Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own any of the characters from Saiyuki. Sadly, I also have no money.
"In difficult and desperate situations, the boldest plans are safest." She must have been at the end of her rope, so to speak, when she finally came to this decision. She was a poor but contented wife, as I like to envision her, living with her husband and sharing the joy of a newborn son when tragedy struck. Gossip among the neighboring villagers blamed it on demons that murdered her husband leaving her alone in a vast and pitiless world.
I watch as she carries her son through the village market with her eyes downcast as whispers from bystanders spoke of Karma dealing to her the fate she deserved, punishment for some past sin. Tears trickle down her reddening cheeks as she listens to the tittle-tattle but too timorous to defend herself. Enveloped in her thoughts she fails to notice she has left the small village until she reaches the barrier of trees. She trembles mildly as she enters the mouth of the trail and within moments it becomes masked by the dense foliage. Even as a young girl she had never followed this trail but she knows that the stairway is there, leading to the only future she can offer her son.
It was sheltered and isolated from the secular world by the winding path through the mountains surrounded by opaque forests. Demons lurked in those dense forests testing her courage and she prays to her deity for protection. She's exhausted from climbing the endless stairway and her mind is tumbling about as the tide of the Yangtze River. She draws in a deep breath and looks at her son. The babe rests in her arms warm and soft, as a lovely infant ought to. I can imagine her explaining the circumstances and pouring out her adoration to the solitary thing she had left wishing for any other alternative but this one. She looks up to see the one, red column of the gateway belonging to the temple that wasn't obscured by the trees bordering it. I am confident that she was tentative, stopping and wondering if she, in truth, could bear this to the closing stages and live with herself. Weighing her options, she takes the concluding steps to and through the gates of the sanctuary.
She stands inside watching the monks of many ages scurrying about but she says nothing. The grounds of the temple are immaculate and the monks robes beautiful which causes her to take notice how disheveled she must appear. How… unworthy. At first, it seems she can't find her voice, however, she hears her son moan softly and she says rather loudly that she wants to see the Sanzo. The monks stop and look at her in disbelief, saying something about her transgressions being too copious, that she ought to be thanking the gods for allowing her the honor of walking through the gates. She reiterates herself, intent on speaking to the man who could offer her son a chance at a better life. The monks continue to snub her and others begin to congregate to watch the little drama, she begins to feel her courage slipping and takes a slight glance at her child. She imagines him hungry and cold in the coming winter crying because his toes and fingers tingle from frost bite. Reminded of her purpose, she straightens her back and continues to demand a meeting with the priest. They begin to get angry and start proclaiming loudly that she is possessed by a demon and prepare to force her away. As they all begin to approach her, rallying together with loud cat calls and pointed fingers, a voice stops them and they part like leaves in the autumn breeze.
He has a gentle smile and smells of sandalwood. This tall, lean man seems to ignore the prattle of the other monks as he looks into her pleading eyes. She knew it was disrespectful to look at his face but she couldn't help herself from taking quick glances. He is an older man who had seen many seasons both good and bad. His dark hair is streaked with grey and his smile only made the wrinkles around is eyes deeper. He reaches his age, gnarled looking hand out and slowly lifts her face towards his. She gazed into his clouding eyes but knows he can plainly comprehend every emotion tumbling around inside her. Her son then chooses that moment to make his entrance. His whimpers cause them to look down and the priest places his finger tips against the baby's cheeks to soothe him. The infant leans into the warm contact and is calmed. She knew she had to do it now or she could never let go.
Smelling him and kissing him for one very last time she then places the baby in the priest's arms. He embraces her with his free arm and offers a prayer for her to his deity which the watching monks soon begin to join. He releases her and she turns towards the gate feeling a weight gone from her shoulders. With her son at the temple, she knew he would be safe and well provided for. As she walks under the huge, red lacquered columns she makes a promise that she would return every month on this day, the fourth, and offer prayers for her son's blessing. She would pray for her son to appreciate life and to listen for calls of those in trouble.
Opening quote by Titus Livius