Monday 28 September 2015

The Peony Prince

The Peony Prince

(Story by BoSt.)




The Peony Prince Part 1

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Once upon a time at Makonwa, in the Country of Yonar, there was a grand old castle called Wataozi, surrounded by high walls and a deep moat deceptively carpeted with lotus lilies.

In this castle resided the powerful feudal King Kongzuozhi, who was an unbending, stern ruler.

He’d not always been that way; he’d changed drastically after the sudden loss of his only son and heir and the tragic demise of his bellowed wife. Sadly, that had occurred before the eventual cessation of his prolonged wars with the neighboring states.

It was a small consolation that the truce, after years of devastating wars had left thousands dead and the land ravaged, lasted long after the treaty was signed. Upon the demise of his beloved wife, something had died in King Kongzuozhi and from then on, forsaking love, His Highness concentrated only on his administrative duties and an occasional hunt.

Fortunately his beautiful daughter became another, unacknowledged casualty and was pretty much left to grow up on her own.

His chief Councillors, noting that King Kongzuozhi daughter, Princess Juanjing, were now eighteen and at good marriageable age collectively proposed to have her be suitably married.

After careful consideration His Majesty perceived this to be the perfect opportunity to solidify the truce with his most formidable foe, King Akono of Goakan.

It so happened that his arch nemesis had a second son that might be a suitable match and so he coolly consented to have the two royal houses allied through a binding marriage.

A meeting between The Majesties was soon arranged and an agreement reached that satisfied both fathers.

The two betrothed were then, in the company of sizable entourage, briefly allowed to see each other and exchange pleasantries before being summarily whisked away.

The prospective groom Prince Daro could hardly contain his good fortune and returned to his quarters as if in a daze, for Princess Juanjing was the most beautiful girl he’d ever set eyes on. She not only was an enchanting beauty, but also had a lovely poised figure and appeared quite intelligent and sweet.

Ever the dutiful daughter, Princess Juanjing for her part found her intended not entirely objectionable and promised herself to be the most loving and caring wife to her prospective husband. She was also relieved to learn that she and her husband would be living in the same castle she grew up in until the Title passed to their firstborn son upon the death of her father.


The Peony Prince Part 2

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One fine evening, as sleep averted her, Princess Juanjing accompanied by her maids, decided to take a long stroll in the magnificent gardens. She delighted at the cool breeze caressing her cheeks and puffing up her sleeves as she cast her eyes lovingly on the huge blooms of her favorite peonies, planted in stands hither and thither all along the path. She lingered by the pond where some water lilies were also in bloom. Absently she gazed at her reflection on the pond then watched the fireflies dancing in air as she listened to the harmonious croaks of the mating frogs.

“What’s this?” a curious image drew her attention and she bent over to see it more clearly. The slippery ground at the edge of the pond gave way, making her lose her balance and she was in imminent danger of falling into the water.

But just in time a handsome young man appeared and, gently cradled Princess Juanjing in his arms as he pulled her to safety.

He disappeared the moment her feet touched solid ground and she was out of harm’s way. But the pleasant scent of peony lingered about her.

Her maids in attendance on her had seen the slip and, as they rushed to save the Princess, they also noticed a glimmer of light about her as the Princess was returned to the safety of solid ground, but of the handsome young man they saw nothing.

Princess Juanjing’s heart was captivated from that moment on, truly smitten by this most handsome young man with fine features, and bedecked in floral patterned fineries.

He was clad in what she deemed to be a noble warrior’s court attire of the highest order. Clearly he was a Prince. For one thing the intrigue, near invisible pattern on his silk garment was that of a thousand exquisitely embroidered peonies and his sword’s scabbard was encrusted with rare jewels in the same pattern. She longed to see him again, if only, to thank him for saving her from the water.

She could not help but wonder how he’d happened to be there. Moreover, how could he have entered the private gardens without alerting the guards? More puzzling still was the fact that none of her maids had seen him. Could he have been a ghost? …A Fairy perhaps? Regardless, she cautioned all those in attendance to keep this a secret for she feared most of all that word of this would reach her father and cause a stir.

If he was for real, this infringement of security, however innocent, and the resulting trespassing charge, would place his life in direst jeopardy. Harbouring a certain fondness in her heart for him already, she could not bear to see him decapitated.

Unfortunately, during the subsequent days and nights she was kept busy, hardly a moment to spare. Having no mother, she was herself charged with the responsibilities of overseeing certain preparations of her trousseau and the impending nuptials. And so, even though she longed to visit the pond on the slight chance of encountering the young man again, she could never seem to get away. That is not to say she did not think of him every minute, every second of her wakeful moments.




The Peony Prince Part 3

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Her seemingly unending duties and obligations created unmanageable stress and this, coupled with her secret obsession with the mysterious young man, eventually took its toll and the Princess soon fell ill. She could not eat or sleep and her pallor grew ghostly pale. She grew thinner and thinner… The Princess was wasting away regardless of any treatment. The attending physicians were baffled for they could not pinpoint the reason for her progressing ailment.

