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Those were days of indescribable anguish. Time seemed to stand still. In spite of that, every day I did my exercises on the wire and afterwards I meditated for several hours near the pit where Suresh was buried. Windy nights followed days of stifling heat. My soul was assailed by all sorts of emotions, feelings, doubts and contradictions. Sometimes I found it hard to believe all that was happening to me since my arrival in India. Other times, the nostalgia for my country and the loved ones left behind bit my heart like a starving wolf. Concerns of every kind sprang inside me, and I barely said a word in those days during which the most attractive women and the most distinguished gentlemen passed through the residence of the ex-Maharaja. The music never stopped either at night or day. Camels, elephants and ostentatious cars coming and going, in contrast to the miserable vehicles usual in India. There were fireworks, parties inside the mansion and the garden, dances and performances of acrobats, contortionists and fighters.

Those days I understood how difficult it is to know how to wait and keep a clear mind. At last it arrived the dawn of the seventh day. I had barely managed to sleep that night, so intense were my impatience and my uncertainty. At eleven in the morning everything was ready to unearth Suresh. People from all the surrounding villages came, as the ex-Maharaja had permitted the entry into his garden. The expectation was huge. There was a perfect silence, only broken by the peculiar cawing of the crows. I saw the fear reflected in the eyes of many people, while in others there was only a glimpse of fun or frivolity. “May God allow him to live!” I thought with true fervor. My heart was beating uncontrolled. My eyes met the ex-Maharaja and as if he had noticed my almost pathetic anxiety, I thought I saw a flash of mockery in his eyes.

The soil that filled the pit was removed. With considerable difficulties, the guards took the coffin out and checked that the padlocks continued to be perfectly locked. The ex-Maharaja gave them the keys and they opened the three padlocks. Slowly, we opened the lid of the coffin, took out the body of Suresh, extremely rigid and with a bulging stomach, and placed it on the grass. The ex-Maharaja personally checked that the seals were intact. I quickly left the body of Suresh in the open. His face was inexpressibly pale, the jaws rigid, the cheekbones wizened… Without delay I began to massage the top of his head while reciting the mantra in his ear. I freed him from the wax of the nose and ears and began to shake him strongly; then, after sticking his tongue out between his teeth, I put my mouth to his and began to insufflate him air. But Suresh did not react. Was he dead? His body continued with the same rigidity and the color did not return to his face. I shook him again and again, violently, recited the mantra one hundred times in his ear and insufflated him a new quantity of air, I lifted his eyelids, but his eyes were blank. There was not the slightest sign of life. The minutes passed fast like the most spirited steed. The agitation and fear nearly paralyzed me. What could I do? Terrified, I wondered if I had missed something. Then I remembered something and began to hit violently with my fist in the center of Suresh’s chest.

“Suresh, Suresh, Suresh!” I screamed.

There was no reaction. I asked two of the guards to shake him while I gave him blows to the chest, insufflated him air, recited the mantra and shouted his name to the four winds. Suddenly his body began to shake violently; a tremor that lasted a couple of minutes; then it became flaccid. And then, Suresh’s eyes slowly opened. The ex-Maharaja looked stunned how the fakir was coming back to life. Little by little, Suresh began to move the fingers of his hands and to make deep inspirations.

“Squeeze my eyes,” he mumbled.

I pressed his eyes with my thumbs.

Until then a great silence had reigned in the garden; but from that moment, when people became aware that Suresh was alive, it began to be heard all sort of comments, whispers, cheers and congratulations. Some ladies fainted and had to be taken away from the place. The ex-Maharaja, wide-eyed, could hardly believe what he was seeing. Suresh, with great effort, his members barely obeying him, got up from the ground. I hugged him as I had never hugged anyone before.

“I wouldn’t like to die suffocated in your arms,” Suresh joked already recovered.

I helped him to get to his room and, once there, he took a relaxing bath of lukewarm water. Then he drank a lot of milk, but did not eat any solid food for several days.

“I thought I would lose you,” I said feeling pity for myself.

“Everything is over now, although I don’t think I have gained the liking of the ex-Maharaja,” he replied funny.

At dusk, our host invited us to one of his rooms. With great courtesy he congratulated Suresh and then gave him the promised amount of money.

