The Little Buddha In Tokyo

It looked like snowfall again in Tokyo. The wintry chill had set in earlier this year than last. Pretty early the leaves began to fall off the trees. A gust of frosty wind vibrated the heart. The cold and snow here is colder than there. Living here has become tougher than there. Something like these thoughts obsessed Palden. While he was watching TV, he felt as if he were being mocked grotesquely by those who succeeded in scaling Mount Everest. He turned off the TV. 'There' implies the remote countryside, Solu, where Palden was born. 'Here' refers to Tokyo, one of the world's costliest cities and a tiny suburb which is linked with the tunneled train-way of Tokyo and a house of the suburb and a room of the house. A firm unwillingness to stay indoors gripped his mind. He got out of his room and went into the street. There was snow in profusion and thick fog. Calm drizzle accompanied the fog. A sense of futility hung in the air—an evening of somberness and gloom had crushed him as early as two in the afternoon. Lost in the dark sense of futility, Palden asked himself: "Why and for what did you come Tokyo?" Palden gathered very many explanations in him as answers to the question. He married a Japanese girl and was leading a life of luxury in Tokyo. He lived there doing a job. What a starting amount he sent back home, you know? Palden now would be a Japanese. He was no longer a Nepali. If only one he Palden's life! But alas! What could be done? Luck ever shrinks! He wove all these threads of introspection into a fabric and pondered. "Caught in a trap you set yourself, didn't you, Palden? Amassed a huge fortune?" Indeed Palden had not craved a huge fortune. Nor had he sought a lucrative job. Like his many other friends, he worked as a guide in a trekking agency. He was born in the Himalayas, so naturally it was his responsibility to look after it. The snow, the complete cold, all of it was part of Palden's share. Willingly or unwillingly, he would go out on treks as a guide every year. Because the whole of north Nepal is mountainous, Palden naively believed all Nepalese were guides like himself and eked out their living through the pleasure and happiness they provided visitors. And it was while doing that damned job, he first met Silivia Sann. First name Silivia and last name Sann are like the tag 'jyuu' in Nepali. How bewitchingly beautiful she was then! Japanese people by nature are short of stature, but she was tall as an American. Others possess flat noses, but she had a pointed nose like Brahmin women. Crimson rose in her cheeks and white in her teeth glittered as the snow. After getting off an airplane, as soon as Silvia got to the office. Palden was made her guide. He couldn't sleep that night. How many vessels of tongba he guzzled that day! When Silvia paid the entire bill, he half consciously yelled: "What a lucky number Palden has! What a lucky tourist Palden is!" Palden grew agile and sleek as a Bhote horse. Also, when Silvia, having picked up a smattering of Nepali, blushed before him in uttering "Nameste Paidenjyu", he went into raptures. He scarcely knew where he was, to which heaven he had been lifted. He felt an undiminished, solid happiness, entire pleasure, every festive moment all at once in a single day, when the Japanese beauty gave him life. Because of Silvia, Palden was there on the streets of Tokyo, streets that looked smooth and greasy as if given an oil message. Palden was out on the street but he knew not where to go. Ever since he had come to Tokyo, Palden had two hassles: Where to go and what to do? Go to a bar or a pub to drink? His pockets were short of money. Go to a departmental store for shopping? He did not know for whom. His parents were long dead, sisters had already eloped, and his brothers had already taken possession of their father's property: the land and house. Friends, too, fell into a similar category. Besides, he needed a sizeable wad of currency notes for the visit. He knew not how long he could shut himself up in the room, alienated. How any nights or days or years? Be stuck in a room and keep on eating and quaffing. The chicken and wine silvia had stored in the freezer wouldn't last longer than a couple of hours. To go out to see friends was also worthless, as they were busy plucking currency notes off the tree of labor. There was no reason why he should bother them. And Palden couldn't help reminiscing about the small bazaar, Saileri, in his native district, solu. He harked back to the narrow lanes of Thamel in spite of a conscious unwillingness to do so. "When to get back to Nepal?" He drew a deep breath and made for the park close to his apartment, a place of his usual visits. A statue of a valiant Japanese stood there. And a garden replete with freshly bloomed, multi-hued flowers and gorgeous fountains. It was stark cold there save for the lovers who frequented the park. For them there was no cold, no dew nor dampness. They were breathing life into their love. As if united after ages, they were exchanging glances, sucking each other's luscious tongues. It was only this sight Palden could see gratis in Tokyo. Apart from this, money got in the way everywhere. The stagnant time evaporated, shifted, and Palden was swung back to his past. He was carried to the vast expanse of gleaming snow under the peaks, the chilling heights of the mountain. Palden merged with the rhododendron in the woods of a rocky slope. The tree which was graceful to see but had such delicate branches that snapped at a slight pull. Palden felt his heart was like those delicate branches and shattered at the smallest bout of reminiscence. Silvia grew fond of this vulnerability of Palden. And one day she burst out: "What a wonderful chap Palden is! How industrious he is! If only I could take a youth like him Japan!" Palden, along same lines, fancied: "If only I were in Japan!" What good fortune that would be! What a number of buildings he could construct in Solu and in Kathmandu! He could also be the master of his own agency and he could make many more Paldens work under him. Life would not then ooze out worthlessly like that of a bullock pulling others' carts. And all his emotion, his feelings forcefully grew into a dense mass. Silvia would express her feminine feelings partly in Nepali, partly in English, or else in Japanese. In the face of a little difficulty, Silvia would stretch her hand to him for help, and Palden would beam with pride. She would make Palden drink a couple of more glasses of beer with her own hands, simply to add color to the evening and would triumphantly flash a smile.  