him die. My hands wring the washcloth again and again. Cool, clear drops of water drip from my fingers. Down my cheeks linger the hot, salty driblets of grief. His body scorched, his face burned beyond recognition—they brought him to the monastery, to the nuns who take such a great care. They brought me, too. Lanying must have instructed them to.
“Sister, please,” Jomo says. She takes the wet cloth from my hands. “Now you take rest.” I shake my head. The wretched stench of burn, ash, and soot clings to my hair, to my clothes, to me.
“Nordun, she’s right.” Palmo’s calm voice reasons me to the door.
I must clean myself up, and rest, and dress my wounds too, but I don’t want to. I want to be with the suffering, draw it out and let it wash over me.
This. I close my eyes and let the burning tears cascade deep down the hollows of my sunken heart. This was not what I had intended. Yet, this is how it is.
So, I wash myself, and let Palmo discard my ragged, charred clothes. She hands me a plain dress, and I slip it on. She sits with me in the kitchen, and I drink the tea and eat the food. She prays with me over Uncle’s injured body, and I return to this world.
“The burns are bad,” Palmo says. She has sent for the best amchi in Lhasa. “He will be scarred, maimed for the rest of this life, but he’ll survive.” She takes my hands in hers, still seated in prayer. “You did good, Nordun. He’s alive.” I shake my head.
“But his face,” I say, and my voice despairs at the sight of his ghastly, blackened appearance. “He might never see again.” It’s true. Uncle’s face is burned beyond recognition, and the amchi isn’t sure about his eyes, his vision, yet.
“Still, he lives,” Palmo says. “And we’ll care for him the best we can.” Her slender hands smoothen the thin sheet covering Uncle’s wounded frame.
“Never forget how precious this human existence is, my child, how valuable it is to be born with all these human endowments, having every opportunity to practice the path and gain the merit needed in this samsaric existence.” Her prayer beads tick a steady pulse, affirming the truth of her words all around.
“Tennah lives, and come time he’ll turn to the Dharma again, I’m sure.” The grace of deep faith rests on her face. “The condition of our body, whether it is sickness or old age, it is never an obstacle for the mind to practice, pray, and generate a better karma for our next life and the ones to come after that.”
I nod. Even though I have never witnessed them myself, I’ve heard of the great practitioners who found their path, their strength, and deepest devotion amid the gravest of illness and misfortune.
“So,” Palmo says as she opens the small window and lets the lazy afternoon sun set on the polished ledge. “You did good. He still has time.” A fresh breeze slips in, dispelling the suffocating stink of festering flesh and healing herbs.
“And let’s not forget that you’ve prevented a man from taking a life.” Her amber eyes catch the mellow light of the midday, reflecting a golden glow as she turns to me. “You’ve lessened the karmic retributions of those who are blinded, of those who cannot see the grave consequences of taking life.”
My face flushes, and the warmth spreads all the way to my chest. She’s talking about Karma.
“That was part of your intention, wasn’t it?” Her silhouette glides away from the window. “So, you did good.” Her hands take mine again, enveloping them in a comforting embrace.
My eyes rest on the suffering laying naked and raw, so bare in front of me, and my breath shallows.
“Then how come it all feels wrong?” My voice chokes. “Like I failed?” I clasp our hands tighter and bow my head in despair.
“Because, my child, you envisioned another outcome.” Her hands fold over my head and slide down my cheeks, holding my face close to hers. “You expected the result to be something else, something it’s not.” She lifts my face. “You know that expectations only set us up for disappointment.” Her voice carries a sharp edge. “There’s only sadness and resentment in that painful space, in that vast void between our wants and what really is.”
My thoughts poke around her words for their true meaning, and my eyes search hers—I feel lost, adrift. Yes, I expected another outcome. One where Uncle got away after my warning, unharmed and free. Not this one, where he lies lying crippled and mauled by fire, stripped of all his human dignity in front of me.
