WHEREFORE SACRED CHIMES HAD RANG  (CHRISTMAS STORY BY BOST, 2025)

All acts of kindness however minuscule do not escape the notice of Heaven, even though they may go unnoticed here on Earth.

Once upon a time in a far-off land there was a magnificent spiritual temple set on a hilltop. Though the mortal beings that inhabited this region (all the myriad beings) worshipped many different gods, they still respected each others religion and at times even actively participated in the other’s celebrations. Christmas time being one such.  

01- WHITE CHURCH -JP

This spiritual temple in particular, its congregation called it the White Church, for the outside stone was exactly that, was magnificent. The tall stained-glass windows, placed specifically to catch best angles of the sun’s rays, depicted angels and brilliantly executed religious scenes praising God Almighty’s power and extolling the virtues of the Christian saints. Pious carpenters had painstakingly carved magnificent wooden reliefs above and to the sides of the main entrance. The Church’s most prominent feature however was the white stone tower with ivy growing over it as far up as the eye can see. In the steeple an array of Christmas chimes was housed.

Every Christmas Eve many inhabitants of the city, re-enacting an old tradition, flocked to this church bringing with them many offerings to their savior, the Christ Child. Legends told of a time when, after the greatest and best offering was laid on the altar, there arose above the voices of the choir a beautiful sound, emanating from the top of the tower the most divine music of the Christmas Chimes.

Some claimed it had to be the wind that rang them, while other more pious ones believed in their heart of hearts, and exclaimed loudly so, that it had to be the angels that set the bells swinging to produce that heavenly sound.

Then came a time when, however great the offerings were, the chimes never again created blissful melody. As a result, the pious group belonging to this church were saddened, feeling there must be something amiss. Yet many Christmases came and went, and no chimes (no heavenly music) were ever heard.

02- WARRIOR ERLAND

It so happened that there was a disillusioned, recluse warrior called Erland, his name meaning, aptly, an outsider or foreigner. He was of about thirty-five years old, height over six feet tall, burly physique (muscular, strong, robust body) with long blond hair that cascaded down his shoulders.  Erland had never been married, he lived a solitary life, by choice, with his dog Longze as his sole companion, in a ramshackle hut at the edge of a dense forest, not far from the notable church.

This once a mighty warrior had a deep scar, from his eyebrow to chin, on his left cheek, which in part spoiled his very handsome features (face). He had many more scars under his tunic and on the rest of his body that told of many fought battles won or lost.  At the end of one such fierce battle, when the crimson ground was strewn (spotted) with dead and dying warriors, Erland searching for his fallen friend, had instead found Longze, a tiny little whelp no more than three months old, curled up beside a bloody corpse of a warrior; the puppy was cold and frightened, but refused to leave his master. Such resolute loyalty had tugged at Erland’s heartstrings, and he’d reached to pick him up. The puppy, despite its size was fierce and fought him, even bit his hand, which had made Erland love him all the more.  In time Longze, the name that had come to him in a premonitory dream shortly thereafter, and upon waking he’d called him by that name and the little puppy had responded to his call. Gradually Longze had accepted him as his new master and the two had since then had become basically (essentially,) inseparable.

03  PUPPY LONGZE 2

Erland, sometimes visited the local tavern to have a pint or two, always seated in a dark corner, rarely accepting company, with Longze always by his side.  Once or twice, Erland had acquiesced however, needing contact with another human soul and it had happened to be at around winter solstice and Christmas. On that particular night, feeling unusually sentimental, and thinking he had the other’s ear (that he was being heard), Erland, had reminisced (recalled) a time when his mother had spoken to him of hearing the chimes when she was but a little girl. In her waning years, always a devout Christian, she had mourned the fact that lately people had become more selfish and grown less generous in their hearts with their donations for the needy. That the last five years love and compassion for a fellow being had gradually diminished, in some cases had been entirely nonexistent; pomp and ceremony, hand in hand with greed and ambition taking root instead. As a result, when an offering was made without the purest heart and intentions and it had become only a show, it did not move the angels and justly did not merit the music of the chimes.

