The Mountain Shadow

Silvano squirmed, anger and humiliation pressing his lips together hard. White ridges formed around his mouth.

I didn’t care, in that empty instant. The Italian had started it, by asking for permission to enlighten me. I was happy to show him some lights of my own. And I was happy to leave the mountain, the sage, Abdullah and Karla, that minute.

Karla slammed an elbow into my ribs. I stood, and shook hands with Silvano. He made a contest of it.

‘Thank you,’ Idriss said at last, and we released our knuckle-crushing grip. ‘That was . . . enlightening. Now, take your places, and let’s get started.’

I returned to my chair. Abdullah was shaking his head slowly. Karla hissed a single word at me.

‘Idiot!’

I tried to frown, but couldn’t, because she was right.

‘Okay,’ Idriss said, his eyes glittering. ‘For the benefit of our visitor, what is Rule Number One?’

‘Rule Number One – there are no gurus!’ the entire group responded, quickly and firmly.

‘And Rule Number Two?’

‘Rule Number Two – you are your own guru!’

‘And Rule Number Three?’

‘Rule Number Three – never surrender the freedom of your mind.’

‘And Rule Number Four?’

‘Rule Number Four – inform your mind with everything, without prejudice!’

‘Okay, okay,’ Idriss laughed. ‘That’s enough. Personally, I don’t like rules. They’re like the map of a place, rather than the place itself. But I know some people do like rules, and need them, so there you are. Four more damn rules. Maybe Rule Number Five, if you get there, should be There are no rules.’

The group laughed with him, settling more comfortably on their stools and chairs.

Idriss was something more than seventy years old. Although he walked with the help of a long staff, his thin but healthy frame was flexible. From time to time he crossed his legs effortlessly on the easy chair, without the assistance of his hands.

His curly, grey hair was cut close to the scalp, throwing all of the attention to his eloquent brown eyes, the magnificent swoop of his hooked nose, and the swollen crest and quiver of his dark, full lips.

‘If I recall correctly, Karla,’ he began softly, ‘our last discussion was on the subject of obedience. Is that right?’

‘It is, master-ji.’

‘Please, Karla, and all of you. We are one searching mind here, and one heart in friendship. Call me Idriss, as I also call you by your names. Now, tell us your opinion on the subject, Karla, finally.’

Karla looked back at the teacher, her eyes a forest on fire.

‘You really wanna know, Idriss?’

‘Of course.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. Adore me. Worship me. Obey me. Me, Me, Me, that’s all God ever says.’

The students gasped, but Idriss laughed with open delight.

‘Ha! And now you see, my young seekers after wisdom, why I so highly prize Karla’s opinion!’

The students murmured among themselves.

Karla stood, walked to the edge of the mesa, and lit a cigarette. She stared out at the surrounding hills and valleys. I knew why she’d left. She was uncomfortable with being told that she was right; she’d rather be considered clever or funny, even if she was wrong.

‘Adoration is submission,’ Idriss said. ‘All religions, like all kingdoms, require you to submit, and obey. Of all the tens of thousands of faiths that have existed since the beginning of human time, only those that could enforce obedience have survived. And when obedience decays, the devotion that depended on it becomes as remote as the once great religion of Zeus, Apollo, and Venus, which for so long ruled all the world it knew.’

‘But, Idriss, are you saying we should be proud, and not obedient?’ a young man asked.

‘No, I’m not. Of course not,’ Idriss replied softly. ‘And you’re quite right to raise the point, Arjun. What I’m saying has nothing to do with pride. There is much to be gained by lowering your head and falling to your knees once in every while. None of us should ever be so proud that we cannot fall on our knees and admit that we do not know everything, and that we are not the centre of the universe, and that there are things for which we should be justly ashamed, and also happily grateful. Do you agree?’

‘Yes, Idriss,’ several students replied.

‘And pride, the good pride that we need to survive in a brutal world, what is it? Good pride does not say I am better than someone else, which is what bad pride says. Good pride says For all my faults, I have a born right to exist, and I have a will, which is the instrument I can use to improve myself. In fact, it is quite impossible to change and improve yourself without a measure of good pride. Do you agree?’

‘Yes, Idriss.’