Pond
Project background/introduction | PDF of the original in Chinese
He sat down to rest on the pinecone-strewn steps carved into the mountainside, panting and wiping the sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve. The mountain trail leading up to this stairway had already vanished behind the undulating mountains. Ahead, the trail would end at the destination he’d been longing to reach for years: Clearwater Temple, its sprawling white building surrounded by verdant peaks, like a butterfly resting on a leaf. He smiled, and continued on his journey with renewed energy.
When he finally arrived at the temple, he stopped first to admire the broad golden-tiled roof, its ridge carved into the form of twin flying dragons, before walking inside the building. The main hall was bright and clean, and empty except for a few gold-painted seated Buddha statues. He was puzzled to find no sign of life, so he began to walk around. Only when he reached the temple’s rear hall did he hear the faint scrape of metal on stone emanating from the pine forest behind the temple.
He followed the sound, finding a modest path leading into the forest, which led to a small clearing. In the clearing, he found a barefoot young monk about fifteen years old, with his robes set aside on a mound of dirt, digging a large hole in the ground.
When the young monk heard the man’s footsteps, he stopped digging and raised his head. He gazed at the man for a moment before slowly saying, “Are you looking for the abbot? He’s not here.”
“Where did he go?” the man asked.
“He went fishing for carp in the pond farther along the ridge.”
“Fishing for carp?” the man repeated in astonishment.
“Yep. The abbot said the clear water pond up there has a kind of carp no one has seen before, which is a pity. So he wants to make a small pond here behind the temple and bring a carp back for people to admire. It’d be killing two birds with one stone. That is why I am digging this hole.” With that, the young monk returned to his work.
After some thought, the man asked, “Will the abbot be back soon?”
“That I couldn’t tell you,” the young monk replied. “I only know the abbot said he’d return as soon as he caught a fish. Before he left, he’d already filled a tub with water to hold the fish temporarily. If he didn’t bring the fish back right away, the fish would probably die.”
The man stood there watching the young monk dig, while trying to decide what to do. Should he wait here in the woods with the young monk, or go back to the temple to wait for the abbot? He had really hoped to see the abbot right away. Perhaps he should go directly to the pond to find him. He asked the young monk the way to the pond and then set out.
The pond was in a saddle on the ridge of the mountain. Following the trail away from the temple and through the lush pine forest, the man was able to reach it after a half-hour walk. It was a large pond, though the man could see all of it from where he stood. Several streambeds led into the pond from uphill, but the bone dry pebbles that filled the streambeds indicated that the area hadn’t seen any rain in a long time. The water was also several feet lower than the water mark visible on the banks, and the surface was covered with a dense layer of algae, making it impossible to see anything in the pond.
In the middle of this desolate pond sat an old man in a boat, holding a fishing rod with the line dangling into the water. Figuring this must be the abbot, the man cupped his hands and called out to him. The abbot apparently heard him, because he put away his fishing rod and slowly rowed back to shore.
The abbot leapt from the boat and walked over just as the sun was low enough to touch the ridge to the west. The abbot’s eyes were shielded by a deep brow-ridge topped with bushy eyebrows. With the golden glow cast by the setting sun on the abbot’s bald head and prominent brow, the man was reminded of the golden roof of the temple, with its pair of carved dragons on top.
“Amitabha, good sir,” the abbot greeted the man with a smile. “You have made an arduous journey to this mountain; what wisdom do you have to impart on us humble monks of Clearwater Temple?”
“You are too kind, Master. Rather, I have walked for many days from a far-off land, and climbed countless steps, in order to ask you for guidance.”
“May I ask what kind of guidance you seek?”
“Master, your powers of foretelling the future are known to every man, woman, and child for thousands of miles around. After thirty years of struggle, frustration, and failure, I’ve come to realize that, if I can know what the future holds, that would be the greatest gift in the world. Would you be willing to let me stay here and take me as your disciple?”
“If you would like to stay at Clearwater Temple, that would make us happy beyond measure. The only issue is that I have set my mind to catch a carp from this pond, so I cannot accompany you back to the temple. Would you be willing to stay here and catch the fish for me, so that I can go back to the temple and prepare a cell for you? When you return, we can sit down together and make further arrangements. Would that be acceptable?”
“Such a simple request — how could I say no?” The man replied. With that, the abbot took his leave and walked into the thick pine forest. By now, the sun had fully set.
The man rowed the boat to the middle of the pond, sat with his knees pulled in, and gingerly cast the fishing line into the water. He watched the water for quite a while, but the fishing line did not move in the least bit, so in boredom he turned his attention to the western sky, where the twilight still glowed with multi-colored splendor. He thought maybe the fish disliked the brilliance of the sunset, so if he waited for the colors to fade, the fish would come.
