> "Thus must ye hear, dearest disciples. A great god who is a faithful patron of the Law hath defeated fully the god so worshipped by the great sages of this time. Drenched in blood of the saffron flower, this scarlet god's ritual conversion shall finish when they will be needed the most, and they will attain Awakening as have I, following the teachings of the Saints among you...

>

> They shalt arrive under the name Termagant Buddha, and their treatises and practices will seem to run contrary to mine known teachings... but this is not so. My teachings are not mine own, but the Law. I am but the messenger of Enlightenment. And as with all teachings, there are many different methods to Enlightenment, by necessity. We live in a world of diversities.

>

> For all things to be united, it must first be shattered into a thousand thousand pieces. The Termagant Buddha shall teach thee the importance of violence in the thorny path to Liberation."

>

> From the Evisceration Scripture of this Kalpa's Tutelary Conqueror Awoken*

Giant Stone Monastery was built around a monumental statue carved onto the side of Mount Jura's high cliff. This statue was feminine, but had all the accoutrements of an Awoken.

Bands of bejewelled gold crowned and embellished her forearms biceps, ankles, wrists, and neck. The Awoken dressed in a long tunic and a sarong. A long floating sash floated about them, and a moon disc halo emanated on their behind them, as if a throneback. They stood on a giant lotus throne surrounded by many others lotuses. One of their hands was palm up pointing to the ground, and her other hand held a strange looking knot, which looped 8 times.

A sculpture resembling a bidaree was carved in the upper right of the statue, and on the other side was a masculine version of the bidaree, which had a similar floating sash about them. That masculien bidaree had four hands, two of which were handling a boat lute.

In front of the statue was a serene pond, with multiple lotus flowers floating along it. The pond was shaped like a fat crescent, and in its nook was a stone spirit house, from which a pedestal jut out. There rice grains, flowers, fruits, and incense--joss sticks--were offered.

The flat stone of the monastery's grounds inclined slightly near the statue, the statue commanding even the earth. A five pointed wall as built around the female Awoken's statue: the monastery's walls.In each point of the wall was a pagoda, and then below the pagoda was a wide and spacious house with multiple roofs. From the houses the monks walked in and out of. Each monk was given one room and one thick cloth to lie down upon to sleep.

One of the houses was larger than the others, placed farthest from the entrance, and hugged the mountain wall. This was the Resting House, which housed 300 rooms in all; only 295 monks could be accommodated here at any given time.

A nun came up to Yiwaritala as they entered. She was beautiful: sharp chin, eyes, and cheekbones, and a fully shaved head covered in talismanic tattoos. She was almost feline. She was wrapped in two layers of robes, within the color of snow, without the color of wet ash. "Yiwaritala!" Her voice was husky, as if she spent her days as a toddler crying constantly. Despite this, her tone was still cheerful, bubbly. "The abbot told you not to head out on your own!"

Yiwaritala bowed to the nun, hands folded together in a heart reverence. "Ahom, Pilinitala," the nun, Pilinitala, still bowed back, despite her seeming anger. "The world be full of dangers, and no doubt the deities of this mountain petitioned the Saviors to tell me that demonkind has infested the lower realms. Witness who I have found."

Yiwaritala turned to show Raxri. Our cloud-headed amnesiac waved their hand--caught it, and then instead bowed with a heart reverence. "Hallowed evenings to the monk. I am Raxri Uttara. Is it no trouble to allow my horse into the monastery?"

Pilinitala nodded quickly, almost dismissively, and said: "Of course. Sugunitala! Tend to this visitor's horse!" A young boy of a monk, with skin pale yet brown still, walked over and took Sungai by the reins. He was clad in robes gray and brown. He brandished a banana and waved it over Sungai's mouth, calming them almost immediately. The boy Sugunitala was not covered in the telltale talismanic tattoos, save for his forearms.

"Where is the abbot? He must know about this one," said Yiwaritala, looking about. "Some interesting things have surfaced."

Pilinitala blinked and looked at Raxri in askance, examining them for a moment. Then, she said: "I think they're within the meditation house," she said, sighing. "I'm glad you're okay."

Yiwaritala smiled and nodded at Sugunitala, placing a hand on their forehead for a moment. "Thank you for having care for me. I will not squander your thoughts. You may return to your duty without worry or fret. Ahom, and may the God-Cutting Light guide you."

Yiwaritala turned around to Raxri and bid them to follow. All the while, throngs of monks walked to and fro.

The meditation house was the tallest house, mostly because it had the tallest pagoda stretching out of its roof, like a stabbed sword. Within it were four giant square pillars; engraved onto it were whereupon great narratives and stories of ancient heroes and gods. This made the house a building truly built upon the stories of eld.

Another statue of an Awoken dominated the room, rising from the back of the room, behind an altar whereupon long horizontal palm leaf manuscripts laid beside cloth paintings and other palm leaf paintings. This one was a masculine being sitting upon a iridescent cloth.

