I shrugged, which had little effect on the wildlife. “Possibly Explorer Trent and his expedition left behind some indication of their gratitude in the Emperor’s coffers; who am I to know? In any case, our monastery, which seven hundred years ago had housed a thousand monks—”
“I remember those days! You do not, I believe?”
“No.” It is unlikely I was there in that incarnation. In any case, as with all ghosts, the only incarnation I remember, of the hundreds (or, in the case of one as hapless as I, no doubt thousands) I have lived through, is the most recent.
“Such chanting,” South Mountain Spirit said joyously, the sun glittering off his watercourses. “Drumming, and bells, and dancing, bright prayer flags snapping in the wind! Some monks made the journey as far as myself, to perform rites and hang prayer flags from tree to tree across my valleys. You used to do that, when Tuo Mo lived. By then you were the only one.”
“Yes.” I smiled, remembering the three days’ walk from my hermit cave to South Mountain, sandals slapping the desert trail, prayer flags rolled in my monk’s bundle. “It seemed the proper thing to do, though it was a difficult journey. It is easier to visit with you now that I am incorporeal.”
South Mountain Spirit, who has always been incorporeal but who cannot, of course, leave South Mountain, was here faced with yet another concept he did not understand. He began to brood. I have learned not to approach him when thick clouds are gathering, so I waited. As usual, his mood changed rapidly. “Continue,” he instructed after a few minutes, his brow clearing. “I am interested.”
“I’m gratified to hear it,” I told him. “As I say, the monastery had once been large and bustling; but by the time I came to live there, it was greatly reduced in size, and when the expedition arrived, we were eight small monks. We chanted and prayed while they chopped and pried. Attachment to the things of this world, our abbot daily reminded us, is one of the chief impediments on the spiritual path. We watched them remove our statues and altar cloths, and tried to think of it as a blessing, an opportunity to practice detachment.”
“Were you successful?”
“Those who were spiritually mature did succeed, to varying degrees. In fact I hear our abbot went on to become a bodhisattva. But I, sadly, was not far enough along the path to be able to use this lesson. I was unable to rid myself of a strong attachment to these objects, and a powerful desire to see them remain. This attachment created in me a great sense of loss when the objects were taken away. None more so than the Buddha head.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“More than you know.” I sighed again. “Now: at the time the expedition arrived, I was ill.”
“Tuo Mo, your incarnation, was ill, you mean.”
“Yes, exactly.” I attempted to keep my patience with this literal-mindedness, which was, after all, merely his nature. “And a few days before the Trent expedition left, Tuo Mo died.”
“Freeing you, as a spirit, to continue your journey along the path.” He peered at me and dark clouds began to gather again on his brow.
“Yes,” I said, “I think you begin to understand.”
“You,” he said portentously, thunder rumbling, “are still here.” Mournfully, I said, “I am.”
He paused in reflection. “The spirits of humans,” he spoke slowly, “remain in this spirit realm for forty days before assuming a new incarnation. As I mentioned, I am not very precise about the smaller divisions of time, but are we not well beyond your forty days?”
“We are one hundred and three years beyond my forty days. Time, as you say, has a different meaning to you. But even a Spirit of Place can no doubt see that, though I have departed the worldly realm, I cannot continue my journey through the cycle of existence, arriving eventually, as all sentient beings will, at Buddhahood, if I cannot leave this spirit realm to be reborn.”
“Well,” he demanded, “why have you not left, then?”
“I cannot.” I shook my head with sorrow. “Three days before I died, the expedition removed the head of the Buddha statue from my cave. This saddened me; and, unknown to me at the time, caused great uproar. Not in the realm of the living, where we monks continued chanting and praying. But among the cave spirits, I later learned, there arose much consternation. The statue, you see, had from the beginning been the guardian of the spirits of all the other images painted and carved on the walls: not only the humans, but the horses, the foxes, the tigers and cranes and peacocks. With the head gone, the statue was incomplete, and therefore unable to perform its function. Demons began to gather. My cave, formerly a peaceful retreat, became fear-filled, the air sharp with anxiety. The image spirits joined together in an attempt to keep the demons at bay. They held them off for a time, but it was clear that they would not be able to continue until the coming of the Buddha of the Future.”
“And if they failed?”
“Demons would flood the cave. The spirits would flee, leaving behind the images, which, uninhabited, would start immediately to deteriorate. The demons, of course, would gleefully hasten that process, cracking statues and peeling paint from walls. The labor of centuries of monks to create and maintain a place whose purpose was to assist men along the spiritual path would come to an end.”
“An unfortunate outcome,” South Mountain Spirit rumbled, “as men do appear to need assistance.”
“Oh, yes, most certainly. Now, I knew nothing of this, of course, at the time of my departure from the realm of men. I left the body of Tuo Mo and presented myself to the Lord of the Underworld. His scribes showed him the accounting of my virtues and imperfections. He pored over their scrolls, finally turning his terrifying visage to me. ‘You have come at an opportune time!’ he thundered. I must tell you, I have met the Lord of the Underworld a thousand times now, and he frightens me anew each time.”
“I believe that is his function, is it not?”
“It is, and he performs his duties with enthusiasm. While I anxiously awaited instructions as to my next incarnation, he glowered silently, taking much longer than usual. Finally he roared, ‘Ghost of Tuo Mo, you will be given a task to fulfill!’
“Hearing this, at first I was excited: Did it mean I had made enough spiritual progress in Tuo Mo’s lifetime to move on to a higher realm? Was I now one small step closer to the enlightenment I so dearly sought? Alas, as it turned out, that was not the case.
“ ‘The spirits in your cave are in a state of great distress!’ he howled. ‘They have lost their guardian and will soon be at the mercy of a cloud of demons. Ghost of Tuo Mo, why did you not attempt to stop the removal of the Buddha head?’
“ ‘I? The expedition—the Emperor—our abbot—I was a small monk—’ I’m afraid I squeaked, shivering before him. ‘I could not have prevented it.’
“ ‘You did not try! Who are you to know what effect your efforts might have had? But throughout this life, you were cowardly, Ghost of Tuo Mo. You were terrified of these strangers, you who trembled to speak in the presence of your brother monks. So terrified that you fell ill when the expedition arrived. And now you have died!’
“I hung my head. ‘I did not intend to die, my Lord.’
“ ‘What care I for your intention? The expedition has removed the Buddha head, and you have died. And as though those events were not enough, before you left the worldly realm the removal of the head created in you, Ghost of Tuo Mo, vast stores of attachment and regret that you were unable to resolve.’ He leaned forward, eyes burning. ‘Can you deny these things?’
“I could not. The Lord of the Underworld settled himself on his throne once more and continued. ‘You must expiate these imperfections and the cave spirits must be protected. You will not move on from this realm in the usual forty days. You will instead return to your cave and become the new guardian!’ ”
At this point in my story I was surprised to hear South Mountain Spirit interrupt, ringing with laughter that echoed down his gullies. “Yes, now I remember your telling me this! It was the first time you visited me, soon after you arrived in this realm. How funny it struck me. The little round monk, he who quivered if required to speak to his fellows, charged with defending lion spirits from underworld demons.”