Ashoka

“Where should I go now?” he asked the narrator.

The narrator told him there once was a big green forest.

He headed into the woods. It’s not really a woods, since it’s filled with coconut palm trees. He tries climbing up the coconut palm, to get a coconut to eat. He falls down. It cracks open on my head. I eat the coconut nut meat. I tilt it back to my mouth, and drink, and live life to the lees, because I’m not thirsty anymore. I hear a howling monkey. It’s probably a purple leaf monkey. I tear out a page in my diary, and write down in my diary:

I’m still hungry and thirsty.

These woods look familiar. They’re getting darker, and deeper, and suddenly I hear the whoosh of something fast-moving. I look to my left and there’s the shaft of an arrow stuck in a tree. I yank it out, and suddenly it starts glowing, radiating in my hands. I stick it through my pocket. For some reason I feel like it’s a key. I shake out my hands, and start moving. There’s tracks in the ground of some kind. I start sniffing along, like a dog. The tracks are getting better. Now I’m on dry land; now I’m in fresh water. I wade in, up to my ankles; now, up to my knees; now, nearly up to my waist; I bump in to a big gray bump; there’s an elephant in front of me.

“WOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Whoa! Hold down, boy!”

The elephant starts bucking up and down. It creates a rollicking sea. A hand reaches down. It grabs me, yanks me up out of the water onto a padded seat, he turns around and looks at me.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m going…wait a second. Are you…Ashoka?”

“You mean KING Ashoka. I am the ruler of the elephants. All you see before you is my kingdom.”

“The last time I saw you you were only prince.”

“I have never seen you before in my life. It is possible, though, that you might have seen me in my thousands of other lives.”

“How old are you? Who are you? Who have you been?”

“So many questions!”

They passed through the forest.

“Have you not wanted to be a narrator all of your life? Have you not wanted a wife?—for part of it. Has it not occurred to you, that you want these things, because you are alike?”

Ishmael thought, putting his hand on his chin.

“I have been a bearded man. I have been a prince, and the king you see before you. I have also been a gentleman, and a walking staff, and a servant, and I have been the legs of a giraffe, and the stripes of a zebra, and a horse’s tail. I have been the tale that everyone yearns to tell. I have been the sky and the sand, and the rippling water that happens to tell, the path, of a lily and a frog, and the fish coming out of the water, and the snake that crawls to an inch of the stem, hoping to find its nectar. I am the elixir that surfeits the honey, the bee in the hive, the flower in the grass, the bird in the hand, the meadow in the valley, the water that keeps the valley alive—

Ah, yes, this—all this is my kingdom. And it doesn’t matter how you stand, or if you stand, or speak. It is home to everyone who wishes to live in it. The tiniest ant, the wildest wildebeest, the biggest elephant. You must have seen this coming. The Age of the Pachyderms. They have been waiting long enough. This is Raja.

He is my friend. And he will be king. Not long ago I was a prince…now I am a king…and soon I will be Emperor Ashoka. And now do you see? How quickly things change, faster than the birds fly through the air and the bees make honey. My robes fall down to nothing; and now, I am happy. I am just plain old Ashoka. Who I’m meant to be. 🙂

“Dharmasiri!”

“Yes?”

“Will you show my guest to his quarters?”

“Who,” I asked, “is Dharmasiri?”

“You don’t remember him? But you remember me? Ah yes, Same-era, thanks for coming! We must have a welcoming party! Mr. Austin travel very far. He been traveling for a very long time. He must be very hungry. I get the pot boiling. You get the fire burning. Gets plenty of wood. He must be kept very warm. Me can tell Mr. Austin has a story that he yearning to tell. Get the matchsticks. Get the boy with the bell.”

“Soup’s ready!” I heard the mountains shout.

“Come out, come out!” It was the fisher boy. He was coming back with loads and loads of fish in his hands. He threw them over the fire. They disappeared in the breeze. “How was your journey?” Ashoka asked. “Oh, I didn’t get very far,” the fisher boy said. “I was just about to…but then I heard we were going to be telling a story! I love stories! I think I love it even more than fishing!”

“Yes, Mr. Austin been searching for answers. That why he come here. That I can tell. Shermin wondering just how much he been learning ever since he got here in Paradise.”

“In Paradise?” I asked.

“Yes. Well. Maybe. Me think you are very close to it. But that enough talking for now. Put on this shawl. We keep the fire burning all night for you if you is cold. But me talked enough; me think it’s your turn now.”

I took a deep breath.

In the summer of 2011, Dole, the huge banana company invaded Sri Lanka.

I paused.

“Keep going!”

In the summer of 2011, Dole, the huge banana company, invaded Sri Lanka. I sat at my desk, wondering what to do with my life.

“Woo! Woo! Go Austin! Go Austin!”

“But what about the elephants?” Shermin stated.

“I’m getting there,” I smiled.

In the summer of 2011, Dole, the huge banana company, invaded Sri Lanka. I sat at my desk, wondering what to do with my life. I had always wanted to do something amazing—I had always wanted to be someone amazing. The world was dealing with so much strife

“he is finding his voice” Dharma whispered

like I said, people were dying every day, and I was trying to figure out what to do with my life. It had to change. People were dying, and I was the one to blame.

I had gone to school for Environmental Science in college. This was a profession that gave you all kinds of knowledge about the birds and the bees, the trees and the flowers, the rocks and the streams and I, too, thought I was discovering a sort of innate knowledge about myself. I thought I could do everything; I thought I knew everything; I thought I could be everything, if someone gave me the chance, if someone only let me.

Well, one day (after a night I don’t wish to remember) I was just up in the morning out of bed, turning on the computer, when I received a letter, who came from a someone, a someone very in particular.

It was Shermin.

I looked at Shermin de Silva.

She grinned.

Not just Shermin. Shermin de Silva. The world’s foremost elephant expert.

Well, I shouldn’t really say that. She’s not really an elephant expert

“Hey!” she stepped in.

“Let him finish,” Ashoka said.

I grinned. “She’s even better than the world’s foremost elephant expert. She’s the world’s foremost expert on Sri Lankan elephants.”

Shermin smiled.

“Sri Lankan elephants, quite literally, are a whole different animal. I guess what’d you call ‘traditional elephants’ are Loxodonta africana. Asian elephants are Maximus maximus. Sri Lankan elephants are a subspecies. Their full scientific name is even cooler. It’s Maximus maximus maximus.

