to get a little too bizarre for me.
“Please, sit,” Mukta said. “If you are the one, you must learn the way.”
“Thanks, but we can get directions outside.”
“I am talking of the Yogi Way.”
“What’s the Yogi Way?” Zak asked.
“A yogi is one who practices yoga to unveil the secrets of the universe. Some are born yogis. Others will work all of their lives and never become one. Following the yogi path is called the Yogi Way.”
“Is it like stretching and then having a nice fruit drink?” Zak asked.
“No. It is not like this. One need not wear stretching clothes. There is no membership to buy. The Yogi Way is refining your body, and your mind, and your senses until you see all.” Mukta set his two hands together as if he was praying and bowed his head. “Please,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Sit. There is a history I must tell.”
I looked to Zak. The door was right there. We could get out if it if we had to. But Zak's eyes were as wide as saucers. I had seen that look before in the short time we had been together. He was starting to really like the place. The lizards, the incense, the statues, it all added up to Zak's idea of an adventure. We had come this far, so I decided to give Mukta the benefit of the doubt. For now. Besides, it was really raining hard. A short sit-down wouldn’t hurt anyone.
“Please,” Mukta said, indicating a cushion on the floor.
I sat cross-legged, Zak doing the same. We watched as Mukta shook his head and shoulders out, loosening up as if preparing for a performance. Once he was limber he picked up a pipe from the floor. It looked like the kind of instrument a snake charmer would use. But I didn’t believe that people still charmed snakes. I mean, I know they used to, but not anymore. Once Mukta had the pipe in hand he pushed a large ornately decorated brass pot into the middle of the hut, removing its lid.
Zak leaned forward to look inside the pot. Then he leaned back. I glanced at Zak. He was biting his lower lip like he was nervous or something. I leaned forward to look into the pot myself. Up close I could see that the intricately cast pot was dark inside. There was something in the bottom of it that looked like water or oil. But there was also something else, something lining the interior. Whatever was inside, it shimmered as if it was moving. My heart skipped a beat. Then I moved slowly backward. Now I knew what was in the pot and it wasn’t water. It was a snake: not the tame pinkish, translucent variety either. It was a king cobra, one of the most dangerous, most venomous, snakes alive. As I returned to my cross-legged position, the shimmering black cobra peered out of the pot at me. I felt a hole grow in my stomach as the cobra stared at me with its flared hood and piercing yellow eyes, its flickering forked tongue tasting the air.
8
THE MONKEY MAN'S TALE
My heart caught in my throat, but I refused to panic. Even though I really hated snakes, I didn’t have to let the cobra know that. There was, however, no shame in inching backward a little closer to the door. If we had to get out of there, we’d be that much nearer to freedom. Mukta blew on the snake charmer’s pipe and a reedy tune echoed through the hut, the big black cobra rising out of the pot as the pipe swayed back and forth. I remembered reading that the cobras responded not to the music, but to the movement of the pipe. If that was the case, then this snake would be moving twice as fast, because it wasn’t just the pipe that was moving, it was Mukta. His whole body danced with the flickering flames as he played. After blowing a long reedy tune, Mukta spoke.
“Many moons ago was the time of the Vanaras,” Mukta said. “The Vanaras were the size of men, but the shape of monkeys. They lived in the forest among their own kind. Most Vanaras were brave and strong and loyal, but some were not.”
The king cobra undulated back and forth with Mukta’s body, its hood flared. It was
“Please, sit,” Mukta said. “If you are the one, you must learn the way.”
“Thanks, but we can get directions outside.”
“I am talking of the Yogi Way.”
“What’s the Yogi Way?” Zak asked.
“A yogi is one who practices yoga to unveil the secrets of the universe. Some are born yogis. Others will work all of their lives and never become one. Following the yogi path is called the Yogi Way.”
“Is it like stretching and then having a nice fruit drink?” Zak asked.
“No. It is not like this. One need not wear stretching clothes. There is no membership to buy. The Yogi Way is refining your body, and your mind, and your senses until you see all.” Mukta set his two hands together as if he was praying and bowed his head. “Please,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Sit. There is a history I must tell.”
I looked to Zak. The door was right there. We could get out if it if we had to. But Zak's eyes were as wide as saucers. I had seen that look before in the short time we had been together. He was starting to really like the place. The lizards, the incense, the statues, it all added up to Zak's idea of an adventure. We had come this far, so I decided to give Mukta the benefit of the doubt. For now. Besides, it was really raining hard. A short sit-down wouldn’t hurt anyone.
“Please,” Mukta said, indicating a cushion on the floor.
I sat cross-legged, Zak doing the same. We watched as Mukta shook his head and shoulders out, loosening up as if preparing for a performance. Once he was limber he picked up a pipe from the floor. It looked like the kind of instrument a snake charmer would use. But I didn’t believe that people still charmed snakes. I mean, I know they used to, but not anymore. Once Mukta had the pipe in hand he pushed a large ornately decorated brass pot into the middle of the hut, removing its lid.
Zak leaned forward to look inside the pot. Then he leaned back. I glanced at Zak. He was biting his lower lip like he was nervous or something. I leaned forward to look into the pot myself. Up close I could see that the intricately cast pot was dark inside. There was something in the bottom of it that looked like water or oil. But there was also something else, something lining the interior. Whatever was inside, it shimmered as if it was moving. My heart skipped a beat. Then I moved slowly backward. Now I knew what was in the pot and it wasn’t water. It was a snake: not the tame pinkish, translucent variety either. It was a king cobra, one of the most dangerous, most venomous, snakes alive. As I returned to my cross-legged position, the shimmering black cobra peered out of the pot at me. I felt a hole grow in my stomach as the cobra stared at me with its flared hood and piercing yellow eyes, its flickering forked tongue tasting the air.
8
THE MONKEY MAN'S TALE
My heart caught in my throat, but I refused to panic. Even though I really hated snakes, I didn’t have to let the cobra know that. There was, however, no shame in inching backward a little closer to the door. If we had to get out of there, we’d be that much nearer to freedom. Mukta blew on the snake charmer’s pipe and a reedy tune echoed through the hut, the big black cobra rising out of the pot as the pipe swayed back and forth. I remembered reading that the cobras responded not to the music, but to the movement of the pipe. If that was the case, then this snake would be moving twice as fast, because it wasn’t just the pipe that was moving, it was Mukta. His whole body danced with the flickering flames as he played. After blowing a long reedy tune, Mukta spoke.
“Many moons ago was the time of the Vanaras,” Mukta said. “The Vanaras were the size of men, but the shape of monkeys. They lived in the forest among their own kind. Most Vanaras were brave and strong and loyal, but some were not.”
The king cobra undulated back and forth with Mukta’s body, its hood flared. It was
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