After they left Chinatown, almost running to avoid followers with bad intentions, Sumit insisted on escorting Pascal to his hotel.
The Hotel’s entrance gate was closed and they had to ring the Yam, the night security guard, to be allowed in. It took a while as he had been snoozing. The night was quiet and this area always had a peaceful atmosphere. Nevertheless they kept their eyes wide open for any danger.
Still tense, Pascal waved goodnight to his friends and entered the garden to reach his room. This time he had some difficulties in really appreciating the soothing perfume from the fragrant jasmine. The creeping vine curled itself around in a peculiar formation; the Thai people called it Lep meu nang, named after their fingernail-like appearance.
The day’s stresses were usually washed away by the calm produced by the murmurs of the night. Water dripped softly in fountains and cicadas buzzed amongst the croaking frogs. For Pascal, still immersed in his mixed feelings, this atmosphere was the needed formula to help him relax and overcome the fear of the present danger.
He could afford some philosophical thought of Heidegger’s axioms, pushing him for action:
Pascal entered into his junior suite when he noticed a white orchid flower on the silk bed, attached to an envelope. He approached it cautiously; after all, there had been too many surprises recently. He saw a red stamp imprinted with characters written in the right hand corner of the letter. It had to be from the elusive Kengo.
He opened the letter to discover a perfectly written English note with a mobile phone number that asked him to call immediately. It was simply signed ‘K’.
Pascal immediately dialed the number. ‘K’ had been waiting for his call. They agreed to meet the next morning at the Oriental Hotel on the Chao Praya River.
…
The Oriental Hotel was generally considered one of the best in the world. The old colonial-style house, elegantly set on The River of the King’s Shore, was a special place to enjoy a historically tinted view of Bangkok. The boom in Thailand’s economy and particularly in its tourism industry had allowed for the construction of a larger, more modern building, attracting those who admire flashy displays of wealth.
Once attracting the slow and curious traveler, this hotel now catered for a rather jet-setting clientele.
It was surrounded by heavy palm trees that kept guests shaded under even the harshest sun. Although glass and concrete had replaced most of the old wooden structures; the staff still walked around in traditional Thai garb, allowing people to experience the splendor of Ancient Siam.
To get there was a different story, especially in Bangkok’s petulant traffic.
Nevertheless, Pascal enjoyed the small hike away from the Central Bangkok district. He was more than happy to wait so he could have his breakfast on the terrace. He liked to participate in the animated atmosphere of river life.
The long-legged, uniformed waitress brought him a delicately arranged tray of French croissants, crispy bacon with eggs sunny side up and freshly-squeezed orange juice. Her smile was genuine.
When he called Kengo the night before, Pascal agreed to meet him here where the master of the Mantrayana Japanese Buddhist group was staying. Kengo had explained that he was the one who wanted to see him personally.
Pascal was vaguely aware of the importance of that powerful organization, but completely dumbfounded as to why they were so keen to speak with him. As a precaution, he researched their website and found that they had several million followers. The contrast between this majestic meeting place and his dire situation yesterday felt surreal to Pascal.
As an unrelentingly protective friend, Sumit joined him first for a cup of coffee on the wonderful terrace. Pascal was quietly relieved when Sumit had suggested he come along. He had always been excellent in advising Pascal about the complex Thai mentality and finding humor in it along the way. As a bonus, Sumit was connected to the big guys in the city, and that definitely gave him more self-confidence.
Sumit was a man whose life story had deeply moved him.
As a native from the poor province at the Lao border in the North East called Issan he had endured the hard-laboring work of a farmer whose livelihood was in constant challenge. The cultivation of rice was a tiring, physical activity and since this was their main crop, they had to keep going in order to survive.
It was no surprise that these desperate people engaged in desperate acts and one vice in particular was rife amongst the population. Many drank huge quantities of a mixture they nicknamed ‘Beer Lao’, which is famous for turning the sane insane. Countless families have shattered due to the habits of men who were rarely faithful. Many had taken a mia noi—a mistress or ‘small wife’ as well as their common wives; and some had a few.
Pascal had visited Issan once and had observed the lack of hope. Sometimes, the only way out for people was to sell or abandon their own children. In the best cases however, the lucky few like Sumit were sent to temples.