At last the orange hue faded from the western sky, leaving the sky a flat milky white. A short while later, the twilight faded as well, turning the sky a deep navy blue. A light fog rolled in, and the croaking of frogs could be heard from the direction of shore, yet there was still no movement on the fishing line. The man sighed and turned around to look toward the eastern sky. He could see the faint glimmer of stars starting to appear, along with a thin crescent moon, above the saw-toothed treetops. He thought maybe the fish would like the moon, so if he waited until the moon had fully risen, the fish would come.
When the moon was high in the sky, he saw that it was only a thin crescent moon, so it was not particularly bright. The multitude of stars, on the other hand, were brighter than he’d ever seen them, as though they were determined to collectively outshine the moon. Meanwhile, the frogs continued their chorus, the air slowly turned chilly, and the man was able to feel the individual gnats whisking around his face. It was quite late by now, yet there was still no movement on the fishing line. He thought maybe the fish were avoiding the moonlight, so if he waited until the moon had set, the fish would come.
In the dark of night, the peaks to either side of the pond looked like fingers reaching into the air. When the moon had disappeared into the palm of the giant hand, the night felt even deeper, the sky seemed even darker, and the stars appeared even more dazzling. The frogs were finally silent, probably taking a well-deserved rest after their night-long concert. All around it was perfectly still, as though the mountain itself had gone to sleep. Only occasionally a dreaming dog’s yelp broke the silence. Whether the dog’s cry came from the temple or from deeper in the woods, it wasn’t entirely clear, but what did it matter?
He thought about how long he’d been waiting, and yet there was still no movement on the fishing line. He chuckled to himself. Every living thing on the mountain is asleep, perhaps even the fish, so why shouldn’t he sleep too? He might as well rest a bit. When dawn breaks, the fish will come.
When he opened his eyes again, the sun was just peeking over the mountaintop, revealing a clear, cloudless sky and rousing the squirrels and magpies in the forest from their slumber. He stretched his body and noticed that the gunwales were covered in dew. There was still no hint of a breeze, and the water was as smooth and glossy as a mirror. The fog from the night before was starting to lift, the mist curling up into the air like fairies dancing. He then remembered that the fishermen back home always went out at daybreak, so he turned to the rising sun and said, “Let’s get up! When you’re higher in the sky, the fish will come.”
One side of the pond had a small cove, filled with lush green reeds. Several wild geese were paddling back and forth among the reeds, pecking at the grass underwater and honking happily. Occasionally, one of them would dive suddenly, with both feet thrusting into the air, and with a “glug”, disappear under the water. Quite a while later, it would quietly emerge on the other side of the cove. The man suddenly remembered that fish like to hide among reeds, and geese go where the fish are. How stupid he’d been, trying to catch fish in the deepest part of the pond! No wonder he hasn’t seen any sign of a fish even though it’s already mid-day. Just wait until he rows to the little cove, then the fish will come.
A while later, the geese waddled onto the bank for an afternoon nap. A few white clouds appeared in the sky, occasionally blocking the sun. A light breeze rose, as well, causing the reeds to sway back and forth, sending ripples out in all directions. Wherever the ripples intersected, they formed all manner of intricate and beautiful patterns. The man thought maybe it had been too hot for the fish, so if the weather turned cloudier and breezier, the fish would come.
Soon, clouds had not only filled the sky, but had gotten progressively darker, turning from a grayish white to a deep gray, and coming lower toward the ground. Suddenly, the sky lit up with a fork of lightning, and, after a brief moment, came the roar of thunder. The dark storm clouds cast a black net over the nearby peak and gradually pressed closer to the pond. The cold wind blowing over the water began to pick up, and waves started lapping on the banks. A short while later, raindrops started falling in the boat and on the water, pitting the water with countless little divots. The man’s mood brightened, because he figured fish must love a good stiff wind and some light rain, so they will be coming soon.
But the rain not only continued, it got heavier and heavier. What he thought was just a brief thunderstorm turned into a torrential downpour that continued into the evening. The wind had also changed direction multiple times, and was more fierce and unpredictable than it was earlier in the day. The little boat was half-filled with water and being tossed left and right by the waves. A few times, the waves even crashed over the gunwales into the boat. He figured the little boat would sink if the rain continued like this, so he rowed the boat to the edge of the pond and dragged it onto shore. He then found a hollowed-out tree in the pine forest where he could hide from the rain. He had just squatted down in the tree hollow when he heard the roar of a waterfall, which turned out to be the sound of water pouring into the pond from the streams above. He thought, This is it. This rain will fill up the pond, and the fish that have been hiding on the bottom will come up to the surface. When the rain stops, how will I fail to catch a big fat carp?