“Within a year my engagement will take place,” said the ex-Maharaja. “If by then you remain buried for ten days, I will double this amount.”

Suresh shook hands and simply said, nonchalantly:

“Much water has to go down the Ganges over a year.”

“But do not forget it,” the ex-Maharaja insisted.

With the first shadows of the evening we walked around the perfumed gardens.

“You did very well, apprentice,” Suresh congratulated me.

“Do you think I will ever stop being an apprentice?” I asked half-jokingly.

“I don’t think so,” he answered, putting his arm around my shoulders, as he often did. He observed a moment of silence and added: “But you are becoming a good apprentice.

We remained motionless at sunset, as if we did not want to disturb the calmness of the evening. We were peacefully sitting on the beach of Rameshwaran; it was a tiny island in southern India, in the Gulf of Mannar, where we had arrived a few weeks ago. I had put on a straw hat to protect me from the sun. Those were the days of March and were exquisitely bright.

“The secret lays in being able to surpass the human condition of the mind,” Suresh said.

My look was lost in the blue ocean. I did not say anything.

“Unmani is the no mind, a type of revealing mind. In the no mind springs satchidananda, the being-consciousness-bliss. That is also a state; a state of bliss, yes, but a state that must be surpassed.”

The fishermen, mostly of small stature and very dark skin, were returning home. The seagulls perched on the beach.

“And after surpassing that state?” I asked.

“Questions, questions, questions,” Suresh replied abruptly, as emerging from his lethargy.

He rose from the sand and began to interpret with gestures, and in a very expressive way, a man tormented by questions. He put his hands on the head, tearing his hair, as if there were so many thoughts in his mind that he could hardly hold it between his fingers.

I was astonished when I saw him. Then I started to laugh. I also got up from the ground and we took the direction of the bazaar. We got lost in a maze of alleys, which at that time of the evening were very lively. Then we went to the temple of Ramanatha Swami, and when we were in one of its peaceful sanctuaries, Suresh said:

“Tomorrow we will go to Kanya Kumari, the cape of the Virgin. We will stay there for a few days and then…”

“And then?”

“Now the time to say goodbye has come,” he announced with studied coolness.

“What?”

“I need to spend some time on retreat,” said Suresh. “And stay alone, dear apprentice.” And he added mockingly: “And alone means just that: alone.”

I realized it would be useless to protest. So, I limited myself to remain silent and watch the ritual brahmin, passing the sacred fire among the devotees.

But while Suresh had remained very silent all the afternoon, he was very talkative that night. Sitting outside the temple, he suddenly told me:

“We are in this life to help each other, and there is no other thing than love.”

Then a beggar came to us asking for alms.

Suresh, as usual, filled his hands with rupees.

“The action must be lucid, precise and selflessness. Learn it well for the day you decide to return home. We must not long for the results, because the results are in the action itself.”

Yet I wanted to know more about his impressions when he was buried alive.

“What happens to you or how do you feel when you are underground?”

“Prana is the vital force that animates us all. It flows through the veins and is everywhere: blood, cells, atoms, feelings, thoughts… When I provoke the trance, I condense the prana in the heart and reduce the pulsation of life to its minimum vibration. But I want you to know…”

He left the sentence unfinished a few seconds when he was interrupted by other beggars, who knew about Suresh’s generosity; then he went on:

“But I want you to know that, for me, everything is a means. The Mother works for us and within us. She brings us and takes us away.”

“Sometimes you speak like a religious man,” I said.

“The true religious man is not the one who follows a path already marked, nor is it a simple dabbler, do you understand me? It is who he tries to perceive the unity in everything. In that sense you are right in saying that I am a religious man. But I have no beliefs; I guide myself only by experience. You must know that in the bitterness of bile dwells the Shakti; in the sweetness of honey, the Shakti.”

Other beggars came and surrounded us. Suresh kept talking while they looked at him attentive, almost fascinated:

“In the inner silence it manifests the purest, the inaudible vibration is heard. You have to try, again and again, to pick up the thread of your sense of self and access what is prior to that sense, to hear the inaudible and catch the uncatchable. You are not different from the world. You are the water of the river, the lava of the volcano, the salt of the tears, the death rattle in the moribund, the cold in the snow and the warmth in the caress, you are all that. But our clumsy psychological automatism does not allow us to connect with the full energy of silence.