Erland stopping at this point, had quaffed (guzzled) a swig (mouthful) of the barely tolerable brew, for he’d imbibed better spirits in his heyday, then nodded morosely and then asked, not really expecting an answer, “As testament of these demoralizing times, when was the last time anyone had heard of the chimes?”

Even though wars had ended and on the surface, subsequent six or seven years, all seemed peaceful, there was a hidden coercion (undercurrent censorship) in that realm; and certainly, no one wanted to hear the truth; and so, the person seated across from Erland had typically fidgeted, blinking first with fright , then furtively casting  his stone gaze about him, to ascertain that no one had heard Erland’s rebellious tirade (rant). But Erland had kept his voice low, he was simply letting off steam, not a shout certainly that could be overheard amidst this drunken cacophony (discord, noise) of patrons (regulars) of the tavern. His burly companion, seeing he was safe, exhaled in relief as he, same time lowered his head and said nothing.

“Why did he bother?” Erland inwardly scoffed; angry that he was a wolf still living among sheep.

Swallowing his irritation however, Erland simply (bolted) rose to his feet, and with trusted companion dog Longze, wagging his tale, happy to be at last leaving this loud, stinky environment, trailing him, left the tavern.  

Subsequent winter had been particularly harsh for those living on the fringe (peripheral, the outlying areas). Snow and ice had permanently for months, covered the entire region. When the warrior Erland, having stayed out in the woods longer than he should, hunting for game, and later still chopped some wood, hence, was beset with fever, burning up in his bed, his exasperated dog Longze had finally on the third day left his side to go fetch him some help. But owing to the frantic, festive time, help was not that easy to get. Still, Erland’s faithful companion Longze, had unrelentingly tried and tried, seeking help, trying to fetch anyone, without avail, for his master.

                                                                                              ~

04- TAZA AND KALEN'S PARENTS

In a remote country village, several miles from the capital city Mortak, meanwhile, there lived a boy named Taza and his little brother Kalen. Their parents had once belonged to an indigenous group that had been systematically hunted to near extinction, because they had refused to forsake their heritage and conform to the rigid rules of this present regime.  Taza and Kalen’s highly educated parents who had chosen to live on the fringe, had always fostered tolerance of all spiritual beliefs and traditions; however, they had same time maintained their heritage (birthright) ideologies and different sort of religious beliefs... One embracing warship of Sun, Moon, Sky and the nature spirits.

Meanwhile, as the information about varied different religions were readily available at libraries and schools, Taza and Kalen had been drawn, especially at Christmas, to the religious practices of Christianity.  There were many beautiful aspects in that religious teachings (doctrines), and profuse (abundant) lessons and stories that had captivated their young imagination; hence, at Christmas time, they were as excited in their hearts and were eager to participate in copious (plentiful) religion’s traditions and festivities.

05- TAZA (22) JP

This winter marked the time, which their parents had been dead for over three years; fever had claimed them both, and Taza now at sixteen years old, as the sole provider, had done his best to in all that time, provide for his little brother Kalen. This was no small feat, for Kalen with his boundless exuberance, was a handful.

As education was widely available and was free (state funded) to all citizens, Taza and Kalen had continued with their schooling, and with their eager mind and insatiable appetites for acquiring new knowledge having never waned (diminished), each day they had borne (endured, weathered) the difficult terrain (topography) and at times harsh conditions of climate (weather, temperatures), and walked quite ways to attend school. It was during an ordinary school day that Kalen had overheard a group of kids that were eagerly discussing all the elaborate preparations their families (more than that, the whole congregation) had accomplished (fulfilled) for the upcoming Christmas celebrations.

Intrigued by all that he’d heard, Kalen, who was six years in age, later that day, had pleaded and pleaded with his elder brother Taza to take him to that particular spiritual white temple, the White Church. His curious nature demanded that he experienced it firsthand, for only then he would understand what all the fuss was about.  It was a perfect time to do this, as the school would be closed for ten days to also accommodate the winter solstice revelling, and other such, with groups rejoicing, with their own brand of festivities all over the region. Kalen had looked up at his brother with those wanting, puppy eyes, that always tugged at Taza’s heart’s strings. How could Taze say no?

