disposed of all the young wrestlers and only Brother Jaina remained. Sardili rose to leave the mats, unwilling to expose the young monks’ instructor to a humiliating defeat, but Brother Jaina called him back. Prajnatara nodded his approval for the bout and Sardili returned to the center of the mat.
Brother Jaina turned out to be a strong and skilful wrestler, but he was no match for Sardili, who forced him to submit in little more than a minute. To Jaina’s surprise, he did not feel Sardili’s enormous strength at work, nor his considerable weight. Sardili defeated him with a level of skill that required no strength, skill Jaina had seen only in the greatest wrestlers in the land. He bowed to Sardili while the young monks regarded the newcomer with barely concealed wonder.
In the evening, Prajnatara took Sardili aside and asked him to instruct the wrestling from that day forth. He agreed, and soon became something of a celebrity among his students, who progressed rapidly under his expert supervision.
Sardili enjoyed his new role as a teacher, but as the days became weeks and then months, he grew disillusioned with his life at the temple. The long hours of meditation and study brought him no closer to the enlightenment he sought. He tried discussing his concerns with Prajnatara, but Prajnatara evaded the subject, talking instead of the weather, the flowers in his gardens, or the progress of Sardili’s wrestling students. When Sardili pressed him on the subject, Prajnatara struck him hard on the chest and reminded him that he would not find what he was seeking in the temple.
The days grew shorter. Summer gave way to autumn and in those long silent hours of the evening, Sardili came to realize that his quest was over. There was no prize awaiting him in Prajnatara’s temple. No treasure to be discovered. No truth. No nirvana. It was time to abandon his fruitless search and dedicate himself to a more realistic goal, though he had no idea what that might be.
The hour was late when he went to inform Prajnatara of his departure. The temple lamps had already been extinguished and only a single candle burned in the corridor. He moved silently to the master’s quarters, not wishing to wake the sleeping monks, and knocked softly on the door.
Brother Jaina answered and stepped aside to let him in. Prajnatara was seated at his desk with paperwork laid out before him. He looked up with a smile. “You look concerned, Sardili. Come in. Take a seat. Talk to us. You will be a welcome respite from the tedious business of running a temple. What can Brother Jaina and I do for you?”
“Nothing. I am leaving,” Sardili answered.
“Leaving? So soon after arriving? Are you sure about this, Sardili?”
“Yes. I decided you were right. I won’t find what I’m looking for in this temple. I have come to thank you for your teachings and your hospitality, but The Way is not for me. It’s time I did something different.”
Prajnatara turned to give Sardili his full attention.” Different in what way?” he demanded with a frown.
“More purposeful.”
“The Way is eminently purposeful, Sardili.”
“Not if one cannot find it.”
“Perhaps you seek it too hard,” Prajnatara sighed.
“And perhaps you talk in riddles,” Sardili answered, unable to contain his mounting frustration.
“What will you do instead?” Brother Jaina asked.
“I have not decided yet.”
“Will you return to your family?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you think your father will welcome you back?”
“That is my business, Brother Jaina.”
“It will be awkward,” Jaina continued, “returning home after so long with nothing to show for your efforts.”
Sardili felt his temper rise, and when he noticed Prajnatara and Jaina exchanging a knowing glance, he could contain it no more.
“I see this amuses you both!” He exploded, smashing his hand onto the table and sending papers flying. Brother Jaina flew to his feet to stand between Sardili and his master. Sardili grasped Jaina’s robe and he fought the urge to hurl the smaller man aside.
A splash of cold shocked him. Prajnatara had thrown a jug of water in his face. “Cool down, Sardili,” he ordered.
Sardili released Jaina and pointed a warning finger at Prajnatara. “I would advise you not to strike me a third time,” he growled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Prajnatara said lightly, “but before you go, tell us why you’re so angry?”
Sardili glared at the little master, searching for the words to adequately describe the depth of his disillusionment. “It’s all false,” he said finally, his voice little more than a whisper now. “I have wasted so many years chanting, praying, reciting, debating—and all for nothing. You talk of the truth. You claim to possess it. But the truth is you have nothing. A man could waste a lifetime on this charade.”
He strode across the room and reached for the door.
“You’re quite right, of course,” Prajnatara said casually, taking a scroll from a cabinet and crossing the room to offer it to him. “These scriptures really are quite useless. Tear them up if it makes you feel better. Get rid of everything in this entire temple if you wish. None of it is necessary. Not one single thing.” He turned and swiped a bowl of incense from a nearby shelf. It shattered loudly on the floor creating a cloud of white dust. Sardili watched in bewilderment. It seemed he was not the only one who had lost his self-control.
“Here,” Prajnatara said, taking a carving of The Buddha from his window, “break the stupid little statue into little pieces if you like. It’s just a piece of wood, carved in the shape of a man.” The master’s voice was serious but Sardili still had the feeling he was being mocked.
“Keep your Buddha,” he said angrily, striding from the room.
“Sardili wait, please …”
He ignored the master’s pleas and went to his room to collect his belongings. When he emerged, Brother Jaina was waiting for him. “Sardili,” he said quietly, “at least wait until morning. You can talk with Prajnatara again, when you’re not so angry. Then if you still wish to leave, we will give you supplies for your journey.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“The jungle is a dangerous place at night.”
Brother Jaina was right but Sardili did not care. He yearned for the dark embrace of the jungle and strode from the temple without another word.
“Come back when you’re ready,” Jaina called after him, but Jaina’s words were already lost in the thick night air.
Sardili walked among the gnarled shadows of the moonlit jungle, driven by rage at the monks, the temples, the scriptures, The Buddha, and above all, at himself. He had hurt his father, his mother, his family. He had wasted his