Its gigantic form filled up the entire back half of the meditation house, even going into the second and third floors of the building. Its scowling face, bulging eyes, hair tied into a taut bun and outwardly whorling fangs betrayed the face of a demon. An aura of solid fire framed him. In one arm raised they wielded a spear, with a vajra dagger for a spearhead. In the other hand outstretched before him, as if in deflection, was a straight sword, its hilt also a vajra.

His body was covered in a cuirass of interlocking steel plates woven ontop of a heavy cloth robe. His lower half was sheathed in a sarong also woven with steel plates; underneath the sarong one could see a sarouel. Their feet shorn of armor proved only the Awoken's connection with the earth.

The meditation house itself was spacious. Its door-height windows allowed the cold wind to enter. The large horizontal entrance allowed the cold wind to dance within, and then leave whenever they pleased. This kept the house cold, even in the midst of the Blasted Sun's reign.

There were multiple small horizontal ankle-high desks that rose from the floor. In front of each of the desks was a golden circular seat, with a rectangular cushion on top of it to raise one's body higher than one's feet. Monks would study here, recite mantras, perform meditations, and listen to the teachings of the higher monks and the Adamantine Masters.

There were no monks here at this time of night. No doubt they were readying themselves for their sleeping hours: the sun was drowning now in the horizong. In the middle of it all, however, sat down in the vajra sitting position as if ready to arise into war, was an old man. Their skin was the color of pure iron, so gray that they might as well have been wrought from stone. Cleanly shaven of all body hair, the man seemed truly like a rock, unmoving. They wore three layers of robes: outside was the shawl of pure black, followed by a robe of dark ash, then a pewter colored tunic and sarouel underneath. Upon their eyes, they wore spectacles, though they were of thin, wiry frame.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Of course, this one was covered in great talismanic tattoos. They could see upon their head symbol surrounded by multiple mantras creating a circle that eventually emanated and webbed out, continuing down their spine and neck and eyes. Their tattoos semeed to glow with a volcanic red hue, as if the tattoos were engravings upon volcanic stone.

Yiwaritala allowed the resonance of their pewter staff striking the ground to signal their arrival. Raxri tensed up: wouldn't interrupting someone as important as the abbot from performing whatever they were doing be wrong?

The abbot raised their head, the sound of a great exhale. Serenity flowed out from the man, as if biding within him, as if stored within his own body.

Serenity was never a physical concept, yet here it was the air.

The abbot raised his hand.

Yiwaritala left his pewter staff to sit by the door, and walked in. Raxri followed. As they neared, Yiwaritala performed a mouth reverence and said: "Abbot Wairojashra. The Auspicious Light be cut through you," the younger monk said, before walking to his front. Raxri followed as well, thinking to follow only the movements of someone that knew the social mores of a community of monks.

The abbot looked at Raxri and thought for a moment. Then: "Let the God-Flensing Darkness cut you both as well. You are back earlier than I thought you would be, Raxri Uttara." The abbot smiled.

Coldness ran through Raxri's spine. They looked at Yiwaritala, who looked aghast.

The monk said: "The... the abbot knows them?"

"Sit, Raxri, both of you. What seems to be the problem, as you have knocked me out of mine meditation." Abbot Wairojashra caught Raxri's glance and said: "Oh dear. You bear now the look of a fool, vapid and without recollection. Have you lost your memory, in truth?"

Raxri bit their lips and nodded. "I... I have, great abbot. You could tell?"

The two of them sat in front of the abbot. There was a similar wooden desk rising from the lacquered wood floor in front of him. They turned around and called two monks passing by, with a voice surprisingly loud for someone who was speaking so softspokenly before. "Please, some tea for our guest and your abbot."

The two young monks bowed, and then they made their way to the kitchen.

"Where did you meet the kindly Raxri Uttara?" asked the abbot afterwards, to Yiwaritala.

Yiwaritala stumbled a bit, and then said: "I was moved with great compassion to take stock of the situation down the path, in the grove."

"Yes. Against what I've said, but continue." The abbot said this with a certain smiling humor.

Yiwaritala's words stumbled again. When they could hazard the collection of their tongue, they continued: "The dog demons have arrived now, in Jura Mountain, venerable one. They will be cause for worry in due time. This one... Raxri. They showed considerable skill in combat, and have told me that they were sent by the witch A-Akazha to help them with their situation."

Serenity still chaining his face (or perhaps it had become his face?), the Abbot Wairojashra nodded in understanding at all of this. "So it is true. You've forgotten who you are? Everything you've ever known... gone?"

Raxri nodded. "There is not one that I can remember in truth, venerable one," answered Raxri, shifting about uncomfortably. "My last memory is awakening within cold azure waters, deep in the pit known as the Vault of Souls."

"I see," said Abbot Wairojashra. "You've met with a truly terrible fate, haven't you, heaven dancer? That was your epithet, once. Heaven Dancer. You danced across the heavens upon winds of enlightenment and liberation. Would you like to know what you did when you were here?"

Raxri bent closer and nodded a bit too eagerly. "I-if! If it's all right with the venerable one..." The revelation that they were a Heaven Dancer, an attainment of some sort of enlightenment, lit a match within their liver, sending them into an almost frenzied curiosity.