06- KALEN (14) JP

This was also a particularly somber time for Taza and Kalen, as they watched joyful family interactions (exchanges), knowing they were all alone in the world; nevertheless, they did their best to celebrate, finding solace in the fact that they still had each other. They also carried the unwavering hope that Heaven would provide them with whatever they needed.

After a long consideration, Taza had answered yes, to Kalen, and watched him do a joyful dance, as he with his open palms reaching up to the sky, twirled about, elated, anticipating the thrilling adventure they were about to embark on.  

Always the responsible youth, Taza woke up at first daylight the following morning and bundled some dry rations, mainly two hard boiled eggs, half a loaf of bread, a clump of hard cheese, strips of dried meat and some seasonal berries, in a cloth and tied its ends. Leaving it on the side table, Taza then gently woke Kalen from his deep slumber; they had a quick breakfast, then Taza picking up the already prepared bundle, slung it over his shoulder and both exited their humble abode.

The days preceding (prior to) Christmas were always bitterly cold with frigid temperatures plunging below zero and made worse by thrashing winds that whipped and punished any wayward souls who dared venture outside.  Knowing this, they had set forth on their adventure with skins of water that hung at their waists and, both already dressed in several layers to escape the bitter, bone chilling hoarfrost (rime frost and ice).
For untold hours the boys trudged to cover the great distance to the place where the White Temple stood. Huddled together, they walked hand in hand bending their backs to brace themselves against the strong winds. The icy drizzle still however, mercilessly chilled them to the very marrow of their bones. By dusk they were tired, famished and exhausted, almost unable to take another step, yet the lights of the big structure now visible, perched on a hilltop, just ahead, egged them to soldier on.

At dusk, panting, they at long last approached the gates of the Temple ground; their eyes assessed the long gravely, icy path, configuring the steps they would still have to take before reaching the Temple’s doors.  From the look of things, the afternoon prayers had already been concluded; however, there was the evening prayers and activities yet to transpire, so the gates had remained wide open for the anticipated congregation (worshipers, flock, churchgoers, parishioners).

Taza and Kelon, though extremely tired, without stopping passed through the iron gates and began walking the long path; just then however, Taza spotted off to the side something dark on the snow and he veered off to take a closer look. It was a poor dog who had obviously suffered a mishap, some trauma and fallen into the shallow ditch. Stranded, he lay there practically half-dead, too sick and shivering with cold, to rise up and seek help. Rushing over, Taza knelt beside the poor thing, and carefully examined his injuries, paying particular attention to the incapacitated leg. Thankfully the bone was not broken but there was a deep slash (tear, cut) into the muscle, though not too serious and the wound was fresh. It had happened recently, for the blood was congealed, frozen but not black, the laceration not angry, therefore, no infection had set in.  Taza heaved a deep sigh of relief and before starting anything, checked the dog’s name tag, to find out his name. Longze was his name. Just then Longze had opened his eyelids and looked at Taza, his eyes searching, wanting something; next he then with some difficulty lifted his head, whimpering, nudging his nose on Taza’s hand and same time, strove to get up.

07- LONGZE INJURED AND IN DITCH

“Take it easy boy; I mean you no harm. Be still Longze… stay put, I’ll do my best to help you.” Taza talked to the dog soothingly as he, same time stroked the side of Longze’s keck.  He was good with animals that way. The poor thing was shivering, he was certainly freezing; without another thought, Taza took off his outer layer and wrapped it around the dog, to allow him some warmth. Understanding that he was also dehydrated, Taza fetched his waterskin; intelligent animal that Lonze was, he opened his mouth and allowed Taza to trickle some water down his throat.  

Taza next began tending the injured leg carefully as if he had all the time in the world. Fortunately, Taza had also packed some salve (lotion, ointment, balm), a healing liniment, which he carried in his pocket for just in case they got scraped or injured.

First, by rubbing some snow on the area, Taza carefully cleaned the laceration (slash) on the leg, then applied the salve on it. Next, he cut long strips off his tunic and used it to bandage the wound.

While he’d done all that, Kelan had stood by patiently, watching him intently, though he registered deep concern and impatience in his eyes, for they were in a snowy field, some ways off the path.  Kalen feared that when darkness descended on them, no one would know they are there. The sky laden with clouds and this, coupled with the diminishing light of the setting sun, would soon shroud (blanket) them in pitch darkness and invisible.