“The yogi, believe me, must learn to subjugate the Goddess and stop being a toy in her hands. Then he dreams instead of being dreamed. He enters the limitless void, discovers the mystery of creation and realizes that he is the creator, the created and what is beyond both. He moves to the equilibrium point from where all the universal energy emerges and where it returns. It is the bindu. When I am in deep samadhi, I am the bindu.”

In the last weeks I begun to have the living experience that the universe incorporated in me and I incorporated in the universe. For the first time I felt that some significant changes were taking place within me.

“When I was a child,” Suresh said, “one day inadvertently I stepped on a tadpole and crushed it. I spent all night praying God to give its life back. That day I realized, deeply moved, that everything is sacred and we have not even the right to damage the petals of a flower. But the so-called civilized man has mutilated the Earth and has opened an abyss of unnecessary suffering.”

I had never seen Suresh so serious as on that occasion.

“So much blood has been shed,” he added, “that all the rivers of the Earth could be filled with it… The only thing that distinguishes a person is goodness. Nothing more,” he said categorically. “My grandfather taught me to offer the ego to the Goddess for her to devour it, crush it, kill it. The only thing I admire in a human being, the only thing, is goodness.”

More beggars were adding to the group, forming an increasingly bigger circle around us. The night had fallen. In the distance, we heard the mantras that the devotees chanted inside the temple. Suresh then told me something I will never forget:

“When you return to your country, continue your normal responsibilities if you decide to do so; It is your choice. But if you have understood the science and art of the wire, nothing will be the same even though it seems to be the same. In your consciousness and your attitude the difference is calibrated. There will be suffering, but it alerts us on the trip provided it does not become self-compassion. Like the musky deer spreads its perfume, you must spread affection wherever you are or go. Never negotiate your freedom. Do not stop searching and do not allow laziness. Be gentle and firm like the buffalo. Remain always alert because otherwise, your old habits will come back and eventually will win the battle against you.

“In the dangerous world we have built, living becomes more difficult than walking over the thinnest wire. If you can, relate with nice people, if it is not possible, do what Buddha said: Walk alone as the elephant. It is near, very near, the day you and I would have to separate, but we’ll do without attachment, without pain. With these vital instruments that are the body and the mind, I’ll go one way and you, another one, but your being and mine will continue to be linked. So, Hernan, there is no real separation.”

Having said that, Suresh ordered food for both of us and all the beggars around us. It was a funny night, because later on, the great fakir turned to his wonderful way of doing mime and represented, in a very fun way and assuming different characters, the kidnapping of Sita by the king of demons Ravana.

Under a blue spring sky, the days passed by the ocean at Cape Virgin, in the southern extreme of India. For me there were days of consolation and days of discouragement, days of certainty and days of agitation. But sometimes I had moments of great mystical inspiration and I felt renewed; Other times, however, the fear and faintness seized me and I could not help it.

Suresh had gained the liking of the people of Cape Virgin. He continued to subject me to a rigorous spiritual discipline, although he also allowed me a few hours for leisure. We often talked with pilgrims coming from far away, with hermits who had temporarily left their retreat, with sadhus and teachers. I kept asking for the treatise entitled The happy man in the cave of the heart. Nobody gave me exact references. I also asked many people for a middle-aged German named Frederick, but nobody seemed to know him. Had he died? Had he returned home?

The first days of May brought an asphyxiating heat. The children swam for hours in the clean waters of the Kanya Kumari and their dark bodies shone showily under the sun.

“The time has come,” Suresh suddenly said, taking me by surprise.

I did not need any further explanation.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“I will look for an isolated place. I also need to continue training on walking on the wire… on the internal wire.”

“Will we meet ever again? You still have many things to teach me. I need you.”

“You need yourself,” he corrected me showing a friendly smile.

“But, there is still so much to explore and learn!”

The tears came to my eyes. Nothing could provide me consolation in those moments. He looked at me with his profound eyes, without blinking.

“If it is in our destiny, we will meet again,” he said.

We had attained a great spiritual and human intimacy. I loved him like my brother and his friendliness was as necessary and vital to me as the air I breathed.

