Namaste Page 16

  THREE WEEKS AGO

  THEY WERE in the barn. It had become their place. When your guardians were monks fluent in observation and stealth, privacy — genuine privacy, rather than merely perceived privacy — came at a premium.

  Amit ran his hand up Nisha’s side. She was wearing the secondhand dress that one of the monks had brought up from town following her arrival. She hadn’t been willing to tell the monks where she’d lived, so they could bring her belongings. She had offered to pay for replacements, but the monks, once they’d committed to harboring her, would hear nothing of it. She’d worked off the implied debt anyway, tending fields and washing dishes.

  “Watch your hands,” Nisha told him.

  Amit ran his hand higher. The dress moved maybe an inch, revealing a slightly larger area of skin near her knee. His gaze took in the skin, and the hand slowly exposing it.

  “I am watching it,” Amit reported. He bugged his eyes out dramatically, then moved his hand higher.

  Nisha pushed it away, laughing. His hand moved to her face and cupped it in his palm. He kissed her lightly. It was a few shades past platonic, but enough. A month ago Nisha wouldn’t accept a kiss. Even today, Amit, raised a monk, found what was given almost more than he could take.

  “I am a respectable lady in hiding.”

  “And I am your protector.”

  “The abbot is my protector.”

  It was true. Suni hadn’t wanted Nisha or her brother in the monastery at all (Amit thought Suni might be worried about what was already happening with the pretty young girl), but once Nisha was in, she was in. The abbot might treat her and Sameer like the unwanted wards that they were, but they were wards nonetheless.

  Amit rolled onto his side, and began to lightly rub his fingers along the swell of Nisha’s hip, toward her dress’s edge farther down, where bare skin beckoned. “The abbot,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Suni wanted to throw you out. You came in need of help, and he would have thrown you to the wolves.”

  Nisha kissed him again. “Be nice.”

  “How is he protecting you now? I have kidnapped you. Taken you down the path and away from his protection. It is me you must please.”

  “Oh, is that how it is?”

  “Yes.” Amit wanted to add, So, please me, but it sounded like something Rafi would say. Not that Rafi had any more experience being pleased than Amit. Rafi was gone. He’d vanished a few days after Nisha’s arrival. Maybe he’d gone to wherever Woo was. Amit heard nothing.

  “I believe I may be done being a monk.”

  Nisha turned.

  “I am serious. I have meditated on it. You will not stay with us forever, and you will need someone when you go.” He smiled. “I wish to be that someone. But of course, you must first tell me why you are running.”

  He said it as jokingly as he’d said everything else — except for the idea of leaving; that was serious. Still, Nisha turned her head. He watched her beautiful profile in the barn’s sparse light. She had awakened so much within him. His anger was gone, but other emotions had risen in their place. What would Woo say about the new sensations? Would he say to embrace them — but to keep them tamed, like a leashed dog? Probably, yes. But was that what he was doing now, taking her so far from the monastery?

  “I will,” she said. “Soon. I have to decide how to do it.”

  “Just say it. Tell me. What happened? What sent you to us?”

  “In time.”

  “But why?”

  Nisha took Amit’s hand in hers. She squeezed it between her breasts, giving him a wordless answer that was, of course, not an answer at all. It was as innocent a gesture as everything else they’d done together. Still, he felt desire stir, with no want to control it.

  She sighed, then shook her head, ready to change the subject. “Are you really thinking about leaving? Or was that a joke?”

  “I was serious. You have dealt with Suni for two months. I have dealt with him for nearly 20 years. He understands what it is to be a monk, but not what it is to be human.”

  Nisha smiled, then laid her dark hair on his chest.

  “We are taught to contain all that is within us. Our world is about discipline. But my old teacher, Woo, trained me to ask disruptive questions. I wonder, while no one else does: If what we seek to discipline is part of us, why should we discipline it at all?”

  Nisha looked over at him. Amit could kiss her all day, but refrained to finish his point.

