It was the beginning of 1972 and Shaka was barely six years old. Words had reached Dharamsala that General Zhang Guohua, chief military commander of Tibet, finally left Tibet for good. The people of Dharamsala cared little for Zhang's departure, but when they heard that the child named Mu also left Tibet, the small city of Dharamsala raised hell. Everyone had heard of the young Living Buddha; they believed him to be the last pillar of faith in Tibet. Now even he was gone. Surely it was a communist conspiracy! People talked and feared; the small child far away stirred up much forgotten passion.

When a few young men came to discuss this with the Dalai Lama, Shaka was there also.

"He is not in Tibet any more, Your Holiness! Heavens! Who know what they communists did to that poor child?" A young man named Dechen said angrily, "We are so very worried, Your Holiness. We think we should bring the child back to Tibet, or even bring him here by your side. Do you think it's wise, Your Holiness? Will you grant us your blessing?"

The Lord of Dharamsala was not much older than the hot-blooded young men before him, though much wiser. For a long time he looked conflicted and he did not speak.

The young man Chodan standing beside him added hurriedly, "We would be very careful, Your Holiness, and we will not confront them openly. The child will be in Dharamsala before they even realize anything. I am confident that we can do this, Your Holiness. We have accomplished more difficult tasks than this." Chodan may have been young, but he was calm, intelligent, bold but meticulous. He had been in charge of the Free Tibet movement for many years, and he had done many tasks to be marveled at.

Finally, the Dalai Lama said with a sigh, "Of course I have faith in you, Chodan. 'Tis true, we really should bring the child to Dharamsala. He simply is not safe living with them. But Chodan, what if the child would not go with you? After all, he has been living with General Zhang for many years now."

"We will try to persuade him..." Chodan said hesitantly.

Dechen suddenly interrupted and said, "Excuse me for saying so, Your Holiness, but he is only a small boy. We can always just take him and try to change his mind later."

IT was then that five-years old Shaka stood up. "That is not true," He said.

Everyone looked at him uncomprehendingly. "He is powerful," Shaka said, as if discussing a very old friend rather than what should be a perfect stranger. He flicked his wrist and sent an incense burner on the table levitating in the air. Then he said, "He can do things like this as well as I can, if not better. If it is his will, he can be more problematic than all the armies you might encounter between here and Chengdu."

Ignoring the astounded silence, Shaka continued calmly, "Please let me accompany Chodan, Your Holiness. I think I can bring the child back to Dharamsala. I want to meet him; he is important to be, I can feel it."

The Dalai Lama sighed again before saying, "If you wish, then go with them, my child. You must find your own fate, for its path seems beyond my sights, Shaka."

Chodan and the others started to prepare for the journey very soon. They spent a long time studying maps, contacting people in Tibet and even Sichuan that might assist them. They also spent a long time assembling small arms. Once Shaka passed by while they were putting together some fire bombs. Chodan was uncomfortable as he observed Shaka's reaction, but the boy said nothing.

A week later, they left Dharamsala. Chodan, Dechen, Nima, Norbu, all young and respected soldiers. By their side was the young Shaka, golden haired and white skinned like a porcelain doll.

When they arrived in Chengdu winter was still clinging on stubbornly; the air was chilled and moist. To the warriors of Dharamsala, Chengdu was a city stranger than the moon. The streets were crowded with vehicles: cars, bikes, tricycles, and wheelbarrows; beside the streets buildings taller than the Potala Palace loomed. The people spoke as if they were singing; every word leaped and turned. They never looked like they were in a hurry, but they still moved like the wind. The Tibetans did already exchange their old wears for normal Han Chinese clothes, but they still felt that they were way too conspicuous.

While they rested in a small eatery, they quietly discussed the next part of their plan.

"The general Zhang Guohua is in Chengdu," Chodan said, "But we don't know where he lives. It might prove difficult to find out without raising suspicion.""That is no problem," Shaka said lightly, "I can find the child."

Chodan was shocked for a moment, then he said quickly, "Then we shall go as soon as it's dark, Your Holiness."

When night slowly settled over the city, when the streets were almost empty, they left their resting place. Shaka was leading in the front. His eyes were still closed, but he had no trouble navigating the maze like streets and alleys of Chengdu. They walked for almost an hour and finally arrived at an extremely narrow street. On one side of the street there was an ancient residence. Red brick walls loomed tall. On both side of the wooden gate painted red, paper lanterns faintly illuminated the street. Past the wooden gate, the already narrow street narrowed even more into an alley just wide enough for two people to pass side by side. It was hidden in the shadows of the looming walls on both sides.

