The color, like blood, is deep red and thick, shimmering as its surface reflects the sun rays. Se blows on her nails, admiring their rich hue. Se splays hir fingers once more towards the eternal sun, palm facing hir, loving how the edges of hir nails sparkle with soft, pinkish luster. Beautiful. Se brings hir hand down, smirking with satisfaction once again at the color, and turns hir attention to the other hand, nails unpainted yet.
“Kanzeon Bosatsu-sama!”
The urgency in Jiroushin’s voice can only mean one thing: work. Se heaves a heavy sigh, turning to look at hir approaching subordinate. His face is flushed, beads of perspiration dotting his wide forehead. A stack of papers is in his right hand. Se sighs again, loudly this time, a definite emphasis of hir reluctance to getting any work done at the moment.
He knows hir traits well, for he quickly bows and utters the customary apology. And knowing hir hardworking subordinate, there is no way se can just wave him away. Se recaps the nail polish and sits back in the elaborate throne of red brocade, crossing hir legs lazily. “What is it this time, Jiroushin?” se asks in feigned exasperation.
“Your nephew, Kanzeon-sama, has just passed away at 1230 hours. Old age. At his house, witnessed by his adopted son. He was 89 years, 8 months and 21 days old.”
Kanzeon raises an elegant brow. “89?” se repeats, incredulity in her voice. “That’s unforgivable! He’s always able to last till at least beyond 95. He’s too eager to leave this time round, eh? Or has he grown tired of life already?”
“I… uh, there’s no way of confirming that, Kanzeon-sama.”
“I know that, Jiroushin. It was just a rhetorical question. Oh well, I suppose it’s that time again…” Jiroushin nods and se sighs again. In one graceful, lithe move, se stands up, walking then to the edge of the huge pond that is hir window to the Down Below. Water lilies of all sizes cover almost every inch of it. An elegant flick of hir wrist and the water lilies shy away to the sides, clustered tightly, revealing the clear glass blue surface. The water ripples slightly as a swirl of colors appears then, coalescing slowly into a blur yet discernible image.
But before the image materializes fully, a blinding light descends upon the Bodhisattva’s vicinity, and se and Jiroushin turn to stare at the trespasser. Meanwhile, the water lilies gather once more to the center, obscuring the image. Se turns fully with one hand at hir hip, the pond forgotten, as the faded light form makes its way towards hir. “Lord Buddha…” she addresses carelessly to hir fellow ruling deity.
“Kanzeon Bosatsu,” comes the reply, deep and sonorous.
“It’s rare to see you here, in Tenkai. You are never interested in the politics here, preferring to live as a hermit on a distant cloud. Tentei was, and is still, quite disappointed that you didn’t bother to at least attend his birthday celebrations. It’s been, what, almost 500 years since you last came by here. So what brings you here today?”
The glowing figure raises a hand to his chest. “Amitabha. I’m sorry to hear that Tentei is upset with me but you should know how strongly I felt about what happened 500 years ago. Corruption has tainted this place, the scar still runs deep. If it is not for the terrible news I’m about to share with you, I would not have come here at all.”
Kanzeon perks up at the mention of ‘terrible news’. The scent of fun and excitement is strong indeed; it makes hir insides quiver with anticipation, like a predator that smells its long-awaited lunch. Things have been awfully quiet since the incident 500 years ago. It is driving hir crazy, having to watch hir nephew and his comrades living on their own, not even allowed a chance meeting, for fear unwanted memories may trigger. At first it had been entertaining, this task of overseeing their re-incarnations Down Below, assigning them to various families, lifestyles, jobs etc. But things started to get mundane after a while then, and nowadays se only checks on them probably every few years or so.
“News, you say?” se inquires, unable to hide the elation in hir voice.
Buddha shakes his head, apparently disturbed by the sadistic nature of his comrade. “Amitabha. You never change, dear Kanzeon. Wherever has your merciful self gone to? But, I’m not going to preach you about it. You wouldn’t listen, anyway. But about the news, I’m afraid it is something that may result in the destruction of the world order.”
Destruction of the world order? Interesting. “You saw visions of the future, didn’t you? What were they, Lord Buddha?”
A heavy sigh, laden with sadness and distress. “A massive being, one that was subdued before, will be awakened. He will bring even greater malice with his revival. I see the peace between humans and youkai snapped, as easily as it takes to break a branch. Destruction, bloodshed, distrust…” Buddha takes a deep breath, as if to calm himself. It is only understandable how such visions can affect a peaceful being such as him. “Kanzeon… something has to be done! These visions must not come true! We have to do something!”
Se likes what se hears so far. And the hell something fun as that will be stop. But then again, the world order cannot be allowed to collapse. Tenkai will lose its pillar of support. And they, the celestial beings, will cease to exist. Nevertheless, all is not lost. I don’t want to know what is going on in your brain, Jiroushin seems to say when se turns to glance at him. Se gives him a wide grin, to which he shakes his head and looks down, knowing he is about to be drag along on the ride se has evidently prepared.
