Krishna, a young Maharaja Kumar in India fell in love with Anushka, a beautiful Daandia dancer he met during Dussehra festivals. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, day or night. He was obsessed with her. He would dress up as farmers so people don’t recognize him, and would sneak into parties just to get a chance to watch her dancing. This goes on and on for weeks until he finally gathers the will to reveal his love to her. That evening, he took a bath in the holy river, burnt the finest incense to perfume himself, put his fine royal clothes on, rehearsed his lines, and went outside the town where Anushka’s folk had camped. It was already dark when he reached their tents. He didn’t know which tent is hers though. He stood by aside in the dark, watching the tents for a while. Finally, he recognized her coming out of the largest tent. Krishna, half excited half terrified, approached her. He couldn’t imagine living if she rejects him. He was near the Anushka’s tent when he feels someone’s hand tapping on his shoulder.
“Can I help you?”
Krishna turned, and saw a giant, scary guy with a big imperial mustache covering half his face.
“Yes. I mean no, thank you. I am meeting a friend here, there, in that tent.”
“That is my tent. Who is your friend?” The giant guy didn’t sound friendly. Krishna swallowed his spit, and said: “Not… Not a friend exactly. She is a dancer, Anushka is her name.”
“What do you want from my daughter?” The giant guy said angrily as he got closer to Krishna. His mouth was half-open, and his teeth were shining out. They looked sharp and pointy. Krishna felt that Anushka’s giant father might devour him any second. He wanted to swallow his spit, but his mouth was as dry as the Thar desert.
“Ma… Ma… Marriage, intention marriage, if your permission to.”
“Wait a minute, I think I know you. Aren’t you the son of Maharaja Arjun?” Anushka’s father took a friendlier tone.
“Yeees, yes I am.” Krishna felt a bit safer, and continued more confidently. “And I mean nothing but respect for you or your daughter. I am truly in love with her, and I want to marry her.”
“Young man. I am afraid we are from Shaivism sect.”
“Good, Great!”
“Well, are you?”
“Me? No. My parents, Maharaja and Maharana,” Krishna said with pride, “are from Shaktism.”
“Well, there is your answer, young prince. This is the line that even royalty can’t cross,” Anushka’s father said, and left Krishna.
“But… But I am in love.”
“Too bad,” Anushka’s father replied without turning around. There was no sympathy in his voice. He reached his tent, and met Anushka at the entrance. Anushka looked back, and noticed sad Krishna standing there, dazed and confused. This was the first time that Anushka saw Krishna. She smiled. Her father held her hand, and forcefully turned her towards the tent. She obliged. She put one step inside the tent, but then paused a bit. Her father insisted with a gentle push on her back. She turned her face back, and took a last look at Krishna. Krishna’s eyes were full of tears. She disappeared into the tent, and he fell to his knees; his forehead hit the ground, and he started crying his eyes out. Frogs from the nearby lake, and his cry were the only audible voices in that darkest night.
“What did he do?” Leonardo asks the monk.
“What could he do? Religion was in the way. With the right power one could bend the laws of physics created by God, but no one, no one can mess with the laws of religions instated by men.”
“So he just gave up?!”
“Well, he tried, and God knows he tried hard. He cried for a week, nothing, fasted for a month, nothing, took refuge in a temple for a year, nothing. He got weak, skinny, and bearded, yet he was still in love as much as he was the first time he saw Anushka. Nothing could drive her love out of Krishna’s heart, for he was truly in love. His parents, worried that they might lose their only son, desperately turned to the eldest Hindu monk in their kingdom.”
“Was it Kung Fu?” Leonardo asks impatiently.
“No,” the monk chuckles at Leonardo’s naiveté, “and it is Zhong Fu, Zh, Zh. This monk was legit, but he was no Zhong Fu. Zhong Fu was the real sh**; did I say sh**? Sorry, I retract. The Hindu monk told them about him though.
‘Go East, young man.’ the Hindu monk said, ‘where the wisdom lies.’
He told them that Zhong Fu is the greatest Buddhist monk since the Buddha himself, nobody has seen him in the past 200 years, and the legend says that he is living on top of the tallest pillar in the magical Zhangjiajie mountains in China.
“If anyone knows how to save your son, that would be Zhong Fu, the legendary monk,” the Hindu monk told them.
