Chapter 13
Winter, 1236 – The Unknown Lands
“You should not have done this thing.”
“I know.” The foolish old man hung his head in shame as he laid the last sacred stone into the circle on the dusty floor.
“You risk your own dharma to even remain near one who walks the path of violence and death.” The guru reached out with his crooked staff and touched the stone circle. A spiral of light and heat spun around the stones and curled in towards the middle.
“I know.” The old man gathered fistfuls of flowers and leaves from the hundreds that filled every part of the rude tree-bound hut. He threw them onto the stones. “I had no choice.” A plume of grey smoke swirled upwards, filling the air with a sweet and exotic scent. “That is why I have asked you to come.”
The guru spread a broad hand, palm down, over the smoke. He recited a prayer, the ancient sutra of creation. The smoke shifted color from grey to a pure white. “There is always choice. Tell me why you have done this thing. Only then may I truly be able to advise you where the path of good dharma lies.” He sat, lay his staff across his lap, and looked at the old man expectantly.
The old man glanced over at the silent corner of the room. He crouched down on the ground across from his teacher, the smoke rising between them. With a sigh, he began his tale.
“I listened to the trees and found the forest was greatly disturbed. The greatest story I heard was that the Bonedrinker was dead. I know to feel gratitude for this is to imperil my hopes for Svargam. But the Bonedrinker is no natural creature. It burns with the eternal hunger and has caused much violence for the last century. It preys on our kind. I felt gratitude to think that such a demon might be returned to the wheel. But I needed to know this truth for myself.
In the lands of the Bonedrinker, I found it was true. The eaters of the dead had come, but there was no mistaking. I did not go near. Satisfied, I turned towards home. As I journeyed, I saw before me a fan of white spread across the forest floor, concealed by leaves. I thought it was a great egret, most beautiful of the birds of the jungle. I mourned its passing. But then it moved slightly. I immediately thought it must be hurt. For the sake of its beauty and majesty, I resolved to show it compassion and bring it healing, that it might bring further joy and beauty to the forest. I hurried to give it aid. It was not until I reached its side that I realized it was no egret. It was this.”
The foolish old man gestured to the corner of the room. There lay, under a covering of brown cloth woven of simple plant fiber, the unconscious body of a young woman. Her white hair spilled around her and her tanned skin held the sickly pallor of death. “I had already resolved to act in compassion. To refuse to render that compassion when I saw its true nature would be to render a violence upon it based on its place on the wheel. I had no choice.”
The guru nodded thoughtfully, scratching his hairy stomach in thought as he listened to the old man’s words. “Perhaps. But the provisions of compassion do not compel us to aid the cannibal. It is their nature to feast upon their own. We are to avoid them lest we be tempted into violence to save our own lives. Their spirits have become corrupted with the eating of flesh. We pray for their swift return to the wheel.”
The white smoke swirled around the foolish old man as he answered and started to disperse as the plants turned to ash. “I thought the same, Ou’bouji. I too have silently watched them from the shadows. But I smell its skin. I see the stains of its past. This one has tasted no hot blood, only that of the cold fish and insect, much as the egret itself. If I did not condemn the egret, I could not condemn this one. I had no choice but to bring it here and care for it, as I had originally agreed within my own spirit. Viveka, the path of discernment, demanded it.”
“Humm.” Ou’bouji shifted heavily to his feet. “I can see the difficulty. What of the knife, Yu’genta? The knives are their instruments of destruction. They tell the fuller story.” He leaned on his staff and removed the gourd from the end of it.
The old man, Yu’genta, gestured with a broad hairy hand to the opposite corner of the hut, where, discarded like a couple of abandoned sticks, were a pair of blades. Each were in a shiny and glistening sheath, like a pair of fish.
“Their fates are bound together. Knife and human. I had to bring them.”
Ou’bouji made a low rumbling noise of distaste. “You risk being made Shojo for even touching this. Such things are not of the Vānara.”
The old man tilted his head and looked at the Guru with a lack of understanding. “We take and protect many such things when we find them. Hide them. They are not ours to destroy, but we keep them from being used.”
Ou’bouji paused, then slowly nodded. “You are right. I spoke too hastily. It is the one who wields the tool that does evil, not the tool itself. Even tools to cause great violence. Still...” He slowly approached the pair of swords, picking one up, then the other, smelling them with a flattened nose. “There is a history of violence, it is true. But the only blood I smell within the last quarter century is...” he sniffed again, “...that of...the Bonedrinker?” He dropped the sword with a clatter. “So that is why.”
