The circle of life carries on

WHEN I started writing this column three years ago, I made a promise to myself that I would be as authentic as I can be.

As I sat down to write this week’s effort I was struck for the first time with writer’s block.

The thing is, you see, that I am consumed with my Dad. It has been three weeks since he died but it feels like yesterday.

But I feel guilty and boring for banging on and on about this hole in my heart. I just feel numb. So I went off to do some chores to have a little think.

While I was clearing out my spare room, where my Dad used to sleep, to make it nice for Jacques, my Dad’s best friend who is travelling from France to stay with us over the week of Dad’s funeral, I came upon a dusty old book in which I found a story.

Kisa grew up in an Indian village a long time ago. She married had had a little son.

One sad day the baby became ill and died. Kisa was so distraught that she asked everyone in the village for a medicine to revive the baby.

“Please, can you help me?” Kisa asked the doctor. “I need some special medicine for my baby.” The doctor looked at the baby in Kisa’s arms. He could see that he was dead.

“I’m sorry, Kisa. I haven’t got the medicine you need. Why don’t you go and ask the Buddha?” The Buddha looked at the bundle in Kisa’s arms. How could Kisa be helped to accept the truth that her little boy had really died?

The Buddha said: “Kisa, if you want to make some medicine, you must have some mustard seeds. Go into town and ask at each house, but you must only accept seeds from a house in which no one has died.”

At the first house a young woman answered the door.

“Could I have some mustard seeds to make some medicine?” Kisa asked.

The woman went back inside and soon returned with some seeds.

“Here you are.”

Smiling, Kisa was just about to take the seeds when she remembered the Buddha’s words.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” said Kisa. “Has anyone died in this house?”

“Ah, yes,” replied the woman, “A few months ago my grandmother died.”

She could not accept the mustard seeds. Kisa went on to the next house where an old man was sitting outside.

“Please, have you got some mustard seeds to spare?” she asked him. Slowly, the old man got up and went into the house emerging with some seeds. “Has anyone died in this house recently?” she asked.

“Ah,” replied the old man sadly, “Just last year my daughter passed on. We all still miss her.”

And so it went on. As Kisa went from door to door, the answer was the same. Everyone had lost a loved one.

Kisa had no mustard seeds but now she understood why she would not be able to find any.

She looked at the little bundle in her arms. “I am sorry, my little one, you have gone to another life and I did not want to let you go. Let us find a resting place for you.”

In the evening, she returned to the Buddha. She was no longer carrying the little bundle. Her face was now much calmer.

“Have you been able to find the mustard seeds, Kisa?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, “but now I understand that everyone loses people they love. I have laid my baby to rest, and am now at peace. Thank you.”

The Buddha reminded Kisa that plants grow in the spring, flower in the summer, and die in the winter – and that new plants grow the following year.

People are born and die. It is the circle of life.

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here