Shaka was called Shaka because everyone believed that he was the reincarnation of Shakyamuni. They say he possessed all of the Holy One's memories and wisdom. In Dharamsala, the kingdom of Buddha, Shaka sat high upon the pedestal, by the right hand of the Dalai Lama himself.

But Shaka remembered more than Shakyamuni's wisdom. He remembered that in the first few years of his life, he was not called Shaka. He had another name then: Soren Hohenzollern. Along with that name, he also had a father. His father Joseph Hohenzollern had a proud and handsome Aryan face, with glaring gold hair and blue eyes. Joseph was indeed a descendent of the Prussian house, but he was born and raised in England. When the dust of World War II settled, the young and romantic Joseph had just reached an age where the lust for adventure turned irrepressible. With a chest full of passion and ideals, Joseph Hohenzollern left England and roamed across the post-war world. No one knew why and how, but Joseph eventually reached Tibet, the kingdom upon the shoulders of the world. There Joseph stayed.

All of these Shaka only learned when he was quite grown. When he was born, his father was already in Dharamsala with the rest of the Tibetan aristocrats that fled. And before he turned three years old, his father died. After that, there was no more Soren of the house of Hohenzollern; there was only Shaka.

Most people could only remember things after the age of four or five, but Shaka, he could capture the earliest moments of his life. He remembered that on the night of his first birthday, monks knocked at his door. "His Holiness the Dalai Lama instructed us to come." They said. "Your child is the reincarnation of Shakyamuni; he will bring enlightenment to the multitude. Please allow us to take him to the Dalai Lama."

Shaka remembered standing inside his cradle, holding on to the wooden bars and staring out at the monks curiously. The monks looked back at him with pious adoration.

"What is this nonsense?" His father, however, was angry. "He is my son! What reincarnation? That's ridiculous. You cannot take away my son!"

When the monks left, his fathered turned and faced him. "Oh Soren, for you alone I should leave this forsaken place and return to England." His father had said with a sigh, as if speaking to a fully grown man rather than a toddler. "But I cannot, Soren. There are things I must do here, my child." Shaka stared back at his father uncomprehendingly.

Shaka remembered that when he was two the same monks came once again. They came to deliver presents: beautiful lacquer bowls filled with vegetarian foods; rolls upon rolls of fine silk, linen, and fur; ancient books and scrolls, and also a string of beads.

"I prepared for you a gift as well, Soren." His father said. The golden haired man pulled out a small pendant from his coat pocket for his infant son. The pendant was made from wrought iron, shaped to represent a torch and a star. Curious, Shaka reached out for the pendant, but his father suddenly drew back the object.

"I think I am too assuming." His father said with a troubled expression, "I… You should choose for yourself, Soren, when you can make that choice." He pulled open the desk and placed the iron pendant in the drawer reverently. Then after a moment of thought, he also put the beads from the monks in the drawer. "You will choose one day, Soren, when you are able." Shaka heard his father say.

"Papa, my present!" The two years old Shaka objected none too seriously. His father laughed and gently patted his small head.

Before Shaka's third birthday could come around, his father had died. The monks brought the now orphaned child to live with the Dalai Lama. They gave him another string of beads: a hundred and eight perfectly round and smooth jade beads strung together with bright red silk cord, resting in his hand like liquid light. But Shaka suddenly remembered the beads and pendant lying in the desk drawer.

By the side of the Dalai Lama, Shaka quickly assumed the role of a living god. He can speak Pali and Sanskrit with effortless rhythm; he could change the direction of wind storm and call down rain in scored days; he could perceive things well beyond mortal perception, even though his eyes were almost always closed. Everyone in Dharamsala hailed Shaka as Shakyamuni reborn again, but Shaka himself remembered that choice still waiting to be made. He could not forget his father; he could not forget the man who called him Soren and wanted him to have a torch and a star.

"Your Holiness, how can one make a choice?" Shaka once asked the lord of Dharamsala.

"To make a choice, you must first understand that you would choose from." The Dalai Lama replied thus.

Shaka thought he understood well the philosophy wrapped up in those one hundred and eight jade beads, but he knew nothing of the torch and the star. He began to look through his father's books and notes, hoping for some understanding. The seemingly endless papers were filled with strange names and words: Marx, Engel, Keynesian cycle, macroeconomics, and whatnot. Even though English was a familiar language to him, he still understood none of it. He could only guess that his father's books describe a world that he had never seen, a world outside the incorruptible sanctuary of Dharamsala.

