by Lisa Dunlop

Created on: April 27, 2008   Last Updated: October 30, 2010

Deju was an old, gruff, and bearded mystic. His clothes were torn and filthy, and he carried always in his pocket the feather of an old pigeon he had befriended in his youth. Long ago the pigeon came to him in need of medical tending, for one of her wings had been injured in a scuffle with another pigeon. Young Deju, compelled only by love and kindness, took the bird in and nurtured her back to a full recovery. The bird had never been treated so kindly in her life, so out of love and gratitude, she stayed with Deju for the rest of her years. On the day that she died, Deju buried her under her favorite tree and wandered into the forest for several days to mourn her death. It was there, in the forest, that Deju learned the secrets of nature and adopted his mystical ideology.

Indeed, plants and animals loved him dearly, but the people in his village came to fear him and treat him with disdain. They did not understand his beliefs and strange rituals. They despised his passive lifestyle, and forbade their children to speak with him. His presence in the village was tolerated only for his skill with animals and farming. It so happened one winter that Deju was expelled from his village, and when spring came a crisis fell upon the village; all the animals became depressed and would no longer produce eggs or milk, and the wheat and cornfields produced scarcely half of their usual crop. The small village realized its folly and sent a messenger boy to find the old mystic and make him come back. Deju returned happily, for despite the villagers' negligence, he loved them and he loved everything about his village; every morning the sun rolled over a small hill and brought the entire village to life. The grass would become illuminated, the daisy flowers would open their sweet pedals, and the other creatures would rise to begin their noble endeavors for the day. Eventually the sun would settle behind a giant Banyan tree, and the moon stepped proudly into its place. Stars would dance in the sky while dreams were born out of the villagers' sleeping minds. It was a beautiful cycle, and Deju would be happier nowhere else.

The old mystic lived in a small hut located on the south side of the village where the strawberries grew. One day he was harvesting the fruit near his hut when one of the larger strawberries caught his attention. "Come closer old man," the strawberry whispered, "my voice is quite frail, and I have an important message for you; a premonition has revealed to me that

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