I smiled.

“So that’s one reason they’re so cool. Another reason is they don’t have tusks, like Loxodonta (which literally means “slanting tusks,”  or teeth, like your orthodontist) African elephants. Even Asian elephants, like Indian, display them more often. But with Sri Lankan elephants they’re almost always completely tuskless.

“You should use a prop!” the fisher boy shouted.

“Here, take Raja,” said Ashoka.

“As you can see with Raja, he’s one of the few with actual tusks. He’s what you call a ‘Tusker.’ He’s not king yet, but now that we are approaching the Age of the Elephants—oh, sorry 🙂 let me check my watch. I should say now that we’re in the Age of Elephants, I should say we better be careful to watch Raja putting on his crown, lifting up to his hind quarters, then back down again. He has a foot that strokes the grass. He has a trunk that lifts water. He has a dropping-on-his-butt that can shake a nation. 🙂 And here’s where I finish.

I stopped.

“Bravo!!” the fisher boy clapped.

“I think it was too short.” Ashoka said.

“Aren’t you going to tell us the rest?” Shermin asked.

“Do I have to?”

“Do you want to?”

“Kinda.”

“Just ask yourself—what is the voice inside your head saying?”

“Yes.”

Dharmasiri smiled. “Remember, any time Mr. Austin get tired, he can take a rest.”

The moon rose and slept and rose again.

You may remember what I have told you about the elephants, but now, I want to tell you about Shermin.

You may remember how I said I had received a letter one morning after a night I don’t wish to remember. Well, that’s because that night I had made a wish. I’d wished for a miracle to happen. That miracle was my parents. They looked after me ever since I was born. Before I was born. They’re not with me right now, but they always had a remarkable patience.

They’d both lived incredible lives. My Mom was a former attorney. My Dad ran his own business. They put themselves aside, in order to raise my own life.

Here I was: just a baby, and they cared for me, not even knowing me. I was born with jaundice. I was yellow and wrinkled, just like a young calf, and when I finally recovered, they weren’t afraid to take me back, into their arms, up their hearts, up their wonderful hill. They nurtured me, and fed me, and took me to a place called preschool. There I learned just how many amazing things there were that I could be; I made lots of friends, and spent lots of days and nights, with my growing family.

Eventually, it was time to go to elementary school. It was there that I first learned to introduce myself, to say, “Hi! I’m Austin!” and to respond to somebody else’s name.

I rose through the grades. Kindergarten, with our tiny silk caterpillars. 1st grade, the evilest teacher in my life, Mrs. Blair.

“Boo, Mrs. Blair!!!”

2nd grade, Mrs. Zedler, with her fun tabletop punching bag.

3rd grade, Mrs. Koltai, our first trip into the rainforest.

4th grade, our trip out to the harbor, Dana Point, riding those pilgrims’ ships.

5th grade, Sacramento. Ringing the Liberty Bell. 6th grade, heading to Williamsburg, Virginia, and getting a phone call.

Our trip would be canceled. A terrorist attack. We packed our bags and drove back cross-country. My Mom and Dad were waiting for me. They didn’t think it would happen again. The summer between elementary and junior high, applying to go to a brand new school, and then Orientation. How cool it was to be in that big gold gym. Those tables, that Sorting Hat. 🙂

I made so many friends in Junior High. Michael Olivares. Brian Delamarter. Ms. Stockton. That first junior high dance. Meeting Ally, my first crush. 🙂 Our budding romance.

“I want to hear more of that!” the fisher boy shouted.

“Dharma,” Ashoka ordered, “get more logs to keep the fire burning!”

“Yes sir!” Ashoka rode out on his elephant, than quickly returned. Raja wasn’t too happy. He rose up on his hind legs, and threw him off. Ashoka stood up, and dusted himself off, and smiled.

“OK. Keep going.”

“As I was saying,” I started again, “Ally and me had a bigger crush. I should say, I had a big crush on Ally. I don’t really know what she felt. All I can say is it didn’t work out. We met in track in the spring again but then that was pretty much over. I had my Bar Mitzvah and went to Las Vegas and then auditioned for Hola Lola which was so fun. WE sang and we danced. Mr. porter talked about the big golden ball of light inside all of us. I made it. I couldn’t actually believe I’d made it! I was so excited. It was the night of the Big Show. I was Cordell and Myron all at once. Then we sang the best song in the world.

“Hola Lola.” It was about everyone in the world coming together.

Shermin and Sameera looked at each other and smiled.

We sang Shalom, Ni-hau, Jambo and A-ha-se-yo.

It was probably the best night of my life.

Our hero paused.

I think I’ll stop there.

“No, keep going! keep going!” the fisher boy extolled.

“OK.” I paused, then smiled. “The next thing I want to tell you about is how I met Pflieger. He was standing on the steps. I was about to begin the next, best chapter of my life. High school and running cross-country. I met lots of people. Kris Rudolph, Niko, Jon Son, Tommy. We started running. I won’t go into all the details, but we were pretty much a big family.

We ran Malibu State Creek. That was our first meet. I nearly threw up. We ran Bell-Jeff after that, the week of Rosh Hashanah. Then we raced against Paraclete at Woodley and I was pretty amazed. We ran at Mt. SAC and it was literally breathtaking. We had league finals and I just knew that next year I would do even better. I ran track against Aric van Halen and then the next summer I got handed the book Great Expectations to think and think about it. I knew I had some great expectations myself. I trained and trained and discovered some running forums and I trained some more and became the very best runner in my class. The best runner in my class—ever. And I ran and I ran and I won so many races. It was the best year of my life. Pflieger had me give a big speech at the end of it. “Hi, I said, I’m Austin.” I went back home and danced. I had a romance in my pants. 😛

The next season came with even greater expectations. I started running again, but stopped to eat so much. I knew it was just going to make me more hungry, and weigh me down. I wanted to be free. Little did I know that I was going to start doing worse and worse at meets, and I Would have to go to therapy, because my Mom and Dad were convinced there was something wrong with me, and I had anorexia, which wasn’t really true, not really.

But I recovered. I really did. With a little help from my friends and my family. They always looked after me. I always remember Jeff saying (another boy from my track team), “we miss you, dude” even though he didn’t really know there was anything wrong with me, and Pfleiger just kind of looking at me, and they helped me recover, their love and support, and that was really the beginning and the end of cross-country.

