The Disrespectful Son

At the time when the land of Ndu was ruled by a very strict and powerful king, there lived a poor widow, whose only means of support was her one son Dorje. He was full of rebellious thoughts and brought much trouble upon himself and his poor mother by his disrespectful ways. He would not bow to the command of the king, nor did he listen to the advice of the elders. He knew his own mind, and did not watch his tongue, always speaking foolishly. This caused the people of the kingdom to turn against him, for when the king was angered by the young man's actions, they all suffered. Eventually, Dorje was forced to abandon his mother, his lands, his possessions, and leave the land of Ndu, for the people were roused against him and many threatened to put an end to his life.

Carrying only the bearest of essentials, the young man began his journey to strange unknown parts. As he walked he felt the comforting heaviness of the large amulet his mother had given him. The charm box contained many precious things: slips of paper with prayers and magical drawings; clay figures of dieties; and most precious of all, a tiny zi bead. The zi bead was a highlt prized possession, being able, it was said, to protect the wearer from injury.

Dorje walked wherever his fancy took him, caring not where his footsteps led. Crossing rivers and streams, hills and mountains, he continued his journey. Soon however, his food ran out, and he was forced to subsist on wild berries, occaisionally begging a little rice, cheese, or roasted barley from other travelers he met on his way. Food was hard to find, and often nightime would find him cold and hungry, with only the vague comfort of a better tomorrow in his thoughts.

As the days passed, he grew increasingly weaker and found that he could not walk as far or as fast when he began. Finding himself on a high plateau, he looked in all directions to find the easiest way to travel. The country was wild and deserted. In the distance on one side, Dorje could see the looming hostility of the mountains, perhaps thirty miles away, with nothing but rocky wilderness between.

In the other direction, however, was a wide rolling plain, ending in the gentle slope of green hills. The long grass of the plain looked infinitely more inviting than the rocky wilderness, so Dorje began his slow descent from the high plateau, heading for the flat plain, with its long grass, occaisional expanse of dry dusty land, and few trees. He was struck by the extremes of climate and the weird, ever-changing scenery. This land was surely a strange land, and he felt pangs of apprehension stab in his stomach.

When he reached the plain, Dorje was drawn to a small black cloud just a few yards away. When he investigated he found that it was hordes of flies hovering over the dead body of a horse. The horse had not been dead for long, for the flies had made little impact on the body, and thinking that the horsemeat would make a hearty meal, the young man set about cutting off the horses head with a large knife which he kept inside his chuba. It was a long task, but down without feelings of distaste, for his belly was groaning in anticipation of the satisfying meal. When Dorje had completed the job of cutting off the horses head, he slung it over his shoulder and made for the shelter of a spreading tree, just visible in the distance. The low branches of the tree, he thought, would provide a suitable place to eat and rest for the night, for the sun was slowly beginning to disappear beneath the horizon and darkness would soon descend.

On reaching the tree, Dorje, with the horses's head still slung over his shoulder, climbed onto one of the lower branches and settled himself among the leaves. Darkness had fallen, swiftly and silently, as if a curtain had been drawn across the sky, a curtain painted with the ghostly glow of the silver moon which cast shimmering light over the surrounding land.

The young man, by now quite ravenous, began to tear at the horseflesh, eating it as if it were the nectar of the gods, so sweet was the taste of red meat to his long-starved taste buds. Something caught his eye...he looked up, startled, his eyes searching the landscape for movement. Then, out of the shadow, clothed in the light of the moon, Dorje saw something that chilled his heart with fear and sent shivers of terror running up and down his spine. Flying toward him on wild horses were the most terrible demons he had ever seen. Even in his darkest nightmares Dorje had never looked upon such ugly fearful beings.

He closed his eyes, hoping that the demons would pass, but the thundering hooves drew nearer, and the snarling, gnashing of teeth, and lashing of whips seemed to surround him. The demons stopped beneath the tree in which he crouched; he forced himself to open his eyes and look down onto the terrible spectacle below. The demons' faces were too ugly to be described, and their eyes, red and rolling in their sockets, looked this way and that, as if searching for intruders. Dorje hardly dared to breathe, but slowly he moved his hand to his amulet, and clutching it in earnest he began mentally praying for protection.

