Chapter 2

Sensei Exhumed Pan G.'s Wooden Donkey

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The alley to the death-row prison was getting darker and colder when they approached Pan G.’s cell.

The Wooden-Torture-Donkey used to grind your flesh and fiber stood quietly in the corner. Seemingly, it kept on chewing some crashed veins and bones exuding smells and tastes of the bitter-blood freshly grind out.

“Did they use it?”

The Master whispered. The Warden ignored him walking forward.

The Master had heard of the torture devise from householder practitioners.

It will not stop until the prisoner confesses the details they wanted to reveal.

T.T.T.

Thereafter, he was pulled out. Pulled out of sight, out of sight of the Wooden Donkey, but the scent of mycolic acid had pounced faces from all directions, immediately, the Master’s nose was choked.

The Chief Warden had led the Master along going deeper into the dark alley.

And he saw the shocking word "DEATH" in wet red ink printed on the back of the Pan G. Monk’s prison shirt, his body bruised and wounded, lying motionless, looking sideways.

“Master……” He uttered weakly, mouth and lips fully swollen.

Seeing Master coming, his palms pressed against the filing-planks dividing the cells. Staring at the young monk, the Master couldn’t manage to utter a word. Pan G. Monk saw that he was in tears and could not stop choking.

He would remember the “The Grand On-Foot-West Journey to the Indian Continent During the Great-Tame Dynasty’” that his Abbott Master had verbally narrated and he had used wet-black ink to write on bamboo papers.

Exactly, that was how he had cried, as that Travel Diary had recorded; the first time he met his Master Shīlabhadra at The Nālandā Buddhist--Open-University. He saw his teardrops flowing along the cheeks uncontrollably.

Pan G. was determined to talk.

"Just let me die peacefully, Master…... Grant your disciple this last wish, Master..."

His pale face stained, smooth-bald head pierced shoots of new hardened hair overnight, and his ruddy cheeks sunken deep and concave. His pupils drifted away when he tilted his head, and the dark color corroded the emptiness with extreme fear.

The GrandMaster Xend'-Eon who had been crowned as The Mahayana Heavenly Grand Debater by thousands of kings and religious debaters in India found himself at a loss of words.

"Do stop crying, Pan G. Pan G., don’t be worry, I'll beg for her mercy, and the Empress will grant you pardon."

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“Don’t cry, Daddy.” The 5-year-old Master pleaded.

The eunuch-officials had falsely accused the Master’s father of a crime faking robing of his only daughter as a nun and all merits accrued transferred to the lustful emperor, to escape royal concubine recruitment. They managed to come up with a committal execution of ransacking all the belongings of the Xend’-Family while burning down their house. The wrinkled face of his father cracked tears in the same manner as how the Master did now.

When he saw his 100-year-old blind Master in NālandāTemple thirty-odd years ago, where the Old Monk touched the Bodhi-chanting-Beads hanging across his bowing neck, that the Abbot Master’s mother gave him, he cried and the Young Master cried. The vast void sounded echo.

The Young Abbot Master managed to make a mission detour in returning to the City after being absent from persecution for 20 years since Emperor Táme’ Tie’-Zeon murdered his Emperor Father.

That night, high above the dark mountains above the City, few monks on horsebacks appeared on a grey-yellowish black background, as if images of Grand-Sky-Goose Pagodas floating on the skies behind, when the Abbot Master got down from his horse. His disciples left of the past 20 years from the traveling tried to discern his expression staring from the high ground towards the City. He felt blood thicker than water. He rubbed the Bodhi-Chanting-Beads that his Old Master had touched and teardrops rolled down staining his robes, like pearls flowering.

But, they were the poisonous pearls of teardrops now.

The wardens had erected The Post-Autumn-Guillotine extraordinarily earlier this year.

And suddenly, in his mind’s eye, the two executioners who appeared on the Attending Novice Monks’ hallucination managed to catch up with the Master. The two men grasped the handle firmly, shining there was the black and dark-red natural colors of the oily wooden plank; pulled downward toward the waist of Pan G. Monk, and the TWO WAISTS shook for a second before splooging faded away.

While he was waiting in extreme fear, he saw the lights and shadows fall.

Did the Bodhi-Chanting-Beads roll down departing their waist strings?

Did death arrive flying from the soul?

Would the committal of the alleged crime he committed and the execution wash away any relevant sins? Could his own blood ever spill on the karma to make it right?

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Pan G. Monk struggled to get off his back to rise from the ground filled with stalks of paddy. He wanted to pay a homage kow-down to his Master. He looked up, saw his face, and all looked wrinkled and distorted. Lights were dim.

"Please save me, Master…?"

The Master wanted to respond.

"You should enter The Deep-Active-Meditatitive Flow of Equanimity Samādhi, and you should go ahead initiate The SIT-YOUR-SOUL Away! You should let go of this body now."

Or: "You must know, as a monk, to suicide is to kill a Buddha."

These words came close to the Master’s lips, but he could not manage to have them uttered out.

The Master realized that Monastery-Community Sangha-Members lived a pure life beyond mundane lingering. Pan G. practiced rigorously via comprehending and co-translating the Buddha-Dharma that no one could have ever transported from India to China to the Master’s extent.

“How could this be happening, Pan G.? Did I fail you?”

“What do you think, Master?”

The Master shook his head, “I do not think you could have done any such thing. I think I might have failed you, though.”

Pan G.burst into tears and wailed.

