Banerji and the Eighth Bridge
Part One
Banerji was a young boy who lived on the west coast of the island of Sumatra. His father was a fisherman and their family – which included his mother and his younger brother Jaz – lived in the small fishing village of Durando. Although a fisherman’s life was hard and their family was not considered wealthy, there was always food on the table, clothes on their backs and enough money left over to send Banerji and Jaz to school. All in all, Banerji felt content with his life.
When Banerji was eleven years old, something happened that would significantly alter the course of the young boy’s life. A group of monks were passing through the area and decided to stay and rest up for a few days in the village. The monks would gather around the town square in the afternoon and talk to the townsfolk and answer questions. Banerji was fascinated by their flowing robes, their dark weathered skin and the general air of peace and levity that accompanied them where ever they went.
After school Banerji and his brother Jaz would run down to the village square and mingle with the monks. The monks told stories about their lives and travels and what it was like living in a monastery. They also provided some general information about the philosophy and disciplines that the monks practiced. On the third afternoon, just as the monks were preparing to leave the village, Banerji asked one of the older monks about how a youngster like himself could become monk. The elder monk told him that he would first need to finish school, get his parent’s consent and have a genuine interest in a monastic vocation. He cautioned young Banerji that the life of an aspiring novitiate was not an easy path and that much time would be spent studying and learning. If he was accepted into the monastic order, he would also be taught a useful trade
And lastly, the older monk told Banerji that if all these conditions were met – especially finishing school – that he would then take the big bus to the eastern side of the island to a small village called Shingalizi which was the training centre for young novitiates.
When Banerji arrived home that afternoon he told his parents about the conversation with the elder monk and both parents agreed that if he finished school he would be free to choose his own path in life even though it would involve the young boy leaving home to pursue it.
Part Two
Five years later Banerji finished his formal education and had five years to think long and hard about his dreams of becoming a monk. After five years he was just as excited and just as determined to follow his dream so one day he packed a bag and a suit case, said goodby to his family and all his friends and boarded the big bus for the east side of the island. Sumatra is a large island so it took two days to make the trip.
When Banerji stepped off the bus in the village of Shingalizi he was greeted by a young instructor named B’posa who said he would be Banerji’s guide while he was settling into his new surroundings. Over the next few days B’posa familiarized Banerji with the general layout of the village which included sleeping quarters, dinner hall, bathroom and showers, exercise areas and a large football field…most young boys from the island of Sumatra loved to play football.
It was during that first week that B’posa also laid out the system of learning stations where young novitiates like Banerji would spend most of their days learning philosophy and the fundamentals of humanism. Although there were a few local residents who inhabited the outskirts of the village, the main areas of the village core were designated as a learning centre. Shingalizi was named after the river that flowed through the village and there were seven bridges built over the river, each with a conjoining meeting hall or learning station constructed at the end of each bridge.
The seven bridges and learning stations represented the seven fundamental precepts of humanism which were; compassion, respect, humility, trust, consciousness, courage and tolerance. The whole concept behind the learning centre was to allow each student or novitiate enough time to learn the intricacies and subtleties of each precept before they moved on (crossed over) to the next bridge and the next precept. Once the seven bridges were crossed and the instructors were satisfied that the novitiates had grasped the seven precepts, those students (who had completed the training program) were then invited to move on to the next level.
All of the instructors (including B’posa) were quite tight-lipped about the next level of the training program but Banerji had heard vague rumours about there being another bridge…an ‘eighth’ bridge…or something to that effect.
(It should be noted that the training program usually took three years to complete and because of the hard work and discipline required, many of the students – perhaps two thirds – did not complete the training program in Shingalize and were free to return to their home villages to pursue other careers and interests).
Part Three
Towards the end of the three-year training process Banerji understood why so many potential novitiates left the program. The daily lessons were intense and sometimes exhausting because the students not only studied the philosophy and history behind the humanist movement but also spent much of their time practicing the seven fundamental precepts in their daily lives. Fortunately, the students were given one day off per week to rest and recreate and one month off each year to go home and spend time with their family and friends.
