An Ancient Book Finds its Voice

Once upon a time in town perched high up on the mountains there lived an illustrious Turk, Mustafa Curuk Ali, with a fair amount of holdings and a rather a large size family. Mustafa was tall and robust and had clear blue eyes that were most discerning. He had a beautiful wife called Hatice and together they had six children, three boys named Ali, Nofel, Yuksel and three girls named Ayten, Jale and Ayse.  Mustafa had vast fields that needed tending and he always hired seasonal help to till the soil, sow the seeds and later still, do the harvesting. On the side he ran a small grocery store (shop) where his prices were fair and many were allowed to receive necessary supplies even without promissory notes, based on the honor system, if they happened to be short of funds that week or month.

Mustafa Curuk Ali was an honest and upright man that cared for many things and was well respected in the community.  An eccentric of sorts, he did have a wild side to him as well and if warranted, he was not above breaking stringent rules he felt were unjust.  His grocery store in time became the gathering place for the idle locals. For he never turned away company fair and foe, and all without exception felt welcome to simply gather around, specially on hot summer afternoons, to drink cool refreshments  or partake of the local coffee while they conversed, caught up in the newest hearsay or local gossip.

This happens to be the backdrop to our true story.

In this small town called  (Kasaba, Baf)  Paphos, there was a historic chapel where locals often congregated to pray and hear sermons and seek advice from the spiritual leader.  The benevolent Hoca  Ali Dana (Turkish term for religious leader) was a tolerant, compassionate old man who at times went far beyond his allocated duties. For instance, he would still take time to gather food and distribute it to the needy outside of his congregation. He went beyond the far reaches of town to outlying villages and visited isolated abodes, to lend a hand and to help alleviate any suffering from natural disasters.

Once a week Efendi Ali Dana would give a sermon to the local congregates. He was not particularly good at his sermons and contented himself if he did not put the gathered few into deep slumber.

In this holy place there happened to be a very old book, displayed in a nook in a far corner. The old relic rested there, unread and long forgotten.

One day, Mustafa Curuk Ali took notice of this book and after glimpsing inside and liking what he read; he decided to borrow it for a time to peruse the contents at his own leisure.

You see Mustafa had one other advantage over the locals, he was somewhat of a learned man and besides being literate, he knew several languages, a skill he had acquired when during his youth he served in the Foreign Legion in Europe. Obviously he was a more interesting individual than the norm; yet he’d chosen to live a quiet life in this town on this Mediterranean island called, Cyprus.  Mustafa Curuk Ali able to read and translate various old languages enjoyed reading the contents of this book.

The spiritual leader Ali Dana eventually noticed the absence of this ancient book but chose not to raise an alarm that might accidentally offend someone innocent. He had faith that things would eventually come to light and that the book would eventually turn up where it’s supposed to be.

Over time several anecdotes began to circulate in the town and it reached the ears of the spiritual leader. These were moral stories he knew quite well and suspected their true origin came from the missing book. Still he bided his time till he was ascertained of the location from which these stories spread.

 Then one fine day he paid a visit to Mustafa Curuk Ali and, when they were alone, he, not mincing any words, abruptly queried him.

“Of course I took it” Mustafa openly admitted, without hesitation or the least sign of remorse. “It was resting there idle in the far corner gathering dust and doing no good to anyone.”

The spiritual leader ( Hoca) Ali Dana  nodded thoughtfully as twinge of guilt tugged at his heartstrings. True enough, this ancient relic had been long forgotten in that poorly lit sector (nook).  He’d been too bogged down with other responsibilities to give even a single thought to the contents of the ancient book.  Meanwhile it was as if the antiquity had found its voice.  As he considered how far and wide the stories had spread now, he could not help but feel elated and most grateful.  For it had enriched and motivated many good people and affected the simple folk as much as any weekly sermon could. After all, everyone loved a good story (tale) and there was no one better than Mustafa Curuk to tell it, for he turned even the most mundane facts into thrilling and delightful narrations.

