Faithful to Buddha, Faithful to You

I sit on the bed and gaze at Rajiva in silence.

Yesterday was a tiring day, but still I could not sleep very well due to the presence of another person besides me. There’s nothing else in the room that I could lie on, so I had curled up next to him on the bed. It was a long night filled with worries—I was afraid that I’d wake him up if I turn, that I’d accidentally touch him in my sleep, that I’d make things awkward if I wake up later than him. Because of that, I lay very still next him, to the point where my body cramped up from the lack of movement. And then as soon as the sun dawned, I got up and walked around the room, but still careful to not make any sounds.

Rajiva is still fast asleep. Even though he is thirty-five now and not as young as he was eleven years ago, he is still as handsome and otherworldly as before. Compared to others of the same age, he looks very young, probably because of his lifestyle as a Buddhist monk. The barest hints of wrinkles on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes only make him seem more mature and wise. After a night of rest, his complexion now looks so much better and not as haggard as before. There is a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, brightening up his face—he must be having a nice dream.

I keep sitting there gazing at him, the idol of my heart. It’s almost noon and yet he still sleeps. This must be the first time he has slept in so late. As for me, exhaustion has caught up and my head is getting heavier and heavier. Unable to help myself, I lie down and fall asleep just like that.

Somebody is caressing my hair. I jerk my eyes open, heart beating fast when I catch a pair of light grey eyes as clear as a lake in autumn looking back at me. The same pair of eyes that have appeared countless times in my dreams, they’re now in front of me.

“You…have woken up…” I quickly get up and ask, “Are you hungry? I have asked them to bring something-”

I reach for the bowl at the head of the bed but find it cool to the touch, “Oh, it has gotten cold. Let me ask someone to heat it up-”

But before I can leave, I feel a pull at my sleeves. I glance back and see him playing with my sleeves, the expression on his face fond and filled with unbridled nostalgia. The sight makes my heart ache. I call out his name:

“Rajiva…”

“That you’d be back every ten years…it’s really true.”

Still lying on the bed, he closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh, lips quivering slightly:

“It’s good that you’re back…”

Kneeling down next to the bed, I take his hand and put it on my cheek. With a smile, I reply: “Yes, I am back.”

Rajiva’s hand trembles as he caresses my face, slowly making his away across my eyelids, my nose, my lips. His eyes shine brighter with every movement. Then all of a sudden, he sits up and pulls me into a tight embrace. His chin is right atop my head, I can feel his stubble rubbing, which makes me want to laugh but it comes out as a wheezing, teary sound instead.

“Gautama Buddha is really too kind towards Rajiva…” he says with a shaky voice, “to allow you to come back like this…”

He lets go and places two hands on my shoulders, eyes scanning me.

“Eleven years and still you have not changed in the slightest…”

“I have, actually. I’m now twenty-five…”

I look at him with a smile, but my nose is stinging.

“One year above equals ten years down here?”

He brushes a hand through my hair, the movement so gentle it’s like he’s holding a treasure.

“The first time we met, you were older than me by ten years. The second time we met, you were the same age as me. And now, I am older than you by ten years.”

His hand moves to caress my cheeks, eyes tender:

“Ai Qing, did you know that this “ten” signifies fate in the realm beyond?”

I laugh. That’s right, everything has been orchestrated by the G.o.ds.

My eyes land on his bare chest. Memories of last night flood back, setting my face on fire. Feeling awkward, I say to him:

“Ah…you should wash up and eat-Your head must hurt a lot, right? I have asked them to make you some hangover soup-”

As soon as the dawn broke, I have asked them to bring water and quietly washed myself. I wanted to help him, but I was afraid I’d wake him up and well, it’s not like I actually had the courage to do such a thing anyway. He was sweating last night, plus all the alcohol he had to drink the past three days—the smell is not very pleasant.

Hearing me, he lets go of me with a startle. The movement makes the blanket fall away, revealing the spots of dried blood on the mat. Without even looking at himself, he grabs my arm and pulls up my sleeves to examine my elbow. After the surgery, the injury is pretty much gone, the only trace left being a small scar.

“It’s all healed. How mighty the Buddha is, to turn your arm into whole once again like this!”

He looks up at me, eyebrows pulled together: “So then where are you hurt?”

