The Long Path to Wisdom Page 5

  In the meantime Khun San Lo had returned from his journey. At home he found only his overbearing mother, who reported how lazy and self-indulgent his bride had been; how she had soon left the house wishing never to hear from him again. “Forget her,” was the embittered old woman’s only advice.

  Khun San Lo could not believe it. No, he thought. I love my dear wife; I must go to her. He set off without delay. But he was too late; Nang Oo Pyin had died just hours before his arrival in her village. At her deathbed her parents told him the truth, and he died beside his true love from grief and a broken heart.

  The following day the greatest honor was to be bestowed on them: Their bodies would be burned on a funeral pyre. But Khun San Lo’s mother had followed him, and when she saw him lying in state beside the hated daughter-in-law she ran straight up and laid a three-sectioned bamboo staff between the couple. Neither in death, nor even in their future lives would the two be united!

  And so the souls of the couple live on among the stars in a constellation where two resplendent stars are separated by three fainter ones. As for the dead child, it transformed into a tiny bird that to this very day sings the most heart-wrenching of all birdsongs. The Burmese call it a sorrowbird.

  In a remote village there lived an old widow. Though very poor, she was pious and devout. She had no family, but everyone held her in high regard, not least of all because they could see her through a window in her hut each night kneeling before a little altar and praying for the entire village. By the light of a little oil lamp she would recite Buddhist scriptures, and she would end each night’s ritual with the following refrain: “May all creatures live in health and peace.”

  One evening, however, the neighbors noticed that she had neither lit her lamp nor knelt before her altar. Her hut stood dark and quiet. Eventually they started to worry. Had some misfortune befallen the old woman?

  A few of the neighbors eventually worked up the courage to go and inquire about her well-being. Night had already fallen when they knocked delicately at her door, asking: “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “I am fine,” came the reply through the door. The villagers returned to their homes relieved but still confused.

  On subsequent evenings it was just the same. No lamp was lit; no prayer was uttered. The villagers grew uneasy. What could have happened? Whyever was she neglecting the Buddha’s teachings? Had she turned aside from the righteous path?

  Some of the residents eventually returned to the old woman’s house and told her quite openly what was troubling them: “We have grown so accustomed to your nightly recitation and prayers; it confuses and distresses us that you no longer seem so pious and devout.”

  The widow nodded thoughtfully. “I will explain everything. After my husband died I managed, through hard work, to set aside five precious silver coins. A few days ago a thief broke into my hut and stole those five coins. I am so dismayed that I can no longer pray.” She shook her head sadly and bid her visitors a friendly but firm good night.

  The news spread quickly, and it was not long before people decided something must be done to help the old woman. The villagers managed to scrape together five silver coins that they proudly presented to the widow.

  The next night a small crowd gathered in front of her house to witness the resumption of the evening prayers. But still the hut was quiet and dark. After a while the villagers stormed up the steps, banged on the door, and demanded: “We’ve replaced your silver coins, ma’am! What’s keeping you from your prayers?”

  “Ah, children,” replied the old woman, “it’s true that thanks to your generosity I am once again in possession of five silver coins. But still I can find no peace of mind, for now I cannot help but think that if I had never been robbed, I would actually have ten silver coins!”

  Back when the Buddha still wandered the earth, there lived a little skylark. She had judiciously selected the most suitable grasses for her nest, favoring only the dry, faded blades that offered the best camouflage for her cushioned bower amid the tangled gray branches of undergrowth. When the nest was complete she laid her eggs gingerly, one after the other, taking especial care that their delicate shells did not touch. She kept a tireless watch and sheltered her clutch with her feathers, particularly during the sweltering heat of the day or when the wind swept across the grassland, threatening to dislodge the little nest.

