Dhumavati. A Voice in the Smoke

Dmitry asked why. She replied:

“I forgot.”

“Then say so straight away.”

“I did say so.”

“After I’d asked a second time.”

“What difference does it make?”

“A big one.”

“Everything makes a big difference to you.”

“When it’s about an arrangement – yes.”

She shut the notebook irritably.

“Sometimes you’re impossible.”

“Nobody’s making you study with me.”

The words came out too fast. The girl looked at him, and the room went quiet.

Dmitry knew at once that he had said too much. But he did not want to back down straight away. Character.

She stood up.

“Fine.”

“What’s fine?”

“Nothing.”

She put on her jacket.

“Wait.”

“What for?”

“Because right now we’re both behaving like idiots.”

She did stop, after all. Dmitry let out a breath.

“I didn’t mean you should leave.”

“But you said it.”

“I did.”

“Then what was it?”

He was silent for a moment.

“I got angry.”

“So did I.”

“I can see that.”

“And?”

“And I said too much.”

She looked at him for a few more seconds.

“Is that an apology?”

“Yes.”

“A very pretty one.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“All right.”

She took off her jacket and sat down again. Dmitry looked straight ahead.

Ma said:

Progress.

“Not now.”

You apologised in less than five minutes.

“Ma.”

Before, you could go about angry for a whole day and night.

Dmitry only just managed not to roll his eyes. The girl noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

* * *

After that things became easier. Not perfect – simply more honest.

Dmitry might get irritated, she might argue. He would raise his voice, then realise he had gone too far, and apologise. She, too, was learning not to turn disagreement into silent punishment.

Ma watched. Sometimes she stepped in. More often not.

It was in this period that Dmitry began to understand that teaching another person was nothing like working with a text. A text can be opened again; you can go back to a line, correct a translation. A person remembers not only what you meant to say – they remember how you said it. When. With what expression on your face. What you did afterwards.

Sometimes one unfortunate phrase meant more than ten correct explanations.

Dmitry did not like this knowledge. Too much responsibility.

But it was no longer possible to give it up.

* * *

One evening the girl left earlier than usual. Dmitry closed the door and went back into the room. She had left her pen on the table.

He picked it up and turned it between his fingers.

“I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

Ma asked:

Do you miss her?

“She left ten minutes ago.”

That is not an answer.

Dmitry put the pen down on the table.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“Satisfied?”

No.

That put him on his guard.

“Why not?”

I did not ask in order to get the answer I wanted.

“Then why?”

So that you would hear your own.

Dmitry sat down.

“I’m falling in love.”

Ma was silent.

“I think I already have.”

Yes.

This time her short answer did not irritate him. Rather the opposite.

Dmitry looked at the pen for a long time.

“Is that bad?”

No.

“Good?”

Do not ask childish questions.

He gave a wry smile.

“Understood.”

Love is no guarantee of results. Nor is it a reason to abandon the path.

“I know.”

No. For now you only think you know.

Dmitry wanted to object. He did not.

After a while he asked:

“Does she feel the same?”

Ma answered at once:

Do not ask me what you must hear from her.

“Fair enough.”

He moved the pen to the edge of the table. The next day the girl took it back.

And a few weeks after that she herself said what Ma had refused to say for her.

* * *

It all happened far more simply than Dmitry had expected. No special conversation, no grand scene.

They were sitting together after a lesson, tea going cold on the table. The conversation had long since drifted away from practice. She was telling him something, then stopped.

“Can I ask a question?”

“You’ll ask it anyway.”

“Not that kind.”

“What kind?”

She was silent for a moment.

“What am I to you?”

Dmitry had not expected that.

“My student.”

She looked at him.

“Only that?”

He felt everything inside him go very quiet.

Ma was silent too. Rightly so: this was not her conversation.

“No.”

“Then what?”

Dmitry gave a wry smile.

“Have you decided to make me say obvious things today?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her.

“I like you very much.”

She smiled.

“I like you too.”

“Very much?”

Now she laughed.

“Don’t start.”

For a few seconds they simply looked at each other. And Dmitry suddenly felt relief. Not rapture, not a bolt of lightning – it was simply that the tension had gone, the tension that for several months had hung between them and pretended not to be there.

She was the first to hold out her hand. Dmitry took it in his.

No mysticism. Ordinary human warmth.

And for some reason it was this, just then, that mattered more than everything else.

* * *

Later, after she had gone, Dmitry did not switch on the light in the big room for a long time. He sat by the window.

Beyond the glass the city went on living its ordinary life: cars, windows, the occasional passer-by. No signs. No supernatural events.

“Well?”

Ma responded:

Well what?

“You knew all along.”

Knew what, exactly?

“That it would turn out like this.”

I knew that it might turn out like this.

“Wording again.”