It’s only now that I understand he’s been talking about that spot of blood. Embarra.s.sed, I stammer:

“I’m not hurt. T-That, that is from a woman’s f-first time…” I have never felt this embarra.s.sed standing in front of him. “Anyway, I’m all fine now, so you don’t have to worry—”

“First time?”

He only seems to be more confused. Could it be that he does he not remember anything?

I don’t want to think too much about this, I got to find something to do. I stand up to get water, but the sudden movement rekindles the pain in my lower body, making me hiss.

“Where are you hurt?”

Rajiva pulls me back and looks all over me with those clear eyes of his.

“I’m really fine!”

I gently take his arm off, bite back the pain and go outside of the room to grab the basin of water. The towel inside is a product from the 21st century because the one in this era is too rough. I wring the towel and give to Rajiva:

“Use this to wipe down your body.”

He doesn’t move to grab it and instead pulls the blanket aside. Upon looking, his face suddenly burns as hot as the summer sun. Rajiva seems to blank out for a few seconds as his eyes become cloudy. It takes him a moment before he turns around to ask me.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”

I am half amused and half mad at him. This intelligent person, why is he so slow in these things? How am I supposed to explain it to him?

“You didn’t hurt me, I was a willing partic.i.p.ant!”

He looks dazed, then his face becomes serious:

“Ai Qing, when did you return? How did you get here?”

“I arrived yesterday.”

I think it’s time I tell him what happened.

“Yesterday, Pusysdeva and I sought an audience with Lu Guang to persuade him to switch me with Asuyamati.”

Rajiva trembles, his face as pale as a sheet of paper, his voice the barest breath:

“I really did see you yesterday?”

I nod.

“So it was not a dream…And here I was, wondering why the dream felt so real…”

He leans closer, wanting to say something, but unable to voice it out for a few seconds.

“I-I really did b-break the precepts?”

“Rajiva, it was me who seduced you.” I bite my lips and gently take a hold of his hands. “The Buddha will understand your pious heart. You courageously endured for three days, it was not something anybody can do. They even forced you to drink alcohol with aphrodisiac inside. So please, don’t think too much about what happened last night. Don’t blame yourself either. You did nothing wrong…”

Rajiva bows his head in silence. The hand that was holding onto the blanket in a tight grip is trembling. I know that in a few moments, he will not be able to come to accept this truth [that he has broken the precepts]. I can only sigh and place the basin and a clean set of clothes onto the bedside table.

“I will go outside for a moment. You should wipe your body and change your clothes.”

It’s a commoner’s outfit made from silk. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds refused to give me a monk’s robes.

“I was not able to get your kasaya robes, so please wear this for now.”

With that, I take the tray of food that is now cold outside.

There’s always someone standing guard outside. I ask them to warm up the food. They don’t give much difficulty, even acting polite towards me. Whatever I’ve asked for, they have complied with. Except the right to walk around freely, that is. Bright sunlight is streaming down everywhere in the palace. It’s hard to believe how there is a war happening under this beautiful blue sky, a war that is full of bloodshed and tearful goodbyes. If not for this war, perhaps Rajiva would have been merely a speck of sand in the river of history, and there would have not been a famous translator monk whose name will be pa.s.sed down for generations. But in order to earn this legacy, he has to live through a life full of adversity—would one call such a fate fortunate or unfortunate?

When I return to the room with the food reheated, Rajiva has changed his clothes to the one I brought earlier and is sitting cross-legged, chanting mantras. With his tall figure, just putting on that outfit which is cinched at the waist and commonly worn by Kuchan men, has already made him look very masculine. Not counting his shaved head, looking at him from behind, one can use the phrase “jade tree in the wind”* to describe him.
*a Chinese idiom, to describe a man who is tall, stately and handsome.

I put the tray of food onto the table. The water in the basin has changed colour, so he must have already washed up. I call him to eat, but he doesn’t reply, just continue to chant mantras. Not wanting to bother him, I sit down and wait.

However, two hours have pa.s.sed by and still he has not stopped chanting. I begin to realize with some sadness that he is not doing his morning chant routine, but trying to punish himself. For how much longer will he continue to do this?