Chodan left Nima and Norbu further down the street to keep watch, while he, Dechen and Shaka went up to the door. The wooden door was only half closed, and one could see the courtyard behind the door. The courtyard was filled with plants: the still brown and dry tomato vines, the newly sprung bean sprouts; and pea plants nearing bloom. Even though the plants thrived, they still seemed out of place. One would expect such a courtyard to be filled with hibiscus or rhododendron, but not farm products. Shaka approached the door without hesitation, but before he could push open the door, a child of five or six emerged from behind the door. His purpled hair gleamed silver beneath the moonlight. For a long moment no one spoke.

"Are you looking for my father?" The violet-haired child asked with a smile, "He is not home right now. Do you wish to wait for him inside? Or you can leave a message with me."

"We are here to see you, Master Mu." Dechen said eagerly.

The child blinked, then said with dawning recognition, "I see now, you are from Tibet? From Lhasa?"

Dechen and Chodan exchanged a look, then Chodan nodded.

"Come in, come in!" Mu said warmly, pushing open the door. "You must be tired, coming all this way! Please come in for a cup of tea and some food, how is that? Papa said I must be a good host for friends from Tibet."

Dechen quickly took Mu's small hand and said, "Thank you for the kindness, Master Mu, but we must leave quickly. We don't have much time."

"Go?" Mu seemed uncomprehending, "Go where?"

Chodan came and stood by his side. "We are here to take you home, Your Holiness." He said in a low voice.

A wary look now over took over the boy's face. He drew back his hand and backed up two steps. "Go home?" He said, "Am I not at home right now? I am not going anywhere."

"Master Mu, you are a living Buddha, the enlightened one's favored child, how can you stay with them communists?" Dechen said impatiently.

"You are not safe here, Your Holiness!" Chodan added with emphasis.

Mu's brow furrowed and his voice lifted with anger, "You are speaking nonsense!"

"They speak truth," Shaka suddenly opened his eyes and looked directly at Mu, "You should not be here; you don't belong here. I have seen it, and so have you. Come, leave with us."

Mu's green eyes narrowed. "No!" He said, "Why are you saying this about me? You do not belong with those people behind you either. I know it, and you know it too." His words sounded childish, but one could not ignore his serious expression.

Suddenly Nima and Norbu rushed towards them from down the street. "There is a car coming this way!" Nima shouted, "We have to leave now."

"You should indeed leave." Mu's voice was still polite, but colder.

Chodan seemed hesitant, but Dechen stomped his foot and cried, "You will have to forgive me later, Your Holiness." Then he grabbed Mu's arms.

"Let go!" Mu shouted.

Suddenly an invisible hand pulled Dechen back and threw him towards the wall. At this moment Shaka moved. Dechen never collided with the wall; he stopped in midair then slowly fell to the ground. What happened then no one saw clearly. There was only a blinding light. Wind howled and whirled in the narrow street. When everything stilled Mu was leaning against the wall. Shaka's white jade beads wrapped around his wrist like shackles, sealing whatever power he called on before. Shaka stood beside him, pale and short of breath.

"We should go." Shaka said.

Chodan took Shaka in his arms and shouted at Dechen, "You take the other one. Let's go!"

Dechen nodded and lifted Mu up. "Let go of me!" Mu screamed, but could not throw him to the wall again.

They only just turned when they heard the enraged cry thundering from behind, "Put the child down!"

General Zhang Guohua leapt from his car like an angry leopard. A few young men in full military gear stood beside him, guns hoisted high, faces full of bewilderment and wrath. "I don't care and who you are and what you want, but put the child down!" Zhang shouted, "If you have something against me just take it up with me. How can you do this to a child so young?"

Almost reflexively, Dechen put his hand right beside Mu's neck. "Don't come any closer." He said quietly.

The threat was simple but effective. Zhang stilled. The soldiers beside him dared not to move, even with their guns. Zhang was about to say something once more, but he suddenly clenched his chest with a pained look. A stifled groan escaped his throat and his knees gave way.

"Papa!" Mu screamed and started to struggle again.

The soldiers beside him rushed to his side. "Zhang! General!" They cried.

"Now!" Chodan yelled.

Norbu pulled an object from his pocket and threw it towards the wooden door with all his might. A great explosion shook the very ground they stood upon; then flames sprang in the darkness of the night and cut the narrow street in two. Behind the dancing red, Dharamsala's champions fled into the shadows of walls and alleys.