Desperate to have their son saved, they dispatched him to China, to look for Zhong Fu. Krishna climbed over the Himalaya mountains in Tibet, passed through the notorious Tibet desert, which he barely pulled through, until he reached the magical standing pillars in Zhangjiajie. He found the tallest one, stood by it, and realized that he cannot even see where the top ends. It was as if the pillar reaches over the clouds, directly to the skies. As frightening climbing the pillar was, Krishna was passionate to find his answers, and no fear could have stopped him.
He started climbing it with his bare hands. A snake bit him, an eagle attacked him, and he was about to fall off three times, but he kept going since he had no fear of death; life meant nothing to him without Anushka. As miraculous as it was, he eventually managed to reach the top of the tallest pillar, alive. He was exhausted, and so he passed out right there at the edge of the pillar.
He woke up feeling that something is poking him. He opened his eyes, and found Zhong Fu, the legendary monk, right above him, blocking the sun. Zhong Fu looked like a thousand years old: a big hunchback, all hairs white, and eyebrows so bushy that they covered the eyes like curtains. His beard was so long that it was almost touching the ground.
“You are late!” Zhong Fu said.
“You were expecting me?!” Krishna is stunned.
“Ask me your question, in your own words.”
Krishna sat up, and got into Seiza position to show respect.
“Anushka is my impossible love, and yet I cannot get her out of my heart. I feel like she and I are the only people in this world, and if she is not with me, I will be all alone.”
“I actually know what you mean. I am myself pretty lonely up here. Have you tried masturbation?”
“What?!!!” Krishna was all shocked and shaken.
“What?!!!” Leonardo is all shocked and shaken. “What is wrong with you?! What the hell are you talking about? Who do you think you are talking to? I am an artist. I plow my heart day and night. I bare my soul to figure the ultimate truth. I am an artist. I form cultures, I recreate human, I… I…”
“Eye, eye, ear, nose; you are all from the same face to me. Sorry, Okay?” the monk tries to calm him down. “People don’t come here, unless they are dying or in love. You are so young, I thought you are having woman issues. Same recipe always works for them all—well, almost always. Sorry, alright? You are different, I get it now. I didn’t know you are an… artist you said? Really?”
Krishna nodes. He is still breathing angrily, but his rage seems to be settling.
The monk genuinely feels bad about what happened, and wants to make it up to him. He continues: “Unfortunately, I don’t have an artist story to tell—”
“Good.”
“—well, not yet I don’t.”
“Do you like… build statues or something?”
“I am a poet, and a painter.” Leonardo’s voice is a bit hoarse after all that yelling.
“Poems are not quite useful around here; we already have a thick book to read, if you know what I mean,” the monk chuckles, “but paintings, huh?” The monk is stroking his chin. He looks back at the empty wall behind him, and says: “This wall is indeed a bit naked, and your art can take care of it. Let me cut you a deal. You offer a good painting of Santa Maria, we put it up there, and tonight I will shoot up an awesome, top-notch, super prayer for you to get you exactly what you want.” The monk pauses. “What was that again?”
“Ha, yeah, like your prayer is going to make a difference?” Leonardo says with a chuckle.
“Of course!” the monk frowns. “My prayers are always accepted, 100% guaranteed. I see holy spirit every night, in my dreams. People call me super monk around here.”
“You?!”
“Yes. Me!” the monk is a bit offended.
“Like a genie?!” Leonardo asks mockingly.
“Nooo! Like a monk. We are in the church. Now, quit nagging like a baby, and tell me what was it that you wanted?”
Leonardo doesn’t quite believe the monk, but he likes the idea of painting Santa Maria; there is something calming in painting that attracts him. Besides, he is desperate and hopeless, so he might as well just play along.
“Okay, why not?” Leonardo responds with a reluctant tone. “My art would be appreciated, by at least one of the God’s fine people.”
“Appreciated, one, fine, you got it. Can you finish the painting by next Sunday?”
You will get your painting, Leonardo thinks; there was no need for so much rambling, and bullsh**ing about prayers.
“I can finish it tonight,” he says confidently.
“Tonight?! Wow, you must be very good.”
“Everything is in my head already. Pouring it on a canvas wouldn’t take long.”
“Alright then. That is our covenant. Hmm, no, that is too biblical; let call it a deal. You bring the Santa Maria’s painting tomorrow, and I guarantee you will find your wish granted by then.”
The monk is leaving. After a few steps, he stops, pauses for a beat, turns, and says: “Make her smile. It would be a good vibe for the church.”