PART ONE

Innocence

1

“Monsieur le Président?”

“…”

The voice echoed softly, “Monsieur le Président?”

“… Yes?”

“We are almost in Strasbourg, Monsieur le Président.”

“Thank you, Barnabé… I apologise. I must have dozed off. You should have woken me up earlier.”

“You have a significant day ahead, Monsieur le Président. I did not want to interrupt your well-deserved nap. You require all your strength. Especially…”, Barnabé paused. Some things were better left alone, especially today.

The speed train slowed down while the first suburbs of the Alsatian capital passed through the carriage’s windows. The voice of the train manager broke through the interphone, informing passengers of the impending arrival within the next five minutes and thanking them all for their custom. French President Pierre-Antoine Lascombes looked at his holophone mechanically. The 3D screen displayed a text message: ‘Are you ok? Thinking of you.’ He quickly answered. ‘All fine. Cannot chat right now. Just arrived. Will call later.’

His thoughts began wandering. More than a significant day, this was a crucial day. A day not experienced by Europe in decades. A new chapter in its long history, with irreversible consequences for its Member States and their inhabitants. The years of uncertainty were over. Give me just enough time to carry on long enough to witness some achievements, he argued inside. Indeed, the clock was ticking.

The train’s abrupt stop brought him out of his mind wandering. The bodyguards assumed their positions, and the presidential entourage began to move and pack while keeping a wary watch on the statesman. One could note the tension around.

“What are the arrangements, Barnabé?”

“Standard security measures, including the train station in complete lockdown, armoured cars with police escort waiting for us at the exit and the closure of all critical roads up to the Parliament.”

“Is not this a touch too extreme?”

“Monsieur le Président, we already discussed this. You are not the sole Head of State to arrive by train, and I should not have to prompt the death threats you recently received. On our journey here, the train has already stopped three times.”

“I know, I know.”

“And there will likely be additional disruptions along the way. Even three years on, tensions and resentments persist.”

Good Barnabé, always paying attention to details and standing firm in his convictions. “Yes, indeed…” The opposition leader Charles Le Guen’s infamous accusations continued to resonate in the president’s mind. ‘… an unacceptable betrayal of France’s territorial integrity! A knife in the back of those who heroically sacrificed their lives in the First World War to defend our nation’s sovereignty!’… They were foul words. I am no traitor! he thought. This is the best possible outcome. What is at stake here goes far beyond some personal nationalist fantasies.

The head of security approached him. “Monsieur le Président, another five minutes before we can move on.” This day, everything seemed to function within five minutes…

The French delegation and its escort slowly progressed along the Boulevard de Dresde. Too slowly to the president’s taste. Pierre-Antoine took a distracted look at the motley crowd gathered on both sides of the road to glimpse at the long procession of state delegations. The sight of people cheering and dancing on this warm sunny day of March, waving flags and messages of support, was comforting. Yet, you could spot among them scattered opposition groups displaying hateful signs against the heads of state and government.

In hindsight, the European referendum campaign had represented a long and exhausting process for all Member States. Extremists on both sides of the political divide have heightened antagonisms, and countless incidents —some fatal—- took place in the eight months leading to the vote. The international developments did not help either. Ultimately, the people had decided: the motion was approved by 53.98 per cent two years ago. Even if the result felt short of the polls’ predictions, it was still enough to pass, as only a simple majority was required. The referendum was held across the entire Union, not within each nation-state, to present a united front to the outside world and prevent repeating some historical precedents. Words like manipulation, dirty trick and vote rigging burst into the mouths of nationalistic and far-left leaders. Anti-Union protests, sometimes violent, took place throughout the continent. But, in the end, it was a no-brainer, despite the whole process coming close to collapsing at one point.