The next morning, Suresh accompanied me to the station. The train would depart in ten minutes. Words are not necessary when hearts talk.

“We should never force excessively the course of events,” said Suresh. Then he added: “I should not tell you, but I will.”

I looked at him expectantly. My admiration and love for him were immense.

“When I met you, I would not have given a rupee for your spiritual possibilities, but now…”

“How much would you give now?” I smiled.

“Maybe I could get up to a five rupees note.”

He started to laugh as he hugged me tightly. I felt his sunburnt face next to mine, and his fibrous body was so close to me for a moment that his slow breath brushed my face.

“I will never forget what you have done for me,” I said, grateful.

“This fakir will not forget either what you have done for him.”

There were no more words. I looked his deep eyes for the last time, so beautiful and always eloquent, and I boarded the train. Through my mind were passing countless events and scenes lived with that strange and prodigious man. The whistle of the train startled me, bringing me to the present moment. When the train began to move, a shiver ran down my whole body, and I was tempted to get off the train in motion, run to Suresh and beg him to let me stay with him. But he always had told me: “There is nothing to cling to. Nothing we can stop.” I closed my eyes. I had ahead of me a long journey to the opposite extreme of India.

The very long trip was a real test to my patience. I had to change several times the train and endure the rigors of the pre-monsoon season. Sometimes the temperature was above forty-five degrees. I fed with the swill provided by street vendors of food. I contemplated all kinds of landscapes and villages.

I finally arrived at Chandigarh, in the north of Delhi, and from there I took a bus to Simla. I had not announced my arrival and although I had phoned Elizabeth twice, I had lost contact in the last two months. On the bus there stood out two wealthy Jains, who appeared very solemn, immaculately dressed the traditional Indian way. There were several Sikhs and a group of peasants talking in a lively way.

Beside me was sitting a businessman who worked in Delhi and was going to spend a few days off to Simla. He told me nonstop about boring financial operations, how the price of the hotels in Delhi had unreasonably raised and other tedious topics. He was trying to find out things about me, but as I was in no mood for trivialities, I limited myself to imitate the ambiguous nod of the Indians. Whether he interpreted my nods like a yes or a no was something I did not care about. I was impressed by the beauty of a Tibetan who was also on the bus and, while in her late middle age, had a very nice smile. Also traveling with us a skinny old woman did not stop muttering to herself. Near her, several joyful schoolboys sang songs in Hindi.

When the bus reached the first mountains I felt a great relief as the temperature was milder and the air purer. Beautiful landscapes opened up before my eyes.

To go from the station to Colonel Mundy’s mansion I took a trap, whose driver, a skinny and graceful little man, was determined to convince me to go to his home to meet his wife. There was no way to convince him. He insisted on his idea as if his life depended on it. He also wanted to introduce me to his father and mother in law, brothers in law and neighbors. What I found to be funny in the beginning ended up to exasperate me. On several occasions I got out of the trap, but the man begged me to get on again, showing his best smile, and so he managed to convince me. I could not say how many times I got out and on the trap, but they were numerous, as the man had the cheek to take me to his house door. I refrained from shouting at him, as he seemed a delightful person, but his desire to demonstrate his hospitality brought about my indignation. Later on, he put all his efforts to convince me to try his ‘bidis’ cigarettes and to buy him a beer. Finally, I had no choice but to shout at him. To my surprise, he answered with a friendly smile and initiated the march to the mansion of the colonel.

When we arrived, the man left the trap and began to walk beside me towards the door of the house.

“Sir, sir,” he said, “I will stay with you, so that you can use my services whenever you want.”

I could not believe it. He was trying to enter the house with me and I suppose to stay there to be at my service.

“Thanks, thanks,” I replied. “If I ever need you, I promise I will find you at the mall.”

He was not convinced at all; he almost started to mourn, pouting like an annoyed child. I knocked on the door. When it was opened, I found in front of me the searching look and the black beard of Kuldip.

“What a pleasure, sir!” he exclaimed truly delighted.

We shook hands. He was a man carrying on the face the seal of unbreakable loyalty.

