Chapter 12

She came with the dawn

It was in a small corner of the Earth, more than a thousand years ago, one of those ephemeral and eternal civilizations of South East Asia: A city with temples, palaces and grain reserves, but almost without fixed population. Most humans in this region were living near the rice fields, in small houses of bamboo and rice straw, hung on the slopes of hills crowned with vast lush forests. Life flowed peacefully between field work and house work, between feasts and trips to the city.

Somewhere in a remote valley, a hamlet, a few huts scattered over a hundred meters. Here they do not cultivate rice but legumes, which do not require flooded terraces. Around this hamlet, a clearing, on a kind of ledge on the side of the mountain, as intensely green as the lively forest, was covered with gardens planted with precious beans and other vegetables. The inhabitants of the hamlet exchanged them against rice. They were not chemist to discover that, in doing so, they balanced their intake of amino acids, but they knew, by tradition, that they had to eat in this way, as all the ancient civilizations do, who always harmonize cereals and pulses, wheat and lentils, corn and beans, rice and soybeans, couscous and chickpeas.

From the valley was perpetually rising the deep breath of the river. It was here the very weft of silence, punctuated by bird songs. A little further up the mountain, in a glen, a curious music was always ringing, even at night, of bamboo tubes with several notes. Oh they were not very powerful sounds, and chatter was enough to cover them. But in this virginal calm, they were taking a presence of every time. Women often sang, and also the men when saying prayers. Otherwise they spoke little, just for work, or sometimes at night in homes.

These houses were very sober. The poverty of that time offered no coloured material as already in Europe. The colours were everywhere the intense green of the gardens and forest, the grey-brown of thatch or walls of wood and bamboo, and the reddish clay paths. They still had dyed clothes and flowers, cultivated with a certain reverence. So, despite this simplicity, the surroundings and the interior of the houses were harmonious, clean and beautiful, completely blank of all these disparate and gaudy objects which would inevitably accumulate today. Even the main path was beautifully arranged with clear stones, to avoid the frequent mud under this rainy climate.

Out of the smells of smoke or cooking, the flowers were the only fragrance. This way, people knew well before standing up, after the scents of nature, if the grass was full of dew or not, if it would rain before evening, if the wind came up from the valley, or if it was riding the mountains...

 

In one of these houses, the most remote of the hamlet, under a large tree near the edge of the forest, surrounded by a nice hedge, a little girl was born.

Her mother, shortly before her birth, had a dream, which was considered as a sign. Her child was coming from the sky, on a background of dawn and stars. The elders said that this girl was a gift of heavens, it probably was a good soul or a reincarnation of a Wise Man. But they would be very astonished if they knew the exact meaning of this dream. Whatever it was, his parents named their daughter of a name now forgotten, but which in their language meant «coming with the dawn». So let us call here simply Dawn.

Like all the babies in the world, Dawn began her life sleeping and feeding. But she quickly showed a crybaby. Her mother, not without intuition, noticed that she was crying only in the house. So she organized in a way to go out as often as possible, and bring her in the gardens. Dawn, in the sunlight, with just an umbrella, opened wide her beautiful black eyes, and tirelessly gazed intensely to the green landscape. Different vegetables and bean varieties grew there in peace; a little further the lush forest was rustling, mass of colour, freshness and life. At the bottom of the valley, the river nestled in an emerald jewel, with some white froth spots under the deep green shadow of the edge of the forest. Still further, the view extended into the valley, in a succession of turquoise, to the distant blue mountains. In all this green, the ochre of the earth looked red, and the straw well yellow. The Sun was radiating his full warm mirth, but during the rain the green vibrated otherwise, in a gentle intimacy, in a succession of fresh green and mysterious shadows. From the grey sky dangled scarves of clouds, which passed gently caressing the mountains, and the houses became of a colourful and warm grey.