“I understand, Lord Buddha,” se says as she turns back to the glowing figure, “But have you forgotten that we can’t intervene directly in matters concerning Down Below? And the Heavenly Army will not be dispatch until the danger is eminent. I’m afraid there is nothing much we can do.”
Buddha knows the truth in the Bodhisattva’s words. He shakes his head slightly, disappointment evident on his face. ‘Amitabha,” he prays, slow and heartfelt.
Se waves off the prayer. “You need to remember who you’re speaking to, you know.” Buddha looks up, frowning in confusion at hir words. Hir lips curve into a slow grin. “I only said we can’t intervene directly. But, we can, however, have a couple of people to carry out the task in our stead. How does that sound to you?”
“But Kanzeon, who do you have in mind? This is a heavy task. Not many can shoulder such a responsibility. The fighting gods? I’d rather not leave it to them. Power has always been the basis for the military, and power begets corruption.”
The Bodhisattva laughs. “The fighting gods?” se repeats, mockery in hir tone. “If I’ve money to bet, I wouldn’t place it on them either. They are all spineless creatures. No, my Lord Buddha… the ones I have in mind are those who hold true to their selves, never captivated by others. They had once been the envy of others, for the strength that both their minds and souls possessed.” Se laughs again. “Ah, yes… they will do very nicely indeed.”
Buddha raises a brow, looking quite alarmed. “You don’t mean…”
“Yes,” se answers firmly, eyes twinkling with glee. Jiroushin looks pale, as if he would pass out any moment. Buddha opens his mouth, as if to object, only to close it back and shakes his head in resignation. He knows that reasons do not work with Kanzeon Bosatsu, being the strong-minded, stubborn and confident being that se is; precisely why he approached hir in the first place. The Bodhisattva’s disregard for consequences, though risky, is balanced by hir ability to make the wrong right in time. “Saa…” se assures. “Just leave the fun to me.”
“But what about the rules?”
A small problem. Besides, se has been ‘obedient’ for far too long. It is not that se does not dare to break the rules; she believes that fun will present itself at the most opportune time and now it has. “Tentei has not been as watchful lately. He will not find out about this, trust me. The boys themselves may have their memories here in Tenkai stored away in the deepest parts of their subconscious; they will not bother to remember what a bore Tenkai had been. And besides, the Sanbutsushin owe their loyalties to you and me, and my dogs will have to think twice about ratting on me to Tentei.”
A few seconds of contemplation passed before Buddha finally nods his approval. “Very well, Kanzeon Bosatsu. I trust your judgment in this matter. I shall take my leave now, but I’ll come by every now and then. Amitabha.”
“You’re really not serious about the whole matter, are you, Kanzeon-sama?” Jiroushin asks after Buddha left. His eyes search the Bodhisattva’s face, looking for any sign that would confirm his hope, though he knows it is just wishful thinking on his part.
Se ignores the question, turning to face the pond once more. Se hears Jiroushin croaking a choked cry and se smiles. Se has never been serious about anything; this is the first. And no, it has nothing to do with the world order. It is the thrill of seeing the fated ones together once more. The cogwheels are starting to turn again. And the water lilies shy once more to the sides.
A young woman lies in her husband’s arms, contented. Their love-making had been passionate. The man strokes his wife’s hair, whispering sweet words of love and devotion. She smiles, caressing her husband’s cheek, staring deep into the eyes that hold much adoration for her. She talks about having a child then, and he is keen on the idea. They wonder how the child would be like, whose traits he would inherit, how love would touch his life as it does with them. The husband’s desire is stirred once more, and she welcomes him into her warmth once more. The earth shudders at their intensity, and the sky looks away in shame.
She gives the baby one last kiss before settling him in the basket lined with cotton scraps. The baby gurgles, watching his mother with those big eyes of his, as if inquiring of his fate, and the sight is enough to tear her heart into two. But she has to do it. Her husband has already suffered at the hands of that damnable pirate, as with her. Tears blind her vision as she recalls the way her husband was being thrown overboard the ship. He is still alive; she can feel. She is reminded of her body’s violation then, and fresh tears spring to her eyes. She wonders if that bastard has given up searching for her — it has been four months since she fled. But she cannot take the chance. She has to let go of the child first before setting off to find her husband.
Oh sweet babe, you’re ours, she coddles tenderly. You’re ours, remember that. I’m sorry I have to do this, but that man will kill you. Only your father and I should suffer at his hands. Take care, sweet babe. We shall meet again. May the Gods be in your favor always, she chants the soft prayer before drifting the basket down the river.
