"May We Have a Word With You?" -- a Taiwanese Legend From the Cold War

This is a story I heard from my late friend Richard, a family friend and visitor from Taiwan. He told me this story as I drove him, his wife, my family and family friends from Los Angeles to Las Vegas in the summer of 1982 or 1983.

This story has been in my mind all these years. It takes place during a less happier time, a time when residents of Taiwan and China were not allowed to communicate with each other or visit each other, a time of great political and military tensions.

"The Chinese secret intelligence service is second to none," I remember hearing Richard say as he began his story. Only one thing--he didn't specify whose intelligence service, China's or Taiwan's. What follows is his story to the best of my memory.

It seems that Mr. Tom H. (pseudonym), a government civil servant in some department, applied to the appropriate government agency for permission to visit Hong Kong. Permission was granted, so off he went.

There was a slight detail he did not bother to tell the government agent responsible for looking into his trip: Tom was not intending to make Hong Kong the focal point of his trip. No, instead he was planning to land in Hong Kong and then cross the border into the People's Republic of China, where he would travel up to his home province, let's say Anhui, a place he had left as a child with relatives who had fled to Taiwan. There, in his hometown, he planned to reunite with his mother, whom he hadn't seen since 1948, nearly thirty years before.

He landed in Hong Kong. The next day he arrived at the Lok Ma Chau border station to cross over into China. He did so, without incident, his passport left unstamped. From Guangdong Province, he traveled by bus or train to Anhui Province and then onto his hometown, the place of his birth. He was joyfully reunited with his mother and other relatives.

During his visit, he was paid a visit by PRC security agents, who politely asked Tom to visit their office. Tom, of course, went immediately. He was ushered into a room and was asked to sit in front of a desk behind which sat a high-ranking security officer. Offered tea, Tom was given a brief interview.

He was asked his impression of modern China. Did everything look fine? Did the local people appear well fed, happy, prosperous? Was he enjoying himself? and so on.

Tom responded affirmatively and positively to everything he was asked. Yes, he was very impressed by the People's Republic, and, yes, everything appeared modern. The citizens, too, looked content, happy and well-fed.

Fine. Tom was allowed to return back to his mother's apartment. He continued to visit for a few more days and then returned to Hong Kong. He might have spent a day or two in Hong Kong, for after all, the then-British Crown Colony had been his ostensible destination. He'd be expected to bring back souvenirs of his stay.

He returned to Taipei and then back to his apartment.

A few days later, as he was getting ready to go to work in the morning, he heard a knock at the door. Opening the door, he came face-to-face with two polite strangers in business suits. One of them smiled and flashed his I.D. at Tom: Agent X, the National Security Bureau of the Republic of China.

"May we have a word with you at our office regarding your recent trip to Hong Kong?" the NSB agent asked. "Our car is waiting downstairs."

A million things must have run through Tom's head as he sat in the backseat of the car headed to NSB headquarters. Did they know he had gone to the Mainland, which at that time would have been a huge crime? Had he been sloppy in keeping his tracks clean? He had been careful not to bring back any memento from Anhui. So did they know?

Tom and his government escorts arrived at their destination. Tom was led into an office. Behind the desk sat a senior agent. On the desk was a tape recorder or tape deck. With a wave of the hand, the senior agent dismissed the pair that had brought Tom in.

"Now, may I ask where you went on your recent overseas vacation?" the senior agent asked.

"Hong Kong."

"Just Hong Kong? Not, perhaps, Macao as well?"

"No. Just Hong Kong."

"I see."

The senior agent smiled. He turned on the recorder. The tape then repeated the exact conversation Tom had had with the security officer in Anhui--the exact words and the same voices. Tom heard once again the questions asked of him while in China, and again he heard the replies he himself had given.

He slumped into his chair. What could he say? There was nothing he could say . . .

Tom was punished. He was very fortunately not sent to Green Island. Back in those martial-law days, his punishment could have been very heavy. Instead, he was given five to ten years restricted travel, prohibited from leaving Taiwan. I don't recall how his legal problems impacted his job as civil servant. Difficulties such as his tended to have a negative effect on job promotion and tenure.

Notes

Nowadays Chinese from both sides of the Straits can visit each other. Many Mainland visitors have flocked to Taiwan, and thousands of citizens of Taiwan live and work on the Mainland. Indeed, Richard's ex-wife herself now lives in Shanghai. Thus, this story is a relic of a bygone era.

Green Island, now a popular resort off the southeast coast of Taiwan, was once a penal colony housing those convicted of political offenses.

This story has some of the hallmarks we associate with urban legends: the lack of a firmly identified protagonist; "Tom," to the best of my recollection, was explained away as a "friend of a friend"; and a "comeuppance" effect, poetic justice or an otherwise very negative result for involving oneself in deception.

