Grandma Nearly Died, Grandad Died, Dad Died [“Perfect Timing”]– Ch. 10


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    My father''s face drained of color, his body slumping against the mud wall as he groaned in helpless despair. The harsh


    reality of the "one-child policy" had arrived, embodied in the crisp white uniforms of the medical personnel who entered our home. The air grew thick with tension, the silence punctuated only by my father''s ragged breaths.


    An official document, its bright five-moon seal the size of my hand as a baby, swayed before my parents. The man holding it spoke with a cruel indifference, his words dripping with the authority of the state.


    “Look! There’s an official document!” he sneered, his voice sharp and dismissive. Behind him stood a hulking figure, his silence more menacing than any words.


    My father, his fury a blazing inferno, lunged for the document, his intention clear: to destroy it, to defy the oppressive power of the state. But the larger man reacted instantly, his swift kick sending my father sprawling against the earthen wall. The impact was brutal, the sound echoing through the small house.


    “We are performing official duties. You cannot interfere!” the man barked, his voice laced with menace. He grabbed my father and sister, half-dragging, half-shoving them towards the door, slamming it shut with a resounding thud that echoed the shattering of our family''s peace.


    I huddled among the firewood and hay, my breath ragged, my body trembling. Cold sweat slicked my skin, my eyes wide with terror. The world around me seemed to shrink, the sounds of the outside world fading into a muffled roar. I could hear my mother''s muffled sobs, but I was too afraid to move, too frozen by fear to intervene.


    The female medical worker pushed my mother onto the coal-warmed stone bed, her movements efficient and brutal. Her eyes gleamed with a cold, unnatural light, her breath misting in the frigid air.


    She covered my mother’s mouth with a rag, silencing her cries, a chilling act of control.


    The memory flooded back, vivid and brutal. I saw it all again: the fetus stretching out its tiny hands, its head still nestled in the womb. The birth control officer''s callous actions, tearing the baby out alive. I heard the screams, the tearing of flesh, the splitting of lungs, the gurgling sounds of life extinguished. I remembered hiding in the haystack behind the blast furnace, paralyzed by fear and horror, unable to move, unable to intervene.


    “The fetus stretched out its hands first, its head still nestled in the womb. The birth control officer tore the baby out alive. I heard the screams—tearing the liver and splitting the lungs—and hid in the haystack behind the blast furnace. I couldn’t move at all.” My voice was a trembling whisper, the words escaping me in a torrent of suppressed emotion.


    “What did you say, ?ri’-verā…?” Tenzin, my friend from Tashi Dalai’s dreamstate, was stunned, his eyes wide with disbelief. He’d listened to my story before, but this raw, visceral recounting was something else entirely.


    “One… litter,” I answered simply, my voice barely audible. I saw the terror reflected in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the unspeakable horror I had witnessed.


    “I didn’t hear any breathing,” I continued, my voice barely a whisper. “Only the sound of gurgling. Gurgling. Gurgling.” The repetition of the word, a chilling echo of the events, hung in the air, a testament to the trauma I had endured.


    “Stop it, ?ri’-verā…” Tenzin’s voice was a plea, a desperate attempt to halt the torrent of memories.


    When I emerged from the harrowing flashback, my mother thought I had been overwhelmed by the incident. She embraced me, her hands gently touching the back of my neck before kissing my forehead. My tears continued to fall, and she wiped them away, her touch a balm to my wounded soul.


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    “Don’t be so sad, dear. Your sister is fine now. She has come around, and Master is speaking with her. Come…” Her words were a lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss of my memories. I nodded, glancing at the walls, the memories of our past still clinging to the very stones. We moved swiftly into the stone house, seeking refuge in its familiar embrace.


    I found my sister, her eyes open, and she gestured for me to sit beside her. She had just begun answering Master’s questions when she continued, her voice still weak but clear. “Someone tried to grab me so I wouldn’t fall, but it felt like I was being crushed… I wanted to tell them not to touch me! But I couldn’t even blink, and the crushing—it was like a mountain crashing down again and again, as if it were trying to grind me into powder… That’s how I would describe it. Is that because I was already dead, and Master came to rescue me?” Her palms pressed together in a gesture of reverence and gratitude.


