The monk and The god of Agriculture

“The sole reason for suffering is the pursuit of wrong things.”

When the world was still new, and the Gods roamed freely, lived a monk. Perhaps the first of all monks, for he could truly live for weeks and months on nothing but the morning dew and nectar of flowers. Some even said he’d transcended his body of flesh, and it was his spirit that travelled the lands, spreading the words of Buddha.

One day, this remarkable monk reached a village, one so desolated that the tattered clothes the monk had on him for the last decade seemed to fit right in. As soon as he stepped foot inside the arch that stood as the village’s gate, an uproar began as men and women, young and old, shouted “Demon” and threw rocks at him. The shouting did not last long, for to the villagers’ shock, the monk was unharmed beneath the torrent of projectile.

“I am merely here for lodgings, dear friends. I am no more demons than you are men.” – The old monk smiled.

“We’re sorry, Venerable One. Let me compensate you by offering the lodging you requested.” – A man, seemingly the chief, came forward and bowed his head.

After they were all settled under a bonfire, the chief and the villagers started praying and throwing rice toward the flame. After the ritual, the chief continued his story.

“There is, of course, a reason for the panic, Venerable One. Do you see the state of this village? We were once a respectable, wealthy clan, our produce served at the Emperor’s table, you see. For years and years, we have worshipped Shennong diligently, with not a week’s passing that we offered his shrine plentiful flowers and incense, you see.”

“I can sense his presence, Shennong, deep under the centre of this village and intwined with your water.” – The monk acknowledged the faint aura of the God of Agriculture, but he could also sense a sinister, dark force bearing fangs.

“Not one day passing that we danced and sang for him. Then it happened. Our head priest fell ill, so ill in fact she passed away only a few days later. Our head priest, you see, she brought Shennong’s blessings here to the village, and was his favourite. Being a God of Agriculture, however, Shennong had no control over Dead’s Book. Tried and tried he did, shaking the very ground and tearing the very sky apart, crying in thunder and weeping his storm, he could not bring her back. Until one day…” – The chief stopped and pointed to a mass of empty land not far from where they were.

At first, the monk could not see anything, too eager to hear the end of the story. The chief, nevertheless, had something else in mind for he kept pointing at the empty field. Until a tree sprouted and quickly grew into a woman, a mix of decomposed flesh and wood, of broken bones and leaves.

“Until one day, she came back to life in that form. Whenever it’s a full moon, we will see her there, where the shrine used to be, dancing and singing. Other nights, however, she would appear out of nowhere to attack the villagers. O’ Venerable One, how can we put a stop to this?”

“Yes, even the Gods could end their days in their own foolishness and perversity. But we are not to blame them, for after all they made us in their image. Shennong, after all, is just another human with no restrain, lust in its original form, headfirst into the bottomless hole of greed.”

The monk stood up, slowly started walking toward the tree-demon, and continued:

“Nevertheless, it’s natural. Shennong has entered the labyrinth that is love. You may see a demon, but he sees his priest still. Although I cannot say anything in certain, I shall try, for you have provided me with your hospitality. “

Behind him, the villagers with their chiefs were on their knees, bowing with their forehead touching the ground, murmuring their thank-yous to the old monk.

“Maiden, what a wonderful dance you’ve performed.” – The monk was now sitting at the outer edge of the plot of land, observing the tree-demon.

“Begone, monk. I have no qualm with Buddha.” – She spoke, her voice booming as if coming from the Heaven.

“Shennong, I can feel your grief. Yet I do not think it will help you, torturing this lady and this village.” – The monk said.  

“She needs new flesh.” – The voice answer, she was still dancing.

“Karma might have no reign on you, Shennong, but look at the state of the village that once worshipped you. Is this what they deserve, for serving you? They stay, still, gathered around the fire every night, to offer you the little they have. They are bearing your karma, still.”

The sky was silent, and the demon stopped dancing.

“The sole reason for suffering is the pursuit of wrong things.”

“Is love wrong?”

“It is if you cannot let go when it ends.”

The demon was now next to him, the branches that made up its torso opened up to see a beating heart inside. Seeing this, the monk held firm his staff and struck the heart.  Instantly, the figure began to fade, like ice meeting the morning sun, until only some bones remained on the grass. Lingered yet in the air was Shennong’s aura and obsession.