The Horse Master's Daughter

9. Chapter 9

four

Hollow scrapes of hooves herald the arrival of Ghedun, climbing the rocky trail. Dawn’s silver rays reveal the sole silhouette of our chaperone on his horse ascending through an opal mist. All nuns are still in the temple, but I’ve finished my prayers. I was up way before the call of morning, as the night would not grant me my rest.

“Tashi delek, gen-la.” I bow my head in respect for the elderly man. “Please have some breakfast before we go.” Ghedun only smiles. As always, he is a man—or rather a monk—of few words.

Ghedun lowers himself from his horse—his back hunched, his hands clasped into claws—as I hold the reins. The monk’s body has succumbed to bone-disease lately. Old age is one of the most challenging parts of our human existence, as I’ve seen with our elderly sisters. The body deteriorates, becoming a painful burden while the mind often maintains most of its sharpness. I wonder if I could keep working away with disease as this faithful monk does, serving our monastery whenever he can with the right intention, while carrying his crippling disease with such grace.

“Gen-la, happy to see you.” Pema sprints out of the kitchen, the kettle swinging in her hands. “So sorry, we’re almost ready.” With a flustered face she pulls a cup from her sleeve. “Please have some tea.” The milky brews slushes over the cup, sharing her enthusiasm. I look away to hide my vicarious shame. Pema’s late, as always. How disrespectful to make our trustful companion wait.

Gen Ghedun came to the monastery as a lay warden, in service of Dechen’s family. He had been in their service for years as Dechen’s personal guard. His orders were to protect the family’s daughter, to keep their precious asset from harm. He had failed—failed to keep Dechen and the family from their miserable disgrace.

So when Dechen was sent to the monastery, Ghedun took on the blame. He offered to make amends with the family by serving their sister for life. He ordained as a monk and—since no men are allowed on the monastic grounds after sundown—moved to a small dwelling outside our monastic grounds. He has remained there ever since, working for Dechen, and all of us nuns.

Ghedun has proved himself to be of tremendous value as a representative for the nuns’ monastery. As a man, and a monk, it is so much easier for him to go out and forge the necessary bonds with prominent families and bordering tribes. We never see much of him, for he always occupies himself with these worldly matters, making sure our community stays safe and undisturbed. Well, at least Pema brought tea to show our appreciation. If only she would hurry.

My heels churn in the sand. My hands swing the horse’s reins back and forth. Patience has never been one of my virtues, and it shows. I crane my neck—again. No Dechen to be seen. Ghedun catches my gaze and shakes his head. My heart sinks down into my chest.

“You know our grandmother’s very diligent about her practice.” His gentle voice can’t comfort me. My hopes are up too high—once again.

“Everything checked.” Pema bobs around her mule, a satisfied grin rounds her cheeks. I can’t help but smile, as I know—with everything, she means the food.

The gale force batters the prayer flags without mercy as Ghedun leads us out through the gate. The thick fog reduces us to nothing but shades of silver gray, drifting away under a cream-clotted sky. My mind runs ahead, for the trail is tricky, but my heart stalls at the gate. My mind wrestles, and I wring the reins as I turn around once more.

No use.

No Dechen, and no other nuns either to send us off this early morning. All are inside—most likely with Dechen’s orders. My heart settles its heavy weight in my stomach. A sigh slips from my lips and gets lost in the wind. I force my eyes and my mind onto the path ahead. My mule hops in a slow trot. Onwards we go.

Loose gravel grinds around the hooves. Tufts of hardy grass and dry succulents scatter around. A few dozen mani-stones, stacked on the right side, signal our way down. This part of the trail I know well; it’s steep but easy to follow, as vegetation is scarce at this height. In a few moments a sharp turn will reveal the whitened chortens in which the relics of revered sisters rest. There they are, standing with pride, ominous beacons on our path. Three times we go around with the sun and remember. May the merit accumulated relieve the suffering of all sentient beings.

With Ghedun’s mare setting a steady pace, our mules have it easy to follow. The sharp gale force lays down, and the sky lightens up—good, we have conquered the steepest part. I lean back in the saddle, as the track widens in soggy, narrow grasslands. An acrid odor lingers in the dampened air. Thin strands of singed, sorrel wood smoke dwindle in the distance. There, on the far end of this secluded mead, a single row of boxed shapes is hiding in plain sight. We have reached the retreat homes of our sisters in total seclusion, the place most nuns aspire to live.