Wording matters.

“Will she stay?”

Ma fell silent.

Dmitry felt at once that he had asked the wrong thing.

“All right.”

What?

“Don’t answer.”

Why?

“Because that’s exactly the kind of question I want a particular answer to.”

Ma said nothing.

Dmitry smiled.

“I’m learning.”

Slowly.

“But on my own.”

Do not exaggerate.

He laughed. Then, more seriously, he asked:

“What happens to the teaching now?”

Carry on.

“Nothing changes?”

Everything changes. But the teaching must not disappear just because your relationship has changed.

“And the boundaries?”

They will become more complicated.

“Very helpful.”

Did you want it simpler?

“Of course.”

Then you chose the wrong life.

That was hard to argue with.

* * *

The months that followed really did become more complicated. And better.

They went on studying. Sometimes they argued no longer as teacher and student but as a man and a woman. Sometimes the other way round – the personal had to be left outside the door, because practice was beginning and Dmitry demanded precision.

She might protest:

“Five minutes ago you were hugging me, and now you’re talking like an examiner.”

“Because five minutes ago we weren’t studying.”

“Convenient.”

“Very.”

“And no allowances?”

“None.”

“Not even for me?”

“Especially for you.”

She would look at him crossly. Then she would do it. Sometimes better than before. Sometimes worse – because now the wish to learn had been joined by the wish not to disappoint Dmitry.

He noticed it quickly. Ma, more quickly still.

Dangerous.

“What is?”

She is beginning to do some things for your sake.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Do you want a student, or someone who guesses your mood?

Dmitry looked at the girl. At that moment she was diligently repeating what he had shown her.

“Understood.”

After the lesson he said:

“I don’t need you to do this for my sake.”

She was surprised.

“Then for whose?”

“For your own.”

“But you’re the one teaching me.”

“Yes.”

“So what you think matters to me.”

“It does matter. But if my approval becomes the main result for you, we’ll ruin everything.”

She was silent for a while.

“And if I like it when you’re pleased?”

Dmitry smiled.

“I like it too.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Proportion.”

“A very precise answer.”

“It’s the only one I have for now.”

She nodded. The conversation seemed to be over.

But Dmitry did not forget it. Nor did Ma.

* * *

By this time the girl already knew about Ma. Not everything – far from everything: Dmitry did not like going into detail about such things at all. But hiding the fact itself was becoming pointless. Too often he fell silent in the middle of a conversation, too often his expression changed, too obviously he sometimes answered someone who was not physically in the room.

One day the girl asked him straight out:

“Are you talking to her now?”

Dmitry looked at her.

“Who to?”

“To Dhumavati.”

He did not answer at once.

“What makes you think so?”

“You went quiet and you’re looking as if someone’s explaining something to you.”

“Very observant.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes.”

She fell silent too.

“And what did she say?”

Dmitry gave a wry smile.

“That you ask too many questions.”

Ma said immediately:

I did not say that.

Dmitry laughed.

“What?”

“Now she says I’m lying.”

“And are you?”

“Just now – yes.”

The girl laughed as well. Then she asked seriously:

“Can she see me?”

Dmitry was about to answer.

Ma said:

Yes.

“She can.”

“Always?”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘always’.”

“When I’m here.”

Yes.

“When you’re here – yes.”

The girl was a little embarrassed.

“That’s strange.”

“I’m used to it.”

“And does she say anything about me?”

Dmitry looked at her.

“Sometimes.”

“What?”

“I won’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s a conversation between me and her.”

She wanted to object. Then she changed her mind.

“All right.”

Dmitry noticed that. Another boundary. And once again she had accepted it.

* * *

It was after this that Ma first spoke of the next stage.

Dmitry was sitting alone; the girl had already gone home. On the table lay two notebooks and a book.

Ma said:

Soon it will be possible to give her more.

Dmitry raised his head.

“What exactly?”

Later.

“No, I already know that ‘later’ of yours.”

Then why ask?

“Will it be an ordinary practice?”

A pause.

No.

Dmitry straightened up.

“For her?”

For both of you.

He felt the change at once. Not fear. Concentration.

“Paired?”

Yes.

“What kind?”

Ma was silent.

“I should at least know what I’m preparing her for.”

For now – nothing new. Carry on with what you are doing.

“And afterwards?”

Afterwards I will explain.

Dmitry looked at the two cups on the table.

“Is this to do with us being together?”

Yes.

“Do we have to be a couple?”

This practice needs a different kind of bond from the usual relationship between teacher and student.

“And is she right for it?”

Ma’s answer came more slowly than usual.

She may be right for it.

Dmitry noticed the wording at once. Not “she is”. She may be.

“What has to change?”

Both of you.

“Very specific.”

For now nothing more specific is needed.

He was silent for a while.

