“What?”
“That on your skin; what is it?” asked Pauline.
Ruby looked down. A faint fluorescent glow emanated from her hands. Surprised, she turned her hand over several times, looking. “It’s as if I’m wearing gloves” she said, intrigued.
Pauline rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a compact. “Here,” she said as she flipped it open and handed it to Ruby. “See. It’s on your face too.”
Ruby tilted her head and studied her image in the small mirror.
“Is it a kid’s paint that only shows in darkness?” asked Pauline.
Ruby shook her head, absorbed in her reflection.
“Well then,” demanded Pauline. “What is it?”
Ruby glanced up. “I’ve never seen it before. I wonder if it’s the phosphorous health tablets I’ve been taking lately.
They said one three times a day, but I thought, if three were good, six would be better.”
“That wouldn’t have you lighting up like a Christmas tree.”
“Well, actually I have been taking twelve a day” admitted Ruby. “Sometimes more if I forget how many I’ve taken.”
Pauline shook her head. “You’ve excelled yourself this time Ruby,” she said. “And how are we going to get you home? If someone sees you, they’ll have a heart attack. Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Just walk three paces behind me and pretend we’re not together.”
Pauline set off at a brisk pace. “And stop smiling!” she said as she glanced back at Ruby. “You look like a grinning skull.”
Good! thought Ruby. And maybe next time our excitement will be at the movies and not at all these wacky gatherings Pauline likes to go to. Her grin widened.
The Lesson.
This story is an adult’s fairy tale and, like all fairy tales, has a moral to it.
o0o
Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a far-off land, there lived a kind, wise old king. Now this king wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t suffer fools gladly and he had a very bad temper. Still, he was a philosopher who admired learning. So from far and wide all manner of educated and interesting people came to his small kingdom to share their knowledge and, in appreciation, he would reward them with a purse full of gold – and sometimes precious jewels too.
He would sit on his golden throne, with his counsellors, members of the royal court and gentry around him in the great hall of the palace, all listening and nodding in understanding, or wonderment, at the learned men who graced their fair kingdom. One especially fine day one of the king’s men hurried into the great hall to notify him that a wise man had wandered into their kingdom seeking an audience with their king.
At the time, the king was playing chess with Sir Rodney, his sister’s only son and was finding it hard going. He liked Sir Rodney well enough, but the problem was the boy took after his father’s side of the family, who everyone knew were a few knights short of a tournament.
“Show him in” bellowed the king, glad of the diversion.
The stranger, barefoot, his body wrapped in saffron cheesecloth robes, entered, and, flanked by six of the royal guards, walked up the centre of the hall, oblivious to the curious stares of the court.
From his seat on a raised marble platform the king watched the wise man approach. “Welcome,” the king said smiling to the silver bearded old man who now stood before him.
The stranger bowed low. “It is an honor to be here, your majesty.” An aura of peace and serenity radiated from him and the king was impressed.
“What is your name, wise man, and what gives you your air of peace?” asked the king.
“I am known as Maharani. I have dedicated my life to knowledge, specializing in all forms of concentration and mind control your majesty” the wise man replied. “Mind control is how I attained peace”
“By controlling your mind?”
“Yes, your majesty. And my mind now controls my body to the extent that I do not age or feel pain.”
Lord Morgan, the Prime Minister, was standing behind the throne. “Impossible,” he muttered on hearing these words.
A half smile played around the mouth of Maharani. “Perhaps you would like to see a demonstration of my mind control?” he asked.
“I would indeed,” said the king.
Drawing a long needle and thread from the top of his robes, the wise man held it up for all to see. Then, breathing slowly and deeply, he pointed the fingers of his free hand toward his body and moved them up and down his torso. His eyes glazed, stared unseeing and, focused inwardly, Maharani plunged the needle into his right cheek, pushed it through his face and pulled it out the other side. The onlookers gasped in astonishment.
“Look,” cried Sir Rodney. “There is no blood seeping as he moves the thread backward and forward.”
Lady Agnetha moaned, her gaze slid upward and she fainted.
Lord Morgan recovered his wits first. “He’s using trickery,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. “It’s a fake needle.”
Unperturbed, Maharani withdrew the needle and thread before asking, “If I could please have a lit candle, your majesty?” The king nodded and a servant whisked a candle off a nearby table and hurried with it to the wise man.
