welcomed the
return of his younger playing self. This
one appeared
to have arrived directly from
that long ago major battlefield.
He
stood by silently.

To get ready
more,
the
old man
evoked the three
breathings:
prana
,
vyana
and
apana
. This
exercise gives all who try it their ultimate strength
in
performing
an
endeavor.

Arjuna concentrated on this ancient
technique in proper breathing. Keep the peace and do not go looking
for more excitement, he advised his
younger
self. This was meant to relax him so he
might calmly enjoy the essence.

But then a cleanliness drive was started by
him. Originally, when Arjuna first set out for Europe, then onto
America to play professionally, this routine had begun in
fun
; h
owever
,
it soon became a psychic need.
Mental fret morphed
into
all-out physical fuss. Then it went permanent.

On the 1st tee of this Himalayan course
known as Truind, the old man's nervous energy, based on fear and
anxiety, began covering both forearms and pant legs. His one free
hand went to wipe the face of the clubhead. He did this in repeated
fast motion. Arjuna's hand rose to wipe a bit of sweat off his
forehead. In another incarnation of fearing, the old man moistened
his left thumb that wiped again the face of the silver-headed
driver. That done, he brushed his cheeks with two fingers. He wiped
below the nose. This act went up to his forehead to swab what
wetness was retained.