“Is it dangerous?”

Ma answered:

If you do what you are not yet ready to hold – yes.

Dmitry felt the familiar urge to ask ten more things at once. And stopped himself.

“All right.”

Ma was silent.

“I said ‘all right’.”

I heard.

“And no comments about progress?”

Do not be in a hurry to rejoice.

He gave a wry smile. Now everything was as it should be.

A hair tie the girl had forgotten lay on the table. Next to it was her notebook, which she had left by accident and was to collect tomorrow.

Only a year ago the flat had belonged to Dmitry, his books and the silence alone. Now it held someone else’s cup, forgotten things, laughter, arguments and a person whose return he waited for.

He did not yet know what exactly Ma intended to propose. He did not know how deeply two people could be joined by a practice that begins not with the body, nor even with feelings. Nor did he know that beginning it would prove far simpler than one day bringing it to completion.

For now there was only the student in front of him. The girl he had come to love.

And the first practice that Ma would not let him hurry.

Chapter Eight

Union

Ma returned to the conversation about the paired practice almost a month later. Dmitry had already begun to suspect that she had changed her mind, but he did not ask: after several attempts he had understood that if Ma said “later”, the question was best left alone. Attempts to hurry her “later” usually led only to his receiving another “later”, spoken in a considerably more irritated voice.

That evening the girl left at about ten. They had worked for almost four hours, and after the lesson they had gone on talking in the kitchen for a long time.

Dmitry closed the door behind her, went back into the room and gathered the exercise books from the table.

Ma said:

Now.

He stopped.

“Now what?”

Now I can explain.

Dmitry understood at once.

“The paired practice?”

Yes.

He put the exercise books back down. Sat down.

“I’m listening.”

First understand the main thing. This is not a practice of the body.

“All right.”

The body may take part. Feelings may take part. Your relationship may take part. But they are not what the work is about.

Dmitry said nothing.

You will be working at the level at which two people are able to create a shared structure. Not to agree on one. Not to imagine one. Not to play at closeness. To create.

“An energetic one?”

Ma did not answer at once.

That word is too small, but for now you may use it.

“All right. A shared energetic structure.”

Yes.

“And what does it give you?”

Do not begin with what it gives.

Dmitry smiled wryly.

“I knew it.”

Begin with what it demands.

“Which is?”

Trust. Steadiness. Honesty. The ability not to hide from the other what will become noticeable after the union anyway.

He frowned.

“Noticeable in what sense?”

In the literal sense.

“Thoughts?”

Nothing so primitive.

“Then explain.”

Ma was silent for a while.

Imagine that you are used to thinking of yourself as a separate room. You have walls, a door, things that you show and things that you keep inside.

“I’m picturing it.”

Now part of the wall between two rooms has been taken away.

Dmitry saw at once where this was going.

“So the boundary stays, but becomes permeable?”

Better.

“How permeable?”

As far as you are able to hold it.

“And if we don’t have that kind of steadiness yet?”

Then you cannot begin.

He thought about it.

“Is she capable of it?”

I said: she may be suitable.

“And me?”

A pause.

You too.

“Very convincing.”

Did you want to hear that you are completely ready?

“It would have been nice.”

Then ask someone else.

Dmitry laughed.

“All right. Suppose we’re both capable. What happens next?”

You begin to sense each other not only as two people who happen to be near each other.

“As what, then?”

As one system with two centres of consciousness.

He stopped smiling.

“Now that’s serious.”

That is why I did not give it to you before.

“And after completion?”

The bond will appear earlier. Once it has been established, it can no longer be broken. Completion does not make the bond permanent – it is permanent from the moment it is established. Completion makes the shared structure whole.

“Even if we’re far away from each other?”

Distance changes nothing here. Physically you may be in different places; the bond will remain all the same.

Dmitry looked at the empty chair opposite.

“Will I be able to feel her when she isn’t near?”

Sometimes.

“And will she feel me?”

Yes.

“Thoughts?”

You are back to thoughts again.

“Because I want to understand the limits.”

Not reading thoughts. Rather, understanding the other person’s state before they have managed to explain it in words. Sometimes deeper. Sometimes considerably deeper.

“Sounds inconvenient.”

Very.

“And that’s the point of it?”

No. That is a consequence.

“Then what is the point?”

Ma answered simply:

Synergy.

Dmitry was silent for a moment.

“In the practice?”

In everything you are able to do as a single structure.

“So one plus one is more than two?”

A simple formulation at last.

“How much more?”

Ma fell silent. Dmitry understood at once that she did not like the question.

“What?”

You want a number again.

“I like numbers.”

I know.

“At least the order of magnitude.”

With the right compatibility and the right work, the effect can be multiplied many times over.

“Twice as much?”

More.

“Five times?”

Silence.

“Ten?”

