Old Stories

The Four Noble Truths:

(according to Buddhism)

1. There is suffering in life.

2. The origin of suffering lies in attachments.

3. Suffering can cease.

4. Following the Eightfold Path will end suffering.

In a typical Tibetan village where chickens and thatched roofs are among the many pleasures of rural life, a fire began to tickle the throat of the most impressive and wealthiest thatched hut. The owner of said hut was off traveling. He was seeing a world that his typical Tibetan neighbors could only dream of.

Meanwhile, the owner’s hut appeared to be having a pleasurable smoke. But as everyone knows, smoking will only kill you in the end.

A neighbor smelled the smoke, and without a thought, he began to haul everything he owned outside. This exodus didn’t take long. You see, he sold apples. What could the world offer to that sort? The man who sold apples never did like the owner of the hut. As usual, Jealousy put its prickly arm around the apple seller and together they watched, quite gleefully, as the owner’s hut began coughing unsightlies the way only smokers can.

But the apple seller wasn’t the only one cooking. At the same time, the washerwoman next door immediately diagnosed the hut’s cough as being of the communicable sort; there was no way she was going to let her hut catch it. The truth is, the washerwoman had a deep—albeit unrequited—tendre for the owner of the hut. He never seemed to notice her coy advances, and this she could only explain away as the pride of the wealthiest man in the village.  With the stoutness only a washerwoman can boast, she seized her buckets and marched to the river. Sloshing her way back, instead of putting out the fire, she dumped bucket after bucket on her own hut. Her reasoning was simply this: might as well treat the symptoms before they occur. She also secretly thought that if the owner of the hut was stripped of all his worldly pleasures he might finally be humble enough to return the fondness of her gaze. With her own hut now sufficiently soggy, she sat by her window (which dripped like rain) and watched the owner’s hut burn like a romantic, crackling fire.

It didn’t take long for the entire village to catch on. Say what you will, but fire ignites action. However, not one villager tried to douse the greedy flames. The owner’s hut felt this neglect all too keenly. And what do neglected things too often become? Fire breathing dragons, of course.  The now dragon-hut lashed its fiery tongue at the village. Finger-flames pointed accusingly at the villagers’ pitiful possessions, scorching them without remorse. 

 

The next day, Dawn peeked its hesitant head over the hills, not sure it wanted to see the rapacious carnage from the night before. And what a sight it was. The once typical Tibetan village now resembled a typical fire pit. The crispy, well-done inhabitants wandered out of their hiding places looking like rotisserie chicken. They stood dumbfounded as they gawked at the complete nothingness that was once so something to their eyes. (Unfortunately, the “gawking” only added to their unbecoming cooked-bird appearance.

 
 
 

 

 

At the same time, the owner of the hut was finally returning from his travels. On his journey he met a delightful Buddhist monk. The owner had a profound religious epiphany and was on his way home to give all his earthly possessions away to his typical Tibetan neighbors. Upon arrival, he wasn’t depressed when he saw that everything he possessed in this life was just ash dancing provocatively in the wind. Having already cut all attachments and shaved his head, he didn’t seem to care. He waved goodbye to his good friend the apple seller and wished the washerwoman (whom he’d always secretly admired) well on his way out of the village.

 

The owner lived the rest of his life in a monastery. He barely even thought about the most impressive and wealthiest hut in the village that he once proudly owned. Meanwhile, the rest of the villagers wound the thought of it so tightly around their heads the all the blood to their brains was cut off, which (in the end) only causes suffering.

The End

The Four Noble Truths:

(according to Buddhism)

1. There is suffering in life.

2. The origin of suffering lies in attachments.

3. Suffering can cease.

4. Following the Eightfold Path will end suffering.

Pelkuri: a coward.

Sankari: a hero.

When Pelkuri was a young boy, he was out feeding the chickens while his father Seppo approached him and said,

“Pelkuri my firstborn son, you—are a coward.”

That was the first time he was told.

A few years later his mother announced that he would have a younger brother. When Sankari was born, his father took him in his arms and said,

“Sankari my second son, you—are a hero. One day you will save us all.”

Being a small lad, and therefore curious, Pelkuri asked the elder of the village, rouva Anna,

“You are old, and therefore wise, Rouva Anna. Why is Sankari a hero?”

She easily replied, “Because that’s what he is, Pelkuri. And you, young man, are a coward.”