“The colonel has suffered from pneumonia,” he informed me immediately, “but he has since recovered.” Then he added with ease: “You are looking good, sir. I will bring you a lemonade, Okay? It’s very hot.”

At that moment I saw the colonel going down the stairs. He looked quite deteriorated.

His walk was slow and he had lost some of his noble bearing. He showed a great joy when he saw me. He not only stretched his hand, as in previous meetings, but he hugged me effusively afterwards.

“Kuldip has told me you have been sick, Colonel. I am very sorry for that.”

“At my age, this is the least that can be expected,” he smiled. “I have excellent news for you.”

I looked at him inquisitive, in silence.

“I have received a postcard from your friend.”

“From my friend?” His words took me by surprise. ”Who do you mean?”

“Who could it be? Frederick. He has only written four lines, but we know he is here, in India, and he is okay.”

My heart skipped a beat. So Frederick was still in India…

“I’ll bring you the postcard.”

He left for a moment, but soon he was back with a postcard in his hand, which he gave me. I did not even notice the drawing or photograph showed in the postcard, because I turned it quickly to read it immediately.

Dear Colonel: I never forget you and Elizabeth. My spiritual investigation is ongoing. I want you to know that I am fine, although there have been surprises. You will hear from me again. With love, Frederick.

I was stunned.

“The postcard was sent from Spiti,” the colonel informed me.

“Spiti?”

“Yes, a valley near the Tibet.”

Kuldip served me lemonade, and the colonel and I went to the library lounge.

“But there is more news,” he told me when we were sitting.

I remained expectant.

“According to a Sufi of Hyderabad, your treatise exists.”

“I can’t believe it,” I replied automatically. “How do you know?”

“I had to go to Delhi to spend a few days in the hospital. When I recovered, a good Hindu friend of mine named Jai, who has always been very interested in the different spiritual traditions, took me to visit a very peculiar Sufi. At a certain moment it aroused the theme of the prayer of the heart, also practiced by Orthodox Christians, and then I asked for the treatise. He then pointed out that a friend of his, who lives in Hyderabad, had talked to him about the treatise referring to it as a real and written text, and not just as a body of teachings transmitted from mouth to ear and from master to disciple. I tried to contact the Sufi of Hyderabad, but he had gone to spend some time with his family in Srinagar.”

I kept silent. What to do?

“Don’t worry,” said the colonel when he noticed my uncertainty, “because sooner or later the Sufi will leave Kashmir and return to Hyderabad.” After a brief pause, he asked: “Will you stay long with us, Hernan?”

“That was my initial intention,” I replied, “but I think I am now in the right frame of mind to continue traveling around India trying to discover myself. I must continue to evolve.” Changing the subject, I added: “By the way, how is Elizabeth?”

“She is perfectly well. She will be right back. She has gone to town to mail some urgent letters. She has worked hard in recent weeks. In this country there is still much to do for the adivasis and their rights. Some tribes are on the verge of extinction. Have you heard of the todas?”

“Yes, I know them.”

“When the first Aryans arrived, they began to have serious difficulties. Do you know how many are they now?”

I shook my head.

“Just over two thousand. There are tribes of which there is only a thousand.”

“The problem of natives is worrying worldwide,” I said. “There is no worse predator for man than man, and the same is true for the other creatures.”

At that moment we heard the front door and Elizabeth entered the room after a while. She looked really beautiful. She wore an embroidered blouse that set off her breasts. I had never seen her so full of vitality, with those brilliant and eloquent eyes. She overflowed fullness.

“Hernan!” she exclaimed, running to hug me. “You are looking good! very thin, even more than last time, but you are really good,” she hugged me again. “Will you stay with us for a while?”

“Only two nights. I am going to continue searching.”

She seemed a little upset, but made no comment.

“Today we will have a different dinner in your honor. I’ll tell Vimala, the cook, to prepare very special dishes for tonight.” She held my hands in hers. “Later on we will go for a walk, it is a wonderful afternoon.”

“If you don’t mind, Hernan,” said the colonel, “I’ll stay here reading and resting a bit. I’m not completely recovered yet.”

After Elizabeth talked to the cook, we went for a walk in the surrounding woods. After a while we stopped to see the mountains, which had a bluish tonality. Elizabeth leaned her head on my shoulder and held my hand.

