[Damica/Ravindra] - Tell me a story
Who:
Damica
Ravindra
When: After Anson's cookie post.
Where: The Coil
Rating & Warnings: PG, religious discussion
Damica decides to bug Ravi to get her mind off Anson. HINDUISM ENSUES omg they need to talk about something else in their next log JEEZ
Damica had stormed from the barracks after an unexpected training session with one of the guards. Kratochvil just... grated on her nerves, sometimes. He needed to be smacked around! And now she needed something to distract her. Maybe one of Ravi's stories. Ledger tucked under her arm, bundle of cookies in her hand, she headed over to the station where Ravi was on duty.
When she arrived, she grabbed the first guard she saw, ordering, "You, take over." Then she pointed to Ravindra. "You, come with me." She didn't wait for him to ask what was up or try and argue, just started out of the station again. Sometimes being high rank was enjoyable.
...Well, that was a surprise. Ravi blinked at her, and then when she turned away, exchanged puzzled glances with the guard she'd ordered to replace him. Giving the young man a shrug, Ravi gathered up his ledger and stood to follow Damica out.
Was this about Kratochvil? This had to be about Kratochvil. He came up beside her, fell into step with her, and waited patiently for her to explain what the fuck the deal was.
She knew he'd follow. She was a lieutenant. As much as she hated pulling rank on someone she felt far better fit her job, she didn't think he'd mind overly much. Well, Ravi might in this case, actually, but she didn't really care. It's not like she did it often.
Damica steered their pace off towards the Coil, and the walk to get there helped her cool off somewhat, though it took half the trip for her to actually say what was up. She glanced towards Ravi, shrugged, and gave a sheepish smile. "I didn't wanna drink alone."
"Ah," he responded. The answer was not really good enough, but he acted like it was, because if he didn't press, she'd probably go into greater detail. (It was definitely Kratochvil.)
Usually the rank pulling might at least garner a twinge of annoyance, but tonight he didn't mind at all. It gave him an excuse not to look at the ledgers, not to carry on the uncomfortable conversation with Aguilar. So he was complacent, and walked with her in silence, waiting for her to speak again or for them to reach the pub, whichever happened first.
Normally she wouldn't give any detail unless asked, but for Ravi, well, he's who she went to about most things. "I beat him down a bit," she said. After a few moments, she added, "He's not a bad swordsman. Needs practice, though; left too many openings. I'm sure I left him bruised." She sounded both annoyed and amused about the whole thing.
It wasn't much longer before they arrived at the Coil. Damica lead the way in, and took her regular table near the door, flagging a server for ale. Her ledger got set aside on the table, the small bundle atop it, and she leaned back in her seat, letting out a sigh.
"And the fact that it was so sudden means nothing, of course." A good-natured reply, but maybe a little forced. He hadn't been expecting what Aguilar said. Hadn't been expecting a rumour or confirming it by responding. He didn't know what to think of it. Had Damica seen it? Fuck she probably had. Hopefully she knew better than to bring it up. She was usually good about that sort of thing.
Anyway. He didn't feel like drinking tonight. Technically on duty, anyway, so it was a bad plan. When she ordered an ale, he ordered nothing. (Almost got a milk because Hindus fucking love milk but decided he'd rather drink nothing than deal with any mockery for his non-alcoholic choices.)
"Sudden?" She shrugged. "He had a warning in the ledgers. He called me on it." (Fortunately for you Ravi she'd missed the stuff Aguilar said because she was busy beating up Kratochvil.) "I suspect this will become a regular occurrence with his attitude. Not such a terrible thing, really; we need our guards to be good swordsmen."
Damica waggled a finger towards him. "You don't need to be on duty all the time, you know." She of course was referring to his lack of drink, but wasn't going to press. If he didn't feel like drinking, she wouldn't pressure him into it. Not tonight, anyway. The big day wasn't far off. She'd see to it he had plenty to drink then.
When her own drink arrived, she took a few swigs before setting it down and leaning back again. "You got any good stories? I dunno, something fitting. About patience or forgiveness or such." She refrained from continuing the dick jokes by asking for anything related to such. They kind of annoyed her.
Ugh just existing opened you up to criticism. Why did people do this!! Was it such a crime to just not want to drink? "No, only when I am on duty," he replied, with a look that added the unspoken accusation.
(It was a good thing she did not mention the dick jokes because Ravi was REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE with them hooray heteronormativity!)
He wasn't sure what to think of being ordered away from his post to tell her a story. On the one hand, recognition for one of the few things he truly enjoyed doing and felt he was good at. On the other hand, what? She was just that upset about Kratochvil, apparently.
Patience and forgiveness... There were plenty of Citadel stories about that, but he doubted she wanted to listen to one of those. There was the Christian story about the man whose faith was tested on a bet (Christian legends were a fascinating thing, they had a kind and loving god who was a real asshole most of the time). He couldn't think of a good Hindu one at the moment, but he'd really rather tell a familiar story. They were easier, he could lose himself in them better, and he was distracted enough right now with going over his conversation with Aguilar in his head. Was it that obvious? Did people really notice? Uuuuuugh no he wasn't going to think about this right now.