As soon as she learned to walk, Dawn spent her time frolicking in the gardens, deeply interested with the flowering hedges which delineated the various parts. She precociously sought to imitate her mother in the gestures of the garden, but in the beginning she had to be stopped, because such a young child was still awkward. Yet she started this work, soon appearing talented. She learned to speak slowly and late, easily showing taciturn with sudden and inexplicable fits of sulking. After some advances toward children of her age, she lost interest. I must say that there were only two in this very small hamlet. Dawn seemed happy only in the green gardens among the birds songs. This region was fortunate to have some species with pleasant singing. They came into the garden, pecking, or just to be admired. Dawn tried to approach them, and she was deeply disappointed when they flew. But she sometimes managed to cherish them, which surprised her parents.

The elders and her parents quickly comforted themselves in the opinion that Dawn was a bit special. These people were not wicked; they conceived no negative feeling towards her. But they renounced to understand and to communicate. But did they knew to only communicate with each other, outside the familiar codes and predictable situations of their world, harmonious but so narrow?

Dawn was a pleasant and quiet child, helpful and active. She began to sew early, taking a tireless fun in it, and appearing gifted here too, so that she quickly remonstrated to adults. Only downside, she sometimes stung tantrums when she could not realize with her still clumsy hands what her agile mind had projected.

Sometimes in the garden, she arose and turned toward the glen, above the village, from where came the curious bamboo music. She listened, then she stooped again to her work. During the rain, they stayed in the houses, and she moved with her sewing near the window looking towards the valley. Occasionally she looked outside, then resumed her work. The only sounds then were the rain on the thatch roof, some crackling of the fire, with, in the background, all blurred in eerie air echoes, the mysterious music of the bamboos. Sometimes her parents uttered a sentence or two, or her little brother called from his cradle. The days went by in a great peace, a biblical simplicity. This very silence was their sweet happiness... Dawn's nostrils, depending on air movements, were perceiving the pleasant smell of damp humus and wet leaves, or sometimes the scent of the soup of rice, beans and vegetables which was cooking slowly. She also contemplated the intertwining bamboo walls of their home. It was a sort of weave, tight enough to be rainproof. As she admired the patience of the builders! At night, when the rain stopped after swelling the waters, Dawn, her nose under the covers, was listening to the ample and grave roaring rising from the valley, mingled with the sharper breath of waterfalls in the glen. With still, mute, the music of the bamboos... O sounds, who make up the fabric of our lives, you know the sacred art of moving our hearts and our memories, while touching the deepest vibrations! Magic: A music, an harmony, and what was only a still image suddenly comes to life, shuddering and moving!

When she was a child able to walk alone around the hamlet, one of her first expeditions was to the music valley. She had to follow a path covered with stones, running through the hamlet and gardens, upwards, towards the stream where they were taking water. She knew perfectly well this trip, since she did it daily, to wash clothes or to fill a jug.

Dawn loved wandering to the water point, poetic basin between stones, covered with a green dome, stained glass under the sun, mystery in the rain. A small source was cascading from a rock for the pitcher, and the creek formed a basin for the laundry. Slightly upstream were the baths for men, and downstream for women.

Dawn had chosen a moment without baths, because it would not be good to be found near the men's baths. But the path to the glen was passing through. So that she did ventured cautiously, making sure there was nobody, and quickly crossed the place. As she had guessed, the path continued, narrower, sometimes impressive, under overhanging rocks. Gradually, the sound of the bamboos increased, and she arrived, breathless.

At first, she did not understood what awaited her there. She was indeed seeing bamboo tubes suspended with ropes, waving to collide and make the music. But there was nobody. How did they moved? She could not see, because everything was mixed with lush vegetation. Flowers grew there, probably planted on purpose, as in a small garden, with some food offerings for a deity, on a large flat stone. Dawn followed the rope which seemed to animate everything, along the path which was going further. It led a few metres away, near a waterfall in the stream, to a wooden pallet which was falling, driven by the waterfall, escaped from it to go up (thanks to a counterweight at the other end of the rope) and coming back under the flow, indefinitely.

