The Schopenhauer Cure

A Novel

Irvin D. Yalom

To my community of older buddies who grace me with their friendship, share life`s

inexorable diminishments and losses, and continue to sustain me with their wisdom and

dedication to the life of the mind: Robert Berger, Murray Bilmes, Martel Bryant, Dagfinn

Føllesdahl, Joseph Frank, Van Harvey, Julius Kaplan, Herbert Kotz, Morton Lieberman,

Walter Sokel, Saul Spiro, and Larry Zaroff.

15

Pam in India

_________________________

Itis noteworthy and remarkable

to see how man, besides his

life in the concrete, always

lives a second life in the

abstract...(where) in the sphere

of calm deliberation, what

previously possessed him

completely and moved him

intensely appears to him cold,

colorless, and distant: he is

a mere spectator and observer.

_________________________

As the Bombay–Igatpuri train slowed for a stop at a small village, Pam heard the clangs

of ceremonial cymbals and peered through the grimy train window. A dark–eyed boy of

about ten or eleven, pointing to her window, ran alongside holding aloft a raised rag and

yellow plastic water pail. Since she had arrived in India two weeks ago, Pam had been

shaking her head no. No to sightseeing guides, shoe shines, freshly squeezed tangerine

juice, sari cloth, Nike tennis shoes, money exchange. No to beggars and no to numerous

sexual invitations, sometimes offered frankly, sometimes discreetly by winking, raising

eyebrows, licking lips, and flicking tongues. And, finally, she thought, someone has

actually offered me something I need. She vigorously nodded yes, yes to the young

window washer, who responded with a huge toothy grin. Delighted with Pam`s patronage

and audience, he washed the pane with long theatrical flourishes.

Paying him generously and shooing him away as he lingered to stare at her, Pam

settled back and watched a procession of villagers snake their way down a dusty street

following a priest clad in billowing scarlet trousers and yellow shawl. Their destination

was the center of the town square and a large papier–mГўchГ© statue of Lord Ganesha, a

short plump Buddha–like body bearing an elephant`s head. Everyone—the priest, the men

dressed in gleaming white, and the women robed in saffron and magenta—carried small

Ganesha statues. Young girls scattered handfuls of flowers, and pairs of adolescent boys

carried poles holding metal burners emitting clouds of incense. Amid the clash of

cymbals and the roll of drums, everyone chanted, «Ganapathi bappa Moraya, Purchya

varshi laukariya.»

«Pardon me, can you tell me what they`re chanting?» Pam turned to the copper–skinned man sitting opposite her sipping tea, the only other passenger sharing the

compartment. He was a delicate win–some man dressed in a loose white cotton shirt and

trousers. At the sound of Pam`s voice he swallowed the wrong way and coughed

furiously. Her question delighted him since he had been attempting, in vain, since the

train commenced in Bombay to strike up a conversation with the handsome woman

sitting across from him. After a vigorous cough he replied, with a squeak, «My apologies,

madam. Physiology is not always at one`s command. What the people here, and

throughout all of India today, are saying is ‘Beloved Ganapati, lord of Moraya, come

again early next year.`”

«Ganapati?»

«Yes, very confusing, I know. Perhaps you know him by his more common name,

Ganesha. He has many other names, as well, for example, Vighnesvara, Vinayaka,

Gajanana.»

«And this parade?»

«The beginning of the ten–day festival of Ganesha. Perhaps you may be fortunate

enough to be in Bombay next week at the end of the festival and witness the entire

population of the city walk into the ocean and immerse their Ganesha statues in incoming

waves.»

«Oh, and that? A moon? Or sun?» Pam pointed to four children carrying a large

yellow papier–mГўchГ© globe.

Vijay purred to himself. He welcomed the questions and hoped the train stop

would be long and that this conversation would go on and on. Such voluptuous women

were common in American movies, but never before had he had the good fortune to

speak to one. This woman`s grace and pale beauty stirred his imagination. She seemed to

have stepped out of the ancient erotic carvings of the Kama Sutra. And where might this

encounter lead? he wondered. Could this be the life–changing event for which he had

long sought? He was free, his garment factory had, by Indian standards, made him

wealthy. His teenaged fiancГ©e died of tuberculosis two years ago, and, until his parents

selected a new bride, he was unencumbered.

«Ah, it is a moon the children hold. They carry it to honor an old legend. First, you

must know that Lord Ganesha was renowned for his appetite. Note his ample belly. He

was once invited for a feast and stuffed himself with desert pastries called laddoos. Have

you eaten laddoos?»

Pam shook her head, fearing that he might produce one from his valise. A close

friend had contracted hepatitis from a tea shop in India, and thus far she had heeded her

physician`s advice to eat nothing but four–star–hotel food. When away from the hotel she

had limited herself to food she could peel—mainly tangerines, hard–boiled eggs, and

peanuts.