The spiritual leader Ali Dana, at long last smiled, and uttered words of his blessings.  Yes, he left the book with Mustafa Curuk Ali to continue on with his good mission of spreading the words of wisdom wrapped in tales from the pages of that ancient tome.

Long time later, when the contents were widely known and well absorbed by many good folk, the book was returned, in the same condition, back to its old place where it could then once more be asleep.

Fin

The Tunnel

The Tunnel

(A Re-write of a Zen Koan)

Part 1

Click to Hear a Reading of Part 1

Once upon a time in a frontier town the brash young son of a Warrior, named Doku, desiring to experience more of life after the death of his father, left his rigid and regulated circumstance and embarked on a long journey towards the Capital.

He was a agile and strong young man and highly skilled in sword fighting. Halfway to the Capital he came upon a large estate on the periphery of a prosperous town.

The estate holder, Esquire Zaven’s first wife had died suddenly at childbirth leaving behind a squalling son. The property was enormous with many fields surrounding it that constantly needed tending. The historic mansion perched on a hilltop, supported a large household. As Zaven was always away on business, he’d been forced to re-marry in haste, acquiring a seemingly competent spouse to run the groundskeepers and the household staff in his absence. Doku, carrying exemplary credentials had no trouble securing the recently vacated position of a head Steward. Unfortunately during the course of his stay there he became enamored of the beautiful young wife of Esquire Zaven. Doku was a fetching young man with a fine physique that before long caught the eye of the young wife.

Once when Esquire Zaven was away on business, Doku chanced a clandestine meeting with the lady in which he professed his deep affections for her. She was an easy conquest and the two became instant lovers. The Esquire however returned unexpectedly early from his recent trip and so the illicit affair was exposed. Confronting the enraged husband, the culprit Doku slew the outraged Zaven in self-defense. Faced with this dire circumstance and facing certain death, the two lovers ran away.

Always on the run and with scant options for survival, Doku became a highwayman. His skill was unmatched and any resistance was swiftly squashed.

The spoils provided the couple with many luxuries. But still, it was never enough for the former wife. Greed dulled the appeal of this once beautiful woman and her demands, by degrees, caused Doku to grow increasingly disgusted with her. Finally he left her and resumed his journey, but not to the Capital.

Eventually he settled down to a frugal life in a remote frontier town at the base of a mountain, where he became known as a solitary mendicant.

As he matured he felt increasing remorse for his past sins. Ghosts regularly haunted his dreams calling for him to atone for his crimes, particularly the felony that had started it all. Finally, after all this soul searching, Doku’s thoughts centered on the dangerous cliff road over the mountain and the countless souls it had caused death and injury to.

“Yes, I shall do it.” He nodded resolutely. As his atonement for all his past crimes he resolved to cut a tunnel through the mountain. He knew it would be a most ambitious feat but he desperately needed to accomplish a good turn that may, in part, eradicate some of his sins.

End of Part 1

The Tunnel- Part 2

Click to Hear a Reading of Part 2

He set to work the very next day. From then on during the daylight hours Doku worked tirelessly doing any sort of labor, no matter how dangerous or loathsome. At night, after a modest meal and a brief repast, he hefted his pick and packed his shovel then traveled on horseback to the foothills. He spent the first several weeks surveying the region’s topography. From a hidden cave opening he started digging the tunnel until daylight broke. He made good use of the existing natural caverns, connecting them by digging short tunnels between them. By the time thirty years had gone by, the length of the tunnel reached 2,280 feet. Doku had almost achieved his goal of creating a secure pathway deep under the mountain. In a two more years he would reach his goal.

Before the work was complete however, the slain Esquire’s son Bron, who had become a skilled swordsman caught up with Doku. Bent on revenge, Bron lay in wait behind a huge boulder on a deserted stretch of path to spring his ambush. Doku with his experience as a highwayman had naturally sensed the presence of danger and dismounted. Holding the reins, Doku took the rocky path in bold strides that caused Bron to hesitate.