Naturally the day of Princess Juanjing’s marriage with the young Prince Daro had to be postponed, if not, in the event of her demise, altogether aborted.

The King Akono of Goakan did not take this change of plan too kindly. Deeming it a personal affront, or at best a ruse, the relationships between the two countries became further strained.

King Kongzuozhi, her father, was both infuriated and deeply grieved by this turn of events. He set up a commission to investigate this matter further and to resolve this dreadful predicament. The thorough search finally uncovered certain facts and brought to light the peculiar events of the specific night that was at the start of Princess Juanjing’s personal crisis. Princess’s confident and friend maid, Nieju, was detained, severely and repeatedly interrogated. In the end she broke down and, through her confession, The King was able to uncover the source of his daughter’s infirmity.

King Kongzuozhi’s first reaction was one of extreme fury. He was not a superstitious King, so he expected the source to be an intruder. The guards on duty that night were all rounded up and severely punished. Those on duty in the garden lost their lives. His Majesty’s fury not spent however, he next wanted to have the gardens, specifically the peony beds, that had once been his deceased wife’s personal project, destroyed. The pond would not be spared either, nor would any of the living creatures living in it. His closest advisers braved his wrath to in the end to talk some moderation into King Kongzuozhi and so the decimation was averted in the nick of time.

They insisted that Princess Juanjing was sick and her malady was one of the heart. She had fallen deeply in love, a serious infatuation perhaps with the phantom, by then dubbed “The Peony Prince”, that she’d seen for so brief a span. He could be a fox spirit or other fey. They feared that Princess Juanjing would soon meet her untimely demise if something drastic was not done.

Unfortunately there was no account in the books of legend that matched the description of such a being.

King Kongzuozhi‘s ancestors had exercised domain over these lands for many generations yet the books did not speak of any tragedy or untimely demise of such a warrior Prince in this castle. Clearly this was a matter for the priests, for only they could exorcise this evil spirit that must have snuck into the garden in order to take possession of a pure soul like Princess Juanjing. If nothing was done soon, they warned His Majesty, Princess’s life would be forfeited.

King Kongzuozhi, with some skepticism, reluctantly agreed with this and so the Priests were called in to perform their exorcism at her sleeping quarters, in the garden and around the pond.

Princess Juanjing seemed a bit better after this though she remained downcast and listless in spirit.


The Peony Prince Part 4

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 It was another full moon then and her vigilant attendants seizing this opportunity to enliven her spirit a little obtained the King’s permission to engage the services of Meing Sheju, a celebrated player on the Tazuo, that evening. The weather was particularly hot and in the absence of any breeze, they arranged seating on the gallery to enjoy the performance of musicians as they played “Dannoura”. Suddenly, to the amazement of all, that same handsome Prince manifested from the bed of peonies. He was unmistakably visible to all this time, right down to the elaborate peonies embroidered on his fine garments.

“There he is! There he is! I see him!” Many cried out and pointed, at which time he suddenly vanished. Princess Juanjing, seemed to have regained her zeal, she was up and smiling, with a tint of color gracing her cheeks.

When the word of this reached His Majesty, her father he was infuriated and puzzled at the same time. “I knew those priests are all useless!” He scoffed; but he could not at the same time deny the sudden change that had come over his daughter.

The following night, while Mei played the flute and Sujikoa played the Koto for their mistresses the figure of the Peony Prince manifested again, though briefly. A thorough search of the garden, the peony beds and the pond continued into the subsequent day and produced no results, with not even the shallowest of footprints or even a bent blade of grass.

King Kongzuozhi’s fury knew no bounds. Eventually his ire dissipated and he agreed to engage a renowned mage of great strength and ability, Tao Yonume, to capture the phantom Peony Prince.

It was decided that, since music seemed to hold a special fascination for the apparition, it would be used to trap the phantom warrior Prince. Well before the music began playing, however, Tao Yonume all dressed in black, found a good spot to hide and evoked a spell to conceal his person.

Then he crouched among the peonies and waited. On cue, Meing Sheju and Osono started their concert, while all in attendance pinned their eager gaze on the peony beds. Princess Juanjing was concerned about the welfare of the apparition, but her longing to see him soon overcame her trepidation. As the music played “Sofuren” sure enough there materialized from the peony bed the figure of the Prince dressed splendidly in his fine embroidered garments. The attendants were puzzled as to why Tao Yonume did not jump up at this juncture to capture the apparition.

If the truth be known, Tao Yonume was so entranced by the noble bearing of the phantom Prince that at first he’d remained reluctant to capture him. His sense of duty overcame his hesitation however. He stealthily approached the apparition from behind and seized the Peony Prince round the waist, holding on with all his prodigious strength. After the phantom Prince was in his grasp, still clinging tightly to the apparition, Tao Yonume felt a strange wet vapor falling on his face. This by degrees made him fall in a swoon to the ground. Determined to hang on and still grasping the apparition, Tao Yonume forced himself to remain conscious and shouted, “I caught him… I caught him!”