Even after the initial success, the subsequent round of negotiations proved challenging and laborious. Some EU members failed to take the developing international volatility, a consequence of the destabilisation of the US and the Middle East, and emerging domestic issues seriously. Instead, they persisted in trivial quarrels over pointless symbols and regional identities. Then the decision to make Strasbourg the federal capital was opposed by several states. In the minds of a few nations, there were still deep suspicions about the French Republic’s ultimate motives. Given the topography of Europe, some thought Vienna was a more suitable choice. However, it was a resounding no for the Balkans and Central European countries. Brussels was also not a possibility, especially after the traumatic division of Belgium in the middle of the 2040s, which divided the former capital and the defunct state in half. As a result, most European institutions temporarily relocated to Alsace’s capital while awaiting consensus on a potential replacement location. A compromise was finally reached by pledging that the future French representative to the Commission would not hold any key position. On the 31st of October 2055, the delegates made public a common position on the future political structure of a united Europe. Strasbourg will become a federal district under the exclusive jurisdiction of the European Parliament, and the symbolic date of the 25th of March 2057 will mark the end of the transition period. On the date of the Treaty of Rome’s 100th anniversary…

The official vehicle suddenly rocked with a thump. A face warped by hatred appeared behind a window, his scarlet hands frantically banging on the armoured glass. Then, a dark, viscous, red fluid rained on the front and right windscreens.

“Remain seated, Monsieur le Président! We are safe inside,” said Barnabé. His earpiece was frantically buzzing. “Security is already responding to the threat.” As usual, he reacted calmly and sensitively.

The demented apparition started to yell heinously. “Show yourself, you bastard! I will rip the skin off your vile traitor’s body! Your blood and the one of France’s enemies will be poured to protect its real patriots. Come out, you scum; face your executioner!”

Several pairs of hands eventually apprehended the assailant within seconds, gagging and handcuffing him before he vanished from sight.

“I am receiving reports that this man broke through the security perimeter,” Barnabé went on. “According to our Homeland special units, he received assistance from accomplices employed by one of the private security firms hired for the event. Thankfully, he only carried a bucket containing a red substance mimicking blood. The situation is under control.”

“Great!” said President Lascombes, frustrated, “I am going to make the headlines again and be blamed for having deliberately spoiled the day…”

“Do not trouble yourself much, Monsieur le Président, the German Presidency of the Union has already taken the necessary arrangements to delay the ceremony accordingly.”

The French President rolled his eyes. “Even better…”

The official convoy finally reached the security of the final metres heading to the entrance of the European Parliament. The imposing structure stood proudly erect, shining brightly in the sunshine of that gorgeous day like a bold crown of glass and concrete. Right at its feet stood German Chancellor Monika Richter, in a dark navy suit and bright yellow shoes, impatiently waiting for her close friend and political ally with a broad smile on her face. The Marseillaise began playing as soon as an usher opened the president’s car door.

There we are! The dawn of a new era…

2

Deacon Shenouda Wahba finished washing the altar and the tabernacle following the conclusion of the Sunday service. He was by himself. Despite being a holy day, hardly any parishioners had gathered at the church because of rumours of potential threats against the Christian neighbourhood. Fortunately, nothing unusual occurred. One cannot condemn people for being scared, he thought. We shared enough tears in the past. At the end of the liturgy, he instructed his colleagues to head straight back to their families and not worry about the cleaning. Being an orphan raised and living on church grounds meant he didn’t have any loved ones to look after, unlike them. At twenty-two, he was the youngest ranked deacon in the brotherhood. His dedication, humility, and empathy were well-known and respected in the local Coptic community and fostered his rapid ascent. Most of the church’s senior members praised the genuineness of his calling and auguring his future rise to the highest positions in the priesthood. Time to leave. On his way out, he briefly glanced at the painted ceiling where the image of the saints and Christ Pantocrator looked at him benevolently.

Once in his cell, he hastily changed out of his religious robe for more suitable clothing, then headed to the main gate of Dayr Mawas’ Church of the Virgin Mary. The sun was still high in the sky, meaning he had plenty of time ahead of him. Shenouda wanted to catch an earlier ferry to arrive well in advance of today’s evening scheduled tour to get an opportunity to wander around the new excavation site. Besides his spiritual duties, Father Zacharia —the mentor who brought him up and educated him— constantly encouraged him to engage in extra-religious activities from the youngest age. A priest’s duty is to stay close to God and his parishioners, he continuously repeated. One cannot apprehend the divine without experiencing the profane. After experimenting with various options, he ultimately found his second call to delve into Egypt’s past of its sands and pursue hieroglyphic studies. Despite the harsh working conditions, the pernicious dust and the continual noise, he grew to enjoy helping his fellow labourers and wandering among the remnants of the ancient Kingdom of the Pharaohs. There was no contradiction in his mind between his religious beliefs and this. After all, according to the Gospel, the Holy Family sought refuge in the country to escape Herod’s wrath. Each excavation team was a patchwork of disparate cultures and religions. Yet, all operated harmoniously with a single ambition: to discover more secrets, acquire more knowledge and promote tourism appeal. But Shenouda also wanted to learn and educate himself further about his past. As a Copt, eventually destined for the priesthood, understanding Egypt’s first major civilisation was part of God’s will. Particularly in a region which witnessed the country’s first attempt to affirm a monotheistic faith in a world dominated by polytheistic beliefs. And this, long before Christianity and Islam, and perhaps even Judaism, according to some controversial scholars.

