The Last Story
"What is this we?"

    I shrugged. "It's nothing. We start shooting tomorrow.

    We both have to be there at six."

    "You're not interested in this guy, are you?"

    I forced a smile. "No. Don't be ridiculous. Relax.

    Enjoy the chant."

    Yet I had been wrong. Roger had not stood up to leave. Not yet, anyway. Staring warily at the yogi, he crept toward him. The yogi was speaking softly to his assistant; he seemed unaware of Roger's approach until Roger was only a few feet from him.

    Then the yogi raised his eyes and smiled.

    "Yes?" he said pleasantly, so that only those of us up front could hear. His microphone was turned off. Roger stopped when he saw the yogi's bright smile, and seemed on the verge of leaving. But then he drilled the holy man one last time.

    "I won't be staying for the chant," he said. "The only power in a mantra is what you tell yourself there is. It's all self-hypnosis, a bunch of nonsense.

    I'm not into playing head games." He turned his back on the man.

    "Wait," the yogi said.

    Roger glanced over his shoulder. "Huh?"

    "You are a fool."

    Roger was instantly livid. His face flushed with blood and he drew in a shuddering breath. "How dare you call me a fool! You charlatan! Just because I don't bow at your feet!"

    The yogi chuckled softly. "You see the power of one little word? I called you a fool and your whole state of mind was transformed. Not only that, your breathing and heart rate accelerated. Your blood pressure leapt off the scale. Now when a normal word such as fool can have such a powerful effect on you, can you imagine how much more the sacred name of God can change you?" He shook his head.

    "Don't be in such a hurry to dismiss this chant.

    Not, at least, until you have tried it."

    Roger didn't listen to the advice. Obviously embarrassed, and without saying another thing, he turned and walked briskly from the church. Peter watched him go with a smug expression.

    "It looks like your star will never be a star," he said. "Not in the sky, anyway."

    "Don't be so hard on him," I said, thinking Roger had been a fool to try to match wits with the yogi.

    A few minutes later we sang an English song,

    "Amazing Grace," and then settled into the chant.

    The yogi started us off, then the group continued on its own, as the yogi closed his eyes and appeared to meditate. The yogi had such a delightful singing voice: I wished he would continue to chant with us.

    It reminded me of the melodious words of the Rishi.

    The power of the mantra, said out loud, was immediately evident. First I began to relax, and the pressure in my head lessened. Then, as I let myself go into the sound of the words, not minding what I was doing or where I was, I felt the endless chatter in my mind easing. It was as if I were tapping into the peace I experienced when I had entered the light after dying. The spot between my eyebrows and another spot close to my heart began to vi brate, as if touched by a powerful magnet. A stream of gladness flowed through me at those two points. I was not imagining it; I enjoyed it immensely. My consciousness was "high up," swimming free in a place devoid of restrictions. I no longer felt as if /

    chanted the mantra. I felt it chanted itself. There was a nectar in the sound, I realized, an inexhaustible well to quench my thirst.

    I felt a pang of regret when we stopped.

    Only for a moment, however. Then I was just gone. I didn't fall asleep, yet the idea of Shari, of my individual personality, suddenly dropped off.

    I'd experienced this as well, when I entered the light after death, a taste of the soul. It was nice to know I could contact it while still in my physical body. How long I stayed in that state, I have no idea. It could have been ten minutes or two hours.

    The yogi's words seemed to come to me from a million light-years away. He was telling us to open our eyes slowly. Not to jump up from our seats.

    Drawing a nourishing breath into my body, I opened my eyes and stared at the

Similar Books

Public Secrets

Nora Roberts

Thieftaker

D. B. Jackson

Fatal Care

Leonard Goldberg

See Charlie Run

Brian Freemantle