But when he looked at what was in his grasp he saw only a large peony.

By then everyone had witnessed this struggle and armed guards hastened to the spot to apprehend the culprit. In their trail King Kongzuozhi also ran to the spot where Tao Yonume lay, followed by the Princess Juanjing and her maids.

The metamorphosis of a phantom Prince into a Peony astounded and mystified all except King Kongzuozhi who grumbled: “Ah, it is as I figured. This is no fox fairy or ghost. It is the noble sprit of the peony flower who has taken the form of a Noble warrior.” Then turning to his daughter he said, “I knew the security could not be breached. This is no ordinary apparition.” Tao Yonume nodded in agreement. “By your leave my Liege, may I add that this should be regarded as a high compliment from the Heavens.” King Kongzuozhi after a thoughtful silence concurred. “This is high praise indeed! You must all pay great respect to all the peonies, and show this one caught by Tao Yonume particular respect by taking good care of it.”

The King’s last words were directed at Princess Juanjing who immediately took charge and carried the peony flower back to her room. Her close attendants at once fetched her favorite vase and filled it with fresh water. She carefully placed the peony in the vase and placed it on a table near her bed. As nothing else happened that night, soon all retired to their quarters to get a good night sleep.


The Peony Prince Part 5

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At one point after midnight Princess Juanjing was suddenly woke, having received a gentle kiss on the lips. Rubbing her eyes she sat up and looked about her. All was as it had been when she had dozed off, nothing stirred, yet there was an intoxicating perfume that permeated the air. She smiled looking at the peony in the vase and reached out and gently run her fingers over the petals.

When she reclined and closed her eyes a strange sensation took hold of her. She felt as though her beloved peony spirit was beside her. He held her tight in his caress and showered her face with gentle kisses.

She drifted at once to a deep sleep, to awaken next morning refreshed and full of vigour.

Day by day she got better and better. Soon she was her vigorous, radiant self again. Each day she tended the peony with meticulous care, and though a cut flower, the peony seemed to never wither but instead a perfect bloom grew more brilliant in colour and still more fragrant with her ministrations.

The news of her recovery had of course reached King Akono of Goakan. He sent his emissaries with word, that now Princess Juanjing was well, in keeping with their previous arrangement he expected the wedding to go on.

King Kongzuozhi saw no reason to put off the wedding any further and so picked the time for the ceremony. No one consulted Princess Juanjing’s wishes and she being a dutiful daughter expressed no objection to the already arranged marriage.

Princess Juanjing’s closest friend and confident patiently listened to her reservations and then reasoned with Princess that it was not possible for any human to live with an apparition or fairy forever. Meanwhile Princess Juanjing was reminded that she had her duty to fulfill and certain obligations were expected of her. She could not, and must not, renege on her filial duty to her father and ancestors. Lasting peace was ensured with this arrangement and all would prosper. The prospective groom was handsome in his own right and had other attractive attributes, so how bad could it be?

A month later the King Akono of Goakan and his family with much fanfare and rich gifts for the bride arrived at the Castle. On the appointed date, Prince Daro was married off to Princess Juanjing in an elaborate ceremony and festivities that lasted for weeks.

But a curious thing happened on the wedding night; an occurrence that quickly became a closely guarded secret between Princess Juanjing and her attendants. In preparation for the wedding Princess Juanjing insisted the peony and the vase be removed from her quarters that would henceforth serve as the matrimonial chamber and be placed in the adjoining room. In all the fanfare few had paid attention to the flower after this.

The morning after the marriage was consummated; the peony was found still in its vase, dead and withered. Princess Juanjing shed quiet tears upon seeing this but, of course, Prince Daro was never told. Later that afternoon, when she could get away, she visited the peony garden and, squatting by the side of the pond, unfolded her silk handkerchief, removed the dead peony and gently placed it in the water as she said her silent farewells.

She watched it sink deep under the lily pads until it was hidden from view. Then, wiping her tears, she turned to begin the new chapter in her life.



The End

Saturday 26 September 2015

Fortune and Loss

Fortune and Loss





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Long, long ago, in a somewhat inconsequential province, an honorable man Donato, finally recognized for his brilliance, gained a very illustrious post. From that day on, his guests swarmed to his residence. But when he was dismissed from office on a false charge his residence grew so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Only one had remained consistent in his friendship. This unassuming young man called Yorick, who was not particularly well off, still called on Donato and did his best to lift the other’s spirits.

After terrible months of hardship the real culprit was caught, Donato was exonerated and reinstated to his former prominence. His so called absentee friends wanted to call on Donato again.

He at once wrote some in bold letters on a placard and had it posted at the gate of his residence. The words clearly stated:

“The best time to determine the mettle of your friends is not when you are exalted but when you are humiliated.

“The best occasion to gauge the genuine sincerity of others’ attitudes is the moment you fall from grace and become pathetic.