Unable to bear it any longer, I pull at his arm and plead:

“Rajiva, please stop with the chants. It’s my fault. It was me who seduced you. The one who causes a Buddhist disciple to break their precepts is the one with the heaviest sin. Let me bear this sin. You did nothing wrong.”

He opens his eyes and glances at me with a clear-headed look. With a gentle shake of his head, he takes my hand off and continues to chant.

Looking around, I find a fly-whisk in a vase. I grab it and bring it to him.

“Rajiva, if you think you have committed a grave sin, I can help you. There’s this school of thought that people in the far west follows. In this school of thought, it is believed that the sin of breaking your vows can be atoned for by self-flagellation, which is the act of hitting oneself with a whip. The pain of the flesh will alleviate your heart, will help you ask the heavens for forgiveness.”

I crouch down before him and gently ask, “Do you want to try?”

Self-flagellation is a practice exercised by numerous Christians throughout history. The Church constantly emphasizes to its followers what a sin it is to engage in s.e.xual acts, and how such acts will taint their souls and make them unable to ascend to the heaven. That’s why, those who hate or are afraid of s.e.xual desires, whether they are monks or nuns, will try to repent by practicing self-flagellation, hoping that the mortification of the flesh in this life will earn them happiness in the afterlife. During the Black Death [the Great Plague] of Europe in the 14th century, many religious zealots would organize themselves and go around across towns, before gathering in a central public s.p.a.ce and begin to whip themselves until their skin breaks and blood comes out.*
[T/N: Yes, this whole paragraph is true. I’ve fact-checked it myself. * shudder *]

He looks at me, eyes clearly pained, then silently drops his shirt down to his waist, closes his eyes, and continues to chant.

I move to stand behind him, hold the fly-whisk handle-up in a tight grip, take a deep breath and bite my lips before swinging my hand down. A cracking sound resonates in the air as soon as the whisk makes contact. Rajiva trembles in surprise. A long red mark has begun to appear on his back. I bite my lips again as I move the fly-whisk behind me and strike it down my back. The pain is immediate and shoots straight to my brain, making tears well up in my eyes.

“What are you doing?”

In a flash, he has taken the fly-whisk away from me. I fall forward into his arms. Despite my teary eyes, I can see the surprise and pain on his face [at my actions].

“You want to punish yourself, I will bear it with you. You don’t want to eat, I will also do the same. And if you can’t accept my ident.i.ty as a lay person, then I’ll cut my hair and become a nun.” Cries rise up my throat, I have to take a breath to swallow them down. “But Rajiva, this time, no matter what happens, I will not leave you. No matter what kind of storms await us ahead, let me stay next to you and help you overcome them, please?”

He only hugs me tighter. I encircle my arms around him in return. If only this embrace can help me become one with him, how happy would that be. As I lean my head onto his shoulders, the tears finally fall down and onto the red mark on his back. His chest is also shaking, his tears wetting my clothes. How many times have we cried in each other’s arms like this? I really cannot bear seeing him cry…

“Ai Qing, I’m not punishing myself for breaking the precepts. The body is merely a covering. Mahayana Buddhism is not so rigid as to fault its disciples for such a happening, not to mention that I was under duress. But I have to repent to the Buddha still, for my heart has ‘broken the precepts’ along with my body…”

He releases his hold on me and moves away slightly. His fingers gently caress my cheeks, the expression on his face is tinted with sorrow.

“No, that is not correct. My heart did not break the precepts yesterday night. It already did so eleven years, twenty years ago. When I was but a boy, meeting you had already sent my heart into disarray. After you left, for some reason, I continued to sketch your portrait over and over. Looking at the statue of Buddha but all I could see was your face, in that moment, it was clear that I have been caught in the web of desire. Desire is always the hardest obstacle for a disciple to overcome. I was extremely afraid, so every time thoughts of you surfaced, I would repent by chanting mantras. But when you returned, the joy of being in your presence was greater than my research and study of Buddhist philosophy, and no amount of chanting could help suppress the desire in my heart. And after kissing you…I knew then that I’d never be able to extinguish my feelings for you…”

Tears continue to crystalize in his eyes and gently roll down his cheeks.

