Free Shambhala by Brian E. Miller Page A

notices that the mango tree above him seems to be moving and lowering its branches. The tree swipes a large branch across Bahi’s chest, knocking gnomes to the ground. Branches swoop down to pick up gnomes and fling them into the jungle. They begin to run in fear, retreating into the darkness of the forest. Bahi breaks free of the tangle of vine and liberates Kamini, who struggles on the ground, entangled in panic and vines. Picking up his staff, he swings it wildly in all directions as the gnomes scurry off crying out, “Meep meep meep!”
    Realizing they’re all gone, Bahi looks up at the tree as it appears to bow down slightly, revealing a face that seems to be smiling at him, through it’s rough, barky trunk.
    “Thank you,” Bahi says, lowering his head in gratitude as Kamini floats up to his shoulder.
    “The Baba awaits you,” the tree says with a deep, commanding voice. The tree slowly creeks its branches down toward them, dangling a couple of ripe mangos. “Take, please,” the tree offers with a comforting voice.
    “How can I repay you for your help?” Bahi asks, plucking the mangos from the branch as the leaves shake like a splash of water, “Shhhh.” The leaves ascend and the tree again stands upright.
    “How can I repay you, tree,” Bahi again asks.
    The tree lets out a deep-bellowed laugh and says, “Remember me, remember the generosity of the forest, and you will more than pay me back. I ask for nothing but mutual deference.” The face in the tree disappears into the trunk, and the tree stands still as if nothing has happened.
    Kamini folds the berries back into the cloth, and Bahi puts them back into his pocket. “A talking tree! Now I’ve seen it all!” Kamini says.
    Staring in wonder up at the tree, Bahi turns to place the two mangoes on the ground and brushes the leaves and debris that cover his cotton beige shirt and pants from the tussle. Sitting in the shelter and security of the great tree above him, he peels the mangoes in layers, revealing their glistening orange fruit, which Kamini sits upon, slurping the sugars. Bahi’s mouth waters before he sinks his teeth into the juicy, sweet fruit, still warm from the day’s sun. Gratitude overwhelms him as he stares up at the tree, enjoying its fruitful offering.
    Finishing the mangoes, he stands up, cleaning his hands on his pants as he takes a deep breath, knowing there is more to journey in the darkness of the jungle. Not a thought even remotely entertains the idea of sleeping here.
    “Shall we?” he asks.
    “We shall,” Kamini answers.
    Patting the tree with appreciation, he picks up his staff and heads off down the dim, moonlit path. Approaching the darkness of the trail, forms move and breathe; vines are feared to be snakes; swaying trees could be ogres. As the knots in their throats tighten, they round a bend, where a hazy fog begins to seep in from the ground, illuminated by moonlight as it rises and thickens. Coming to an open area, Bahi notices stones skillfully set about the ground. “Is this a graveyard?” he whispers.
    “What’s a graveyard?” Kamini asks, with no answer from Bahi, who is on high alert, softly stepping through the dense mist, which rises up in a damp, eerie cloud.
    The sounds of faint growling just ahead of them alert Bahi to grasp his staff extra tight. Palms sweating into the wood, he cautiously steps forward. The trees are old, and many look as though they have been dead for quite some time, hanging askew with naked branches randomly jutting out in ghastly directions. Kamini holds tight, digging her tiny, fearful, feet into Bahi’s shoulder. The ground is moist to the step, and the moonlight casts ghoulish shadows that move as they walk. The fog thickens, undulating like campfire smoke, lighting up in the moonlight as it swiftly rolls by. The growling grows louder, and as they draw closer, transforms into snorts. Bahi can make out the form of a dog-like animal ahead as he takes a step backward, to