speed, but our pace is nothing compared to the days before, when we rode with only the three of us. I understand. We have a long way ahead of us, and the beasts are loaded to the hilt. This pace provides excellent training for me, anyway. It demands me to reign in my enthusiastic stallion and my persistent impatience at the same time.
We settle into the steady cadence set by the headmen and their lead mules, supported by the vocals of the muleteers. The rhythmic tunes their throats blast out seem to work wonders in keeping up the pace and the spirits of our company.
Their vocals are also a great warning ahead for the small villages we pass through. Hearing our caravan approach from miles ahead, the locals prepare tea and meals and get ready to do some trade.
Most of the caravanners like to hold on to their goods, though. The nearer to Lhasa they get, the higher the value of their cargo, especially the prized tea and salt.
Being totally unaware of it before, I’ve come to understand that the caravan trade is a sort of shrewd game of manipulating supply and demand. At least, that’s what I’ve observed over the last few days.
There’s still so much I don’t know about the workings of this mundane world. I settle back in the saddle, my eyes scout over the line of tireless men and mules kicking up the dust ahead. Then again, I never had to know.
“No need to fill our mind with things that bear no meaning to our lives,” Dechen used to say, and she was right. My life as a nun revolved around study and prayer, working for the benefit of all sentient beings. Everything I needed was provided for.
However, now that I’ve been out of the monastery, I realize how ignorant I’ve been. Of course, everything was provided for. Dechen, Ghedun, and some of our senior nuns took care of that. They made sure the necessary bonds were formed and reformed, again and again, with our patrons, our generous donors.
I shift to the front of my saddle. How come I never saw this before? A shallow sigh slips from my lips and I cringe as I recall my carefree, or rather careless, attitude at the monastery. I was reckless with the food, the tea, the treats… with everything. My finger slides under the bandage and I scratch my aching palm. So many times, I spilled our provisions or let it go to waste, never thinking of its origin and the arduous labor my grandmother and others had to put in.
I straighten my back and twist my head from side to side. Now that I’m going to run the stables, I’ll have to get to know this mundane world. A dull throb hits my temples. Just the thought of it makes my head hurt.
“Easy, boy.” I tighten the lead on my frolicking horse while I reign in my straying thoughts. Om mani padme hung. No use thinking ahead. Lhasa’s still far away, let alone my return to the stables.
And as the muleteers hum their songs, I chant my mantra—Om mani padme hung—countering the futile inner chatter of my mind and gaining precious merit for all at the same time.
With the steady pace we go, the caravan doesn’t take many breaks during the day. The head muleteers seem to know exactly when and where to rest. We stop early enough at a big caravanserai to unload and feed the animals before dark sets in. Unlike the mules that are free to roam, Karma takes my horse and ties it to his.
“Your stallion’s not used to this life on the road yet.” Karma fastens the lead. “I bet he’s sorry he came along by now and try to sneak off at night.” Karma throws me one of his teasing looks, but I know by now this one’s only halfhearted. Something else is occupying his mind.
Talking about my horse or somebody else? The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them. All day he’s been keeping a close eye on me while at the same time observing Lanying from a distance. I’ve seen his eyes—and his mind—wander back and forth. Something’s up. For whatever reason, it’s obvious he doesn’t want me to talk to her.
“Come on.” Dendup’s calling from the doorway. “I’ve ensured us some good seats.”
And before I get a chance to say anything else, Karma’s determined arms whisk me away into the caravanserai’s kitchen.
While the three of us spend the night in comfort on the mats in the caravanserai, the muleteers keep near their cargo. They make themselves comfortable in the courtyard or the open fields, even sleeping on top of their precious goods. The atmosphere during the day is more than friendly, with everybody in the caravan sharing their meals and their conversations, it’s the opposite once night falls. As the darkness turns trust into suspicion, the weary mind spins friends into foes. I can’t help but wonder how strange the workings of our human mind.
It’s an early start as we get up the next day. Dawn has not thrown her blue hue in the kitchen yet, but the roaring stove glows a fierce orange, providing us with all the light we need this morning.
“The road’s good here, so no bother to walk in the dark,” Dendup says as I rub the sleep out of my eyes over my first cup of tea. “Besides, we want to hit the river before midday.”
I shoot up. “River?” My voice pitches. “What river?” My stomach churns the rich tea straight back along my palate. I almost gag.