The following year I started writing letters. It was time to see where I would go after high school, whether I Would go to college, to UCLA, like my Dad wanted. I don’t know why but I had an image of green. I wanted to go the University of Oregon. And that’s just how it happened—I ended up in Eugene.

It was a beautiful place. Probably the most beautiful place I have ever seen. It was just so, so, SO green. I explored just what it meant to be a young green college student with my FIG (Freshman Interest Group). I even tried joining a frat! 😛 I opted instead to just try learning and feeling my way through college without any commitments. I found my running club and lived in the dorms with Alaska Dan and by the end of the year, in the spring, for some reason I found myself taking a class called “TAO” (or Trees Across Oregon). I met Whitey Luck. I never saw somebody so happy.

I didn’t know it then, but he had a lot to teach me. We went up into the Cascades, the whole class. Then we came back down again. And that summer, that fall, I got the courage to declare myself as an English major and started my career as an English major taking awesome lit classes, which were just so awesome! 🙂 and by the middle of the year declared myself an Environmental Science major, too, and took creative writing classes and by the end of the year, after living in a single dorm, Chris Smith actually asked me (me!) if next I would even want to move into his house which made me feel so grown-up and wanted. The next year living in the house I continued to gain knowledge, and also started taking a lot more walks on my own, because I felt like I’d lived and learned enough. But something was still missing. Whitey offered me a job. I would be the assistant instructor for his Trees’ class incoming crop.

I still remember meeting Kelly. We met on Skinner’s Butte. We were looking for the eagles, but what I really remember is the first time she came right up to the desk, and left me her own form of letter. She left me a bright green cottonwood leaf. She looked up, and smiled, and then, the following week, when we were exploring under the cherry blossoms, I took a bouquet, and flung it—and she caught it—and my heart beat, because I knew she must have meant it.

We met each other at Hayward Field. We met each other in the rain, underneath but without umbrellas, and melted. We walked up Hendricks Park and she told me things, so many things that I couldn’t possibly believe she’d tell me, much less anyone, and came back down, and tried on masks. It was so fun. You just can’t teach that. We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We watched Tumban play his game of sticks. And I, each day we got closer, got closer and closer to saying that I loved her.

And so I rented Castaway. I thought it would be a great movie to watch together. It was my favorite movie of all time, and I plopped it into the VCR, and we watched it together, and we watched the plane rise, and then crash, and all Chuck’s hopes drift away…he would have to survive on the island alone, with the hope that someday he would be found…but he learned to fish, he learned to eat, he even learned how to manage his own teeth, just like he was his own dentist…and he had merry times together with the island. He raised his glass and drank. He sat in front of his own makeshift fire, with Wilson, his best company. He looked around, and felt thankful for his friends. But he knew he had to leave.

So he built a raft.

Now that I think about it, it was kind of like the raft that you and I built.

I started to age.

The fisherboy whispered, “What’s happening to his face?”

Sameera whispered, “Don’t disrupt Pathum’s story”

It was a raft that was meant for a lifetime, and built in a day. Chuck lifted it into the water. He got onto it, and pushed off, and put Wilson on the bowsprit, and left the island, and he was happy, and sad, because even though he had got rid of it, he knew he would never again see the island.

“I guess,” Austin said, taking a deep breath, and letting out a sigh, “that’s how I felt about Kelly.”

“I realize that now. I did love her—but some things just aren’t meant to be. I realize that now. As long as she’s happy, I’m happy. This, I guess, was my way of thinking. After that—I don’t even know if we can call it tragedy—of Kelly coming close, then pulling away from me, I had to stop and think—what was I doing wrong? Or worse—what was wrong with me? There had to be something. I had tried so many things, and all of them started out so grand, but none of them ended up working…which brings me roughly to the beginning of my story.

The summer after that spring, I had started working in the fields, picking the yellow mustard. It seemed so beautiful to me. I had never paid quite so much attention to yellow mustard before. It was just a weed. It wasn’t supposed to grow there. But it gave me a certain peace. If it could grow there, and its bright yellow flowers make any bright blue day sunny, well, then, there was hope for me.

Now, you may also remember that when I started this story I started it by saying “In the summer of 2011.” That was the summer of 2011. You may also remember Dr. Shermin de Silva, and the letter.

I received that letter that winter. I found it at a cliff, hoping for a sign. Here is what the letter said:

Dear all,

I am writing to see if anyone would be interested in studying forest regeneration and succession following a huge [natural] disaster. Some of you may have heard from various news reports, that Dole, [the huge banana company], has started illegally clearing the forest on this island, completely destroying the land, running out the elephants

(Those are my words)

I believe that we now have a golden opportunity (those are hers)

to fix this. I’d be interested in finding students

(that was me)

who know a little bit about environmental science, and ecology.

That was me. I started feverishly writing, introducing myself, and I couldn’t believe it, but Shermin took note of me. She invited me to stay. She smiled at me. I couldn’t actually see her, but I thought that’s what she was doing.

“Why is he talking about me?” Shermin asked.

“He can’t see you right now. He’s living in my past.” Ashoka said.

I’d always really wanted someone to want me. I know that’s bad. But that’s how I felt. I knew I had to tell my parents. I took them out (or they took me out) to my favorite restaurant, Mel’s, and we got a banana split, and my Dad said, “Why are you doing this?” I gulped and said, “This is my one big chance to make a Difference.” My Mom understood why I was doing it, but she still didn’t think that it was the right island. She said, “Isn’t that where they had those terrorists?” “Terrorists?” Dad shouted. He broke down and cried. For the next few months, as I prepared, I would have turned back many times, if it wasn’t for the kind words and wisdom of Peter Heller. He gave me the kick in the butt I needed. What he said, I think you have already heard, but what he essentially said was, have faith in yourself.

So that’s how I decided to go. It was this island, named Sri Lanka, a place out of a fairy tale, literally speaking, from Serendib, Horace Walpole’s tale, to the land of the princes

Ashoka smiled

and serendepity, happening on unknown things. One thing I never could have dreamed of was the unbelievable generosity of my friends and family, and complete strangers, who didn’t even know me, who somehow believed in me long enough and hard enough and fell in love with my story to donate to help me get to this magical place. Sri Lanka. I knew it would be the place where I’d discover my place.

