Ode to Nan Min - II One day a man of tender heart found a very rare and special orchid. He was overjoyed at her. Not only was she very beautiful, but soft to the touch, and her leaves were like velvet. She was of that very rare seed that had its origin in the garden of Eden. Not a hybrid. For she was perfect, fashioned by the Almighty, and needed no meddling by men to make her so. Often she called to the tender suitor from her wilderness hiding place, and with glad heart he would ever answer her call and enter with reverence and awe her secluded forest copse. Now the young man had loved a rose too. But one day, that rose grew a thorn that impaled his heart to the point of death. In bitterness of spirit and anguish and woe, he poured out his sorrows to the lovely orchid, who heard his laments with great kindness and understanding. But one day, when he set out at his appointed time to see his belovèd orchid, he could not find her. “The orchid has no thorns and will not scratch her admirer,” said he to himself. “But sometimes she is reclusive. She has to be, for she is very rare, and too often plucked by undiscerning hands who respect not her place in the wilderness. I will try again tomorrow”. But the next day, she was still absent from her accustomed grove. “What can be the matter?” thought he. “I hope she is alright, wherever she is. I hope she thinks well of me and has not ceased to love me.” But on the third day, she was absent still, even on the day of resurrection of her Lord. Now thought the man, afflicted of conscience. “What have I said or done that might affront her so? I hope she will tell me that I may set it right.” Many more fretful days passed, until one fine afternoon, as he strolled through the overcanopied wood, a faint murmur came to him as upon the wings of the wind, and awoke him from his lovelorn meditations. It seemed to call his name and to beckon him deep into the heart of the forest wilderness. Could it be the lovely orchid that he had come to know and cherish? His heart raced with awakened hope, and inflamed him with courage to dash past the foreboding shapes of tree trunks and dark vines that strewed his way. Onward he rushed in singleness of heart, through thorn and briar, bush and copse, as the voice, now growing louder, continued to summon him. Now came he to a mighty profusion of dark leaves and branches, looming as an impenetrable wall. “If I can but break through this,” he cried, “I shall obtain her. God grant me strength for this one mighty act.” So declaring, he heaved his body headlong into the teeming mass, all concerns for safety sacrificed to his one great desire. Forward he rushed into the imposing woody structure, charging through its deadly perils, that he might attain his belovèd’s side. His manhood strove on, determined to prevail for love. But this gallant had not reckoned on the awful journey on which he had embarked. Beset was he by the perils of the night as he thrust himself into the dark, unknown reaches. Mighty were the boughs that strove for his repulse from the cloistered world they enclosed. Darker the night and heavier the terrors that now closed in on him, thralling him in oblivion that knew not its bearings. He knew but to strive forward, forward, forward, to hold fast to that direction in which he had begun and to the voice that yet called to him through the besetting din of stirring undergrowth. He gasped for breath, striving against the dying air, urgent against the dying light, resolute against the dying hope. Still he flailed as drowning in a sea of weeds and the weight of a thousand oceans of oppression. All bore down on him, all tore at him, all raged against him. He had given all in his desperate bid for love and the doors seemed to shut upon his very existence as he staggered piteously in death’s embrace. His flailings slowed, as the last embers die in a suffocated fire. Trembling, his knees gave way and buckled beneath him: his dying thought, that he had staked his life on one great effort and regretted nothing, no not even this lethal bid for a prize greater than life. Thus fell he, limp, exhausted, collapsed beyond terror into the sleep that knows no waking, to yield up his brave spirit to the unseen hand that made him. The sounds that crowded upon him now melted in his ears as of the ebbing departure of his life. He rolled his head one last time towards the sound that had first summoned him but heard nothing. No, nothing at all, for all was silent now. Broken he lay upon the threshold of death, and all was immersed in darkness. But there! A faint glimmer of light seemed to flit across his eyes. “An angel, perhaps,” thought he, “for I am surely now in Elysium.” Brighter grew this light, brighter and brighter still, until it burst upon him like a mighty blaze that pierced him with unbearable brilliance. It seemed to haul him up as if from sleep ?] the sleep which he had striven against with all his might, but to which he had since yielded his spirit. Still the light broke upon him in fierceness and insistence, forcing him to¼ Breathe! Gasping, he looked up. The playful green leaves swayed above him. A canopy filtered the sun’s warming radiance upon him, and his eyes eagerly searched his surroundings, this peaceful place, intent on discovering where he was. As he did so, he became aware of a luxuriant presence abiding by him, a friendly countenance, a pleasing shape. Slowly, he turned his head, scarcely daring to hope what he hoped. For there she was! Behold her, in all her blushing radiance and glory. Oh! his belovèd orchid! How beautiful she looked, smiling down upon him from her place of rest. Life resurged into his legs, wrenched from the grasp of death, as they sprang into action again. It was then he noticed that his limbs were yet swathed in the torn and shredded vines wrapped around him. Only his head had penetrated the thick wall of boughs and undergrowth when he had teetered on the brink of death. He had returned to consciousness to find the rest of his body yet immersed. But there was now nothing left to fear. He had vanquished the obstacle before him and come through its terrors, and the dead weeds fell from him as he pulled his body through into the canopied clearing, to the orchid’s playful laughter. “Oh my belovèd orchid, where were you?” he asked. “I waited in concealment,” said she, “that thy love might prove true. And thou hast undergone this great trial that, by hard winning, thou would’st prize beyond compare the object of thy love.” “Death have I ventured for thee,” he replied. “I prize my life not a straw without thee.” “Thou hast won me, true and faithful suitor,” said she. “And I am ever thine.”