They fled ever westward. When they were still in Sichuan they journeyed under moon and stars and spent the day hiding in the households of various contacts. After they stepped into Tibetan soil, Chodan left loose the breath he had been holding all these while. The group started traveling by daylight. When night fell Chodan would knock open the door of any Tibetan and ask for lodging. He never doubted that the Tibetans would welcome them without reserve. Indeed, all the good people of Tibet were overjoyed to have the messengers of the great Dalai Lama and the living Buddha staying in their humble homes.

Where ever they stayed, Tibetan people would gather at night. Piously and ardently they sat by the feet of Shaka and listened to him explain the scriptures. They called him Holy One and Great One with ecstatic adoration. All of them remembered the violet haired Mu as well. They called him "Master Mu" or "Your Holiness" just as before, but now Mu no longer smiled, only stared at them coldly.

One night they stayed in the home of a woman in her twenties named Dazhu. She was the only one living inside a spacious family house, seeing how all her younger brothers were off with the army. As usual, Dazhu gathered many to hear Shaka speak.

After all the people dispersed, Shaka sat down beside Mu. "You should stop struggling in vain with those beads!" Shaka said. That was the first thing he said to Mu since that night in Chengdu. "If you would not let go of your hatred and your prejudice, they will bind you forever."

Mu gave him a sideway glance, then the boy said softly but scornfully, "You mean, as long as I don't follow your ideology, I would be imprisoned like a common miscreant." He gave the string of jade beads wrapped around his wrist a vicious tug. The red silken cord was tough like steel , adding more red to his already bloody wrist.

Shaka ignored the jab in his words. He only held a yellowed book to Mu. Another glance, and Mu said with a light laugh, "I have read that.""But you did not understand it." Shaka insisted. "If you understand Buddha's wisdom, you would not be so resentful right now."

"What is there worth understanding in that scripture?" Mu's voice was flat still, though his words were sharp like tempered steel. "The so called 'wisdom' in there, can it guard frontiers, can it build roads, can it resolve conflicts? The inaction it teaches, can it bring food to people's tables?"

Shaka answered without a moment's hesitation, "Truth, peace, understanding, those Buddha's wisdom can bring to everyone. What is food on the table compared to these?"

Mu laughed, coldly, then he turned his back towards Shaka.

The next morning, Chodan and the others left early to investigate road conditions. Dazhu stayed in the kitchen to prepare food for them. Shaka was up early, meditating as usual. Beside him, Mu seemed to be fast asleep. But suddenly, the violet-haired child jumped up. His green, green eyes shone with a frightening light. Without a word he raced outside. Shaka suddenly felt afraid. He stayed a moment, then followed. Outside the house, Mu stood beneath the indigo Tibetan sky. He looked eastward. He seemed to be looking at some faraway tragedy slowly unfolding, for his eyes were glowing with tears.

"He is dead." Mu suddenly said.

Before Shaka could react, he turned around violently and stared at Shaka. "My father, he is dead." His voice was very low. "It's you. You and those people following you. You killed him."

Shaka's brow furrowed. "We never harmed anyone." He said.

"You are ruthless murderers, only you yourselves cannot see it." Mu's voice was calm. Too calm, that it was more frightening than enraged cries. "You took me away from him. I am not there, who will take care of him, who will make him laugh? Can you not see that his health suffered and he needed me? And you still took me away from him. You killed a father with grief of losing a child."

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Shaka finally said quietly, "I know how you feel. If it consoles, I will take the blame."

"Take the blame? Take the blame!" Mu's calm deteriorated completely. "The blame is yours! You killed him!" The forever calm and warm child now screamed hysterically, "You killed my father!"

Golden fire leaped about him. The jade beads wrapped about his wrist began to shake. Then the red silk cord snapped broken. Jade beads scattered down, like a field of white stars. Shaka snapped opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into Mu's grieved green eyes.

"You murderer." Mu murmured.

The next moment, light rushed towards him like flooding water leaping over the dike. Shaka opened his arms. About him soft light unfolded light a lotus blossom. Two walls of light met in midair. A few seconds of balance, then a roaring explosion. The earth shook as if afraid. After the blinding brightness faded, Shaka was half kneeling on the ground. His smooth brow now twisted in pain. The deep red robe could not hide the blood flowing down his arms and legs.

There was an unreadable expression on Mu's face; his eyes were two orbs of green fire. "Die, Shaka." He said, and lifted his right hand.