Bron paralleled the path for a time waiting for another opportunity to strike, then, brandishing his sword, jumped in front to block Doku’s way. Proclaiming his name, he shouted: “I’m here to avenge my father Esquire Zaven Ko, whom you’ve so foully murdered. Be prepared to die, vermin! “

On the verge of receiving the death blow, Doku maintained his calm composure and stated his protest, “"I will give you my life willingly; only, let me finish this crucial work first. On the day of its completion, I swear I will stand ready to receive my punishment."

Doku’s courage and earnest demeanor convinced the son to postpone his revenge to a later time. And so Bron temporarily set aside the blistering rage swelling his chest and, night after night, followed Doku to the tunnel and watched him work. In all that time, even with a death sentence hovering over his head Doku’s diligence never once wavered. He removed the rock with his pick and then constructed post and beam supports from the surrounding trees to buttress the walls of the tunnel. In this way several months passed. Doku, even when sick worked hard at the dig.

Eventually Bron grew tired of doing nothing but watch Doku. In order to keep fit and to hasten the end result, he simply showed up with a pick. No words were exchanged as he worked alongside Doku on the dig.

After he had helped for more than a year, keeping a close eye on the other even during the day, Bron gradually came to admire Doku's strong will and steadfast character. Bron witnessed firsthand many of other’s charitable ways: his unwavering assistance to the sick and old and the countless anonymous generous donations to the needy, even though it meant at times going without food and clothing. He took note how Doku most brave in defending the weak: so many lives were spared fending off the local hoodlums and many widows and orphans fared better or survived their harsh circumstance, because of Doku’s cavort aid.

At long last couple hours before dawn the tunnel was finally complete. Now the people could use it and travel in safety. Covered in dust and dirt, Doku now prostrated himself before Bron in readiness for death.

“Thank you for your patience and help. Now you may cut off my head. I bear you no ill will. My work is done."

"How can I cut off my own teacher's head?" asked Bron lowering his head with tears brimming in his eyes.



The End.

Besting the Ghost

Besting the Ghost

By BoSt

To fall in love with someone special and then plan to share a life time with them through a bond of marriage is ideal. Often however considerations other than love come into play in marriages. In fact, it is still the custom for families in many countries to have an arranged marriage in order to augment political or economic status. But I digress. Let us just say, in the olden days this arranged marriage business was often the norm.

There was once a young couple who, after pomp and ceremony, settled in to live comfortably in a fine house with lots of land at the edge of town. As beloved children their families had seen to it that the couple would be compatible before they were married. Unfortunately many hidden vices surfaced after the marriage to disrupt their harmony. In time they were no more than two strangers barely speaking to each other but still living under one roof for the sake of appearances.

They thought they would be miserable forever, if only there were children to bridge this growing gap. But fate had other designs and before long, the couple’s strained but seemingly mundane life was seriously rocked with the onset of a grave illness that beset the young wife. Finally, after failed attempts to cure her, on the verge of expiring, the wife whispered to her husband in his feigned distress: “Dear husband, despite all your bad characteristics I still love you very much... Alas our time together was so cruelly interrupted.” She gasped a painful breath before resuming, “But marriage should be forever, here and in the hereafter...Promise me, after I leave you do not hasten from me to another woman. If you do, I shall find no rest and shall certainly return as a ghost and cause you endless trouble.”

Soon after this implied threat, the wife passed away. The husband at first respected her last wish and stayed celibate for some time, three months and two days to be exact. But then the loneliness drove him to seek the company of another. Chancing on an exquisite beauty at a small gathering, he became smitten at once. At first he observed her from afar in other social gatherings, and then he pushed for an introduction and gained a chance to converse with her. She was every bit as intelligent and artistic as she was beautiful. He could not help but fall deeply in love with her. This time through his own will they became engaged to be married. Immediately after the engagement party however a ghost appeared in his quarters that very night and continued on every night after that, with accusing words and gestures, blaming him for his breach of promise. The ghost was determined and angry as she related exactly what transpired between him and his new fiancé. Whenever he gave his new beloved a present or a token of their love, the ghost would describe in detail the particulars. She related, word for word all their private conversations. This so perturbed him that he suffered from a persistent case of insomnia. One of his close confidents advised him to take this problem to the local priest who lived in a seminary close to his home. He resisted this notion at first but as the problems persisted, he at long last went to the Priest seeking his help.