  A week or so later the skylark sensed that the chicks would soon hatch. A joyful occasion, yet the little bird worried. During the night she had heard a thunderous din in the distance. The ominous way it made her nest quiver had robbed her of all sleep. Soon enough it became clear that the mother bird’s fears were completely justified, for the source of the disturbance was drawing closer. It was not long before a gigantic cloud of gray dust appeared some distance away. The clamor intensified, the dust cloud darkened, and the little bird realized that only a herd of elephants could cause such a tumult. And they were making straight for her nest.

  Gathering all her courage, the little skylark scanned the area for a place where she might stop the herd before they reached her hedge. The little creature valiantly took up her post, determined to divert the oncoming beasts. The earth quaked beneath the mighty weight of the elephants, but the little skylark dug her claws into the dirt and stood her ground. As the contours of the first elephant emerged from the dust cloud she lifted her wings and bowed her head before him. She implored him to alter the path of the herd. The white leader was taken aback by this little bird who dared to pit herself against them, and he stopped to hear what she had to say. The skylark described her dire circumstance, how her delicate nest filled with eggs would be destroyed if the herd continued on their present course. Moved by the selfless courage of this tiny creature, the leader promised to give the nest and its contents a wide berth. But as he trod past he warned the skylark of the last elephant in the group, a wild and mutinous individual who would not be swayed by the leader. About this unruly beast’s behavior the leader could make no promises.

  As soon as the leader changed course, the other elephants followed his example. Every one of them took care to remain a suitable distance from the nest and its eggs. Only the last elephant disregarded the bird’s request. Infuriated that such an insignificant creature would try in any way to influence an animal as large and majestic as himself, this headstrong pachyderm stubbornly followed his original course. When he reached the hedge where the nest lay, the gray monster purposefully trampled it, smashing all the eggs beneath his ponderous feet.

  The skylark was grief-stricken at the loss of her nest and eggs. Her sorrow turned quickly to rage and a lust for revenge. Overcome with fury, the little bird swore to make the elephant pay. Her oath did not trouble the elephant in the least, however. He pointed out that there was little a skylark could do against his massive thick-skinned body, even if she managed to turn all the skylarks in the area against him. Amused by this thought, the elephant continued on his path of destruction, trampling heedlessly through the bush. This contempt only intensified the skylark’s longing for vengeance, but a successful counterstrike called for a good strategy, so she summoned all of the animals of the bush to a council. Among the attendants were many close friends. When she reported what had happened there was unanimous agreement that such a cruel misdeed must be avenged.

  It would be the crow’s job to land on the giant animal and blind him by pecking out his eyes—the crow was justifiably feared for her razor-sharp beak. It would then be up to the fly to lay her eggs in the festering wounds; when the larvae hatched they would feed off the adjacent tissue so that the edges of the wounds would rankle and putrefy. As a result, the elephant would suffer fever and thirst. Then it would be the frog’s turn. Since the blind elephant was likely to stumble about in search of some opportunity to quench his burning thirst, the frog would croak contentedly as if sitting on the bank of a cool river or stream. Unable to see and close to dying from thirst, the elephant would naturally
assume that the croaking indicated a nearby water source and so follow the frog’s voice. In reality, the frog would be drawing him to the edge of a cliff. At the critical moment the frog would fall silent, thus robbing the elephant of any frame of reference, without which the elephant would become desperate, take a step forward, and plummet into the abyss.

  And that is just how it happened. The small animals set upon the evildoer as agreed, and soon the elephant was crashing blindly through the forest, feverish and parched, following the sound of a frog as a last desperate hope. He came to the edge of the chasm and stood there bewildered. All croaking had stopped. The frog hopped nimbly aside while the elephant took the fatal step and plunged off the cliff.

  The rest of the herd had watched these events from a distance. Now the white leader stood before his followers and emphasized passionately how important it was to show respect for all living things, whether large or small. Even the smallest creature must be appreciated, for it, too, was a part of the whole. The frog, the fly, the crow, and the skylark could not have agreed more.