"So the Citadel," he began, jumping right in to keep himself from getting mired too deep in his thoughts, "tells you that Cita is infallible and men are not to question His word. A strange idea, to me, because Hindus are taught to always question, and that even the gods needed to learn the truth of things just as men do. Sometimes, even, to learn them from men."
Having already decided not to push, she let the matter of drinking drop, simply offering a nod. She'd just have to drink enough for both of them. It wasn't like an extra ale or two would fog her mind any.
She wasn't really upset about the ordeal. This had mostly been a ploy to get away from the ledgers. As much as she liked her guardbros, they sometimes went a bit too far for her tastes, and since it had become obvious a few smacks (and even a beatdown) wouldn't shut Kratochvil up, she'd be better off doing something else. Of course, she could have just gone on patrol or something, but she liked Ravi's stories, and he hadn't been far. And with all the business of mobs and fire dogs, there hadn't been much time for a good story.
She set an elbow on the table, leaning forward to listen to the man. Though her brow quirked with a question, she held her tongue. This time, anyway. He didn't like being interrupted, she knew that much. She also knew she'd have plenty of opportunity to do so, anyway, if she really felt the need to, and she didn't really want to start a debate about Cita's supposed infallibility that would prevent her from hearing about his Hindu gods.
"I have told you before about the Atman--the Self, the soul--yes? There is a saying, 'He who learns about the Self and realizes it obtains all worlds and all desires.' The devas and the asuras--the gods and demons--heard this and said, 'This is a great idea. Let us learn about the Self so that we can obtain all worlds and all desires.' So the god Indra and the demon Virochana went together to find a teacher who would teach them about the Atman--the Self." The hardest part about storytelling for him was remembering that his audience had no fucking clue what the Hindi words connotated. He was constantly having to correct himself to words that actually meant something to Balfourians.
"They went to live with a renowned teacher called Prajapati. After thirty-two years, Prajapati finally turns to ask them why they had lived with him for so long. Teachers in India, they do this, to make you prove how badly you want to learn. Indra and Virochana replied that they had come to study the Self so that they may obtain all desires. So Prajapati tells them, 'That which is seen in the eye, that is the Self. That is immortal and fearless--that is Brahman.'" Had he told her about Brahman? He paused, to give her a chance to interrupt if she was confused. He didn't want to have to derail to explain Brahman, but he would if he had to.
A god and a demon peacefully existing next to each other? For thirty-two years? She had to admit, Hindu religion was a lot more interesting than the teachings of Cita. ('Cita's graces,' she quickly thought to herself, seeking forgiveness. She couldn't completely forgo her upbringing.)
Her drink sat before her on the table, all but forgotten. When he paused, her brow furrowed. He'd mentioned a similar word a while ago, but it was one that meant priest, and she didn't think this was the same word, since the context didn't fit. "You'll have to tell me what Brahman is at some point." If it was an important aspect of the story, he'd probably tell her now. If not, that left it open for him to tell her later.
Damn, he hadn't. That was met with a sigh and he leaned back in his chair, thinking about how best to explain it. "Brahman is...everything. And nothing. Brahman is Brahman. Brahman is. It is in all things--it is all things. I am Brahman, you are Brahman, the earth is Brahman, the table is Brahman. It is only that we think they are not Brahman, so to us it is me, and you, and the earth, and the table, but in reality it is all Brahman. The world is an illusion, and Brahman is the truth that lies beneath it."
He waited for her reaction, fully expecting her to be utterly confused. Brahman was a difficult concept to explain to westerners.
Guess that meant it was pertinent to the story. Well.
Damica thought over that, looking confused, and didn't want to detract from the story too long, but she did want to be sure she understood. Especially if it was pertinent. "So Brahman is what the world and everything is made of, and Dharma is the role that each thing has within it?" Hey she was trying here!
Ehhh... Not quite. But really he couldn't expect much from a Tyrolian. Trying to explain more in-depth than that would take too long. He could always go into it later. For now, her idea was probably good enough for the meaning of the story to come through. "Close enough," he told her.
"Anyway, Prajapati tells them this, that the Self is what is seen in the eye, and Indra and Virochana ask if this is the Self which is seen reflected in a mirror. 'The Self is indeed seen reflected in a mirror,' he tells them, and then says, 'Go and look at your reflections and whatever you do not understand, come and tell me about it.' Indra and Virochana go and do this, and then they come back to Prajapati and say, 'We have seen the Self. We have seen even the hair and the nails.' Prajapati says, 'Go and put on your finest clothes, and look again at your reflections.' They do, and they return and say, 'We have see the Self, exactly like ourselves, dressed in our finest clothes.' To which Prajapati says, 'The Self is indeed seen in these. The Self is immortal and fearless, and it is Brahman.' And so Indra and Virochana leave, thinking they have realized the truth of the Self.