“Reverend Deacon Wahba! Reverend Deacon Wahba!” The high-pitched voice jolted him out of his daydreaming. Anaghnostos Missael was hailing him.

“What is it, Missael?”

“The Right Reverend Bishop Athanasius sent me to inform you that he wishes to see you as soon as possible, at the very least today. It is rather important, he said.” The younger man was panting, drawing irritating flies on his sweating forehead.

“Please respectfully tell Bishop Athanase that I am on my way to Tell el-Amarna. I committed to guiding the site’s last tour on the final day of the digging season and, unfortunately, cannot afford to arrive late. But assure him I will attend his office first thing in the morning.”

“He seemed anxious to see you, but I shall pass on your message.” The novice bowed respectfully and proceeded to sprint away in the opposite direction.

“Anaghnostos Missael, one more thing!” The young man stopped abruptly. “Also, please inform him that I will most certainly be unable to attend vespers this evening.”

Next, Shenouda exited through the gates and began running along the busy city streets toward the ferry dock. He did not want to miss the boat. He reached the pier twenty minutes later, covered in sweat, but, to his delight, at the exact moment the ship moored. What does the old man want from me? Probably some widow or orphan to visit and console, he thought. It can certainly wait till tomorrow. His deep blue eyes meandered around the dark, majestic waters of the Nile, gently moving on its bed. Across the horizon, behind the mountain range, mighty dark clouds were amassing, the sign of an impending storm. Over the last ten years, the country’s climate has dramatically transformed. Humidity levels were rising with rainfall becoming more seasonal and abundant. The fertile lands were now expanding beyond the natural boundaries of the Nile for the delight of the fellahin. But it also significantly impacted the preservation of historical monuments not accustomed to increased atmospheric moisture after millennia of dry weather. And the political situation in certain parts of the world, directly affecting an Egyptian government already battling financial difficulties, added further pressure to preserve the country’s heritage. Tourists were growing scarce. Another reason for me to contribute to the survival of the site…

“You’re my best guide, Shenouda,” Professor Walters told him a few days ago. “The final tour of the season is customarily the most significant and secures patrons and funds for the next one. The continuity of our research relies on its success.”

“I will do my best, Professor, I promise. Do not forget this Sunday’s worship is especially significant to our seminarians, our hierarchy and, above all, our community.”

“That’s why I programmed it for 6.00 pm. The group will convene several prominent donors and members of the board. They expect to be guided by a descendant of the ancient Egyptians. You know how much of an impact it makes. Please, I implore you.” Professor Walter’s voice was getting desperate.

“Again, I can only promise you I will try my best. Now, if you forgive me, I must return to my religious studies. As you are aware, God is a jealous master….”

The ferry was now sailing to the east bank, drifting peacefully on the serene waters amid a gentle breeze playing with the papyrus. A descendant of the ancient Egyptians, he thought. Yes, it was how the Coptic community was frequently referred to. Legend had it that the people of the Pharaohs converted to Christianity and later withstood Arab assimilation thanks to the strength of their faith. But there is no evidence that I do belong to my community. I am merely a baby found abandoned on the steps of the Church of the Virgin Mary. I could be born into any other community. However, the prospect effectively increased his popularity among tourists, resulting in considerable demand for his guided tours. And who could blame him when Father Zacharia constantly brought forth what he called “our heritage.”

The young deacon finally reached the Amarna Dig House. More than an hour and a half left before the tour. That would give him enough time to wander the Southern suburb’s excavation site where the remains of an unknown dignitary’s family house had recently been uncovered. Exciting! He quickly gazed at the cliffs in the east, where the gloomy clouds grew increasingly menacing. The storm will break out this evening.

