From Behind The Calm

It is a beautiful day in February. While the plane readied for landing, I studied the beautiful fresco – this city, laced by the light brown beaches, the blue-green sea merging with the azure calm extending from those depths to the plains carpeted by coconut trees and the green hills with the topi of grey stone.

“It has to be so,” he had said, “when you return…ready…”

His place is close to the city centre, a non-descript house with living quarters on the ground floor and his room upstairs. During the taxi-ride from the airport, I tried to remember the first meeting.

It was an April after the first shower with the smell of earth in the air, and I reached his house just before dusk. His wife politely advised me to try the next day but I waited outside the gate. Much later that night, I saw a woman leaving the house and I watched her walk away.

When I looked back at his house, I saw him at the gate studying me. He must have seen a sorry bedraggled figure. He is young, of medium height, fair, lean and when I got closer, I saw only his eyes, tired, soft and caring, and totally focused on me.

“Please come,” he said. When we were inside, he asked his wife, “Is there kanji (porridge) for us?” I started to speak but he begged for silence, head lowered with his left forefinger at his lips. We sat side by side on a bench at a long table within, finished the meal and then, went upstairs.

It is an empty white room. He must have seen doubt on my face, “Did you expect gods and demons? Aren’t they here?” He added, “Before…there used to be symbols, each symbol with a story…what are stories for?” I listened in silence. “To suit one’s needs, hopes, thoughts. A mirror’s enough, isn’t it? With me – the mind will do…and uncluttered space, without distraction. Some call it insanity, some…black magic…it’s just…the power of the mind.” We talked the whole night. Close to dawn, he told me what I had to do.

As I was leaving, he said, “My part will work but remember…it could strike…you or them.”

I left promising to return only when he calls, living according to how he had prescribed. I lived outside this state, in small flats in big cities, ready to shift with a suitcase and light bedding, a plate and a mug. For lunch, I forced myself to have a full meal and, water or coffee with biscuits for breakfast and supper. No sex, alcohol or tobacco; no company of any sort; no contact other than a few phone-calls per month to avoid unnecessary enquiries.

At first, I felt lost, defeated and disinterested. Then, I could barely sleep, always feeling raw, bitter and frothing rage. Finally, I lost sense of time and space, and stopped waiting for his call. Then, at all times, I saw them…the people who destroyed me…and, I started feeling that they had already ceased to exist. He called me two weeks back.

Today is the kind of day when I can return – a day so beautiful, peaceful and calm.

We are in his room, leaning against opposite walls, silent and static, focusing on each other’s eyes. I remember his words,

“…it could strike…you or them.”

I could feel his eyes enveloping me and I heard:

From behind the tranquil calm,
In the guise of hope play their role,
They come to wreck and harm,
Not the body but the immortal soul.