“A band of minstrels suddenly appears, dances and sings, and it departs in the same sudden manner. They come and they return, but none recognizes them.” —Sri Ramakrishna
I first caught sight of my sensai, my teacher, when I was a young man. He was rescuing a child who’d been taken hostage by a thief. As I watched him, I was struck by how calm and precise he was. Even with a group of villagers huddled around him, anxiously watching his every move, he was unflustered. First, he shaved his head to look like a monk, then he donned a monk’s robe and took a plate of rice balls to the door of the hut where the thief held the child. Sensai, now looking and acting like a monk, suggested the food might quiet the hungry and crying child. And in the millisecond of the thief’s distraction, sensai charged into the hut, killed the thief, and emerged with the child safe in his arms. He was clearly a samurai of the highest order and I was immediately in awe of him.
After the rescue, he walked away from the scene unnoticed. No one gave him thanks or reward. The child’s family was in hysterics—the mother rocking back and forth, clutching the child tightly to her chest. The townspeople, too, were oblivious. They’d gathered around the thief’s dead body, taking some vengeful joy in kicking and cursing it. I, on the other hand, was so drawn to the samurai that I followed him on the road to the next town. He turned in annoyance at my presence, and I bowed at his feet and begged to study with him. He rebuffed me then, and several times afterwards, but I knew in my heart he was my teacher, so I persevered until he relented. And I traveled with him for the rest of his years, and being in his company was the greatest joy of my entire life.
As we continued walking to the next town, a small group of farmers approached him. They too had witnessed the child’s rescue, and were now seeking his protection for their village and harvest. They were very timid and, I think, afraid of sensai, but nevertheless explained their plight. They had learned that bandits were planning to steal their crop as soon as the harvest was complete—bandits who had once before robbed them of their harvest. This time the farmers did not want to be defenseless, so they were looking to hire samurai to protect them. My master accepted right away, without hesitation. All the farmers could offer in return was food, but I saw the compassion deep in his eyes, and perhaps understood why he agreed.
Our first task was to gather a company of samurai for the fight. Through all that followed—the preparations, the training, and the battle itself—this remained one of the most interesting parts of the journey. Something about the way we all came together touched my heart very deeply, though I wouldn’t understand why until many years later.
Sensai determined we’d need seven samurai total to defend the village, so we began to scrutinize every samurai who passed through town. Whenever I saw one who looked strong and tough, I thought we should ask him to join our mission, but sensai would usually shake his head no. He could see something about their character that I didn’t yet have eyes to see.
When we did ask a samurai to join us, it was my job to test him. I’d hide inside the door of our lodge with a stick held high, ready to whack him as he entered, knowing any samurai worth his salt would sense the danger and not enter. The first samurai to join our company sensed the trap several feet in front of the door, stopped and said to sensai, “Surely, you jest.” My master laughed and asked that he not take offense at the trap and explained what we were up to. The samurai’s response, to this day, gives me chills. He said, “I’m with you. But I have to say that although I understand the farmers’ suffering and understand why you would take up their cause, it’s your character that I find most compelling. In life one finds friends in the strangest places.”
Next sensai ran into an old friend, one he had fought with many, many times before. He explained our mission, and said, “Truth is, there’s a tough battle ahead leading to neither money nor rank. Will you join us?” His old companion said yes immediately, and that was it. He was part of the company.
The others who rounded out our troupe were a master swordsman—the most skilled of us all, yet the most unassuming; a ronin, not as great with the sword, but with a bright spirit sensai said would be a treasure in the difficult times ahead; and then the final member. He came to us drunk, waving a fake scroll that proclaimed him a samurai. He wasn’t asked to join but followed us anyway, and in the end he proved to be a great, if unconventional, warrior, with a lot of heart.
Preparing for the battle was a magical time for me. Being in the company of these samurai was powerful. Their discipline and precision in planning and training was absolutely fascinating to experience. For the farmers, though, it was pure torture. Whenever we had any setback or loss, they would drop into near paralyzing states of fear and self-pity. It was interesting to notice how the preparations had so much power for us, but absolutely none for them.
I did, however, finally see them in their moment of power. It was after the battle was over and won, and we were leaving. They’d begun planting their next crop, and it was truly a sight to see. They moved in unison, planting the young rice shoots in what seemed like a perfectly choreographed dance. And there was a joy on their faces, and I realized then it was the first time I’d seen them happy.
As we left the village, the farmers took no notice of us. Even though we saved their village, there were no goodbyes, no thanks. Our presence had always made them uncomfortable, so they kept their heads down, focused on the planting. Sensai said, “In the end, we lost this battle too.” Not comprehending him, his old friend, the one whom he’d fought alongside in many battles, asked what he meant. Sensai looked at the graves of the four in our company who died in the battle, “I mean the victory belongs to those peasants. Not to us.” And with that, we moved on, unnoticed, unthanked, and me, happy to be part of this company.
Enlightenment Fan Fiction 