The abbot reached over, took Raxri's forearm, and caressed with his thumb the talismanic tattoo. "This came from us. You came here to get started on your yantra tattoos, so that you may become fully protected from all danger, and to make situations of good karma and merit appear more often. More importantly, you did this so that you could meditate upon the impermanence and interpenetration of all things."

"I see..." Raxri's eyes glistened as they listened. The abbot's fingers were hard and coarse, truly as if living stone moved across their supple skin. Up close, Raxri smelled the odor of smoke, similar to the smell they would have when inhaling upon their smoke pipes. Yiwaritala shifted uncomfortably in their seat, clearly in both in confusion and in anxiety, as they were no doubt used to not being mired in perturbation.

The elderly abbot ran their hard fingers across the tattoo and then said, "Hm. But this tattoo has lost its great power... It has not been invested with your Will..."

"Ah, the bidaree Vibujja had said something about it losing its charge," replied Raxri.

The abbot shook his head. "Yantra tattoos such as these do not require charge in the same way talismanic charms would... tattoos are always on, though reliant on one's own vitality, set aflame by one's Will."

"I can control my Will, Abbot," said Raxri. "I-I think."

"Not to the degree that you could before. It keens within you, like a centuries-deferred thundercloud, ready to burst. And... there is something more. These tattoos emanate not with the compassion you once held."

"What?" Raxri tilted their head to the side. "What does that mean?"

The abbot leaned away, letting go of Raxri's forearm. "You are full empty, you see. You are void of understanding. Without your memory, you who were once free from many tangles, have become increasingly tangled again within copious amounts of attachments."

Raxri considered this for a moment, then said: "Ah... so does that mean I have to grow compassion? That should be easy... I love everything! Everything is easy to love!" Raxri grinned, almost obnoxiously.

Yiwaritala barked out a scornful laugh.

Raxri turned to him and said, "Ha?"

The Abbot Wairojashra laughed, this one more good natured and more welcoming, more loving. They said to Raxri: "Compassion, you see, abounds in all of us. But to grow compassion, to cultivate it, requires the tempering of anger and wrath. Of aversion. Of hatred. These poisonous emotions must exist first in your body before it can be turned into compassion, in the same way iron must first be tempered to become a blade. In the way poison itself is turned into medicine. Shorn of memory... you have become devoid of the passions and the subsequent serenities that arose from therewith."

Raxri leaned back on their sitting position. "So to enlighten myself... I must fill myself with memory?"

The abbot replied: "To enlighten yourself you must engage in skillful means and accumulate knowledge, so that you reach the realization of the true nature of reality."

A silence filled the room. The cold air danced. The silence allowed the abbot's final words to echo. In that moment, it truly felt like a great sage speaking and teaching his disciples upon a great boulder, deep in sermon.

Then, Raxri said: "What can we do with the tattoo, then? Is there no way to regain that memory?"

"All attachments are suffering," said the abbot. "Even attachment to one's past self. Even attachment to thine memories. Who is to say that you will ever be that Raxri Uttara ever again?"

Raxri tried to think about that thought, but found that they could not truly think about it for too long. The concept was just too void for them, unthinkable. Who are they right now if not that Raxri Uttara? How can they be different when they are that same Raxri Uttara. Does memory truly make up so much of who we are?

"I... I'm not sure..."

"That is unfortunate. The Raxri Uttara of the past... they had the latent power to be able to save all that they wish. Would you be able to attain even a fraction of that accomplishment?"

Raxri bit their lip, confused, somewhat scared. Will they ever be the Raxri Uttara they wanted to be? Who even was that?

No... if I cannot become the Raxri Uttara I once was... then I will become better than that Raxri Uttara.

"I..." Raxri looked up. "I endeavor to be stronger than that Raxri Uttara. I will exceed the enlightenment they once attained. I will not lose my memory, and I will be unkillable. I will become undefeatable, unconquerable. I will become the strength of a thousand, I will become the hope of every sentient being!"

The great scowling face of the wrathful king bore down on them.

The Abbot smiled. Their eyes were looking in the direction of Raxri, but they weren't looking at Raxri. The smile turned sinister, somehow. As if judging, as if the celestial beings glowered down upon Raxri for their insolent arrogance. He snarled: "And if the number of people are innumerable?"

Raxri swallowed. "I will save them all--"

The Abbot continued immediately: "And if they hate you? And if this hatred is inexhaustible?!"

"I..." Raxri felt like a child, crying, wishing that their father would believe them. "I will break them all!"

"And if the wisdoms you must attain are unreachable?" Their voice echoed now, though they spoke with the voice of tranquility. Their voice boomed with the resonance of thundercloud.

Raxri's eyes flickered to the ferocious deity. They shut their eyes, to push through. They felt like they were going to burst into tears at any time. "I will attain them all!"

The Thunderbolt Master leaned forward, and his eyes were open now, and it seemed as if he took upon himself the very visage of the ferocious deity. They spoke with one, booming voice, indistinguishable from one hundred simultaneous thunderclaps: "AND IF LIBERATION IS UNATTAINABLE?"

Raxri looked at them in the eye. "I will accomplish it all the same."