  “I used to have problems with anger. I … have a history that, like your secret, I will one day tell you. Woo taught me to embrace and control it. The abbot would have me attempt to rid myself of the anger entirely. I am now a grown man, and continue to ask questions. I wonder about both teachings, and the nature of restraint. For all the Sri can do, not one can fail to exercise discipline. It is the one thing they are undisciplined at.”

  Nisha giggled, sensing a joke that she wasn’t sure was there.

  “I do not see what you mean.”

  “What of abandon? What of the fullness of experience? When we are together, I feel something in my chest, not too different from the beast that anger once was. My training tells me to subdue it. But what if I unleashed it instead? It seems to want to take me over entirely. It seems natural that I should feel as I do, yet I bury it to please my teachings. We are not supposed to have relationships with others, other than in friendship. The abbot says it fogs our connection to the spirit world. But I see him as afraid. For all his practice, he has never experienced abandon.”

  “Like anger.”

  Amit nodded. “For one such as I, it feels the same. You may not know. You may not be used to contemplating your inner being all day, every day.”

  “I see. So, you have all this control, and wish to lose it.”

  “It is tempting.” Amit rolled, and his robe rubbed against his skin. He looked down, saw its color, and realized that Sri blue was all he’d ever known.

  Nisha smiled. “I tempt you to lose control. That makes me a poor guest at your monastery.”

  “I forgive you.” For the third time, Amit’s hand went to her leg.

  “You are still a monk.”

  “Not if you invite me to go further. I will abandon the order. We will travel. We will revel in everything, as out-of-control human beings.”

  She pushed his hand away. “Soon. But I need more time.”

  “On the secret? Or on … ?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “On both.”

  Amit leaned in. “It is okay. I do not believe I am yet prepared to handle your kind of abandon.”

  “Good.”

  He kissed her again, this time more deeply. “But I shall endeavor to learn. Quickly.”

  Chapter 24

  AMIT ARRIVED AT THE SECOND Sri compound to find it almost identical to the one where he’d grown up. It was about the same size, surrounded by similar walls, and gates that looked approximately as heavy. The gates were open, and no one stood guard, also like home. The openness told Amit a few things that he didn’t particularly like to think about. At least in concept, this was a place of peace. Yes, it trained assassins, and made its living by making death. But the gardens were open and gorgeous. Monks in blue robes with saffron sashes still strolled or sat in them, meditating. Open gates welcomed people, as if the compound had nothing to hide.

  Amit didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The faces were different and some of the conventions seemed to have diverged (several of these peaceful-looking men had hair, for instance, and some of the women wore it long), but otherwise he felt like he could walk up to the old abbot, into the old dormitories, and find his old bed. He could walk to similar rising hills and look out over similar valleys.

  The enemy was supposed to wear different uniforms, have odd features and unusual ways of speaking. The enemy was supposed to do things that, while not necessarily sinister, were foreign. Wars were waged over differences in religion and values. With one obvious exception, the value
s in Woo’s compound seemed to be the same. As Amit entered — and was greeted with pleasant smiles, as if he were one of them or a welcome visitor — he saw monks in solo contemplation, in groups beneath similar peaked roofs in the gardens with crossed legs, standing in thought with their hands clasped before them.

  He stopped a tall monk with light-brown skin and hands that looked like giant thick-legged spiders. The man greeted him with palms pressed together in front of his heart and a small bow: Namaste. Amit asked the monk where he could find the abbot, Suni.

  “Suni is in the other monastery, brother.”

  Amit had asked in order to watch the monk’s reaction — to get a feel for the monastery’s mood. He couldn’t approach a random pilgrim and inquire if they were the bad guys.

  The man held no malice in his answer. His words were straightforward truth: Suni was in the other monastery. Brother.

  “There is another monastery?”

  “Yes. You will find it down the winding road to the east. If you wish to reach the city, you may have an easier trip, but it will take you longer.”

