The Temple Bells

by Hazel Marcus Ong

The flames from the charcoal brazier quivered in the autumn chill. Chung-shen watched as the silhouettes of his family leapt upon the wall like puppets in a shadow dance. Then his mother lifted her eyes from her sewing and began to speak. Chung-shen forgot the flickering shadows and listened.

"In the golden time of Tang when everyone wore brocade of dragons, a temple stood upon an island. People spoke in wonder of the wisdom and compassion of the monks, and the beauty of the island's white sands and purple mists upon the sacred mountain. On holy days, the temple bells pealed and people sailed in from far and wide to pray and give offerings."

"The Wheel of Life turned. The monks either passed across to the Other Shore or left the island. The temple is now a heap of crumbling stones upon a meadow white with barley in the summer. The island has become a lonely place, hidden from the world by the mists. Only a few wooden huts, inhabited by those who make their living by the sea, sit along the coastline. But, it is said, such was the holiness of the monks that the temple bells still ring, and are heard by those who truly listen."

That was how the stories always started. Sometimes, his mother continued with tales of quests in search of the temple bells, which pleased the eldest boy. At other times, her stories of romantic love upon the island's shore made the girl grow dreamy-eyed. But Chung-shen was happy just to hear about the temple bells. He would beam at her and said, "Someday, I will go to the island, and hear the temple bells!"

The seasons changed and the children grew up. The elder boy joined the army and became a soldier. The girl married and had a happy family of her own. Chung-shen went to university and read many books. But he often raised his eyes from the page and pondered how he might find the island. When his friends held parties, he would step outside where the fireflies in the trees mirrored the stars overhead. When girls came to sit by him, he scarcely heard them speak, for he dreamed of the glorious clang of the bells. Sometimes, he fancied a faint peal sounded far away, when he walked with a girl beneath the maple trees or watched the sunset turn the fields to flame. But this could not be, he knew. Perhaps he thought about the bells so much that he even imagined he heard them.

Chung-shen never stopped looking for the temple on the island. He often walked down to the river and stood upon the mudflats till the sun came down. As the last light shone upon the water and the gulls bent and swooped, he waited for the mist to part and the island's shore to appear. Surely it floated somewhere on the bar where sea and sky met. He strained his eyes in vain at the fading horizon.

One night, Chung-shen returned home to celebrate the Mid- Autumn festival. He walked with his cousins to the lake to hear the frogs singing and to carry the lanterns in the Moon Lady's honor. The children frolicked and couples drifted off to make a wish on the full moon. Chung-shen's pretty neighbor came up from behind him and placed her hands upon his eyes. He spun round and tried to catch her, but she whirled away, giggling. Chung-shen, laughing, gave up, sat beneath the branches of a willow and peered through the leaf-curtain. The water glimmered with shards of moonlight and golden stars reflected by the lanterns. As he admired its beauty, he saw the island drifting in the middle of the lake.

Chung-shen ran to one of the punts lying nearby. He cast off and rowed towards the island. He reached the shore and leaped out. The full moon, an enormous lantern in the sky, lit up the path along the foothill and painted the temple ruins silver. He walked through the ruined outer walls into the central courtyard. A huge stone Buddha beamed at him. Above it, he glimpsed the purple peak of the sacred mountain. The water lapped a lonely tune against the shore beneath the cliff.

Surely he would hear the temple bells ring in such a holy place. He settled down to wait and to listen. Soon, his head drooped and he dozed under the Moon Lady's gaze.

Chung-shen awoke when a ray of sunlight struck his face. He felt a rumble in his belly and realized that he had eaten nothing since the previous night. He stumbled to his feet and made his way down the hill. He walked along the beach, hoping that some fisher folk might give him a meal in exchange for money or work. Before he had walked a hundred paces, he came upon a hut on stilts standing in the shallows.

Just as he was wondering whether to knock on the door, a burst of sun scattered gold upon sea and sand. As his vision cleared, the surface of the water broke and a girl walked out of the sea towards him. Salt droplets shone like stars in her hair, which tumbled loose upon her mother-of- pearl shoulders. Her skin glimmered a very faint silver- green. Her eyes were kind and as familiar as a half- forgotten dream. Then she smiled and said his name. And because she was beautiful and came from the sea, he took her hand and forgot all else.

From that day forth Chung-shen lived with the girl, who was called Jiang Yue. In the morning, after offering incense to Mazu, the Goddess of the ocean, he bade her goodbye and cast his net out at sea. Often, they tramped through the pine forest at the base of the sacred mountain and gathered roots, herbs and berries. From these fruits of sea and land, Jiang Yue brewed soups that strengthened the body. At night, she piped tunes from her wooden flute that mingled with the whoosh of the wind in the pines and the lapping of the waves on the shore.

But as the long days of white cloud and moonlit sand melted into one another, Chung-shen grew restless. Occasionally he saw pilgrims sail to the island and depart soon after, their faces aglow and their tales full of the glorious chime of the temple bells. He recalled that the reason he had come to the island in the first place was to hear the bells. He chided himself for wasting time and resolved that he would never lose sight of his quest again.