His mother, the village beauty, was seduced by the local mobster who abandoned her eventually only to run away with a new mia noi. Without a man in her life, she worked hard to support the whole family, including her unborn child. The beautiful Sunee died prematurely shortly after his birth.
Strong-willed and smart, the boy was adopted by an uncle who was a monk at the famous Wat Nong Pa Pong (Temple of the Forest) in the Ubon Eastern province.
He received a more sophisticated education than the other poor boys. Throughout his upbringing, he had the good fortune to meet Somkit, a reputed mahout. The man had been in charge of an elephant herd, and, after school, Sumit was able to learn from him secrets about living a life with animals and plants in the wild. Most importantly, he was introduced to Thai boxing.
Thanks to his muscular and elegant figure, not to mention his movie star good looks, Sumit made his way to Bangkok through scholarships that allowed him to receive a better education. He created his own martial art school where Pascal first met him and over the years they developed the kind of friendship that can never be unbound.
The hotel concierge accompanied Pascal and Sumit to the historical section of the hotel. Walking along the smooth, teak-paneled corridor brought them to a door with a sign that read “Mantrayana”
The concierge discreetly tapped on the door and let them into an elegant meeting room with a view on the river.
Instantly, a dozen Japanese men in black business suits stood up and bowed deeply. A man and a woman in their sixties stood up moments after, only lowering their heads slightly. They regained their seats and everyone followed.
A young man near the door extended his hand in the Western tradition. Pascal recognized him immediately. It was Kengo; this time he was a little less sweaty and donned a new jacket.
“Hello Pascal. We finally meet. I am so sorry for last night. I am so happy you were not attacked. It was the first time in my life I have encountered such a frightening situation. I was under strict instructions not to lose my bag and saw running away as the only option.”
“Not to worry,” smiled Pascal. “You only did what you felt was right. It was the only way you were going to stay alive.”
Kengo bowed, his nose inches away from the ground.
Everyone else nodded, exclaiming:
“So dess ne!”
The guests were invited to sit near the end of the table, away from the door. According to Japanese custom, those considered at the top end of the hierarchy were to sit furthest away from the entry point. Tradition stipulated that if enemies were ever to enter, the important heads of the table could be protected. This custom is respected to this day.
A waiter brought Lioku Cha, a delicate green tea used in tea ceremonies and special occasions. The initiator of the ceremony boiled the water several times, mixing it with skill, using spectacular brushes to disintegrate the powder. The tea was poured in almost total silence; the only sound that could be heard was the water dripping into the cups. Everyone held their breath in deep concentration.
Kengo t
hen stood up; turned to Pascal and spoke:
“Dear Pascal, it is an honor for our group to have you here today. We are very grateful that you agreed to join us. First of all, let me introduce you to our group. We are one of the first Buddhist movements in Japan, which started in 530 A.D. and has close relationship with the Shingon Esoteric Buddhist Movement.
Our organization, the Mantrayana, is now independent and has established temples in many countries and represents more than five million followers.
He bowed to an old man with white hair and a large smiling face wearing a traditional Japanese Kimono. He sat at the opposite side of the table.
“Okada san, my father, is the master of our movement.”
Kengo then bowed to a beautifully aged woman sitting next to the old man who also wore a kimono.
“My mother is also a master in our organization. The people around the table are all followers who bear important responsibilities. I will introduce each of them later, and particularly Daisukei who is our contact with important international figures”
Wanting to remain polite, Pascal followed Kengo’s lead and bowed.
“Hajimemashite; it’s nice to meet you. I am very impressed and honoured but please, what is the reason for my being here today?”
“Yes, we owe you an explanation. Yesterday, I was supposed to leave in your possession a very important statue. The statue itself is said to contain an ancient and sacred document—a mantra—to be precise. Unfortunately, we were interrupted and our meeting had to be postponed. That is why we have asked you to come here today to give it to you.”
“Thank you, but could you be more specific? What is that mantra? Isn’t it to help with meditation or something?” Pascal asked.
“Yes, Buddhism and other religions use mantras written by holy masters. Muslims recite the Koran and Christians repeat Paternosters or Ave Maria, but you must understand that the Mantras are considered a kind of magic formula found mostly in Oriental religions. The precise sounds of the words of the mantras, when repeated many times, are considered to elevate the mind to become enlightened.