  The man’s answers were almost stupid in their simplicity. Amit had come as an assassin, yet had walked through the wide open and unguarded front door. No one had asked who he was or where he came from. The man in front of him somehow understood that Amit didn’t know one monastery from the other, meaning he must be from one of the satellite orders. Still, he wasn’t the least bit guarded, as if the shadow assassins had nothing to hide.

  Amit steeled himself. “I was sent by my sensei to train as karma’s sword.”

  The man nodded.

  “Is it Suni’s group or yours I should be seeking?”

  The tall man chuckled. “We are all swords of karma. I was with the other order for a while, then came here. It is merely a difference of sensei.”

  “I was told that one group was pacifists, and the other deadly.”

  “Every man and woman has the potential to be deadly,” the monk said. “In the cities, many carry guns and knives. All are capable of lacing their fingers together and gripping the neck of another until breathing ceases. We train our bodies and minds, and grow more deadly. In the end, it comes down to choice.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Nor did I,” the man smiled. “It is why you are here to learn.”

  “But I do not know if I am supposed to be here, or the other compound.”

  “If you seek Suni, you must start walking, because you seek the other.”

  “I know who Suni is, not necessarily that I should find him.” This was falling apart. He would have to be more specific, and hope it wouldn’t raise problems. “I wish to be trained as an agent of justice. I was told that one of the groups here is farther-thinking, willing to see past death to … ”

  “Yes. We can all see past death. If you wear that robe, you should feel the same already.”

  “Past murder. Past ending a life, for the greater good down the road.”

  A strange expression grew on the monk’s features. He didn’t look alarmed or angry, but did look mildly uncomfortable. It was the look of a man with an unpleasant task, who doesn’t wish to dwell.

  “We do not wish to think of it as murder.”

  “But you are willing.” Amit hardened his features. He was still young among the Sri, and had been assumed impudent and impetuous even by those who didn’t know his history. He hoped it would come across as if he were asking the monk if he would be permitted to kill if he joined their monastery rather than asking if he’d have to.

  “When it is necessary. But we do not treat these matters lightly.”

  “What about the other group? Suni’s group?”

  “No Sri treats such things lightly,” echoed the tall monk, looking almost worried. “Where did you say you were from?”

  “There are those who believe that what must be done, must be done.” Amit felt desperate and reckless. “There is an organization, worldwide, and its business is … ”

  “I know its business.” Again, the tall monk looked uncomfortable.

  “They fund this order.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you do its bidding. You train its killers.”

  The monk looked over his shoulder, as if expecting someone’s arrival. He looked around, his gaze to the gardens. Reluctantly, he returned his eyes to Amit. “You speak too simply. As if you do not see purpose behind the hand.”

  “I see it.” Amit did not, but was getting used to lying.

  “Not all people are as studied as the Sri. You should know this, if you’ve donned our robe.” The monk was acting like Amit didn’t belong, as if he had stolen another’s identity. He kept looking around, as if waiting for something.

  “I know.”

  “And with that lack of study and contemplation comes a certain shortsightedness. They believe the mortal plane is their only life — that there is no higher realm, ascension or nirvana, nothing beyond what they can see and feel. This makes them desperate, and they will use the knife to gain more for themselves in what they see as their limited time. There is turbulence. We know that there is more, that this is but a step along a longer path. It makes us responsible, as if the sword has been placed in our hands. Still, we do not wish to wield it.”

  “But you do wield it.” Amit coughed, his emotions threatening to rise. “When you must.”

  “When we must.”

  “Or when you are paid.”

  The monk’s eyes flashed. For the briefest of moments, his lip curled back from his teeth, then the look faded, and his face was again pleasant.

  “Are you sure you did not find Suni?”

  “I did not.”