The Master remembered he helped make one of the Emperor’s concubines a nun. He helped shave the newly born. The Jade-Buddha Prince as a token of a young monk made for the alleged incredibly meritorious returns. Those were ceremonies only deserved by high monks in the Dynasty.

Pan G. accompanied the Master’s frequent mingling with the Imperial Family.

He could perceive the Master's deep sorrow in disappointment. He was equally panicked and shocked. He heard the Master mutter an agreement and saw a glimmer of one chance of life glanced on the face of the Pan G. Monk.

"Pay homage to The Great-Compassionate Avalokiteśvara-Boddhisattva. He will seek your sorrow and rescue your distressful suffering. But, Pan G., as you should have known now, you still need to go through your own fate, let’s do the SIT-Your-Soul-Away…”

When the Master left, the stinking odor in the whole prison vanished.

As if certain rounds of purification of The Deep-Active-Meditative Flow of Equanimity Samādhi dispersed, the scent of burning incense made of Mahogany, sipping through the air all around.

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“I don’t mean to be rude, Master, but you have advised us to voice out doubts, especially at this juncture.”

“Yes, Huey’-Lee, My Disciple, carry on.”

“Master you have conquered near-death experiences many times and also persecutions many times, why is it that Pan. G. Monk-Brother’s incident impacted Master to this extent? I don’t understand.”

“Huey’-Lee, you are very observant and caring; you are one of my best Logician Students. You could help me solve the impending many other acute debates with other factions nowadays and in the future. But...I’m afraid I do not know the answer to your question. I have also asked myself the same question without an answer. But I sensed that the answer might be in the question itself, Huey’-Lee“

“Okay, Master, I seek Dharma from you because you touched me not only with your ability to take initiative but also with your empathy that you have shown for us. They touched me, and I will spend my life learning whatever you could teach me and I will learn your skillful Three-Thong-Buddhist-Logic that promises The Attainment of The Deep-Active-Meditative Flow of Equanimity Samādhi.”

”I am glad, Huey’-Lee.”

“Okay, Master, I would rather not, but I meant no disrespect Master, as you know our conditions now. But, yes, please tell me about your dream about The Eagles or the Mooncalves?”

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Half Hippogriffs? Eagles? Or Hogwarts? Or the Thestral? Or the Twisted Mooncalves? Or simply, they were twisted to turn into flying beings?

They hovered the corners of the skies overseeing the Corpse-Feeding-Site, spilled scent of red flesh and strong bitter smell. He felt chills swamping from all around and they felt like frozen crisps that poked on his paling skin. The winds were so cold that he thought he could see like Seer eons of eerie lights riding on their tangible curves.

"Are they going to feed Pan G.'s corpse to the eagles? Or cut it…”

A gust of wind blew, one from nature’s gliding, one from the thumping of the flesh and cracking of the bones bumped up as if they had smelled excitedly for themselves the bitterly fresh blood and the mushy flesh spitting and spilling.

I tried not to hate it.

Someone raised that question and he knew that it was The Ground used as a The Corpse-Feeding-Site for The Red Temple. That person couldn't finish the question, though.

"What's happening? Where are we?"

He answered with questions but didn't hear anyone answering.

Goosebumps on the Abbott Master's body were countless all over.

As if this was the first time he had ever seen a corpse.

Rightly, that was indeed the first time he had stepped in the Site witnessing Pan G. Monk's Sky-Funeral.

Abbott Master Xend'-Eon immediately apprehended that it was The Assistant Monk Huey’-Lee that had been conversing with him and The Master realized he knew what he meant and why he couldn't come to finish his question.

"You mean they didn't even cut off his limbs and torso so that more eagles could eat the flesh?" What a deduction. He told himself now. He didn't remember he ever answered questions in that manner.

Then at a splash of a second, the whooshing of eagles' wings and winds swamped right down flapping on his face.

I screamed and woke up, and I was still sitting in a Lotus Position, Huey’-Lee.

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"Huey’-Lee, Immediately my memories flashed back to The King of The Sun-Vinaya in India. You remember him from the Travel Diary, right?”

“Yes, Master, I have read your Travel Diary carefully. I know you must have meant you dreamt of the destruction of his empire at those times?

“Yes, you are right. And I also taught my Logician Master, The Householder-Commentary-Master at the Jeek'-Foot Mountain.”

“Yes, Master had mentioned The Great-Compassionate Avalokiteśvara-Bodhisattva's Pigeon Pagoda that was in the vicinity that led you to our Grand Master, The Champion-Conqueror Logician. I remember his achievement status had equaled our Grand Master at the Nālandā Open Temple University.”

“He thought that dreams only functioned as means of diluting his strongest strains of anxious consciousness accumulated lately. Those of the King included.”

But the way I dreamt tonight after all these years wouldn't mean anything because he had helped Pan G. and the Death Row Authority would have now been incapable of doing him any more harm.

The Master told himself. He thought that it was the right time to tell other disciples about his visit and actual resultant reaction of Pan G. Monk. Although as logical as he could be, even surpassing his Masters, he seemed to lack confidence in his self-reflection now.

“Master, I would continue to interject. You are so strong with your Bodhi Heart. You are too strong. Enduring pains and persecution. I wouldn't be sure if I could follow in your footsteps and all the decisions that you had made. But, I don't want to be rude, Master, but have you ever thought that what had happened to you carried a certain kind of deep subconscious emotion…?”

“What would that be?”

“Master, that’s not up to me to say.”

“Then, let me go deep down for the truth for myself.”