Читать книгу Folk-Tales from Many Lands - Rose Amy Fyleman - Страница 6
ОглавлениеA CHINESE TALE
Far away in China, in a place called Taon-Lin Hsien, in the province of Changtch, there is a fine temple dedicated to the great religious teacher, Buddha.
Buddha, as you probably know, was an Indian Prince who lived a long time ago—six hundred years before Christ. He gave up his life to religion and to meditation and to leading people to the love of God and the love of goodness. People followed his teaching in many lands, and still do so to-day.
This particular temple is a very fine one, with a beautiful wooden roof shaped like a tent, as are the roofs of all Buddhist temples, and just within the door, grotesque carved figures and a carved stone screen.
The grotesque figures are put there to frighten the devil if he chances to take a peep in at the door, and the carved stone screen is to prevent him from coming in if he should have a mind so to do.
He is supposed to be able to walk only straight forward, so that he would be quite unable to get round a screen placed in that position.
But the greatest pride of the temple is its beautiful figure of Buddha himself. It is a very fine one, made of a mixture of metals in which there is both gold and silver. He sits there, gentle and thoughtful, in the attitude in which he is always represented, with his hands folded in front of him; and the people who come to the temple put flowers into the folded hands.
But if you were to look at this figure carefully, you would notice a very curious thing about it. Just over the Buddha's heart there is to be seen a small coin, firmly embedded in the metal, but quite separate and distinct from the rest. It is the little coin known as a 'cash' and is the least valuable of any Chinese coin. It is square in shape and has a hole in the middle. These little coins are threaded on to strings for convenience and it takes hundreds of them to make up the value of a crown.
There is a story attached to this little coin so strangely placed, and the story was told to me by a friend who spent many years in those parts of the world.
Here it is.
Many, many years ago there was no statue of Buddha in the temple at Taon-Lin Hsien, but there came a time when the abbot in charge decided that this was a very regrettable state of affairs and one which could and must be remedied. So he summoned all the other brethren and told them that he had determined that a statue should be erected in the temple. And when they asked how this was to be done, for there were no funds for the purpose, he told them that he had decided to send out all the younger priests to collect precious metal wherever they could from the people who dwelt in the country round about.
There were many rich men in the neighbourhood and he felt confident that they would give gladly of their treasure in order that it might be melted down to make a beautiful metal figure of the great teacher to whom they owed so much and whom they so greatly loved and reverenced. If all gave according to their means the thing would be done; and how glorious it would be to have in their temple a beautiful figure to which all would have contributed!
The priests received the suggestion with enthusiasm, and the younger men set off with carts and sacks to collect the necessary material.
Now in the house of a rich lady in the neighbourhood there lived a humble little slave-girl named Tien Nu, which means the Girl from Heaven. She was little more than a child, but ever since she had been old enough to run about she had had to work.
She had no possessions at all—nothing but the simple clothes provided by her employers. But one day when she was out upon some errand, she happened to find in the street a single cash. This was a most wonderful find. She picked it up delightedly and put it in her shoe.
It made her feel tremendously proud and happy to think that she had something of her very, very own—a tiny treasure with which she could do exactly as she liked. Life seemed quite different now that she had the little coin in her shoe.
Then, one day, as she was busy sweeping the floor of one of the rooms, a young priest arrived at the house with his little handcart. He was one of those who had been sent out to collect money for the image of Buddha. He was shown into one of the reception rooms, where he was very well received by the mistress of the house. Little Tien Nu peeped round one of the screens and heard all about his errand, and she saw how her mistress brought out her treasure of gold and silver and bronze and gave of it to the priest. Then she slipped softly out into the courtyard, where he was presently busy loading it on to his handcart.
When it was all packed in, a goodly load, for her mistress's husband was rich and had given generously, she came shyly forward, and in her outstretched hand she held her precious little coin.
"Here is something for the statue of the great lord Buddha," she said.
The priest turned and looked at her and then at the coin in her palm.
Then he shook his head.
"That is no use to me," he said. "One cash! It is not worth taking."
And he seized the handles of his cart and set off, eager to show the abbot and the other priests the marvellous load of treasure which he had collected. But the little slave-girl stood silently and sadly in the middle of the courtyard with her coin still in her hand.
At last she slipped it back into her shoe and returned sorrowfully to her work. Her heart was heavy; she would so have loved to give something towards the making of the figure of the dear lord Buddha, who loved simple folk and was kind to the poor and the humble.
