The Thousandth Life

A short story
by Gopal Balachandran

A man once found himself lost in a wasteland of jungle and swamp. He had no memory of his arrival and had no thought about his final destination. That he was moving in some direction was beyond doubt. The path he was on, a luminous trail of white limestone, was clearly apparent, and though there were no travelers in sight, the way was well-trod. Footprints dotted every inch of the space.

After several hours, he came to a clearing. A sadhu, legs folded, eyes half closed, a wry smile barely crossing his lips, was seated at its very epicenter. He was dressed immaculately in a long, flowing, saffron robe that fell in luxurious folds around him. His hair was perfectly tied into a snake-like bun at the top of his head, as if he were Lord Shiva himself waiting to catch the Ganga.

The man was overjoyed. He'd been so alone for so long that he had completely forgotten how it felt to be in the presence of another. He bowed to the seated sadhu and before he could control himself, started babbling uncontrollably of his amnesia and his lack of direction.

The sadhu stroked his beard and looked thoughtfully around.

The man followed his eyes and noticed that just as his own path did, several others led off from the clearing, like spokes from a wheel.

"You are not the first traveler I have seen lost in the jungle," the sadhu said. "Nor will you be the last. Of that I am sure. This forest is wondrous, with delights you can hardly even comprehend; all the paths that lead from here lead somewhere, but that one—," he motioned to one at the far end— "is the one least traveled. Not many choose it, but the ones who do are men of strong heart. And the end of that path leads to wonders one million times greater than all the other paths combined. Choose wisely."

The man considered. There must be a reason most don't travel on the path. It must be dangerous. But are most people really so timid as to not risk it? Then the answer came to him. Most people had someone or something to live for. He had nothing. At least to the extent he could tell, there was no child waiting for its father to return, no wife waiting for her husband, no parents waiting for their son. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He thought greedily of the riches that awaited him.

He made his way towards the head of the path. It looked like a continuation of the one he had been on. The same luminous trail, the same canopy, the same heavy roots of trees. In his heart, he felt there was nothing to fear, that most people are easily frightened.

Taking a deep breath, he readied himself. He turned to take one final look back at the sadhu, who sat in meditation, his eyes half-closed. The man thought he glimpsed a smile play on his lips and was heartened. He placed his right foot gingerly onto the path.

Instantly, the world of the jungle transformed before his very eyes. But how, he could not put his finger on. The leaves on the trees stood out more crisply; the afternoon sun peered through the canopy in individual rays, striking the underbrush. The jungle seemed more alive, more vivid, and the man was glad. He had made the right choice after all.

He paused to rest under a large mangrove tree, thinking what a delight it would be if he had a sumptuous meal. Instantly, one appeared before him. Delighted, he ate the feast. After finishing, he thought it would be wonderful if a beautiful woman were seated next to him, and instantly, one appeared. What fools the others were, he thought. There is nothing to fear.

He lay down and fell into a deep sleep. A pleasant dream slowly transformed into a nightmare, and he had an image of being attacked by a jaguar. Instantly, the thought manifested, and a jaguar pounced on him. The man died shortly afterwards.

However, by an ironic coincidence, he was reborn, and after a set number of years, found himself lost once more in the jungle, with neither memory of arrival nor insight into his destination. And once again, he encountered the sadhu seated in the clearing. It was as if they were meeting for the first time, and again, when the option was presented, the man took the path least traveled. He walked farther the second time, and rested under a different tree. But the end was the same. A python climbed down and strangled the life out of him.

So the cycle repeated. Each time he walked farther along the path, and each time, met his end through different means, all created by the very thoughts that sprang into his head. A deadly bite of a scorpion. A wild elephant trampling him. A baboon smashing his skull. But as the cycles progressed and he moved farther and farther along the path, he enjoyed the riches he had been promised. A beautiful palace built up on the side of a lake, a doting, attractive wife, healthy children, friends. At times, he found himself in the middle of a bustling metropolis, only to find the jungle still creeping in at the city's edge. And yet, through it all, death still followed. He tripped over a rock and split his head open on the root of a banyan tree. He choked while sucking the fruit of a papaya. A rotting tree suddenly fell upon him as he walked. He grew old and died. But still he persevered, and each subsequent life provided an opportunity to progress that much farther along the path, to enjoy still more the wonders of the jungle.

How far he had traveled he could not say. In his thousandth life, he walked for months. The landscape never changed; he enjoyed delight beyond any he could imagine, and yet, something impelled him forward. In his thousandth life, he had grown weary of what the forest could offer. He felt in his heart that the sadhu had meant something greater than mere sensual enjoyment.

Finally, he spotted in the distance a clearing of land that stood out white against the underbrush, and his heart leaped. He intuited that this was the goal he had been seeking all along; this was the point where the mysteries of the wasteland, the mysteries of how the forest provided every desire, would reveal themselves. He cut through the brush, moving ever closer to the circle of land. Its contours became more apparent, its dimensions more fixed. But as he neared the circle, his mind became clouded at the scene that slowly began to unfold.

A sadhu was sitting at the center of the circle, the same sadhu he had encountered in each of his previous one thousand lives, and the same one that had pointed him in the direction of his path. The sadhu's robe was as resplendent, and his hair as perfectly coiffed, as before. A half smile played on his lips, and he said, "You are not the first traveler I have seen lost in the jungle, nor will you be the last. Of that I am sure. This forest is wondrous, with delights you can hardly even comprehend; all the paths that lead from here lead somewhere, but that one—" he motioned to one at the far end— "is the one least traveled. Not many choose it, but the ones who do are men of strong heart. And the end of that path leads to wonders one million times greater than all the other paths combined.

"Choose wisely."