The Caretaker

There was once a village that laid hidden in one of the many crevices of a Mountain in Tibet. This was town like any other; supplied with bakeries, houses, and people with first-world problems. They even had a caretaker of the grounds, and the cemetery as well. He was given a home to dwell in, crops to tend to, and a yak to do his heavy labors. All of this was his compensation for the care of their loved ones that now inhabited the hill that was perched higher up this mountain.

            The caretaker was a selfless man. Everything that he owned was in turn owned by the people. He was a devoted Buddhist, and he lived his days as such. He would start the day by making his breakfast with meditation afterward. Then continue on by walking down the hill into the village, which he carried handful of grain so he could feed any companions along the way. The villagers would say hi, and occasionally request assistance pertaining to a roof leak or even an unwelcomed shrub bush. The caretaker would return greetings, and assist without anything in return. After he had completed his time in the village, the man would retrieve a loaf of bread from the baker and return to the hill upon the mountain.

            One bright autumn morning the village sprouted as if it were a fresh rose. The town ran in usual clockwork, that is until they found Madame Yoshi had passed in her sleep. They simply said that her luck had run out, and she had passed to the next life to find more. The village was in mourning, and the search for the caretaker began. Master Han found the caretaker under a tree counting the petals of a dandelion.

“How can you be so content on a day a sad as this?” Han questioned the young man.

“I was counting how many moments of happiness where instore for me on this beautiful day. What is troubling you, Master Han?”

“Madame Yoshi has passed. You have been requested to make preparations.” Han said with a slight look of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from his back.

            Until Master Han had arrived, the caretaker was filled with glee from the mesmerizing patterns the sky revealed. The sun seemed to weave about the clouds, like a cheerful child plays hid-and-seek. Now his mind felt strained, and his heart was heavy with grief. All the lives Yoshi had touched in her years. The caretaker could remember when his father was the caretaker. He was a lone child back then, but he would sneak away while his father made his daily visits to visit Madame Yoshi. She made him feel respected, because she would talk to him like an equal, instead of a child. The stories she used to tell to the children was both a time of enjoyment, as well as inner wisdom. Looking back to his childhood was something the caretaker tried to stay away from, but he would be grateful for another story.

            The ceremony for Madame Yoshi was something that the caretaker thought she would have liked. The whole village came for a celebration for her next life, and to remember the one she had left. As the caretaker was getting his Yak and cart ready for their journey; a woman approached the caretaker.

“My father has been gone for three years now. I know this is a lot to ask, but could you lay this on his headstone. He always encouraged me to use my skills for art, and I regret that he was not alive to see this. If you could give him this painting, it would put me at ease.” The woman said with her worn face.

“I will care for it as my own.” The caretaker replied.

As he added the newest load to his cart, another patron approached the caretaker. It was a local farmer, and he was holding a handful of seeds.

“Sorry to trouble you, but due to the drought my crops are not growing. My family is suffering because of it. I know I could get my seeds to grow higher up the mountain. Could you plant these for me?” The farmer pleaded.

“I will treat it as my own.” The caretaker replied.

            After he loaded his new collection of emotional tools, the caretaker left for the burial grounds. When his yak began to pull it made a short sound revealing the strain its master was putting upon it. The caretaker felt sorrow for pushing his beloved companion, but he had a promise to his people to uphold. As they made the trip through the incline, the caretaker became aware to his senses. The air warned of a foreign storm. The sky turned black to strike fear into intruders of its guarded land. The ground was unforgiving to the wooden wheels of his cart. If he was to beat the storm, he would have to let go of the weight that was not his own. The caretaker was still attached to these gifts, and the people sowed to them, so he would have to risk his own safety to protect the people he loved.

            The drops of heavy rainfall began to fall upon the caretaker when he had reached the last leg of his journey. In moments time, the moisture had started to corrupt the mountain earth making it become untrustworthy and sinister. This took strength away from the strong yak. It took its own time destroying the yak’s body, as a leach does to any prey it can latch onto. The yak was valiant in his defeat to mother earth, but his legs paid the price. It was 300 yards of fighting before one of the yak’s legs broke from over-exhaustion. The caretaker tried to sooth the fallen yak, but the pain had overcome the sympathy. The caretaker took a lash along the heart that night. He not only had to say goodbye to his only companion, but he also had no one to help carry all of this grief.

            The caretaker took some time to rest and remember his departed friend. The rain stung like salt in a fresh wound now, making it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. Eventually the caretaker took back control of his mind, and devised a way to get the cart through the steepest part of the journey. He took a long piece of braided twine and tied himself to the cart. Took his stance that required reverting back to a primal state. The ground gave him the pain that he made the yak endure. His hands clawed into the clay to move the cart once more. The pistons in his legs were at full strength, and on the verge of giving out. It was at the peak that the dirt let go of the caretaker; sending him back to whence he came. When he landed his head was kissed by a vengeful hardwood wheel.

            When the caretaker awoke, time had seemed to heal the sky of its sorrow. The young man did not know how long it had been since the crash, but he still hurt from the fall. As he was treating his wounds, a traveler had stopped by the caretaker’s cart.

“What happened here?” The old man asked.

“The storm was stronger than my pride, and I lost my yak and cart because of it” The caretaker admitted making sure not to make eye contact.

“You have much life left to learn young one.” The old man said with a chuckle. “Everyone falls down sometime. This is fact, and does not require grief. What matters is that we bring ourselves home, and pick the rest up so we can try again. Now let us pick up this mess you have made, and take it home.”

            The caretaker gave the weathered man the only thing he had left, a smile. They had his belongings in the old man’s cart in moments time. The rest of the trip the two laughed while they traded stories with each other. This made the caretaker think back to his task at hand, Madame Yoshi, and how she used to say that a good belly laugh could fix any wound. When the two arrived at the burial grounds the caretaker thanked the old man, and tried to repay him. The old man reused, and said the stories were payment enough. The caretaker was still able to finish the tasks at hand before sundown. So once he finished his labors, he leaned back on a tree his father had planted when he was a little boy. Just in time to watch the sun go down. The lavender and tangerine brushstrokes across the sky was payment enough for the tragic day that had taken place. He took a flower from a group of daffodils, and noticed that there were three lone petals left. So he plucked each petal with purpose. The first for the joy that Madame Yoshi could finally rest. The second was for his yak that would not have to suffer any longer. The third was for letting go of everything else. Once the final petal kissed the grass the sun took his leave, and gave the caretaker the stars to repay for the pain.