"Virochana returns to the demons and teaches them that the body alone is the Self, that the body alone is to be celebrated and worshiped. The demons accept this as their doctrine, and this is why demons are plagued by suffering. But Indra, on his way back to the gods, realizes that he has not learned anything useful. If the Self is only the body, then it will be finely dressed when the body is finely dressed, blind when the body is blind, lame when the body is lame, and will die when the body dies. That is not the immortal Self. So Indra returns to Parajapati to study again.
"After another thirty-two years--Prajapati is a dick and Indra is a god--Prajapati tells him, 'That which moves about in dreams, that is the Self. That is immortal, that is fearless, that is Brahman.' So Indra leaves again, thinking that now he truly understands the Self. But again he stops and thinks that even in dreams the body is conscious of its suffering, and so this cannot be the truth of the Self either. He returns to Prajapati, and after another thirty-two years, Prajapati says, 'When a man is sound asleep, free from dreams and perfectly at rest, that is the Self. The Self is immortal and fearless and it is Brahman.'
"Again, Indra leaves, and again he realizes he still does not know the truth of the Self. A man is not conscious of himself while asleep. He is not conscious of any existence at all. So once more he returns to Prajapati, who makes him wait only five years this time. Then Prajapati says to Indra, 'The body is mortal, but within it is the immortal Self. When this Self is associated with the consciousness of the body, it is subject to suffering, and so long as it is associated with the body's consciousness, there can be no freedom from suffering. But when the association is gone, then the suffering is also gone. The Self is distinct from the senses and the mind, it is above physical consciousness. It is immortal and fearless, it is Brahman.'
"This time when Indra left, he truly understood what Prajapati meant about the Self, and so he returned to the gods to teach them this. And so the gods meditate on the Self and so they obtain all worlds and all desires. And any man who does the same, he will obtain the same."
It was one of those stories with repeating elements, which made it easy to remember and easy to recite, and one he knew well because as a boy he'd always found the 32 year bouts of servitude ridiculous and because it explained how the gods knew no more than humans about the truths of Brahman. It was an easy story to tell, an easy distraction, though now he suspected Damica would have questions and that too would be a distraction--but a more engrossing one.
That was a lot to take in at once. Especially sober. What little she'd already downed was certainly not enough. After blinking at Ravi a few times, Damica lifted her tankard and emptied it down her throat, then flagged a server for a refill. She still didn't speak, though, her mind going over the whole thing about self and Brahman and all that.
She was starting to wonder if Cita's teachings were really that great, honestly. You get moral stories, sure, but they're generally fairly straightforward. None of this dozens of years of study only to realize you hadn't learned a damned thing and have to go back to your teacher. And nothing about Cita wanting to spend all that time learning from a mere mortal! Cita was a GOD. It was humans who were supposed to learn from Him!
After quite a bit of thoughtfulness, she finally spoke. "Okay, so. Wait." Her brow furrowed. "So the Self is what you are - the soul, you'd compared it to - and the body is just this thing it houses in and while the body suffers, the Self suffers. But separating the two means the Self won't suffer. So that's why they meditate? To learn how to separate the two?"
Man, maybe he should have ordered a drink. Instead, he rolled and lit a cigarette while Damica thought the story over. He leaned back in his chair, watching her as the smoke spiraled, waiting for her reply.
When she finally did speak, he remained silent for a moment, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a cloud of smoke as he considered his answer. "Again, close. It is to separate the consciousness of the body from the truth of the Self, and to realize that the Self is Brahman, and to know that even while your Self occupies this body, it is also Brahman, it is also all other things."
Damica just sort of stared at him for a few moments, blinked, then shook her head and watched the smoke rise from his cigarette. "Your religion is very confusing," she said, accepting the fresh drink and drinking back half of it. She'd nurse the rest, probably. Maybe.
After situating the drink on the table, her arms resting around it, she pondered further. "If everything is Brahman, wouldn't that mean that when someone suffers, everyone suffers?"
The comment on his religion got a smile that was nothing more than the slight upturn of one corner of his mouth. It was only confusing because she could not open her mind wide enough to think differently. He didn't hold it against her, though. Most people in the west were like this.
"Yes, of course," he answered. He leaned down the table to requisition the nearest ashtray, sliding it over to him and then ashing the cigarette over it. "Everyone is suffering simply by virtue of thinking they are themselves and not Brahman. To be a part of Maya--of the illusion of the world--is to suffer."
Hey she was trying here it's not easy to just suddenly change your views on the universe you know! Gosh!
Damica smirked, lifted a finger and pointed at Ravi. "But even those who know of Brahman suffer. So how is it different to know than to not know?"
Aww, adorable! She thought she had him in a contradiction! "To know and to understand are different things," he replied, settling back in his chair and putting the cigarette to his mouth again.