A flash of silver passes through my thoughts, followed by Karma’s cold and hardened stare. I close my eyes to banish the image from my mind. For sure, I did not envisage that. My heart shrinks in the painful recognition of his cruelty and of him, who I think of as my love. Was my heart mistaken? Have I been so wrong?
“I’ll tell you again, Nordun, but you already know.” Palmo’s soft voice prompts me back to the room. “You did good, for all rests on the point of our intentions.” She lowers her hands to my shoulders. “And your intentions are good. They are pure.” She wipes my face with her sleeve, and I nod. The words won’t come, but I move my lips in silent gratitude, anyway.
“Now, I’d rather you rest,” she says. “But there’s someone here to see you.” She urges me gently to the door and my feet stall.
“Don’t worry, it’s Sonam,” she says, as if she feels my hopes pass and my fear rise. “He’s waiting in the kitchen.”
His open arms, his genuine warm smile—it’s all Sonam, hugging me tight at the doorstep.
“Nordun, sister,” he says, and pulls me close to his wide chest. “You had us all worried sick.” I swallow my disappointment as the wool of his chuba burns on my scraped cheek. He releases his grip and puts me at arm’s length. “Not to mention the way you floored us, pulling that stunt on us last night.” He shakes his head. “You are truly your mother’s daughter.” And he pulls me in again.
Jomo serves us tea, and Sonam tells me of his version of last night’s events. How he and Karma got away from the burning house, as Lanying’s men carried Tennah and me away.
“So, you didn’t try?”
Sonam shakes his head, and his eyes avoid my empty question.
“Once the house caught fire, there were too many onlookers,” he says, and stares in his tea. “And now the two of you are under Palmo’s protection, so...” A tiny wink comes my way. Being in the monastery offers a sanctuary for both Uncle and me. We’re fine.
“And Khando?” My mind searches and my fingers trace the reddened scratches on my hands.
“Didn’t see her again,” he says. “For all I know, she could have perished in the fire.” He swirls his cup around, steam vapors from the rim.
We sip our tea in silence, and my mind searches for the right questions to ask.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he says, and takes a sip of his cup. “But we were seen at the house, so we had some explaining to do, Karma and me.” His smile is wry. “You know how these damn town officials are.”
I don’t, but I nod anyway, my mind alerted at the mention of Karma’s name.
“Karma?” I ask softly, as if I don’t really want to know.
“Last I saw him was at the inn with Dendup.” Sonam shrugs. “It’s been quite a night—and day.” He meets my stare, and he rubs his smudgy moustache; a sorrowful twinge comes to his eyes.
“Oh sister, I’m sorry,” he says. “But know he’s a good man.” His hands wring around his cup. “A loyal man.”
A sour taste gulfs at the back of my throat. Good. Loyal. My lips pinch.
“Loyal to the family.” My voice sounds as bitter as can be. “Loyal to their spite.”
Sonam sighs, a wordless admittance.
“Well, yes.” He hesitates. “They saved his life when his own blood had deserted him, left him out there to die.”
I shake my head. That’s what they say. I blink as the startling thought takes flight in my mind. Where did that come from?
“Karma’s loyalty to the family, it’s very strong,” he says. “The family took him in and raised him as a brother, and even a son.”
My hands clench into fists, and my torn nails dig in the thick of my palms.
“They might have raised him as a son,” I say, my voice a whisper now. “But now they treat him as their slave.” I release my hands and draw a deep breath.
“Karma doesn’t see it that way,” Sonam says. “He’s grateful to the family who considers them one of their own.” He raises his cup to Jomo and thanks her for pouring another refreshing green tea. I let mine go cold.
“Although I always had my doubts,” Sonam says.
He takes another approving gulp of his cup, and I raise my eyebrows. Doubts?
“If he really considers himself to be one of the family.” He takes a fresh peach from the plate Jomo has put in front of us and inspects it well.
“Why do you say that?” I lean closer and take a peach, too. It rests unattended in my hand, my mind too occupied with Sonam’s words.
“Nothing I can put my finger on,” he says. “Just a hunch.” He sinks his teeth in the fleshy peach and shrugs. “It’s probably nothing.”
