Recently, in certain circles, it has become fashionable to talk about your previous incarnations. You can often hear from a visitor to some mannered salon a proud phrase about what an amazing personality he was in a past life somewhere there: in England, or France, either in the XII, or in the XVII century ...
Since I do remember my incarnations, I can definitely say that I was not an amazing person. The last incarnation that was revealed to me was in the 16th century - then I was a Tibetan monk - a letter carrier, delivering important messages to the outside of the abbot of the Tharpa-Choy Lin monastery.
And here I am again - on Earth, in Russia, at the turn of the 20th and 21st centuries. But what was between my current incarnation and that monk is hidden by some kind of veil with a flicker of obscure images and feelings.
I was always tormented by the question - why? Why, having risen so high on the spiritual ladder, I could not rise even higher, why was I returned to Earth again, and even into the impure body of a woman? ..
And one day I realized...
In order to be born on this planet as a woman after having been a Tibetan monk, one had to do something that would have to be punished through an imperfect incarnation. And that big break of four centuries, hidden from awareness by a shimmering veil, could mean only one thing: that although there were incarnations, they were not in human form, as in Vysotsky's song: "... was born a baobab ...". This means that something was done that required for redemption as many as four centuries of incarnations in lower forms, until I got to the human, and even then the female.
The one who was not in himself, in order to move to the highest incarnation, and then to exit from their cycle, repentance is required. But repentance is not available to a person in a state of “bye-me-no-me”. Only by returning and realizing himself, a person will be able to repent, that is, realizing himself, be responsible for his actions.
I want to know what a monk did in the mountains of Tibet in the 16th century and for what he was punished by the cycle of lower incarnations.
Dorje was in a hurry. The path was not close, and the sun was already approaching a dangerous line. Despite the sandals, hot stones burned his tired feet. The saffron dhoti was soaked with acrid sweat and dusty. The long unshaven back of the head mercilessly itched and itched from the germinating hedgehog of hair.
He had already been on the road for seven days, and soon the majestic view of the fifth monastery should open before him, where for several years he had been delivering messages from the abbot of the Tharpa-Choy Lin monastery.
With his gaze fixed on the pass towering ahead, behind which the Bagten Monastery was hidden, Dorje rearranged his hard-working legs in the usual rhythm. There, beyond the pass, a short rest awaited him before he moved on to the monastery of Sera, the last of his route.
From the rocky road leading to the pass, rising along the edge of a steep slope, a view of the shin-nag, forest thickets that covered the valley with a green carpet, opened up.
Dorje again looked up at the top of the pass, trembling in the distant haze, when suddenly his foot caught on something on the road.
Looking down, Dorje was surprised to see a linen sack lying in the dust. Looking around in bewilderment, Dorje thought, who could have dropped this? Lifting the sack, he untied the straps and peered inside: there was a change of women's clothing, a comb, a wooden flask of water, and bread wrapped in a colorful cloth.
Two hours ago, he had missed a caravan of merchants hurrying about their business, perhaps they had lost the bag, although he did not notice any women among them.
Thoroughly dusting off the dust bag, Dorje placed it on a large stone near the road - maybe they will come back for it, or it will be useful to someone else ...
Getting ready to move on, Dorje cast a last glance around and suddenly something stopped him - on the right, not far from the side of the road, a woman's straw hat was lying almost hidden in the grass.
The monk cautiously approached her, but did not pick her up and only examined her. The hat was almost new, and it is unlikely that anyone just threw it away ...
With an ill presentiment, Dorje parted the dense bushes growing nearby, and carefully peered through the twilight into the space hidden behind them ...
There was something white. And this “something” in outline was very reminiscent of a human body…
Ignoring the branches clinging to the dhoti, Dorje began to push through the bushes until he reached the naked body lying on the ground.
Stopping over him, Dorje saw that it was a woman, or rather, almost a girl, on whose young beaten face blood was caked, and her eyes were swollen with purple-black bruises. Her long black braids were wrapped around a boxwood trunk, and torn clothes lay nearby. Everything pointed to the fact that the unfortunate woman was brutally abused.
Picking up the pieces of clothing, Dorje carefully covered the body of the victim with them, throwing a cursory glance at her small breasts bitten to bruises, and thighs, on which blood had already baked with brown spots.
“Who could have done this?! Dorje thought as he knelt beside the girl and freed her braids. He was shocked by the picture of the brutal atrocity, he had to face this side of life for the first time. “And what to do with the body now?”