“The best moment to uncover those who are earnest and true-hearted would be when one is deceased or, happily, when one escapes death.

“Welcome all who are as true of heart as Yorick.”



The End

Thursday 24 September 2015

The Discontented Baby Turtle



The Discontented Baby Turtle



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It is in the nature of all creatures to boast and to outshine the other. It is the enigmatic engine of truth and knowledge mired in contention and competition that inevitably robs all living beings of a peaceful heart. So they hurdle at top speed towards that unwarranted need for a profusion of worldly goods. More is preferable, more is better, more is best, or is it?

Once upon a time there was a nice turtle family living happily in a modest pond inside a greenhouse. Their other turtle neighbours and the fish coexisted with them in perfect harmony sharing the bounty of the pond, never lacking for food, always sheltered from the harsh elements and happy to have all the space they needed to swim freely or wander about. During the summer months the diligent groundskeepers, for variety sake would transfer some of these inhabitants to the outside pond. On such a happy excursion, the baby turtle found himself in the outside pond. With the eagerness of youth he spent many a good day exploring his new surroundings. He loved every new experience, every new blade of grass, every lotus flower, rock and so forth. When it rained the droplets and the rushing wind delighted the baby turtle’s senses. Then there were the other interesting creatures of the air who captivated his imagination; some were small but others were incredibly huge.

With a contented air the baby turtle was sunning on his favourite rock one day, when quite absently he heaved a sigh and exclaimed, “Can things be any better than this? I have everything I need right here. This pond is the biggest and best place ever!”

“It’s adequate, yes, but certainly not the best or the biggest.” The nearby seagull wryly grunted, startling the baby turtle.

“What you mean?” The baby turtle demanded an explanation, quickly overcoming his surprise.

The seagull could not miss this chance to amaze this little thing and boast of the places he’d seen and the existence of a vast lake not too far away. “The lake is so expansive that you cannot fly over it from one end to the next. It’s limitless. It is so deep that no amount of drought affects the levels very much or ever can drain it.”

By the time he was through listing the scope and grandeur of the vast open waters he had invoked in the baby turtle such curiosity and yearning that all joy and contentment had left the poor little thing. No longer was this baby turtle happy, imagining far better places he could never be.

Long after the seagull was gone the baby turtle was still unhappy and for days on end just moped about. His parents were greatly concerned about his well being and eventually, after much prying, learned the source of his troubles. They were wise enough not to scold him for his naiveté, ingratitude or greed. Instead, his father had simply shaken his head, and then said, “To be upset over what you don’t have is to waste what you do have.”

The little turtle nodded, and went back to the happy way he was.

The End

Monday 21 September 2015

Call a Stag a Horse

Call a Stag a Horse




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Once upon a time there was an old kingdom that had for many years enjoyed the wise rule of its Sovereigns. There came an unfortunate period when a young weak Prince, not particularly adept at ruling, ascended the throne. As it is with such rulers, a particularly power-hungry uncle became Regent to the new King and sought to seize power for himself before the boy King reached the age of maturity. There remained one snag in his plan of usurpation however, as many of the senior ministers remained loyal to the old Dynasty and would mount an effective opposition. To ensure his success the Uncle needed to ascertain with absolute confidence who among them were not his staunch supporters.

On the King’s birthday, last among many rare handsome gifts, the Uncle offered a very beautiful, stag and said” Your Majesty, I’m privileged to also present this rare stallion for your Highness’s riding pleasure.”

The King laughed good humouredly and said, “Your eyes must be failing you Uncle, for I see before me only a stag.”

At this point the Regent turned to address the many ministers that were present at Court, and with a grand gesture pointedly asked, “Good ministers, pray tell, is it a horse or a stag that you eyes behold?”

Some kept their silence, others, to please the Regent acceded readily that it was a beautiful stallion. Proud but unwise ones protested haughtily that it was a stag and further grumbled under their breath that the Regent had gone a bit too far this time with this shameless posturing.

In the days that followed those loyal, steadfast ministers who had dared to speak the truth were one by one demoted, framed, besmirched or libelled. Subsequently, all likely opponents were either publicly executed or quietly perished in the dungeons.

The young King, last of his line, was methodically driven to madness and then suicide, paving the way for the Uncle to seize the throne.


The End

Saturday 19 September 2015

The Puddle



The Puddle




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Once upon a time two young monks were happily travelling along an old country road. The sky that had been laden with dark ominous clouds most part of the day, however, soon gave way to torrential rain. They trudged along now with some difficulty as the earthen pathways instantly transformed into rushing rivulets. They had just veered around a corner when they came upon a pretty young girl in dire straits. Sporting an umbrella and dressed in her Sunday best, she appeared stymied by a particularly large puddle which the downpour had created directly in her path.

“Let me help you, “said one of the monks and, not waiting for her response, he lifted her in his arms, carried her over the puddle and let her gently down safely on the other side.

