Deju

Deju was an old, gruff, and bearded mystic. His clothes were torn and filthy, and he carried always in his pocket the feather of an old pigeon he had befriended in his youth. Long ago the pigeon came to him in need of medical tending, for one of her wings had been injured in a scuffle with another pigeon. Young Deju, compelled only by love and kindness, took the bird in and nurtured her back to a full recovery. The bird had never been treated so kindly in her life, so out of love and gratitude, she stayed with Deju for the rest of her years. On the day that she died, Deju buried her under her favorite tree and wandered into the forest for several days to mourn her death. It is believed to be there, in the forest, where Deju learned the secrets of nature and adopted his mystical ideology.

Indeed, plants and animals loved him dearly, but the people in his village came to fear him and treat him with disdain. They did not understand his beliefs and strange rituals. They despised his passive lifestyle, and forbade their children to speak with him. His presence in the village was tolerated only for his skill with animals and farming. It so happened one winter that Deju was exiled from his village, and when spring came, a crisis fell upon the village; all the animals were offended by the villagers' decision and would no longer produce eggs or milk, and the wheat and cornfields produced scarcely half of their usual crop. The villagers realized their folly and sent a messenger boy to find the old mystic and make him come back. Deju returned happily, for despite the villagers' negligence, he loved them and he loved everything about his village; every morning the sun rolled over a small hill and brought the entire village to life. The grass would become illuminated, the daisy flowers would open their sweet pedals, and the other creatures would rise to begin their noble endeavors for the day. Eventually the sun would settle behind a giant Banyan tree, and the moon stepped proudly into its place. Stars would dance in the sky while dreams were born out of the villagers' sleeping minds. It was a beautiful cycle, and Deju would be happy nowhere else.

The old mystic lived alone in a small hut located on the south side of the village where the strawberries grew. One day he was harvesting the fruit near his hut when one of the larger strawberries caught his attention. "Come closer old man," the strawberry whispered, "my voice is quite frail, and I have an important message for you; a premonition has revealed to me that in three days the blacksmith's daughter will become very ill. The villagers will blame you, and their wrath will forever corrupt the tranquility of our beloved village. But don't fret, poor Deju; tomorrow the moon will be full and generous; it will listen to your prayers, and it will help you. Tomorrow night, when the moon has risen full, you must climb to the highest branch of the Banyan tree and seek the moon's advice."

"You precious strawberry," Deju said, "how regrettable your message is! Tomorrow I will consult the moon, but is there nothing I can do now?"

"There is nothing. Go home and rest. You will need all your energy for tomorrow."

Deju plucked the strawberry from its vine and crammed it into his mouth. It was especially juicier than the others.

I will do as i have been advised, he thought, and went home to rest. In the morning he woke refreshed and ready for the climb. He filled a small sack with incense, some rope, an apple, and set out on his mission. The large tree was not far from his hut, but climbing it would take an old man like Deju all day, so he proceeded with all the haste he could muster. He lassoed one of the branches with his rope, tied the other end of it around his waist, and slowly leveraged himself up through the tree, one branch at a time. His hands shook with fatigue, but he was determined to reach the top before the sun completely settled. Half way up, he took a small break to snack an apple. The tree swayed in the breeze and leaves tickled his face while ants marched along side him for inspiration. He was exhausted, but he enjoyed the beautiful scenery as seen from far above the ground.

By the time he reached the highest branch, twilight had come. Deju pulled the incense from his sack, lit them with a match, and let the wind carry their scent up to the moon; it did not take long for the moon to respond: "Good evening Deju." it said. "I know why you've come, and I have the answer you seek."

"Wonderful," said Deju, "please help me put this bad news behind me; tell me what I am to do?"

"Listen carefully for your entire village is at stake. The blacksmith's daughter is a curious young girl. In three days she will wander into the forest, consume a most poisonous fruit, and fall ill. There is no stopping her, as even if you prevent her first attempt, she will no doubt try again. Her fate is bound with the fate of the village, and if she is not stopped, everything else will suffer; unable to determine her seemingly mysterious affliction, the villagers will blame you and you will be viciously murdered; the plants and animals will whither away from the anger they feel for your maltreatment, and they will no longer feed the villagers; the villagers too will whither away from famine, and so the entire village will unravel in a most terrible and irreversible way. But a carefully orchestrated death can stop all this."

"I don't understand." Deju said wearily.

"Your heart is too kind, so I will be blunt: you must kill the young girl, sweet Deju. It is the only way."

"I will not!" Deju exclaimed. "What mad words you speak! I will not be involved."

"You are already involved; you cannot unlearn what you know. Tomorrow at noon a pack of rabid wolves will enter the village. You must lure them to the young girl, for she will be out in the daisy fields picking flowers when they come. No one will be around. She will be helpless and you will not be seen. Her death will be a tragedy, but no one will suspect your involvement."

"Oh moon," Deju cried, "your advice is far from relieving. Please tell me some other way!"

"I know no other way. This is my advice. Good luck to you, and goodnight."

A cloud drifted in front of the moon, and Deju sat alone on the high branch for a long while. Tired and heart broken, eventually he made his way back down the tree. When he reached his hut, he collapsed in his bed and began to sob. "What can I do?" he cried. "I cannot just abandon the village to a terrible demise, yet I would less be willing to harm an innocent child."

He pulled the pigeon feather from his pocket and twirled it in his fingers. He thought of his old friend and how much he missed her. If only she could swoop in and save him from this predicament, he thought.

As anxious as Deju was, sleep inevitably overcame him, but he was plagued with nightmares; over and over he saw terrible images of plants and animals suffering. The village caught fire and everyone was screaming. Above, the moon was laughing.

Deju woke with a knot in his stomach and he was unable to eat. Noon would be coming soon, and a decision would need to be made. He walked through the village and admired all its charm. Everyone appeared so happy and content. The plants and animals too. No one suspected the evil crisis that was approaching. The burden was all Deju's.

And then it was noon. Deju was sulking in front of his hut when off in the distance something emerged from the borders of the forest. It was no doubt the wolves. He sprang frantically to his feet. In a moment of panic, he whistled at them and took off toward the daisy fields. His heart was racing and his mind was spinning with confusion. "You are already involved." he thought.

He did not dare turn around. Over the grassy hills he ran, through the cornfields, and past the Banyan tree. Snarls and growls flickered in his ears, and he only ran faster. The daisy field was just over the horizon and just beyond it was a windmill he could climb to evade the wolves and leave them hungry and alone with the helpless child. He had nearly committed to the idea, until he saw the poor girl, innocent as she was, picking daisies, just as the moon had predicted. His heart swelled with torment. "I might save you all!" he cried.

The wolves had grown much closer to him now, and the little girl was startled by the sight of them approaching. But Deju would not forsake her. He would not forsake the village. He veered far left of her and the wolves remained hot on his trail. He could not outrun them forever, but he could outrun them long enough for the child to make it to some place safe.

One of the wolves nipped Deju's ankle and he twisted around catching a glimpse of the little girl climbing the windmill. "She's safe," he sighed and vanished under a cloud of dust and wolves.

Only moments later did the other villagers arrive and find the crying little girl clinging desperately to one of the windmill's beams. The wolves had already ravaged Deju's lifeless body and scampered back into the forest.

It was two days later when the little girl fell fatally ill. The weather was especially warm that day. A drought was coming.