I boarded the airplane—the night before, I had seen the light on in the window and knew my Dad would be waiting for me when I got home. We left in the morning and drove the empty roads and when we got the airport, hugged goodbye, and long story short, I got on the airplane, and met Jo, who was the first person on whom my story I could try

“In the summer of 2011” I said

“Why are you saying that” he said

“I just was starting to say that in the summer of 2011”

“Do I look like I’m paying attention?”

He had a blanket over his head.

“No,” I said, “I was just…”

His eyes were closed.

“…making conversation.”

The plane soared high over the continent. We crossed over states, countries, over the Arctic Ocean, and I could have sworn I saw Ernest Shackleton mushing on his dogsled below over the frozen tundra, the frozen ocean, and so the plane descended over the international date line—no, the other way—but what the effect was the same, we descended over Russia, Kazakhstan, into the Middle East, where I heard a story. It was T.J. telling me all about what I would encounter, that if I climbed up Adam’s Peak I would most likely find a monk and a key waiting for me…

Ashoka and Kumara looked at each other. They smiled.

I don’t know if you have heard about Adam’s Peak. But if you do climb it, (and I hope I do someday), then maybe you will find what you are searching for in your journey. People say that a foot up there belongs to Shiva, the dancer, the creator and destroyer, a Hindu God, and some say it belongs to St. Thomas the Christian missionary, and some Muslims say it belongs to Adam himself, looking down on the Paradise he had lost, and some Buddhists say that it’s the very footprint of Buddha…you will, once you get there, have to decide for yourself.

I got back on the flight. I was looking forward to my trip to Paradise. I got out my paper. I started to write a letter, and I started to count the days, and I realized, lo and behold, my entire trip would last exactly 80 days…just like the Jules Verne story. But I knew this time would be different. I had always been scared of living up to the hype of literary giants like him, like everybody, but I had one thing on his novel. His wasn’t a true story. Mine was. Everything I did, it would be real.

Just like the three of you sitting there.

Yes, I know I am not real, Ishmael smiled. I never was. The three of you, you have lived rich lives. I, on the other hand, went to find this place that I dreamed of, this Paradise. And there I was. I had found it. I would save the elephants. Mahesh picked me up at the airport. He drove me to the compound where I met this fine fellow, Dharmasiri, who looked after me, took care of, me just like I was one of his own family.

I still remember waking up in the morning and feeling a hand reaching down to me. I still remember the pots and pans clattering, the sound of birds singing, the fruit in the mango tree. I remember eating breakfast, and eating curry, and going out on daily adventures, into the sugar cane, seeing the beautiful sugar cane workers in the field, the long-haired girls running away from me, across the sugar cane, and walking across to meet them. Meeting their family. How I said, “Hi! I’m Austin!” in their native language, “Ayubowan! Mage nama Austin” and walking through the village, meeting the girl carrying water jugs on her bicycle, and walking back to her home, and meeting the little boy who was just so proud of himself, leaping in front of his Mom—

he looked like you, fisherboy. They looked like all of you. One and all, I can’t fathom it, but you all look the same, as you do in my memory. I still remember the very first day I met you, Ashoka, and we went running, out into the sugarcane…

I pointed out the stars. “A deer in the headlights,” we laughed. You remarked how strange it was that I hadn’t seen them yet, it was time for me to meet the elephants. You had a brother who could take me into the park. I was so excited. To watch them play, to interact with each other, to grow young and grow old, I got everything ready. I took my binoculars. I took my camera. Of course, I took my daily journal. That morning we went into the park and I saw the elephants for the first time. The grandmother, the mother, and the child. The little baby tusker. The new crown prince. Raja in the distance, and I, think, Baby Bo. The watering hole. The river, where I climbed out, brand new, reborn.

You know all of this. What you don’t know is when I met Shermin, I was so very nervous. Come to think of it, I might have told you this, but what you don’t know is I was so nervous, I almost didn’t write this.

But you, Dharmasiri, you looked after me. You asked me every day how I was doing, after my newest adventures. You were nervous too. You accosted me like a child coming home from school, and the three of us (the four of us) looked eagerly forward to the arrival of our new guests. The BBC. They would be coming to our compound for a house party. I took a “wash,” and came out to find our guests, sitting on the verandah…

They were so nice. We told funny stories about Martin climbing and getting stuck in a tree (Ashoka too) and drank Cokes together, and Martin was astonished when I said I’d just have vodka—no tonic—I have to laugh at that. And a rainbow started coming. The mist turned the land bright green and beautiful. I have to smile at that.

I wandered out into the fields. I got soaked. Shermin, you weren’t too happy with me. I started to think that maybe I’d be kicked out in the morning, and then I would have to explain to my parents what had happened. Fortunately for me I met my friends in the tin shed and they chuckled at me wandering out in the rain all alone, and we talked about thunder, and lightning, and pounding rain, in the windstorm. Dharma had gone out to get fish when I got home. He closed the gate. I wanted to keep the door open. He asked me “Aren’t you cold?” I was cold but I wanted to feel it. I don’t know why. Maybe I just like being cold. Maybe I Just like being alone. Maybe that’s just the way I am and will always be. When I saw the elephants in the park for the second time, and the land had turned green and the flowers were blooming pink and yellow and white with the spring, it made me so happy to see Baby Bo put the flowers on his head. I knew that someday he would get married. I knew that when I returned back to the compound, to my new, makeshift family, when Janaka Tharanga brought me a bright gold bowl of corn, and I could not eat it, just eating a single piece of it and looking at it, made me sick to my stomach I knew I would never climb out of this hole. This deepest of holes that I had dug for myself. And that is why, when I went out into the misty morning grass again, I said goodbye.

Now some of you know about the rest of my journey. Some of you don’t. So I will fill you in, as best as possible.

After I left Uda Walawe (Dharmasiri found me) I was almost literally lost. I was literally lost, actually. I took a bus to Kalawena, a stop on the way to Sinharaja Rainforest, and it started pouring rain. A man at the bus stop told me that the roads to Sinharaja were flooded, there was no way I was getting in. So I spent the night there. I met a nice man named Numal who invited me to his house, where I met his Dad, his little daughter’s Grandpa, shuffling around in his socks. Numal asked where I was going. I said to Sinharaja. He showed me all these amazing pamphlets and nature brochures that he’d gotten from Martin’s Guesthouse.