Ma answered:

Sometimes even that. But if you latch on to the number now, I will stop explaining altogether.

“Understood.”

He really had understood. It was not a matter of a guarantee, nor of a coefficient in a table.

“All right. The number is forgotten.”

Then forget it.

“And now the most unpleasant part.”

Which part exactly?

“The cost of a mistake.”

Ma did not answer at once. Dmitry felt her presence change: the conversation had stopped being theoretical.

If the bond is established, there will be no way back. You will be able to stop the outward actions, quarrel, part, even try to build separate lives – but the bond itself will not disappear. If the shared structure remains incomplete, that is precisely what will create problems: two structures that are already bound will be trying to live as though they were still entirely separate.

“For whom?”

For both of you.

“How serious?”

Serious enough for me to speak about it separately now.

He was silent for a moment.

“So you can’t try it and, if you don’t like it, drop it?”

No. There is no trial version here.

“None at all?”

None at all.

“And if we split up?”

Splitting up does not break the bond.

“If we quarrel?”

It does not break it.

“If we stop speaking to each other?”

That does not break it either.

Dmitry felt an unpleasant chill inside.

“So once it begins, there’s an obligation.”

Yes.

“To whom?”

To the structure that you have created.

“And who has to complete it?”

The one who began it.

“Me?”

You are the initiator.

“And her?”

She is a participant. Without her you will not create this structure. But the responsibility for having proposed to begin lies with you.

Dmitry nodded slowly.

Now he understood why Ma had been putting it off.

* * *

The next day he said nothing to the girl. Nor the day after. Though she noticed almost at once.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been miles away these last two days.”

“Work.”

She looked at him.

“You’re lying.”

“Why go straight to calling me a liar?”

“Because when it’s work, you grumble about work. And now you’re keeping quiet.”

Dmitry smiled wryly.

“You’ve become observant.”

“I’ve got a good teacher.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

“I mean it.”

He wanted to change the subject. It did not work.

“Is it to do with me?”

Dmitry looked at her.

“Partly.”

“Then tell me.”

He was silent for a little while.

“Ma has explained that paired practice.”

She became serious at once.

“And?”

“And I’m still thinking.”

“Why are you thinking on your own?”

The question caught him off guard.

“Because the responsibility is mine.”

“But I’m the one who’ll be taking part.”

“Yes.”

“Then why is the decision only yours?”

Dmitry opened his mouth. Closed it.

Ma said quietly:

A good question.

“Thank you.”

The girl waited.

“Not only mine.”

“Then tell me.”

“Not today.”

She frowned.

“Why not?”

“Because first I want to understand how to explain it so that you don’t agree simply because you trust me.”

She was silent for a few seconds.

“And is that bad?”

“In this case, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your teacher.”

“And?”

“And if I say, ‘This is the next stage, it has to be done,’ you might decide that refusing means your training stops.”

“And does it?”

“No.”

“Then say so straight away.”

Dmitry looked at her.

“Even if you refuse, the training will go on.”

“All right.”

“And our relationship will go on.”

“All right.”

“And I won’t think you’ve let me down.”

She smiled.

“Are you preparing me in advance to say ‘no’?”

“I want to make sure in advance that your ‘yes’ really is yours.”

She stopped smiling. Then she nodded slowly.

“Now tell me.”

* * *

He talked for a long time. He showed no actions, gave no sequence, did not say what exactly they would have to do technically – for now there was no need for that.

He explained the meaning. A shared structure. Deep synchronisation. A change in how they perceived each other. An acceleration of the practice. And the main thing – the impossibility of simply stopping halfway.

She listened, hardly interrupting. When Dmitry had finished, she asked:

“So if we establish this bond and then split up, it’ll still be there?”

“Yes. For ever, from then on.”

“Even if the practice is completed?”

“Completion doesn’t remove it. That isn’t what it’s for at all.”

“Then what does it change?”

“It makes the shared structure whole. With the right completion we don’t go back to the state of two completely independent inner systems. We stay two people, two bodies, but within this practice we are one bound structure of soul and energy.”

“So two bodies, one soul?”

“Yes.”

“And if people aren’t ready for that and go their separate ways all the same?”

“You can go your separate ways physically. The bond won’t go anywhere because of that. But if the practice has been left incomplete, the bond starts to get in the way of each of them living as a fully separate system: people try to force what is already united to exist apart.”

She thought about it.

“Are you afraid?”

Dmitry answered honestly:

“Yes.”

“Of what?”

“Of being wrong about you.”

She frowned. He added at once:

“And about myself.”

“That’s better.”

“I wasn’t trying to offend you.”

“But it sounded as if I’m an exam you have to mark correctly.”

“In a sense we’re both an exam.”

“For whom?”

Dmitry shrugged.

“For ourselves.”