“Your former wife became a ghost and knows everything you do,” thoughtfully commented the Priest. “Whatever you do or say, whatever you give your fiancé, she knows of, you say? Hmm. She must be a very wise ghost. Really you should admire such a resourceful apparition. Here’s an idea; the next time she manifests, try bargaining with her. Tell her that, since she is so knowledgeable, you can obviously hide nothing from her and that if she can answer you one question, you will promise to break off the engagement immediately and content yourself thereafter to remaining single. “

“What is the question I must ask?” inquired the man.

“The Priest smiling replied: “Take a large handful of rice and ask her exactly how many grains of rice you hold in your hand. I she cannot tell you, you will know that she is only a figment of your imagination and upon this realization your trouble with the ghost should be no more.”

On the subsequent night, when the ghost again manifested, the man at first flattered her and told her that he was overawed that she knew everything.

“Indeed,” replied the ghost,” and furthermore, I also know that you went to see that Priest today.”

“I relent; but since you know so much,” demanded the man, “pray tell me how many grains of rice am I holding in my hand?”

There was no answer. The apparition simply vanished and from then on he saw no more ghost.

Fini.

The Giver Should Be Thankful

The Giver Should Be Thankful

The master of Engaku in Kamakura, Seisetsu was so well known for his teachings that many flocked to his tutelage. Consequently, the School’s accommodations became seriously overcrowded.

Umezu Sibei, a highly successful merchant of Edo, happened to be visiting the region and so paid a courtesy visit to the esteemed teacher. Noting the meagre lodgings of the school and feeling rather magnanimous he, on his return to his residence, made arrangements to donate five hundred pieces of gold (ryo) towards the construction of a more spacious school.

A few days later, his chest swelling with pride, Umezu revisited the school and personally handed the sack of gold over to the teacher Seiseutsu. But when Seisetsu simply received the amount with his matter-of-fact attitude and only the assertion: “All right. I will take it.”, Umezu became highly dissatisfied.

One can live a whole year on just three ryo, Umezu grumbled under his breath, yet I’ve not received not even a simple thank you for this magnanimous gift of five hundred ryo?

Refusing to take his leave, Umezu shifted uncomfortably and, after clearing his throat with a slight cough, added poignantly: “You know of course that in that sack are five hundred ryo?”

“Yes I know; you mentioned it previously.” Seisetsu replied impassively, turning to leave.

“Though I’m a wealthy merchant, five hundred ryo is still considered a hefty sum,” Umezu grumbled rather loudly.

“Do you wish a thank you for it?” Half turning, Seisetsu asked.

“Well, don’t you think you ought to?” responded Uzemu.

Seisetsu simply said: “Why? It’s the giver who should be thankful. ”

Fini

A Good Father

A Good Father

Once upon a time in a small coastal village nestled in a remote corner of the world there lived a very quiet, devout person, who everyone knew as Hans Yohn. He had arrived in the village some years back with his few possessions tucked into a bundle under his arm. With the small amount of cash he brought with him he bought an abandoned wreck of a farm and proceeded to set up home there. With no friends or relatives he lived out his days in his humble dwelling and spent most of his days planting and tending his roots and vegetables on his small plot of land. At nights he would read the scriptures and pray. No one knew much about him but they respected him none the less as he was always above board, kind, sincere and always ready to lend a helping hand.

His closest neighbour was a store owner that lived with his wife and a beautiful daughter. They made a rather good living selling much needed supplies to the local crofters and fisherman. One day, to the utter consternation of the parents, they discovered that their teenage daughter was with child. Fuming, the father pestered his daughter till he obtained her unwilling confession of the culprit‘s identity.

Though a great shock, they took her at her word and confronted Hans with his supposed wrongdoing. The father was itching to beat Hans to a pulp, but the quiet farmer gave him no cause to unleash his full fury. Hans had simply listened patiently to his irate neighbor's long and fiery tirade without showing the least emotion, then at the end of it he simply shrugged and in a muted tone agreed, “Whatever you say.”

