you yourself decided against joining, Sanyal said.
decided? He turned me down!
you really give up flying? Sanyal asked.
And Ajay knew in
his heart that the Abbot had been right. Virtuoso flying was as much
a part of him as breathing.
guess not, he said miserably
Well, like he said, there are other ways. You'll somehow find
yours. Go home now for the vacation; come back in the fall.
Early the following
morning, after bidding Sanyal goodbye, Ajay set out on the long
flight to Bengal. He flew without joy, pushing straight on across
Uttar Pradesh, stopping only to fish for his lunch. At dusk he came
to roost in a small grove on the outskirts of Lucknow, but sleep did
not come to him. What had the Abbot and Sanyal meant? What other
ways? How could he ever attain to the real joy of his heart? How
could he ever again know, the Infinite and remain in that state of
bliss? The fact was, he belonged nowhere; his life had become
unthinkable. The trophies he would inevitably win and that his
parents would inevitably arrange in the huge stomach of the trophy
nest, the fame that would come to him, the ugly battles he would
have to fight all that seemed like lead in his heart, weighing tons
and closing in on him. On the other hand, he could be neither
householder nor monk; both paths were barred to him by his own
nature. here was no way for him. The life that stretched ahead was
worse than meaningless, and sitting there in the dark on a strange
tree, he knew what he must do: He would go home to see his parents;
then he would soar as high as the sun, and then he would close his
wings and dive straight down. He hoped his parents would not be
watching, because this time he would not pull out of the dive.
Finally, he fell into a dull sleep.