    Master smiled gently, his eyes filled with compassion. “No, Young-Chance, you weren’t dead. It was a Near Death Experience. As I’ve taught before, this is called ‘Chi Med Thun Gyi Mtshams Skab,’” he explained, his voice calm and reassuring. “It means your soul was on the boundary of death, but not yet in the realm of death. That’s the Near-Death Experience. Everyone should remember this and learn from what happened to Young-Chance just now.”


    People began to rise, their movements hesitant, their faces solemn. They shifted into a kneeling posture, their palms clapping together in a rhythmic pattern. Master signaled for them to sit back down, his voice carrying a quiet authority.


    “Now,” Master turned to my mother, then to the others, his gaze steady and unwavering. “My dear Me-Gag, good people, you asked why no one should touch her just now.”


    He paused thoughtfully, his eyes closed, before resuming his lotus sitting posture. “Well, as you heard just now, and as I’ve taught before about the four elements. The first is Earth. Earth represents things that are solid. Actually, in Buddha’s time, it wasn’t called Earth, but anyway, our body is solid. When our body is at the brink of death, or when it is dying, our body will dissolve, like flesh and bones melting…”


    His words were graphic, starkly realistic, but I had heard similar descriptions before, in the hushed whispers of older generations.


    “…as if the earth is being soaked by water, dissolving like mud in the omnipresent element of water. In that sense, all our organs are actually shifting, like your buttocks will sink, becoming a dissolving material. This is why Young-Chance felt excruciating pain—because she wasn’t dead, just fainted, but she could still feel, just like we can feel pain in our sleep if something hurts us.


    Touching her would have caused her more pain. Can you imagine that?”


    Everyone nodded, their faces solemn, their palms clasped together in understanding. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the mysteries of death.


    I rose and knelt before Master, my palms pressed together in reverence. He smiled gently, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion.


    “Master, I have a question,” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He nodded, encouraging me to continue.


    “Master, many people believe that after a person dies, it’s like a lamp being extinguished. They say, ‘When a person dies, it’s like the light goes out.’ Is that correct?”


    “No,” Master answered swiftly, his tone firm and resolute. “That’s very wrong. In fact, many modern Western experts have discovered that after death, a person’s ‘consciousness’ still exists. Their thoughts and will still persist, they are not gone. And what happens after death? Many religions have spoken about it, but none can explain it as accurately and powerfully as we do in the Tibetan Book of the Dead. It explains the different stages of the afterlife in great detail.”


    He turned to the others, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of wisdom. “I was teaching ?ir’rer-main, but what exactly is the Tibetan Book of the Dead? I will discuss this more later, probably here, to save the seniors from having to climb the mountain to our Practice House.”


    Grandma, her body trembling, continued to spin her cylindrical hand-held Mani wheel, her movements growing increasingly frantic, as if she were trying to accumulate merit in a desperate race against time. Suddenly, the distinct sound of a Mani dropping, followed by the sharp clink of a small wooden spear hitting the floor, shattered the tense silence. Grandma’s body slumped forward, and a wave of commotion rippled through the room.


    “Grandma, are you alright? Grandma, grandma…” A cry of concern pierced the air, but no one dared to touch her. They knew better than to shout, for the loudness would disrupt Grandma’s peace and potentially disturb her soul if she were nearing the moment of her passing.


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    *****


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    The conversation about ?ri’-reāl was abruptly halted, the gravity of the situation settling upon us like a shroud. I hoped we could return to it later, but for now, Drakos had a new revelation.


    “Now, we shall go to your grandfather first,” he announced, his voice carrying an unexpected urgency.


    Granddad?


    “Yes, his soul, like that of Tashī Dalāi, but in a different perspective. This might be a perfect timing.”