Before Tashī Passed: A Virtual Dialogue on Death - Ch. 2.2

In the space of a breath—no, less, a fraction of a second—it came. A roar. Not from any of us. Not from anywhere I could place. A tremor of frustration, desperation—perhaps even anger—splitting through the air like a silent quake.

Had I imagined it?

“I’m afraid not… Tashī has a big family to feed.” The mother’s voice broke through the stillness.

No—it wasn’t Drakos answering my thoughts.

Her voice wavered, not from uncertainty but from years of unspoken burdens pressing against her throat. Strands of silver-threaded black hair slipped loose from a once-meticulous bun, now held together more by habit than care. A single carved hairpin jutted out slightly, as if even it had grown tired. Deep lines framed her mouth, furrowing deeper each time she swallowed back words she wouldn’t let spill.

Her lips trembled—not with sobs, but with the quiet effort of someone who had learned to grieve without sound.

“I understand…” They were both soft-spoken. “Tashī travels far to pray for health and happiness for all your family. He is a compassionate man. It was I who neglected him for so long.”

Tashī’s father’s tears burst forth in awe, kowtowing to Master while still seated.

Now I began to grasp how Grandma must have felt when a silver-haired elder had to bury a young, dark-haired son. A sudden, sharp tang in my nose overwhelmed me with sorrow, seemingly out of nowhere.

Before Master turned back to Tashī Dalāi, I had a second virtual dialogue with Drakos.

Śri’verā: Death is the most important nano-second of our life. You remember that, ok? And you don’t ignore the statement just because it sounds cliché to people, ok?

I nodded.

Yes, I remember that, Master. You said death isn’t supposed to be sorrowful like us now, but rather an Absolute Liberation—one that stretches beyond the longest times of our universal existence. You even said the word ‘Nirvana,’ remember?

Yes, that’s what the scripture says. I will tell you the amazing story of the Lotus Bodhisattva—the one we saw on the JC Dragon during the avalanche.

Drakos’ voice curled into my mind, smooth but edged with something unreadable.

And will I be able to see the whole thing now?

No, my little one. We will mainly explain. But if it gets too abstract, I will try to show something that you already have the ability to see. And in the near future, you will be able to see whenever you will. Ok?

Ok… But why do you say it was a moment of liberation?

Because at the exact moment he dies, immediately, he will enter the Forces of Bardo—the state between death and reincarnation. Hundreds of thousands of scientific cases have proved this to be fact. In truth, his soul is already being pulled by the forces—this is where the Four Elements come in. Eventually, he will thrust himself toward one of the forces’ openings, which look like black holes. You know what a black hole is, right?

I nodded. Yes. But still… why does that matter so much?

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Because through these forces, and through the way consciousness moves, even a lowly matured person—if trained correctly—could gain the purest form of existence in their next life.

I nodded again, but something inside me quivered—not just my hands, not just my breath, but something deeper, something shifting beneath my ribs. A shiver that wasn’t from the cold. It was the weight of it—the sheer immensity of what Master and Drakos were telling me—that made my skin prickle, my heartbeat hammer sharp and uneven in my chest.

Was this what it meant to stand at the edge of truth?

To peer into something so vast it threatened to unmake me?

The words sucked by the forces coiled in my mind, and suddenly, I saw it—I felt it. Myself, drifting, weightless, caught in an unseen current. A black hole yawning open like a silent mouth, waiting. The force of it wasn’t violent (I guess) , not like the avalanche that had nearly crushed us, but inevitable. Inescapable.

I swallowed hard.

Was I even ready to know this?

Master turned to Tashī, read his pulse, and placed his hand down with a slight shake of his head. “There’s nothing we can do with the procedure now. I can try to speak to him before he stops breathing.”

Drakos-Novice handed me a tiny bronze statue of the Sleeping Buddha, and I, in turn, handed it over to Master.

The Buddha lay not on his back but on his right side, palm supporting his chin and head, ready for his final departure into Nirvana. To me, it had been explained as merely an ancient expression describing an out-of-worldly state of mind. In other words, it was just another dimension of oneself—one of full potentiality, now lost and untapped, waiting to be explored and recovered.

I suppose you’ve heard of it.

Master showed the statue to the family.

“You see, we must help Tashī turn his body this way so that cool air can seep through his skin and bring him peace.” The room fell silent, serene. Together, we positioned Tashī as instructed, gently tucking him into the posture.

“And now,” the master said, “I can only guide his soul with the Instructions to Escape the First Stage of Dying. Because he didn’t learn the ---Prayers. Remember, he can still hear us in coma, until hopefully his final breath.”

What remains etched in my memory are fragments of the master’s words to Tashī Dalāi. Her tone was hoarse yet warm, measured perfectly in volume and cadence.

I watched as Master, holding a page of the Pipal Leaf Manuscripted Scripture, approached Tashī’s bedside. His presence filled the room—not with sound, not with movement, but with something heavier, something unseen. His voice, a whisper, laced through the stillness.

Tashī Dalāi, you must listen very attentively.

Tashī Dalāi, you must listen very attentively.

Tashī Dalāi, you must listen very attentively.”

A tremor ran through me. The repetition carried weight, like a rope being cast across a widening abyss. I didn’t understand why, but my fingers curled into my palms, nails pressing hard against my skin.

“Do not be afraid. Now, your consciousness will gradually fade. Your body will begin to dissolve into the elements. It will feel as though you are being crushed under a great weight. That moment will come swiftly.”

Master paused, fingers resting lightly on Tashī’s wrist. A breath. A beat. Then, he shook his head.

Tashī Dalāi, you must listen very attentively.

Don’t be afraid

"Now, you will slowly lose consciousness, and your body will gradually merge with the Four Elements, as if being crushed by a heavy object.

That moment is about to come; the time has arrived. It’s time to know yourself.

It’s time now. It’s time for you to truly know yourself.

A sharp intake of breath—mine.

I knew it the moment it happened. Not because his body stilled, not because the room grew heavier—but because something else moved. A shift, like the air itself had turned inside out, a soundless exhale rippling through the unseen.

Drakos’ voice wove into my mind, low, deliberate. Do you understand now, my little one?

I tried to speak. I couldn’t.

The words to truly know yourself rang inside my skull, over and over, twisting into something I wasn’t ready to grasp. The last thing a person comes to know—is it themselves?

A thought—unbidden, electric—bolted through me. But I was lucky, I didn’t collapse this time.

And then, Tashī Dalāi passed away.

It had been a couple of nights since the avalanche in the Himalayas trapped us.

Since we entered Tashi’s stone house and listened to his seemingly endless, gurgling exhale.

Since I cried until my swollen eyes could no longer stay open.

Thud.

The sound broke through the quiet, heavy and final. A collapse? No—something else. It was the same sound I’d heard during the avalanche when I dropped Master’s grimoire.

For a moment, I felt weightless, drifting in air.