The father returned home indignant and still fuming.

In the subsequent months as she became visibly pregnant, the unavoidable gossip spread like wildfire throughout the village engendering great animosity toward Hans Yohn. But once more he endured it all with his usual quiet disposition. Even the rowdy children who lay in ambush to pelt him with rocks eventually got tired of their campaign once they saw they could not anger him.

After the child was born, the indignant parents, ignoring their daughter’s pleas and protestations, delivered the healthy baby boy to Hans Yohn’s doorstep in a bassinet. Hans accepted the infant without any apparent emotion and from that day forth proceeded to taking a very good care of the baby. He saw to it that the baby was safe and comfortable then went outside to fetch some goat’s milk, which would have to suffice as he could not pay for a wet nurse. Nor did he question the quirks of fate, as he too in his infancy, had been abandoned at the doorstep of a recluse. He was fortunate in that the stranger was a good person and had done right by him. He will reciprocate that kindness now.

The mother of the infant kept her silence, not wanting to jeopardize her nascent hopes. Then one day when a particular ship with its sparse crew had once more docked in the village’s puny port her heart leapt for joy. All this time she had harbored the wish that her young man would keep his promise, return to ask her hand in marriage and make things right by her. The young sailor, as expected, again secretly sought her attentions but upon being told of the child, his unexpected icy demeanor, the subsequent denial and rebuke had irrevocably broken her heart. After that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him and told him a blatant lie, robbing him of any possible future claim to the child.

On this day as she’d watched a distant ship’s departure, she reflected about Hans and recalled with tightness in her chest all that the young farmer had endured on her account. In the subsequent months the girl’s conscience persisted in troubling her. Then one evening over dinner she simply broke down and tearfully confessed the truth about the baby’s paternity to her parents. Pleading for forgiveness, she declared that Hans Yohn had nothing to do with it and that he was entirely innocent. When the commotion died down, both parents along with their daughter showed up at Hans’ door to ask humbly and at length for his forgiveness and to retrieve the burdensome bundle they had left in his care.

He listened again without the least expression to the father’s explanations, the ensuing regrets and profound apologies. He rose with only a murmur passing his lips, “Whatever you say.” Then with a solemn expression, fetched the peacefully sleeping child and delivered him into their hands.

As they were leaving, the girl turned her head to look apologetically at him once more and saw a single tear glistening on his cheek as he turned and disappeared back inside his hut.

The End

Portrait of a Stingy Squire

Portrait of a Stingy Squire

There was once a wealthy landowner named Daner, who acquired his wealth through illicit means, such as manipulation, extortion and loans with unreasonable interest rates advanced to fallen gentry.

As he amassed incredible riches, he then set himself up in a lofty mansion in the country and proceeded to surrounded himself with all the trappings of the rich.

As all his former opulent lineage had done he wished to have his portrait painted and hung over the fireplace in his great reception hall, so as to invoke awe from every invited guest.

A renowned Artist was subsequently approached and a portrait was commissioned. As rich as he was however, Daner plied the artist with wine then argued the price relentlessly in the end forcing the artist to accept a paltry sum for the portrait.

The Artist returned home with a severe hangover and fell into a troubled sleep. Upon waking the following morning and recalling the last night’s events he was infuriated beyond measure. Unfortunately he could not invalidate or revoke the iron clad agreement. Looking at the paltry sum he ground his teeth and then burst into laughter.

On the subsequent day the artist showed up as arranged to paint the portrait of the miserly landowner. His assistant carried all the supplies and set it up for him. Squire Daner took up his lofty pose standing by an impressive fireplace with an impressive wall library.

These were the books Daner had acquired over time through many auctions of the gentry he’d ruined; rare books he’d not read a single page of. The artist made the necessary sketches and returned to his studio to complete the work.

Squire Daner was called to the artist studio several days later, to take possession of the completed work.

Grinning from ear to ear, Daner sized up the covered huge canvas then, in eager anticipation, asked the artist to uncover the masterpiece.

The artist did as he was asked.

But what’s this?