At first, Dawn was disappointed not to find something magical, or at least living, at the origin of this melody which enchanted her life since her tender childhood. There was here only strings and pieces of wood. But this first impression faded, and the enchantment took over. It was a nice place, flowered and perfumed; the bamboo tubes, thoroughly tuned in a very soft minor mode, were dancing in arabesques while never passing again on the same place. Each was trying to oscillate in its own rhythm, as every pendulum, but the rope was always pulling them at a different moment of the sway, resulting in an ever changing movement, and a never identical music. This was well thought, for simple peasants! It resulted of this a kind of poetry, in the same time rustic and strangely aerial, living. The soul of their rustic and quiet civilisation was living in this perpetual music.

Dawn began to move back to the village: her prolonged absence could be noticed. Happily she met, on her way back, one of the grannies of the hamlet who always kind with her. She asked her where she had gone, even if she guessed. Then the granny had some remarks that Dawn did not understand. She came with her and showed her another path which was not passing through the bathing place, and this was a kind accomplice gift: Dawn would be able to visit the forest and the bamboos as often as she wished!

 

Dawn came to the age where she was able to work full time for the hamlet (which would be very young for us). It clearly appeared that she was not seeking the company of youngsters of her age; only the gentle granny sometimes heeded her sighs... We may think that Dawn was quietly happy in this gentle village amidst the nature. But it was not really like that. She was suffering at times, without knowing why. She was unable to find why to herself, and still less to say it to others. The kind granny was feeling this, while no more understanding why. But she was hearing her and comforting her with her kindness. It was good, and especially welcome when Dawn's father was absent for the town, as often men of his age did, for what they called the service.

However some precise things had badly hurt Dawn. Sometimes one of hamlet teens used to throw stones to the birds, and it happened that he killed some. The first time she howled from rage, and expected that he was severely punished, but he just got a weak admonition, by speech only, when others were spanked for much less severe offences. The same young man also used sometimes to come with her in the garden, speaking all the time. He pretended that he ate birds after killing them, but she never believed such a balderdash.

Another time, hail had reduced the crop of beans, which was a catastrophe in their miserable situation. Farmers in rice fields, down the valley, came, as usual, with their rice bags; as usual they proceeded with the elaborate ritual, after which the rice was distributed in various attics, while beans and other grains filled the bags of the carriers. Dawn thought, logically, as their bean harvest was meagre, they would receive more rice as a compensation. Not at all! They received less. Throughout the whole following season, the whole village suffered from hunger, without a complaint, without a murmur, as for granted. Dawn, furious, conceived a feeling of injustice beyond all expression, but she was severely ordered to say nothing.

These accidents were certainly unfortunate, but human nature being still rather positive, Dawn could forget them, or at least not waste her life with these complaints. The truth is that she was carrying a much deeper wound in her heart; she could not enjoy the joys of life as she wanted. As she approached adolescence, a deeper and deeper melancholy spread in her heart, without she was able to tell the origin. This mainly took her the rainy days, as we suspect. Yet she vehemently refused this condition, and would fight to death to get it out of her; but how to do against an unknown and abstract evil? She was totally helpless.

Her parents were aware that their daughter was pining. They first mistook, thinking that Dawn had a very natural desire for her age. They told her to marry, but this approach was not successful. Dawn totally refused to name any boy with whom to live, and she even made a grimace of disgust when they named the one who killed birds. Better not to insist.

The following days, Dawn thought to a boy, one who would like like her to contemplate the life of nature while gardening. But the choice was very meagre in their tiny hamlet as in the neighbourhood, and not any matched this ideal, yet hardly ambitious.

 

One day, her father, absent since several weeks, suddenly appeared in the village, exalted, along with two other men she did not knew. When they entered the modest house, it was suddenly transfigured... One of the strangers wore a deep red dress, admittedly worn, but for these simple and so poor people in this remote area, it was very beautiful.

