BBCorp - The Royal Bank of Stories

Asharif

In the boat with Asharif are three very wealthy and elegantly dressed people. The man has a grand hat and many layers of flowing robes, while the women are dressed in much lace and silk, with delicately embroidered parasols.
As Asharif rows, he doesn't think about the disparity between these sophisticated people, with their fine talk and smooth skin, and his own blunt manner and blistered hands. These people of high standing may be comparing their impeccably buckled shoes with his bare feet, their flowing garments with his tattered shirt and shorts, the large jewels on their fingers with his broken and dirty fingernails. Asharif could have looked at these outer differences if he'd chosen, but his interest was in that which lay beneath the human veneer. This is why these people chose his above all the other water taxis.
Some of the other water taxis were very beautiful craft, with brightly coloured paint in intricate patterns and scrolling words. Some gleamed in the bright sunlight and were decorated with streamers, bells and garlands of flowers. Many of the taxi-men wore what we might call uniforms - smart clothing of particular colours and patterns that matched their boats. Most of them were well groomed and, despite the hard physical work, kept themselves very clean. Many of them practised speeches and phrases and were able, after some time, to imitate the language, tone and gestures of their educated customers.
There was, it seemed, a common idea that the cleaner, smarter and more clever you were, the more customers you could get, enabling you to make enough money to sell your boat and live in a manner that more closely resembled your customers. It was not possible, of course, for taxi-men to ever become society-men, for the brand of their birth could never be erased or exchanged. However, a taxi-man could always, with foresight, perseverance and ingenuity, become a manservant or horseman - positions which meant less physical work and more contact with the "people of society". Somehow, the unspoken belief was that the more contact one had with people of society, the more likely one could become one - almost as if their wealth, silks, jewels and powders would rub off. It never did but all lived in hope.
For the society people, there was an unspoken belief that the less contact one had with the "lower elements of society", the less chance one had of becoming (at least fractionally) like them. Most society people, then, chose the more colourful craft and the most "cultured" taxi-men.
So why did this unkempt Asharif prosper so much? In a tidy-but-unpainted boat, in purely functional and slightly tattered clothes and with an accent and manner quite unchanged from birth, he should have been the poorest of the taxi-men. But he wasn't. Further, instead of actively engaging his customers in bright and enthusiastic conversation, he assiduously avoided saying anything unless asked to do so. Yes, he was polite, but it was as if he didn't care. And yet, through the layers of cosmetics, jewellery and clothing that surrounded and protected these society people, some particular ones among them felt that he actually cared more than anyone else they knew. While Asharif's outer appearance and behaviour belied his caring, it was plainly evident to a small number of them.
Obviously, most society people would choose not to travel with Asharif, the plain and sullen one and, initially, he sat at the wharf for hours while the more splendid craft plied their trade with vigour. This seemed not to bother Asharif, who simply sat and waited, as if knowing of some divine event on its way. Then, once in a while, a society-person or group, feeling a little adventurous, would deliberately choose the taxi that no one else would, perhaps hoping to have more to boast about than others of a more conservative nature.
Most of these adventurous passengers had a need of noise, hustle and bustle. Asharif's silence would unnerve them and they'd have to fill the space with chatter. Eventually they'd have to risk the taboo of talking to the lower people - they'd comment on the weather or some other irrelevancy and he would nod and, maybe, smile. If nothing needed to be said, he said nothing. In desperation they would (in their need to fill the silence with noise) ask a question which he would have to answer.
So, after deep thought (as deep as they were capable) they might ask a question about marriage and Asharif would tell them that the man they were about to marry was actually in love with another particular lady (who he'd name) and that their impending marriage would last 3½ years and end in bankruptcy and misery. Or they might ask something about politics and he'd tell them who the next Shamir (or Governor) would be, what he would do and what effect that would have in their businesses. Or they'd ask about health and he'd reassure them that their father's terrible illness would soon be gone and that full health would be restored in seven weeks, if they administered a particular herbal concoction to him.