She thought about that, then leaned one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "Does that mean you know but don't understand?" She was honestly curious and wanting to understand, no hint of sarcasm or any such in her voice.
Another cloud of smoke came out with a sigh. "Yes."
A pause, and then he shifted in his chair, leaning forward with his arms on the table, one laid over it in front of him and the other held up, smoke trailing from the cigarette in his fingers. "It is like sword drills. You can know the motions, and carry them out, and teach them to others, but unless you understand them, you are only repeating what you know."
"Ah." She thought about that as she took a sip of her drink, then smirked. "This is stuff you grew up on. If you don't understand it, I don't know what chance I have of understanding it in this lifetime." She'd still try, though! She was stubborn like that. "Though I gotta say, as confusing as your religion is, it's really interesting."
That got a grin, though lopsided as his always were. "I have learned more about Hinduism since coming to Tyrol than I ever learned about it in India. You are not the only one who finds it interesting, and teaching others has taught me much." A pause, half a smile. "Besides, you have many lifetimes to come to understand it. Don't worry."
Laughing, she leaned back in her seat again, lifting her mug to her lips. She did have the insight to wait until she'd finished laughing before she sipped, at least. She was only just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, and didn't expect to feel much. A few mugs of ale would hardly get her drunk. "So what would I be coming back as, if I do really well in this lifetime?" she asked, curiously. "I may track you down to teach me more often. It's certainly a good distraction." Perhaps more than that. It really did make her think.
His eyebrows rose at the question. But of course, the reincarnation part was what everyone was most curious about. "A brahmin, perhaps," he answered. "But remember, I will be a frog."
A loud laugh exploded from the woman. Good thing she'd set her drink down! After she'd managed to (mostly) stop laughing, she grinned, "I'm sure you'll make a good frog. Just try not to get caught in any nets." Then she tilted her head. "Brahmin is priest, isn't it? Not sure I'd make a very good priest... I can barely remember the Epistles as is. Though I guess if I'm born into it I should be good at it, huh. Not that I make a very good noble, either." She smirked. She kind of hated the nobility, though she could at least get along with them when she had to. Like her cousins.
Hm. That was kind of a nerve, actually, that she hit. He'd told her before that he'd stepped into a different caste, but he hadn't mentioned why, had he? "Being born into something does not make you good at it," he said, very somber. And then a pause to consider what to tell her, filled with smoke. Main reason he smoked: an excuse for pauses to think during conversation.
What he settled on was, "I became a warrior because I was not a very good merchant." This, unlike the rest of his pouring out of his heart to her, was actually not very difficult to talk about. He'd accepted it long ago. It had been the basis of his largest life-changing decision back in his teens. It was a fact he was well-acquainted with.
Damica pursed her lips a moment, then nodded. "Just couldn't sell enough skirts, huh?" she asked, deadpan. Hey, she's drunk.
She thought further. "How do you figure out who should and shouldn't be something, though? I mean, at least here, everyone gets to choose. Is it, like, just following in your father's footsteps or something?"
A wry smile. "I could not sell bread to a starving man." Too willing to compromise just to get the customer to go away. Haggling was the worst--THE WORST!!
What she said was wrong, though. It was interesting how little people realized of their own culture. "Even here, people do not get to choose. Here, caste is based on how much money your parents have, only you don't call it caste. You call it class. And you can choose only so far as what is available to your class." Another smoky pause. "In India, your caste is your parents' caste and their parents' caste and so on. You cannot marry outside your caste. You cannot live outside of it. So a vaishya will marry a vaishya and his son will be a vaishya also."
"Ah, that's only true to some extent." Damica leaned forward again, arms folded on the table before her. "Anyone can join the Guard, no matter your wealth. Anyone can join the Citadel. Pretty sure the same may go for the Hour. It's only really the merchants and nobility that tends to be true for. And even then there are exceptions."
She considered. "Though there is a lot of expectation to follow your parents in either case. Usually depending on your gender. Dad was a guard, son should want to be a guard. Mom was a seamstress, daughter should want to be a seamstress. So I guess it's similar just with more flexibility?"
"Outside of these three, though, you are limited by what your parents can afford. But yes, it still is much less strict than India's castes." Was she sufficiently distracted yet? He'd been away from his post for a while now. He didn't care if he'd been dragged off by an LT, it still felt wrong to leave that guard sitting in his place for so long.
Damica found herself falling into that lull you hit when you've had enough conversation and booze to satisfy you. So despite not ACTUALLY being a mindreader she winds up giving Ravi just what he wanted. She nodded a few times, looked down at her drink, then tipped it back and finished it off before saying, "I should... probably go sober up or something. Hah."
Oh was he being released? Took long enough. (Not that he was angry about it or anything, conversation with Damica was usually welcome.)
"Probably, yes." He stood, ground out the remainder of his cigarette in the ashtray, and told her, "And I should be back on duty." He'd just...ignore his ledger for the rest of the night. Easy enough, right?
