him. “Goodbye father,” he whispered, turning quickly to hide his tears, and walked away from his home forever.
Sardili learned that Prajnatara had gone to Sri Lanka; but when he arrived in Sri Lanka, he was told Prajnatara was in the western port of Kochi; and in Kochi he heard rumors that Prajnatara had retreated to the mountains of the interior. Three years passed and still he wandered in search of Prajnatara. He visited many temples on the way and met with many holy men. He studied the Buddhist scriptures and committed the words of the sacred Sutras to memory. He learned to still his mind in meditation. He begged for food and came to understand the virtue of humility. He starved his body of nourishment and his mind of desire. He grew weak, so weak that he saw visions of startling clarity. Yet he knew they were not the truth but merely illusions brought on by his weakened state.
Five more years passed and Sardili had become a wise and learned monk. Yet, in his heart, he felt no closer to the truth than the day he had left home, and he began to wonder if his father had been right after all.
Still, he wandered in the southern kingdoms of India seeking Prajnatara. Another year passed and he found himself in the jungles of Pallava, less than three days’ journey from his home city of Kanchipuram. On the banks of a slow moving river, he met an old ferryman who, on seeing his monk’s robe, offered him free passage across the water. As they crossed, the ferryman spoke of a beautiful temple located a short distance upriver and urged him to visit it. He smiled and told the old ferryman that he was seeking a particular temple, and a particular master.
“This is Prajnatara’s temple,” the ferryman told him.
Sardili had heard countless false stories of Prajnatara’s where-abouts, but something about the old man’s gentle confidence made him follow the ferryman’s directions. At a fork in the river, he saw the pale stonework of a temple, half-hidden by the jungle, just as the old man had described. It was smaller than he had imagined, the point of its stupa barely reached the surrounding trees, yet its lack of grandeur was part of its appeal. The temple was exquisitely beautiful. Sun-bleached walls were carved with scenes of The Buddha’s life and inscribed with passages from the Sutras. Flowers and shrubs decorated the temple grounds, and a tranquil bathing pool glistened in the shade of a banyan tree.
The main door was unlocked. He pushed it open. The entrance was empty, but he could hear rhythmic chanting coming from the corridor that led away from the hall. He waited, expecting someone to appear. When no one came, he made his way down the dim corridor. The familiar smell of incense floated on the cool air. He came to a door ajar and peered inside. Young monks were studying the Sutras, and their earnest faces reminded him of a time when he had dedicated himself to understanding the sacred texts. Now he had begun to despise the same texts for their endless contradictions. Not one had revealed the truth to him.
A man appeared at his side. “Can I help you, Brother?”
Sardili was startled to see it was Prajnatara staring up at him, looking no older than the day he had seen him in the park almost ten years earlier. The slight frame and soft features gave Prajnatara an almost boyish look and he stood no higher than Sardili’s chest, but there was firmness in his stance that belied his gentle appearance. Sardili bowed and pressed his palms together in the traditional Buddhist greeting.
“My name is Sardili,” he said.
Prajnatara waited for him to continue.
“I have come to study here, if you will accept me,” he added.
“What is it you seek, Sardili?” Prajnatara asked.
“I seek what every monk seeks—enlightenment.”
“And what do you suppose that to be?” Prajnatara asked, his expression puzzled, as if Sardili had brought up a fascinating new topic for discussion.
“To see the world as it truly is,” he said, “to know my own mind…”
“You don’t know yourself, Sardili?”
Sardili shrugged.
“Yet you have studied a long time?” Prajnatara probed.
“Yes.”
Prajnatara waited for him to say more, but Sardili had no wish to elaborate. “I ask to be accepted as a student,” was all he said.
Prajnatara studied him silently for a minute, then shook his head. “You are too old for this temple, Sardili. All our students are young. You won’t fit in. I regret to say the answer is ‘No.’”
Sardili had never been refused entry to a temple before and found himself at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry,” Prajnatara continued, turning to go, “I hope you haven’t come far.”
“Wait, please,” Sardili stepped closer, “I have come far. It has taken me years to find you …”
Prajnatara stopped but did not look back, “You won’t find what you’re seeking in this temple.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to fit in.”
“It won’t help.”
Sardili put his hand on the little master’s arm. “Please, Master Prajnatara, I beg you to reconsider.”
“Take you hands off me,” Prajnatara said icily. “One monk must never lay a hand on another in this temple. That is our sacred rule.”
Sardili released him and took a step back. This was a disaster. “I’m sorry, truly. Please forgive me, it’s just that …”
Prajnatara turned back to face him, looking him up and down once more as if seeing him for the first time, then slapped him hard across the face.
Sardili was stunned. In all his years at the Military Academy no blow had ever caught him so unaware. His first instinct was to strike Prajnatara down, but he fought the urge. His second was to touch his own cheek, which smarted from the blow, but he refused to show he’d been hurt.
“Now you may join us,” Prajnatara said, “if you wish.”
Sardili stared in astonishment at the little man who, it seemed, had so little fear for his own safety.
“What do you say?” Prajnatara demanded.
“I thought you said one monk must never lay a hand on another,” Sardili said through clenched teeth.
“Did I say that?” Prajnatara asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes you did. I believe you called it a sacred rule.”
“Rules are for children, Sardili.”
Sardili’s eyes bored into the little master’s with barely contained violence.
“Make up your mind,” Prajnatara smiled, turning and walking away. He had almost reached the end of the corridor when Sardili, beaten, shouted after him, “I will join!”
Prajnatara hurried back, a broad smile on his face now. He seized Sardili’s hands and clutched them to his breast, “You will? Are you sure, Sardili? I am so pleased, especially