Just then, as if reading his mind, Taza suddenly looked up and addressed his little brother, “It’s no use, Kalen; I can’t leave Longze in this condition. You go on ahead to the church, without me.”

“Alone?” cried Kalen in a fearful voice. “No, I can’t. I can’t let you ... miss the Christmas Festival.”

“You are brave, just go on by yourself. I’ll be fine and, I’ll be right here when you come back. I must tend to his other needs; there is still more to be done.  I know he’s starving.”

Taza then questioned the canine: “How long has it been boy, since you’ve eaten?”  He asked the poor thing, not expecting any answer. He looked at those soulful eyes of Longze, who lacked (human speech) vernacular ability to communicate something that was obviously vital(critical)… That of which wasn’t about him…. It was something imperative, something else.

“How horrible it must be, to be without the faculty of human speech?”  Taza pensively nodded his head and then turned to look at Kalen, who remained reluctant to leave, and pleaded.
“Go on Kalen; please don’t make things any harder, I can’t leave him in this state!”

Kalen knitted his brows and pouted; then, with certain resignation, turned to go.

“Oh, wait…”  Taza suddenly urgently cried out, remembering something.  He then quickly reached deep into to his inner pocket and withdrew a treasured object for his little brother to take.

“I’d done some preliminary reading on this religion; offerings could also be made at this particular time for the souls of the departed; it will bring them apt solace in afterlife. If you get a chance, little brother, to slip up to the altar without getting in anyone's way, please take this little wooden angel (which I’ve carved) and (the copper  coin) the two pence, and place them all down, as our offering, before the icon (image) of their deity, for our parents’ sake, when no one is looking. That way it will be the same as me going there. "

08 -KALEN HOLDING ANGEL AND TWO COINS (15) JP 2

Kalen had simply nodded and then with a heavy heart left Taza; someways down, he looked back over his shoulder and saw that his brother Taza was now feeding the strips of dried meat they had taken along, to the one that needed it the most. Kalen smiled in approval, thinking how fortunate he was to have such a kind, loving brother, which made him feel that instant, warm and safe all over.

“You can do this; you are no coward!” Thereafter, sticking his chin out, he hastened his steps, to reach the procession of the people, that had alighted (descended) from their posh (grand) carriages and were presently ascending (climbing), the stairs of the Temple.

The decked-out interior of the great church was truly a magnificent place that night. The decorations, lights and glitter, all the displays, riches he’d never seen the like of before simply took his little breath away. A small urchin like himself was virtually invisible amidst the procession as they took their gifts for the Christ Child to the altar.
Some worshipers laid down wonderful jewels; some gave baskets with massive amounts of gold so heavy they could scarcely carry them down the aisle. A famed author laid down his prized work, a book he had, after many years, just completed.

09- FAMOUS AUTHOR OFFERS A BOOK

Then the King and Queen appeared in all their majesty, hoping, like the least petitioner, to win for themselves the music of the Christmas chimes. A great murmur rippled through the church as the people witnessed the King, additionally, taking his priceless golden crown, set with diamonds and rare precious gems, from his head and laying it to gleam on the alter as his offering to the Christ Child.

“Surely, “They intoned in unison, “Surely we shall hear the bells now.” But the chimes did not ring. Not even a whimper was heard.

When the gifts were all on the altar, prayers uttered, long sermon ended and finally, the choir began the closing hymn…. And still no chimes manifesting…. By degrees, the disappointed crowd, murmuring under their breath, slowly but surely, began to disperse.

Suddenly however, the organist had abruptly ceased (stopped) his playing; and everyone shocked (holding their breath), looked aghast at the old Priest, who was holding up his hand for silence.

“What’s this?” A hushed murmur rippled through the air.

For unmistakably, when the people strained their ears and listened hard, there came at first a manifest unearthly sound of akin harp; but then, resonating through the air, softly but distinctly, ensued (materialized) the heavenly music of the chimes in the tower!

The divine music seemed so far away and yet so clear. The notes were so much sweeter than any sound they had ever heard. Melody rising and falling in the sky was so entrancing that the people in the church held their breath and stood perfectly still.