The monk’s companion said nothing, remaining unusually silent the rest of the way. That night as they prepared to sleep, unable to constrain himself, he grumbled in displeasure. “You should give extra prayers for absolution tonight, as you have so heedlessly flaunted our teachings and manhandled that rather pretty thing.”

“I left the girl there” his friend replied, plainly surprised. “Why is it that you are still carrying her?”


Fini

Thursday 17 September 2015

Be Like the Water

Retelling of Old Legends:

Be Like the Water 


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Once upon a time there lived a rather meek individual called Yori who strove to be strong. As he was interested in wrestling, he traveled to the farthest edges of the country and after repeated attempts finally got accepted in an illustrious school where a most famed master was the instructor.

Fueled by his enthusiasm he endured grueling training sessions to eventually become a great fighter. His timid nature however always stood in the way and in daily practice or special tournaments without fail he persistently got bested 

by the other initiates.

The teacher who’d earlier on recognized his true abilities was baffled by this. Suspecting Yori’s innate impediment, he initiated a private bout with Yori to test his skill. True enough, Yori, caught in the momentum of fight defeated his master on the first round. Subsequent bouts all proved to be the same.

You are a like the turtle,” the master told Yori one day. “But too often you cower under your shell, you need to come out.” and sent Yori to see his good friend, a Zen master at the nearby temple, for help.

“Not a turtle,” the Zen master nodded after hearing Yori’s account. “You shall be a Sweeping Wave.”

He instructed him on the preliminaries of meditation then told him to remain there the rest of the night imagining himself not as a human being who’s primarily afraid, not as an adroit wrestler, not anything but a great wave of the oceans. “Be like the tsunami,” he said to him before retiring to his private chamber. “Imagine your power sweeping, swallowing all and everything in your path. Then all will be well with you.”

Yori set motionless in darkness for hours contemplating the words of the Zen master.

At first his mind would not cooperate with his will, and he wondered about a great many useless things, places, people or past events, anything but the wave. Gradually however, his willpower won over his monkey mind and forced it to focus on the vast sea, volumes of water and then the waves. His mind now was pinned on that single giant wave. It grew larger and larger, washing over the shoreline, uprooting trees, structures, houses, and even the temple he was sitting in. Everything was encompassed by that giant wave. All that could be seen was the ebb and flow of the immense ocean.

At the first light of day when the Zen master emerged from his room he found Yori still meditating at the spot exactly as he’d left him. The master smiling patted Yori on the shoulder and said, “Now you are that invincible wave, go forth and always be thus.”

And true to fact, Yori from that day forth became an invincible fighter, winning every challenge and tournament. For decades his fame spread far and wide and he became the undefeated champion of the realm.


Fini

Sunday 13 September 2015

Cascading Flowers

Cascading Flowers


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Subhuti was one of the disciples of Buddha. One fine day seeking solitude, he decided on a short respite from the hot rays of the midday sun and rested under a fine old tree. He leaned his back to the sturdy trunk welcoming the gentle, fragrant breeze caressing his face. He closed his eyes and quietly reflected on the importance of emptiness, then his thoughts extended to the notion that nothing exists without bias and true impartiality. Suddenly flowers began to cascade on and all about him.

“We are praising you for your discourse on emptiness,” the falling petals whispered to him.

“But I have not voiced my thoughts.” Sabhuti protested.

“You have not spoken of emptiness, we have not heard any emptiness,” responded the swaying branches still decked in white delicate flowers. “This is the true emptiness.” Then the deluge of gleeful, smiling fragrant petals hugged Subhuti.

Thursday 10 September 2015

The Yellow Chrysanthemum



The Yellow Chrysanthemum

(Original story)




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Part One
 


Part Two
 


Part Three
 



Part 1

A long, long time ago there was a fierce and mighty general named Geronwu Muer who never lost a single battle. His military prowess rendered him invincible, so that the very mention of his name was enough to send ripples of fear through the enemy ranks. Each time the battle would be won even before it had started. In his mid years his glorious vocation suffered a serious setback when he received a devastating blow from the axe of an opponent. It crippled his sword arm and put an end to the legend of his invincibility.

Forced to retire to his country estate he allowed his well meaning friends to coerce him into a marriage. The day a boy was born to him was the greatest day of his life and filled his heart with hopes and dreams. The son, bereft of his mother at birth, would still be expected to fulfill Geronwu’s great aspirations. Hence, at barely five years of age the boy was subjected to gruelling military discipline and tutelage.

“I’m greatly disappointed in the boy.” Geronwu Muer confessed to a confidante one day as they shared a fine wine out on the veranda. “No amount of threat, pressure, or coaxing will deliver the result I seek. He is intelligent enough, physically fit, and agile enough in wielding the sword,” he shook his head grumpily, “but just doesn’t have it in him to be a warrior.”

“Do not lose heart my friend.” The confidante reached over and placed a comforting hand on Geronwu’s shoulder,” The boy is only five years in age after all,” he paused for emphasis, “and he does have some mighty boots to fill. Perhaps he will surprise us all by sprouting martial wings in his subsequent years.” He chuckled as he swallowed another mouthful of the fine wine.