Whatever subject they alluded to, he would know, somehow, of their personal concerns and future and, without discrimination, he'd simply give the facts. As time went by, they realised that he was never wrong. In time he came to be respected, though many first thought of him as a charlatan and felt bound to test him. He never faltered and his answers were equally caring, dispassionate and accurate for all questioners, no matter how cynical, aggrieved or wide-eyed they were.
Without looking, it was as if he could see into their hearts and know the real questions they were afraid to ask. Then, in the same way, he seemed able to look into their souls and their futures and give answers from the heart of one who was incapable of judgement. He seemed unable to judge people by their dress or behaviour, and unable to judge the impact of that which he told. As a messenger, he dispassionately delivered his messages with no thought of softening or "adjusting" them to the sensitivity of the listener.
And yet there came with these (sometimes) harsh messages, an overwhelming sense of caring and compassion. Even the most difficult-to-swallow pills were rendered sweetly edible. Though he volunteered no advice, if a wise questioner asked for advice around his or her future, the counsel was ever wise and reassuring.
By attraction rather than advertising, then, Asharif became a very busy man. Though he might have rowed all day, he always had time for another customer - his energy was boundless. Sometimes he would be spared that hard work as a customer, trying to get to the bottom of a major problem, would ask him to stop rowing and to simply advise. Often this plain craft could be seen quietly drifting with the tide while the more garish and noisy taxi-men ploughed through the water with great gusto and a little envy.
And, in the middle of the harbour, bobbing in the wake of other water traffic, large amounts of gold and jewels would be proffered in grateful thanks for the knotty problem solved. Asharif never refused these gifts, accepting them with the same simple "thank you" that accompanied the compliments for him. He did, however, turn down other offers. Sometimes he would be offered a position as an advisor for a nobleman and, always, he'd decline. It was as if he wanted to remain available to all, without discrimination - to be the exclusive property of one (no matter how wealthy) was not his way.
At times, an astute observer might see a thankful customer alight from the humble craft and know that changes were afoot. Within a week the people would be astounded at the brilliance of some political or business initiative, and all their lives would be enhanced a little. While the masses would shower this ingenious politician or businessman with their approval, two or three people would smile and nod to each other, knowing where the seed of the progressive changes really started. Asharif was never acknowledged for his part in any of the happenings and one suspects that's how he would have wanted it.
He plied his trade untiringly, provided his truth when asked, accepted that which his customers offered, offended no one and remained in the simple integrity of who he really was. A more innocuous man could not be imagined and all who knew him well, grew to love him.
For some reason, though, some were not happy with him. Many speculated on whether it was a jealous taxi-man, a jilted lover, a dishonest politician or a greedy businessman, but we'll never know the real culprit. An uproar ensued after his boat was found floating in the middle of the harbour. On closer inspection, his body was found face-up, with his arms and legs nailed to the wooden seats, while his craggy and serene face smiled at the peaceful sky above. Several official inquiries were instigated but no offenders were discovered, though two taxi-men and three politicians were found to have left the city abruptly.
There was a mass wailing for the loss of this simple man and different groups began to frantically create books from the words that had been remembered from his boat trips. There was, of course, bickering between these groups of Asharifts (as they called themselves) as to who was the authentic group and who had the most accurate accounts of his life. That bickering continues today and while they may focus on proving themselves the most righteous and the chosen ones, they forget that whatever version of the Asharif story is believed, it provides a profound understanding of life and it enables many confused, pained and anxious people to realize the power and beauty they have within.
Strangely, his death meant that he now lives eternally, forever carrying people across the harbour of their doubt and fear, to the safe harbour of their peace, joy and acceptance.

The Golden Belly-Button

Many, many years ago, so long ago, in fact, I forget what this story is about, so I will tell you another. A long, long time ago when I do remember, in the olden days when men were men and so were women, a beautiful baby was born. His parents were so proud and happy, but then they noticed that he had a shining golden belly-button. They were shocked and confused and so were the doctors, but the doctors always were, so that didn't matter. They gave him all sorts of tests and looked in his mouth and under his arm-pits. They were all there (his mouth and armpits) so they decided that everything was in working order and his parents were told to shut-up, that their baby was perfect and the golden belly-button didn't exist.