Suddenly, a groan was heard from the ground.
Dorje recoiled in surprise, as he was sure that the girl was dead. But she stirred and slowly opened her eyes. Seeing Dorje bending over her, she screamed hoarsely and thrashed all over, trying to crawl away from him.
Holding her by the shoulders, he tried to calm her down.
Quiet, quiet, I won't touch you, don't be afraid!
The girl curled up under his arms and looked at him with a look of horror.
- Don't be afraid! he repeated, and, releasing her shoulders, sat down beside her.
Looking at her with sympathy, he asked:
- Who did this to you?
The girl didn't answer.
- You can stand up? He turned patiently to her again. “There’s a spring nearby, I’ll take you there, you can…” he hesitated, choosing what to call what she needed to do, and added with relief: “… wash off the dirt.”
The girl looked down at her body, barely covered by scraps of clothing and tried to sit up, but immediately screamed, again leaning back on the ground. Her face was contorted in a grimace of pain, and tears flowed down her cheeks from tightly closed eyes.
“Let me help you,” said Dorje, leaning towards the girl and slipping his arm under her shoulders.
“No, Father,” she groaned, trying to push his hand away from her. I can't, it hurts...
“I understand, but you can’t stay here either,” Dorje objected, carefully picking her up.
She groaned again.
“If it hurts you to sit, come on, I’ll lift you to your feet,” he suggested.
“Everything is spinning before my eyes, I won’t be able to stand,” she replied.
“Don't be afraid, I will support you,” Dorje reassured her.
Hugging her around the waist, he helped her to her feet, and was embarrassed, feeling that her back was bare - he covered her with scraps of clothing only in front. Confused, and feeling her hot skin under his hand, he did not know what to do. But then the girl suddenly began to sag in his arms, apparently losing consciousness again, and he barely managed to catch her.
“Light as a feather of a bird of paradise,” thought Dorje, heading towards the spring, and parting the bushes with his back so as not to injure the girl lying in his arms. For the first time he had to carry such a load, and although he was tired from the long journey between the monasteries, he carried it without much effort.
- What is your name? he asked when he saw the girl open her eyes.
“Chhoizom…” she answered in a barely audible voice.
Having reached the spring, he carefully lowered the girl to the ground, and, leaning her back against the sandy slope, said:
"Stay here, I'll be right back."
Making his way through the bushes back to the road, he picked up the sack he had left on the stone, picked up his hat, which was lying in the grass, and rushed almost at a run to the spring.
The girl lay motionless where he had left her. Hearing Dorje's footsteps, she stirred and frightenedly turned her bruised face towards him. Dorje was again horrified by what had been done to her.
“Is this probably yours?” he asked, placing the sack and hat next to the girl.
She nodded and looked at him gratefully.
“Do you want me to take you to the stream?” Water will ease your pain. In the meantime, I will prepare a place to sleep, it will be night soon, - and he added, explaining: - There is a cave nearby. You can't go, and I can't leave you here alone.
Without waiting for her answer, Dorje picked up the girl in his arms and carried her to the stream flowing from the spring. Then he moved her bag closer to her, and headed towards the rocks, where there was a cave, in which he often took refuge from the sudden bad weather.
For two days he nursed Chhoizom, weakened by the loss of blood, not daring to continue the journey, and did his best to alleviate her suffering. He gave her a decoction of sage and saffron to drink, applied cold compresses to the bruises on her face, and warm earth taken from a mouse hole facing east, to her lower back.
All this time, Chhoizom was silent, only briefly answering his questions and warily watching his actions. Finally, towards the end of the second day, she broke her silence and told Dorje that she had recently been widowed and wanted to return to relatives who lived five days' journey from her late husband's village. Not daring to go alone, she volunteered to be a fellow traveler to a trade caravan heading to the area she needed. But on the way, five merchants, fascinated by the beauty of the young widow, decided to taste her charms, and, right in the afternoon, dragging her into boxwood thickets, they brutally raped her. She, who had lived with her husband in love and affection for almost a year, would have bled to death after this monstrous intercourse, if not for Dorje.
He listened to her attentively, without interrupting, and lamented to himself about the hardships of the Path that befell this unfortunate young woman.
On the third day, when they had eaten everything they had, including the bread in the sack of Choizom, they slowly made their way across the pass to Bogten Monastery.
Having brought Chkhoydzom to a village located not far from the monastery, Dorje left her with a compassionate woman, and he went to the monastery, promising Chkhoydzom to return for her, and on the way back to his monastery to accompany her to the village where her relatives lived.