When Sankari was a little older he itched with the same curiosity. Weak and timid, he approached Pelkuri with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, dear brother. You are so much braver than I, and yet everyone calls me a hero. Why do they call me that?” Remembering rouva Anna’s response, Pelkuri chewed on his words until they were just right.

“Sankari, it’s simple. We must do what we must. I am a coward. And you are the hero who will one day save us all.” He walked away leaving Sankari even more troubled.

Eventually they grew into men as all children do and their parents were dead and gone. Pelkuri was a strong man with broad shoulders and a firm brow. Sankari was lean with watery blue eyes and a soft voice. On just another day they went to market together. The baker called from his shop,

“Hello Seppos! My, Pelkuri, what a coward you are. And Sankari? You are a hero that will one day save us all! Here is a loaf of my best bread for you.”

Pelkuri, with hatred in his eyes, kept his brusque pace and walked on. Poor Sankari took the loaf and thanked the baker with a fragile smile.

“You deserve this bread more than I, brother. You are the hero,” Sankari stammered as he attempted to catch up. Pelkuri shoved him away and said in his gruff voice,

“No, Sankari. Eat your bread. You need your strength. For you are the hero who will one day save us all.”

Then they heard a piercing wail from rouva Anna:

“Help! Oh, HELP!” She pointed towards the trees where a terrifying head could be seen bobbing over the forest. “A giant!” someone called. “Surely it will eat us all!”

Panic spread faster than the town gossip as people rushed around the Seppo brothers. Sankari, overcome with fear, had to lean against Pelkuri for support.

“Oh, Sankari! The day has come—you must save us all! You are the hero!” the townspeople cried.

Pelkuri looked down at his younger brother, the only sight that could melt his hard eyes.

“Well, Sankari. Today is the day…”

Sankari could feel the town’s gaze choking him like a desperate hand. Short gasping breaths shook his slim body.

“Y-yes Pelkuri. Today is the day…that I must save us all.” He walked away as if his legs were unfamiliar with his steps.

Meanwhile, the giant was ripping away at the trees and making the most terrible noises. Pelkuri watched the colossus carefully. Its lips quivered over its wide open mouth. He particularly noticed the drool sliding down. Down like tears.

“There are many goats in this village,” he thought. “If we chase them through the forest, the giant would eat them instead of us. Then poor Sankari can be safe.” Interrupting his thoughts, rouva Anna glared at him and said in a shaky voice,

“Thank goodness for your brother. There is nothing you can do for us. Nothing. You--

Pelkuri—are a coward.” She stalked off, wrapping her shawl tightly around her.

“Oh yes,” said Pelkuri. “I am the coward.”

So he forgot his plans and headed off to sit under his favorite tree.

At the same time, Sankari was at their house frantically packing his few belongings.

“I will flee this place. Pelkuri will know what to do. I cannot defeat the giant. Pelkuri will save them all.” As he crept off towards the forest he came upon Pelkuri, sitting under his favorite tree. The Coward looked up; a cynical smile lifting his heavy lips.

“Why, what’s this? Is our hero sneaking out the back way like a thief? …what do you think you’re doing, Sankari?”

The younger brother was nothing more than a wet, crumpled mess begging for help.

Strong, composed Pelkuri sat silently. Words of comfort never leaving his lips. Inside he was screaming about the goats, but instead he dejectedly shrugged his shoulders and refused to help. Unknowingly he echoed the townspeople for the last time:

“Come now, Sankari. Go. You are the hero who will save us all.” He laughed, but Sankari slowly raised his head. Pelkuri, for the first time in his life, was afraid as he saw a new light coming out of his younger brother’s eyes.

“You’re right, Pelkuri. I am the hero. I will save us all.”

Tears still wet and gleaming on his face, he lifted himself with newfound determination and walked deeper in the forest without ever glancing back. The Coward sat alert, unable to take his eyes off of his younger brother Sankari; the Hero.

The Hero walked and walked. His heart pumped passionately as if to make up for the years soon to be lost. He could hear the giant’s terrible moans coming closer. Closer. Then, there it was. The giant. The Hero looked up, unflinchingly. 

“O Giant, I am a hero and I have come to save my town.” The monster looked down at the young Hero with tender, compassionate eyes. But it was a monster. It must do what it must. While Sankari bowed his head to fate, the monster leaned down and gobbled him up in three grizzly bites, slurping his legs like spaghetti. Then it trudged away from the village feeling ashamed and surprisingly full.

Everyone was right. Pelkuri was a coward and Sankari did it.

He was the hero that saved them all.

The End