Panwara

Author's Notes: If you know of the green north-east, then you know of the Air Temple, if you know of the Air Temple, then you know of Pathik. Yet how many know Pathik?- or of his life, long and ragged as the road to Oma Shu? That number is small and dying as a free voice in the city. However, I will tell you, around this fire, under this moon; if only you will listen...

I own nothing but this keyboard and a few ideas.

Chapter III: More Is Required

The beat of the road is a strange thing, timeless. It differs with every wheel and stays the same, up, down, up, down...a ragged mess of stones and smooth deceptive dust.

Pathik rode in the ox cart, right behind the Yogi. He was fascinated to no words and bored to many thoughts. The old man was intriguing. He seemed mysterious, undefined and unshaped, a monster incapable of malice. The road was dull, overbearing...a beast that meant to swallow him whole,but never spent the time and thus killed him by the wait. It was the long ride to a temple, a temple not too far from heaven, or so it seemed to the boy. They'd traveled miles and miles, hours and hours to reach the indefinite perch of a stuppa, sacred stone and incantations.

He had no idea what it really looked like.

His master regarded a field of flowers, waiting for the wind to come up, blowing the scent to his nostrils. The forest resumed. A creak of many footsteps, small and huge, surrounded them. Tigers, bears, rabbits and giant quilled boar lived in the wild. Pathik looked about, hoping to catch a glimpse of one. Maybe even a long tapered paw through the leaves.

He was disappointed.

The forest turned to field once more and then, then to wide plots of rice and sweet potato, months away from picking. Peppers, corn, droves of vegetable filled the land. They were close, the Yogi explained, close to the Amrita Stuppa. It was so called for a drop of elixir had fallen there, centuries before when the gods had rushed it home.

The road narrowed and cleared, rolling into a sheet of craggy stone and pebbled concrete. Here was the tamed garden, the abode of spoiled moneys and a few wandering animals, eager for a meal from the devotees. They spied a mangy dog and wondered, is that my Aunt? She sure looked like that.

Now, Pathik wondered none of that. Instead he thought on his new life, his life as aesthetic. He would have no toys, no gifts, nothing but the clothes and food and prayers that he needed. After a thousand other feelings wore off, all he owned was a sense of wonder.

They came upon the temple and Pathik jumped forward. He leapt from the carriage and looked up and up into the high steps, the plateau of stones, strange, god-like, beast-like statues and the dark confines of his temple.

The stuppa had towers, a mock gate of ornate design, fragile and a million tons. The towers reached a hundred, two hundred feet above the round center like a jubilant turtle. He could hear the people inside, praying, meditating, chanting to look holy.

The Yogi stopped his cart, ran a finger through his, wide, curly hair and spoke with the child.

"This is your first stop. You will spend a year here, learning a basic understanding of my, your, art. After that time, you will proceed to the mountains. There, you and I will train for five years. If you persist in your interest, I will give you up to the air nomads."

"The air nomads?" he repeated, his little voice stammering in some fear.

"Yes, the air nomads. They are a tribe of spiritualists, consisting of fifty thousand persons to the north by a hundred miles. If you choose, you may learn from them."

When the answer, given in so many words and a calm tone had soothed the child, he posed another.

"Yogi,sir?"

"Yes?"

"I had never asked, but for our long time together...what is your name?"

"My name is Bappa Rawal, young Pathik."

The boy, nodded, smiling, and the old man smiled back. With a turn, he had one last thing to say...one thing that would lay on Pathik for his entire life.

"However, you must know, that in this life there is one, all encompassing, rule. No matter how high the clouds will seem, more is required."