The scarcely noticed when they climbed up and down hill, when they came up to a river and crossed it, when they mounted the slopes. They would be back in their camp and would be finished with their tea and snacks by the time others arrived. Palden, on these treks realized that the world, where existed numberless other worlds of languages, was so immense. Nonetheless, people managed to communicate with one another through the language of the heart. Although Palden was not good at Japanese, his eyes spoke, his fingers communicated, his teeth chatted, his lips and his tongue conversed. He led a bizarre existence: sometimes as an ancient man and sometimes as a modern man. The more days and nights added to his age, the more he felt that Silvia was born for him and that he couldn't lead his existence further without her. Palden had dreams of growing in her proximity. His entire past had betrayed him: all his so-called loved ones had stung him like nettle. Palden after all desired to raise himself above the life of bare bread and butter. And, hence before the trekking ended. Palden and Silvia vowed never to part company in the future. Gazing at the setting sun form the hilltop of Swayambhu, they swore that the sun of their boundless loe would never set. Then together they were on the lan3es of Thamel. Together they puffed away on the pipe of hashisn on the streets of Jhhonchhe. And during these trips. Silvia proposed: "Palden, Let's get married in accordance with Buddhist custom and move to Japan" These words were of utmost delight to Palden. He felt as if they were pouring out from the clam and composed eyes of Buddha as blessings.The Buddha was not only his custom and culture but also the long embraced philosophy of life. "Are you a Buddhist?" asked Palden one day. "I revere the Buddha, Palden. Since a tender age I've had in me an unfathomable reverence and respect for the Buddha. Since you come from the Buddha's land, you seem to me to be an embodiment of Buddha, a little Buddha in yourself, my dear." Silvia then wrapped him in an embrace for a considerable length of time. These words were ringing, jingling, in his ears when he rose from the park bench. "A little Buddha –a little Buddha –a little Buddha—" Like any other prosaic day, Silvia would turn up at midnight. She wouldn't fall asleep; she would fail to sleep. He would have to wake up and provide her the same service that he had been providing for years. Remembrance of this routine job stifled his spirit and rendered it lifeless. He wished to end his life out there in Tokyo, commit suicide. The streetlights were already on. Palden hurried back home. During such hasty withdrawal, he was neither carried away by any recollections nor did he possess any plan, any carvings or impulse of mind. Palden retired to his apartment with a vacant mind, as if nothing had happened, nothing would happen. The earth had been rotating on its axis as usual and would continue dong so; many a Palden would be born and pass away; many more would come into being and perish. He barely knew why such a coarse heaviness like a big boulder crushed his heart. This heaviness began to dwell in his breast from the day they wedded in the presence of Lama priest at Bouddha. However gay he outwardly looked, however much he laughed, in his heart the same did not occur; instead, there descended some unidentifiable heaviness, somberness quite inexplicable to him. After his passage into Tokyo, once, Palden asked Silvia, "What if I get some job somewhere in Tokyo?" Silvia disapproved outright. Seizing his passport from him, she snapped, "Palden, you're now Silvia Sann's husband. You needn't wash the dishes eaten by others in Tokyo. Nor have you to look after other's children. Stay at home with an air of dignity, watch TV, and make your life full of fun." Sweet and perfect sounded the words. But he was left vexed and restless by the pain of being a rape victim every night. He felt he had transformed into a self –regulating machine and was crushed under Silvia's command. His own desires had become dry as desert sand. He was unable to articulate or perform anything. In an authoritative tone of voice Silvia would bark a command at him, and he like a school student compliantly acted on it to fulfill her desire. Now Palden would traverse the forest of Solu and Salleri only in his dreams. Only on the TV screen could he catch a glimpse of mountain peaks. The Palden inside Palden went dry and dead everyday. He began to dream of returning to Nepal to resume the old job of trekking. Eventually palden decided to flee. Having escaped Silvia he could hide a few days he could not reach Nepal. He did not possess his passport. Nor did he have money or anything else. One day he resolved to do away with himself by being crushed under a racing train. Yet, he abandoned that thought, too, thinking there was no sin as big as committing suicide. By the time he reached home, Silvia –he did not know why –had already arrived. She intently interrogated him on why he was so late. She even drew closer and smelled his breath in case he was drunk. Palden searched Silvia's countenance. The face wore a different look altogether. The pointed nose had grown flat and the eyes cavernous, the skin had blotches all over it. "How are you, Palden?" asked Silvia gravely. "I'm all right --," he blurted out laconically but he knew he was telling a lie. "I've brought a beautiful gift for you: a rosary. Buddhists use it to perform japa. Do carry out japa in the name of Buddha in your spare time. You'll be cleansed of your sins." Silvia wished to hand the mala to him. But Palden swung with indecision: by accepting that mala and performing japa, for which sin would he be penitent? For which crime? He did not have the slightest idea.