Dholsim
A long time ago, when the Keya tree was still young, a disaster did not happen.
Fine… not the most enticing start to any tale, but this story is about what happened when the other thing didn’t happen.
At that time the village of Dholsim was even smaller than it is now. A few farmers barely survived there, harvesting Dyun berries, Fulbur sprouts and other unsavory plants, and the whole place existed mostly as a convenient halfway point between two larger settlements.
On one summer day a particularly large Dyun berry was found. It gleamed a rich yellow, promising so much more than the usual bland taste. Everyone gathered round to marvel at this miracle of agriculture.
Yes, indeed, nothing much ever happened in Dholsim.
Of course discussions ensued over who would get to eat the marvelous berry. Arguments sprouted like, well, Fulbur sprouts, and things were turning ugly until one of the wise elders grabbed the offending fruit and gulped it down whole.
Voices died down, and everyone gathered their wits for louder arguing, but then froze. The elder’s satisfied expression was turning quizzical. In fact it was rapidly transforming into a look of panic, and he began to gesture wildly. No one could understand, he refused to speak and now his face was shifting from red to purple. The elder was pointing at his back and throat desperately, but no one knew what to do.
At this point Big Jubs got up from his resting place against a leaf.
Big Jubs was a force of nature, though probably not its brightest. He never got involved, worked hard and said little, so when he approached the elder everyone was surprised. Even the wise man spared a glance at the approaching giant.
Big Jubs grabbed the elder’s upper arm in one over-sized hand and raised his other. All eyes were on that hand, upraised and bathed in a ray of light. A single short moment passed, all the people’s breaths were held, birds stopped chirping.
The hand came down on the old man’s back, unstoppable as a falling tree.
The sound of the slap resonated in the silence, traveling far into the forest. The berry shot out of the elder’s mouth, bounced once on the village plaza stones and disappeared over the branch edge.
There ensued much congratulating and mock back-slapping, and feasting and drinking long into the night. In the next days Dyun Berry culture was swiftly abandoned in favor of the seedless Gloon, quickly judged far greater in taste and yield.
Big Jubs’ life changed. He gained immediate respect from his peers, who came to him whenever they had a problem for a quick slap. Sometimes it even worked. He perfected his art, and word spread of his truly unique capability. Over the years there came young people who wished to train with him.
Eventually Big Jubs passed away. By then the monastery already had its first dormitory and ranking slap monk. The legend grew.
Nowadays the veracity of Jubism Care is established forest-wide, and the monastery has become an institution. People come from far to cure their diverse ails, and a child promised to train there is an honor for any family.
The village and the Shalang monastery have a long established and functional relationship. The villagers farm, cook, take care of the monastery, the monks leave them alone.
The Dolhsini have great respect for the monastery’s occupants and are proud to be, in their own eyes, the backbone of the whole operation. The monks are obviously performing a vital role but wouldn’t know what to do with a bucket or spade.
“And Jubs spoke thus: Your hand is the voice of your heart, let it come out gentle as a trickle or strong as the torrent after the rains.”
And Sentus, first brother to follow Jubs’ path, nodded.
“And Jubs spoke once more: Now go slap a tree”
-Chap. IV, Wisdom of Jubs