The Tree of Golden Coins
It was many lives ago, in times long forgotten by most who go upon two feet, that I received an urgent call to hie myself to the mystical Far East, on an errand to the sultry kingdom of Siam. The Buddha, having wintered there, had become much entangled in my teachings on solubility and was unable to digest or keep within him his meals, so angst ridden his bowels had become due to his constant musings on this provacative truth. As the only known Master of this subtle but godly ponderance, I arrived with all due haste and at once prescribed a diet of small eels in oyster sauce topped with pickled cucumbers, and within the course of six months, the holy one was able to retain his dinner in its entirety, though his saintly flatulence never did subside.
   Feeling well pleased with the completion of this successful mission, I made my way down river to what is now the great and virulent city of Bangkok, at the time a bustling village of 50,000 souls. As I weaved in and out among the merchants, peddlers and townsfolk, I came to a great square or common area in which sat many beggars. Instantly my eyes were drawn to one odiferous mendicant in particular, a toad-like and misshapen creature squatting in the dirt, his crutch at his back and his alms bowl nestled between his malformed feet.
   "Pity, O great master," he croaked up at me, "have pity on one whom fortune has utterly forsaken. O noble teacher, have you nothing to share with a poor and starving castoff, one rejected by all and sundry? A coin only I pray thee so I might find sustenance and live yet another day."
   I said nothing, but gazed down in mingled nausea and horror at this frogish being. Something akin to mercy had stirred me deep within my scorpion. "Indeed my amphibiously visaged friend, I have a coin for you," and reaching in my purse, dropped the small golden disc rattling into his bowl. Looking up at me with bile-shot and watery eyes, the hideous cripple began to thank me, but I stayed his tongue with a sternly raised finger.
   "Know this, my frog-faced and musky fellow," I warned. "This is not a common coin. It is a coin of great magic and was given me by the Buddha himself as reward for curing his spastic bowels. Spend it not, but plant it deep in soil rich and moist and a tree of most amazing variety will there arise, a tree that will bring forth more of which you have planted, coin upon golden coin. Say no more but go!"
  This the toad-shaped beggar did at once, hopping away as fast as his crutch would carry him, until he reached the outskirts of the town. Here, in a hidden glade, he planted the golden coin and waited. Nothing happened and as night fell like a water buffaloe's excreta, a deep and dreamless sleep overcame the weary waistrel.
  Waking of a sudden in the still, grey dawn, the aromatic and crippled beggar leapt to his knees. There where he had slept had sprouted a beautiful sapling, already covered with tiny gold buds. Before his startled and ranidian eyes, the buds popped open, revealing sparkling gold coins within. Plucking one greedily from the tree, the beggar examined  it closely. On one side was embossed the profile of the king, on the other, a peacock rampant on a field of chives: the coin was indeed genuine. Hurriedly picking every coin, he stuffed his empty purse and headed for town, joy radiating from his toadish countenance.
  The next day the euphoric transient returned to the marvelous tree to find that more and more coins had budded and the tree had now more than tripled in size, towering like a Titan over him. Knocking the coins down with his new teak crutch, he raked up his treasure with boney, twitching fingers and again returned to town to enjoy his unexpected good fortune.
  So it went for many days, the beggar returning to his secret tree of coins, and the tree growing larger and more majestic, until one day, on returning to his tree, the beggar discovered that no more coins had bloomed. Beside himself with rage, he began to beat the tree wildly with his new golden crutch, shouting at it and cursing it for a sluggard and useless waste of ground. "Give me more coins! Give me more, more, you niggardly and worthless tree! More! More! More!"
  Hereupon, the tree, much to the amazement of its tormentor, spoke in words wooden with anger and resinous with sorrow, "For days now you have come to me and asked much. Now you ask for more. Yet have you ever considered my needs? Have you ever inquired whether you could do one small thing for me?"
  "Silence!" roared the froggy beggar, as he began to beat and thrash the tree again. Whereupon the abused tree fell with a terrific crash upon his crutch-wielding foe, crushing him into an even more disgustingly misshapen pulp.
  The next day, when the beggar did not return to town with more gold, the villagers went to seek his whereabouts. As they entered the shadowy glade, one saw his new golden crutch lying ominously near the base of a recently fallen tree. The tree was like none they had ever beheld, arrayed with many beautiful golden buds. Scattered on the ground were a few gleaming coins bearing the king and the peacock. Watching as if enchanted, the tree withered and evaporated before their astonished eyes, until it disappeared completely. All that remained where the tree had lain was a deep depression in the soft soil, shaped something like a large and grotesque frog.
  And to this day, should you stop in any of the small hamlets surrounding Bangkok, and become pushy or overly insistent with your kindly hosts, you will understand the history and deeply ingrained meaning of their stern exhortation, "Ask not what your coin tree can do for you. Ask what you can do for your coin tree."

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