The Lost Fragrance Page 11

  ‘We are not like you,’ the boy replied, ‘we are dead. Our bodies are gone from us. As mortals, we constrain ourselves by relating only to physical presence and physical identity. We forget that it is with the mind that you and I touch each other far more deeply than with our bodies, and for far longer. Bodies and forms will leave, but it is always, and only the memory of a lingering touch remains.’

  ‘How extraordinary!’ replied Crow wryly. ‘Such a gift, dear boy, to be able to speak only in riddles!’

  ‘It is not a riddle, my friend,’ said the little boy, stroking Crow’s head. Crow could only feel warm breath where the hand ought to have been. ‘Death is as natural as life itself. When you are born, you are destined to die. Indeed, from the moment you are born, you are that much closer to death. It is only when you are acutely aware of your mortality that you will become deeply aware of how important living is.’

  ‘What has memory got to do with it?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘In itself, memory is a good thing. You remember love. You remember kindness and joy. But when memory refuses to allow you to let go, it becomes an obsession. It holds you back from living. When it does that, you are reduced to a caricature of your true potential, and that is the greatest tragedy of all.’

  ‘How can we forget those whom we love?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘And why indeed should you?’ responded the little boy. ‘Do you not remember what The Master told you? You do not deny your parents when you learn to let them go. It is like the fragrance of the flowers. They linger long after the river has taken them from you.’

  She did not ask how the little boy knew of her conversation with The Master. So much was strange and mysterious in this place. ‘But I miss my parents!’ she said. ‘In moments of happiness, or when I grieve, I wish I could simply be in their presence, to rest my head on my father’s shoulder and to watch my mother smile.’

  ‘My child, no one can take that memory away from you. It is yours, as it was always meant to be. But now, you can enjoy that memory as indeed no one else can. And it is with you for eternity. When you understand that, you will learn to live with death. You will understand that while your parents are no longer with you physically, they are still very much part of your life and with you at all times. Only, you don’t get to see them. When you can accept that, you would have learnt to let go.’

  ‘Is it that important? What if I don’t let go?’ asked the little girl.

  The little boy gazed deeply into her eyes before he whispered, ‘Then souls remain trapped. They become the un-dead. You can see them, just as you can see me. But we are without form. We are only a memory, a likeness.’

  ‘Are my parents in this state then?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. If you were to see them, you would believe that they are really there. But you can no longer touch or feel them. What you see is only a memory of how you remember them. Nothing more. And when, one day, you learn to let them go, they will become stars!’ responded the little boy.

  ‘I saw stars,’ said the little girl, ‘one night, when in a dream, I figured out how to make Balloon fly! I know they were my parents. I simply know.’

  The little boy smiled. ‘Yes, you did see stars but they were not your parents. There are many who watch over you and are joyful of your success. They, like all of us, have expectations of what you might be able to achieve.’

  ‘To kill The Serpent, you mean?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘To free us all from bondage,’ replied the little boy, ‘and yes, to do that, you need to kill The Serpent and his consorts.’

  ‘So my parents,’ said Little Girl, ‘they are here too?’

  ‘They are not yet stars, if that is what you ask,’ replied the little boy, ‘but they are not with us here in the village for they are preparing themselves elsewhere for your battle. They know that the time has come.’

  ‘Is not letting go the only reason why you all are here?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘In a way, yes,’ answered the little boy, ‘but it is also because we came under the spell of The Serpent. The villagers will tell you more about it and so indeed will I, when the time is right. You will then understand what holds us back.’

  Little Girl nodded, as if that was the response she expected. ‘And when it is done,’ she asked, ‘what happens then?’

  ‘This land will vanish, and the sky will be blessed with innumerable stars!’ said the little boy.

  ‘We will remember, and memory is all we will have,’ said the little girl.

  The boy nodded and said, ‘And you will know how powerful memory is!’

  ‘All very well,’ said Crow grumpily, ‘but I would rather have a steak and eat it too rather than have to remember what it tasted like!’

  Magic floated in and whipped a tablecloth with a flourish. All of a sudden, a table appeared laden with a feast for a king. Crow gazed with a dropped jaw and much happiness. ‘Talk on,’ he said to the little boy, ‘with food like this, riddles are appetising.’

  Thirty-six

  They could hear the villagers coming. There were scores and scores of them. She had heard them singing, the first night they were in the village. They had arrived at the house and stood outside. They had looked at her eagerly. And then, she remembered the strange sight of the door full of heads!

  ‘We are so happy you have come,’ said one of them, ‘for we have waited for you over the years. You will rid us of our crimes and our entrapment, as is said in our legend, and today we have witnessed your great power.’

  ‘But what brought you here?’ asked the little girl, ‘how did you come under the spell of The Serpent?’

  Voice after voice spoke, confessing of crimes in their life on earth, of how their simple and ordinary lives had been transformed, once they had sold their souls to The Serpent. They went on and on, the tales of woe, of lives woven around lies and betrayal, lust and rage and of pain they had caused. These were tales of shame, of wanting, of envy and of insatiable all-consuming greed. These were the corruptible people, the ones who sold their souls for a profit. They were the ignoble selfish, who lived their petty lives seeking only how they might benefit from the sorrow of others. They were the commonplace and everyday people. And yet, they were the debasement of human decency, of all that was good and kind.