Holding his extended bared left arm on the flame Maharani said “I will stop the flesh of my left arm from burning.
Watch.” The great hall was silent as everyone craned forward to see what was happening.
“He’s held it on is arm for ages” somebody whispered. “Can anyone smell his flesh burning?”
Maharani handed the candle to the servant and, extending his arm asked, “Perhaps your majesty would like a closer inspection?”
“I can see well enough from where you stand,” said the king. Leaning forward he acknowledged, “There is no mark on your arm.”
“Then perhaps you would like to see my other arm?” Maharani exposed his right arm showing a fresh fierce red burn.
There were gasps of surprise and horror from the onlookers. “
“Ooh, that looks painful,” said Sir Rodney, rubbing his arm in sympathy.
“How did you burn one arm, yet have the damage on the other?” asked the King in wonderment.
“By my mind controlling my body. I focused my concentration and told my left arm a gentle breeze was moving under it,” Maharani said. ”I did not feel the flame. Nor, do I suffer any ill effects from the burn to my right arm.”
The king stroked his beard as he listened.
“In India, where I studied, it is what Sufis do,” explained Maharani. “They have such mastery over their mind, such perfect power of concentration, they are able to control their body to do whatever they want, to the exclusion of all else. As an example, they can be buried alive for days and when dug up will still be alive and well.”
Lord Morgan burst out laughing, then quickly coughed and looked away.
“Watch,” said Maharani, pointing to his damaged arm. Focusing on it, he started to breathe deeply, slowly and rhythmically and, to the onlooker’s astonishment, the arm healed, leaving no mark.
“How did he do that?” whispered Sir Rodney.
.
“Trickery” sneered Lord Morgan. “A cheap magician’s trick.”
Maharani smiled “Perhaps you would like to try it?” he said and gestured toward the candle.
“I’m not a magician” said Lord Morgan, stepping back.
“I think that is enough,” said the king, glaring at Lord Morgan. Turning, he addressed Maharani. “You are welcomed to stay as a guest in my palace. I would like to hear of your travels and learn more about mind power.”
“As you wish,” said the wise man, bowing low.
The king waited for Maharani to leave the great hall before turning on Lord Morgan. “You disgraced me and brought shame on our kingdom.” he blazed. “You inferred that we were imbeciles being duped by a magician.”
“But, sire, nobody could have such concentration, such mind power, to be able to control their body like that. It had to be trickery.”
“Silence!” the king roared. He clicked his fingers and six of the royal guards hurried over and stood before him. “Take Lord Morgan out and chop his head off.” He said.
Appalled, Lord Morgan collapsed at the feet of his king. “Mercy, sire” he sobbed. “I meant no harm. Don’t have me beheaded. ”
The king tapped his fingers on the golden arm of his throne and studied his prime minister. “Very well,” he said to the snivelling heap at his feet. “If you can perform a simple task I set you, I will spare your life. If not,” the king slid his finger across his throat.
Lord Morgan blanched. “Anything, sire,” he babbled.
Pointing to a large golden saucer-shaped fruit bowl on a nearby table, the king instructed the guards, “Take Lord Morgan to the well. Fill that container to the brim with water and give it to him. You are to accompany him around the inner wall of the palace courtyard. Watch him carefully. He is not to stop and if he spills even a single drop, you are to behead him then and there. Report back to me when he is finished.”
He looked at Lord Morgan, “...one way, or the other.”
Shoulders stooped, feet dragging, Lord Morgan was taken away.
The sun was starting to set in the west when Lord Morgan staggered in, haggard, exhausted, and collapsed at his king’s feet.
“We did as you instructed, your majesty,” one of the guards said, standing to attention before the throne. “We watched carefully and can report he did not spill a single drop of water.”
The king looked down at the prostrate form of his prime minister. “And what did you experience while you were carrying the water?” he asked him.
Lord Morgan’s blood-shot eyes gazed into his king's face. “Nothing sire. I knew my life depended on not spilling any of the water and I concentrated so hard that, time, everything else, except that bowl of water ceased to exist for me.”
“And did you learn anything from this experience?”
“I learned that it is possible to control your mind and body by focused concentration if your motive is strong enough.”
“And what I gave you was the motivation,” the king said satisfied. He tapped his prime minister on the top of his head. “You also learned it is not wise to open your mouth when you don’t know what you are talking about.”
Lord Morgan hung his head and said nothing.