Going into retreat means a total dedication to the Dharma to truly realize the Buddha Nature that’s innate to us. We all have the wish to do so—me too—but few of us are called. Only the most advanced practitioners can stay for long periods of time, even live their whole lives in meditation practice here. Needless to say, I hope I will be called too—I’m looking forward to that day.

“Dolma—la!” The twins’ cry out in one voice. I veer up.

A tiny figure emerges from the middle hut—Dolma, our former abbess, who chose to spend her last days in solitude here. The twins are already throwing themselves at her feet.

Dolma and the twins are close. I’ve never seen the sisters as distraught as when Dolma announced she would go into retreat, the day before Losar, five years ago. I remember it well—the only time the twins skipped New Year’s celebrations. Tsomo fell sick with ailing fever for ten days, and Pema was caught sneaking out—several times—determined to join Dolma in retreat. Only after Dolma allowed the twins to visit her in private did they settle down, much to my relief.

“I guess we’ll pause for a moment.” Ghedun’s resigned tone says it all; the twins have decided for us.

Pema’s already pouring the tea as we enter Dolma’s hut. Tsomo fluffs up the cushions for Ghedun to sit near the smoldering stove.

“Ani-la, thank you for receiving us.” I lower myself to the former abbess. Her deep gaze settles on me, and my knees buckle. For some reason—and shame comes to me, as I admit this—I’ve never felt close to the elderly nun. Dolma’s presence used to fill me with fear. Like an overly stern grandmother, she had her eye on me, looking to chastise me whenever she could. At least, that’s how it felt to me at the time.

“Why don’t you take after your grandmother?” she used to sneer at me. I never understood her bitter reprimands, but Dechen explained.

“Dolma wants the best for us,” she said, as she dried my tears with the tip of her scarf. “Her formal manner and rigorous corrections are her way to help us become a dedicated practitioner of the path.” Then she’d peeled a fresh apple for me.

Well, Dolma’s gone, and Dechen replaced the harsh scolding with a compassionate approach, and from what I’ve experienced, genuine care and honest connection are much more effective in creating discipline than instilling dread and fear.

Dolma leans forward and rests her hands on my head for a blessing. Her thumb scrapes my chin, and I cringe at the thought of her chastising me again.

“It’s not the best of places to go to.” A shadow shifts over the former abbess’ face as her beady eyes pry into mine. I quiver at her words. “Whatever you think you might find there, it’s not the best of places.” Her lips pinch. What is she talking about?

“Ani-la, we’ll be fine.” Pema swings the kettle around. “Gen Ghedun’s with us.” But the cheer in her voice doesn’t hold, and a solid silence descends upon us.

“I’m sorry, Ani-la, I don’t understand.” My mouth dry, I try to swallow.

“Of course, you don’t understand.” Dolma leans back, but not before throwing me her familiar sneer. “How can you understand something that has not been revealed to you?” She tugs a string from her frayed sleeve and rolls the beads between her fingers.

“Ani-la, please,” Ghedun interrupts, gentle but determined. “Now’s not the time.”

What’s going on here? My eyes dart from sister to sister, and a tightness hinges over my ribs. Pema inspects the handle of the kettle. Tsomo’s frown has reached an all-time low. What are they talking about?

“It’s never the time, Gen-la.” Dolma’s beads halt with her breath. “But surely the girl’s a woman now, and she ought to know.”

A rush of blood gushes from my cheeks down to my neck. My mind spins in circles, trying to grasp what Dolma has just said.

“Ought to know what, Ani-la?” I waiver. Dolma’s eyes flare up with contempt and stall my question in the tense space between us.

“Well, the prophecy, of course.” The spiteful glare in her eyes matches the victory in her voice. “What else?”

A prophecy! I gasp and the moment freezes. My eyes haze as I stare at the old woman’s face. She’s there, but fades from my vision as her words ring their faint echo around in my ears, and tell a tale of another place, another time. About a divination completed before I was born. About a prophecy that claimed my mother’s first child as the successor to my father’s stables, the heir, the horse master to-be. And about a high, renowned lama who had been adamant about the divination, even when my mother’s first born was a girl—me.

“Now who could ever imagine you, a girl, becoming a horse master?” Dolma’s taunting tone shakes me out of my temporary blur. “Impossible.” Her scorn slices right through my core, and I flinch. “Your father did right, bringing you to the monastery.” Dolma’s thin lips twist in disdain.

A horse master. The heir to the stables.

Pearls of sweat drift down my temples. I try to focus. A horse master—me? A woman? Impossible. My mind latches itself on Dolma’s words and sprints away.