They did shut-up because they were too embarrassed to tell anyone, but the golden belly-button continued to exist. When the boy was old enough to look down, he saw his golden belly-button and marvelled at the wonderful sight. But his parents made such a fuss about it and wouldn't talk about it, he started to worry. This continued and as he grew, he worried more and more about it and wouldn't let anyone see it. He wouldn't go swimming or sunbathing and bathed under a towel so the light-bulb couldn't see. It got so bad that he would only get changed in the dark so that he couldn't see himself and everyone wondered why he wore different coloured socks and his shirt inside out.
He wanted to get rid of his stupid belly-button and when he was old enough to leave home he went in search of someone who could help him. He went to a belly-button doctor who pondered the problem for a day or three and then rubbed methylated spirits on it to dissolve it. But that only dribbled down and dissolved his pubic hair and he had a naked willy for two months.
Then he went to a Maori Kaumatua or old man, who said, "When I take out your golden screw, you never have to poo." He thought of the time he would save not having to go to the toilet and that would be great. So the Kaumatua talked to Papatuanuku the Earth Mother, Ranginui the Sky Father and Tangaroa the God of the Sea. Then he put down the phone and boiled up the gall-bladder of a Hapuka fish and the left eye of a Kereru bird. He rubbed the mixture on but the golden belly-button was still there and he had to go to the toilet really bad so that didn't work.
So he went to Australia to see an Aboriginal Kadaiche Man who said he would make him famous. "When I take out your golden screw, everyone gonna say 'How do you do'". He thought it would be good being famous with no golden belly-button. The Kadaiche Man lit a fire and stirred up spinafex sap with a waliru feather, played his digeridoo and said some magic words - "Goo dubba mee awe kutu wanna" which meant "I don' know what to do with dis stupid button, but I hope dis mixture make it go rotten." But the golden belly-button just smiled back and said, "You silly old man, I'm not going nowhere," and that didn't work.
Then he went to America to see a Cherokee Indian Medicine Man whose name was Bent Feather From The One-Eyed Eagle With The Head-Ache Coz A Fast Running Buffalo Stood On Him and he had an extra large cheque-book so his signature would fit. He looked deeply into the golden belly-button, almost drowned and when he had dried himself he lit a fire and burned a cedar smudge and his finger and said "Ouch!" He asked for the eye-sight of the eagle and the strength of the bear and the speed of the cougar but they said, "Not today Man. Don't you know it's our day off." So that didn't work.
He went to many, many other lands and no one could help - the stupid belly-button just sat there smiling and shining. He came to Ireland where he met a Wicca, a wise woman, who said, "So you're the twit with the golden belly-button." And so he left that place.
He was very sad and upset and all he could think of was home and his stupid belly-button. He went back to New Zealand to see his parents but they still wouldn't talk about it. He got very depressed and wanted to shoot himself but he pointed the gun the wrong way and shot 3 chooks. Feeling really sad he went wandering in the bush for 2 days and got lost. He eventually found himself but still didn't know where he was and sat down on a log to cry. After a time he wiped his eyes and realised that a beautiful girl was sitting next to him.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
He told her of all his troubles and this took 61/2 days and he got hungry. When he had finished his story and his stomach stopped rumbling, she said she knew how to get rid of his golden belly-button. She told him that her remedy was unusual but if he believed her, it would work. She was so beautiful and looked so honest and caring he was prepared to believe.
"At the next full moon you must go down to the beach at sunset," she said. "Strip off your clothes and lie on your back on the sand. Do not move till sunrise, and your golden belly-button will be gone."
Then she vanished.
The next full moon he did as she said and lay naked on the beach and waited. He tried to sleep but couldn't so the Sand-Man came down to sprinkle sleep in his eyes, missed and biffed it in his mouth and it took 10 minutes to spit the stupid stuff out. Eventually, he did go to sleep and at midnight a beautiful golden fairy slid down a moon-beam and landed softly on his tummy. She got a golden screw-driver out of her Reebok shoe and unscrewed the golden belly-button. She put the golden belly-button and the golden screw-driver in the Nike bag between her wings and slid silently back up the moon-beam.
At sunrise he awoke and looked down to see that his golden belly-button had gone. He leapt up, full of joy, and his bum fell off.