Akshobhya's Mirror "Then, Manjushri, when the Master of Healing, Azure Radiance Tathagata, had attained perfect Enlightenment, to become the Buddha of Medicine, he saw by virtue of his vows, that the beings were suffering from all sorts of diseases, such as tuberculosis, bilious fever, or that they were affected by a spell or by poison, or that some were by their nature short-lived, or that some have died a violent death. He wished to fulfill all their desires by putting an end to all these diseases and miseries. Therefore the World's Most Venerable entered into a Samadhi called the Removal of Suffering for All Beings. While He was in this contemplation a great radiance of light of light was sent forth from his Ushnisa, and he pronounced the great Dharani as follows: 'NAMO BHAGAVATE BHAISAJAYA-GURU-VAIDURYA-PRABHA-RAJAYA TATHAGATAYA ARHATE SAMYAKSAMBUDDHAYA TADYATHA OM BHAISAJYE BHAISAJYE BHAISAJYA SAMUDGATE SVAHA' When He, in his radiance, had spoken this mystical formula, the earth was shaken and emitted a great light. All beings were delivered from their diseases and miseries, they are now happy because their bodies and minds are at rest. 'Manjushri, if you see a pious man or woman who suffers from a disease, you shall do the following whole-heartedly for those sick people: let them keep clean by taking frequently baths and rinse their mouths, give them food, medicine and clean water, and recite the Dharani for a hundred and eight times, then all diseases will disappear entirely'." -- The Sutra of the Master of Healing (Bhaisajayaguru-Vaidurya-Prabhasa Tathagata) ************************************ Same old song and dance, folks. Not mine, no harm meant, no profit received. This story follows close behind "Re Sa" and before "One of Us," but does not refer to either story. There are minor references to previous works, but if you are not familiar with my universe, don't sweat it. This story addresses one particular question in canon -- why did Methos decide to go to medical school in the 15th century? Thanks to my faithful beta readers, Tia and Valerie. Comments are greatly appreciated. *********************************** Part 1: [Somewhere over the Atlantic, mid-afternoon local time, August 22, 2000] "Stop hogging the armrest, Old Timer!" Richie shifted uncomfortably in his spacious first class seat, the hours already airborne, trapped in what Methos jokingly referred to as a 'glorified tin can' grating on his nerves. The elder man reached up and twisted the air vent to maximum. "I am not hogging the armrest." "Are, too!" With a loud sigh, Methos closed his eyes and slumped back against the padded seat. "Look, Richie, it's too bloody stifling in here to argue. Why don't you take a nap -- it will make the flight seem shorter." "What, with all those babies crying? Good luck!" "A simple case of mind over matter," Methos drawled. Opening a single eyelid the barest crack, he stared at the decidedly frustrated and frazzled expression trained in his direction. "Didn't the monks teach you *anything* in Tibet? Say some mantras to yourself. Contemplate your navel -- or the navel of the Playmate of the Month. Whatever makes you happy. Just do it *quietly*, all right?" "Fine. Go put yourself into a trance or something. I'll just sit here and suffer -- *quietly*." Noting the hint of a smirk cracking the corners of the elder man's mouth, Richie exhaled in exasperation. He obviously wasn't going to get the sympathy he wanted, and he couldn't even goad Methos into a childish argument. At least *that* would have taken his mind off of his current situation -- momentarily. The flight was packed to the gills, including first class, and the air conditioning system seemed to have gone on strike. The exceptional warmth and intermittent turbulence had formed a demonic tag team, their sole mission to annoy all dozen babies on board into a simultaneous cacophony of misery. Their misery had soon become Richie's. Rubbing his temples with the balls of his hands, Richie tried to press the incipient hint of a headache from his brain. <<Yeah, right. Sleep through this. You'd better not snore, Old Timer, or I'm gonna toss your ass off this plane!>> The droning sound of the wailing infants was suddenly joined by a woman's sharp cry, and the startled interjections of several unidentified voices. A crisply dressed flight attendant hustled down the aisle from the front of the plane, quickly followed by her male counterpart. His curiosity now piqued, Richie shifted around in his aisle seat, gawking through the hastily pushed aside privacy curtains into the expansive coach section of the 747. A crowd had assembled about ten rows back, blocking his view of the cause of the commotion. The male flight attendant spun around and raced back up the aisle, accidentally knocking against Richie as he passed. The young man silently watched as the Nordic giant grabbed the intercom handset. "Attention, please. Is there a doctor, or someone with medical training on board? We have an emergency." Methos' eyelids retracted before Richie could jab him in the side. "What's going on?" he queried, shifting upright into his seat. "Dunno -- something's up in the aisle back there." "As always, a fountain of useful information." Methos pushed out of his seat, climbed over Richie's legs, and stumbled into the aisle. "Hey, where are you going?" Richie followed the elder man back into the coach section, but stopped as soon as he saw the cause of the disturbance. A petite, young Indian woman, dressed in a traditional sari, was lying in the aisle, apparently unconscious. "I'll, um, just stay outta your way," he muttered guiltily, gesturing toward the dividing wall between first class and the rest of the plane. Richie watched in rapt silence as Methos seemed to become a completely different person. The sarcasm and crass indifference, with which the ancient Immortal frequently dealt with most of anonymous humanity, melted away, replaced with the calm, yet caring touch of a healer. "She said she wasn't feeling well, stood up to go to the toilet, and fainted," an unidentified man babbled loudly. Methos seemed to listen with interest as he examined the woman as best he could with only his bare hands. He finally managed to roust the woman into a low level of consciousness with gentle pats to her cheeks and encouraging words. "Bhaisajye... Bhaisajye...," she babbled breathlessly, her eyelids fluttering on autopilot. She clutched desperately at the string of lapis lazuli beads wound three times around her left wrist. Apparently concerned at her disoriented condition, Methos tried to soothe her with calm, hushed tones, running a hand over her forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat. The traditional black dot carefully applied to her forehead was carelessly smudged by his touch. She opened her eyes with a start, and began crying out that unidentified word more urgently. Methos gently held her prone by her shoulders against the carpet of the aisle, to prevent her from injuring herself further, and softly chanted over her. "Namo Bhagavate Bhaisajaya guru vaidurya prabha rajaya tathagataya arhate samyaksambuddhaya tadyatha om Bhaisajye Bhaisajye Bhaisajya samudgate svaha." It sounded suspiciously like a mantra to Richie, but not one with which he was familiar. He knew that some were said in Sanskrit, others in Tibetan, some in both tongues. This didn't sound like Tibetan to his still neophyte ear, so he assumed it was the former. Whatever the words meant, they seemed to do the trick, because Methos' patient immediately became calm and fully conscious. While carefully helping the still groggy woman into a sitting position in the aisle, Methos quietly directed one of the flight attendants to bring him a glass of orange juice. He glanced over the woman's head and caught Richie's stare. "Go clear out the bags under our seats," he firmly directed. "She's taking my seat, once she's well enough to stand." Nodding in understanding, Richie turned and did as he was directed, stuffing their small carryon bags into an overhead compartment. He fidgeted nervously for a moment, standing helplessly in the aisle, watching from afar as Methos carefully talked to the woman and encouraged her to finish a second small cup of oj.