Damica
Ravindra
When: After Anson's cookie post.
Where: The Coil
Rating & Warnings: PG, religious discussion
Damica decides to bug Ravi to get her mind off Anson. HINDUISM ENSUES omg they need to talk about something else in their next log JEEZ
Damica had stormed from the barracks after an unexpected training session with one of the guards. Kratochvil just... grated on her nerves, sometimes. He needed to be smacked around! And now she needed something to distract her. Maybe one of Ravi's stories. Ledger tucked under her arm, bundle of cookies in her hand, she headed over to the station where Ravi was on duty.
When she arrived, she grabbed the first guard she saw, ordering, "You, take over." Then she pointed to Ravindra. "You, come with me." She didn't wait for him to ask what was up or try and argue, just started out of the station again. Sometimes being high rank was enjoyable.
...Well, that was a surprise. Ravi blinked at her, and then when she turned away, exchanged puzzled glances with the guard she'd ordered to replace him. Giving the young man a shrug, Ravi gathered up his ledger and stood to follow Damica out.
Was this about Kratochvil? This had to be about Kratochvil. He came up beside her, fell into step with her, and waited patiently for her to explain what the fuck the deal was.
She knew he'd follow. She was a lieutenant. As much as she hated pulling rank on someone she felt far better fit her job, she didn't think he'd mind overly much. Well, Ravi might in this case, actually, but she didn't really care. It's not like she did it often.
Damica steered their pace off towards the Coil, and the walk to get there helped her cool off somewhat, though it took half the trip for her to actually say what was up. She glanced towards Ravi, shrugged, and gave a sheepish smile. "I didn't wanna drink alone."
"Ah," he responded. The answer was not really good enough, but he acted like it was, because if he didn't press, she'd probably go into greater detail. (It was definitely Kratochvil.)
Usually the rank pulling might at least garner a twinge of annoyance, but tonight he didn't mind at all. It gave him an excuse not to look at the ledgers, not to carry on the uncomfortable conversation with Aguilar. So he was complacent, and walked with her in silence, waiting for her to speak again or for them to reach the pub, whichever happened first.
Normally she wouldn't give any detail unless asked, but for Ravi, well, he's who she went to about most things. "I beat him down a bit," she said. After a few moments, she added, "He's not a bad swordsman. Needs practice, though; left too many openings. I'm sure I left him bruised." She sounded both annoyed and amused about the whole thing.
It wasn't much longer before they arrived at the Coil. Damica lead the way in, and took her regular table near the door, flagging a server for ale. Her ledger got set aside on the table, the small bundle atop it, and she leaned back in her seat, letting out a sigh.
"And the fact that it was so sudden means nothing, of course." A good-natured reply, but maybe a little forced. He hadn't been expecting what Aguilar said. Hadn't been expecting a rumour or confirming it by responding. He didn't know what to think of it. Had Damica seen it? Fuck she probably had. Hopefully she knew better than to bring it up. She was usually good about that sort of thing.
Anyway. He didn't feel like drinking tonight. Technically on duty, anyway, so it was a bad plan. When she ordered an ale, he ordered nothing. (Almost got a milk because Hindus fucking love milk but decided he'd rather drink nothing than deal with any mockery for his non-alcoholic choices.)
"Sudden?" She shrugged. "He had a warning in the ledgers. He called me on it." (Fortunately for you Ravi she'd missed the stuff Aguilar said because she was busy beating up Kratochvil.) "I suspect this will become a regular occurrence with his attitude. Not such a terrible thing, really; we need our guards to be good swordsmen."
Damica waggled a finger towards him. "You don't need to be on duty all the time, you know." She of course was referring to his lack of drink, but wasn't going to press. If he didn't feel like drinking, she wouldn't pressure him into it. Not tonight, anyway. The big day wasn't far off. She'd see to it he had plenty to drink then.
When her own drink arrived, she took a few swigs before setting it down and leaning back again. "You got any good stories? I dunno, something fitting. About patience or forgiveness or such." She refrained from continuing the dick jokes by asking for anything related to such. They kind of annoyed her.
Ugh just existing opened you up to criticism. Why did people do this!! Was it such a crime to just not want to drink? "No, only when I am on duty," he replied, with a look that added the unspoken accusation.
(It was a good thing she did not mention the dick jokes because Ravi was REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE with them hooray heteronormativity!)
He wasn't sure what to think of being ordered away from his post to tell her a story. On the one hand, recognition for one of the few things he truly enjoyed doing and felt he was good at. On the other hand, what? She was just that upset about Kratochvil, apparently.
Patience and forgiveness... There were plenty of Citadel stories about that, but he doubted she wanted to listen to one of those. There was the Christian story about the man whose faith was tested on a bet (Christian legends were a fascinating thing, they had a kind and loving god who was a real asshole most of the time). He couldn't think of a good Hindu one at the moment, but he'd really rather tell a familiar story. They were easier, he could lose himself in them better, and he was distracted enough right now with going over his conversation with Aguilar in his head. Was it that obvious? Did people really notice? Uuuuuugh no he wasn't going to think about this right now.
