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RESTLESS WINDS

“You lead a charmed life, you really do.” The round man placed his teacup on the coaster that lay on the table between them. His eyes were fixed on the elegant tapestries that hung on the walls, on the handmade rugs that lay on the floor. “How do you do it?”

The Master’s attention was elsewhere, but he thought about the question the man had posed. He looked over at the governor. Titles didn’t mean much to the Master. What he saw was a fat, greedy man who couldn’t see beyond the luxuries of rugs and wall hangings. To the Master, this man was not unlike a hungry animal begging for a morsel that might be tossed its way.

“Yes, I do.” The Master spoke with little emotion. “I do lead a charmed life.”

“But how do you do it? Tell me,” the governor asked.

“I work” — the Master paused for a moment to accentuate his point — “hard.” The room was growing dark, the lights were off, and there was an uneasy silence when the impetuous guest wasn’t chattering away.

The governor was not satisfied. “Tell me if I am right. Those I know who have power and money, they are either the very good, the benevolent types, or the very bad — the merciless, the cunning, the cutthroat and corrupt. Am I right?”

“I suppose.” The Master responded indifferently to what the man surmised was a profound insight.

“And which are you?” the governor quickly followed.

The Master looked at him sharply. “I ascribe to a philosophy that does not confine me to either of these types. My power is beyond your definition of good and bad. I am successful in my affairs because I understand how to take action with my desires and intentions fully in mind. That is my secret to power and wealth.

“These belongings of mine” — the Master pointed at all the luxurious items that filled the room, Persian rugs, oriental vases, and hand-carved furniture — “could come or go. They are nothing but symbols of my power. The wealth I enjoy is the result of the right use of power, not the source of it. All of us have power, but few of us understand how to use it.”

The Master’s thoughts turned to Hakim and his search for the secrets of the wise one. He thought of why he wanted him, needed him, in fact, as his student. But where had the little rascal gone? The Master would put the word out to his people on the streets. Soon he would know where to find the boy.

“I must go.” The Master started from his chair.

The governor was bewildered by the Master’s spontaneous oration. He hadn’t understood a word, but nevertheless he was profoundly impressed and envious.

The Master looked at him, feeling sorry for the ignorant wretch.

“Shanti,” he called out. The small servant scurried out from one of the doorways to the dark spacious room like a disciplined mouse. “Get my friend another cup of tea and whatever else he would like.”

He turned back to the feebleminded man who remained still and in awe of the Master. “Stay and enjoy my hospitality. I must go. There is a young boy who needs my help.”

“Needs your help?” The heavy-set man was instantly curious.

“Yes, he’s one of the orphans who ran away two years ago.” The Master began to pace back and forth with his hand on his chin.

“He is one of the few ambitious boys I know. He could actually help me manage my affairs, unlike my spoiled son, who is apparently more interested in drinking and gambling.”

“Ah, I have heard about your troubles with Karun. How disappointing it must be for a man of your stature.” The governor seemed to revel in this one flaw in the Master’s life that was not so easy to correct.

“Well, this boy won’t disappoint me. Once he hears my offer, he will be happy to work for me. But it’s time he receives the proper cultivation.” The cunning look on the Master’s face was barely visible in the dim light.

The governor was silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing, which echoed around the empty space between them.

The Master spoke as if he had forgotten his visitor altogether. “Yes, he needs the proper cultivation,” The Master smiled, “but not from these ‘benevolent types’ as you so aptly called them. They would merely confuse him with the idea of goodness.” He ridiculed the word goodness with the tone of disgust in his voice.

“This child needs a mentor.” He paused for a moment, unable to suppress the smile that slowly spread across his face. “He needs a wise one like me.”

Hakim left the small village knowing something crucial had just occurred. He was beginning to realize the futility of his efforts to find someone he knew only as the “wise one.” There were hundreds of villages and little possibility that the man who shared his secrets with the Master would appear years later to share them again. For that matter, Hakim wondered if there ever really was a wise one.

There should have been sadness or disappointment in this realization, but strangely there was not. Hakim knew his search for the wise one had not been in vain. Although he had not discovered any secrets to power, Maloney, the storyteller, Lamia, Devi, Mustafa, and Neena — all had shared their wisdom with him. The material wealth he longed for was still a distant dream, but he had learned some important keys to happiness.

For the first time in his life, Hakim felt the lost, empty feeling leaving his body; an inner calm was taking its place. A new life was growing in the depths of his soul. The note from Neena only reinforced what he was beginning to understand. Somewhere, hidden within his own heart, was the purpose for his life. There was a special place for him, if only he knew what it was.