There, standing before Daner, in uncanny detail, was a life-size rendition of his back facing an open window with light streaming into his impressive library.

“What’s the meaning of this?” He barked at the artist. “A portrait should show a person’s countenance. Why have you drawn the back of my figure? This will not do, no sir, it won’t do: I want my money back!”

“Here’s your paltry sum. “ The artist plumped the few coins into palm of Daner. “My advice to a person as stingy as you, sir, is not to show your face to others. Now I shall ask you to leave these premises as I have other pressing appointments elsewhere.”

He’d expected the miserly landowner to storm out of there with a huff and with curses on his lips, but he did neither. Instead with a grim face he pondered on the few coins in his palm then on the portrait weighing out the bargain.

In the end he said, “No sir, a deal has been struck. I shall take the painting.” as he pompously dropped the coins onto the table.

His servant carried the canvas out and it is said it hung in Squire Daner's private sturdy where only a few were privy to view.

The end.

The Sacred Tree

The Sacred Tree

“The useful declines to be used,

whereas the useless asks to be used.” Tao.



Once upon a time a well known carpenter named Shih, accompanied by his young and impressionable apprentice, was travelling through the untamed countryside, often taking shortcuts in order to reach the state of Ch’i on time.

Their travels at one point led them to the Shady Circle, where they observed a sacred Li tree in the temple dedicated to the God of Earth. The tree was immensely huge, so large in fact that it provided shelter to a herd of several thousand cattle and still left room for more. It was a hundred spans in girth, towering up eighty or ninety feet over the hilltop, before it branched out. Countless admiring crowds with their faces turned up, stood there gazing in awe at this miracle on earth.

The apprentice too had halted briefly and fixed his eyes also on this magnificence, thinking how a dozen boats could be cut out of it. He hastened his steps to catch up to his master, who’d continued on his way quite unconcerned. Bit puzzled, he addressed his master tentatively, “Master, in all this time that I’ve been fortunate enough to have handled an adz in your service, I have never seen such superb example of timber. How was it that you, Master, cared not pause a step, to even perfunctorily observe it?”

“Forget about it, it’s hardly worth the mention,” the master shrugged smugly. Observing the puzzled look on the stubborn apprentice’s face however, he relented. “The tree is good for nothing. Made into a boat, it would sink; into a coffin, it would rot; into furniture, it would break easily; into a door, it would sweat; into a pillar, it would be worm-eaten. Despite its size the wood is of no quality, and therefore of no use. That’s why it has survived to attain its present age.”

By dusk of the fifth day, the carpenter and his apprentice had finally reached home. After unburdening themselves of their baggage and washing up, they partook of a satisfying repast. That evening, as he snuggled cosily under the quilts, the carpenter had an unsettling dream.

He dreamt that the displeased spirit of the tree appeared to him and spoke to him harshly, as follows:

“Your arrogance is unconscionable. What is it tell me you intend to compare me with? Is it with fine-grained wood? Consider the pear, the orange, the pomelo, cherry-apple and all other fruit bearers: as soon as their fruit ripens they are stripped and treated with such indignity. The great boughs are snapped off, the small ones scattered abroad.

Thus do these trees by their own value cause injury to their own lives. Sadly they cannot fulfill their allotted span of years, but expire prematurely; all because they are destroyed for bringing forth the admiration of the world.

“Thus it is with all things. In view of this, I’ve strove long and hard to appear useless. Even so, many a time I had a close brush with the peril of being cut down. My wits and my ways however in the end succeeded in deterring them from their aim, and so I endured and grew to these heights; being only useful to myself.

“My kindness now propels me to impart on you few facts:

“In your pitifully brief human history Tsech’i of Nan-po was once travelling on the hill of Shang when he chanced upon a huge tree that greatly astonished him. In his mind he accounted that a thousand chariot teams of four horses could seek shelter under its shade. Reining on his horse under it and pointing he therefore shouted: “What sort of tree is this? Surely it must bear an unusual fine timber.” Then as he looked more closely, he saw that its branches were too crooked for rafters; and looking down he noted that the trunk’s twisting loose grain made it valueless for coffins. Reaching he plucked a leaf and tasted it; at once his face crinkled for it took the skin off his lips. The odor meanwhile was too strong that it would make a man insensate for several days. “Ah!” said Tsech’i, “this tree is really good for nothing, and that is how it has attained this size. A spiritual man might well follow its example of useless.”