I don’t really know if he got them from Martin’s guesthouse. But when I got there the next morning, I was living in it. The Blue Magpie was situated right in the middle, slightly raised on a hill above the rainforest, and I was blessed to see the beautiful blue sky and white clouds floating over the emergent, glittering bright trees. I took a walk through the rainforest with my tour guide, who had me marveling at all the trees, 300 completely endemic to this island, 66 completely endemic to this spot, the migrating pathways of the songbirds, bright yellow, and red, and blue, and green, and the next morning I woke up to see the blue magpie, the most legendary bird of all Sri Lanka, perched on the rail in front of me—my guide said there were lions in Sinharaja, and elephants too—I met a man who had migrated all across the island from top to bottom, following the paths of the elephants, I know I had better move on to the next stage of my trip—

the South Coast—

the floating fishermen. Their lights floating way out. The next morning, walking on the beach and meeting Teddy, the fisherman. Using a Sprite bottle and a string. The most amazing sight I’ve ever seen, everyone on the beach coming together, villagers, a couple of tourists, to help reel the net out, and reel it in, full of glittering, silver fish, just like this island before the tsunami, your village, fisherboy

the fisherboy’s eyes widened

more fish than you could ever imagine, and I befriended the fishermen, and the pirates. I went out with Suresh in a canoe and climbed coconut trees and had coconut juice fall over us. I’m talking about me and my friends. We boiled a pot of mussels. It was time to leave again but not before stopping at the lighthouse. It looked out over Antarctica.

I should say there was nothing between us and Antarctica. 6000 miles of unbroken ocean. I climbed back down the stairs, and the tuk-tuk driver took me to Samakanda. This was the “pet Paradise” of Rory Spowers: an ideal Eden on Earth, full of fruit trees and singing birds…but Rory was nowhere to be found. Instead I befriended Yvette, his friend, and Ashal, who took me swimming down a river through the mountain, and then invited me home to dinner:

3633 Samakanda Road

That is what sticks out. His address was a simple spot on the road. I promised I would write back to him, and help him find a new home. So I finally arrived in Galle. It was a big beautiful white Dutch fort. You could walk all along the ramparts and there were so many tourists, it was so colorful, a whole rainbow, from every country, and a boy cliff-dived. 🙂 That was beautiful. I met lots of interesting people, one of whom was Asher, who, while I was being interviewed, stepped right into the circle and said, “Break out! Break out! I got you.” He parted the people and said “come with me” and I don’t know why but I just went with him. He took me to his jewelry shop where a young boy was sitting in the back, his feet up on the desk, arms crossed, looking out, probably my age. He told another friend sitting there, “Get him a Coke.” He said “I’m Shamil. This is my shop. You’re welcome here.”

You’re probably wondering why I bring this up. Well, the reason is because I needed to feel welcome here. It gave me the confidence to explore the rest of the city, like meet my Muslim friends, Sham (I don’t know his name?) who gave me a bottle of attar, perfume, taught me about the black ants and the white ants and Paradise and why we wear, perfume to bring the boys in and the teacher who taught me how to write my name in Arabic script. It made me so happy. Ashar took me up to see the bright red sun which I thought had to be a hologram a mirage like the Emerald City the seven dwarfs belting out the Arbian chant through the loudspeakers at 5 AM in the morning every morning. I could get (never) used to that. 🙂

I left Galle. From where I took a train along the tsunami- and Tamil-Tiger ravaged coast (Islamic State) with battered buildings, up to Colombo round a little white Buddha statue under a green sapling where I boarded a train to head to Batticaloa, like a clown car, where I befriended Enosh Roshan, traveling with his Dad, we didn’t get into Batticaloa until 3 AM! and stupidly I hadn’t made a reservation anywhere, and they helped me find a place to stay that actually had a good mosquito net 🙂

I went walking in the morning, looking for the singing fish. I sat down in the sand, in the technicolored Hindu kovil, my first experience, and heard the priest chant (the priest and the apprentice) and walked into the main village where the streets were thronged and I heard the Batti fish call, over the bridge, I walked over the bridge and asked the UN water people if they really thought the fish were true. They looked at me certainly and said: ‘Don’t you?” I saw moon jellyfish floating, stringing along their harps in the water. I took a bus to Polannawura, the start of the Golden Triangle, where I stayed in a small guesthouse and bicycled out to a shrine of bricks. Everything there was made of bricks, the ancient stupas, the first on the island, just like the Mayans, tall ziggurat temples. With  a different, yet the same purpose. I saw King Parakramabahu, standing up like a God. I saw the big huge water reservoir, climbing up the top and the workers pointing out the elephants walking across thew ay, on the other side of the reservoir—I couldn’t believe it—I’d nearly forgot about the elephants. But they were here, standing there, I wish I had had my camera out, so I could take a picture—

that’s why i’m so happy I’m here.

That you guys are here. And girl. Could you take a picture? I never thought I’d get this far, I’d be this far, I’d be right here in the Golden Triangle, taking pictures, of Anuradhapura, Dambulla, Mihintale, these huge Buddhist temples—

Let me tell you about Mihintale. I stayed in the monk’s quarters. They actually invited me up inside. I stayed up there in the mist, and ate a simple meal of rice, and met the monks, and heard them chant, and saw them eat rice, and in the morning, took my own little walk up the misty mountain, and saw monkeys, and back in Anuradhapura, where I stayed in my own Little Paradise (literally) I saw those big, white, huge Buddhist temples. I read a book called Traveler by Italo Calvino with a guy who looked like Daniel Craig, and read all about King Dutugumenu and saw Sigiriya on the way to Habarana (more elephants!), Sigiriya a man and a village, the Lion King, in fact, the brother of King Dutugemunu, Gamini, who ran and hid up this colossal, straight-out-of-a-fairy-tale, right-smack-in-the-middle-of-the-jungle monolith, which reached up to the heavens, all sandstone streaked orange and black and red just like Pride Rock from Yosemite or the Lion King or so many other beautiful places from so many other beautiful nations but I was here. I was. I am. I touched the Rosetta Stone, ran my fingers up and down it. I walked up the stairs to the mountain, the top of the mountain, and walked amongst those ruins. I made some friends and came back down the mountain. I walked back into the village. It was time to head north. To Vavuniya. I called my Mom. She didn’t want me to go, but I had to go. You know about my Dad—of course. I got my stuff and got into the bus and not too shortly just after we’d started, I was pulled to a stop.