“Shenouda, my boy! You came!” Professor John Walter erupted, suddenly noticing the deacon. The Englishman was enjoying a cup of tea while seated at one of the outside tables. He rushed to the young man before hugging him tightly. “My God, I’m so delighted you’re here!” The professor’s bearded face was all smiles, his eyes sparkling joyfully and sneering like a five-year-old boy. Deep in his late fifties, the archaeologist was of a cheerful nature and always pleasant with everyone, even after five years of overseeing the mission. He wore an immaculate beige suit and polished black shoes.

“Do not be too excited, Professor; you want to produce a good impression on your guests,” Shenouda chuckled. “Is it true the team has discovered a new dignitary’s palace in the Southern City?”

“Indeed, indeed! Quite an exciting finding, I must say. However, your curiosity will have to wait for another day. Since you arrived in advance, I want to get to business immediately.”

“But, Professor, you told me-”

“Please, please, please!” he begged with his hands. Our guests are already here, their boat is anchored at the Visitor Centre, and they look forward to it. This is how we proceed: I’ll escort them to the Centre’s conference room for a thirty-minute presentation of our most recent discoveries, budgetary report, and future needs. Then, you’ll guide them on the usual tour, starting with the Centre’s collection, followed by the Great Temple of Aten, the Great Palace and its surroundings, and ending with the Workshop of Tuthmosis. But this time, instead of continuing to the Royal Tombs, you’ll lead them to the Stela S!” he said with an exalted voice.

“The stela S?” Shenouda replied with surprise.

“Absolutely! Its renovation was fully completed last week, thanks to the Ministry of Antiquities’ last-minute assistance. It’s the ideal opportunity to show our patrons how we use their donations and demonstrate our excellent relationships with the national authorities. You know how significant the Stelae Project is.”

“I do, I do. But is it wise? The path to Stela S is arduous, and the forecast does not look optimistic.” He pointed at the threatening sky in the east.

“It’s a ten-minute drive, and the new stairs are also finished. We’ll have just enough time, I can assure you. The storm isn’t expected until later, I understand.”

“All right, all right, I give up,” Shenouda answered with a smile. “Just allow me fifteen minutes to freshen up.”

“Of course, my boy, of course! Oh! This will be such a success!” He hugged him again before heading to the Visitor Centre, whistling. How could someone refuse such a candid person?

***

“… As my father lives the living Ra-Horakhty rejoicing in what is Right,

in his name as Shu which is in the sun-disk,

given life for ever and eternity,

as my heart is sweetened

over the king’s wife, over her children,

that old age be granted to the great king’s wife

Neferneferuaten Nefertiti granted life eternally,

in this million years,

while she is under the hand of Pharaoh may he live, prosper and be well,

and old age be granted to the king’s daughter Meretaten

and the king’s daughter Meketaten her children,

while they are under the hand of the king’s wife

their mother for ever and eternity….”

“I will conclude our tour with this passage from King Akhenaten’s pledge to the Aten inscribed on this stela. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it as much as I did guiding you today.”

A frantic wave of applause and raucous cheers broke the silence. Shenuda modestly bowed and smiled at them in thanks. High above, on the cliff behind him, radiating in the dazzling sunset, the imposing carved image of King Akhenaten, Queen Nefertiti, and their four daughters were devoutly praying to the Sun God Aten, benevolently gracing them.

“Bravo! Bravo! Another round of applause for our outstanding guide, Shenouda. Professor Walters was cheering frenetically. “Wonderful, wonderful! No doubt you have a hundred more questions to ask this gorgeous young man. Let’s all head back to the Centre for some refreshments and food. We’ll be more comfortable to-”

The ominous iron sky suddenly burst into a brilliant flash of light, striking the top of the ridge. Then a deluge of water poured from the heavens, cascading over the nearby rocks. The small group rushed down the concrete steps to the safety of the minibus parked below. Despite desperate efforts to move, Shenouda’s body remained frozen. The elements were raging around him in a flurry of lightning. An overwhelming impulse possessed the young priest with an irresistible urge to look at the stela, like a subconscious call. The whole carving was magically glittering in the brightness of the dying sun, surrounded by strobe lights, in a surreal manifestation of divine power. At that moment, the entire sculpted scene suddenly came to life. The Pharaoh, his wife and daughters extended their hands higher towards the Aten, chanting loud prayers in hopes of receiving his magnanimous protection. In return, the Sun’s all-powerful disk bestowed his everlasting blessings to its faithful worshippers. At some point, the image of Queen Nefertiti took form and moved slowly in Shenouda’s direction. Light amidst light, beauty within beauty. A suave voice echoed through the commotion as her beautiful eyes peered deeply into the depths of his soul.