"So the Citadel," he began, jumping right in to keep himself from getting mired too deep in his thoughts, "tells you that Cita is infallible and men are not to question His word. A strange idea, to me, because Hindus are taught to always question, and that even the gods needed to learn the truth of things just as men do. Sometimes, even, to learn them from men."
Having already decided not to push, she let the matter of drinking drop, simply offering a nod. She'd just have to drink enough for both of them. It wasn't like an extra ale or two would fog her mind any.
She wasn't really upset about the ordeal. This had mostly been a ploy to get away from the ledgers. As much as she liked her guardbros, they sometimes went a bit too far for her tastes, and since it had become obvious a few smacks (and even a beatdown) wouldn't shut Kratochvil up, she'd be better off doing something else. Of course, she could have just gone on patrol or something, but she liked Ravi's stories, and he hadn't been far. And with all the business of mobs and fire dogs, there hadn't been much time for a good story.
She set an elbow on the table, leaning forward to listen to the man. Though her brow quirked with a question, she held her tongue. This time, anyway. He didn't like being interrupted, she knew that much. She also knew she'd have plenty of opportunity to do so, anyway, if she really felt the need to, and she didn't really want to start a debate about Cita's supposed infallibility that would prevent her from hearing about his Hindu gods.
"I have told you before about the Atman--the Self, the soul--yes? There is a saying, 'He who learns about the Self and realizes it obtains all worlds and all desires.' The devas and the asuras--the gods and demons--heard this and said, 'This is a great idea. Let us learn about the Self so that we can obtain all worlds and all desires.' So the god Indra and the demon Virochana went together to find a teacher who would teach them about the Atman--the Self." The hardest part about storytelling for him was remembering that his audience had no fucking clue what the Hindi words connotated. He was constantly having to correct himself to words that actually meant something to Balfourians.
"They went to live with a renowned teacher called Prajapati. After thirty-two years, Prajapati finally turns to ask them why they had lived with him for so long. Teachers in India, they do this, to make you prove how badly you want to learn. Indra and Virochana replied that they had come to study the Self so that they may obtain all desires. So Prajapati tells them, 'That which is seen in the eye, that is the Self. That is immortal and fearless--that is Brahman.'" Had he told her about Brahman? He paused, to give her a chance to interrupt if she was confused. He didn't want to have to derail to explain Brahman, but he would if he had to.
A god and a demon peacefully existing next to each other? For thirty-two years? She had to admit, Hindu religion was a lot more interesting than the teachings of Cita. ('Cita's graces,' she quickly thought to herself, seeking forgiveness. She couldn't completely forgo her upbringing.)
Her drink sat before her on the table, all but forgotten. When he paused, her brow furrowed. He'd mentioned a similar word a while ago, but it was one that meant priest, and she didn't think this was the same word, since the context didn't fit. "You'll have to tell me what Brahman is at some point." If it was an important aspect of the story, he'd probably tell her now. If not, that left it open for him to tell her later.
Damn, he hadn't. That was met with a sigh and he leaned back in his chair, thinking about how best to explain it. "Brahman is...everything. And nothing. Brahman is Brahman. Brahman is. It is in all things--it is all things. I am Brahman, you are Brahman, the earth is Brahman, the table is Brahman. It is only that we think they are not Brahman, so to us it is me, and you, and the earth, and the table, but in reality it is all Brahman. The world is an illusion, and Brahman is the truth that lies beneath it."
He waited for her reaction, fully expecting her to be utterly confused. Brahman was a difficult concept to explain to westerners.
Guess that meant it was pertinent to the story. Well.
Damica thought over that, looking confused, and didn't want to detract from the story too long, but she did want to be sure she understood. Especially if it was pertinent. "So Brahman is what the world and everything is made of, and Dharma is the role that each thing has within it?" Hey she was trying here!
Ehhh... Not quite. But really he couldn't expect much from a Tyrolian. Trying to explain more in-depth than that would take too long. He could always go into it later. For now, her idea was probably good enough for the meaning of the story to come through. "Close enough," he told her.
"Anyway, Prajapati tells them this, that the Self is what is seen in the eye, and Indra and Virochana ask if this is the Self which is seen reflected in a mirror. 'The Self is indeed seen reflected in a mirror,' he tells them, and then says, 'Go and look at your reflections and whatever you do not understand, come and tell me about it.' Indra and Virochana go and do this, and then they come back to Prajapati and say, 'We have seen the Self. We have seen even the hair and the nails.' Prajapati says, 'Go and put on your finest clothes, and look again at your reflections.' They do, and they return and say, 'We have see the Self, exactly like ourselves, dressed in our finest clothes.' To which Prajapati says, 'The Self is indeed seen in these. The Self is immortal and fearless, and it is Brahman.' And so Indra and Virochana leave, thinking they have realized the truth of the Self.