They told me to get off the bus. I took my backpack. There was a man in camo regalia, an actual army soldier, with a rifle over his shoulder. His arms were crossed. He led me to a table, with more soldiers under a tent, who asked to see my passport, and I showed it to them, and was so nervous. They said I could go. I got back onto the bus and “made dust,” eventually getting into the real far north where no tourist, it seemed had dared to go and I looked to my left, and out of the window I saw these women and children walking with baskets on their heads along the road…

it was a river.

It was Somawathiya.

I wanted to jump out of the bus, to get into the jungle, into the park, to see the elephants, but my heart traveled with them. Along the road I watched their skirts, their hands, their faces, their walk, as they walked along the river, and passed back, with the jungle…

Land mines.

That was my first thought stepping out.

I was now in Jaffna. This was the place I’d been so warned about, to make sure in my interactions with people, I didn’t get too close. My guesthouse was like a Roman atrium. That first night, I walked into the village and I had to pass a long line of tuk-tuks, all looking at me. I got into the center of the town and it was half-deserted, half-busy. I walked into the stores. They were looking at me, and…smiling at me. They introduced me to their country.

“Sinhala puluwan?” I asked.

“Tamil puluwan.” they smiled.

I really wished I had a Tamil Lonely Planet with me. 🙂

I found an awesome NY-deli-style spot. I had musaka stuff stuffed into a banana frond.

The next day while I was out walking I happened into this building where there were some civilian soldiers inside. I asked if they knew anything that would be happening while I was in town and they said there would be an elephant parade that night. Of course that stoked my curiosity. I came back that night and it was just like they said, the whole path was strung with lights and there were rows and rows of chairs out in front of the building strung with flags. There were monks in orange robes, Muslim imams in white, Christian priests all sitting next to each other. There were some journalists. I sat down next to them.

They started talking to me about my book. They invited me inside to eat some really good food. I came back down and stood next to all the rest of the parade-watchers, as the parade funneled down the street, with flame-twirlers, ribbon-dancers, drum-beaters, dragon dancers, and, riding through the middle of it, was a gigantic elephant, bedizened in gold, decked out with a little golden shrine on its back…

the bearer of the Tooth.

I needed to leave in the morning to go to Mannar, the very utmost point of Sri Lanka, the top of the pear, where a ferry used to connect Sri Lanka to the mainland of India, because the Palk Strait was there, but the ferry service had been stopped ever since the war, all that remained of the connection was a railroad track running out to nothing, and a broken spit of a bridge, with egrets just perched there.

I did get to see some nice birds at the guesthouse after recovering my binoculars.

I headed back to Colombo. It was time to go back to Uda Walawe, and tell my friends what I’d learned. It was time to get ready for my climb up Adam’s Peak.

I would be summitting it the long way. I planned to go up the Ratnapura side and make my way into the hill country from there, via Hatton. Riding back into Sewanagala village, I called Ashoka. I asked if he would be able to come with me. He said, “No, I don’t think so. You’ll probably have to go up to the peak yourself.” I got back to the compound and saw Dharmasiri. He hugged me. I picked up my duffle, (with all my snake bite ointment 🙂 and got on the tuk-tuk to go to Ratnapura to start on my journey. 🙂

I climbed up Adam’s Peak.

I summited over the mountain, and came back down through Hatton, and Dalhousie, to Ella, staying at the Sunnyside, and into Haputale, where I walked through the spice market and stayed at the ABC and met Takayushi and Imo and Matthew Kit and Lucas Avalin walking up to Lipton’s seat, those brilliant emerald plantations, those bright technicolored kovils, into the manicured English fruit and vegetable gardens of Nuwara and Eliya, and finally, back down to Kandy, where I walked into the famed temple. The Temple of the Tooth. Dalade Maligawa. I saw the chained elephant; I saw the small, golden stupa holding the famed tooth; and I was finally ready to go home.

Coming home was an amazing feeling. Mom and Dad were so excited. They hugged me, and were practically jumping up and down with joy, and of course crying. I nearly was too, I just felt so proud. It was weird returning home again. We’d replaced the wallpaper (they’d) with the wallpaper of a world traveler. White with blue stencils of the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum, the Taj Mahal. I loved the porcelain of my toilet bowl. I loved how neat, and nice, and shiny, and bright, and clean, everything was.

I started to write my story. It was about the elephants, you know, the summer of 2011…

and a strange thing happened. I started to write, and found I couldn’t. After all my adventures that I’d had, you wouldn’t think I would need to be supported by Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, an amazing book—or Wild—I had seen the elephants, I’d wanted to go on an incredible journey, and I’d done it—but had I saved them? Had I really done it? I started to doubt myself, and fell into another rut.

You remember what a blessing Peter Heller had been to me. I thought about reaching out. He’d had a new novel published, The Dog Stars. I also read The Light Between Oceans. I stayed up late at nights, in the bright bright room where the guests slept. I discovered i. He was a little like me, and a little like everyone. He had his own quirks and quiddities. He didn’t know if he was loved. He also had his own drawing, which he began to describe:

I don’t know how to begin a story like this. Maybe it’s because it’s my first book. Maybe it’s because I’m not old enough yet to put space between what I think happened, and what actually, I mean I touched you happened…I took a green crayon.

That crayon drew my hill. The boy in his birthday suit, buck-naked and beaming. Holding hands, which, if the drawing did not lie, could never be let go. And you, you welcomed me into your home.

My parents. Their very first heartbeat. Mine. Yours. My father’s rapid pulse, my growing up, my paints, my easel, my drawing, Marshall. Marshall, who called me Dirt. How we used to go to the beach. Mom taking us both to the beach, and Marshall showing me the sand crabs, raising their arms to the sun. Marshall saying he would like to see where the sun goes. Marshall swimming off, and me turning round, and—round

waving goodbye.

And Marshall. How could he…my Dad. How could he tell me something like that. How could he make up that Marshall was a lie, and take Mom from home, a raving lunatic? I would have to go and find her. I found her in the homeless asylum, and she, he would tell me a beautiful story about sunflowers…how he watched them grow, and how, my mother, in the sunflowers, he saved her…and how there were many Paradises. And I, I knew I would have to find her.

