The Bell

His habit was grimy and frayed. On his face there was dust and the sag of a dull tired skin exposed to the sun and wind, hunger and thirst. He had searched all the land. He had crossed rivers and traversed through desert and forest. Now foot weary he had come to the mountains.

His body felt as a parchment and the inside of his mouth was dry and full of one long deep thirst.

He would have rested and driven the agony out of him but his eyes burned with a strange fever that moved him onward. Ahead lay the last of his journey which would bring fulfilment or defeat.

At the end of the day, he came to the pass in the great mountain wall. In the sun's last glimmer, he saw the small monastery below and climbed down the rough rock steps to enter its precincts.

The monastery yard was empty and so was the single cell that opened on it. The traveller crossed the emptiness and went to the inner sanctum. All was silent and the interior dark save where an image shimmered gold in the light of a wick lamp. When his eyes had adjusted more, the traveller saw a deeper shadow in the darkness. A solitary old monk sat on the floor, his face gaunt and ageless in the half shadow half light.

The traveller bowed to the deity and touched the hem of the monk's garment. The eyes of the ancient were silent and deep. "I have come so that you might help me; give me what I have to seek," said the traveller. Eyes rested on him and in a voice out of the depths of the mountain, the monk answered. "You have come from afar seeking. You have searched but in vain. But first you must eat and rest. At night we shall meet again." The traveller washed and ate a little. Then slumber overcame his tired limbs. When he awoke, the air was cool and there were stars in the dark velvet of the sky.

The deep hours of the night began. Inside the prayer room the lamp was dim. The image was one of pale fire. The ancient took the traveller by the hand and sat him before the image. "Close your eyes," he said, "I shall now ring a bell and you must follow its sound to the uttermost with all your being till all is silent. Only then must you open your eyes. Remember to follow the sound with your ears and your mind. This is my only prayer and so it must be yours."

The traveller waited, his eyes closed. The old monk moved to the altar where a bell hung. There was but a single stroke deep and hymnal. The walls of the prayer room caught and echoed it. Then the sound spread to the yard and the mountain wall outside a resonance that multiplied a hundred, a thousand fold. Sound upon sound in reams, wave on wave, retreating and advancing. The traveller sat still, motionless like the flame and image and listened. The thunder and boom passed away, came the ringing, then the distant chimes and beyond still the careless raptures and whisperings. Then nothing but the inner sound deep and vibrant in him. Finally silence.

The traveller opened his eyes. His vision was one of restful chamber seemed filled with fragrance. The dark penumbral quid light. He rose and came out under the stars. The mountains, the sable sky, the air, was full of that strange luminiscence. His own body was bathed in a glow.

The old monk was however gone. The traveller searched for him in the yard and beyond and then not finding him, went inside the prayer room again. The lamp burned dimmer. He poured a little butter on the wick. The flame climbed and on the wall where the shadows were steady the traveller saw himself. Old and gaunt, the shadow looked back at him, the shadow of the old monk.

The traveller, sat before the endless image and waited. Behind him he heard a footfall and looked. He saw a man enter foot weary and sore-yet with eyes full of search. The new traveller.