"Virochana returns to the demons and teaches them that the body alone is the Self, that the body alone is to be celebrated and worshiped. The demons accept this as their doctrine, and this is why demons are plagued by suffering. But Indra, on his way back to the gods, realizes that he has not learned anything useful. If the Self is only the body, then it will be finely dressed when the body is finely dressed, blind when the body is blind, lame when the body is lame, and will die when the body dies. That is not the immortal Self. So Indra returns to Parajapati to study again.
"After another thirty-two years--Prajapati is a dick and Indra is a god--Prajapati tells him, 'That which moves about in dreams, that is the Self. That is immortal, that is fearless, that is Brahman.' So Indra leaves again, thinking that now he truly understands the Self. But again he stops and thinks that even in dreams the body is conscious of its suffering, and so this cannot be the truth of the Self either. He returns to Prajapati, and after another thirty-two years, Prajapati says, 'When a man is sound asleep, free from dreams and perfectly at rest, that is the Self. The Self is immortal and fearless and it is Brahman.'
"Again, Indra leaves, and again he realizes he still does not know the truth of the Self. A man is not conscious of himself while asleep. He is not conscious of any existence at all. So once more he returns to Prajapati, who makes him wait only five years this time. Then Prajapati says to Indra, 'The body is mortal, but within it is the immortal Self. When this Self is associated with the consciousness of the body, it is subject to suffering, and so long as it is associated with the body's consciousness, there can be no freedom from suffering. But when the association is gone, then the suffering is also gone. The Self is distinct from the senses and the mind, it is above physical consciousness. It is immortal and fearless, it is Brahman.'
"This time when Indra left, he truly understood what Prajapati meant about the Self, and so he returned to the gods to teach them this. And so the gods meditate on the Self and so they obtain all worlds and all desires. And any man who does the same, he will obtain the same."
It was one of those stories with repeating elements, which made it easy to remember and easy to recite, and one he knew well because as a boy he'd always found the 32 year bouts of servitude ridiculous and because it explained how the gods knew no more than humans about the truths of Brahman. It was an easy story to tell, an easy distraction, though now he suspected Damica would have questions and that too would be a distraction--but a more engrossing one.
That was a lot to take in at once. Especially sober. What little she'd already downed was certainly not enough. After blinking at Ravi a few times, Damica lifted her tankard and emptied it down her throat, then flagged a server for a refill. She still didn't speak, though, her mind going over the whole thing about self and Brahman and all that.
She was starting to wonder if Cita's teachings were really that great, honestly. You get moral stories, sure, but they're generally fairly straightforward. None of this dozens of years of study only to realize you hadn't learned a damned thing and have to go back to your teacher. And nothing about Cita wanting to spend all that time learning from a mere mortal! Cita was a GOD. It was humans who were supposed to learn from Him!
After quite a bit of thoughtfulness, she finally spoke. "Okay, so. Wait." Her brow furrowed. "So the Self is what you are - the soul, you'd compared it to - and the body is just this thing it houses in and while the body suffers, the Self suffers. But separating the two means the Self won't suffer. So that's why they meditate? To learn how to separate the two?"
Man, maybe he should have ordered a drink. Instead, he rolled and lit a cigarette while Damica thought the story over. He leaned back in his chair, watching her as the smoke spiraled, waiting for her reply.
When she finally did speak, he remained silent for a moment, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a cloud of smoke as he considered his answer. "Again, close. It is to separate the consciousness of the body from the truth of the Self, and to realize that the Self is Brahman, and to know that even while your Self occupies this body, it is also Brahman, it is also all other things."
Damica just sort of stared at him for a few moments, blinked, then shook her head and watched the smoke rise from his cigarette. "Your religion is very confusing," she said, accepting the fresh drink and drinking back half of it. She'd nurse the rest, probably. Maybe.
After situating the drink on the table, her arms resting around it, she pondered further. "If everything is Brahman, wouldn't that mean that when someone suffers, everyone suffers?"
The comment on his religion got a smile that was nothing more than the slight upturn of one corner of his mouth. It was only confusing because she could not open her mind wide enough to think differently. He didn't hold it against her, though. Most people in the west were like this.
"Yes, of course," he answered. He leaned down the table to requisition the nearest ashtray, sliding it over to him and then ashing the cigarette over it. "Everyone is suffering simply by virtue of thinking they are themselves and not Brahman. To be a part of Maya--of the illusion of the world--is to suffer."
Hey she was trying here it's not easy to just suddenly change your views on the universe you know! Gosh!
Damica smirked, lifted a finger and pointed at Ravi. "But even those who know of Brahman suffer. So how is it different to know than to not know?"
Aww, adorable! She thought she had him in a contradiction! "To know and to understand are different things," he replied, settling back in his chair and putting the cigarette to his mouth again.