The eldest comes to her, whispering in her ears that there isn’t any rice left. She sighs, eyes sweeping across the faces of the five little ones playing, oblivious to the family’s situation, carefree still, true to their natures. She stands up, the eldest watching her warily. She smiles kindly. She tells the young girl who just turned eleven that she will go to the forest and get some roots. The eldest nods, knowing that she is in-charge now. The mother goes off, and the young girl watches her siblings with blank eyes.
After their measly dinner and the children had long fallen asleep, her husband reaches for her in the privacy of their small quarter. She does not want to, but her husband insists with such gentleness which melts her resolve. Her husband works hard for the family, but still, it is not enough to get by. She prays to the Gods that the night’s indulgence will not result in unwanted consequences.
They are so lovely; almost-perfect mirror images. Her heart wants to keep them close, but her mind disallows. She knows her mind is right. The one in her arms stirs, and she looks down upon a face that will undoubtedly grow more beautiful as the days pass. She loves this one more, which is why she insisted on carrying him. She wonders if her husband had arrived safely. Tears well up in her eyes as she ponders about the fate of the two. Is she cruel? Is her husband cruel? But they have to do this; they have no choice. Feeding eight mouths is already a losing struggle.
The distant ringing of a bell alerts her. There, in a distance, is a massive white-washed building. That is your home, my little one, she whispers to her child. They will take good care of you. She chances to look at the darkening canopy stretched above; it will be nightfall soon. She quickly picks up her pace.
She loathes him. He is nothing more than a smooth talker, his charms spread thick, like butter on bread, inviting. But her colleagues insist he does nothing more than flirt. And also, they tell her, he is already married. She senses the unease in their voice when they mention that; obviously, the wife is someone not to mess around with. As if she cares!
He likes watching her, though never making it obvious. The new girl intrigues him. She is not like the other waitresses; she is stubborn and strong-willed. And she loathes him, he knows, for she rolls her eyes and scrunches up her face every time he tries to charm her. It only makes her even more desirable in his eyes. He knows it is wrong; he has a wife and a son. And despite his flirting habit, he never once thought of cheating on his wife. But this girl… she is different. She is beautiful, yes, but so are the others. Her body is shaped by the hands of a skilled potter, but so are the others. But what makes her stands out is her scent.
Human.
The cold, gray headstone bears only her name. She had no one. No, that is not right. She had him for a good six months. And before she left, she had given him a gift. He loves the gift very much, there is no doubt about that, but the problem is now to bring it back home. And not only home; the village, the society, the world. Will anyone, other than him, appreciate the beauty of this fine gift? He smiles sadly at his gift, brushing back the tuft of lovely soft tendrils. He loves the color. It is the color of the source of her intoxicating scent.
My son, he calls out. But the baby is still deep in peaceful slumber. He lets the little one sleep, it is only fair. He hopes the little one is having beautiful dreams, for when he awakes later, he will forever be living in a nightmare.
He tries to remember the song that his yellow friend had taught him. He struggles, stringing out a tuneless hum, but in the end, gives up and laughs instead. He laughs and laughs, till his sides ache and tears spring to his eyes. He tries to swipe at them, but they fall instead, in huge, fat droplets. He huddles himself into a tight ball then, and allows himself to cry once more.
How he wishes the rotting body of his yellow friend is just an illusion.
The sun looks exceptionally bright today. He wonders why. In his mind, he is thinking again, Is anyone out there? His heart aches, wishing there is someone out there. He is so alone… so very alone. How long has he been alone? He does not know… He looks down, staring blankly at the dusty brown floor bed.
Something is shadowing the sun. The clouds? Is rain coming? But his nose does not catch its scent. He looks up, almost lazily, and his heart skips a beat. Is he dreaming? He blinks, but the vision is still there. He widens his eyes, as if that will improve his sight. But the vision, a young man in robes with hair that of fine spun gold silk, is still there…
“Oi, you in there! Were you the one who’s been calling out to me?”
Trivia:
1. In the original Journey to the West, Kwan Yin (Kanzeon Bosatsu) mentions to Buddha that the eternal punishment for the Monkey King (Son Goku) is harsh. Buddha says that it is not eternal, for 500 years later, he will need a messenger from the Middle Kingdom (China) to go west and retrieve some holy scriptures. This messenger will be chosen by Kwan Yin herself. And the Monkey King will be recruited along with two other disciples to accompany this messenger. So as you can see, I’ve somewhat incorporated this lil’ trivia into the fic, albeit with a twist.
2. The bit on Hsuang Tsang’s (Sanzo) past is kindly recounted by Elvaron, though I may have changed some facts a bit. Essentially, it goes like this: father thrown overboard ship by bad guy, mother was raped and she got pregnant, she then drifted the baby down the river because she was afraid the bad guy would kill him. But then again, it could be wrong but with so many variations, it isn’t possible to pinpoint which is the right version. So well, hopefully this works just as well. ::smiles::