A few days later, with a reply mail, he was already in a hurry to the village, where he left his ward.
Seeing, he did not immediately recognize her - the bruises left her face, replaced by a gentle blush, painful stiffness disappeared in her movements. She walked out to meet him with a smooth step, and stopped, looking shyly at the approaching Dorje. In her hand she held the familiar linen sack filled with travel supplies.
“You have come for me, holy father…” she said softly and bowed down to Dorje with gratitude, kissing his hand.
“If you are ready, then it’s time for us to go, they have been waiting for me in my monastery for a long time,” he said, and, turning, quickly walked along the road.
Chkhoizom said goodbye to the woman who sheltered her and hurried after Dorje.
In a few days they passed two monasteries. Chhoizom did not complain on the way and followed Dorje without falling behind.
He left her in the villages during his stay in the next monastery, and every time he took her away from there, he noticed how she, seeing him, sighed with relief, as if she was afraid that he would leave her here.
In the short moments of rest by the road, Chkhoizom would sit a little further away from Dorje and silently look at him. She was generally silent, and Dorje more than once caught himself thinking that he would very much like to know what she was thinking.
When they reached the Kabu monastery, near which there were no villages, Dorje had to leave Chkhoydzom at a waterfall, an hour's drive from the monastery.
“Here you can rest,” he said before leaving. “I’ll bring you fresh food and set you up for the night. Don't be afraid, you're safe here.
Three hours later he returned.
Taking the bushes aside, Dorje went out to the waterfall, and stunned to stop: streams of water fell down from the rocks in a diamond cascade, and an unsteady rainbow trembled over the lake at the foot of the waterfall, where a completely naked Chkhoydzom was splashing. Her slender body, all covered in beads of moisture, shimmered like alabaster in the rays of the sun, and her long black hair trailed behind her in a dark, shiny train across the water.
Feeling the presence of a stranger, Chhoizom looked around fearfully, but when she saw Dorje, she smiled at him with relief.
Getting out of the water, she went to meet him, not at all embarrassed by her own nakedness.
Dorje looked at her as if spellbound. It was the first time he had seen a naked woman so openly and up close. Finding Chhoizom a few days ago, lying torn and unconscious in the thick of the bushes, he only glimpsed her body, and it was disfigured by violence. Now, in the bright sun, he was able to see her well, and he was frightened - frightened by the female beauty, which was previously unknown to him in his monastic life, and the overwhelming storm of emotions that she aroused.
With horror, Dorje felt something hot boil inside him, and, breaking through a stream of hot blood, rushed into the lower abdomen, lifting the instantly heavy flesh.
Chhoizom walked towards Dorje, silently looking at him with a mysterious expression of her elongated black eyes. Her chiseled little breasts, on which there were almost no traces of bruises, trembled in time with her steps. Small light brown nipples, like beads of a rosary, stood out invitingly against her white chest.
Coming close to Dorje, Chhoizom stopped and lowered her eyes in anticipation.
Dorje, unable to resist the temptation, reached out and touched her breasts. Feeling the cool touch of a firm nipple, he slowly ran his hand over it.
Choizom shuddered and looked up at Dorje with a clouded look of desire.
This was the last straw...
Dorje, tearing off his dhoti, pushed Chkhoydzom onto the grass, and, hovering over her, roughly spread her legs. Casting a short glance at the defenseless bosom that opened to him, he plunged into it with his pulsing flesh with a kind of animal roar and froze from a sharp, unusual sensation ... It was an incomparable sensation, which he had never experienced in his life.
Rolling back, Dorje freed his flesh from the girl and entered her again, wanting to once again feel this amazing immersion in the hot, wet bosom, tightly wrapping around him from all sides, and could no longer stop. He swayed furiously over Chhoiz, as if driving each blow deep into her supple body, one by one, the years of his forced chastity.
Choizom, who at first froze in fear under him, feeling the passionate onslaught of Dorje inside her, suddenly started up, threw up her hips, and, obeying his rhythm, impetuously moved towards him. A muffled moan escaped her lips, and it wasn't a moan of pain.
The green crowns of the shin-naga closed over them like an openwork tent. The noise of the waterfall, the bird voices disappeared somewhere, and in the silence that enveloped them from all sides, only the sounds of their intermittent breathing, groans and blows of bodies against each other remained.