  ‘I cannot forget,’ said one man, ‘how utterly evil and despicable I had become. I think about it all the time. Why, I ask myself, why, why, why? And I can only say, The Serpent must die, so that this viciousness ends once and for all, and my mistakes are not replicated by another.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand,’ said the little girl, ‘how exactly you might have caused so much harm, or committed such evil.’

  They hesitated at first because they were embarrassed to confess before a little child. Then, like a dam that had burst, they poured their hearts out. All the pent up shame came tumbling out, as they spoke. Accountants who fudged records, bureaucrats who sold contracts, politicians who lived only on gifts, journalists who made up stories, lawyers who told lies, policemen who looked the other way, businessmen who sold drugs and, often, children and women. It seemed to go on and on, this endless self-betrayal.

  ‘What did you get out of all of this?’ cried the little girl, as she tried to shut her ears to all the stories. ‘How could you do it? And for whom did you do it?’

  ‘What we got out of it…?’ said someone, not as a question but as a statement. ‘Money, power, recognition. And we craved all of that. Strangers stood up when we walked into a room. We were respected. But we did not know that it was all an illusion and that behind our backs, they abused us as scum. We were the vultures that preyed on the living.’

  Another said, ‘I did it for my family, and they revelled in the joy of a better life. But when the police came and I was sentenced to jail, my family disowned me. “It was your responsibility to look after us,” my family said, “we never asked you to steal. That was your choice and yours alone.’”

  �
��Do you feel betrayed then,’ asked the little girl, ‘by those for whom you stole?’

  ‘No,’ he responded, ‘I feel shamed by those I stole from, for I took from them their dignity and their life, so that I might find respect. True, I did find respect, or thought I did at that time, never realising then, that it was all an illusion.’

  ‘So, you would like me to give you back your self-respect? Is that it?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘Yes,’ they all responded unanimously.

  ‘You will join me then, in defeating The Serpent?’ said the little girl.

  A murmur went around. What was she saying, many asked. Once the word got around, whispers became strong and there were loud words of dissent.

  One of them shouted and said, ‘You have no right to ask us to face The Serpent. We already have and that is why we are here! We have paid our price for the sins we have committed!’

  Another said, ‘If you are truly The Awaited One, do your job! If you are not, die and join us!’

  ‘Let us help her,’ said a woman in the crowd, ‘it is as much our battle as it is hers.’

  ‘Shut up, you bitch! Think of the despicable life you led and the many you corrupted with your body. Give no advice to us, for it is the likes of you who have brought us here!’ screamed one in the crowd and many spat on the poor woman.

  ‘Have you lost all sense of decency and good will?’ cried the little girl, in dismay as she ran to the woman. ‘Even when you are dead, why do you wallow in evil?’

  ‘They have not learnt to let go, my child,’ replied the little boy, ‘they still live in memories. Even when they realise it was all so wrong, they loved the good times!’

  ‘I cannot help you,’ said the little girl, ‘unless you learn to help yourselves.’ She turned away and walked back to the house.

  ‘Are you going to abandon us, you stupid girl?’ asked one man.

  ‘It’s all been a game, has it?’ asked another.

  The little girl looked at the boy for answers. She was totally confused. The little boy said to her gently, ‘They live in the past, in memories of times that were. They know they did wrong but they cannot let go. Neither the wealth they had, nor the bodies they defiled. None of that was theirs in the first place, but that is something they are yet to reconcile with. So, too, it is with the poor woman who gave her body, for she gave it without love and she gave it out of compulsion.’

  ‘Is it all an illusion then?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘In a way, yes,’ replied the little boy, ‘but when you live it day in and day out, illusion becomes reality.’

  ‘I will come with you,’ said the old man with one leg. ‘I had promised that I would be happy to lose my other leg too, if it helped to vanquish The Serpent!’

  The little girl turned towards him with affection and respect. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, ‘if only others could be as brave as you...’

  The man looked at her and said, ‘You are powerful enough to destroy them all. I will accompany you. Leave the others alone. They will only get in the way.’

  So saying, he turned and hobbled away. ‘Going well,’ he whispered in a hiss, ‘going rather well, I would say! Humans are so delightfully predictable.’

  ‘Could you smell the awful stench?’ asked the little boy.

  ‘Yes,’ responded the little girl, ‘and I could feel his evil presence. The manner in which the villagers behaved was such a giveaway. It reminded me of how the old balloon-maker and his wife were treated at the picnic.’ She paused before she said, ‘I wonder who it might have been.’

  ‘I’d wager it was the old man with one leg. While all the villagers refused to go along with you, he was the only one who offered,’ said the little boy. ‘But let us wait and see how this unfolds.’

  Thirty-seven

  The consorts had gathered around The Serpent. They knew that a great battle lay ahead.

  ‘The little girl has courage,’ said The Serpent. ‘I like that! It will make the victory all the more enjoyable!’

