The quality of terrorism is strained

In the midst of change

Chapter 1 The quality of terrorism is strained

“The last six months are the worst,” said Neela.

Mike did not move. He sat perfectly still on the bench, across from Neela, in the garden. He wore the saffron robes of the sadhu.

“The first one and half years has not been exactly easy,” he replied.

“The dance of Lord Siva takes a full two years,” Neela re-emphasized the point, as if to encourage Mike to stay till the finish. “Towards the end of the dance, the Lord realizes that, while he has contributed to the life of every living being on earth, he has not created anything for himself. His rage that arose was enough to burn everything that he had accomplished.”

Mike looked away at the mountains in the distance. He spent the first one years, simply translating the metaphors that Neela used to refer to something that is simply quite physical in the world. It appeared from time to time that Neela created his own interpretations of some of the events of the legends. As Mike looked up the text sources, he realized that he had to relate to these stories as they pertained to western perspectives. He had to relate to Neela's perspectives separately.

Siva, he realized was engaged both as noun and pronoun. It was as much an individual being as it was the universe.

“It is about love,” Neela said stoically. “When you came here I was not sure what I was to learn from you, but you my friend taught me what love is.”

The chef, a Muslim lady in her early forties, medium height and plump, pulled the ends of her sari to cover her head, as she brought tea and cakes for them. It never ceased to satisfy her curiosity about a Hindu and his cousin, managing a hotel together in Muslim majority Srinagar. There were daily acts of terrorism by Muslim separatists. The Indian army was out in force on the streets.

What she saw of them was the fact that the Hindu would sit in front of the internet, while the cousin would walk the streets of Srinagar, begging for alms.

Mike himself had thought it the worst possible investment to buy into a fifty percent ownership of the hotel. But the Seals always taught him to do things as if that would be the last thing he would do. It was also Mike's idea, as a security measure, to represent himself as Neela's cousin from Nanda Puram. It avoided problems.

Hostage taking was not an issue in Kashmir, but Mike couldn't help feel conspicuous about being a former Navy Seal in a land that had indirect links to people he had done battles with. He had led his hair grow and kept a beard.

It had taken him a year to realize why he was doing what he was doing. It occurred to him that societies were fighting battles everywhere because they couldn't live as a society. He had to beat that in himself.

The chef spoke to Neela briefly.

“She says she has to go to Pakistan for a month. Her sister is getting married,” he translated to Mike.

Mike replied in Russian.

“Not a problem,” he muttered, then turning to her, he said in Urdu, “ Have a safe journey, mother.”

“Achah,” she replied,” you two boys are like my two sons. I'm very unhappy to leave you all like this in the tourists season.” She smiled broadly between red cheeks, showing an even row of teeth that was red with betel nut consumption.

Mike had grown accustomed to the frequent palliatives he had been encountering. It was the custom.

“I'll get her some saris for her sister,” Neela said to Mike.

Mike nodded, grateful for the easy way that Neela brought himself to manage his passions in all situations. There certainly was a bit of the Neela-Kozinsky in their relationship but Neela seemed to have it under control with the pain of ex-communication and exile.

The chef returned to the kitchen. They sipped on their tea.

There was a large number of American tourists staying at the hotel but Mike did not give up on the self imposed cover on his identity. It felt strange to him to hear conversations in American accented English, while ignoring any association with the character. It sometimes felt like a suffocation of his own impulses and acted as a drive to help him control and refine other aspects of his personality. He felt the same way when he learnt Urdu.

He wasn't rushing to the rescue of Americans anymore. It helped him to realize that they might well be capable of taking care of themselves. It diminished the edge on some of his training. In turn, he redirected his energies to a greater socially sensitive perspective. He brought in another five computers to help the kids stay in touch with home.

On the nights when he sat alone in the garden, under the dewy Kashmiri moon, he recalled the straightforwardness of his training. He endeavored to bring the common sense of that experience to the social training he was receiving. It wasn't very far apart.

He had started to get Neela's attention on social mannerisms. He found that, passions carried with them a veiled character of blood ties. At other times, passions applied themselves to an avoidance of blood letting. But what Neela was not doing until then, was to also bring reason and training to the passions.

When Mike had cut down to size a quarrelsome group from Armenia, Neela saw how strength and courage, common sense and passions combined to make, good sense.

“How would a Siva solve his problem?” Mike asked.

“He has to tell the people he has helped that he is not a god, that he has needs.....that he needs to take care of himself.....all these without turning over everything that they have come to believe about him.”

“Then they were wrong,” Mike replied.

“We cultivate love with trust and without conditions....later we come to substitute parts of it with some attention to our own needs.”

Mike stayed silent in thought. Then he replied,

“So we learn to substitute for it, delicately?” he asked.

“With great intuition,” Neela replied,” by not engaging the whole group. We start with one person, whose complaints in the group are isolated and ignored. Then we wait for him to heal. Then we start with the second person, whose complaints sound familiar to others but is countered by the one who has healed on the issues. And it continues to the next......” Neela spoke between helpings of the cakes on the table.

Mike stared at him momentarily.

“That's very clever,” said Mike in a spasm of surprise.

“That's the way I got along with people in the shoe factory,” said Neela, “ and became the supervisor within one year.”

Reviews

[patricia]

There is a lot of food for thought in this chapter, as always with your writes, the reviewer is left with opportunities to grow. Thankyou.