And now, of course, I can’t forget about Isabelle. The girl at my school. Everyone knew she was poor. And her hair was so short. I thought it must be, we thought it must be, everyone knew she had to have cancer.

We talked together. We played on the swings. We got separated, speaking about the dark and the light. And then, after I had found my way to Eugene, after I had gone through considerable stresses—she came into my life.

She reached over my shoulder. She showed me the light. The dark and the light. I thought it was impossible. I thought it had to be a dream, that she would be there. She was Kelly, but she was someone else. She was her own self. Isabelle. She rescued me. The two of us made plans. We would seek out Paradise. We would find this island. It would be this place we always dreamed, with the people, and the elephants, living in harmony. We could do anything. If we wanted ice cream—well, there it was. If we wanted peanut butter and jelly—well, there was our butler service. If we wanted to say butler without laughing—we’d able to do anything but. It made me so happy. I never thought I’d be spending my whole life in Paradise with someone, and the two of us would go together, and—my mother. If she hadn’t fallen, we might…we might still be together. All of us might still be together. And…well, I suppose things have a way of working out. If I hadn’t lost Isabelle forever, I might never have met you. The fisher boy. Ashoka. Dharmasiri. I am old now. Here ends my story. I might never be old, lonely Ishmael, sitting by the campfire.

The audience applauded. Except Ashoka.

“You really loved her, didn’t you,” said Ashoka.

He looked pensive.

“Who?”

“Everyone. Isabelle.”

“What does it matter?”

“Everyone loves you too.”

“I doubt it.”

“If one feels one way about another, then how can one know one doesn’t feel the same way about you?”

“I don’t need to hear another one of your riddles.”

“It’s just…Dharmasiri!”

“Yes, Mr. Ashoka?”

“Didn’t you say that you found a girl who had washed up on the other side of the island?”

“Oh yes. She been sleeping right here.” Dharmasiri motioned to his side. “Oh no! Where she run off to? Miss Isabelle!! Me think she been looking for you too.”

“Yes, Dharmasiri!”

“Someone here come to meet you.”

My heart beat.

“I don’t know why you’re always worrying about me. I’m not a…”

“Ishmael?”

“Isabelle?”

(Methinks this is going to be a good love story, the fisherboy whispered to Dharmasiri).

“I thought you…”

“Let’s leave them alone for awhile,” Ashoka whispered, silently.

“I thought that you…”

“I thought that you…”

“Are you serious? I did too!”

“You mean…”

“I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun!”

“You swam all the way?”

“The fisher boy carried me.”

The fisher boy grinned, rubbing his head.

“I think you two better get going,” Ashoka said. “There’s a lot to explore on this island. It may be wrong, but I have a funny feeling you two will discover Paradise for the first time.”

“Thanks, Ashoka, for looking after me.”

“Thanks, Ashoka, for looking after him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone knows you can’t take care of yourself.”

“And everyone would be?”

“Look around you. The rocks and the streams. Every little rill here is burbling. They’re giggling. They’re looking at us.”

“How do you know they’re not laughing at you?”

“Well, I guess that’s possible.” Isabelle stopped. “But you know what’s not possible? That life should ever come to a stop, looking for you. There are so many things we have to do. There are so many things I have to do. I can’t spend my whole life on this island looking for you.”

“Well, I’ll try my best not to hold back.”

“Do you see this plot? For some reason I feel like it’s where I’m meant to be. I plan on staying here for a very long time.”

“But Isabelle…there’s nothing here.”

“I know it looks like it. I think that’s why I like it so much. I can make my own Paradise.”

“Where do I fit in it?”

“Well, if you’re brave enough, you can come along for the ride.”

“I’m brave enough!” Ishmael shouted.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Isabelle asked. “Let me warn you…I’m pretty dangerous. But really. I really am. Don’t get too close to me.”

I’m your Venus

I’m your fire

I’m your Kryptonite

your wildest desire

what was that you said, Isabelle?

I was just saying how cool it would be to start all over again. But this time, we could live life exactly how we wanted it. How we always dreamed it could be. How it would be. How it should be. We were always wishing someday for these things to happen…whose to say they can’t happen

but how will we know when it’s ok to happen…when it finally is someday?

I don’t know. But until then I’m going to look over this ground like it’s my own family. The rocks and the streams…like I said, Ishmael, if you’re going to stay here, don’t get too close to me! Do I need to illustrate it to you?

Please. Do.

I’m your Venus

I’m your fire

I’m your Kryptonite

your wildest desire

I’m your passion

I’m your pyre

I will not hesitate

to throw you a tiger

“A tiger?” Ishmael smiled. “That’s pretty rough.”

“I’m just providing you an example.”

“Well I can be fierce too.”

“Let’s see it.”

“Rar.”

“Rar? You sound like Simba.”

“RAR!”

“OK. Now you just sound like Simba trying too hard.”

“Whose Simba?”

“I’m not really sure. I think he was from some movie that used to be popular.”

Ishmael and Isabelle were getting younger.

“Do you think our movie will be popular?”

“Let me ask you a question: how do we know anyone even knows we’re here?”

“Dharmasiri!” I shouted.

“Ashoka!” I shouted.

“Stop shouting over me!”

Their voices carried over the plains and continued on, emptily.

“I guess we really are alone.”

“Let’s see if anything will grow.”

Isabelle shoved her foot into the ground.

“Well, at least it’s not too dusty. Go on. Go ahead and plant one of your seeds.”

“What seeds?”

“Didn’t your mother give you something?”

There was just a small green sapling.

“Maybe if we water it, and tend to it, and look after it every day, it will grow into a beautiful tree.”

“Maybe it already is, Isabelle.”

“See? That’s the kind of thinking I’m talking about. You stick with me, you’ll do alright.”

“But where are we going to sleep?”

“I’ll take this patch of grass. You take that one.”

Isabelle and Ishmael shut their eyes, and tried to sleep. They woke up in the middle of the night. They heard, far off, in the distance, elephants trumpeting.

“Did you hear that?” Ishmael asked.

“No,” Isabelle said, “I just woke up for the fun of it.”

“You know, you don’t have to make fun of everything I say.”

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t always ask such stupid questions.”