«My mother made wonderful coconut almond laddoos,” Vijay continued.

«Essentially, they are fried flour balls with a sweet cardamom syrup—that sounds

prosaic, but you must believe me when I say they are far more than the sum of their

ingredients. But back to Lord Ganesha, who was so stuffed that he could not stand up

properly. He lost his balance, fell, his stomach burst, and all the laddoos tumbled out.

«This all took place at night with only one witness, the moon, who found the event

hilarious. Enraged, Ganesha cursed the moon and banished him from the universe.

However, the whole world lamented the moon`s absence, and an assembly of gods asked

Lord Shiva, Ganesha`s father, to persuade him to relent. The penitent moon also

apologized for his misbehavior. Finally, Ganesha modified his curse and announced that

the moon need be invisible only one day a month, partially visible the remainder of the

month, and for one day only would be permitted to be visible in its full glory.»

A brief silence and Vijay added, «And now you know why the moon plays a role in

Lord Ganesha festivals.»

«Thank you for that explanation.»

«My name is Vijay, Vijay Pande.»

«And mine is Pam, Pam Swanvil. What a delightful story, and what a fantastical

droll god—that elephant head and Buddha body. And yet the villagers seem to take their

myths so seriously...as though they were really—”

«It`s interesting to consider the iconography of Lord Ganesha,” Vijay gently

interrupted as he pulled from his shirt a large neck pendant on which was carved the

image of Ganesha. «Please note that every feature on Ganesha has a serious meaning, a

life instruction. Consider the large elephant head: it tells us to think big. And the large

ears? To listen more. The small eyes remind us to focus and to concentrate and the small

mouth to talk less. And I do not forget Ganesha`s instruction—even at this moment as I

talk to you I remember his counsel and I warn myself not to talk too much. You must

help by telling me when I tell you more than you wish to know.»

«No, not at all. I`m most interested in your comments on iconography.»

«There are many others; here, look closer—we Indians are very serious people.»

He reached into the leather bag he wore on his shoulder and held out a small magnifying

lens.

Taking the glass, Pam leaned over to peer at Vijay`s pendant. She inhaled his

aroma of cinnamon and cardamon and freshly ironed cotton cloth. How was it possible

for him to smell so sweet and so fresh in the close dusty train compartment? «He has only

one tusk,” she observed.

«Meaning: retain the good, throw away the bad.»

«And what`s that he holds? An ax?»

«To cut off all bonds of attachment.»

«That sounds like Buddhist doctrine.»

«Yes, remember that the Buddha emerged from the mother ocean of Shiva.»

«And Ganesha holds something in the other hand. It`s hard to see. A thread?»

«A rope to pull one ever closer to your highest goal.»

The train suddenly lurched and began to move forward.

«Our vehicle is alive again,” said Vijay. «Note Ganesha`s vehicle—there under his

foot.»

Pam moved closer to look through the lens and inhale Vijay`s scent discreetly.

«Oh, yes, the mouse. I`ve seen it in every statue and painting of Ganesha. I`ve never

known why a mouse.»

«That`s the most interesting attribute of all. The mouse is desire. You may ride it

but only if you keep it under control. Otherwise it causes havoc.»

Pam fell silent. As the train chugged on past scrawny trees, occasional temples,

water buffalo in muddy ponds, and farms whose red soil had been exhausted by

thousands of years of work, she looked at Vijay and felt a wave of gratitude. How

unobtrusively, how gently, he had taken out his pendant and saved her from the

embarrassment of speaking irreverently about his religion. When had she ever been so

graced by a man? But no, she reminded herself, don`t shortchange other dear men. She

thought about her group. There was Tony, who would do anything for her. And Stuart,

too, could be generous. And Julius, whose love seemed unending. But Vijay`s subtlety—

that was uncommon, that was exotic.

And Vijay? He too fell into a reverie, reviewing his conversation with Pam.

Uncommonly excited, his heart raced, and he sought to calm himself. Opening his leather

shoulder pouch, he took out an old wrinkled cigarette package, not to smoke—the

package was empty, and besides he had heard of how peculiar Americans were about

smoking. He merely wished to study the blue–and–white package, which bore the

silhouette of a man wearing a top hat and, in firm black letters, the brand name, The

Passing Show.

One of his first religious teachers had called his attention to the Passing Show, a

brand of cigarettes his father smoked, and instructed him to begin his meditation by

thinking of all of life as a passing show, a river carrying all objects, all experience, all

desires, past his unswerving attention. Vijay meditated on the image of a flowing river

and listened to his mind`s soundless words,anitya, anitya —impermanence. Everything is

impermanent, he reminded himself; all of life and all experience glide by as surely and

irrevocably as the passing landscape seen through the train window. He closed his eyes,

breathed deeply, and rested his head upon his seat; his pulse slowed as he entered the

welcome harbor of equanimity.