However, over time, the conventional mantras have become distorted and have lost their true power. The Tripitaka, the most ancient Buddhist document, states that Buddha had his disciple Ananda carve two important statues and encase powerful mantras in their caches.
Yesterday, as a precautionary measure, we attempted to retrieve the hidden mantra we believed was inside the statue. We were disappointed to discover it was empty! We were astonished that we had been wrong all along; our statue was not one of the sacred ones and there had never been a mantra hidden inside its body. Why did we receive that statue when Kookai introduced Shingon Buddhism in Japan? We still do not know.
We know for sure—and many ancient scriptures and documents confirm it—that there are
At least two more statues that were cast during that period to encase powerful mantras.”
Pascal felt very confused now.
“I’m sorry but what does this have to do with me?”
“We need you to retrieve these mantras which were encased in the two statues and explain why our statue is empty.”
“Me?” asked an astonished Pascal.
“When you came to Osaka for martial arts training two years ago, our mediums immediately understood that you were a most exceptional man. They realized your spiritual potential and your capacity to connect with time, past or future. Maybe you did not fully understand and appreciate it at the time, but our masters knew. They discretely experimented on you to confirm their intuition and you passed each phase with such ease. We believe you have the capability to help us find these mantras, which are the key to our practice.”
“I am just a doctor,” Pascal argued. “I have never had any contact with any of this.”
“You are someone with incredible capabilities. Perhaps you are fighting your own abilities because of fear, or because you are afraid of a phenomenon that you feel is out of your control, but I think you are aware of what you know.”
“How do you think I can do what you ask?”
“It is necessary for this mission for you to be able to be in contact with the collective memory of the past. You can take yourself back to the period before the Shogun Period to when Buddhism was introduced in Nara. It was at that time that we received the first statue. You are the only one we know who has the faculty to do this; to travel back in time, so to speak, and find the locations of these original statues that contain the original mantras.”
Kengo paused; then said:
“Now, our Master would appreciate a few private words with you if you agree.”
At this cue, the executives all stood up, bowed and, in good order, left the room. Kengo and his parents remained.
The old man spoke to reveal a commanding, baritone voice. He was seldom interrupted, but had indicated with his eye contact with Pascal that he invited his questions willingly. The vibrations of his voice seemed to resonate inside the mind’s cavity and Pascal had a strange feeling around his body akin to the sensation of goose bumps.”
The man spoke in Japanese:
“Pascal san, I know you are not sure—at least not yet sure—whether or not you should help us, but if you accept our mission, you will be enlightened by the true reality of the world.”
Kengo translated word by word.
“As my son told you, these mantras are the spiritual tools required to keep our religion alive. Buddha knew that everything was impermanent and that his spiritual teachings would eventually disappear. He predicted it would happen 2,500 years after his death. That time is now.”
“Pascal, you have to understand that when reproduced correctly, the original mantras would have much more power than those used nowadays to attain enlightenment; to save people from their ego and free them from the binding shackles of materialism.”
“This is the most important Oracle of all time and you are part of it, even if you do not believe it. The spiritual world has chosen you Pascal. I cannot explain it; I just know it!”
The Master looked intensely into Pascal eyes.
“Pascal, I would like you to join me now in a spiritual journey outside of your body so you can really understand how special and important these mantras are! Do you agree to join me?”
Pascal scratched his head. He didn’t feel embarrassed; just vulnerable.
“Ours is a Tantric form of Buddhism: our trained mediums have the capability to unite the Ying, the ‘Intuitive Mother’ with the Yang ‘the Reality’, and their training helps them reach higher levels of human abilities.”
“You must accept that there is nothing magical to it. Everyone has these capabilities; they are very real and shared, but hidden most of the time.”
“Are you ready?”
The Master stood up with some difficulty and asked his wife and son to leave the room. Once they had left, he instructed Pascal to sit on a sheet of silk that had been placed in advance in the middle of the room. The old man also sat, but with difficulty. They both assumed the lotus pose and closed their eyes.
“Nomakussa manda, Bassarada a senda...,” the Master repeated over and over.
Little by little, the old man became entranced, reciting and moving his hands while his eyes remained shut.
