Valley of Flowers (9 page)

Nicolas
sent his sight to patrol over the valley.
He
gazed at
all
those whose only
apparent
crime was to stand there
and look pretty. He looked at the flowers lit ablaze by fantastic
hues
and
also
at the
sparkling lake.
Nicolas
automatically
determined
the lake was
within
his
reach. It
seemed to be in cahoots with the sky-highs.
Nicolas
looked
from the lake’s reflection to
other areas in the
valley. Included
in this
too
were his usual yardstick calculations.

He turned his attention from the fairway,
the cool air and blazing sunshine, to the spectacular waterfall and
escalating Himalayas, rising to heights in the background. He
returned to the time of his greatest glory. Unlike
Arjuna,
the time
he
thought of was not
f
ar back. It was only
two
weeks ago at the time he qualified for
the Open Championship.

With this rediscovery of his great golfing
self, he came back and said quietly, "But how shall I among
friends?"

Nicolas
looked to the fast-flowing stream.
He
searched its
ever-present tranquility.
He
hunted next for the sign that attempted to ward
off all trespassers.
He
peered out at the valley. It was plagued riotously by colorful
wildflowers. His feelings sank into more sadness. Nicolas fretted
again over the fate of these little beauties.

Is this designed only to tarnish my fair
name? he asked his self. Nobody should be allowed to malign me.

He tried to relax. Nicolas believed it was
best to take it easy. He pulled from his jacket pocket the course
map or journal
. Nicolas
began reading from it, though not this time for the perceived bit
of poetry. He read for the actual concrete yard measurements.
He
looked to the map for
helpful tidbits that could be gleaned from it if any.

One option was to put it into the lake.
He
again judged the area
to be in reach. Nicolas thought to hit it to a spot more
conventional. The idea of sending his tee shot into the drink
returned to
like
light
him up.

The
youth
thought more on the gravity of
t
his situation.
He
believed hitting in the lake was the
best of bad choices. He began calculating the force needed for such
a drive.

Gaining merit here won't be easy,
Nicolas
told
himself.

This thought shined in him.
Nicolas
put on a slight smile.
He felt he would be saving
lives this way.
Yes, he thought. Then he said softly,
"
Easy.
"

His considerations
then
included the wind coming in from the
east. It traveled at about five kilometers per hour. He felt its
sudden
change of
direction. It occurred to him this quick-change artist had been
sent to aid him.

More likely, he
well
knew, was that the wind had arrived to plague
or
even
stop him.

Nicolas chose not to oppose the idea of
sending his drive in
to
the lake. He felt relieved after deciding. He asked his self if he
should use his 3-wood or his 3-iron. One feeling rose suggesting he
use neither. That sense forwarded some.
It
raced down to his awaiting-production
hands that did just that. And the reason his little grippers
m
ay
have given for the
hold up, if able, would
likely
have been of the nature-loving kind.

He told himself, Nothing is ever
permanent.

Nicolas went to put back his driver. He set
aside his jacket that lay on top. He returned the club to his
grouped-up set or perceived dud kit.
He
thought of his forthcoming offense against life.
Nicolas
yanked from his
pack the 3-wood he
called
Little Benefit.
The club
was his chosen candidate to avoid all
flower destruction.

His choice appeared final. The expression on
his
hardened
face
suggested a landmark judgment had
just
been handed
d
own from the High Court, after
10
years of waiting.

11

"Here you should not look for shortcuts,"
Arjuna advised. "Nor should you seek ladders to step easily onto
some top, as the priority here is to participate. Whether upon peak
or fair open valley you should not be in any mad rush to ape others
who have come to this place."

The old man took in a breath. He considered
what more to
add
.
He
said, "Now's the time
to create for yourself, and for All That Is because at
very
essence you are alone
here."

He
felt confused. I am alone here?
Nicolas
asked himself. It occurred
to him that he might avoid all unnecessary heat by
just
staying quiet. He thought to
step up and take a whack at it short and sweet.

Yet he was going nowhere. He looked at the
ball put up on display. The round one seemed to be resting atop the
blue tee comfortably.
The
ball
looked like a standing monument highlighting his
inactivity.

Nicolas
needed help saying
Yes!
to it. His
mind remained uncertain.
He
hesitated more.
He could not hit or cremate this body of a
ball until he received word or had gotten the green signal. He
wished to be free of these heavy-as-iron 18 holes, linked
each-to-each,
which
felt
clasped around his prisoner's legs.
Nicolas Kumar
looked forward to being free of these
manacles.

He peered at the lake. The lake was known to
village locals, domestic tourists, the legions of pilgrims who
visit barefoot annually, as The Protector of the Masses. The
Protector of the Masses Lake lay
well in
range of his trusty 3-wood.
He
thought to consign his drive
there. He felt clever in thinking he could hit it into the water
hazard and therefore waste it.

Nicolas
said aloud so this guide could hear it,
"Never have I felt so bad on a course."