“You may also recall that in the State of Sung there is a land belonging to the Ching, where thrive the catalpa, the cedar, and the mulberry. Such as are of one span or so in girth are cut down for monkey cages. Those of two or three spans are harvested for the beams of fine houses. Those of seven or eight spans are cut down for the jointless sides of rich men’s coffins. Alas, they do not fulfill their allotted span of years, but perish under the ax, all too young. Such is the misfortunes that overtake the worthy.

“In contrast; for sacrifices to the River God neither pigs with high snouts, nor bulls with white foreheads, nor men suffering from piles, can be used. For every soothsayer regards these as inauspicious. To the wise, however, these are regarded extremely auspicious, if only to themselves.

“I’m reminded of an account of a certain hunchback named Su. His jaws touched his navel. His shoulders were higher than his head. His neck bone stuck out towards the ultimate sky. His viscera were turned upside down. His buttocks were where his ribs should have been. Yet he lived rather comfortably. By sifting rice, or tailing, or washing, he earned his keep and achieved enough to support a family of ten.

“When the orders for conscription came, whether for the army or for public works, the hunchback walked about unconcerned among his peers, for his deformity excluded him from all such. Meanwhile, when the donations of grain for the disadvantaged and the disabled were handed out, the hunchback received as much as three measures, and when firewood was allotted, ten faggots. If physical deformity was thus sufficient to preserve his body until the end of his days, how much more should a moral and mental deformity avail!

“Alas, it’s a sad fact that mountain trees invite their own cutting down, lamp oil invites its own burning up. Lacquer can be used, there the tree is scraped; cinnamon bark can be eaten; therefore the tree is cut down. All men know the utility of useful things; but they do not know the utility of futility.

“As you and I are both created things, I ponder on the soundness of this good-for-nothing fellow: you, who’s in imminent danger of death, passing so demeaning a remark on the supposed good-for-nothing tree.”

The subsequent morning the carpenter Shih awakened with a start, covered with perspiration, and sat up on his bed for a while collecting his thoughts. His mind fastened just then on the well known fact:

That when Confucius was in the Ch’u State, the eccentric Chieh Yu passed his door, saying, “O phoenix! O phoenix! How has thy virtue fallen! Wait not for the coming years, nor hanker back to the past. When the right principles prevail on earth, prophets will fulfill their mission. When the right principles prevail not, they will but preserve themselves. At the present day, they are but trying to keep out of jail! The good fortunes of this world are light as feathers, yet none estimates them at their true value. The misfortunes of this life are weighty as the earth, yet none knows how to keep out of their reach. No more, no more, show off your virtue. Beware, beware, and move cautiously on! O brambles, O brambles, wound not my steps! I pick my way about, hurt not my feet!”

Later on that day when the carpenter Shih, heard his apprentice exclaim, “If the tree aimed at uselessness, how was it that it became a sacred tree?”

“Hush!” he responded gravely. “Keep quiet. I was wrong. It merely took refuge in the temple to escape from the abuse of those who do not appreciate it. Had it not become sacred, how many would have wanted to cut it down! Moreover, the means it adopts for safety are different from that of others, and to criticize it by ordinary standards would be far wide of the mark.”

A lesson was well learned!

The End.

Telling Right from Wrong

Telling Right from Wrong

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(You can scroll down to read along.)

Once upon a time there was an illustrious teacher who counselled young minds in a rather prestigious private school. His fame was such that pupils from all parts of the country and all walks of life came to be educated by him. Tuition was purposely kept low to allow anyone to apply, as character traits played a more important part in the selection process.

During the semester, when a pupil was caught stealing, the matter was immediately brought to the teacher’s attention along with the strong request from the outraged fellow students that the thief be promptly expelled. But the teacher simply ignored the matter.