Then they all stood up together and stared at the altar, wanting to see what great gift had awakened these long-silent chimes. But all the nearest of them saw was the figure of Kalen, who had crept softly down the aisle, perfectly unseen and placed Taza’s little wooden angel and the two pieces of copper on the altar. He’d then quickly left, never realizing the miracle he’d gifted to the people.

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

 

The story could well end here, but not just yet.

 

The two brothers, Taza and Kalen, had followed the guidance of the Longze, part carrying him, part following him, that night, to finally, after a long trek, they had reached the wooden cabin at the edge of the forest.

Inside, they discovered, the ailing Erland, still in the grip of fever but stubbornly hanging onto life.

 Longze, with renewed strength had rushed to the side of his master, nuzzling Erland’s head and whimpering to him that help was there, to hang on. The warrior Erland seemed to understand his dog’s urgent pleas and forced open his eyes to take a good long look at Taza. He nodded his head and closed his eyes, though temporarily.

Taza, despite his young age, knew exactly what to do, for after his parent’s demise, he had diligently studied and acquired the amassed knowledge of how to cure this terrible fever which had taken so many lives.

He had been motivated since that time, with strong determination not to have this sickness rob anyone else of a loved one, not if he could help it. He’d poured into books absorbing, learning every bit of knowledge that provided the cure and moreover, he had sought the help of homeopathic healers nearby. And learned to identify the key plants that was helpful in eliminating some of the symptoms.  These accrued (combined) information permanently committed to memory; he set to work at once to help cure this ailing solitary warrior Erland.

As Taza tended to the sick warrior Erland, little brave Kalen and Longze proved two useful assistants in foraging (finding) the necessary herbs, which was essentially easy feat, once one knew where to find it

Local physicians could not have achieved what Taza did after a week; for he had put his heart and his very soul into curing Erland.  Taza during that week, many a night loosing sleep, had worked (diligently) tireless, long laborious hours, to diminish Erland’s fever and afford him comfort. Then as his condition began to improve, Taza nursed him back to health by providing him apt nourishment and allowing warrior’s own natural immune system to also assist in speeding up his convalescence. 

And yes, Erland finally recovered; he was so filled with gratitude and loved these two boys, understanding how very heroic, self-sacrificing, stoic, precious things they were, that he later, formally (legally) adapted them as his children. And so, a loving family (of four) was formed, including Longze of course.  Longza lived to a ripe old age (dog’s years), contended and never lacking for anything.

Erland was also, for the first time ever, was at peace with his past; he spent the rest of his life protecting, nurturing Taza and Kalen and bringing them up proper and later still, passing on his warrior skills onto them.

 

The End

HUNTER AND THE BOBCAT (REVISED BY BOST 2025)

HUNTER AND THE BOBCAT 

(REVISED BY BOST 2025)

Once there was a great hunter and his family who lived, at high altitude and in a remote part of the Northern wilderness. As they were a long distance from any other dwelling or settlement, it was seldom that they saw any faces other than those of their own household.

The mighty hunter, tall, stout, with long shoulder length black hair and raven black eyes, was nevertheless content living in isolation, for he had a fair wife and two healthy, boisterous sons. Sons that were so much like him in both character and in temperament. One day they will also be a mighty hunters same as him. He was glad of that. But for now, each day his two young sons were left in the lodge while he went out hunting in quest of the game whose flesh was their primary source of food.

Game was very abundant in those days and his labors in the hunt and chase were often well rewarded. His two sons were still too young to accompany him and so all day long they were free to play make believe and discover things so long as they played within the confines of the lodge.

Observant as they were, they once espied a young man who visited the lodge during their father’s absence, and noted that these visits became more frequent as time went by.

Curiosity winning over, once the elder of the two asked his mother in all innocence:

"Mommy, tell us who this tall young man is that comes here so often during our father's absence.  Does the stranger wished to see father, but misses him? Shall we tell father when he comes back this evening so he can delay his departure time just a little?"

"Donquri, you little fool," said the mother angrily, "this is grown up business, mind your bow and arrows, and do not be afraid to enter the forest in search of birds and squirrels, with your little brother. It is not manly to be ever about the lodge. Nor will you ever grow up to become a warrior if you tell fibs or all the little things that you see and hear to your father. Say not a word to him about this."