I’ve never heard of women being horse masters. There are no women ruling over stables. Just the thought of it… me, training horses, reigning over my childhood home. Surely… this divination must be a mistake. The very moment I try to reign in my frantic thoughts, my mind unfolds into a vast open space, and the clearest of a cerulean sky surges from within.

My dreams! My eyes widen and the ground waves beneath me. My lungs collapse and my mind takes a dive, filling itself with the visions I’ve been trying hard to hide. Those haunted dreams from my childhood, the ones that terrified me in my younger years between sleep and awake. The dreams—is this what they’ve been trying to tell me? Dreams of horses flying through the sky into the midnight, dreams of dancing dakinis on billowing clouds, and a strange, intense longing, calling me home to a place, to a time I’ve never known. For years, the immense, illusive yearning wrecked havoc within me. For years I fought the battle and never won. It must be. It must be this prophecy that Dolma’s speaking of—it must be this, my predicted fate, calling me home.

Dizziness grips my being as the terrible realization settles in. My body sways and my fingers find their hold at the coarse weave of the carpet. I turn to face my sisters. They knew! A bitter bile lashes at the back of my throat.

“Why?” I blurt out, a cry of desperate disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?” All those times I woke up screaming in the dark of night, the twins had always been there. Consoling me, squishing next to me, making sure I would be fine. Telling me the terrible dreams would go away again, brushing them off as “silly nightmares,” and pretending not to know. But they knew. They knew of the dreams that came to haunt me, but they decided not to tell. How could they? My stomach clenches and I’m gutted by their betrayal.

“Oh, sis.” Pema waves her hand at me. “If we told you everything we know…” She tries on a weak smile, but my heavy heart won’t rise from its pit. “Besides, it means nothing. Tell her, tell her, Ani-la.” She turns to Dolma, sitting smug in her seat.

“That’s right, my child.” Dolma snorts ever-so-slightly. “That lama was a fool, delivering a false insight. His heart must not have been pure.” Her eyes flutter over me in a hasty flight. “His vision must have been obscured, for a female horse master, that cannot be.” Her hands claw her bead. “That’s for sure.”

False? I jump at the possibility. My hands relax in my lap. False, of course!

“But it all leads to something good.” Dolma’s content glare meets me half-way. “For now, you’ve experienced the benefits of monastic life for yourself—and all sentient beings.” Her hand wraps the beads around her wrist, and her gaze darts in the distance again.

“We all know that lay life keeps us stuck in this cyclic existence. Especially for women, lay life is suffering.” Her lips pinch again. “The pain of childbirth, the heartbreak of fickle worldly love that never lasts, the burden of betrayal or death of our loved ones…” She sighs and turns to Pema. “No, it’s better to dedicate ourselves to the dharma, and gain clear insight into the mind.” She squeezes Pema’s shoulder with a determination that doesn’t allow any rebuttal. “Being a nun is better for all.”

Dolma’s truth soars right through my heart and I heave. The divination, Dolma’s disdain, and even my sisters’ silence fade compared to the suffering of all beings alike. Dechen’s sorrow over the violent murder of her lover and brutal loss of her baby girl, ripped away by the very hands of those who were supposed to protect her. My father’s devastating grief over the death of his wife, leaving him desperate enough to believe he has no more love left to give. How my heart goes out to her, and to him, and all the beings in this life. Yes, human life is suffering, and it’s all around. How precious the chance to relieve some of this suffering, how lucky I am to be a nun in this life.

“So true, ani Dolma-la, so true.” Pema reaches out to me and a sob escapes me. Her stocky arms wrap around me, and we call it a truce.

Maybe it is all for the best, prophecy or not. Somehow, it led me to be with my sisters in solitude, fulfilling my calling in my monastic family—to serve all sentient beings the best I can. My mind surrenders and Pema hugs me tight. All is well. All is as it’s meant to be.

“You’ll be fine.” Her whisper confirms it. “We’re with you—and we’ll never leave.”

“I know.” My lips move, and my heart soars with the gratitude for my sisters, and for my life as a nun.

“We should go now.” Ghedun breaks the silence and urges us on in his ever gentle way. “We still have a long day ahead.”

With the same flurry as they hurried in, the twins are now the first out on the trail.

The mellow morning sun scatters its bisque beams over the dewy earth. A brisk breeze chases the thinning remains of the mist. With our mules trotting along the widened trail, all looks favorable for our journey.

Yet something’s stirring in the hollows of my being. Something I didn’t recognize before, but now understand—for at the time of my birth, the dice have been cast, and words of truth and destiny have been spoken. The prophecy that once brought me to the monastery is the same one that’s calling me home.