The man in the red dress was not like the others: he was glowing with magic power!

Dawn's father explained that he was a monk, a man who knows the great mysteries of existence, much more than himself, poor peasant. The monk looked at Dawn with a big and warm smile, the full and deep smile of the true beings. He had some kind words, and then he retired. It looked as if he did this several days journey on foot in the harsh mountain trails, just to smile at Dawn. These monks had to be really extraordinary people.

There was a discussion, apart from Dawn, who was unable to catch anything of it. The monk, after granting some medicines to the villagers, was lodged for the night into another house. He went off the next morning early, without Dawn being able to see him again.

Dawn did not dared to speak again about this encounter. But among all the men she knew, the monk was the one who most interested her, by very far. She would have much enjoyed to know more about the monks, who they were, what they lived, where they dwelt. These questions were burning her lips, but a terrible shyness forbade her to ask anything.

Dawn's father was preparing himself to leave again, some days after the visit of the monk. He came to Dawn, and told her seriously that she should come with him to the city. Dawn conceived mixed feelings. In good peasant, she disliked the idea of a trip out of her familiar environment. But a much stronger hope arose: was she going to see again the monk? Was she going to meet other people with real smiles? She did not let her father see her feeling, and his father thought he saw his daughter wisely obeying him, as a well-educated girl who obeys even if it costs her. He was proud of his daughter, but in reality he absolutely not understood her, and he was more and more losing contact with her.

 

In this time travels were long and difficult, often on narrow paths clogged with vegetation; people had to cross rivers by fords, fighting against the raging current with water to the waist, in the thunder of rapids which could swallow us. In more they had to carry heavy loads, which broke the juvenile shoulders, and all this barefoot on sharp stones. Dawn valiantly endured these difficulties. But she also had to spend nights in homes of peasants. Some resembled those of the hamlet, decorated with garlands of gourds or large dried flowers, but others were repulsive slums, and for Dawn it was much worse than drudging in the torrent or puffing in the steep paths.

Finally they arrived in the flat bottom of the valley where the city stood. This fertile valley was wholly occupied with various cultivations and peasant houses. The city proper was downstream.

Do not imagine, with the word of «town», anything resembling whatever we know. There were just some community buildings and thatched dormitories for servants and workers, merrily scattered among trees and gardens. The only hard buildings were the prince's palace and the temple, and yet they were mostly of wood. Their shingle roofs had a dark grey patina with yellow lichen stains; their walls, more sheltered, were brown boards, except for the lower part, in stone to fight humidity. They looked alike, each on one side of a grassy spot, kind of square pagodas, yet rustic, with a single level. They were not even less delicately carved and painted, in places. For Dawn and her companions this was a magical and spectacular show. The main streets were paved with large raw flagstones, with grass in the joints. The living quarters were along simple paths winding among the trees and huts, on a background of grass and gardens, with no trace of any boundary or fence. The only other notable buildings were granaries where was also prepared the food for the workers and servants. This is where Dawn, her father and their travel companions received their own, during their stay.

Dawn's father took her to visit different parts of the city. He first showed her the construction of a new building, of stones like the palace, but to shelter the grain reserves. Indeed the city knew in this time a great expansion, due to the influx of artisans, carpenters, weavers, and even blacksmiths: they had to welcome them, their families and workshops, which was not always going without problems. Dawn's father proudly showed her the stone walls, which mounting he took part in. Oh certainly, him, the ignorant peasant, did not masoned, but he bore these stones, and of this his shoulders remembered! Currently, the construction of the frame was to be completed, and a team was on the top, while another was cutting wood parts while singing.

There was at that time in the region a fervour of pioneers, a revival of enthusiasm: they built better houses, and the new religious education was giving more Harmony and Happiness.