Yu’genta nodded. “Yes. Not only had I already chosen compassion, but the violence done saves the lives of our people. So I brought it here. I cast it into the deep sleep, for its wounds caused pain beyond bearing. I lowered the fever and drew forth the flies. I cleansed the blood and bound the wounds. But it will be months before it can travel. The lung will never heal or function again. ”
The old man, Yu’genta, hung his head. “I do not know the right action to take. It is a creature of violence and madness. If I awaken it, it likely to do violence to me. And if not me, to others. As the scorpion knows only its sting, its nature exists only in violence.” He pressed his knuckles against the ground as he swung to his feet. “I am willing to take the burden of keeping it asleep, here, for the rest of its life. It will only live fifty or sixty monsoons longer. If it sleeps, it can do no more violence.”
The guru, Ou’bouji, turned and approached the fire again, unstoppering the gourd. “That is worthy. But to do so would prevent it from completing the dharma it was sent in this form to accomplish. Before the summoning of the great Destruction, the Vānara helped the holiest, those who tried to follow the path of Brahmin. These can grow towards enlightenment in this form, even in a limited way. If there was more this one was meant to complete before it is returned to the wheel, that would not be achieved. It could not progress to a higher life.” He sprinkled droplets of liquid from the gourd onto the glowing circle. New smoke arose, this time a pale blue.
“Yes, Guru Ou’bouji. What is your recommendation?” The old man of the woods, his once orange hair now almost gray with age, crouched down before his honored guide.
Ou’bouji, his broad gray face troubled at the deep questions, looked down at the sacred stones. “Your actions have been worthy, and you have shown no temptation to fall into human vice in this. To let it stay sleeping would be kind and easy and safe. But courage too is a virtue. If it launches into violence, I will support you and show you how to quickly return it to lifelong sleep. If it does not, then it may earn its dharma here, far from the ways of violence. You may be destined to teach it. Or it may leave and let the violence of the jungle guide its path to the end its futures hold. ”
Yu’genta knuckled his forehead in agreement. It would be awakened.
The heavy, pungent smell of eucalyptus filled the air. The sound of drumming shook the floor and walls of the hut. Ou’bouji held up his staff, ready to unleash the power of dreams to protect them both from the creature’s wrath. But Yu’genta shook a rattle over the sleeping form and chanted the Sutra of the Dawn.
For a few minutes, it seemed like nothing would happen. That the dreams that held this one and kept it from pain would never release it.
But as the smoke cleared and a shaft of sunlight fell upon its face, this white-haired creature, born to a legacy and a destiny of violence, opened her stormy gray eyes.
Winter, 1236 – The Unknown Lands
“You should not have done this thing.”
“I know.” The foolish old man hung his head in shame as he laid the last sacred stone into the circle on the dusty floor.
“You risk your own dharma to even remain near one who walks the path of violence and death.” The guru reached out with his crooked staff and touched the stone circle. A spiral of light and heat spun around the stones and curled in towards the middle.
“I know.” The old man gathered fistfuls of flowers and leaves from the hundreds that filled every part of the rude tree-bound hut. He threw them onto the stones. “I had no choice.” A plume of grey smoke swirled upwards, filling the air with a sweet and exotic scent. “That is why I have asked you to come.”
The guru spread a broad hand, palm down, over the smoke. He recited a prayer, the ancient sutra of creation. The smoke shifted color from grey to a pure white. “There is always choice. Tell me why you have done this thing. Only then may I truly be able to advise you where the path of good dharma lies.” He sat, lay his staff across his lap, and looked at the old man expectantly.
The old man glanced over at the silent corner of the room. He crouched down on the ground across from his teacher, the smoke rising between them. With a sigh, he began his tale.
“I listened to the trees and found the forest was greatly disturbed. The greatest story I heard was that the Bonedrinker was dead. I know to feel gratitude for this is to imperil my hopes for Svargam. But the Bonedrinker is no natural creature. It burns with the eternal hunger and has caused much violence for the last century. It preys on our kind. I felt gratitude to think that such a demon might be returned to the wheel. But I needed to know this truth for myself.
In the lands of the Bonedrinker, I found it was true. The eaters of the dead had come, but there was no mistaking. I did not go near. Satisfied, I turned towards home. As I journeyed, I saw before me a fan of white spread across the forest floor, concealed by leaves. I thought it was a great egret, most beautiful of the birds of the jungle. I mourned its passing. But then it moved slightly. I immediately thought it must be hurt. For the sake of its beauty and majesty, I resolved to show it compassion and bring it healing, that it might bring further joy and beauty to the forest. I hurried to give it aid. It was not until I reached its side that I realized it was no egret. It was this.”
The foolish old man gestured to the corner of the room. There lay, under a covering of brown cloth woven of simple plant fiber, the unconscious body of a young woman. Her white hair spilled around her and her tanned skin held the sickly pallor of death. “I had already resolved to act in compassion. To refuse to render that compassion when I saw its true nature would be to render a violence upon it based on its place on the wheel. I had no choice.”