Not one word came back from Arjuna. As
he had hoped
to come out
of this with clean hands,
Nicolas
Kumar
decided to send his drive into the lake or
catchment area.
He
felt
it worthwhile to incur the what-the-hell penalty, and do so whether
this good teacher liked it or not.

Yes
,
I believe I will, he thought, reaffirming his
choice
.And
he pointed
down the
flower
fairway
to
the lake.

Nicolas told the old man
,
"As I want moksha for myself I'll play
for it to go there and hope for divine charity. This is just so my
soul won't forever be cussing me."

Arjuna offered nothing by way of a returning
comment. This puzzled young Nicolas. He believed this teacher could
not possibly be lost for words.

He threw Arjuna a glance. Nicolas discovered
t
he
old man
was looking low and that his head
was downcast. He saw
t
hat
Arjuna
was smiling
slightly
. To
Nicolas
,
he
appeared to agree with his decision to put
it in the
lake. But then
it occurred to
him
Arjuna
might
have
given up
altogether
on
instructing him.

Either way it was no longer in his power to
say, Nicolas thought. I'm going to do it.

As this guide no longer had much stronghold
over him, he felt
quite
good about his decision.
He
stepped a few paces behind the ball to line up.
He
was enjoying this
teacher's solemn silence and hoped it might continue.

"Only a few measured steps,"
Nicolas
whispered, and again he
stared down the
many-
flower
ed
fairway.

Stand there and do not think of a solitary
thing, the youth said inside. Before taking up the club, think only
to set it at the top, he added. Hold it for a second or so. A full
swing with not a lot of power will get you there.

Nicolas, done speaking to himself, moved to
set up. The old man coughed.
Nicolas
looked sharply his way.

"Wonderful!" cried Arjuna. "Choosing which
side to stand is an excellent place to start. You were probably
just asking yourself, Shall I take the right-hand path or the left?
If you were thinking this, you must
understand
too that victory by way of the left is
known as the Hero Path. Victory by way of the right is that of the
Devotee. And of course there is another way. This most hallowed
path does not clamor for the reliability of idolisms or perceived
perspectivisms. Nor does it require the staging of oaths that
appear to deem, to the mind of the simple, one good. This way might
be called The Way of the Celestial. It is neither left nor right
nor here nor there. It is of the quiet mind only, seeking out ways
to approach the feet of the Mother, and to do so with utmost
respect. The three are all just and good
,
of course, as I am not saying they are
not
. A
nd certainly my
saying something is just and good is also choice. I only say this
to discourage imparting simplicity or bland discourse. I can see on
your face by the roll of your eyes I have gone on too much. Please,
continue with whatever it was you were doing."

Nicolas thought the old man's speech
somewhat overlong. He considered what all was said but did not
catch a whole lot of meaning. He took note of this and told himself
also, If even there was any meaning.

He thought this guide's interruption gave
him an excuse to back off the shot. Nicolas decided to accept it.
He stepped out of the pocket or open beggar's home. Nicolas removed
himself from the usual set-up position. He did this in the same
manner the old man had done a moment or so ago.

He
stepped three paces to the rear.
Nicolas
went to a spot he hoped
might provide his
final
refuge. He backed up a fourth step to get away more. Along the way
he
gave this
good
teacher a look. He peered at
Arjuna
while pretending
to be
O so deeply
disappointed in him.

Then
n
ews came crushingly back to inform
Nicolas that
it was
now
his turn to play. It warned him over
issuing more excuses. The choice, he heard inside his head, is
yours.

He
peered
doomed out at the
flower
valley.
Nicolas
stood as
one who had been ill but had since gotten over it. He looked as if
he had been given a blessed second chance.
He
decided on
one
area in the lake to hit.
He
stepped up with renewed focus.
Nicolas
felt
strengthened by his ability to swing to near-perfection.
He
approached the
round
ed
one atop the tee
as a devotee visiting Swami.

Back at the ball,
he
put his right foot forward then the
other. He observed a moment of intense devotion. Nicolas looked as
if he alone had penetrated the boundary defined by many as time and
space.

Again the plight of all in the valley
arrived at the spot he now stood
,
and so did the sad-sounding refrain called
Why?
Now he felt smooth
-
talking his mind might be beneficial in helping him
get started
here
.

He told hi
m
self to relax and at first there was
some
success.
Nicolas
bent his knees slightly as
if
to sit on a bar
stool. It soon became clear to him an easy go of it would not be
the case and he backed off the shot.

Nicolas again went back into it. He set his
biased stance over the ball. He assumed his normal two-plank
strategy. Butterflies had not migrated but went south. They had in
fact increased their flight traffic.

He
told himself he was about ready.
Nicolas
settled into his stance
more
. He worked hard at
getting his feet in position. They were at equal points,
though
the heavier
burden was
decidedly
placed on the back or right foot.
He
turned in his left foot to get
it more
square. It felt like a weighted
stone.

Just do your part, his left foot seemed to
tell him. We'll
k
eep the
swing tight.