“Remember your oath, my son; remember your pledge to the Aten. Go north to the land of Khor. Find the sacred stone and fulfil your destiny.”

The flamboyant Sun God behind her became larger and brighter. The Eye of Ra stared at him, magnificent, almighty, terrifying, before its aura scorched everything around in a massive burst of light. In the middle of the flare, Shenouda saw a large city burning to the ground. The vision was interrupted by another tremendous flash of light striking the top of the ridge for a second time, accompanied by a loud bang and a massive explosion of rocks. Only darkness remained in the end…

3

The sound of laughs echoed throughout the monastery’s serene white streets. The three teenagers ran merrily through the deserted lanes of the residential quarters on their way to the main temple. The source of their euphoria was the special dispensation granted to them this afternoon, which they fully intended to enjoy.

“Come on Jamyang! We don’t want to get late!”

“I’m coming; I’m coming, Kalsang! You know I can’t get rushed. He was gasping for air while labouring to climb the steep staircase.

“It’d be easier for you if you were eating less momos!”

“It’s not my fault if my mom keeps bringing them every time she visits me. She only wants me to remain strong and in good health.”

His companion exclaimed, laughing. “You’re not strong and healthy, Jamyang; you are FAT!”

“Kalsang, please! You should be more considerate of your brother and refrain from employing such language,” said a third voice. “Where has your kindness gone?”

“Every patient carries their own doctor within him, Rinchen.”

“But he who gives food gives longevity, pleasant complexion, happiness, stamina and intelligence,” Jamyang retorted.

“Do not start, you two,” commanded Rinchen, “this is not the time to debate right now. And we are almost there. Kalsang, next time, try to use a more compassionate word.”

“Like?”

“Like… let’s see… Like ‘indulgence’! It is no secret that our brother Kalsang finds too much indulgence in the pleasures of food. We should pray to the Buddha to grant him strength in his daily struggle.”

“Indulgence? Daily struggle? Really?”

The trio burst into laughter. Their teacher, the Venerable Kunchen Lama, nicknamed them the Inseparable.

Seventeen-year-old Rinchen was the eldest. Well-educated in the scriptures, his peers now addressed him as lama. He was born into an affluent family in Dharamshala. After serving the last Dalai Lama in his youth, his father became a prominent member of the Central Tibetan Administration. As the second son and following the family tradition, Rinchen was sent to the Tawang Monastery at seven to join the Sangha. Although his ‘calling’ initially started as an obligation, the young boy quickly embraced the monastic life, giving him a way to escape his older brother’s relentless bullying. He also had a younger sister, but she was too little to recall him fully when he left. Nonetheless, she invariably included a few kind words in the letters sent by his mother. Physically, Rinchen was tall and slender, and his deep, black eyes emphasised his gaunt face. He was the wise one —studious, perceptive of all things and eager to learn.

 Jamyang and Kalsang were his juniors by two years. They both arrived at the monastery on the same day, and Venerable Kunchen Lama tasked Rinchen to mind them. The three boys have shared the same cell ever since.

Kalsang was from Bomdila in the State of Arunachal Pradesh, farther to the south. After consulting the oracle, his parents agreed to make him a monk to improve the family’s karma. They decided on Tawang over his hometown because of the monastery’s greater reputation. He was the troublesome one —always on the move, possessed by inexhaustible energy, and rarely missing an opportunity to contradict his elders.

Jamyang was a native of Tawang. He has been obsessed with becoming a monk from a very young age. His mother would endlessly recount she regularly searched for him inside the monastery’s grounds, where he constantly escaped. After observing his behaviour, the abbot, the Venerable Chophel Rinpoche, concluded this was no coincidence. It could only suggest Jamyang was the reincarnation of a former lama wanting to learn the Dharma further. Thus, after seeking his parents’ permission, he joined the Sangha aged eight. Devoted to his studies and highly respectful of the sacred teachings, he was taciturn and constantly stood close to his two companions. He was the shy one —his eyes frequently expressed a peculiar, far-off melancholy.

