Saturday, August 2, 2014

Of The Jungle

Of The Jungle

                Tucked deep in the Jungle of Ten Terrors (a name coined by a 'famous explorer' who really just collated a series of rumours about the place) there lies a village. This village is one of several villages inhabited by one of the 'Terrors' of the jungle - the 'Plant People'. It is said that they are part man, part plant, and all danger; walking horrors of flesh and vegetation. Many are the tales of brave explorers who have found themselves suddenly surrounded, the trees seeming to come alive as the bark covered plant people rise all around them... That so many survive these attacks unharmed is perhaps the greater surprise.
                This rumour, like most of the others, is incorrect but has its roots in truth. The so-called 'Plant People' are ordinary humans - except they are each symbiotically joined with what is normally a parasitic plant species. Several varieties of this plant exist. Each tightly connects with the flesh of the people, digging and blending their roots into the flesh of their host. The variety that is joined to the warrior-hunters grants a fearsome, almost inhuman appearance - a coating of bark from head to toe with very few gaps. To outsiders, they seem almost like a race of walking trees; yet when harmed they bleed. This, more than anything else, gave rise to the rumour.
                The majority of the plant people, though rarely seen outside their never-before-visited villages, are vastly more human in appearance. Their plants are specialised for tasks that do not require coverage of the entire body for safety. Amongst the other varieties are the farmers, whose plants grow highly nutritious (and safe to harvest) delicacies for frequent harvest; the crafts-folk, who have vines they control to support what they work on or hold extra tools - some vines even end in specialised tools for one trade or another; those who delve in the caves or the waters, whose plants keep them from running out of breath; and many more.
                Today the village is bustling with activity. It is the 'day of planting', a very important yearly ritual in all villages of the plant people. It is during this ritual that children who have reached three years of age are joined to the plants that will grow with them for the rest of their lives. The plants are cultivated by the grandparents of the children (or their parents, if they have no grandparents) in pots for three years after the child's birth; and on the day of planting they are removed from their pots and allowed to join to the children.
                Though likely a disturbing sight for outsiders - the wriggling roots of the plants are perhaps not the most delightful thing in the world - this yearly ritual is a day of happiness within the village. It celebrates the new life of the child and plant; and also the conjoining of their existences. It reminds all present of their unity with and reliance upon the plants that provide them with food, convenience and safety in a jungle full of horrors.
                Two of each child's relatives accompany them in the ritual. One - either of the child's direct parents - holds the child; the plant is held by whoever cultivated it. When their turn comes, the three - child, parent, planter - walk to the centre of the gathered villagers (in this village, in a field just outside of their homes) to perform he joining. The child is presented, then the plant, and then with great solemnity the plant is allowed to plant its roots within the child. Each presentation is greeted with cheers; and a final, louder cheer when the joined child is raised to show the joining's completion.
                There are very few cases of planting in which the child does not cry. The joining is a painful process, and only the bravest, strongest children can hold back their tears. But few bawl; each, though very young, has already been told that this is the most important day of their lives. Even marriage pales in importance before the day they were joined. Despite the importance of the day, very few remember it. At the time they are planted they are, after all, at most nearly four years old.
                Typically the ritual will complete without any rejections, but there will be the odd instance in which a plant will refuse to join. When this happens, it does not stigmatise the child. Instead, it is the fault of the plant's grower - this plant is not suitable for humans. The plant is destroyed, and although the child will not participate in the ritual again it is the grower's duty to try again and again to grow a suitable plant. To fail for years results in being truly shunned; most especially by the growing, plant-less child. Should the child reach the age of ten without being joined the grower will be barred from growing ever again; and the entire village will chip in to help grow a suitable plant.
                Traditional feasting follows the ritual - perhaps the reason the ritual is looked forward to with excitement, even by those who have no relatives being planted that year. There are no other festivals for these people (although the bi-weekly harvest of the farmers is often treated as a party - the high alcoholic content of some of the 'treats' is the likely cause of this). The ritual of planting is the one time of the year they are allowed to truly enjoy themselves.
                To say it is the only time of the year that they can forget momentarily that they live in the Jungle of Ten Terrors, one of the most dangerous places in the world and one that almost qualifies as a blight despite not being blasted or destroyed, is sadly true. For the rest of the year, most villages live in fear of sudden attacks from countless sources and must deal with the violent deaths of dozens. Yet this village does not - for they know the will of the Glorificant. She protects them with her glory. They repay her with their worship.

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