I lean back, pretending nonchalance, but I’m not buying it. I’ve felt the same.
We sit and eat—well, Sonam mostly—and talk for a while. It comforts me to have Sonam so near.
“I’m here for you, sister.” He hugs me as he leaves in the early onset of dusk, the sky all streaked, beribboned in orange, yellow and red. “I let your father down badly after Lhamo’s death, but I won’t do that again.” He gives me an extra squeeze and strides out of the gate.
With a heavy heart, I turn back to the room where my uncle lays. I sit with him in prayer and attend to the changing of his gauzes. His soft moaning slices through my jaded body and settles in the fragments of my shattered bones. Can this suffering ever heal?
“Nordun, please,” Palmo calls to me from behind. “Enough.”
I know she’s right. My body is caving in, desperate for sleep, but my mind won’t rest, for it fears the night to come.
Palmo puts me to bed, and I close my eyes, but as I dreaded, sleep won’t come, staying far from my room. It’s not the horrific events of the night before that haunt my thoughts. It’s him and the agony of being alone with my love for him and having with no place to go. I curl up and pull the blanket tight, my beads close to my chest. Om Tare. Please let it pass. Darkness surrounds me. Om Tare. Let it pass. I drift off.
“Sisterrrr.” A slight pull on my blanket, a high hiss in my ear. “Move over.”
A smooth rustle of silk slithers beside to me, a slender chilly hand slides in mine. I flinch and back away against the wall before I realize.
“Lanying!” My eyes discern her wide grin from the shadows, and it’s only now that her voice rings through. “What…” Her giggle bursts out from under the blanket.
“I always forget how cold the Lhasa nights are.” She rubs my hands vigorously against my arms, and I freeze at her icy touch. “Don’t worry sister, I don’t prey on the weak.” She chuckles. “No struggle, an effortless victory—that’s not my idea of fun.” I can’t see it clearly, but I’m sure her grin reaches all the way across her face now, and her eyes flash that daring twinkle.
“Well, that’s not entirely true,” she says, and sighs. “And you’re not weak either.” Her voice changes, and a melancholy drifts through. “You sure did me proud, Sister.” She squeezes my shoulders and shifts closer to me. “The way you threw yourself at his knife.” Her tongue clicks in approval.
“Did I?” My mind alerted, I try to go back to last night. “I… don’t think so.”
In my memory, I only stood between Uncle and him.
“You did,” she says. “You’re my hero today.” She wiggles beside me. “And your actions made me think.” She pauses, her warm breath stalled on my cheeks. “About choosing something better….”
I feel a smile breaking on my face. “I did?” I clench her forearm, my heart delighting in her words.
“Well, yeah,” she says, “But you know, I’m only thinking… so…” She shrugs and I don’t mind. I know it’s a start.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say. “About barging in on you like that, I had no idea…” My voice goes quiet as her pearly lacerations come to my mind.
“Does it matter?” She pulls the blanket snug. “Is there ever an excuse for the wrongs I’ve done in this life?” She whispers now, her voice flat, and I wonder about her expression, but I can’t see it.
I close my eyes and search for the answer inside. My heart heaves. I want to tell her that sometimes we do the wrong things for the right reasons, as it is exactly what we humans think we do. For the one who walks the Buddhist path, though, no hurt or suffering is ever an excuse for harming other sentient beings, let alone taking a life in reprisal.
“I don’t know, but there must be a limit to the suffering we humans are able to bear.” I choose my words with care, for who am I to say?
“For sure.” She shivers. “It’s either break or be broken with that family of mine.” And I think of Karma, and his loyalty to the family, and my heart cracks open—for him and for her.
“Well, at least you helped to save one life last night,” I say, and turn to her. “And that’s a good start.” I rub her freezing hands.
“That’s one way of looking at it.” She shivers again and blows her breath on our intertwined hands. “Damned sister, aren’t Lhasa nights cold without a lover on our side?”
She chuckles again, no doubt sporting that familiar grin on her round face.
“It is, sister,” I say, because I can’t deny it. “It sure is.”