THE DEMON BUFFALO GHOST
as told by Frankie
Well, OK now, my next story is about some birds and a ghost!
For my birthday, Mom gave me a small set of binoculars. That opened a whole new world for me. I’d start looking at the birds and animal life all around the Ashram, and almost forget I was me! Swami says, “Revere the Universe as your Guru,” so I tried to see what lessons nature could teach me. She taught me plenty!
One of the best adventures I had was with the Puttaparthi cranes.
I was behind the canteen one day, with my binoculars, when I noticed, among the rice fields, there was one small portion of land completely uncultivated. “That’s unusual for India,” I thought to myself, because I knew that land was precious.
I looked through my binoculars and saw a very interesting sight. There was a kind of funny shaped pine tree, with a great big nest. Not only that, but all the bushes and shrubs around it were oddly shaped too! It looked as if someone had pruned them very carefully, in the middle of a field! I looked closer at the sand and stones, and they were in beautiful waves—like on an ocean. I thought it looked a little like Japan. Mom and I had gone through Tokyo once on our way to the States.
But that nest had to be weirdest yet! It had sticks standing up on either side and a bunch of rocks in the middle."I’d like to see the weird bird that made that nest." I said aloud.
“Well, turn around then!” a voice said, as clear as anything, and there I was face-to-face, nose-to-beak, with a very angry young crane about three feet high.
“Oh, Hi,” I said, as casually as I could. “My name is Frankie.”
“You can understand me?” he said.
“Sure, you understand me, don’t you?”
“Animals can often understand human beings. I just want you to know that we are not ‘weird’ as you called us. We are very traditional cranes, orginally from Japan.”
“I thought it looked sort of like Japan.”
“You are very observant. And now, if you would be so kind as to take yourself and those glasses elsewhere, I would appreciate it very much.”
I was really curious by now.
“Gee, I’m really sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to bother you or anything, only that nest looks so interesting! Could you tell me about it or is it a secret?”
He was still surprised that I could communicate with him, until I explained about the old yogini and her stick.
“Many, many strange things happen here,” he said mysteriously. “Early in the morning, there is a mist around the rice paddies of Puttaparthi. This mist sometimes takes strange shapes, and if one uses their imagination… . What did you say your name was?”
“Frankie.”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Frankie?”
“I believe in Sai Baba!”
“So do I, of course, but sometimes the mist takes on strange shapes, and one can imagine ghosts and demons living in the marshes. Maybe it isn’t imagination, either! By the way, my name is Takaki.”
“Gosh, Takaki,” I said. “Everything about your home out here in the field is mysterious and beautiful. Please won’t you tell me about it?”
“Well. Frankie, the story began many generations ago in Japan. My ancestral grandmother had her nest in a great, gnarled, old pine tree which stood by a Shinto Temple. For years, she watched and listened and learned as much as she could of the various chants and rituals practiced by the priests. She was fascinated by the beautiful perfection of each movement and word. Then, she, began picking up small round pebbles and trying to copy the rituals in her own small way. She would do this by the hour while she prayed to God. It filled her with great peace and happiness.