Pascal felt nothing but the strange sensation of his uncomfortable posture and a growing anxiety. He tried to calm himself, but his discomfort was getting worse. Was this for real? It seemed and sounded so surreal that Pascal began to doubt the genuineness of his new acquaintances. It had to be a scheme. This sect was probably taking advantage of his compassion so they could use him, and he felt he was naïve to believe in such cracks.
He could accept no more; he had to get out. Now!
Without looking back at the Master, who was deep in trance, Pascal stood up and walked to the door, which opened abruptly:
He entered unexpectedly into the darkness of a cave. In the distance, he could see the back of a man dressed in monk
’s attire facing the entrance of a huge cavern were thousands of carved Buddha statues were made visible by the flickering light of torches.
Suddenly the perspective changed and Pascal was walking in the bright light of the sun out of the cavern while his toes sank deep into hot sand, burning the soles of his bare feet.
When he turned back he could see the monk reciting mantras, holding a small statue in each hand. He recognized the Master, who started to talk to him in a raucous language.
“The first statue we have kept for centuries are the true Lord Buddha, without words. The two mantras, written by his disciple Ananda are in my hands. These contain the real incantations; the pure ones. In five times 250 years Buddha will have lost his power—even Buddhism is impermanent. Only these mantras are strong and pure enough to have the power to revitalise our faith. These mantras must be sent to the most religious parts of the planet.
Pascal was now contemplating an old Khmer city from an impressive perspective, and on the other side he saw the Renaissance monasteries with their golden domes.
This is where they have to go! Follow the mandala!
As he professed his last words, the Master’s body exploded into a symphony of particle fragments shining with gold. They danced like leaves falling from an Autumnal tree until they vanished completely in the vacuum of darkness surrounding Pascal.
Slowly, Pascal opened his eyes and his cheeks were wet with tears. He found himself sitting in the lotus pose as if he had never left the room.
The Master sat smiling at him.
Pascal was ready to ask more questions of the Master when a knock at the door signalled the end of the session as though it had been rehearsed a thousand times before. Kengo entered the room.
The Master left in a hurry, having no more time to answer any questions.
“Pascal, now that you know the story of the mantras, my father must leave for an important ceremony in Los Angeles. I would like to talk to you and bring my own people to explain the plan... Now Pascal, will you help us?”
Pascal had no time to process what had just happened. Events were forming a violent whirl, swallowing him like a tornado. He knew he had no choice but to look to where his vision was bringing him.
He had just discovered the links.
The first statue of the Mantrayana was the heart of the faith. It did not need to keep a mantra. The story of the two statues indicated by the Buddhist’s master was deeply intricate to him. He had seen them in his vision and he knew it was true. He was already part of a series of mysterious events: the monks, the murder, the mafia, the scientific experiments, the Russians and now the search for the statues encased with the sacred mantras he just saw clearly in the new vision.
He now understood that these scriptures had been brought into the world of the main religions of the time: the Khmer Empire and Italian Christianity.
Whether it was in a Khmer city or in Rome, East and West had to join forces, and this was where Pascal had to retrieve them. It was his mission to comply with the Buddha’s oracle. Although it felt very big and confusing indeed, he had no choice. He could only give one answer:
“Yes, I will help you.”
For a fraction of a second, it looked as though Kengo was about to jump into the air with joy, but he kept his composure and stood upright to prepare for a bow.
“Thank you Pascal; we cannot express our gratitude enough.” Kengo was genuinely overwhelmed with relief.
“Let me hand to you our treasure. It will be your guide to your intuition.”
Excited, Kengo called back the executives from the Mantrayana sect.
After they were all seated he put a backpack on the table and pulled out a small box. He took a golden key from his pocket and opened the lock on the box.
A complete silence fell as the men held a collective breath.
In the cavity they all could indistinctly discern a bronze Buddha statue with shades of gold reflecting onto Pascal’s face.
2,500 years! Pascal felt overwhelmed.
Kengo repacked the precious statue and handed it to Pascal.
“This is our treasure. It is worth millions of dollars, but its true value is symbolic. It will bring you to its past. Please take a good care of it.”
…
“He first key to wisdom is assiduous and constant questioning;
By doubting we come to inquiry, and by inquiry we arrive at the truth.”
Sic and Non-year 1120 AC
Abelard (sentenced by The Church to Confinement in 1121)