The Curious Case of the Buddha’s Dissapearance

STOP! Don’t read this one. If you want to read the real story, you’ll find it here. 9th in my series of 30 posts in 30 days.

The Buddha sat on a wooden bench facing the lake. He was made of limestone and covered in metallic gold paint, flaking at the edges of his toes and fingers. His nose had worn down some, but the rest of him was in tact. He stood six feet tall while sitting and was quite large in comparison to the small bench he rested upon. He was not the popular laughing Buddha, with a belly to rub for good luck. No, this Buddha was young, with smooth lines, a gentle smile, and a divine composure. He had an elegant, aesthetic glow to him. The bench itself was perched atop a small cliff overlooking tall evergreens, aspens, and oaks. Beyond the tree line, a small, silvery lake could be seen, like a watery valley, below the surrounding hillsides.

The Buddha seemed timeless. In fact, no one in the town could remember when he showed up. As far as the town elders could remember, he had always been there, facing the eastern lake, eyes partially closed, with his hands folded neatly in a lotus position across his legs.

Every once in a while, the town would repair the bench. A plank would be replaced, or the wrought iron frame would be painted black again, but always with the greatest care not to disturb the sleeping Buddha. Periodically, someone would come by and give him a fresh coat of gold. For the most part, though, they left him alone.

The Buddha had become a very popular tourist destination. Some wanted a picture while they sat on his lap and gave him a kiss. Others just wanted to sit next to him and have their picture taken. Some found pleasure in trying to see what it was he was looking at. Still others would make lewd gestures toward him, hoping to get a rise from their friends. All the while, the Buddha would sit there, with a benevolent grin, serenely looking towards the lake.

The mystery of the Buddha had become a town legend. Particularly, because in this Christian town on the edge of an inland sea, no one could ever remember meeting a Buddhist to begin with. There were no monasteries anywhere near the town, and even if there were, they probably wouldn’t have settled in the backwater town of Stilton Falls. This was a fishing village after all, primarily known for it’s seasonal fish camps and the Annual Stilton Falls Trout Run.

Yet, despite the lack of a Buddhist representative, the townspeople took great pride in their Buddha. They cared for him as if he were a symbol of their own prosperity and good fortune over the years.

So, it was of immense concern, on that chilly March morning, the start of the Annual Stilton Falls Trout Run to be precise, that the great golden Buddha disappeared.

To be continued…

Tagged as: 30in30, Fiction