Pam, who had been eyeing Vijay discreetly, picked up the wrapping that had fallen

to the floor, read the label, and said, «The Passing Show—that`s an unusual name for

cigarettes.»

Vijay slowly opened his eyes and said, «As I said, we Indians are very serious.

Even our cigarette packages have messages for the conduct of life. Lifeis a passing

show—I meditate on that whenever I feel inner turbulence.»

«Is that what you were just doing a minute ago? I should not have disturbed you.»

Vijay smiled and gently shook his head. «My teacher once said that one can not be

disturbed by another. It is only oneself who can disturb one`s equanimity.» Vijay

hesitated, realizing even as it happened that he was awash in desire: he so craved the

attention of his traveling companion that he had turned his meditation practice into a

mere curiosity—all for the sake of a smile from this lovely woman who was simply an

apparition, part of the passing show, soon to pass out of his life and to dissolve into the

nonbeing of the past. And knowing, too, that his next words would only take him farther

from his path, Vijay nonetheless rashly plunged ahead.

«There is something I would like to say: I shall long treasure our meeting and our

conversation. Shortly I shall depart from this train to an ashram where I must face silence

for the next ten days, and I am immeasurably grateful for the words we have exchanged,

the moments we have shared. I am reminded of American prison films where the

condemned man is permitted to order anything he wishes for his last meal. May I say that

I have had my wishes for a last conversation fully granted.»

Pam simply nodded. Rarely at a loss for words, she did not know how to respond

directly to Vijay`s courtliness. «Ten days at an ashram? Do you mean Igatpuri? I`m on

my way there to a retreat.»

«Then we have the same destination and the same goal—to be taught Vipassana

meditation by the honored guru Goenka. And very soon, too—it is the next stop.»

«Did you say ‘ten days of silence`?»

«Yes, Goenka always requires noble silence—aside from necessary discussions

with the staff, the students are to utter no words. Are you experienced in meditation?»

Pam shook her head no. «I`m a university professor. I teach English literature, and

last year one of my students had a healing and transformative experience at Igatpuri. This

student has become very active in organizing Vipassana retreats in the United States and

is currently helping to plan an American tour by Goenka.»

«Your student hoped to offer her teacher a gift. She wished that you, too, would

undergo a transformation?»

«Well, something like that. It wasn`t that she felt I needed to change some

particular thing about myself; it was more that she had profited so much that she wanted

me, and others, to have the same experience.»

«Of course. My question was ill put; in no way did I mean to suggest that you need

transformation. I was interested in your student`s enthusiasm. But did she prepare you for

this retreat in any way?»

«She pointedly did not. She herself stumbled upon this retreat quite by accident and

said that it would be best if I too entered it with an entirely open mind. You`re shaking

your head. You disagree.»

«Ah, remember that Indians shake their heads from side to side when they agree

and up and down when they disagree—the reverse of the American custom.»

«Oh my God. I think I`ve sensed this unconsciously because so much of my

interaction with people here has been slightly askew. I must have confused people I

spoke with.»

«No, no, Indians who come into contact with Westerners make that adaptation. As

for your student`s advice to you, I am not certain I agree that you should be entirely

unprepared. Let me point out that this is not a beginner`s retreat. Noble silence,

meditation beginning at fourA.M. , little sleep, one meal a day. A difficult regimen. You

must be strong. Ah, the train slows. We are at Igatpuri.»

Vijay stood, collected his belongings, and lifted Pam`s valise down from the

overhead rack. The train stopped. Vijay prepared to leave and said, «The experience

begins.»

Vijay`s words offered little comfort, and Pam was growing more apprehensive.

«Does that mean we will not be able to speak to one another during the retreat?»

«No communication, not written, not sign language.»

«E–mail?»

Vijay did not smile. «Noble silence is the correct path to benefit from Vipassana.»

He seemed different. Pam felt him already drifting away.

«At least,” she said, «it will offer me comfort to know you are there. It`s less

foreboding to imagine being alone together.»

«Alone together. A felicitous phrase,” Vijay responded without looking at her.

«Perhaps,” Pam said, «we may meet again on this train after the retreat.»

«Of that we must not think. Goenka will teach us that it is only the present we must

inhabit. Yesterday and tomorrow do not exist. Past remembrances, future longings, only

produce disquiet. The path to equanimity lies in observing the present and allowing it to

float undisturbed down the river of our awareness.» Without looking back, Vijay hoisted

his bag onto his shoulder, opened the doors of the compartment, and walked away.