Oh! beloved bamboo

A Chinese tale retold by TOJY MANDAPAM

Once upon a time, there lay, in the heart of a Western Kingdom, a beautiful garden, verdant with all kinds of trees, plants and shrubs. In the midst of all these the one that stood out, tall and mighty was the bamboo tree. From a small sapling it had grown into a big and beautiful tree.

On fine cool evenings, as the breeze blew through this charming verdure, the master, in his routine exercise, often took a walk in the garden. He was of course, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of this bamboo tree.

Year by year, the Bamboo grew yet more noble and gracious, conscious of his master's love and watchful delight, but modest and gentle. And often, when wind came to revel in the garden, Bamboo would cast aside his grave stateliness, to dance and play merrily, tossing and swaying, leaping and bowing in joyous abandon, leading the great dance of the garden which most delighted the master's heart. But each day, as he admired, he seemed to be getting ideas.

One day the master came to the Bamboo tree with eyes of curious expectancy. And Bamboo, in a passion of adoration, bowed his great head in obeisance to the master in loving greeting.

The master, with a warm engaging smile loved the Bamboo, he said, "Bamboo, Bamboo, I want to use you."

Bamboo flung his head to the sky in utter delight. The day of days had come, the day for which he had been made; the day for which he would find his completion and his destiny. His voice came low, "Master, I am ready. Use me as you will."

"Bamboo," the master's voice was grave, "I have to cut you down."

A trembling of great horror shook Bamboo. "Cut me down? Me... whom, you master have made me ideally suitable in your entire garden... to cut me down. Ah, not that, not that. Use me, O master, but cut me not down."

"Beloved Bamboo, if I don't cut you down, I cannot use you."

The garden grew still. Wind held his breath. Bamboo slowly bent his proud and glorious head and whispered, "Master, if you cannot use me without cutting me down, then, cut me down."

"Bamboo, beloved bamboo, I have to cut your leaves and branches too."

"Master, Master, spare me. Cut me down and lay my beauty in the dust, but please don't sever from me my leaves and branches," he pleaded.

"Alas, Bamboo, if I cut them not away, I cannot use you."

The sun hid his face, the air chilled suddenly, and a listening butterfly glided fearfully away. And the Bamboo shivered in terrible expectancy, whispering low, "Master, cut away if you must." "Bamboo, Bamboo, I have to cleave you in twain and cut your heart, for if I cut not so, I cannot use you."

Then did Bamboo bowed to the ground, "Master, Master... then cut and cleave."

So the master of the garden took the bamboo and cut him down and hacked off his branches and stripped off his leaves and split him in two and cut out his heart. And lifting him gently carried him to where there was a spring of fresh, sparkling water in the midst of the dry field. Then putting one end into the water channel in his field, the master gently laid down his beloved Bamboo. And the spring sang welcome and the clear sparkling waters raced joyously down the channel of Bamboo's torn body into the waiting fields. Then the seed was sown and the days went by, and the shoots grew and the harvest came.

On that day was Bamboo, once so glorious in his stately beauty yet more glorious in his brokenness and humility. For in his beauty he was life abundant, but in his brokenness he became a channel of abundant life to his master's world.

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