Two Legends About the Sea Goddess Mazu (Fujian & Taiwan)

(1) Mazu and General Sees All and General Hears All

It is said that General Sees All and General Hears All had been brothers in life. The older brother, the one who could see vast distances, was named Gaoming; his brother, the one whose ears could pick up the faintest sounds for thousands of li, was named Gaojue.

These two brothers were generals, and in their final battle, they fought fiercely together before sacrificing their lives. Their spirits then floated up to Peach Blossom Mountain, where they became resident noxious demons that threatened any humans passing by.

When the goddess Mazu happened to travel through the area, the two demons appeared to her and demanded that she marry them. The goddess, of course, refused this outrageous command. Would she battle them? they asked. The loser would do the other's bidding; in this case, if Mazu lost, she would have to marry the pair. Mazu agreed and countered that if they, the demons, lost, they would become her attendants.

Both sides agreed to the terms and the duel was on!

With her matchless powers, Mazu trounced both fierce warrior demons in no time.

The demons had no choice but to keep their word. Thus, this how the green-faced demon Sees All and his red-faced brother Hears All came to be the goddess companions and servants!

Notes

from Shi Siwei, Taiwan minjian gushixuan, pp. 59-60.

Mazu (Matsu) ("Ancestress Mother") is the Southeastern Chinese patron goddess of mariners and is also known as the "Holy Mother of Heaven" or "the Heavenly Empress." According to Lin Daoyuan, who classifies Mazu as a "folk religion deity," there are from 500 to 600 temples and shrines on Taiwan alone dedicated to her (Taiwan minjian xinyang shenming datu, 294.). Perhaps the most famous Mazu temple on Taiwan is the one located in Pei-kang (Beigang), which attracts many pilgrims. The Taiwan-administered island chain, the Matsu Islands north of Taiwan, though written with a slightly different character, is named for her, and a temple on one of the islets is believed to house her tomb. It also remains a destination for pilgrims. The major focus of pilgrims, however, remains the goddess's birthplace, Meizhou, Fujian Province, where she was born in circa 960 A.D., right at the inauguration of the Song Dynasty. She was named "Mo" ("silent") or "Moniang" ("Silent maiden") because in the first month of life she did not utter a cry. When Lin Moniang reached her twenty-third year (Liao Yuwen, Taiwan shenhua, 73), she ascended into heaven from a cloud-encased mountain peak and into the company of welcoming celestial and immortal children. Other sources place her age at twenty eight (Cang Dewu, Taiwan minjian gushi, 133; Shi Siwei, Taiwan minjian gushixuan, 55), while Lin Daoyuan states she perished in a typhoon at the age of twenty seven (295). In any case, she would later appear on the seas during storms, aiding those in distress.

Another legend about Mazu, "The Story of Yishan Island," can be found at 3/28/08.

I didn't attempt to translate literally the Chinese names for "General Sees All" and "General Hears All"; instead, I freely translated their respective names (Qianliyan, "Eyes that see for a thousand li," and Shunfeng'er, "Ears that hear with the flow of the wind") to capture what the original names in Chinese imply. Their names have come down into modern parlance to mean "foresighted," "shrewd," or even "telepathic" (qianliyan) and "illuminated" or "enlightened" (shunfeng'er). Two excellent wooden images of the generals can be found inside Tainan's Heavenly Empress Palace (Daitian hougong), also known as the Tainan Mazu Temple; here, the Qianliyan statue is green-skinned, while Shunfeng'er is red, as are other statues of the generals elsewhere on Taiwan. (Shi Cuifeng reverses their colors; Taiwan minjian gushixuan, 53.) These two beings first come into history by appearing in the well-known Ming Dynasty epic Journey to the West, where they are depicted as the "eyes" and "ears" of the Jade Emperor, informing him of what is going on in the world (Chou Hongwei, Zhongguo minjian xinyan fengsu cidian, 127). Probably not coincidentally, "Gaoming" means "high brilliance," "great wisdom," and/or "profound brightness (of the eyes)," while "Gaojue" means "great perception" and/or "great sensitivity."

(2) Mazu's Iron Horse

By the time she was nineteen, Lin Moniang had already witnessed many maritime tragedies--lives being lost in sudden storms and typhoons--and each time she saw such an occurrence, it always broke her heart. Most heart-wrenching for her was a tsunami that suddenly hit Meizhou Island one autumn day, sweeping out to sea more than ten fishing boats and over a hundred souls.

Lin Moniang continued to mourn the disaster that had hit her close-knit community. She soon fell very ill as a result and became confined to her bed.