The boys obeyed, but as they grew older and still noticed the visits of the stranger, their gut feeling being ill at ease, they resolved to speak again to their mother.

They now told her that they meant to make known to their father all that they had witnessed, for they frequently saw this young man passing through the woods, and he did not walk in the path, nor did he carry anything to eat. If he had any message to deliver at their lodge, why did he not give it to their father? For they had observed in other cases, that messages were always addressed to men, and not to women.

When her sons spoke thus to her, the mother was greatly perturbed. Fear took hold in her heart and she in great fury admonished them:

“You are still both young and have no real comprehension of things.  Hence, you should not interfere in adult concerns. If you insist with your meddling and cause trouble, I will be forced to be more severe. “She said, "I warn you both, do not speak of this to your father or me ever again!"

In fear they, for a time, held their peace, but still noted that the stranger’s frequent stealthy visits to the lodge persisted, they long at last resolved to brave any consequence and disclose this fact their father. Their loyalty to their father demanded it after all!

Accordingly, one day when they were out in the woods, by then having grown up and learned to follow the chase, they caught up with their father and quickly told him all that they had seen in the past.

They watched with worrying eyes as the anger manifested on their father’s face then grew unnaturally dark. He remained silent and still for a while, and when at length he looked up there was unholy fire flaming in his pupils.

"It is done!" he said. "My children I ask that you tarry here until the hour of the setting sun, and then come to the lodge and you will find me there."

In two shakes of a hat, he was at the lodge. The door flew open, and he barged right in resembling a big fierce bear ready to tear everything about him into smithereens.

But she was seated lone mending some tears in the children’s coats.

“Where is he?” He bellowed.

“Who?” She cried out in fear.

“You know very well who?” He murderously grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her senseless. “You broke your promise... Now I shall not beholden to my promise. I shall vanquish your kind one and all.” He growled at her.

She knew no amount of pleading will be of any use. He was heartless, a brutal hunter that had no compunction about killing entire species and wiping them from the mountains.  Long ago on that terrible day he’d cornered her and her younger brother after killing her parents, the two little bobcat pups were shivering with fright.

He was   about to deal both a death blow when she had stood in front of her brother to protect him and swore by the Great Spirit of the Mountains, that if spared, she would serve him (this brute) without complaint to the end of her days. The Great Spirit, moved by pity, had answered her prayers, and turned her into a human. The hunter in turn had promised never to hunt her kind, so long as she stayed away even from her brother and served only him.  

Tears streamed from her face remembering that cursed day and all the miserable days after that when she was not free and missed her brother terribly.  Her only solace was that her kind was left alone from then on to thrive and hunt in the mountain whereas all other predators faced extinction without mercy from the Hunter. Some species were hunted to extinction. Meanwhile her brother had grown up among other bobcats that adopted him. Missing his sister terribly, he’d eventually tracked her scent and found her for the bond of kinship was very strong.

She was fearful for what the Hunter might do if he ever found out; still she could not help herself, for she loved her brother dearly. He called on her frequently and relayed to her all the news about her kind which somewhat mitigated her homesickness.

She pleaded and pleaded with the hunter for his mercy.  But he was bent on revenge and called on the Great Spirit to punish her.  The Great Spirit constrained by Heavenly laws, punished her for violating her promise; hence, she was turned into a horrid version of a Bobcat.  And so from then on she was barred from having any contact with her children as well as being shunned by her own kind. Tragically, she was condemned to live a horrible existence for the duration of her natural life, always lurking in the shadows.

Meanwhile, the two ingrate sons, that had more their father’s genes (DNA) than their mother’s, remained sporting away the time till the hour for their return had come.

When they reached the lodge the mother was not there. They dared not to ask their father whither she had gone, and from that day forth her name was never spoken again in the lodge.

In the course of time the two boys grew to be men and, although the mother was nevermore seen neither in the lodge nor on the paths in the forest, nor by the river side, bound by maternal affection (love), she still lingered near the lodge.

Changed, but the same, with ghastly looks and arms that were withered, she appeared to her sons as they returned from the hunt, in the twilight.