The Prince had ordered that operations be undertaken in the merriment, singing songs in the agreement with the sacred rules of Harmony, to the walls of the future building are kneaded good vibrations, good feelings and joy . To this end the young workers who, as did the father of Dawn, had accomplished their service from the surrounding countryside, now had the right to bring their wives, provided they have no children s 'to occupy.

Thus, there was plenty enough of songs and mirth, and the Prince was satisfied! The building site was humming like a swarm, with successive tunes and merry laughing.

The street of the town were busy, but calm, clean, with plenty of grass and pebbles. While encountering together, peoples gently avoided to bump each others. However some were following these rules of gentleness, smiling and accomplishing the gestures, while their thoughts were going in an opposite direction! This made Dawn shiver, and she really, but really never understood what was the meaning of this.

There also were some soldiers, but happily Dawn never guessed their true function. As a matter of fact, despite their all their warrior attire, they were less frightening than Charlot conscript.

The palace of the Prince was forbidden at this moment, but on feast days, the people could enter in the great assembly hall, for ceremonials or for receiving clothes. This building was however more functional than luxurious, with its scribes and reserves of various wares. But the presence of soldiers, the deference of the workers, the extreme care for the surrounding gardens, the great flagstone parvis were all working to give this place an impressive aura, inviting to respect.

 

The temple was permanently in free access, except of course for the premises where the priests were living.

They had to bring their hands together and prostrate before entering. Dawn did it very conscientiously, not without a strong emotion. The inside was dark and solemn as our cathedrals, but with the warmth of wood, of Orient, with its exuberant decorations and rich colours. Above the altar, a superb Buddha covered with gold was shining, standing out on a dark wood background. Dawn, filled with respect, admired his profound and gentle smile, the inner look, entirely in his meditation: It also was an authentic smile! But more ethereal than the one of the monk. For the first time she was smelling incense, and she was filled with wonder. This powerful fragrance moved her in the depth of her being, as if it was the very presence of the Spirit in this place, pulsating with a profound and sublime sacred vibration…

There was no regular service in the temple, except at sunrise and sunset, or on feast days. But there always were plenty of people, and all day long this place was buzzing with Mantras and prayers. During the ceremonies there were also cymbals and large drums.

Dawn was very much impressed with this place, all rustling with the mysteries of the deep things of life, impregnated with subtle vibrations... She knew that Buddha had taught to be gentle between humans, and not killing animals under any circumstance. She found in his house a dedicated support, reassurance, as if the Buddha had been a loving and gentle father... He was there, anyway, by the magic of his smile, the mysterious incense, by the fervour of Dawn and the beating of her moved heart...

They stood for a moment in the temple. People were coming in and out all the time, unfortunately with much more noise than it should be allowed into this place of meditation. Dawn could not stand it long, but for some mysterious reason she was apparently the only one to take offence. Dawn ignored what the word «meditation» meant, but she thought it was to have in mind the vision of a beautiful and gentle world, where everyone could marvel at the beauty of life. This was more what we call positive visualization, but whatever.

Suddenly Dawn's father exclaimed in a whisper that it was their turn, and then he took her to the back, through a small door in the outbuildings. They were greeted here by a monk dressed in the famous red dress. Dawn looked at him intently, hoping to see a real smile, but he seemed rather surly. His father asked to meet with a name she did not remember. The monk with a surly look (He actually was a very brave scholar) led them through a corridor to a cell, and he ushered them.

It was a bit as a reduction in the main temple: the same dark wood walls, the same colourful and contortionists sculptures with mythological or specific themes: life of the Buddha, harvesting rice, flowers and birds, poetically rendered love scenes. With a strong emotion, Dawn discovered writings, exquisitely worked, mysterious and highly sacred signs expressing the wisdom and beauty of the teachings of the Buddha and of the monks. In her naivety, Dawn thought that she was able to read, since she saw the harmonious forms of the Sanskrit letters expressing a poetic and mysterious vibration!

