The Dance Master

Reports had reached the Dalai Lama that a certain Master of Kung Fu was roaming the Tibetan countryside, converting young men to the study of violence. Rumor even began circulating that this Master of Kung Fu was an incarnation of Shiva Natarajah, the Hindu god in his aspect as the Lord of the Dance of Destruction.

The Master of Kung Fu had made his reputation by taking on eight Lolo warriors with movements so swift he seemed merely to walk though them.

Wherever the Master of Kung Fu stopped, he gathered followers who were fascinated by his dance of destruction. Against all Buddhist laws, there had been widespread slaughter of yaks in order to make the black leather outfits like the one the Master of Kung Fu wore from neck to ankle.

The Dalai Lama responded to this outbreak of violence by inviting the Master of Kung Fu to the great Ceremonial Hall as his guest. When the Master of Kung Fu arrived, he bowed in front of the throne and said, “Your Highness, I know why you called me here. But I assure you, I mean no harm to you. Ugliness is my only enemy. There is such ugliness everywhere, and it must be destroyed. I am training a special cadre of men to help me.”

“And how do you propose to do this?” asked the Dalai Lama.

“Permit me to show you. Please stand in front of me while I demonstrate my skill and do a little dance. Though I can kill a dozen men instantly with this dance, have no fear.” The Dalai Lama stood up and immediately felt as if the wind had blown flower petals across his body. He looked down, but saw nothing. “You may proceed.” “Proceed? I have already finished. What you felt were my hands flicking across your body. This was just a demonstration, but with this finger, I could have broken your arm, and with this knuckle, I could have destroyed your liver. I could have taken out all our vital organs in that little movement.”

“I know a Master greater than you,” said the Dalai Lama.

“Without wishing to offend your highness, I doubt that very much. But, let him challenge me, and if he bests me, I shall leave Tibet forever.”

“If he bests you, you shall have no need to leave Tibet.” The Dalai Lama clapped his hands, “Summon the Dance Master!”

In a few moments, a wiry little fellow arrived. The Dance Master was well past his prime; his joints were swollen with arthritis; his legs entwined with varicose veins. However, the Master of Kung Fu did not mock his opponent. “My own guru was even smaller and older than you, yet I was unable to best him until just last year.”

The two men faced off. The old Dance Master began to swirl very slowly, his robes flying around his head. His arms stretched out and his hands fluttered like butterflies toward the eyes of his opponent, and his fingers landed on the bushy eyebrows.

The Kung Fu master drew back in astonishment. He looked around the great hall. Everything was suddenly vibrant with rich color.

The fingers of the Dance Master stroked the nose of the Master of Kung Fu and suddenly, he could smell the pungent barley from the city far below.

The Dance Master continued to touch the body of the Master of Kung Fu and at every touch, he felt more joy, more life, and more beauty.

The Master of Kung Fu tore the leather clothing from his body and stood naked in the hall. Then he began to dance. It was the most beautiful dance ever seen in the great ceremonial hall. He danced for three days and three nights. Only when he collapsed at the throne of the Dalai Lama did he notice that another body was next to his. It was the old Dance Master who had died of exhaustion while performing his final and most marvelous dance. The new Dance Master of Tibet took the frail corpse into his arms. Weeping with love, he drew the last of its energy into his body. He had never felt so strong.