Circle

In the small town of Zema in Sikkim, where India touches China touches Nepal, the thick rains poured down from the mountains, rattling rooftops and provoking the barking of dogs. A lone innkeeper stood at his porch, calling for his noisome animals to come inside when he noticed the grey bulk of a traveler approaching through the downpour. The innkeeper, a man of little material wealth and of kind heart, rushed inside to brew a cup of warm tea. He turned from the freshly lit fire to greet his new guest, whose sandals and bells made soft splashes and chimes as they walked across the wooden floor.
The traveler was cloaked in heavy saffron robes which wrapped their body from head to toe. After reaching the fireplace, they removed their drenched garments and the innkeeper beheld a thin person, not quite female while not quite male, with tanned skin and soft brown eyes that seemed to glow with the knowledge of some obscure secret. The innkeeper offered his guest a cup of tea which was accepted with the graceful hand gestures and wan smile of an actor, and was given the request for a bowl of broth. There was a certain power in the stranger’s voice and the innkeeper slowly receded into the kitchen to fetch a dish.
He discovered a fine bowl and poured the simple drink into it, adding a bit of rice. Coming from the kitchen he caught sight of another visitor entering from the deluge. This new guest was an older man, wore a dull orange robe, and walked with utter silence, as though lost in some deep contemplation. The guest proceeded to the fire, elected to keep his thin robe on and sat with a rigid back. He moved with decisiveness and patience, though his skin clung tightly to his ribs and he appeared beaten and battered by the storm. The innkeeper offered him a cup of tea as well, but this offer was declined and the new guest sat with eyes closed as though watching the fire through shut lids. The first guest watched, quietly drank their broth, and smiled politely at the man in the orange.
The two sat quietly side by side, staring into the fire, one with staunch determination and the other with child-like curiosity. Eventually the innkeeper returned to the kitchen and began to make dough. He continued in the meditative kneading and folding until the sound of paws came tapping across his floor. Peeking out from the doorway he observed an immensely shaggy dog warming itself by his fire. He stared at it for a minute or so, and after concluding that it was no threat to his home, he returned from his bread. He did not have the heart to throw the beast back into the rain.
The three sat in quiet speculation, watching the flames dance until the sun began to set through the dark clouds. Standing up and giving a great stretch, the dog spoke, “Is it not grand that we are all sitting here, none more powerful than another. Is it not amazing how everything is in such proportion. We all come from nature and so we are all one.” The innkeeper could not believe his ears and returned to the doorframe in stunned silence.
“But nature is always in flux,” spoke the long-faced monk, his eyes now open and his voice slow and soothing. “In our daily action we maintain the balance; it is how life should be. Man seeks to compete against nature, harness it. But this is folly as he will eventually return to where he came from.”
“Which is Brahmin,” said the stranger in orange. “It is ridiculous to try to bind that which is fundamentally you. All rivers flow into the same sea. When man wakes up he will see that he is truly the same as everything else.”
“Because everything is nature,” the dog barked, in a philosophical tone.
“Because everything is balance,” the man in orange droned.
“Because everything is a game,” chimed the first stranger.
The three looked at each other, and an awkward silence hung in the room like a thick smoke. The elderly man turned to the younger traveler. “There is no concept of a game without balance. What do you judge the rules against, how do you tell what you’ve learned? How can you win or lose? Balance must come before the game.”
But the orange-robed figure turned to the dog and said, “Is not all of nature a competition, of predators and prey, of life and death, just as a game of go? Nature bends to its own patterns and strategies. It amuses itself; the game existed long before nature.”
The shaggy dog gave a sharp snort and stated to the older man, “You do not see, my friend. Without ability to contrast there is no ability to balance. And nature must care for that contrast, just as it cares for all things. The cat does not stop to grieve for the children of the mouse it eats; this would be foolish. It is only when humans assign the traits of good and evil to nature that you must institute your balance. Therefore, nature came first.”
The three stared intensely at each other and then burst out in a fit of laughing. They gathered up their belongings, left a few coins on their seats, and walked away into the rain. The innkeeper was enlightened.