“What would you prefer I ask?”

“How about…why did we hear that?”

“OK. Why did we hear that?”

“Because we wanted to hear it. I don’t think there really are any elephants.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It just occurred to me that we’re just characters in a story.”

“Isabelle…what are you talking about?”

“Think about it, Ish. If we were people in real life, would we actually be having this conversation?

“No, but, Is…that’s the best part of it.”

“Did you just call me Is?”

“You just called me Ish.”

“you started it.”

“How?”

“You’re the one who started telling this story. I wanted no part of it. But now that I’m here, I’m going to be the hero.”

“Then I’ll be the hero two.”

Hero Two: Paradise to Is! Paradise to Is!

Hero One: Yes, Ish?

Hero Two: Can you fetch me some water?

Hero One: If you want some water, you go fetch it!

Hero Two: What am I, your servant?

Hero One: Actually, I was thinking you were my puppy.

Hero Two: What are you thinking you’ll call me?

Hero One:…………………………………….

Hero Two: Well?

Hero One: I told you I was thinking. That’s why you can’t hear me.

Hero Two: You were thinking. How bout now.

Hero One: I’m saying that you can be pretty annoying.

Hero Two: That’s why nobody likes me.

Hero One: How can you say that? Seriously, you need to stop wallowing in self-pity. It’s why we keep getting flooded with streams.

Ishmael: I’m just trying to keep our place beautiful. Everyone knows the plants need to be watered.

Isabelle: What plants?

Ishmael: The ones growing off your fingers. I always knew about the phrase “green thumb,” but I never thought plants actually grew from there.

Isabelle: I guess anything really is possible.

Ishmael: Oh my gosh, Isabelle. I just realized. Someday is today!

MIND. BLOWN.

The Paradise started growing up around them. Everything was sprouting.

I can’t believe it. I actually can’t believe it. Isabelle said. Ishmael breathed. Everywhere around them were running elephants, everything they’ve ever dreamed. AN elephant with a paintbrush tail, there were places where it was grassy, there were skipping and leaping jackanapes. And unicorns. Just kidding. 😛 That would be kind of silly.

“So what should we do now?” young Isabelle asked.

“Let’s go see the elephants.”

will we see the tigers and the leopards and the elephants

can we see the tigers and the leopards and the elephants

do you see the tigers and the leopards and the elephants

there they are! the tigers and the leopards and the elephants

Isabelle and Ishmael rejoiced.

“I really love Frozen, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know…I guess I always wanted to be a princess.”

“Wow! I never even knew that!”

“I didn’t either!”

“Then why don’t we make it happen?”

“How can we do it?”

“Remember? This is Paradise! If we wish it, anything can happen!”

“You mean it will happen!”

“Wow!”

“Can I be black?”

“That’s a little taboo, but I don’t see why not! I think I can make it happen!”

“Can I be white?”

“Of course!”

“Can I be German? Can I be Swahili? Can I be Bahrainian? Can I be Jewish, Muslim, and Christian? Can I be atheist?”

“I think we’re already all of these things!”

“I want to be EVERYTHING!”

“Me too!”

I wanna be a da da da 

I wanna be a movie star

Iw anna be a da da da

But doesn’t it matter who you are?

IJd on’t think so! 🙂

oh the city lights

i watch them grow

but until i leave

i’ll never know

“It’s so floppy!” Isabelle shouted.

“I think he’s just happy!” They were looking at a leaf. On top of the leaf a caterpillar was dancing.

“I wonder what kind of wings it’ll grow.”

“I just hope it doesn’t fly away. If it does we’ll never know.”

“I wonder if we’re its or he’s or she’s or some other things.”

“I think I know just the right place to look. In my story I was reading there was something about the Lotus People, who taught the son or daughter of Ikba and Igbo how to live life on her own, and fashion origami. We should go see if we can find those people. I think if we follow the lines that the pirate boy left on the map we should still be able to find them.

“This is the spot!”

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know! They were Lotus People, right? Maybe now they’re hiding under a stone?”

“Oh, Lo-tus!”

“Lotus! Oh, Lotus People!”

“Lotus People, come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“There’s no one here anymore.”

“All I found is this stupid flower.”

“Ishmael…it’s just so…beautiful.”

“How can you say that? It’s just pure white.”

“I think this might be the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen.”

“Why?”

“It’s just a feeling. What would you think about doing some writing?”

“For what?”

“To write a song, so we know exactly where we came from.

the never ending story

the always unfolding story

Look at how we can swirl around the center of these great big flower! This great big key, unlocking everything!

“Hey, Ishmael—do you want to have sex?”

In the summer of 2011, Dole, the huge banana company, invaded Sri Lanka…if you really think about it, a banana is way more suggestive!

my penis blew up like a balloon

I moved into her, she moved into me

“who should we invite?”

“we should invite everybody.” AROO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the elephants went. We had a wedding ceremony.

“Dido and Aeneas? Tristan and Ysolde? Do you think we’ll go down in history.”

“I sure hope so.”

We kissed.

The elephants, the leopards throw flowers. The monkeys are recording this. I sit down at the piano.

“Do you think Hitler’s still in South America? Maybe we should go see the Ancient Pyramids. Let’s go to the Library of Alexandria, to see our favorite place of worship. I know maybe we shouldn’t—but let’s have kids. :)”

“Do you promise to look after them?”

“I do.” Ishmael said.

“I do again.”

“Let’s promise to never make them feel like they are part of the orphanage.”

“I do.”

“Do you promise it?”

“I said I do, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did!” 🙂

“Welcome to Paradise, kids!!!!!” 🙂

Everyone’s leaping up and down. Diwani!!!!! Isla. Our own child. I love you.

You have to know you are loved.

oh the heavens told the earth

and the earth it told the sea

and the sea it told the birds

and the birds they then told me

if heaven is on earth then can’t you see

we’re made of all the things of heaven and you were meant to be

All of our children are leaving now. We are growing old. Do you remember when __________? We compared our notes? Our stories? What we were planning on writing, and what we wrote?

Do you think you’re up to taking one more trip?

I am.

Let’s head to the big magnolia flower, our tree, and see how big it has gotten.

It’s even bigger.

But somehow it’s the same.

The hands-on the clock keep turning.

the never ending story

the always unfolding story

the book of me

“I…I’m dying.”