“No. I have always been farsighted in such matters. I can see the writing on the wall. He will always be a disappointment to me.” Geronwu Muer shook his head morosely.

True enough, the subsequent years proved him right. The boy, Narcore, showed more inclination towards the literary arts and horticulture and excelled in them with the least effort whereas he struggled to achieve more than a mediocre rank in every aspect of his military training. As a result Geronwu Muer refused to have anything to do with the boy and spent his days drinking and carousing with his close associates. However, the boy had more in common with Geronwu than the father realized; for one thing, Narcore was courageous, passionate in his pursuits and rather strong willed and as hot tempered as his father.

“There is no denying it; I have a father that hates me. Never once has he tried to see things my way…. Heaven knows I’ve tried and tried to appease him but his expectations are far too unrealistic. How can anyone achieve those high standards of his. Why should I hang around only to be berated from dawn to dusk?”

The dejected ten year old Narcore simply seized the opportunity one day when his father was away and fled his despised circumstance. He took with him only a few of his prized possessions, a small knife, some dry food and the water skin then quietly snuck through the back gate without anyone knowing it.

“I will take my chance in the outside world. How much worse can it be?” A coward he was not. Fording the river he headed straight for the wilderness and the woods, knowing it would be harder for them to track him there. However, he soon came to regret his decision.



Part 2

Sudden violent gusts of wind arose, billowing the clouds up into an ominous flotilla that soon swallowed the sun. The forest creatures scurried off to seek shelter and Narcore was no exception as he too sought refuge from the impending heavy downpours. Crouched under a lip of rock in a crevice, he felt famished and decided to consume the last portion of his dried meat rations. He had been subsisting mainly on berries and roots, as he felt uncomfortable with hunting any animals.

As he swallowed the last bite a white hare, sheltering under a bush, caught his eye. He recalled the succulent morsels of meat the cook provided every day of the week. Rabbits were his specialty. On many an occasion Narcore had snuck into kitchen and watched the procedure. “It won’t be the same cooked over a campfire, but ….Hmmmm! “he hissed under his breath; nevertheless his mouth had watered in anticipation. He did excel in running, “I suppose I must try. “ With this thought in mind, he kept his eyes on the hare.

The moment the hare moved to scurry off Narcore darted from his shelter in hot pursuit of his game. But the hare was maddeningly swifter. Just as they reached a clearing it suddenly stopped, and, turning to face Narcore, growled. What happened next was unbelievable. The hare quickly grew in size to a monstrous proportion. Narcore brandishing his knife courageously fended off the fierce attacks and even managed to wound the beast. Suddenly a shrill cry coming out of nowhere shook the earth and at that very instance the monstrous hare, now seemingly reticent, vanished into thin air.

“Blast!” Narcore stamped his foot in a hot fury. Unwilling to forgo the fight he avidly scanned the perimeter but found not a trace of his opponent. The tall grass all about him swayed violently in the thrashing wind.

“What’s that?” He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked closer. “Is that a flower, a yellow chrysanthemum?” Forgetting his woes, he rushed towards it. But when he reached the exact spot, instead of a flower he saw a little girl in beautiful yellow dress crouching and poking the ground with a stick. She simply looked up and smiled at him unafraid.

“Are you lost, little girl?” he inquired. She answered him with a gentle shaking of the head.

He looked about him and, lo and behold, beyond the trees he spotted a trail of smoke which told of a dwelling. Then he noticed that twilight was encroaching upon them. The recent danger still fresh in his mind, he shook his head and said, “You shouldn’t be out here at this time and all alone! Come, I’ll walk you home.” He reached out a friendly, concerned hand. She shyly took it in hers and together they walked towards her home. Her parents were delighted at her safe return. They had just discovered Yechris’ (for that was their daughter's name) absence and were about to go look for her when they spotted the two children walking towards them.

Narcore spend a warm, cosy night and few more days and nights with Yechris and her parents. The adults had only exchanged a curious look between them, when Narcore that night decided to unburden his fear about the monster he’d encountered prior to meeting Yechris and smiled politely at his deep concern about their daughter’s well being should she encounter the same beast. Their subsequent reassuring manner and words soon put this fear out of Narcore’s thoughts.

He ate strange, but delicious, vegetarian food and spent his days tending the herbs and flowers planted in a fine enclosed garden at the back of the house. He would have been content to stay there forever but one day Yechris, looking very said, told him, “Tomorrow is the last day I can play with you.” And before he could inquire further she ran off into the house. The dinner was consumed in silence and everyone went to bed early that night.


The following morning when Narcore awoke, he found himself beside a grove of trees in the midst of a plush pile of grass that had kept him both dry and warm. Strangely enough, there was no sign of a house or garden anywhere. Just then he heard the sound of hound dogs and then sighted numerous mounted, armed man loaded with game of the hunt, racing towards him. They had been searching the countryside for him for the past several days and promptly delivered him to his home.

