The Mystic

Chapter Two ~ ∆ ~ Initiate

Chapter Two

~∆~  

Initiate

We wound our way through a deep valley among the Tamil hills, the path twisting and turning like a serpent's coil. I hadn't noticed when the cow had wandered off, disappearing into the night. My eyes had been fixed on the ground, wary of the snakes that could be lurking in the undergrowth amid the shadows. Above us, a bejeweled celestial vault hung suspended in silence, ancient witnesses to the beginning of my arcane path. We walked in utter darkness, save for the dim glow of the moon that bathed the valley in a soft, ethereal, moonstruck sliver.

After a time, the immortal Yogi broke the silence. "No snakes will harm you in my valley," he said, his voice resonating with quiet, gentle assurance. "I have made a pact with the Naga King. He has guaranteed that no one shall be bitten or poisoned in this place where I dwell." He glanced at me and smiled, a smile that held the sincere lightness of a thousand dawns.

"My cave is just under this statue," he continued, pointing ahead. In the dim light, I could barely make out the tall structure he indicated. As we drew closer, its form began to take shape, emerging from the darkness like a sentinel of the past.

"It was created," he said, "by a holy Siddha saint, a member of the divine Siddha tradition, to heal the people in his absence long ago. It is made using a strange form of alchemical metallurgy, lost to the world of men in this degenerate age."

I moved closer, my curiosity piqued, and studied the black statue that loomed before us. "Is it a god?" I asked gently. "What does it represent?"

"It is a statue of Lord Murugan," he replied, his tone measured and respectful.

"And who is the Siddha who created it?" I inquired.

"He is called Bhoganatha Siddha, a master of divine alchemy," the Yogi answered. "He is very short," he added with a soft laugh, "but very great of heart."

"And where did he go after building it?" I asked, the question hanging a while in the cool night air.

The Yogi turned to me, his broad, silent smile illuminating his face in the moonlight. He raised his staff and pointed to the hills that surrounded us. "Under," he said, his eyes flashing in a knowing way.

I misunderstood, and a look of horror crossed my face. "He died?" I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief.

The Yogi's eyes glowed with a silvery light and held mine for a brief moment. Then he spoke, his voice deep, gentle, steady. "Many thousands of years ago, this statue was made, but you must understand something. Siddhas do not die."

My eyes widened in astonishment. "Is he still alive?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

A slight nod of affirmation was his only response. Then he added, "He is in Samadhi, somewhere under the Tamil hills." He tapped his staff on the ground and smiled easily.

My eyebrows raised in wonder. "Rejuvenating," he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. My eyes widened, and a smile of hope crept upon my astonished face.

My eyebrows arched higher, curiosity ignited within me. 

"Rejuvenating?" I echoed, my voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the spell of the moment. I wanted to know everything there and then.

The Yogi's eyes twinkled with a knowing smile, a gentle grin of innocence playing upon his face. "Rejuvenating his body through his mind power," he explained, his tone matter of fact and patient. "The ancient alchemy of the sun and the moon," he said.