Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [79]
He was in the middle of a Corporation board meeting –
a full pack, bar the Vice-Chairman who had sent his apologies – when Tragan came through to announce that Rudley was about to be released into the Lackan.
‘If you wish,’ he said, ‘we can route the transmissions of the hunt, as we record them, through to your ER receiver, on channels ninety-seven and ninety-eight.’
‘No, no,’ replied Freeth. ‘I’ll come to the control room.’
He turned back to the board. ‘Very well, gentlemen. So it’s understood that what I urgently need is a contingent, alternative to Earth. Yes?’
A sotto-vote chorus of ‘Yes’; a row of nodding heads; and the Chairman of the board rose from his appropriately oversize chair. ‘Then get on with it,’ he said. ‘The meeting is adjourned.’
Picking up his bag of bull’s-eyes, he pivoted on his heel and tripped on dainty toes from the boardroom.
It was after Darshee died that Onya Farjen had become the mother of the Kimonyans.
She had seen how it was that he was the father of the tribe. A guide, a counsellor, a sharer of grief and joy, he was also a healer. The members of the tribe treated him with cheerful familiarity, tempered with respect and love; and bit by bit, they started to behave to her in much the same way, as if she too were the bearer of wisdom.
It had turned out that the liberation which had freed her from the prison of her mind was only a beginning.
As she lived her days in the clear light which now seemed so ordinary, and yet so very far from the ‘normal’ way of living that she had left behind, her teacher guided her towards an understanding that saw no limits, no boundaries.
The silence of her mind was filled with the sounds, the empty space with the very presence of the multitudinous things about her, so that sometimes it almost seemed as if she were the creator of the world, and the cause of all that happened in it. And only when she was able to join Darshee in his mirth at this ludicrous misapprehension, was she able to realize the truth of it.
One morning when she went to his hut, she was surprised to find him lying on the pile of skins which made up his bed. ‘It is time, my daughter,’ he said. ‘This old body chooses to return to the earth.’
For a moment, she could not speak. ‘But what shall I do without you?’ she said at last.
He smiled. ‘Shall you be without me?’
She found that there were tears running down her cheeks. ‘I’m not as advanced as you think I am,’ she said. ‘I’m not ready.’
‘The time has come for me to go,’ he said, ‘and the time for you to grieve. When the time comes for you to be ready, you will be ready. Now, help me to sit up.’
She helped him into his usual cross-legged posture. He folded his hands. ‘Never forget, Onya Farjen, that you are sky born.’
He gave a little giggle. As we all are!’ he said.
He closed his eyes and became very still.
As she wondered whether he had already died, or was only meditating, she became aware of the sound of voices. She went outside.
Twenty or thirty Kimonyans were standing in a ragged group on the slope outside the door, swaying in time with a low, wordless chanting. At her appearance, they fell silent, looking at her. All over the village, Onya could see, the everyday business of living had come to a standstill. Men, women and children were looking up towards the hut as if interrupted by a call.
She bowed her head, having no words. A great wail rose from the group and spread throughout the village. For a few minutes it continued, filling the air with sadness, until it seemed that the whole world must be grieving; then slowly, it died; and there