Due to his determination, his tenacity and the unwavering belief in his dream to become a monk, Banerji managed to complete the three-year training program. The head instructor took Banerji aside one afternoon and told him he was now qualified to move on to the next level which, if successful, would include his official initiation into the monastic order. He advised Banerji to take some time off to visit his family in order to discuss these unfolding and life-altering events with them. Banerji took his advise, went home and when he returned from his visit he informed the head instructor that his family and closest friends had all given Banerji their blessings and encouraged him to continue following his dream.
And so it was that Banerji – on his nineteenth birthday – found himself once again packing his bag and suitcase for another journey, another adventure, the details of which he knew little or nothing about.
The head instructor met with Banerji on the night before he left in order to brief him on what to expect along his journey. The instructor explained that there was a secret pathway, a trail, which began at the outskirts of the village and meandered through the low lying foothills up towards the base of Mt Twoomi where the monastery was located. Some ways along the trail there was a mountain stream and a bridge built across the stream that allowed graduating novitiates to continue on to the monastery. The bridge was known to locals as the ‘Eighth’ bridge and had a locked gate barring passage.
The instructor went on to say that there was a gates keeper – a wizened old monk – who live in a shack next to the bridge and he had the only key to unlock the gate. The old monk’s name was Ooshbali and he played a pivotal role in the three-year training program for novitiates. If Banerji reached the Eighth bridge, Ooshbali would ask him one question – only one – relating to the eighth fundamental precept of humanism. If Banerji answered correctly, the gates keeper would unlock and open the gate and once Banerji walked across the bridge he was officially initiated into the order and could then enter the monastery.
If he answered the question incorrectly, he would be asked to return back down the trail to the village of Shingalizi where he would be given the option of either becoming an instructor – considering he had mastered the first seven fundamental precepts – or to return to his home village and pursue a secular life. If he chose the first option, Banerji could instruct initiates for a three-year period and this would qualify him to once again retrace his footsteps to the Eighth bridge.
The head instructor finished his briefing by saying – and this was of prime importance – that if Banerji answered the question incorrectly, Ooshbali (the gates keeper) would not give him the correct answer. In fact he would say nothing at all. The reason for this being; if Banerji ever returned to the Eighth Bridge, the question would be the same.
Part Four
Banerji arose early the next morning, ate a hearty breakfast and then met the head instructor who escorted him to the entrance to the secret pathway. After thanking the instructor for all his help, the young man picked up his bag and suitcase and set out on the long trek to the Eighth bridge. A thick morning fog blanketed the forest floor but began to lift an hour or so into the trek. The well-worn trail rose gently with the contour of the land as it worked its way towards the base of Mt Twoomi. The forest canopy was alive with songbirds which made for an enjoyable trip indeed.
Around noon Banerji stopped for a rest and ate one of the sandwiches he had packed for the trip. By this time the sun was streaming through the forest canopy and the air had warmed considerably. He removed his jacket and resumed his hike.
About an hour-and-a-half into the afternoon hike Banerji had just rounded a bend when he saw something on the trail directly in front of him that sent a shudder of blood-curdling fear through his body like he had never experienced before in his life. There on the pathway, no more than ten feet away was a massive full grown Bengal tiger. Banerji dropped his bag and suitcase and fell to his knees and began to quietly weep…there was no point in trying to run because in one bound the tiger would’ve been on top of him. So he closed his eyes and completely resigned himself to the fact that his short life was now over…he thought about his family and his brother Jaz…he thought about the monks and the monastery.
Banerji fully expected that the large cat would pounce on him at any moment so he kept his head bowed and his eyes closed in deep reflection. A few more seconds passed and then a few more and nothing happened. That’s when Banerji began to hear a sound that was quite unexpected, given the circumstances. The tiger seemed to be quietly moaning and whimpering. Banerji raised his head and through his teary eyes he saw that the tiger was now sitting on its back haunches and holding out its right paw as if it was beckoning Banerji’s attention. Banerji managed to clear away some of the tears and that’s when he noticed that the fleshy part of the tiger’s paw was swollen and there, in the midst of the swelling was a huge, ugly bramble bush thorn.