She thought about that, then leaned one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "Does that mean you know but don't understand?" She was honestly curious and wanting to understand, no hint of sarcasm or any such in her voice.
Another cloud of smoke came out with a sigh. "Yes."
A pause, and then he shifted in his chair, leaning forward with his arms on the table, one laid over it in front of him and the other held up, smoke trailing from the cigarette in his fingers. "It is like sword drills. You can know the motions, and carry them out, and teach them to others, but unless you understand them, you are only repeating what you know."
"Ah." She thought about that as she took a sip of her drink, then smirked. "This is stuff you grew up on. If you don't understand it, I don't know what chance I have of understanding it in this lifetime." She'd still try, though! She was stubborn like that. "Though I gotta say, as confusing as your religion is, it's really interesting."
That got a grin, though lopsided as his always were. "I have learned more about Hinduism since coming to Tyrol than I ever learned about it in India. You are not the only one who finds it interesting, and teaching others has taught me much." A pause, half a smile. "Besides, you have many lifetimes to come to understand it. Don't worry."
Laughing, she leaned back in her seat again, lifting her mug to her lips. She did have the insight to wait until she'd finished laughing before she sipped, at least. She was only just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, and didn't expect to feel much. A few mugs of ale would hardly get her drunk. "So what would I be coming back as, if I do really well in this lifetime?" she asked, curiously. "I may track you down to teach me more often. It's certainly a good distraction." Perhaps more than that. It really did make her think.
His eyebrows rose at the question. But of course, the reincarnation part was what everyone was most curious about. "A brahmin, perhaps," he answered. "But remember, I will be a frog."
A loud laugh exploded from the woman. Good thing she'd set her drink down! After she'd managed to (mostly) stop laughing, she grinned, "I'm sure you'll make a good frog. Just try not to get caught in any nets." Then she tilted her head. "Brahmin is priest, isn't it? Not sure I'd make a very good priest... I can barely remember the Epistles as is. Though I guess if I'm born into it I should be good at it, huh. Not that I make a very good noble, either." She smirked. She kind of hated the nobility, though she could at least get along with them when she had to. Like her cousins.
Hm. That was kind of a nerve, actually, that she hit. He'd told her before that he'd stepped into a different caste, but he hadn't mentioned why, had he? "Being born into something does not make you good at it," he said, very somber. And then a pause to consider what to tell her, filled with smoke. Main reason he smoked: an excuse for pauses to think during conversation.
What he settled on was, "I became a warrior because I was not a very good merchant." This, unlike the rest of his pouring out of his heart to her, was actually not very difficult to talk about. He'd accepted it long ago. It had been the basis of his largest life-changing decision back in his teens. It was a fact he was well-acquainted with.
Damica pursed her lips a moment, then nodded. "Just couldn't sell enough skirts, huh?" she asked, deadpan. Hey, she's drunk.
She thought further. "How do you figure out who should and shouldn't be something, though? I mean, at least here, everyone gets to choose. Is it, like, just following in your father's footsteps or something?"
A wry smile. "I could not sell bread to a starving man." Too willing to compromise just to get the customer to go away. Haggling was the worst--THE WORST!!
What she said was wrong, though. It was interesting how little people realized of their own culture. "Even here, people do not get to choose. Here, caste is based on how much money your parents have, only you don't call it caste. You call it class. And you can choose only so far as what is available to your class." Another smoky pause. "In India, your caste is your parents' caste and their parents' caste and so on. You cannot marry outside your caste. You cannot live outside of it. So a vaishya will marry a vaishya and his son will be a vaishya also."
"Ah, that's only true to some extent." Damica leaned forward again, arms folded on the table before her. "Anyone can join the Guard, no matter your wealth. Anyone can join the Citadel. Pretty sure the same may go for the Hour. It's only really the merchants and nobility that tends to be true for. And even then there are exceptions."
She considered. "Though there is a lot of expectation to follow your parents in either case. Usually depending on your gender. Dad was a guard, son should want to be a guard. Mom was a seamstress, daughter should want to be a seamstress. So I guess it's similar just with more flexibility?"
"Outside of these three, though, you are limited by what your parents can afford. But yes, it still is much less strict than India's castes." Was she sufficiently distracted yet? He'd been away from his post for a while now. He didn't care if he'd been dragged off by an LT, it still felt wrong to leave that guard sitting in his place for so long.
Damica found herself falling into that lull you hit when you've had enough conversation and booze to satisfy you. So despite not ACTUALLY being a mindreader she winds up giving Ravi just what he wanted. She nodded a few times, looked down at her drink, then tipped it back and finished it off before saying, "I should... probably go sober up or something. Hah."
Oh was he being released? Took long enough. (Not that he was angry about it or anything, conversation with Damica was usually welcome.)
"Probably, yes." He stood, ground out the remainder of his cigarette in the ashtray, and told her, "And I should be back on duty." He'd just...ignore his ledger for the rest of the night. Easy enough, right?