At night she darkly unlatched the lodge-door and glided in and bent over them as they sought to sleep. Oftenest it was her bare brow, white, and bony, and bodiless, that they saw floating in the air, and making a mock of them in the wild paths of the forest, or in the midnight darkness of the lodge.

Fuelled with false facts, with outraged bias against her, the sons viewed their mother as a terror that hunted their peace and lives.  They cursed her existence for according to them she made every spot where they had seen her, hideous to the living eye. The hunter never witnessed such; still he was frustrated and grew somewhat weary of his sons’ complaints. Finally, his sons were resolved, together with their father, now stricken in years, to leave the wilderness.

They began a journey toward the South, where there would be settlements. After traveling many days along the shore of a great lake, they passed around a craggy bluff, and came upon a scene where there was a rough fall of waters, and a river issuing forth from the lake.

In pursuit of them the mother came out of the woods in the form of a giant, grotesque, rabid bobcat. At this moment, one of them looked out and saw a stately crane sitting on a rock in the middle of the rapids. They called out to the bird, "See, grandfather, how we are persecuted? Come and take us across the falls that we may escape her."

The crane so addressed was of extraordinary size, and had arrived at a great old age, and, as might be expected, he sat, when first described by the two sons, in a state of profound thought, revolving his long experience of life there in the midst of the most violent eddies.

When he heard himself appealed to, the crane stretched forth his neck with great deliberation, and lifting himself slowly by his wings, he flew across to their assistance.

"Be careful," said the old crane, "that you do not touch the crown of my head. I am bald from age and long service and very tender at that spot. Should you be so unlucky as to lay a hand upon it, I shall not be able to avoid throwing you both in the rapids."

They paid strict heed to his directions and were soon safely landed on the other shore of the river. He returned and carried the father in the same way; and then took his place once more where he had been first seen in the very midst of the eddies of the stream.

But the woman, who had by this time reached the shore, cried out, "Come, my grandfather, and carry me over, for I have lost my children, and I am sorely distressed."

The aged bird, now questioning his earlier judgement, at first obeyed her summons, and flew to her side. He was a suspicious sort and seeing how hideous she looked in her grotesque bobcat form, once more doubted her story.  She had to have been an evil spirit in pursuit. She would harm them soon as she crossed the water. And so feeling rather noble he harboured a secret desire to harm this evil spirit and defend them. He carefully repeated the warning, expecting her to disregard it, that she was not to touch the crown of his head. Outwardly he begged her to bear in mind that she should respect his old age, if there was any sense of virtue left in her.

She promised to obey; but they were no sooner fairly embarked in the stream, that instantly the crane cast her into the rapids, and shook his wings as if to free himself of all acquaintance with her.

“Why have you wronged me?” She cried as she sunk in the raging stream. The woman disappeared, was straightway carried by the rapid currents far out into the waters, and in the wide wilderness of shore-less depth, without companion or solace, and was lost forever.

“I’m preventing you from harming any other, you foul creature!” He responded very much pleased with himself for doing the noble thing. 

Suddenly however the gust of wind derailed him and unable to find his bearing, he too plummeted into the waters.

“What a fool!” The hunter gritted his teeth for the loss of such a fine meal. They picked themselves off the ground and trudged along to find some other game to satisfy their growing hunger.

The mountain spirit could stand this injustice no longer, and in one breath, turned the hunter and his sons all to field mouse.

They deservedly from then on live in fear and hunted by many.

Meanwhile, the mountain spirit, being merciful, had also breathed life into her lungs, and no, she did not perish as the rest had assumed. Her unconscious body was delicately carried off by torrents (fast flowing streams) to further down the river and reaching a tributary, therefore, missing the dangerous, cascading waterfall, she was gently deposited on the shoreline. Heaven works in mysterious ways; it so happened that her brother the bobcat had been in pursuit of a game which led him to that very spot where she was beached. To cut the long story short, the two siblings were re-united, and from then on, she lived blissfully (joyfully) among her kind, forsaking forever the human form, as a beautiful bobcat.

Fin

 

The Giver Should Be Thankful

 The Giver Should Be Thankful 

Two Persimmons, Kono Bairei (1844-1895) - 1890

 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. ”

Ohara Koson (1877-1945)- Night Heron Under a Crescent Moon

Fini

 

 

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