Banerji was still on his knees and still trembling with fear, but he had the presence of mind to understand what was happening. He always carried a first aid kit in his suitcase so he slowly reached over, undid the latches and removed the kit. The kit contained ointments, salves, gauze, scissors, a set of tweezers and bandages. By this time the overwhelming fear had been replaced by a new force…total and complete resignation. It was like Banerji’s body, his mind, his whole being had switched to ‘automatic’…he had never known what it was like to live totally in the moment…now he knew.
Ever so slowly, ever so gently, Banerji raised himself to his feet and with the first aid kit in hand, began to inch himself towards the Bengal tiger. He sensed no aggression or hostility coming from the animal…only the continued moaning and whimpering. Banerji came to within two feet of the tiger’s massive head and lowered himself to his knees one again. In that instant his life flashed before his eyes and he remembered the times he had seen Bengal tigers in the traveling circuses that came to the island during the summer. It’s strange how complete and total resignation can foster the rarest of human qualities, that being courage.
The young man’s hands were shaking like a leaf when he opened the first aid kit and laid its contents out on the ground. With the ointments and salves at the ready he reached out and, with his left hand supporting the tiger’s up-turned paw, he began applying the ointment directly to the infected area around the thorn. The tiger’s paw was larger than Banerji’s head and he was so close that he could feel the animal’s hot breath on his face. He could even see his own reflection in the tiger’s clear emerald eyes.
Banerji then took a cloth from his bag and cleaned the area around the wound to ensure the wound was disinfected. He then came down with a terrible case of the shakes because he knew that his next manoeuvre was going to cause much pain to the animal and pain can easily transform into anger. He remembered having a tooth pulled where his father tied one end of a long string around the loose tooth and the other end around an open door knob and then slammed the door shut. Banerji decided to use the same methodology to extract the bramble bush thorn. He reached down and grabbed the tweezers, positioned the metal crimpers around the base of the thorn and – closing his eyes and taking a deep breath (which he knew just might be his last) he yanked on the tweezers with all the strength left in his frail little body.
The injured tiger let out such a terrifying roar that all the songbirds disappeared from the forest canopy, the tree trunks vibrated and Banerji even felt the earth slightly tremble below him. At that point in the ordeal he was living on nothing but pure adrenaline, he had moved beyond fear…he was no longer afraid.
Part Five
So Banerji opened his eyes and the first thing he noticed was that in his right hand was the set of tweezers and a long ugly bramble bush thorn. The second thing he noticed was that the tiger had calmed down considerably after the painful extraction and was gently licking its paw. Banerji could see that the wound was bleeding so he took another clean cloth and applied more ointment and salve to the wound and then covered it with two strips of adhesive bandage in the form of an ‘X’. And lastly, he wrapped the tiger’s paw using strips of gauze and tape so that dirt would not get into the wound.
Banerji was still kneeling in front of, and a couple feet away from the tiger. In those few brief moments of calm – which seemed like an eternity – the two sentient beings just stared at each other. Banerji stared up at the tiger and the tiger stared back at Banerji. His fear had completely evaporated and was replaced by a deepening sense of understanding. Banerji had no clue about what was going to happen next but it was the mighty Bengal tiger who made the final gesture, the memory of which would remain with Banerji for the rest of his life.
The tiger reached over and gently cradled Banerji’s tiny hand in its other paw, bent its massive face forward and, sticking its warm and moist tongue out of its gaping mouth, the tiger licked the top of Banerji’s hand. The tiger’s final gesture sent a shock wave of pure ecstasy surging through the young man’s body. The shock wave was accompanied by the instant recognition that the tiger was trying to express – in its own unique way – its heart-felt gratitude to Banerji for what he had done.
Of course, Banerji also felt the same kind of thankfulness that he was still alive, still breathing and could continue following his dream of becoming a monk. The big cat then turned around and gingerly limped up the pathway, around another bend and disappeared.
Part Six
It took a few moments – long moments – for Banerji to regain his composure. He was still on his knees and the realities and objectives of his intended journey came flooding back into his brain. He remembered the Eighth bridge and he remembered the monastery. So he slowly picked himself up off the dusty pathway, gathered up his first aid equipment and stowed it away in his suitcase. He tried to make the first few steps but his legs were like jelly. But he did finally managed to wobble his way up the trail and towards his destination.