Shaka wanted to see that world. Perhaps it was a child's curiosity, perhaps it was dissatisfaction with his own ignorance, or perhaps it was the want to truly understand his father, but Shaka much desired to see the world outside. Thus following a few older monks on business trips, Shaka went to see for himself the rest of India. That year, he was five years old.

On that journey, Shaka finally opened his eyes. He saw many things that only eyes can see. He saw that the workers in New Delhi were all very dark, though he could not guess whether it was because of too much sun or too much coal dust. Their rare smiles revealed discoloured and rotting teeth. In the dark back alleys, those classed as "Untouchables" huddled away from the sun. Fishermen by the river Ganges caught more bodies than fish in their nets.

That was the world in father's books, Shaka thought. But it only made him even more confused. When he returned to Dharamsala, he suddenly realized that everything around him seemed worlds away to be real. His bowls were made from the finest black porcelain, painted with bright colours and real gold dust. The cushions and drapes in his room were all gold coloured silk. On the altar incense from the south sea worth its weight in gold burned inconspicuously. How was it that he never noticed such things before? Suddenly he had an urge to cry.

He bowed his head and saw the one hundred and eight jade beads hanging about his neck. When he was in New Delhi, there was a street vendor who stared at those beads and said hungrily, "By Buddha, that is fine jade! They will feed my family for a whole year!"

Shaka ripped the beads from his about his neck, as if the beautiful jade burned him. He walked over to his father's old desk and pulled open the drawer. The pendant was still there. He took it in his hand, and stared at the black wrought iron. Finally, tears filled his eyes.

The Dalai Lama stepped in his room then. Seeing Shaka in tears he asked with shock, "Shaka, my child, why so upset?"

"Your Holiness," Shaka tried to contain the sudden grief as he said, "I saw many things that I wish I would never see. Why are there so many pains in this world, Your Holiness?"

"The world is indeed full of grief, my child. Only after you understand the brief frivolity of this physical world, can you depart from all those pains and troubles."

"But so much grief seems unnecessary." The blue-eyed child said. "Why do some people live so richly, while others barely have enough to eat? Why are some respected since their births, while others become 'untouchables'???"

The Dalai Lama said after a moment of silence, "Because it is tradition; it has been thus for hundreds and thousands of years. The wisdom of the Buddha can lead people's hearts away from the troubles of society, but it cannot change this society. That is neither His will nor His purpose."

"Is there no way to change society?" Shaka's voice turned childishly eager. "There must be a way to change this world so everyone is equal, all the wealth belongs to everyone, and everyone will have all that they need."

The Dalai Lama's brow suddenly furrowed, and a rare disquiet lodged in his eyes. "Shaka," He asked quietly, "What have you been learning, Shaka?"

Shaka himself was shocked by his words. He suddenly realized that he was beginning to understand his father's books. Faint red coloured his snow white face, and he clenched tightly the pendant of wrought iron in his palm.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Dalai finally sighed and said, "Is there a way? I do not know, Shaka. Perhaps there is a way to reshape the world as you say, but it would come with a prize. In this brief world everything comes with a prize." He turned eastward, as if looking across the solid wall to something beyond. "You know what is on the other side of the mountain, Shaka?"

"Tibet, Your Holiness, our homeland."

The Dalai Lama nodded. "Tibet, Shaka. When I was young, the communists came to Tibet. They said they will liberate Tibet; they said they will make everyone equal; they say they will ensure that everyone has everything he needs."

"Then, did they do as they say?" Shaka asked.

The Dalai Lama neither nodded nor shook his head. He seemed immersed in memories. " 'Don't read any more scriptures!' They told us. In their schools children learn how to struggle against their perceived enemies. 'Don't go to the Buddha anymore!' They said. They made people plough the earth and build roads from sunrise to sundown. Did they do what they promise? I cannott say, my child. Perhaps a little. But even if they give every one plenty to eat, we would still have lost too much. Across the mountains, Shaka, there is a godless place. There Buddha's wisdoms are barred. Do you think a world like that is a world without grief, or even a world without much grief?"

"I… I do not know."

"Shaka, my child, if you can never listen to the Buddha's words and never use his wisdom to help you understand this world, do you think you can attain Nirvana?"

After a moment Shaka replied, "I do not think I can, Your Holiness."

The Dalai Lama smiled at him, "I know, Shaka. It is the same with all of us here." He picked up the string of jade beads that Shaka had thrown away in haste and gently replaced the beads on the boy's neck. "Do not lose hope, my child. Let the wisdom of our Holy One guide you.

When the Dalai Lama left, Shaka replaced the pendant of torch and star back in the desk. That moment, he knew Shaka had made a decision.