The next morning, he opened his eyes at first light, and saw that the rain had stopped. He looked up at the sky, and noticed that every pine needle was studded with little diamond-like droplets of water. The gentle burble from the streams feeding the lakes told him that the flooding had stopped, and the streams had returned to what must’ve been their normal modest but steady flow into the pond. It’s not clear when the storm finally passed, but it must have been quite a while already.
He walked to the edge of the pond, and saw that the boat was filled to the gunwales with water, so he proceeded to heave the boat over to dump the water into the pond. As he did so, a white crane emerged from among the reeds, stretched out its wings, which were as smooth and luminous as jade, and flew leisurely to the other bank, its feet skimming the water as though it were pulling its reflection along. This is a good omen, he thought. He’d never before seen such an exquisite display of natural splendor and grace. He figured his fish luck must have turned.
He pushed the boat back into the water and rowed to the middle of the pond. That was when he noticed that the rain had washed away the thick algae that had covered the pond’s surface before. Where the water had been murky and turbid, it was now crystal clear. He could distinctly see the individual pebbles and dead branches lining the bottom of the pond.
He was about to pull out the fishing rod when he had an idea. Why not look in the water first to see if there were even any fish about? So he leaned over the side of the boat so his nose was nearly touching the water. He didn’t see any fish immediately around the boat, and decided to try nearer the shore, where the water was shallower.
When he got closer to shore, he again leaned far over the side of the boat, but still didn’t see any fish. Well, if the fish aren’t in the shallow water, they must be among the reeds, he thought, and rowed the boat over to the cove.
Among the reeds, he searched again under the water, but still didn’t see any fish. If the fish aren’t here, they must be somewhere else, he thought, and rowed his boat to a different part of the pond.
He searched and searched, until the sun had fully risen, but saw not even a shadow of a fish. He felt a little dejected, and also a little vexed. “No fish! No fish! There isn’t even half a fish in this pond!” he muttered to himself. He decided to tell the abbot right away about his discovery. He rowed furiously back to shore, leapt out of the boat, and started running back to the temple, leaving the little boat adrift in the pond.
As he ran through the pine forest, he could hear in the distance the sound of metal on stone, which he recognized as that of the young monk digging the carp pond. He couldn’t wait to tell the monk that he can stop digging, that there’s no fish for the pond. But when he got back to the clearing, he was surprised to discover the monk was not digging a hole, but instead filling in the hole with the dirt piled off to the side.
“Brother,” the man said to the young monk, “Why are you filling in the hole? Weren’t you digging a carp pond?”
“Not any more,” the young monk replied. “The abbot changed his mind and decided to plant an herb garden here instead, so he told me to fill in the hole that I had dug. He even asked me to dump out the tub of water he’d set aside for the fish.”
The man took this in but didn’t say anything, feeling nonplussed.
The young monk went back to shoveling dirt back into the hole, and the man watched him for a while. He then turned around and started walking back toward the temple.
“Where are you going?” the young monk asked.
“Back to the temple to see the abbot,” the man replied.
“The abbot left yesterday morning to gather herbs in the woods, and hasn’t come back yet.”
Again the man was silent. In addition to feeling at a loss, he was also starting to feel a sense of disenchantment.
“When will he be back?” the man asked the young monk after a long while.
“I can’t say,” the young monk replied. “When the abbot goes into the wilderness, sometimes he returns the same day, but sometimes he doesn’t come back for three months.”
Upon hearing this, the man started shaking, the frustration that had been building up within coming to the surface. Why should I continue to waste my time here on this mountain? he thought. Deciding not to bother waiting for the abbot, he charged back down the path toward the temple. He didn’t stop at the temple, but instead skirted the building and walked straight to the pinecone covered stone staircase that he had come up two days before.
He had only gone down a few steps, however, when he heard the young monk call out, “The abbot has come back!”
The young monk’s cry echoed between the mountain peaks, reverberating and overlapping until it sounded like hundreds of young monks all trying to shout over each other, “The abbot has come back! The abbot has come back! The abbot has come back!”
He stopped for a moment and turned to look up the mountain. A pine branch blocked his view of the white temple wall, so he was only able to see the golden-tiled rooftop with the two dragons on its ridge. In the soft morning light, it looked just like the abbot’s face, smiling back at him.
For a moment, he considered going back up to the temple, but as the echo of the young monk’s cry gradually faded, another call started to echo from deep inside his heart: “Why bother looking ahead? Why bother looking ahead?”
Though faint at first, once it started, he found he could not shut out this new call, and it continued to taunt him as he ran the three thousand steps down the mountain.