He expected the welcome he received from his father; “You ungrateful beast; how dare you be so defiant; if you weren’t my only offspring I would have had you whipped within an inch of your life then have your body torn asunder and fed to the wild dogs, for this! But don’t think your punishment will be any less severe. You deserve no leniency from me, and be assured, there are ways to make you regret your actions!”

In the subsequent days and weeks, Narcore faced the wrath of his father whose anger could not be assuaged with no amount of yelling and threats. Narcore received his punishments stoically however, enduring an even more restrictive, austere regimen than previously, one that was supposedly to build his character.

After his eighteenth birthday, when his father passed away Narcore, now the master of the house, gave full reign to his suppressed, but no less diminished passions for the literary arts, and began cultivating many varieties of chrysanthemums.

His garden soon had the best blooms and became the envy of all. He’d invested the family's money in rental properties to generate income enough for him to live frugally and contentedly. Often he would frequent the city markets and purchase new varieties of flower to enrich his garden.

Though he was of age, he refused to consider marriage and instead devoted all his spare time to creating magnificent chrysanthemum paintings, writing poems to the flower or simply tending the large chrysanthemum beds that flourished under his loving care.



Part 3

After his twentieth birthday, having saved up some spare money, he undertook a journey to the capital for the purpose of acquiring some rare chrysanthemums that his close friend Zoi had told him about. An introductory letter to the eccentric dealer procured him an appointment. Narcore’s genuine interest of chrysanthemums impressed the vendor enough to convince him to part with a very rare, coveted variety.

Armed with this prize, Narcore headed back home at once. While staying at an inn along the way he made the acquaintances of a very distinguished looking literati named Reijon who, along with his sister, was travelling in Narcore’s direction. As it was lonely on the road, Narcore befriended Reijon and, finding much in common especially their mutual love of chrysanthemums, invited both him and his bashful sister to be his guest for a time.


During their stay Narcore one day accidentally saw the sister without her head cover. He was immediately quite taken with her beauty. What’s more he could not shake the uneasy feeling that he’d seen her before. “In a painting, at the Pavilion or at a market?" But of course that was preposterous; for a fine upstanding lady, such as she was, would have had a very sheltered life.

As this gnawing notion that he had met her before persisted however, and during tea time with Reijon one day he delicately approached the subject of the sister and asked, “Your sister seems to be of an age, may I be so bold as to inquire: why it is she’s not yet married?”

Reijon smiled and said, “She’s been promised to a suitor for some time prior to this. We are waiting for him to turn 21 before the marriage can be arranged.”

Narcore’s heart crumbled, for he had been quite smitten from the first moment he’d laid his eyes on her. He quietly grumbled under his breath, not intending for Reijon to hear, “I shall turn 21 in two months. Pity I have no such luck.”

“Don’t be so sure, friend.” Reijon’s words just than startled him. He looked up aghast, looking into Reijon’s eyes in search for answers.

“Perhaps this may clarify things for you.” Reijon then smiled knowingly. “Though we’ve enjoyed your hospitality for over a year, with your upright manner you’ve never inquired after my sister’s name. As I have full confidence in you now, I shall divulge it: she is called Yechris, and I dare say you two had already met previously. Do you recollect?”

He waited for the information to sink in, and then nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, it was fate that brought you two together back then. I happened to be away with my tutor at the time. You have no idea of the danger you faced when you followed that white hare. He was truly an evil spirit that lured wayward travellers into his trap, and then devoured them." Seeing Narcore’s horror, he explained, “In answer to your unspoken question, no we are not the same; and the truth will be revealed to you all in good time. For now, I shall only say this; for some inexplicable reason my little sister and our parents happened to be in that hare’s meadow at that precise time. And that is why I say that you and my sister were destined to be together.

My parents have since passed away but as her guardian, and if it is agreeable to you, I am willing to accept you into our family as my brother-in-law.
Narcore was so overjoyed at this that he blurted, “Of course, of course, nothing can be better.”

Soon after Narcore’s birthday he and Yechris were married. On their wedding night, after the bride was escorted to the nuptial quarters, a most queer thing occurred that now warrants further mention. You see, during the celebrations her brother, against Yechris’ advice, consumed an inordinate amount of spirits. Seeing the state he was in Narcore excused himself from the celebrants in order to safely escort his new brother-in-law to his quarters. Along the way however Reijon simply collapsed on the ground and no amount of coaxing would get him up. Fortunately they were alone at the time and the few remaining, extremely intoxicated, guests were preoccupied with the acrobatic performances of the entertainers. Luckily so, for the very moment Reijon had collapsed onto the ground, he had transformed into a wine-coloured chrysanthemum and sprouted roots that reached deep down into the earth. Bewildered, 
Narcore rushed off to his quarters and, finding his new wife seated coyly on the bed, told her all that had happened. She was mortified with the fear of discovery and, exiting through the back door, rushed off at once to where her brother taken up root. Gently pulling him out of the soil, they replanted him in a pot and secretly brought it back into their private chambers.