But the priest had refused it, and he must certainly know best what would be pleasing to his master. It was terribly disappointing.
At last all the treasure had been collected from the neighbourhood—a mighty store, more than anyone had hoped for, and the time had come for the statue to be made.
The metal was all melted down in an enormous vat and then poured into a great mould, which had been most carefully prepared.
But when the metal had cooled and the mould was broken open with great ceremony, the statue which came out was an ugly, misshapen, distorted thing.
Everyone was horrified. It was a dreadful thing that anyone occupied in so sacred and solemn a task as the casting of a statue of great Buddha should have been so inattentive and careless as to cause a mishap of this kind.
The abbot was greatly perturbed.
"The statue must, of course, be melted down and recast," he said. "This time I myself will superintend every detail of the work. It is a disgrace to the whole community that such a thing should have happened in our midst. I cannot think how it could have occurred."
The statue was melted down. The abbot superintended the process of making a new one, as he had determined. He was most thorough about it; not the smallest fraction of the work was done without his personal supervision; not the tiniest detail escaped his attention.
This time, surely, nothing could have gone wrong; this time they would have their image completely flawless.
But alas! When the metal had once again cooled and the mould was removed, the image which came to light was just the same as the previous one—ugly and distorted.
Now the abbot was a man full of wisdom and piety, and when he saw what had happened he withdrew from the rest and spent several hours in prayer and meditation. He then called to him all the priests and teachers connected with the temple and told them the result of his meditations.
"There has been some wrong thing done in the collection of the material for our image," he said. "This wrong must be put right. I know not where the fault lies, but I am determined to find out. I want every one of you who went out to collect treasure to give me an exact account of all his doings while on that quest. Nothing must be omitted; everything must be recounted down to the very smallest detail. The great lord Buddha has keen eyes."
So one by one the priests were called upon to give an account of the way in which they had acquired the precious metal which they had brought in. They were one and all very conscientious and earnest over their narrative; everyone was most anxious to see the dreadful matter put right. But there seemed nothing which would account for the disaster; all had been done correctly and reverently.
At last it came to the turn of the youngest priest of all, the one who had been to the house of the mistress of Tien Nu.
He told the full story of his collection of precious metals. He told it with eagerness, for he had been the most successful of all the collectors and had brought in a larger quantity of valuable material than any of the rest. And at the end of all he related the incident of the little slave-girl and her tiny coin. He smiled as he told it; he thought it was amusing that the child should have offered her absurd little cash.
But the face of the abbot changed as he listened to that part of the young priest's tale. He no longer looked perplexed and puzzled; his expression was now one of anger.
"Now we know whence came the wrong," he said, when the tale was finished. "You have done a thing of the greatest unkindness—a thing which our gentle master would never for one moment have countenanced. I am both ashamed and grieved that a member of our holy order should have behaved in a manner so contrary to his teachings."
The young priest hung his head.
"What shall I do to make amends?" he said.
"You must go back at once to the house where the little slave-girl lives," said the abbot, "and you must take with you three of the most important members of our order. And with them standing by as witnesses you must ask pardon of the little girl and inquire humbly whether she is perchance still willing to give you her contribution, since the lord Buddha is waiting for it and his statue cannot be completed without it."
The young priest set out at once, taking with him the three most important dignitaries of the temple, as the abbot had required, and a beautiful little casket of gold in which to place the little slave-girl's offering. But when they arrived at the house where she lived and she was summoned to appear, she came forth all trembling and dismayed; she could not imagine what these grand folk could possibly want of her, and was afraid she might unknowingly have done something amiss.
But when she heard why they had come she was overjoyed. To think that after all her treasure was to go towards the making of the image of lord Buddha! What a wonderful thing. She took it eagerly from her shoe and handed it to the priest, who knelt humbly to receive it.
She was rather puzzled by the solemn speeches made by the young priest and by the presence of his three companions, but it did not trouble her much; her heart was so filled with happiness that there was room in it for little else.
As soon as the priests returned the work of making the image was started yet once again, and the little coin carefully added to the great vat of metal. And this time, when the casting was completed and the mould was broken away, the great image of Buddha came out flawlessly beautiful. But over his heart, as you heard at the beginning of this tale, was the tiny cash contributed by the little slave-girl, Tien Nu.