The guru nodded thoughtfully, scratching his hairy stomach in thought as he listened to the old man’s words. “Perhaps. But the provisions of compassion do not compel us to aid the cannibal. It is their nature to feast upon their own. We are to avoid them lest we be tempted into violence to save our own lives. Their spirits have become corrupted with the eating of flesh. We pray for their swift return to the wheel.”
The white smoke swirled around the foolish old man as he answered and started to disperse as the plants turned to ash. “I thought the same, Ou’bouji. I too have silently watched them from the shadows. But I smell its skin. I see the stains of its past. This one has tasted no hot blood, only that of the cold fish and insect, much as the egret itself. If I did not condemn the egret, I could not condemn this one. I had no choice but to bring it here and care for it, as I had originally agreed within my own spirit. Viveka, the path of discernment, demanded it.”
“Humm.” Ou’bouji shifted heavily to his feet. “I can see the difficulty. What of the knife, Yu’genta? The knives are their instruments of destruction. They tell the fuller story.” He leaned on his staff and removed the gourd from the end of it.
The old man, Yu’genta, gestured with a broad hairy hand to the opposite corner of the hut, where, discarded like a couple of abandoned sticks, were a pair of blades. Each were in a shiny and glistening sheath, like a pair of fish.
“Their fates are bound together. Knife and human. I had to bring them.”
Ou’bouji made a low rumbling noise of distaste. “You risk being made Shojo for even touching this. Such things are not of the Vānara.”
The old man tilted his head and looked at the Guru with a lack of understanding. “We take and protect many such things when we find them. Hide them. They are not ours to destroy, but we keep them from being used.”
Ou’bouji paused, then slowly nodded. “You are right. I spoke too hastily. It is the one who wields the tool that does evil, not the tool itself. Even tools to cause great violence. Still...” He slowly approached the pair of swords, picking one up, then the other, smelling them with a flattened nose. “There is a history of violence, it is true. But the only blood I smell within the last quarter century is...” he sniffed again, “...that of...the Bonedrinker?” He dropped the sword with a clatter. “So that is why.”
Yu’genta nodded. “Yes. Not only had I already chosen compassion, but the violence done saves the lives of our people. So I brought it here. I cast it into the deep sleep, for its wounds caused pain beyond bearing. I lowered the fever and drew forth the flies. I cleansed the blood and bound the wounds. But it will be months before it can travel. The lung will never heal or function again. ”
The old man, Yu’genta, hung his head. “I do not know the right action to take. It is a creature of violence and madness. If I awaken it, it likely to do violence to me. And if not me, to others. As the scorpion knows only its sting, its nature exists only in violence.” He pressed his knuckles against the ground as he swung to his feet. “I am willing to take the burden of keeping it asleep, here, for the rest of its life. It will only live fifty or sixty monsoons longer. If it sleeps, it can do no more violence.”
The guru, Ou’bouji, turned and approached the fire again, unstoppering the gourd. “That is worthy. But to do so would prevent it from completing the dharma it was sent in this form to accomplish. Before the summoning of the great Destruction, the Vānara helped the holiest, those who tried to follow the path of Brahmin. These can grow towards enlightenment in this form, even in a limited way. If there was more this one was meant to complete before it is returned to the wheel, that would not be achieved. It could not progress to a higher life.” He sprinkled droplets of liquid from the gourd onto the glowing circle. New smoke arose, this time a pale blue.
“Yes, Guru Ou’bouji. What is your recommendation?” The old man of the woods, his once orange hair now almost gray with age, crouched down before his honored guide.
Ou’bouji, his broad gray face troubled at the deep questions, looked down at the sacred stones. “Your actions have been worthy, and you have shown no temptation to fall into human vice in this. To let it stay sleeping would be kind and easy and safe. But courage too is a virtue. If it launches into violence, I will support you and show you how to quickly return it to lifelong sleep. If it does not, then it may earn its dharma here, far from the ways of violence. You may be destined to teach it. Or it may leave and let the violence of the jungle guide its path to the end its futures hold. ”
Yu’genta knuckled his forehead in agreement. It would be awakened.
The heavy, pungent smell of eucalyptus filled the air. The sound of drumming shook the floor and walls of the hut. Ou’bouji held up his staff, ready to unleash the power of dreams to protect them both from the creature’s wrath. But Yu’genta shook a rattle over the sleeping form and chanted the Sutra of the Dawn.
For a few minutes, it seemed like nothing would happen. That the dreams that held this one and kept it from pain would never release it.
But as the smoke cleared and a shaft of sunlight fell upon its face, this white-haired creature, born to a legacy and a destiny of violence, opened her stormy gray eyes.