Above a small altar stood a statue of the Buddha, but one of black wood, and on each side impressive and solemn purple drapes. In the middle of the room, sitting in lotus on a low throne, an old man in a red dress (new, this one) looked as he was waiting for them, bald as an egg, wrinkled like an old fruit, good as the Sun with his bright and infinitely modest smile. Also on the sides sat monks in full regalia, with golden cords and tassels. And above all floated a bewitching scent of incense, mingled with the one of tissues and old wood. Unknowingly Dawn was in the presence of the Grand Spiritual Master of the city, revered by hundreds of monks and thousands of peasants, before whom even the Prince was prostrating.

She did not dared to speak, so she shyly did the greeting the surly looking monk ordered her to do.

They made her sit in front of him, with her father a little in front of her. They sat in silence for a moment. Dawn was full of an incomprehensible hope, but she heard the panic in the heart of her father. The old man nodded, then closed his eyes, just a little more serious.

 

He spoke slowly, with long pauses in his voice softened by the years.

«Be thanked, O planter of the high mountains, for responding to my call and for coming now.

«Your daughter, O peasant of the high mountains, your daughter has everything she needs to accomplish her karma for this life. You do not have to worry about her. You must not think that you committed any offence against her. You must not think that you committed some sin about her, in this life or in another.

«You must not think that she committed a sin in this life or in another. Your daughter lived other lives under another sky, with another Sun clearer and more lenient than this one; she lived among pure souls and herself is quite innocent.

«But you need to know, man of the forest, that your daughter committed a very serious imprudence, some thing that you would not understand. But she did it in full innocence. She did it while thinking to Serve. She keeps of it a deep wound in her heart, and even her Life Energy has been weakened. (He pauses, then lower :) She will need other lives yet to heal.

«You did, mountain man, what you could do at best. You can go the soul in peace. Just one more thing: do not take so much care as to marry your daughter, because her way is already laid.»

They exchanged ritual words, and the old man still asked Dawn's father some questions about spirituality. The latter got somewhat entangled in the replies, and one of the monks waved his finger with a severe look. But the old man only had a wide indulgent smile.

The monk with a surly look reappeared, to invite them to come out, backwards, because we do not turn our back to the Great Sage. Before the padded door closed, the old man stared at Dawn with a look both admiring, accomplice, compassionate, yet melancholic.

 

On the way back, and in the following days, Dawn remembered every word of the old man. Obviously, he had spoken to her, and only out of politeness and tradition he had addressed to her father. These words had eliminated some doubts: no, Dawn was not plagued by a demon; no, she had not some horrible misdeed to pay. What a relief to be sure not to have any business with evil. But that aside, the words of the Wise were quite mysterious. Dawn certainly knew, as everyone in the village and in the town, that the human is born, grows, dies and is reborn indefinitely, just as the flowers on a tree, which for a flower seems eternal. Unfortunately it was very rare to remember past lives; only some Wise were doing this, and they spoke only very sparingly. Where could lie «another sky» and «Another Sun»? Who were these «pure souls»? What happened so terrible in her former life? She sometimes had an elusive, diffuse feeling, of something broken in her past, a heavy black mass and a poignant regret, which prevented her from capturing all the good light of life. If it was not a wrong action, what was it so terrible?

She also was disappointed not to have information about her future marriage. At her age, the desire was now strong, but she could envision it only with a boy who would share her desire for an harmonious life.

A few days later, she dared to take her mother apart and speak, to ask her the permission to marry a monk. For what incomprehensible reason she was so quickly offended? (Indeed she not often was) She replied sternly that the monks never marry. Disappointed, Dawn then asked if it was possible for her to live among the monks in the city or in a monastery, no matter if she could not marry one of them. Her mother replied with less vehemence, but still peremptorily, that the girls cannot become monk. Only her little brother could become a monk, not the elder, the later, and then only if he studied properly. The role of women was to stay in the fields and to take care of children. The only man who remained to marry in the hamlet was the one who killed the birds, the other having been taken by a fever.

