The First Tale of the Dying Soul of Tashi Def - Chapter 1.3


    Yeah, we had walked for hours when we found Tashi Def, already in rigor mortis.


    “Probably not rigor, Master?” I said. I had no medical training, traditional or otherwise.


    Not at my age. Still, Tashi Def triggered the memory of my father’s death.


    Back then, I was too young to question much. My mother and grandmother held the handles of their Sutra Scrolls, mumbling prayers to our goddess in a solid, deliberate rhythm to ensure every breath contributed to the count of their chants.


    “Om Mani Padme Hum”—likely Avalokiteshvara, the compassionate one who hears the cries for liberation.


    But what lingered most in my memory was the odor of putrefaction and the discoloration of flesh.


    The same was happening to Tashi now.


    He had been severely injured, his limbs broken and hanging by bloody flesh, after falling from high ground while traveling to sell his handmade crafts on the other side of the mountains. That much I knew.


    It left an impression on me. My peers never asked such questions, but I… I wondered.


    “Why was I never allowed to see anything else, Master?” I leaped softly over stones as we walked. “Why?”


    Without telling me anything, Master and I approached the broken hut in the Himalayas, where snow blew through gaps in the walls, some melting onto the orthodox bonfire indoors.


    Master ascended the stone stairs briskly, his breath steady, while mine came in uneven gasps.


    I could hear the labored breathing of Tashi’s ninety-year-old father as he made his way to the front stairs to support Master by the elbow. The scent of old age lingered in the air.


    Strangely, another sound of labored breathing reached my ears. It wasn’t just breath—it was the gurgling of Tashi’s own murmuring breaths, growing louder as we drew closer, carrying with it an odor I could scarcely endure. But the family gathered by Tashi’s bedside seemed too consumed by their grief to notice.


    The cries of two women pierced the air, their sorrow wrapping around me like a suffocating fog. It’s difficult to imagine how such overwhelming sadness could manifest in such loud, anguished sobs. They mumbled chants, or perhaps mere words, as if to keep something at bay. Of them all, Tashi’s wife was the most inconsolable. The father sat silently. his face etched with deep wrinkles; his eyes distant as if his mind were already slipping away. The candlelight flickered in the room; the air heavy with the scent of wax. Candles were placed in the three corners, casting a soft glow across the stone house, their light dancing on the white blanket draped over Tashi’s body.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The blanket, white as death itself, seemed to echo the grief in the room.


    In that moment, I thought I could hear the silent sobs of his father’s mind, flipping like a reel of memories. It reminded me of the last time I saw my own father—a moment etched deeply in my heart.


    Eventually, the father wiped his eyes while others continued to sob. Master stood tall, raising his hands in a commanding gesture.


    “Do not cry,” he said firmly yet his voice was soft. “It will not help. Tears will only confuse his mind and soul as they transition.”


    Master, stout and wrapped in his reddish-brown robe, looked almost surreal. His tone and posture were noble, even regal.


    The father and mother glanced at him briefly. The father’s eyes lifted just for a second before lowering again, his focus on the rosary he held tightly. He chanted softly, the beads clicking rhythmically in his fingers. The wife’s sobbing slowed as she opened her eyes wide, the weight of the moment silencing her. The mother’s suppressed, mournful cries tightened their grip on my heart. The children, their faces streaked with tears, convulsed in grief.


    The tears fell like beads of sesame-pearls of a rosary breaking loose from its thread, scattering across the room, each drop a reflection of their heartbreak.


    “Has he ever learned any of the Prayers for the Dying?” Master faced him and nodded; his tall hat, resembling that of a sorcerer, was brown instead of black.


    I’m afraid not… Tashi has a big family to feed.”


    “I understand…” They were both soft-spoken. “Tashi travels far to pray for health and happiness for all your family. He is a compassionate man. It was I who neglected him for so long.”


    Tashi’s father’s tears burst forth in awe, kowtowing to Master while still seated.


    Now I began to grasp how Grandma must have felt when a silver-haired elder had to bury a young, dark-haired son. A sudden, sharp tang in my nose overwhelmed me with sorrow, seemingly out of nowhere.


    Master turned to Tashi Def, read his pulse, and placed his hand down with a slight shake of his head. “There’s nothing we can do with the procedure now. I can try to speak to him before he stops breathing.”


    I handed him a tiny bronze statue of the Sleeping Buddha. The Buddha lay not on his back but on his right side, palm supporting his chin and head, ready for his final departure into Nirvana—another expression for transitioning into the ultimate state beyond the living realms.


    I suppose you’ve heard of it.


    The master showed the statue to the family.


    “You see, we must help Tashi turn his body this way so that cool air can seep through his skin and bring him peace.” The room fell silent, serene. Together, we positioned Tashi as instructed, gently tucking him into the posture.


    “And now,” the master said, “I can only guide his soul with the Instructions to Transcend the State Between Life and Death. Remember, he can still hear us until his final breath.”


    What remains etched in my memory are fragments of the master’s words to Tashi Def. His tone was hoarse yet warm, measured perfectly in volume and cadence.


    I watched as the master, holding a page of the Pipal leaf sutra, approached Tashi’s bedside. His voice, like a whisper, filled the stillness.


    Tashi Def, you must listen very attentively.


    Tashi Def, you must listen very attentively.


    Tashi Def, you must listen very attentively.


    Do not be afraid. Now, your consciousness will gradually fade. Your body will begin to dissolve into the elements. It will feel as though you are being crushed under a great weight. That moment will come swiftly.


    (Master paused to check his pulse, then shook his head.)


    It’s time now. It’s time for you to truly know yourself.


    (And then, Tashi Def passed away.)