In the Shadow of the Banyan

by Vaddey Ratner

The man stood there shaking as the crowds moved about him, his life saved and ignored all in the same moment.

It was clear the old sweeper was a version of Sambath, and just as I saw a manifestation of my father in everything that was noble and good, he saw a manifestation of his friend everywhere, in every poverty-stricken person he met, and tried to do for each what he hadn’t been able to do for his friend.

Not his grief, but the cruelty of the gods. How could they give a gift they themselves couldn’t bear to part with?

Yes, it was hard to believe that only a single day had passed since we last looked at the moon,

Maybe it was enough that I knew I was not alone, that, at the very least, standing here beside me was this one person, who, unbeknownst to me till now, had all along been journeying this same journey with me, only from the opposite direction.

“There will remain only so many of us as rest in the shadow of a banyan.”

And even if it was petty, it was obvious that when propped up and given the right platform, pettiness became poison.

To keep you is no gain, to kill you is no loss. Under the rules of the Organization we were reduced to this dictum. How was I to live by such words?

Then after a moment, she continued, “I’m certain, though, he remained resolute in his belief that even without him you would live through this nightmare, that life, with all its cruelty and horror, was still worth living. A gift he would’ve wanted his daughter to embrace. This, I think, was what he was trying to tell you, a story about your continuation.”

I may have been born a princess. But that beggar, that blind man, who was probably born poor and no doubt had suffered greatly, discerned enough beauty to want to continue living. He deserved our highest respect. His life had as much nobility as ours, as anyone’s, and we ought to accord it dignity.