One day, some time between afternoon and early evening, Lin Moniang was sleeping when she was suddenly awoken by whinnying. That was odd, for there were no horses on this island of fishing families. Whenever the island residents had to travel, they took to their boats and headed for the mainland. Who on this island would have any use for a horse? Lin Moniang herself had never even beheld a real horse, only the ornamental majestic iron horse placed near the village during some long ago dynasty, the iron horse which continually stood under a banyan tree.

Lin Moniang went back to sleep.

Late the next afternoon, still very ill in bed, Lin Moniang again heard the telltale whinnying of what could only be a vigorous horse. Her curiosity had now gotten the better of her, prompting her to put her illness and weakness out of her mind.

The next day, at sundown, Lin Moniang was ready. She had lain on her bed for most of the day in her clothes, preparing to get up at a moment's notice. At the first sound of neighing, she climbed out of bed and made it to the door, which she opened.

She listened.

Yes, it must be a horse; there was no other creature on the island that could make such a sound. The noise seemed to be coming from the grove of banyan trees just beyond the village. As ill as she was, she crept outside and headed for the banyan trees, in particular the tree under which stood the iron horse.

There stood the iron horse, motionless, gleaming in the moonlight.

Lin Moniang approached the horse and stroked its neck and metal mane.

She stepped back--the horse was now warm flesh, covered by a downy fuzz! Its eyes blinked as it boldly snorted a ball of warm air, its tail, gently switching.

Startled but also happily excited, Lin Moniang put her arms around the horse's neck and climbed up onto its back. She gently patted the horse. It then gave off a loud neigh, raised its head and took off like a ray of light, heading for the boundless sea!

Lin Moniang discovered she could guide the horse's direction by pointing. When she folded her five fingers, the horse would come to a stop.

The future goddess Mazu, Lin Moniang, was jubilant and filled with hope, for with this horse, she could go to any friend or family member needing rescue at sea.

Dawn was approaching. Lin Moniang guided the iron horse back to its original spot beneath the banyan tree. She dismounted the steed and gently stroked its neck, allowing its soft flesh to return instantly to a metallic state.

From that day on, Lin Moniang patrolled the ocean off the coast of the island while riding the iron horse, rescuing all--be they fishermen, traders or passengers--who found themselves struggling to survive upon the unfriendly sea.

It is said that when Lin Moniang ascended into heaven, the iron horse went with her.

Notes

from Mazude chuanshuo (Legends about Mazu), Wang Wulong, ed.; Fuzhou: Haixia Wenyi Chubanshe, pp. 27-28.

Few animals in world myths and legends can compete with the horse in abundance of symbols. Depending on the culture, horses may represent frenzy, male vitality, the underworld (as psychopomps), nobility, the sun, and flowing water (e.g., springs). Ancient Chinese myth has its share of flying horses. The Shanhaijing, composed sometime between the end of the Period of Warring States (221 B.C.) and the beginning of the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.), a compendium of fabulous beasts, lists a "heavenly horse," a winged creature with the head of a dog that would fly away upon being observed by people (Yuan Ke, Zhongguo shenhua chuanshuo cidian, 63).

Motifs: B41.2, "Flying horse"; cD1626.1, "Artificial flying horse."

Old Wu and the Eagle (Taiwan)

Many years ago there lived an old gentleman at the foot of a mountain on central Taiwan. His name was Old Wu, and he was a widower. Having no children or relatives, he lived alone in a little grass hut. He made his living by getting up early every morning to gather firewood. He would then trade the firewood for rice. The rice, along with a the few odd vegetables he was able to grow, enabled him to continue his lonely life.

One day, on a nearby mountain, Old Wu spied an enormous withered tree. As the tree appeared to be an excellent source of firewood, he approached it, ax in hand. As he was about to swing his ax, a shadow suddenly flashed over him.

It was a magnificent eagle, which then glided into a large cavity in the tree.

Old Wu, aged but still hardy, climbed up onto a branch and peered into the hole. There, he saw the eagle feeding its young.

The mother eagle's eyes glistened as Old Wu looked at them.

Old Wu smiled and, addressing the eagles as if they understood words, said, "No, beautiful ones, you have nothing to fear from me. Though I could get a mountain of rice for the wood from this tree, I wouldn't deprive you of your home."

He climbed down and was on his way home.

Before he had taken ten steps, a familiar shadow separated him from the rays of the sun. The mother eagle landed on a stump by the path and faced Old Wu as he headed down the hill.

"Grandfather," spoke the eagle, "you are a kindhearted, merciful soul. Allow me to show my appreciation for sparing the home of my babies. Please climb onto my back and close your eyes."
The stunned old woodcutter did as the eagle had asked and closed his eyes. "Now hang on tightly and don't let go of me until I say so. We have a long distance to cover!"

They were off!

