The Temple and Mirage

I was walking down a crowded street in Kuala Lumpur when I met her. It didn’t take me long to guess from her brown skin and Blue-Benares Art Silk Sari that she was Indian Malaysian. Her long black hair and all other details in her face and body took me back to Nadia, the first love in my life.

“How do I reach the Chinatown KL district, please?” I didn’t hesitate to ask her. I wanted to find out if her voice sounded like Nadia - the love that never came to reality.

“You’re already in Chinatown, KL district,” she laughingly said like she realized I just wanted an excuse to talk to her. She stood still, waiting for me to come with another reason to talk more. But when I found myself speechless, looking deeply into her large bright black eyes saying nothing, she saved me the embarrassment. “Tell me, what are you looking for in Chinatown KL district.”

“Sightseeing, I want to see everything; It’s my first visit to Kuala Lumpur.” My answer was similar to my response to Nadia when she asked once what I wanted from her, and I said everything, but I got nothing.

“Do you want me to be your tour guide for a day?” She laughed. “No need to worry; it’s free of charge.”

“Sure!”

“I’m here in Kuala Lumpur to meet my fiancé in the evening to go out shopping; then I would come back to my nearby village. So, I’m free for a couple of hours.”

Nadia had never been so sweet with me, and she had no reason to be so. She’d been fourteen years old when I’d fallen in love with her, and I was two years younger.

On our way to Thean Hou Temple, the stunning six-tiered Buddhist temple, my Indian Malaysian companion told me that her name was Asmika. “It means in the Tamil language a beautiful soul,” she said softly.

Nadia also had a beautiful soul, but she hadn’t accepted me as a lover. She’d taken me as a kid of twelve years who had been ready to do whatever she had wanted him to do.

“This temple commemorates Tian Hou, a goddess said to protect fishermen as well as Guan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy,” Asmika explained at the front gate. “Do you find it interesting, uncle?”

‘Uncle! How could she dare to call me uncle!’ I was a bit irritated; being single till this age made me always feel so young. But with a second thought, I found she was right; I’m in my forties, at least fifteen years her senior.

We strolled with contemporary architectural styles and traditional designs with intricate embellishments, ornate carvings, and hand-painted murals. “So, you will go shopping this evening,” I said so to pave the way for a more personal talk.

“Yes, we need to do some shopping for our wedding,” she paused. “And we must buy a lot of gifts and sweets for our ancestors.”

“Gifts and sweets! and for dead people!”

“Please don’t put it this way,” she frowned. “ We must seek our ancestors’ blessings.”

“Ah, yes, sure.”

We went inside the octagonal hall, there was plenty of Buddha images, but my mind was elsewhere. “The wedding is soon?” I asked.

“It’s very soon – early next month.”

“I hope it is the happy end of a love story.”

“Not really. It’s kind of arranged marriage.”

Eventually, we reached the sacred Bodhi tree. Asmika told me about the original Bodhi Tree - the one in Bodh Gaya India. “That was the tree under which the Gautama Buddha sat when he attained enlightenment.”

I was curious to know more about Gautama Buddha- the Enlightened man who rediscovered an ancient path to release clinging and craving and escape the cycle of birth and rebirth. But I was keener to know about Asmika’s emotional life.

“What about your X lovers, was not any of them better than arranged marriage?”

“What! X lovers! Oh no, I’m an Indian woman. My family migrated from India to Malaysia during the British colonization of Malaya. However, we still respect our tradition that the ideal woman should be angelic and innocent, blushing at the mere mention of words like sex or something like that.”

We resumed walking silently till we reached the statue of Tian Hou, which sits between the Goddess of the Waterfront and the Goddess of Mercy.

“Yes, I was in love once,” Samika hesitantly confessed. “I was fourteen years when I loved Coshel, the good-looking boy who was twelve years old.”

‘What’s the hell!’ I thought. ‘Who’s the woman talking to me now? Is it possible she’s Nadia, and I’m Coshel?’

“Did he love you as well?” I asked, and I had to wait long before Samika came with an answer.

“I sum it up in few words; he was a kid. He didn’t understand me. He had been ready to do whatever I had wanted him to do but never dared to tell me the magic word of love.”

“And then!”

“I waited him long to get mature, but he didn’t. He was exactly as the meaning of his name. ‘Coshel’ means, in the Tamil language, the one who perfectly performs any task. Yes, he used to do any task but the task of grabbing the opportunity in front of him – which was me.”

“Are you still in love with Coshel?”

“It’s history. I have not seen Coshel for ages. He might look different now, but I feel when he would reach your age, he would look exactly like you.”

“Like me?” I murmured in an evident joy and surprise.

“Yes, and this might be the reason I offered to be your tour guide for a day.”

I could not stop myself from hugging Samika, and she accepted my hug. “How about if Coshel is already mature and would ask you to be his wife?” I proposed.

“It’s too late. But it’s so good that eventually, we had spent a day together as a mature woman and mature man.”

“And what about now?”

“Now!” She laughed, “now I’m hungry. I’m starving.”

“So, am I,” I answered, and we walked hand in hand out of the temple to find the nearest restaurant and stuff ourselves with a lot of noodles and rice.