“How deep mystery life is!” she exclaimed.

I could not say whether there was a hint of joy or sadness in her words.

“A mystery that is sometimes overwhelming,” I said. “But there you have, Elizabeth, your wonderful mountains. Although European blood runs in your veins, this is your country, and those are your people; for me, however, it is not so easy. Sometimes I miss my country and my friends, and I still consider myself a stranger in this land.

“Now, without Suresh, I feel like a fish out of the water. That’s why I don’t want to spend more time with your grandfather and you, because then I would not have the strength to go. I often wonder if so much effort is worth it, if it would not be better to continue sleeping in soft clean sheets. But when you have had a glimpse, there is no turning back.”

“There is no turning back,” repeated Elizabeth with her eyes filled with tears. She took my face in her hands, looked at me for a moment and then put her lips on mine.

We remained embraced for a while and then we continued walking.

“So, you are not returning to your country yet? How long will you stay here?”

“I don’t know, Elizabeth. My friend Frederick often said: ‘This search that never stops.

“Sometimes I recall him. He was always so polite, so correct, so… special. Do you know he sent a postcard?”

“Your grandfather told me. Now I would like to enjoy his company; to travel with Frederick through India, as we did in Europe, it would be great.”

“Why don’t you stay here?” Elizabeth asked suddenly.

More than a question, it was an invitation.

“Why don’t you come with me?” I replied. “We could travel together, and keep searching together.”

A slight smile full of sadness appeared in her lips.

“You have other plans, I guess,” I said lightly, trying that my words did not reflect disillusion.

“We travel to the same place, but we do in different trains,” she replied.

“Couldn’t we better complement each other that way?” I asked, though I did not believe it.

“We are not characters in a farce. We both know that each one must complete and complement itself, isn’t it true?”

I put my hand, hardened by the exercises with the bar used for tightrope walking, in her cheek, smooth and lukewarm. The sun had set behind the mountains. The foliage had taken a saffron color. We kissed each other with true passion.

“You are looking for yourself,” Elizabeth went on, “while I am looking for others, Hernan. But I know we approach the same place by different paths. You, looking for yourself, find the others; I, going after the others, find myself.”

“You are a woman of character,” I said full of admiration for her spiritual strength. “Are we then incompatible…?” I asked smiling. “I think that maybe one day we will be in a position to undertake the assault on each other.”

She started to laugh. In the warm silence of the Himalayan evening we looked at each other for a long time. The words could never have said what our looks and our silences expressed.

“Maybe one day…” I whispered. “Listen, Suresh said that we are on the path to help each other; there is no other thing than love.”

We sat under a tree and we embraced each other with passion. Our bodies melted on the grass. The night welcomed us with its ineffable silence. While my lips went through Elizabeth’s wonderful breasts, it came to my mind countless scenes and experiences of those months spent in a land that was to me so alien and so close at once.

The aromatic tea, the ginger pastes, Elizabeth, Suresh the Fakir, the colonel, people squeezing in the wagons of the train, beggars, disheveled sadhus, sniffing dogs, stray cats, One Hundred and Ten Years, date palms, coffee plantations of the South, Kuldip the Sikh, wandering hermits, crows rummaging through garbage heaps, chants to the Divine, the bustle of the streets of Delhi, Sri and the secret of the Goddess, the incommensurable silence of the Himalayas, mutilated beggars, old people waiting to die on the banks of the Ganges, rhododendrons in bloom, the rats, the vultures, jubilant children, the helpless, the wonderful starry sky of the tropics… life, in a word! As Suresh said: “You have to take it all.”

Who are we? Where do we go?

Because there are questions, there are answers. As long as we have concerns, the senses and meanings will be alive. The great tragedy is the sleeping consciousness. Suresh had given me a mustard seed of his wisdom. Life is like the wire of the funambulist. There is no net. We are all funambulists. The best, the only truly essential, is the one that gives light to the goodness in his heart.

“What are you thinking about, Elizabeth?”

“About you, the adivasis, this clear night…”

I had barely put a foot on the wire of my new life, but it was a firm foot, and I hoped to travel with growing awareness along the entire length of that cable, whose end faded away, imprecise, in the starry night of India…

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One