After a passage of time the same pupil was again found guilty of the same misconduct but again the teacher abstained from taking any action.

Outraged students this time signed a petition strongly requesting the thief’s immediate dismissal, threatening to leave if this matter wasn’t satisfactorily resolved.

This time the teacher called the protesting body of students before him and said, “You may all leave if you must but he shall stay. You are all fortunate enough to know right from wrong. This unfortunate pupil however does not. Would you have me turn him out into the world when he is the one most in need of my guidance?”

The assembled students bowed their heads in shame while the thief burst into tears and repented. He never stole again and was a model student thereafter.

Fini

True Value (The Gift)

True Value (The Gift)

(Original Story)

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All of us at one time or other have come upon these wise words: “Don’t judge a book by its cover. “ Yet in our fast paced society, we often rush headlong into things, make erroneous judgements, form ill conceived opinions and then follow the wayward paths that lead us astray. We would fare far better if cool heads prevailed. Be open- minded, don’t rely so heavily on the first impressions and remember: a second opinion would help to determine the truth.

Once upon a time there was a wise young geologist named Leon who chanced upon a very rare find during excavation in high altitudes. The item was half buried in the riverbank alongside a rushing turbulent stream. To the untrained eye, the object resembled a huge chunk of ice with a slightly pinkish hue, only it was solid as a rock. But Leon having at once recognized its true value carefully stored it away until he could acquire a very elaborate box to contain it. This lacquer box had gold inlaid images depicting a court lady on her leisure time. Coral, pearl and other gems were carefully inlaid on the sides and back of the box so it looked brilliant every which way you turned it. Inside it was lined with the finest plush, soft velvet.

At the end of his carefree adventurous days, having grown rather opulent, Leon decided to settle down and remarry in order to provide his precious young boy Kori with a more stable home. A pretty young widow with a single child of her own appeared to be the most suitable candidate and so before long they were married in an elaborate ceremony. Unfortunately her true nature soon revealed itself and he discovered their underlying incompatibility. Struggling with his inner dissatisfaction over the years Leon suffered some setbacks and fell on hard times. At the urging of his second wife he parted with most of his precious possession in order to keep up with her and her daughter’s extravagant demands but always resisted the idea of selling his rare find.

Once on a quiet day alone in his study with his son, who also shared his interest in reading, Leon had allowed Kori to handle the pinkish stone. “You like it too, don’t you son?” He’d asked with bemused smile on his lips as he reached to retrieve the stone.

“Yes, papa, I do, it’s such an interesting rock. Tell me again how you found it.” In truth Kori loved the story more than the rock itself and never got tired of hearing it. His father equally enthused, always obliged him with such colorful elaboration. This day at the end of his narration however, his father looked grim and said, “I ‘m sorry you had to suffer such unwarranted hardships on my account but I could not bring myself to part with it. “ He looked up earnestly then and said the strangest thing. “Actually, I’ve been saving it for you. “ With a shrug he then arose and, after carefully placing it into that beautiful box again, walked over and promptly placed it in the safe concealed behind an obscure painting hanging above his desk.

When some years later Leon fell mysteriously ill and died intestate his holdings and the affairs of the entire estate were bestowed upon his wife. She lost no time in selling the property, the land and everything of value, including the precious box that, by the way, fetched a pretty handsome price. But as for the lump of stone inside, before selling the box, she’d simply taken it out and on the verge of throwing it away, after a second thought, thrust it into the palm of her stepson and said, “Now, don’t go complaining that I haven’t given you anything from your dad.”

The boy remembered well what his father had said that day long ago, though he’d never shared this with anyone. And so he graciously accepted this paltry gift from his stepmother and happily tucked it away in his pocket.

Predictably, she’d next sought to rid herself of the burden of Kori, and sent this poor orphan packing to a distant paternal relative. The boy grew up there modestly and without incident, till one day, when he was handling this rock in the classroom, it drew the attention of his Geography teacher.

The rest as they say is history. The piece of rock proved to be an uncut, priceless pink diamond that fetched a fortune at auction, affording the poor little boy comfort and riches beyond anyone’s imagination.



By Bo and Steve