“No worries.” Dendup pours us another cup. “We’ll have it crossed before you know it.”
But his upbeat tone can’t reassure me. We need to cross the water. Wide awake now, my mind’s flooding. The aching memory of my mother’s drowning sweeps right through.
My hands clench into fists as that vague, foolish fear I’ve had of water ever since her death roars its ugly head again. Don’t be silly. I’ve crossed water before. My fingernails dig into the frayed bandages on my palms. I can do this. After all, fear is nothing but an obscuration, a projection of my untrained mind.
Just a few days ago, I faced my fear and conquered my demons there at the Four Sisters Mountain. I did that—o crossing a river should be easy, right?
I glance over the rim of my cup at Dendup’s cheery face.
Besides, I’ve got my family right here with me. With a soft puff, I blow the steam off my cup, and as my breath settles, so does my mind. But not for long.
With our road winding and drawing nearer to the swiftly swelling stream this morning, the dreaded crossing’s never far from my mind. I’m trying hard to suppress the unsettling feeling in my stomach and turn my thoughts to Green Tara, mother of all Buddha’s. Oṃ tāre tu tāre ture soha. Tara has never failed me in times of trouble. A prayer to her always protects, even strengthens the weak and weary mind. In the corner of my eyes, however, I notice the river growing wider and wider. I can’t help but wonder: How will we ever get across to the other side?
With the sun throwing her smallest shadow on our path, it must come up to noon. My mouth dry, I turn to Karma. “Are we there soon?” My voice is steady, but my fidgety fingers give away my anxiety.
“Next turn.” He points ahead. “Can’t wait, can you?”
He laughs at my grimace.
I guess I’m not fooling anybody but myself. As our part of the caravan coils around the next bend, I see it. The crossing’s up ahead.
The first mules are already unloaded. Their packs and bags are pile up on the banks of the river. My eyes whiz to the wild foaming water. What’s that? I crane my neck as I spot a few tiny black dots in the white spew of the rolling water. Boats? These must be boats!
I’ve never seen them before, but as we get closer, my suspicions are confirmed—the drifting black dots are actually yak skin boats. As the roar of the raging river hits my ears at full speed, cold sweat hits the back of my neck, and I freeze. Sensing my fear, my stallion balks on all fours.
“Easy.” Dendup’s already dismounted and takes my horse’s halter. “There’s a first for everything.” He pats the stallion’s head. “We’ll help you two across.”
He throws me one of his typical cheers, but his reassurance has no effect on me—not this time. With the reins slipping from my hands, every muscle in my body tenses up as I slide off my horse. My mind blanks as panic floods the void inside me. Focus. I twist my fingers in my horse’s coarse mane to steady myself. My heart’s pounding as I turn to Dendup.
“Thank you.” I clear the fear that has gripped itself to the back of my throat. My shallow breath races with the speed of my heartbeats by now. Focus. I draw a deep breath and settle my eyes on the boats being loaded up at the banks of the river. The head mules are the first to be carried over by these bobbing vessels—nothing more than tied up wooden frames clad with yak skin.
My stomach churns. I clasp Karma’s forearm. “Will it hold?”
“It will,” he says, his hand on mine, a close grip. “Here, for his ears.” He hands me a few pebbles. My eyebrows raise as I roll the wet stones in the palm of my hand.
“His ears?” My eyes dart from the pebbles to my horse’s twirling ears and back.
“Yes, his ears.” Karma takes the pebbles from my hand and tucks them in the stallion’s ears. “It blocks the sound of the river, calms him down.” The horse puffs a loud breeze in protest at first, but the twirling stops. It works.
“Need some too?” Karma tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ears. His eyes flash with that familiar tease as his hands stroke the back of my neck.
“No thanks.” I pinch my lips. Everything’s always a joke to these men. I have to admit, though, the tension in my body lessens ever so slightly. Or was it his subtle touch that makes me feel at ease just now?
“Come, sit.” He pulls me down on a big bolder next to him. “It will take a while for our turn.” With one hand clammy in his, I watch the spectacle of men and mules and struggling boats in front of me. My other hand is on my prayer beads, sliding them slow through my stiff fingers as I call upon Tara, to ensure a safe crossing.
Oṃ tāre tu tāre ture soha.