It was getting late. Banerji guessed it was late afternoon but fortunately it was mid-summer so it would still be light out well into the late evening. The wobble in his gait lasted only a short while and soon he was back to his regular stride. Banerji grabbed another sandwich and a beverage from his bag and lunched on it while he walked.
Banerji began to hear the unmistakable sounds of a babbling brook (or perhaps a rushing stream) ahead and suddenly the trail opened up to reveal a wooden bridge and a gated entrance. There was a hand-carved wooden plaque over the gate which read; Eighth Bridge. He remembered the head instructor’s briefing the night before and sure enough he saw, what looked to be, a small one room cabin off to the right of the gate.
As Banerji made his presence be know the door of the cabin creaked open and out stepped an elderly but distinguished looking gentleman wearing a robe similar to the garments worn by the monks. Banerji had little doubt that the elderly fellow was the gates keeper. The old monk rushed up to Banerji and gave him a welcoming embrace and then introduced himself as Ooshbali. He told Banerji that he had been informed about his arrival. After a few more pleasantries Ooshbali said that it was getting late and that the two of them should get down to the business at hand.
Banerji informed Ooshbali that he had been briefed on the procedures and the protocols involved so without further hesitation the elderly monk guided young Banaerji over to the locked gate. Ooshbali’s whole demeanor became much more serious at this point and he told Banerji he had one question which related to the eighth fundamental precept of humanism. Banerji replied that he was ready.
The question was simple, sublime and succinct, and was worded exactly as follows. “It is generally accepted that God is great….but there exists a quality that is even greater than God. What is that quality”?
The question caught young Banerji completely off guard. His whole body tensed up like it had just been hit by a speeding freight train. He was absolutely dumbstruck, speechless. He had never thought, in his wildest dreams, that such a question could exist. How preposterous, how utterly blasphemous. How can anything be greater than God. Banerji glanced over at Ooshbali and wondered if the old sage sensed his dilemma but Ooshbali’s face wore only a gentle smile as if to encourage Banerji to dig deeper for the answer.
Banerji then closed his eyes and went to a very deep place inside himself. He remembered the events of the day and the encounter with the Bengal tiger. He remembered the pure and genuine gratitude that the tiger expressed for what Banerji had done. He remembered the pure and genuine gratitude that he himself felt in knowing that he was still alive and had survived such a frightening ordeal. And in those few moments of deep introspection he began to understood something. He began to understand that throughout his entire life he had never once experienced anything as profound, as powerful or as transcendent as the gratitude he felt earlier that afternoon on that old dusty trail.
So Banerji opened his eyes and looked directly at Ooshbali. His answer was as simple, as sublime and just as succinct as the question itself. “Yes, there is one quality which is greater than God…and that quality was genuine and heart-felt gratitude”.
Ooshbali’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, as did Banerji’s. No words were spoken between the two…their faces said it all. The old sage turned and, selecting a key from the key-ring dangling from his sash, he unlocked the gate. The gate swung completely open and Ooshbali extended his arm and open hand as if to usher young Banerji through the gate and across the Eighth bridge. But it was at that precise moment, with Ooshbali’s hand extended and wide open, that Banerji noticed something that made his heart skip a beat. There, in the fleshy part of Ooshbali’s right palm was a bandage, criss-crossed in the form of an ‘X’. He looked closer and realized it was the exact same bandage he had affixed to the tiger’s paw earlier that day.
Young Banerji was beside himself, his jaw dropped a mile and his eyes, like a couple of porcelain pie-plates, were transfixed on Ooshbali’s hand and the criss-crossed bandage. He instantly recognized what had happened and he once again felt a wave of gratitude surge through is body. He said nothing about his revelation but as he passed within a foot of the wizened monk he turned and took the monk’s right hand, cradled it in his own, leaned forward a bit and with his warm and moist little tongue, gently licked the top of Ooshbali’s hand. Again, no words were spoken…nothing needed to be said. For a few brief and timeless moments Ooshbali looked into Banerji’s eyes and Banerji looked into Ooshbali’s…and then they both broke into laughter. The kind of laughter that resounded off the surrounding hills and echoed through the trees.
The laughter continued as Banerji passed though the gate and walked over the bridge to his new life as a monk.
Dennis Lakusta
October, 2024