Needless to say, in all the excitement neither the bride nor the groom got any sleep that night as Yechris made a full confession to her husband. She and her family were chrysanthemum spirits, living as humans, and in her contrition she gave him the option of annulling the marriage if he so desired. But he would not hear of it, and furthermore he declared his increased fascination and undying love for her, promising to be a faithful, good husband to the end of their days. That night she willingly forfeited her immortality.
 By the following morning the brother had turned back into a human, suitably embarrassed and apologized profusely.

From that day forth Reijon took care never lose control again. One day he took his leave of them to start his life elsewhere, after promising to visit them from time to time.

The married couple lived happily and were blessed with many children each of whom they named after a different variety of Chrysanthemum.


The End

Tuesday 8 September 2015

Hot Tea


Retelling of Old Legends


Hot Tea


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(You can scroll down to read along.)

Once upon a time there was a gentleman who after a long successful career retired to a countryside mansion to enjoy the rest of his years in relative comfort.

He had many friends and countless hobbies to fill his days. What he most excelled in however, was the collection and preparation of tea. He’d delighted in this particular beverage ever since it was first introduced to him by a learned, highly esteemed professor that he was fortunate enough to befriend. Over the years he’d accumulated a vast knowledge about the many varieties of tea and the many ways of preparing it, using his extensive collection of the rarest teapots and cups.

It was a rare privilege indeed to be invited to one of his Tea gatherings that were always conducted with such pomp and ceremony.

Once, a supposedly learned, affluent relative was travelling from the Provinces to the City and called on him to pay his respects. At the end of a lavish feast, the host and guest both retired to the Tea-room where the relative was served the choicest tea steeped in precious spring water.

The relative enjoyed the tea so much that he repeatedly, after each sip, grunted, “Excellent!”

Delighted that his relative must appreciate the finer things, the host eagerly inquired, “Are you referring to the tea or choice of spring water.”

The last thing he expected was this explanation, “It’s the hotness of the tea which I like the best.”

The End

The Old Man Loses His Mare


Retelling of Old Legends:

The Old Man Loses His Mare



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(You can scroll down to read along.)

(When events occur, who can rightly predict the outcome? Who can tell whether it happened for good or for bad, for fortune or for misfortune?)



Once upon a time an old frontiersman lived in a ramshackle hut. He lived modestly with his wife and son tending their small plot of land from sunrise to sunset. With never a cross word to anyone, always ready to land a helping hand, he was well liked by all his neighbours.

One spring day his untethered mare inexplicably ran off into the territory of a hostile tribe. On learning this, all his neighbours hastened to console him but the old man was not perturbed in the least. He simply shrugged and quietly said, “Who’s to say this is not a blessing?”

Some months later, the mare returned accompanied by a fine stallion. His neighbours this time rushed to congratulate him on his good fortune.

“Who’s to say this is not a misfortune?” His puzzling response sends the callers back home, shaking their heads.

Now it so happened that his spirited teenage son was fond of riding. At dusk after his chores were completed he yielded to temptation and, without a word to anyone, he simply mounted the stallion and galloped into the distance. They flew over the rough terrain jumping hedges, boulders and streams to test his as well as the horse’s mettle. At one ill-fated juncture, unable to clear a deep gully, the horse reared, throwing the boy to the ground and breaking his leg.

Again the worried neighbours rushed to offer their deep sympathy.

The old man once more shrugged it off. “Who’s to say this is not a blessing in disguise?”

That autumn the hostile border tribe having gathered up momentum, unleashed a wave of murderous raids to rape and plunder. All able bodied men were naturally called upon to mount a defence but by the time the reinforcements eventually arrived countless volunteers in this ragtag militia had lost their lives.

The son of the old man, being crippled, was spared from the fighting and so survived.

The old man said to his son, “Look how a misfortune may turn out to be a blessing and a blessing may be actually be a misfortune. It is impossible to predict what capricious fate has in store.”

The End

The Fox Assumes The Tiger's Might

Retelling of Old Legends:

The Fox Assumes The Tiger's Might



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(You can scroll down to read along.)



(Where would we all be without the support and backing of family, friends, organizations, nations etc?)

Once upon a time a mighty ferocious tiger caught a fox. Pinning the poor creature under his paw, he opened wide his enormous maw to swallow his prey all in one gulp.

“Don’t you dare eat me,” shouted the desperate fox, mustering up all his courage. “God has made me king of all beasts, you will suffer most terrible consequences if you so brazenly defy The Almighty’s will!”

Seeing the tiger’s skepticism, fox insisted, “I have the proof. Just let me lead the way and you follow close behind and note how every creature will flee at the sight of me.”

Curious, the Tiger gave his consent and the two of them set off together. True enough, when all the beasts saw them coming, they scattered, turned tail and ran. Not realizing that it was his own self that was the cause of this great panic, the tiger accepted the fox’s claim and let him go.

The End