Secret Places and Hidden Things

Chapter Nine

A long time ago...

Jain heard shouting from across the water. A group of boys was there, and one of them was pointing in her direction. These were the boys she'd seen tormenting the snake by the old well. When they took off their shirts and dove into the river, she began to run, their shouts high and light behind her. Jain furrowed her brow. These boys had chased her before, throwing sticks and laughing. At least she was faster than them. When they got out of the water she hadn't gone far yet, but she put her head down for speed, and the boys fell behind.

She ran into the woodpath, where the masters wrote good intentions on the trees. The sky was bright and clear, and the air was cool. In spite of herself she began to laugh. Suddenly, a girl was there, red curls bouncing in the wind, her golden eyes smiling. "Why are we running?" she asked.

"Those boys," Jain said.

"What about them?"

"They want to hurt me."

The girl looked back. "I think they want something else," she said, laughing.

Jain didn't know what she meant, but kept running anyway.

Around the bend of the river, they ran, and out onto the grassy plain. The boys were long gone, but they kept running anyway. They ran for the feeling of the wind in their hair and the dirt kicking up from their toes. They ran to feel the grasses spraying around them and the sound their feet made. They ran to be with each other.

Every day of the festival, they met in the afternoon down by the temple. They sat quietly under the trees, listening to the birds sing and the monks chanting their hymns. Sometimes they would follow the stream far into the mountains and come back late as the sun was fading. Sometimes they would just run, flying across the great field like two birds awing.

Then there was a day when the girl didn't come. Jain had never asked her name—they had talked without words most of their time together. She spent the day waiting. The next day was the same. She passed the time climbing the temple wall, slowly making her way up and down the bricks. The third day was the last day of the festival. Jain was sitting by the temple when an old monk came up to her.

"Are you okay, little girl?" he asked her. "You've been here so long now. Everyone is out enjoying the parade."

"I'm waiting for someone," Jain said.

"You've been waiting quite a while, no? Was that you I saw yesterday, climbing up and down the wall like a chameleon. You can't hide so well with that silvery hair."

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"There's no harm done to the wall with your play," the monk said, patting her shoulder. "Make yourself at home in the temple, and you will come closer to stillness."

"Stillness?" Jain asked.

"Yes, the secret places between things." He looked upward at the tree overhead. "They are a quiet refuge when the world is wild around you."

"I can be quiet. I like when it's quiet."

The monk smiled. "You can still your body and watch the world, but can you still your heart? The secret places are outside of what we can see and hear around us."

Jain thought about this. "My rooster died and all I wanted was to save him. Do you know why Ananda had to die? Or is that a secret too?"

The monk shook his head. "I can't tell you why we suffer. I can only tell you what seeing is, which is a feeling in your heart. It makes you warm and still. It's a place to rest."

"Oh," Jain said, "I know that. I met her running on the road, and she showed me all the lovely wild places."

"Stillness is not a specific person. It is a part of everything. A part of you and a part of me. We are all still at our core, and this is why the secret places feel like coming home."

Jain was quiet for a time, and the monk walked away, an easy smile tracing his lips. She thought about the girl—she thought about her old rooster—she felt anything but stillness in her heart. She got up and began to run, following the sounds of the parade. She ran through back roads and alleys, but the press of people was too large to get through. She made her way around the city to the old castle, up and around the tower that no one ever used. The mob was packed here as well, so she began to climb the walls, finding footholds in the broken stonework. After a bit of climbing, she discovered an old window ledge where she could sit comfortably and watch the parade.

The merchants always spent a great deal of effort making palanquins to advertise their wares, and these were interspersed with long, draping puppets and grand statues. The music was loud and brassy, with a rhythmic thrum pulsing its way across the whole valley. She could hear distant echoes bouncing off the mountainside.

Suddenly, a flash of red. It was the king's cart, three stories tall, draped in scarlet tapestries. The king was there at the top with the queen, and in front of them, seated on a intricately carved chair, was the princess. She was draped in dark burgundy veils, translucent and screen-like. Golden thread traced leaves across the fabric with animals dancing in the margins. Beneath the veils she was dressed in a yellow toga, gold trim making its way around her arms. She had a great mass of jewels draped across her brow, like a crown, which went cascading down her back in the shape of feathers. Gold coins jingled at her wrists and waist, and as she leaned forward to look at something, the veils slipped off her hair. Bright red curls poured out around her shoulders.

It was her!

Jain stood up, her eyes widening as she clutched at her heart. A burst of warmth and space she had never felt before welled up within her and she began to walk forward, her steps taking her right off the balcony into the open air. She didn't notice when a hush went over the crowd. She didn't notice the king and queen, standing dumbfounded, their mouths agape and undignified. She only noticed when the girl saw her, recognition flaring in her eyes. She sat up straight and dropped the veils, her arms reaching out to embrace. Jain broke into a run and fell into her arms.

"You left me," she said.

"I never," the girl said back.

Jain took her hand and they began to run, their footsteps moving lightly over the rooftops—over the heads of the people watching from below. The girl flew like a great phoenix, her red and gold veils flapping behind her like fire, the coins at her waist flashing in the sun. Jain flew like a swan, her long white hair a comet through the sky, her robes glowing in the light.

They said it was a miracle. They said it wasn't real. The phoenix was chosen to be the holy bird that year. To Jain it was nothing more than the simplest expression of her thoughts. What else could she have done but fly?