The demons began to speak, voices barely audible gurgled from their blood red lips and hissed in the night air. Dorje could just make out some of the conversation, the demons were saying that they lusted for human flesh! The young man's body now began to shake uncontrollably, he was unable to keep hold of the horses head, and it fell from his grasp and landed right at the feet of the gathered demons. Shrieking and shouting, the demons scattered in all directions, believing that the horses head had fallen from the sky and was an ill omen!

For what seemed hours, Dorje could not move, but eventually his body relaxed, as fear turned to relief,and he climbed down from the tree just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky, throwing the welcoming light of dawn over the surrounding land. On the ground beneath the tree he noticed a golden bowl. Realizing that one of the demons must have dropped it in his hurry to escape, the young man was loath to touch the object. The gleam of gold, however, soon made him overcome his misgivings, and placing the bowl inside his chuba the young man continued on his way.

The distant green hills looked welcoming, but it seemed to Dorje that the faster he walked, the farther away they appeared to be. Finally, nearly collapsing with exhaustion, he sat down to rest awhile. In need of food, he emptied out his traveeing bags in hope of finding some scrap of food, but there was not even the smallest morsel. He picked up the bowl and moaned in despair, "A bowl that golden gleams," he said to himself, "of precious metal made, and yet I would gladly swap this bowl for a small portion of plain rice." Then, shouting in anguish, he cried, "Oh, I do wish this bowl was full of food!" Just as the words were uttered, the bowl filled to the brim with food!

"A magic bowl!" he exclaimed, unable to believe his luck, and with tears of joy running down his cheeks, he greedily ate the food. When Dorje had finished and licked the bowl clean, he asked for more food. This time he asked for all the delicacies he had yearned for during his long journey, and sure enough, the bowl produced the food. Dorje then asked for drink, which the bowl provided; as much as he asked for, the bowl magically produced.

Feeling refreshed, Dorje decided to experiment with the bowl, asking it to produce gold, silver, and precious gems, but the bowl did not respond, it would only fill with food or drink. "Never mind," he thought, "I will not be hungry or thirsty again," and so he continued on his travels.

Having reached the green hills and wandered into a sparsely populated valley, Drje decided to rest for a few days before continuing with his journey. He moved about from household to household, talking with the people, exchanging gossip, and accepting what hospitality was offered to him, for the people were very friendly and unused to seeing travelers from foreign parts. At one small house he came upon an old man making ready for a journey.

"Where are you going?" asked the young man, and the old man explained that he wished to see a wise and learned king in another land. He had learned of the king's generosity and compassion and wanted to see the great man for himself. The two men talked for awhile and then sat down to eat together. Only a meager meal was placed on the table, and Dorje, used to having whatever food he desired, took the golden bowl from his chuba and ordered it to fill with meat. The old man looked on in amazement as the bowl complied with the young man's wishes.

"That is a magic bowl," the old man exclaimed, "where did you get it?" The young man related the story of the demons and his terrifying experience of a few nights past. The old man listened, then said, ""A bowl such as that would be very useful to me on my journey. I would not have to carry food. Will you sell it to me?" The young man laughed, "This bowl is too precious to sell." Hurriedly he replaced it in his chuba.

The old man, his eyes twinkling, left the room and returned with an old wooden staff. Handing it the young man he said, "This is a magic staff. Just ask it to fetch something to you." Dorje took the staff, it was old and notched, but felt smooth to the touch. Looking around the room he spotted a fur-trimmed hat lying on the floor near the old man's traveling bags. "Fetch the hat," the young man ordered the staff, and straight away the staff flew from his grasp, returning seconds later with the hat.

"This indeed would be a very useful staff," Dorje said, and taking the golden bowl from his ambac he agreed to exchange it for the magic staff. The two men said their farewells and the young man began his journey once again.

Before he had gone very far Dorje stopped. He turned to look in the direction of the old man's house, and holding the staff aloft he ordered it to fetch the golden bowl. The staff returned to the old man's house, beat him three times over the head and returned to Dorje with the golden bowl.

"Ah ha!," said the young man, "you have done as ordered, you will prove very useful, magic staff." And so saying he replaced the golden bowl inside his chuba, took the staff in his right hand and walked away, as fast as possible, just in case the old man should follow and try to retrieve the magic object.