“Hoy, you three, hurry over here!” It was the voice of Wangdue Lama, the cook. “Are you the ones who Kunchen Lama sent?” the robust man eyed them scornfully, his wrists crossed over his hips. Dirty grease stains were covering his shemdap and dhonka. However, the imposing monk was known for being unconcerned about those details. He was equally renowned for his rudeness. His sole source of pride was his cooking ability, and the Buddha knew how skilled he was.

“Yes, we are, Venerable Wangdue Lama”, answered Rinchen, joining his hands together and bowing respectfully.

“Come along, then! See those six containers of leftover food here? Take them to the recycler.”

“But that’s the work of a young novice!” retorted Kalsang, defiantly.

“This is the task Venerable Kunchen Lama asked me to assign you! Therefore do it,” he said with an ugly smirk. “Or go back to your studies and forget your afternoon off.”

“We shall do it with reverence, Wangdue Lama,” acknowledged Rinchen.

“But—”

“Kalsang, please. Happiness is not something ready-made. It results from your deeds. Let us perform this task with humility and then enjoy our afternoon.”

They took the large containers and carried them to the recycling grounds a hundred metres away. Jamyang silently trailed his two companions before suddenly dropping his load. He was shaking, looking terrified.

“Jamyang, what is the matter?” gently inquired Rinchen.

“They’re… there,” he stammered. “You know… them…” His final word died in a whisper.

“Come on, Jamyang, you are fifteen years old!” Kalsang lectured him. “Don’t tell me you are still scared of them?”

“You know we will both protect you, Jamyang,” pledged Rinchen. “There is nothing you should be worried about. Let us get on with it.”

They rapidly reached the recycling pad and began to dump the scraps into the deep holes in the ground. Shortly aftter, loud squeaking sounds voiced over their heads. Sitting ungracefully on the edge of the wall, three fluffy creatures were peering at them with curiosity and greed. They belonged to the local group of macaques, whose territory included the landfill. Jamyang froze entirely, and his eyes well up with tears. A few years before, he had experienced a dreadful close encounter with one of the monkeys and was still distressed by the experience. One of the primates began to screech, and additional ones appeared within seconds. A bulky dominant male emerged along the wall and howled loudly while staring at them.

“Carry on with your task. Just ignore them. And most of all, do not stare at them. They will not become aggressive unless they see us as a threat. And, Kalsang?”

“Yes, Rinchen?”

“Do not toss any stone at them, as you frequently do. I am in no mood for a stand, and you know it is bad karma.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t…”

The three boys carefully took back the containers before slowly moving away. Then, as soon as they reached a safe distance, they started running frantically. The macaques behind them leapt down the wall and dashed for the relish while yelling and fighting. Jamyang flew ahead as if he possessed invisible wings while the other two were excitedly laughing at him. Gasping but merry, they finally made it to the kitchen. The stern cook was waiting there with their teacher, Venerable Kunchen Lama. The trio bowed respectfully at the wizened face grinning benevolently at them before he courteously returned the gesture.

“Ah! And here are our Inseparable! Have you completed the task I assigned you?”

“We have, Venerable Kunchen Lama,” answered Rinchen.

“How about you, young Jamyang?”

“I did what was asked of me, Venerable Kunchen Lama.” He was looking at the ground, still shaken.

“He was utterly brave and confronted his fear honourably!” Kalsang continued in a proud voice.

“Very good, Jamyang”, said Venerable Kunchen Lama in a silky voice. “Know well what leads you forward and what holds you back, and choose the path that leads to wisdom. Very well, a promise is a promise. You three can go and wander wherever your hearts want. I expect you back for dinner at seven.”

“Yeah!”

The older man turned to Rinchen. “Rinchen Lama.”

“Yes, Venerable Kunchen Lama?”

“You will see me in the abbot’s office tomorrow at noon, after lunch. There are important matters the Abbot and I need to discuss with you.” He looked at Kalsang and Jamyang. “You may both accompany him.”

They bowed simultaneously. “We are grateful, Venerable Kunchen Lama.”

