The Yogi Who Travelled Through Time

Anne watched the candle in front of her flicker as the doors behind her were propped open, and a mighty gust of wind rushed in. She heard the heavy footsteps echo through the hollow dome, gazing around once more at the sacred scripts etched on its walls.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” a shrill voice said. “Here’s a cushion, if you’d like.”

Anne turned around and watched a man draped in a striking orange dhoti and a Rolling Stones T-shirt plod towards her, grinning widely. The man was of such short stature that the pillows tucked under his arms appeared more massive than him. His blue hair was tied in a neat bun, and his dark-skinned body was dotted entirely with tattoos of cute octopuses.

“Where’s the yogi?” Anne asked, her face breaking apart into a wrinkled frown.

“Oh, that’s me,” the man replied, bowing graciously.

“You?” Anne spat, her eyebrows raised higher. “You don’t look like a yogi.”

“Yogis can wear T-shirts, you know? We do not achieve inner peace by sacrificing our garments,” the yogi laughed, gently placing his pillow in front of Anne. Both of them sat down on cue. “You haven’t had your tea yet,” the yogi remarked.

“I did not travel across the world for tea,” Anne sighed, pushing the tea away.

“So, I have heard,” the yogi said, picking up his cup.

“I need to know how you do it,” Anne said, her voice faltering as she gripped harder onto her wedding ring.

“A little impatient, aren’t we?” the yogi said. He brought his tea closer and sniffed it. Loudly, he started sipping his tea, sporadically rinsing it around in his mouth.

“Tell me your secret,” Anne pleaded, toying with her short ginger hair.

“I have no secrets,” the yogi said coyly.

“Stop lying!” Anne yelled, smacking the ground in front of her. “Tell me how you can travel through time.”

“That’s not a secret. Everyone knows I travel through time, and I can show you how,” the yogi said, cracking his knuckles. He folded his legs, rubbed his palms, and blew into them as if enchanting them with a mantra. “Watch,” he whispered, thumping his hands on his kneecaps and glueing his eyes shut.

“Are you doing it?” Anne asked, watching the yogi’s eyeballs fervently dash behind his eyelids. The yogi did not reply. Anne rubbed her puffy eyes, wondering whether she was missing something. She flattened her crumpled green jacket, tucked her white T-shirt, folded her jeans past her leather brown shoes and tried to replicate the yogi’s posture.

After nearly fifteen minutes, the yogi finally opened his eyes and asked, “Did you see it?”

“See what?” Anne cried, shrugging desolately. “How...how do I even know that you travelled through time?”

The yogi squinted at Anne with a quizzical look on his face. He said, “Perhaps, this will help, then. Look up and tell me what you see.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant-”

“-look up and tell me what you see,” the yogi repeated calmly.

Anne groaned and looked up. She watched as the moonlight filtered through the stained-glass roof paintings. “I see fifteen rectangles, fourteen squares, three trapeziums, one rhombus and a giant circle. What do you see?”

“Me? I see a man being raised in a rainforest by penguins,” the yogi guffawed, scratching his beard.

“What-”

“The world wasn’t made for rectangles and squares. It was made for you. Don’t tell me what is on the ceiling. Tell me what you see.”

“But that is all there is to the world!” Anne complained loudly. “Shapes, patterns, and physics. I am a physicist, after all! It does not matter what I think I see. It matters what physics tells me there is.”

“That’s it! That’s the problem – you don’t know how to see the world,” the yogi said, clapping his hands with the air of a doctor having diagnosed a patient. “You cannot travel through time!”

“No one can!” Anne retaliated. “Time only moves forward in one direction. It cannot be changed without breaking causality. That’s why I am here! To prove that you are a bloody liar!”

The yogi looked at his teacup. There was none left. He stood up. “I think we are done here,” he said. “Visit again when you are ready to see the world through your own eyes.”

Was this it? Pouncing to her feet, Anne grabbed the yogi and lifted him off the ground, screeching in his face. Anne needed to go back in time, and the yogi was her only way. The yogi was unfazed. He softly caressed Anne’s face and murmured pitifully, “Oh, dear child, what have you lost?”

Anne let go of the yogi, stammering, “F..F..Fuck you!”

She turned and ran. She ran till her feet bled and her ankles were throbbing with pain, finding herself on the shores of a lake. The sky was scorching menacingly at her, mocking her for being a coward. “I need you!” Anne howled at the sky, collapsing onto the ground, and raging with a cacophonous sob until her throat hurt. She burrowed her face into her palms, and the memories of the accident came rushing back.

Elsa was on the driving wheel. The truck was in the rearview mirror. Anne should have seen it. Her mind was rattling. Stop! Please, stop! She yowled at her memories. To her surprise, her memories heard her, and the moment stopped. Elsa was still on the driving wheel. “Anne,” Elsa unexpectedly said. Anne’s heart suddenly fluttered. This is not how it happened, she thought. “Anne, it’s ok. I love you. It wasn’t your fault,” Elsa said, cupping Anne’s face and kissing her, leaving Anne with one last memory of warmth. Anne opened her eyes with a gasp, her hands shaking. She looked at her watch. Two hours had passed. She gazed up at the sky.

The sky was a black canvas being illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon and the vibrant flickering of a thousand stars. The stars twinkled brighter. And then, they danced. Anne watched Orion standing firmly with his bow, a scorpion wagging its tail and a Pegasus spreading its wings. The Universe was flickering for Anne.

“I see,” she mumbled, heading back to the monastery to meet the yogi. Anne knew that in this quiet moment under the stars, she had time-travelled.