 

Dawn showed her mother no sign of annoyance; she left with dignity, just to show that she knew to stand. But deep inside, it was the collapse of all her hopes, after barely glimpsing at the light. She was boiling with a terrible revolt against the absurd, unjust, incomprehensible. She was going to end her life in this hamlet which now looked shabby and dull, after all what she discovered in the temple. The smell of stale air which hung in the homes at chilly mornings became unbearable. Good thing the old man in the temple had warned her father against a forced marriage: the boy who killed the birds, feeling things to come, multiplied flat and odious attentions even in the far end of the garden.

The future seemed totally dark and blocked. There was no word in their language to talk about injustice, but an entire collection to tell submission and fatality. Dawn remembered the episode of the hail.

Fortunately the unpleasant young man was called in his turn for works in the city. Dawn thus had a few months to dispel her resentment and take a bearing. She could quietly garden too, and it did a lot of good to her to find this eternal joy. The words of the Wise Man had drawn on her the indulgence of the people in the village: they left her go into the forest when she wanted.

One night she awoke. A small voice, probably a dream, repeated: «Patience, Trust» «Confidence, Patience» as said by an infinitely joyful and radiant being. She was badly shaken. Several nights, she heard the explanation: «Trust: everything will work out. All evil will disappear. Do not fear for the future» or «Have confidence in the Universal Source of all Life.» Then the voice disappeared with a last chuckle of Spring. She never had any explanation, and never asked for any. But she understood that those words were all of Wisdom. The apparent gentleness of her companions of the hamlet was only fatalism, resignation, submission by ignorance. She had better things to do. There certainly was no need to waste energy in a rebellion doomed to failure. But to submit was worse. It would be much more profitable to practice remaining radiant, serene, confident. Otherwise, Buddha, the karma, or whatever, would give her her part, deserved reward or necessary test. Getting to this state would be very hard, and she was left only a month before the return of her unpleasant promised. After that, she felt she would never anymore be able to concentrate on these essentials. Then she had to work hard, do not rely on any help, and especially do not tell anyone.

All along this month, Dawn was in a kind of exaltation: the mysterious nocturnal words gave her a fierce energy. She set her mind to the bamboos music, and each note was to be a reminder of Serenity, and each tube recall a different shade of it. She avoided the hot conversations, that anyway people did not tried to impose her. She even evaded any discussion at all, but with the people of the hamlet, this was easy: she just had to give some easy answers to be left alone. She assiduously gardened, which even earned her kudos, that she did not care. She smiled to everybody -this was part of her training- but in her heart, she fought fiercely, foot by foot.

Towards the end of the service period, we could not know the exact day, she had her heart beating at every footstep, at every voice. But no matter now: she had won. The smile she showed to her companions was now an expression of authentic inner joy. That they did not noticed any more, either.

Her nasty fiancee returned to the village at the end of a beautiful sunny afternoon, accompanied by another monk who did not expected to arrive so right in time...

Three hours before, the perpetual music of the bamboos had suddenly gone silent, replaced by a strange silence. The good old man in charge of keeping the instrument went up to fix it. On his way he found Dawn sleeping, behind the garden, near the path to the bamboos. She had never been so pretty, with her sixteen years age. She had let free her jet black hairs as for a feast and, graciously laying in the grass with her prettiest robe, she was smiling like the Buddha in the temple. He should have awakened her, as there was urgent work in the garden, but he had not the heart to do this.

The man stepped up to visit the bamboos. He had to search for the wooden shovel. He found it, ejected at several metres, inexplicably shattered from inside, with splinters all around on the ground. When he went back, he saw again Dawn as he had left her. This time he decided to awake her, to avoid her to be scolded if others found her. He hesitated and touched her cheek, which was already cold.

 

The music of the bamboos has been repaired, after the funerals. I think it is still there today, maybe you can hear it if you go by there. But it remained somewhat melancholic...