  This is the story of Saw Min Kyi, a poor hardworking woman who lived with her mother in a little village a long time ago. She was in love with a stonemason who built houses and pagodas. The two loved each other very much, spent every free minute together, and hoped to marry one day.

  Saw Min Kyi often went to the river with her mother to fish with their bamboo nets. One day it happened that a filthy stone drifted into Saw Min Kyi’s net. She threw it back into the river, but a short time later it was again caught in her net. No matter how often she threw it into the water, it always reappeared. After a while mother and daughter took a break and wondered, might there be some deeper meaning behind this? And so they decided to take the stone home with them.

  At the end of that long workday they returned to their hut, where Saw Min Kyi examined the stone more closely. She scrubbed away the encrusted filth, and how astonished the two women were when they saw what came to light: a big, red, shining ruby! It sparkled so brilliantly that the two women had no further need of lamps, and even their neighbors could see the light from afar.

  News of this fabulous discovery traveled quickly, and soon the king himself caught wind of it. He decided to investigate the story of the marvelous gem for himself. He set out with his entire retinue, which caused quite a stir in Saw Min Kyi’s tiny village. When the king had found Saw Min Kyi’s house, the door opened, and the two inhabitants, full of humility, bowed deeply. They willingly showed the ruby to their ruler. Saw Min Kyi felt no attachment to it. Though it was beautiful, she had no practical use for it, and so she handed the gem over to the king, who put it directly into his treasury.

  A short time later, when the king desired to examine the precious object at leisure, he found that it was no longer in the treasury. The stone had inexplicably returned to Saw Min Kyi, who had once again found it in her net while fishing.

  When the king learned of this, he commanded that Saw Min Kyi be brought to the castle, and he married her. From then on the queen led a life of sufficient opulence to make even the ladies of the court pale with envy.

  Alas, Saw Min Kyi herself was unhappy. She missed her mother, and above all she missed her dear stonemason. She contemplated in sorrow how she might change her situation. Then it occurred to her to have a pagoda built with her magnificent ruby. As everyone knows, erecting a pagoda builds good karma. Perhaps she and her beloved, those intertwined but separated souls, might then have better luck in their next lives? The king consented, and Saw Min Kyi arranged for the work to begin. Moved by her desire, she enlisted her beloved stonemason as the builder. He began immediately to execute the plans.

  As it happened, Saw Min Kyi’s position and the preferential treatment she enjoyed from the king were sources of envy and jealousy among the ladies of the court. They soon learned that the stonemason for the new pagoda was the queen’s former lover, and a deceitful rumor made the rounds that Saw Min Kyi had beguiled the king and would now betray him with her old flame.

  When this news was brought to the king he was beside himself with rage. Without further ado he had Saw Min Kyi, his queen, detained and interrogated. He wished to know whether it was true that she had once loved the stonemason. She admitted it was, but insisted that she had never been unfaithful to her husband. He refused to believe her and sentenced her to death. Saw Min Kyi accepted all of this with grace and composure. She had only one request: that her dead body be thrown into the nearby river; and she prophesied that if the accusations were true and she was guilty, her body would drift downstream, as expected. But if she was innocent, her body would slowly drift against the current.

  The king scoffed at such a fanciful notion but promised to honor her wish. Early the next morning Saw Min Kyi was put to death. Two executioners pressed a thick bamboo staff against her throat and threw her body into the river. The people—and secretly the king—then watched intently to see what would happen with the body.

  At first Saw Min Kyi’s corpse did not move at all. Ever so slowly, however, after a seeming eternity, it began to drift…upstream.

  Seeing this, the king was so smitten with grief and remorse that he fell dead on the spot. To this day, we are told, one can still visit the Saw Min Kyi pagoda in the old capital Mrauk U in Rakhine State. In its spire is set the legendary ruby. There is a place on the banks of a nearby river where no grass will grow, and the Rakhine people say that it was here that Saw Min Kyi was unjustly put to death.