  “Because you sound like him. For Suni, as for all Sri, karmic ends justify the means. We do what others will not if correct in the end. Sometimes, the confused souls who do not see their greater place in the universe fail to understand. That makes them violent, and we must intervene. We never do so lightly. The greater cause requires investment and income. We are willing to accept what Suni is not, yet his refusal is no more or less righteous.”

  “Do you or do you not train assassins?”

  “We do not ‘train assassins.’” The way he emphasized his words made Amit think he objected to his phrasing, rather than the principle.

  “I wish to hold the sword of justice.” Amit had lost control of the discussion. “I wish to … ”

  “You do seem to wish it,” said the monk. “Perhaps this is not the place for you.”

  “I would like to see your leader.”

  He pointed. “You will find him in the south gardens, training his troops.”

  “Troops?”

  “Do you wish to join them?”

  Amit nodded.

  “Then you never will, though I won’t stop you from trying. Before you go, know they wear masks when they train.”

  “Why?” said Amit.

  “Masks make them anonymous.”

  “So that their targets will not see them coming.”

  That didn’t make sense. If the “troops” were assassins, their targets wouldn’t be in the monastery to see them.

  The tall monk shook his head. “Because theirs are duties of burden. They do not wish to do as they must. Masks give them privacy, so that as they can live in the monastery, and meet others eyes without shame.”

  Chapter 25

  AMIT MADE HIS WAY TOWARD the gardens. He quickly rounded a corner, putting a building between himself and the tall monk. The compound doors were open, still Amit wondered if he’d be considered an intruder in a place where he should not be. The monk had looked at Amit’s robes as if thinking them stolen. It was possible he would raise an alarm. Even if this group of Sri were pacifists in concept, that changed in defense.

  Within moments, Amit heard a symphony of exertion coming from the gardens and knew he was close to his quarry. He would find his killers; the mastermind behind Nisha’s death; the monk who’d sold his soul — and his brothers’ —
to organized crime.

  He found the warrior monks training in the open, led by a man with silver-white hair.

  All but Woo wore masks: smooth white moons strapped at the backs of their heads with a pair of eye holes. The monks were performing exercises Amit recognized, somewhere between a moving meditation and a marital art. He’d done the same during his long years at the other monastery. If he watched for long enough, they’d surely move into more specific, disciplined, and focused exercises — those that would teach the monks where to insert blades, paralyze, or kill, that would show them how to snap a neck without wasted movement. Amit had trained in most of those ways. It had always bothered him — the idea that he was training like a soldier, yet being ordered to refrain. Here, it almost seemed as if they’d accepted what they were. Train like a killer, and become one. If they had to wear masks and feign shame, so be it.

  There was a pile of masks on a small wooden table near where Amit stood at the group’s rear. Out of Woo’s line of sight, he retrieved one. The thing was large; it covered the entire front of his head from chin to scalp. It was hard, but thin and light, like a delicate ceramic. There was an outdent for his nose, but was otherwise featureless.

  Amit put it on, securing the strap behind his head with a strange bamboo-and-loop fastener. Once adjusted, he found that the mask was snug for something so rigid. It didn’t move around as he imagined, and the eye holes were large and close enough that his peripheral vision was unimpeded.

  He peeked around the corner, watching the monks, seeing how they moved not just in place, but as a whole around the gardens. When the group came close enough, he slipped into the back row and began the familiar exercises. Muscle memory took over. Complex maneuvers became more complicated, and Amit found that he couldn’t think. Motion felt right — almost comforting. He’d put his training to work in the outside world over the past few weeks, but had done little formal practice. Movements now gave him a sense of purpose. It reminded him who he was and what he could do. Earlier anger receded into an emotionless gray inside him. Suni had been right; Amit was strong, he was fast, and he was precise. Exercises reminded his muscles of their ability, and watching what his body and mind could do, he began to feel his power. Amit was among killers, willing to do what must be done. He had a duty, to karma and Nisha. If karma refused to strike Woo for what he’d done, then Amit must.