Time stopped. Dorje could not tell how long this madness lasted. He only remembered how Chhoizom, clinging to his shoulders, suddenly screamed and trembled under him in convulsions of pleasure, to which his flesh immediately responded.
Splashing out into the depths of her body with a desperate groan, Dorje, breathing heavily, rolled away from Chkhoizom and prostrated himself exhausted on the grass damp with water dust. He had such a feeling as if his skin and nerves were torn off, he stopped perceiving the world, and there was not a single thought in his head. A heavy dope fell on him, preventing him from lifting his closing eyelids.
For several long moments he was unaware of anything, but gradually his head began to clear and a feeling of irreparable guilt washed over him.
"What have I done?! What did she do to me?!..” – he mentally groaned, coming to his senses.
Getting up clumsily, Dorje ran on trembling legs to the lake and plunged into its cold waters, trying to cool his body, still scorched by flashes of memory of recent intimacy. He lay down in shallow water so that his body was washed by the fast jets of a stream running from the lake, and, closing his eyes, he leaned his head back on the sandy shore. He lay motionless until he felt that his body was completely frozen. Then he got up, and, turning his back to Chkhoizom, who was sitting on the shore, began to shake off drops of water from himself with his palms.
Suddenly, he felt Chhoizom's hot body pressed against his back, and small hot arms wrapped around him. Fluttering across his chest, they moved down, rushing towards his already calm flesh.
- No! shouted Dorje, pulling those caressing hands away from himself and turning to their owner.
Choizom took a step back from him and looked at him in fear.
- No! Dorje repeated once more. - Leave me alone! - and he pushed her hard in the chest.
Unable to stay on her feet, Choizom fell on her back.
He suddenly felt like beating and even trampling her underfoot for having led him into temptation, for forcing him to commit a great sin. But, looking at Chkhoizom meekly lying in front of him, he felt how the already cocked spring of passion again begins to unwind somewhere inside him with an irresistible blinding desire.
Choizom, seeing how his flesh trembled, filled with new strength, spread her legs wide in an inviting movement and slightly raised her hips towards him.
He rushed at her, dashed into the already familiar depth, and, suffering from his own weakness, which did not allow him to cope with the lust that had seized him, he sunk his teeth into her protruding nipple invitingly.
Choizom twitched and, with a voluptuous cry, arched towards him. He, no longer restraining himself, began to bite her chest and neck, leaving deep marks on them with immediately appearing bloody dew, and feeling how, overwhelmed by a new passion - the passion of all the rapists of the world, with pleasure torturing their victims, plunges into a dark pool of rapture of someone else's pain. But his victim shared this pleasure with him, and at the edge of his passion-clouded consciousness, a confused thought suddenly flashed that no prayers and fasts could save him from that demonic abyss into which Chkhoydzom irresistibly dragged him. He will fall into it, overcome by new vices...
Dorje was horrified by this thought and, trying to stop this delusion, with force squeezed the throat of the one in which he saw the embodiment of all his temptations.
Choizom thrashed under his arms in an attempt to escape, her face flushed with dark blood, but her convulsive movements only inflamed him more. He squeezed her throat even tighter, continuing to invade deep into her body, and at the moment when she finally went limp under him, he shuddered in a paroxysm of deafening ecstasy, pouring vital moisture into her already dead body.
Moving away from the girl, Dorje lay down for a few minutes, pacifying his breath, then looked at the motionless body of Chkhoizom with a long parting glance and got up.
Without even looking at his dhoti lying on the shore like a wet orange rag, he resolutely headed towards the waterfall.
Clinging to the rocky ledges, he climbed up, not paying attention to the fact that the sun mercilessly scorched his back, that the bushes growing on the rocks scratched his naked body, and streams of blood flowed from his skinned knees, mixing with the stony soil under his feet.
The sun was almost down when he was at the top of the cliff from which the waterfall fell.
Standing up to his full height, Dorje looked down. Shadows were already there, but he could still make out the tiny body of Chhoizom, whitening on the emerald grass, from such a height.
– Oh, great Buddha, I have lost my Way! I have sinned twice in one day and do not want to multiply my sins any more. May the third sin break the chain of my atrocities! he said, taking a step forward.
When he flew down along with the hissing streams of water, he did not feel fear or pain. And even the feeling of guilt left him - he redeemed her by sacrificing his sinful body. The soul does not die, and he will return to this earth in a different guise...
He imagined himself as an immortal drop of life that would forever fall down - water in a waterfall, dew from a blade of grass, a seed into a woman's bosom ...