  ‘She has a firmness of purpose and is protected by the strength of the little boy and The Master,’ said one of the consorts, ‘and they are difficult to destroy. Perhaps her mother and her father also watch over her.’

  ‘True,’ said The Serpent, ‘but this is a battle that only she can win or lose. Everyone else is only a prop. Remember that and you will know she can be destroyed. The Master is already dead and is a star. He will not enter my castle, a star never does. The little boy is among the un-dead because he was weak before my powers. He has much to prove but he can achieve it only through the little girl. And as for her parents, they too struggle in this trapped space. Surely, you do not believe that she will not succumb to our charms!’

  He slithered in excitement and waited for his shadow to return with news.

  Thirty-eight

  It was still dark. Dawn was about to break. In the stillness around, the music of The Master’s flute was serene and calm. The little girl sat listening to the music as it welcomed the sun. With Crow on her shoulder and Balloon beside, she closed her eyes, wondering what the day would bring. But there was no fear in her heart. Her mind was calm. She knew what she had prayed for, ever since she saw her parents that horrible day, was near at hand. It was the fateful hour of reckoning.

  The Master turned towards her, flute in hand.

  ‘The most difficult battles are never physical,’ he said, ‘because they are the battles of the mind.’

  ‘My mind is calm,’ she said to The Master.

  ‘Lesson One, my child,’ said The Master, ‘is to realise that your strength lies in his weakness. What does he want? What does he truly want? When you know that and deny him his principal craving, you have broken through his strength.’

  ‘He wants me,’ she replied, ‘to be like him, to join him and to become evil and despicable. That I will not do.’

  ‘But how will he do that?’ asked The Master. ‘Is he going to offer you a better life, one of luxury and great wealth? I doubt very much because that is not what you crave for. What if he offers you a life with your parents? Do you have the courage to turn it down?’

  ‘Life with my parents?’ cried the girl. ‘How could I refuse that? How can any orphaned child reject such an offer? It is what I have missed for so long and crave so dearly!’

  ‘I thought so,’ said The Master, ‘for that is how he will win you over and, thus, the battle.’

  He let the words sink in and continued, ‘Do you not remember what I said to you once before, to let your parents go is not to deny them? They are yours for life, for you are bound together in this lifetime and the ones to come, as indeed the many others that you have already lived. You are soulmates.’

  The little girl was silent. She gazed at the rising sun and the sky awash with colour. She soaked in what The Master had just said. If she and her parents were soulmates, they could never be separated.

  ‘And as you imbibe Lesson One and make it your strength, let me give you Lesson Two!’ The Master appeared to be enjoying what he was doing but did it ever so gently. Pointing to the little boy who had by then come to stand beside him, The Master said, ‘The little boy will accompany you. Do you remember what you were told when you first came into our village, that he is the key to the mystery that will unfold?’

  The Master laughed as he turned to the little boy. ‘You were told he is the oldest amongst us, and you all rightly wondered if he was the oldest, why did he look like the youngest? This is a land of mysteries, and some that we have truly guarded well.

  Trust in the boy and you will be protected.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she whispered.

  But the boy put his fingers to his lips. ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘Not as yet.’

  ‘Lesson Two is, nothing is what it seems to be! Doubt everything. Life is discovering how to see and not merely to look, to listen and not simply to hear!’

  ‘How exciting!’ said Crow wryly. The conversation seemed to disinterest h
im and, at the same time, he had this nagging feeling that somehow he was going to be dragged into it as well. The thought worried him. He preferred his sedentary lifestyle.

  Crow cleared his throat and interjected, ‘Love these lessons, and I promise to pass them on to my grandchildren, but while you all are at it, Magic and I propose to do our part as well. We will remain here while you clobber the snake. After which, you will return home triumphant, exhausted and hungry. A celebratory dinner will await your return. The dear chef will rustle it all up and I, Crow, will be the food taster! Don’t want to get the salt wrong, if you get my drift.’

  Having delivered what he honestly believed was a highly plausible reason as to why he should not be enlisted for the battle, he sat on a rock, folding his wings over his chest, looking most important.

  ‘Ah yes, of course, the dear bird needs to know where he fits in,’ said The Master and pointed his finger at Crow’s head.

  As soon as he did that, Crow froze. He seemed to go into a trance and was overcome with a most strange sensation. Every part of his body seemed alive.

  ‘Something seems to be happening to me,’ he said, sounding most upset. ‘Good heavens! My wings seem funny, my nails sharper! I feel bigger!’

  Strangely, Crow kept growing larger by the minute.

  ‘How lovely you look!’ said Balloon, smiling sweetly, ‘but I gather you do realise,’ she continued, ‘that his appetite is bound to go up if he keeps growing at this rate. And that he most certainly would need to take flying lessons again to get his weight off the ground!’

  Crow glared at her. But he was overcome with a sense of confusion that he could not fathom. How was it possible, he wondered, that Balloon who was only inches away just a second ago, seemed like she was a foot, no many feet, away! And that, he was actually looking down on her from a great height! Why was his body feeling unfamiliar, as if it didn’t actually belong to him?