Chapter 72

Arif passed through the glass doors just as the last echoes of the twelfth gong faded away.

The first thing he observed was the aroma.

It was the most exquisite amalgam of scents he'd ever experienced. A complex blend of floral scents, musk, attar, oils, herbs, and other indistinguishables. The combined effect was intoxicating.

He breathed deeply, inhaling the delicious air, feeling rejuvenated almost instantly. The room was a solarium. An enormously large circular room with glass walls and roof, held together by a transparent fibre-glass frame. Exotic plants and lush shrubbery were arranged in a pattern so natural, they seemed to have always been there.

The lighting was so low key and unobtrusive, it seemed almost non-existent. Allowing you to look up and see every detail in the star-studded night sky. And what a sky it was tonight. A clear, perfect night sky, like a holo projection in a planetarium. And the moon - ripe, full, luminous, a glowing Rubenesque mask rising out of an ink-black ocean of darkness.

He took a seat on one of the stone benches set around the room. Everybody else was already seated, half-concealed by the darkness. They were all positioned facing the center of the room, looking upwards. Arif soon understood why.

From out of the shadows of another entrance, Myanmar appeared. Garbed in a monk's wholecloth robe, his face was only a dim blur beneath the overhanging cowl. He climbed the central circular platform to take his place in the exact center of the room, directly beneath the apex of the transparent dome.

Only now did Arif become aware of the very faint music emanating from hidden speakers all around the room. It was so muted, so perfectly suited to the occasion and the setting, you only noticed it if you were listening for it. It washed across the background of consciousness, creating a base of calm and serenity.

He knew that it was the kind of music that you heard in those self-actualization tapes, the ones that you played when going to sleep, and which were accompanied by subliminal messages that made you quit smoking, increase your memory power, or self-confidence, or whatever. He had once resorted to such tapes when trying to overcome his bouts of lack of self-confidence.

Myanmar spoke, and his voice was penetrating yet unobtrusive. So perfectly pitched to make use of the solarium's specially designed acoustics that Arif knew he would be heard by even the person sitting farthest from the center. His voice was shockingly familiar, as if Arif had been listening to it all his life. As if Myanmar was speaking directly within his mind, not through the imperfect media of air and sound waves. As if he were Arif's own inner voice speaking.

He recited some verses in a language Arif didn't understand.

Whatever he said, it sounded marvelous, soothing, profoundly meaningful. It reminded him of the secret mantras of the Buddhist Monks, the ones that could help you attain nirvana. But he had heard Tibetan chants at a monastary in Ladakh once and he knew this was something similar in effect but very different.

The full moon was at the apex of the transparent dome now, poised directly above the entire gathering of richly clad, masked men and women. Every mask was turned upwards, basking in the light of the lunar orb.