“Eleven years ago, unable to meet you for the last time [to say goodbye], I had meditated in your room for three days. After those three days, I had come to this conclusion: If I cannot forget you, then I might as well channel my longing into a discipline. With such thinking, I was able to quell my sorrow and returned my focus to practicing Buddhism. I also had this thought, that if you don’t return in ten years, then I will fulfill your wish and go to the Central Plains to promote Buddhism. But right when I was making preparations to go, Kucha encountered this calamity and I had to endure this kind of humiliation.”

He pauses to take a breath before continuing:

“The three days I was held captive, in my mind there was only Buddha. My heart was still as water, and I treated my cousin as merely air. But after breaking the precept of ‘no alcohol’, your face began to appear in front of my eyes, in my heart. It’s not that I did not remember what happened yesterday; I was merely in denial. Even though my memory is vague, I could still remember clearly that moment when my body achieved a pleasure that cannot be described in words. That’s why I had tried to convince myself, that it was merely a secret dream of mine, a dream that I often have. But then you told me that everything in that dream was real…”

He lifts his head up to take another deep breath, the veins in his neck slightly bulging. A moment later, he turns his gaze towards me and shakes his head in sorrow. More tears drip down onto his clothes.

“Earlier, when I learned that I had…relations with you as husband and wife would…If it wasn’t for Lu Guang’s coercion, Rajiva would never dare to do such a thing with you! So the first thing I felt upon hearing the news wasn’t shame…but a feeling of h-happiness blooming in the crevices of my heart. But right after that, I became fearful for harbouring such thoughts. Decades of discipline had not helped me subdue my feelings for you. This sin, no amount of chanting will be able to erase. I am not fit to be a disciple of Buddha… I recall the words of the old Master I met when I was young, where he warned that if I don’t follow precepts seriously, I will be nothing but a clever monk.* Earlier, I kept thinking about his words as I chanted and it brought me much sorrow. I have broken my precepts at the exact age of thirty-five like he predicted—could this be the heaven’s will, that Rajiva would only be a clever monk with no legacy to leave behind?”
* [T/N: See Ch. 5. This event of young Rajiva meeting an old monk who made such a prophecy about his life was indeed recorded in the history books.]

I have cried to the point where I’m having a hard time breathing. I have never heard him speak so much, every word coming from the depths of his heart, each one more painful than the last.

“Rajiva, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. My presence has stirred up chaos in your heart and making you question your piety towards Buddha. If you want me to leave, I will…”

“It’s already too late…”

He leans forward and kisses me with trembling lips. I can feel a salty taste on my lips, whether that’s from my tears or his, I do not know.

“If you have returned, how could I possibly let you go and endure another ten years of longing…Ai Qing, you hitting your own back with that fly-whisk have awoken me. You are prepared to share my pain and willing to walk through every storm ahead with me, so how I could not at least muster up the courage to admit my feelings for you the past twenty years? I only thought of myself, feeling shame for breaking the precepts, for not being able to become a great master, and forgot that you suffered even more than me. You had returned during my most difficult times. Yesterday night, you had exchanged your maidenhood to end my suffering under Lu Guang’s hands. Ai Qing, how could I possibly measure up to your love? I don’t want us to continue to torture ourselves with longing as we did the past ten years. Becoming a great master, achieving self-liberation and reaching Nirvana, all of that means nothing if you’re not besides me, because I would be merely a body without a soul. Such a life is not worth living!”

He lifts his head from my shoulders and wipes my tears. Holding my face in his hand, he looks at me with a firm gaze and says: “With you besides me, I am prepared to be cast to the deepest level of h.e.l.l.”

“Don’t forget, I will be right there with you…”

With our fingers intertwined, we kiss each other without any idea of time pa.s.sing. We kiss until our tears are dried, but the sweetness of the kisses only make the tears return like an endless waterfall. How many more decades do we have in life to waste? Starting from this moment, we promise to treasure every minute and second spent together…

I don’t know how long we stay tangled like that, crying and kissing, when he suddenly pulls apart and lets out a sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“I did not expect that after untying the knots of my heart after twenty years of suppression would result in such an aching pain in my head.”

I laugh out loud.

“It’s because you were forced to drink wine.”

I take the bowl of soup from the head of the bed and pa.s.s it over to him.

“This is a hangover soup I asked them to make for you. If you have taken it right from the start then your head would not have hurt as much now.”

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