  There once lived a simple farmer who kept his opinions to himself and never bothered anyone. He was, however, not known for being the sharpest tool in the shed. People called him a simpleton, an empty-headed fool, and truth be told, they were right.

  One night, the farmer awoke and was thirsty. He went out to draw a bucket of water from the well. The night was clear and the moon shone brightly in the sky as he plodded across the yard. He did not notice the moon up above, but as he looked down into the well, there in the water he saw the reflection of the bright orb shining brilliantly back up at him. He was shocked! What was the moon doing all the way down in the well? How in the world did it get there?

  He just had to rescue the moon, he thought, but how? Glancing around, he spied the rope with its metal hook at one end, which he usually used to hoist the water bucket. Full of zeal, he tossed it into the well and let it sink to the bottom.

  No sooner did the hook break the surface of the water than it caught on a stone. The farmer pulled and pulled on the rope but it did not budge. The moon is truly very heavy, the fatigued man thought, and then pulled once more with all his might. Suddenly, the hook freed itself and shot back up out of the well. The momentum was so great that the farmer fell over backwards while the hook sailed over him in a great arc.

  Lying there in the dirt, the farmer now saw the moon overhead—shining, white, and very large. You could not miss it. He was astonished. All by himself, by his strength alone, he had pulled the moon out of the well and back up into the sky! Worn out, but very proud and deeply satisfied, the farmer went back to his room and returned to his bed. His thirst was already long forgotten.

  Mother monkey lived with her children deep in the jungle in Burma. Each morning, she set out to search for food and warned her young ones not to climb down from the tree alone while she was gone or else they would be in deep trouble.

  The little monkeys promised to wait for her and sat patiently all day until she returned with food.

  One day, the youngest, a little boy monkey named Maung Nyho, asked his older siblings if they knew what this “trouble” even was.

  They had no idea.

  “Is it dangerous?”

  The siblings had no answer.

  “Does it make us sick?”

  The other children were completely stumped and told him to hush up.

  “Well if you don’t know what it is, then I am going to go find out,” said the youngest monkey, and in one giant leap he
sprang down from the tree.

  “Where do you think you are going?” cried his brothers and sisters. “Get back here!” But Maung Nyho was already gone.

  All alone, he ran through the jungle looking for trouble.

  Suddenly, a deer bounded past him, running for his life from the hungry lion that was chasing it.

  “Hold on a minute,” the little monkey called after him. “Can you tell me what trouble is?”

  “Trust me! You really don’t want to know,” the deer called back and kept on running.

  After a while, Maung Nyho came upon two boys who were trying to light a small campfire. The monkey climbed up a tree to watch. The wood the boys were using was wet and as much as they tried they could not get it to burn.

  “This is too much trouble,” said one of the boys to the other.

  The monkey did not understand what sticks and twigs could possibly have to do with trouble. Disappointed, he climbed down from the tree and crept away.

  Eventually he came upon a dwarf’s hut. Maung Nyho knocked on the door. From within he heard a voice: “Who is it? What do you want?”

  “I am a monkey child and want to know what trouble is.”

  The dwarf opened the door. “You really want to find out what it is, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then take this crate,” answered the dwarf, pointing to a wooden box that lay on the floor. “Drag it to a meadow on the edge of the forest and open it. Then you will know what trouble is.”

  Maung Nyho did as he was told. He pulled the crate through the jungle until he reached a large clearing and set it down exactly in the middle. Slowly he opened the lid. Out sprang a huge, aggressive dog, and the little monkey ran for his life. There were no trees to climb in the clearing and the forest was far away. He screamed for help at the top of his lungs but no one rushed to save him. The dog was getting closer and closer but at the last second, the monkey reached the forest and jumped up into a tree. Below him sat the snarling dog. The little monkey called plaintively for his mother. Hearing the cries of her youngest child, she hurried to him.