“Alright, off you go! Hurry, before I have a change of heart!” he commanded them, his eyes filled with malice.

They ran away without looking back until reaching the monastery’s gates.

“Where should we go?” questioned Kalsang.

“Let’s go to the lake!” answered Jamyang. He was behaving like a child now that the dread had left his mind. “I’ll ask my brother to drive us there; then we can walk back.”

***

Lake Pang Teng Tso was quiet and deserted, if not for the singing birds flying around. The calm, crystal-clear waters glistened in the midst of the sky’s radiant sun. The temperature was already relatively mild for March. Mount Kangto was majestically observing the surroundings in the distance, its last winter snowfall holding helplessly on its slopes before melting in the upcoming weeks. It has been a decade since the mountain range was completely blanketed with snow all year round. Rinchen observed the natural mirror with contemplation and admiration, awed by the peaceful setting.

“Rinchen? What do you think Venerable Kunchen Lama wishes to discuss with you?” Kalsang was lying lazily on the soft moss, wearing his shemdap, and drying in the sun after a vigorous dip in the chilly waters. His zhen and dhonka were folded on a rock beside him.

“I honestly have no idea, Kalsang. I presume I will know more tomorrow.”

“Well, it must be important if Abbot Chophel Rinpoche is there too.”

Rinchen allowed his thoughts to drift. He enjoyed today’s morning prayers and meditation. As often, they helped him find some inner serenity. The last few nights had been troubled by the same recurring vivid dream. He stood in a foreign land, far away from India. A cold and wet place covered by brownish, round mountains. Then a moment later, he sat in a cell, two shadowy silhouettes beside him. One wept slowly while the other asked him in a distressed voice, “What am I meant to do, Rinchen? This goes against the Buddha’s teachings.” Each time, he woke up before he could answer. I should tell Venerable Kunchen Lama about this dream, he thought. He took three deep breaths and calmly emptied his mind.

“What a beautiful and quiet day,” he then said. “An appropriate occasion to meditate.”

“What?!” yelled Kalsang.“ But we already practised meditation this morning.”

“To Meditate among our brothers in the temple is one part of the practice. To do it in communion with the creation is another one. The Lord Buddha reached awakening by meditating under a tree. We ought to follow his example. Then, I suggest we stop at Jamyang’s house on our way back to the monastery. I am sure his mother prepared some delicious momos for us to enjoy while sipping tea. What do you think?”

Kalsang joined his hands and bowed reverently with a broad grin. “Venerable Rinchen Lama, you have once more spoken with wisdom…”

The three monks touched each other foreheads before sitting side by side in the lotus posture. They straightened their back, resting their hands on their legs. Then they closed their eyes, gradually relaxing their muscles from head to foot, allowing their body to settle and reach balance. They felt the soft, warm ground underneath gently supporting their brittle physical envelope. Simultaneously, the maelstrom of thoughts began to echo inside their minds. Their eyelids opened slightly, gazing at the vastness. Calm, slow breathing. The inner storm subsides, recedes, and floats away. Steady, slow breathing. The words of their teacher flooded their heads. Emptiness.

The air flows in and out, a comforting and soothing noise. Awareness. Awareness of the mind, the body as a whole and billions of cells bound into one entity. Awareness expands. Notice your surroundings. Feel the ground, the soft touch of moisture, the sun’s warmth. Pay attention to the sounds of living creatures, the breeze delicately stroking the water’s surface, joyfully playing with the grass, and the fragrant aroma of the blooming flowers. Expand further. Allow your consciousness to detach from its mortal sheath. Ascend over the mountains to the depth of space. Now, contemplate the Earth. This radiant blue sphere, gracefully floating in the void, elegantly dancing with its sisters around our blazing yellow star. Allow your life force to dance with them for a while before travelling further. Watch the Sun slowly shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller, until it becomes a bright tiny glittering light among countless other bright tiny glittering lights. Observe them gathering in the vast swirling cloud of our galaxy. Now, gaze at the whole Universe, constantly shifting and evolving in perpetual metamorphosis. Witness impermanence, ‘mi rtag pa’—the eternal cycle of life and death. Finally, open your inner eye and stare deep inside your soul. Feel the touch of your consciousness. Embrace the light glowing in its centre. You are the light, and the light is you, a perfect symbiosis, a sheer harmony…