"Tashi delek," a voice shouted in greeting as Dorje was crossing a small river. He looked up, and sitting on the opposite bank was a shriveled old hermit. "Tashi delek," the young man replied and made his way to where the aged man was sitting. The old hermits face creased with a smile, "Where are you heading?" he asked. Dorje replied that he was wandering about the country with no particular aim in mind, to which the old hermit chuckeled and patted the ground beside him, beckoning the young man to sit.

The young man sat down beside the old hermit. Dorje noticed that his clothes were very ragged and torn, betraying the many years that the old man must have been homeless and destitute. "What do you do, old man?" he asked. "Oh, I sit here on the edge of the river watching the constant movement of the water," said the hermit. "Or, I wander about the valley just contemplating life." He smiled to himself, as if secretly enjoying some personal joke. "Sometimes," he continued, "I hammer prayers into the stones in exchange for alms; we get many pilgrims passing this way." The old hermit's hands fumbeled beneath his worn robe and produced a beautifully carved "mani stone." "Would you like one?" he asked the young man.

"I am not traveling on pilgrimage," the young man replied, "and do not plan to visit any of the holy places." The old hermit replaced the stone, but as he did so Dorje caught sight of a beautiful hammer hidden in the folds of the old man's garment. "Is that the hammer you use to carve the prayers into the stones?" he asked. The old man gave him a quick glance and covered the hammer. "No," he replied, "not that hammer, it is too precious."

Dorje's curiosity was aroused, and he questioned the old hermit relentlessly. "Why is it precious?" he asked. "Do tell me." At last the man gave in to his questioning. "With this hammer I can build houses of iron," he said. "Then why do you not use it?" asked the young man. The old hermit gave him a long, searching look. "What use have I for an empty house?" he said. "I am happy being homeless." "But you can build houses for others," Dorje continued, "and be very rich."

The hermit folded his hands into his lap, gazed into the distance, and said, "I look for riches that money cannot buy; I seek treasure that is hidden in my being. If I build houses for people, even though I ask for no reward, I will be bringing only envy and dissatisfaction upon others, for there will always be someone wanting a house; there would be no end to the demands."

"Give the hammer to me," said Dorje, "for I can make better use of it than you." The old hermit shook his head, but did not speak. "I will give you something in exchange," Dorje continued, and taking the golden bowl from his chuba, he proceeded to show the old man how it produced food and drink.

Slowly, the old hermit reached into the folds of his robe and brought out the hammer. Handing it to the young man he said "Take it. I will have the bowl; it will be far more useful to me than the hammer that makes iron houses." Dorje handed over the bowl, stood up, bade the old hermit goodbye, and went on his way.

Before he had walked very far, Dorje once again sent the staff back to fetch the golden bowl. Then, having three magic objects in his possession, he happily continued his journey.

For many a day he wandered, enjoying his freedom and feeling full of hapiness. When he wanted a meal he asked his golden bowl, and when he wished for shelter and rest he built an iron house, and when he wanted to relax and entertain himself he sent his magic staff to fetch things. Sometimes, if something he desired belonged to another traveler, he would just send his staff to fetch it. He did not look upon it as stealing - just making use of the wonderful luck that had been bestowed upon him.

"I am indeed a fortunate man," he thought, and with a long contented sigh he let his hand drop to his side, feeling for his amulet. It was gone! Despite the fact that he had the three magic objects, he felt a shiver of foreboding run through his body as he realized he was without the protection of the amulet.

One day, Dorje came upon a whithered old lady, standing outside a small hut on the edge of a gently sloping hill. The old lady was busy with a pair of black leather bellows, puffing at the air. The young man approached her. "Are you trying to set fire to the air, old lady?" he laughed, only to meet with her cold gaze as she turned to face him. The furiously, she began beating at the air with the bellows again.

Suddenly, the sky that had been hitherto clear and bright, clouded over. A darkness came over the land and a loud clap of thunder shook the ground on which they stood. Within seconds rain began to fall, and was soon torrenting down; raindrops the size of small ponds dropped all around them. Dorje was soaked to the skin, and was swept off his feet by the heavy rain. The old lady shrieked with delight, laughed and danced around, waving the bellows above her head.