Chung-shen found that his fishing expeditions and tramps through the woods with Jiang Yue lost much of their joy. He lived for the time when he sat in the shadow of the stone Buddha, listening for the temple bells. In vain Jiang Yue brewed her delicious soups of wolfberries, pumpkin, and lotus root. Most of the time, Chung-shen did not come home for meals. At night, her tunes drifted through the air and were heard only by the moon. If Chung-shen heard its echo, he paid no attention, for his ears keened for another sound.

Chung-shen's clothes soon became too large for him. His temper flared with a look or word. He grew bored with Jiang Yue's presence. She was, after all, only a girl, even though her skin was silvery-green and she came from the sea. Soon, dark storm clouds gathered on her brow, and her mouth grew thin and drawn. For the first time they raised their voices at one another. After a quarrel, Jiang Yue would flee to her room behind the curtained doorway while Chung-shen stomped out of the hut and up the hill. "One day, I will leave. And when I do, I will never come back!" she often cried at these moments. Chung-shen never listened.

Chung-shen rose at dawn one day and realized that something was wrong. The table was bare and the floor was covered with dust. The hut was dark and cold from the absence of Jiang Yue. He sped outside and saw her walking chest-deep in the waves. "Jiang Yue!" he called, until his voice was hoarse and tears ran down his face. But she never turned. When her head vanished beneath the water, Chung-shen knew he would never see her again.

He stumbled away. Hardly able to see where he was going, he clambered to the top of the mountain. He fell on his knees in front of the Buddha and thought of how he had failed. Perhaps he was not good enough, or holy enough, to hear the bells. Perhaps they never existed except in dreams and children's stories. He had also failed to appreciate Jiang Yue, who had been so kind to him. Now she was gone.

Chung-shen decided to return to his home in the world. He would find a job, marry an ordinary girl, and forget about the temple bells, the island, and Jiang Yue. But before he did that, there was something he needed to do.

He had never noticed his surroundings, as he had been so intent on hearing the bells. But now that he would never gaze upon the island again, he realized that he would miss it. He decided to bid goodbye to all that had kept him company on his lonely vigils. He would take a long last look at everything, so that he would be able to remember them when he was gone.

He lifted his eyes to the sacred mountain. Mist shrouded the peak like a diaphanous scarf. The wind whooshed though the forest, bearing the scent of pine as a gift. He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The flower-strewn path snaked down to the sea. He listened to its song, which had run like a silken thread through his life on the island. He saw the hut on stilts standing in the ebb tide. He had spent many happy hours there with Jiang Yue.

Chung-shen grew aware of another sound. It was soft at first, but soon rose above everything. It came from land and sea and farther beyond. Clear and joyous, the temple bells rang out and blessed all those who truly listened.

Chung-shen stood silent until the last peal faded away into the distance. Then he returned to the hut and resumed his life on the island. In the morning, after offering incense to Mazu, he cast his net out at sea. Often, he tramped through the pine forest at the base of the sacred mountain and gathered roots, herbs and berries. At night, he piped tunes from Jiang Yue's wooden flute that mingled with the whoosh of the wind in the pines and the lapping of the waves on the shore.

When Chung-shen stood on the shore one morning, the waters parted and Jiang Yue stood before him. The sunlight sparkled upon the salt droplets in her hair and shoulders, and hung over her face like a veil. "I saw you cast your nets out at sea," she said. "I smelled the aroma of soup on the boil wafting from the hut. I listened to the song of flute from the depths of the water and heard the note of longing beneath." Chung-shen took her hand and led her back to the hut.

They lived a long and happy life together. When the time came for them to die they felt it in the shift of the wind and the turn of the tide. Hand in hand, they climbed to the peak of the sacred mountain. Chung-shen took a long look at Jiang Yue, green-skinned and hair tumbling over her shoulders. Then the mist parted, and they passed into the pure realm beyond, where the temple bells rang forever and blessed all those who truly listened.

When his vision cleared, Chung-shen saw his pretty neighbor standing in front of him. The moonlight reflected on the water played across her face, making it shine faintly silver-green. Her hair had come loose from its plait during the festivities and now tumbled over her shoulders.

Chung-shen sat bolt upright. In the distance, he heard the peal of an otherworldly bell.

"The temple bells!" he exclaimed in wonder. The girl dimpled at him. "No, silly," she said. "That's the gong, calling us to supper."

Chung-shen laughed out loud. Around him, lanterns bobbed up and down and the children's shouts echoed. "Let's go," he said. And together they walked towards the house where his mother still told stories as the flames from the charcoal brazier cast dancing silhouettes on the wall.

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© Hazel Marcus Ong

Hazel Marcus Ong hails from Singapore. She loves art history, mythology, storytelling and words such as 'numinous', 'liminal' and 'Xanadu'.