Dorje took out his hammer and beat it three times on the ground. Immediately a nine-story iron house sprang up from nowhere, enclosing and sheltering the young man and the old lady within its walls. The old lady cried out in amazement and backed away from Dorje who was standing in a corner, laughing. "How did you work such magic?" she cried. "Tell me, what power do you possess?" The young man just waved his hammer in the air and carried on laughing; he was amused by the old lady's look of complete astonishment. The old lady left the house and returned minutes later with another pair of bellows. "The black bellows," she said, "bring rain for eighteen days. These white bellows bring sunshine. Tell me how you do your magic and I will give you the bellows." Dorje declined to tell the old lady that it was the hammer that built the house, and still chuckling, he waved goodbye and was gone.

When he had reached the bottom of the hill he sent the staff to fetch the two pairs of bellows, which it did, and then the happy young man began to walk toward the next village.

While sleeping that night, Dorje had disturbed dreams. Thoughts of his homeland invaded his sleeping and when he awoke he was full of longing to return. "With my magic objects," he thought, "no-one, not even the king, will be able to dispute my power. So, he began the long journey back to Ndu.

After many weeks Dorje arrived home. When he reached his mother's house it was far into the night. He woke his mother, and despite her protests, took her to the gates of the kings palace. Banging his hammer on the ground three times, he built a nine-storied house of iron, and taking his mother inside he barred and bolted the doors against intrusion.

Next morning, all of the kingdom gathered to look at the house which had suddenly sprung up over night. There was much speculation, and many of the men took the opportunity to gamble by placing bets on as to how the house came to be there. Then, one of the people wsaw Dorje's face at the window. "The disrespectful son has returned," the voice rose above the crowd and brought silence on the gathering. "He who brought trouble on us by his foolish ways," the voice continued, "it is he who has built the house. Quickly, go tell the king."

The king, who was already angered by having an iron house placed right next to the palace, was even more enraged to find that it was the exiled young man ensconed therein. He ordered all of the men of the kingdom to assemble outside the house; each has to bring a bucket of fuel and a pair of bellows. Then, with the yak-chips, logs, and coal piled around the base of the house, the men lit the fuel and then went to work with their bellows, fanning the small fires until they became an inferno. The iron house began to melt, slowly, as the flames reached an intense heat that made the metal white-hot at the base of the nine-storied house.

Dorje ran to the top story of the house, and leaning out of one of the windows, began to fan the air with his pair of black bellows. Rain fell, sending the people running for shelter, and damping the fire within seconds. The king was more angry than he had ever been. He sent the guards to watch over the house and prevent the son or his mother from leaving. "I will starve them to death," he cried, "I will be rid of this man for good."

But, what the king did not know, of course, was that the young man had his golden bowl which produced all the food and drink he and his mother neede. Many days passed, and the king began to despair. He sent a messenger to see the young man and to declare a truce. "Bring him to me," the king ordered, "and tell him I will not harm him."

So, Dorje went to see the king, and peace was made between them. The young man became ver ypopular in the kingdom, as with his magic objects he helped all the people. When they needed rain to grow the crops, he gave them rain; when hthey neede sunshine to ripen the crops, he gave them sunshine. To the poor he gave food, and his staff was used to fetch and carry things for the infirm and old people of the kingdom.

The king became very jealous of the young man's power, for the people gave him more honour that they afforded their own king. Determined to be rid of the young man, the king began to ask questions as to how the young man came to possess the magic objects. Dorje had not been wise with his tongue, and had told several people about his night on the tree when he met the fearful demons. When the king heard this, he decided on a plan to bring the young man to grief. Sending one of his old servants to borrow the staff, the king sent it on a strange mission.

"Staff, bring to me the king of the demons," he said. The staff flew into the air, and was gone for many hours. It returned in the dead of night, and following behind, in all his fearful glory, was the king of the demons. The king was terrified at meeting such an ugly, vicious being, but summoning his courage he explained to the king of the demons why he had sent for him.

"In the iron house," he dasi, "dwells a man who is the possessor of a magic bowl, the bowl he stole from a demon." The king of the demons, blood dribbling from his mouth, and his bloodshot eyes gleaming with untold horror, disappeared in a flash. It was the last the king saw of him, but the next day the people of the kingdom found the young man dead, his heart torn out, and his magic objects gone. All except one, for the king was now the owner of the magic staff, which he used to restore his power in the kingdom.