At last, after what must have seemed ages, they came back down to earth. When Old Wu opened his eyes, he discovered he was in a chilly, gray land of pebbles, rock, and boulders. There were rocks in all shapes, sizes, and colors. The stones were spread out as far as one could see.

Old Wu climbed off the eagle and now had to slap his arms to keep himself warm.

"Look under each rock, " said the eagle, "and you will find a ginseng root. Take as many roots as you can carry. Whenever you need to come back for more, all you need to do is to tell me, and I'll gladly bring you back."

Old Wu scurried over the rocks, lifting as many as he could and stuffing his clothes with the precious roots. He had heard that ginseng, a root shaped like a person, was extremely valuable as a tonic preparation.

Within a short time, Old Wu opened his own ginseng shop. He became the only person on steamy, tropical Taiwan to have an unlimited supply of the root, which must be grown in cooler, arid climates, like those of Siberia, Manchuria, and Korea. He thus prospered and ended his days in comfort and with abundant wealth.

Notes

by Cang Dewu, Taiwan minjian gushi (Taiwan folktales); Taipei: Yongang Chubanshe, 1976: pp. 32-24.

For two other stories about, respectively, riding upon eagles and ginseng, see "The Gray Eagle," 8/16/07, and "The Ginseng Boy," 1/11/08.

Motifs: B375.3.1, "Grateful eagle"; B552, "Man carried by bird"; cB562.1.3, "Bird shows man treasure"; B580, "Animal helps human to wealth"; Q51, "Kindness to animals rewarded."

The Bell of Chongfu Temple (Fujian)

Which is more important--the cost of a gift or the spirit in which it was given? It might be very well said that there are instances in which a small gift, seemingly one without much value, may prove to be as worthy as a grand offering.

In the old trading city of Quanzhou stands Chongfu Temple, and it was here, several hundreds of years ago, a small incident took place.

The abbot of Chongfu Temple was a very famous man. He undertook a mission to raise money to purchase a huge bell for the temple, a bell for which all the monks and the residents of Quanzhou City could be proud. With begging bowl in hand, he personally set out to garner contributions from the faithful so that the temple could possess a bell which would be unlike any other. He left behind a little shami, a young novice monk, to look after the temple in his absence.

An old woman, her body gnarled like the branches of a banyan tree, hobbled into the temple courtyard one afternoon.

"Shifu, " she respectively addressed the young monk, "where is the abbot?"

"He is out gathering contributions for the huge bell we hope to cast for our temple" was the reply.

"Oh, but purchasing a bell is a good thing!" Her eyes brightened for a moment as she fumbled in her bag for something. "I too would like to make a small contribution. Unfortunately, I am now old and without much money. Please accept this small silver coin as a token of my devotion."

She then handed the young monk a silver coin.

The shami looked at the coin and smirked. "I don't think you fully realize the undertaking in which our abbot has involved himself. He is not soliciting for a mere toy bell. Our temple intends to purchase the biggest bell ever cast in our province. It's best for you to hold onto this coin. It certainly won't do us any good."

Three times did the woman attempt to donate her coin, and three times was she rebuffed. Finally, she took her coin and slowly made her way out of the temple courtyard. The shami then went about his business.

In time a sufficient amount of contributions was raised to pay for the casting of the huge bell. Strangely enough, once the bell had been cast, a defect was discovered. Along the rim of the bell, a gap about the size of a common coin was clearly seen. The inexplicable gap was then mended. However, when the bell was rung for the first time, the chunk that had filled the gap fell from the bell. No matter what steps were taken to repair the bell, the telltale gap remained. And so it remains to this day.

A coincidence, you say? The faithful feel that the gap was caused by the Goddess of Mercy, Guanyin, to teach the haughty shami a lesson: Don't ever look down upon someone's gift from the heart, no matter how humble it is.

Notes

from Legends and Riddles of Fujian by Zhi Nong; Taipei: the Oriental Cultural Service, 1956; pp. 91-93.

Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy, is also known as Kuan-yin as well as her Japanese name, Kannon.

Memorial Day 2011

Today is Memorial Day in the United States, a day to remember all our fallen military servicemen and women, a day similar to Remembrance Day in my former Canada and in the UK. In my blog posts, aside from Christmas and New Years greetings, I've never strayed away from Chinese folkore-related material, but today I shall.

I am very aware that my freedom to type this blog, to write my books, to profess my religion, to marry someone of a different faith (as I did), to travel, to speak my mind, to read whatever I want, and so on is all due to the sacrifices of men and women of the United States Armed Forces. I therefore would like to dedicate this posting to a man who would have been my "uncle" if he had survived World War Two. That man was Mr. Lyle Leonard Ellis.

Lyle Ellis was my father's schoolmate in Vancouver, Canada. He was an American, presumably the son of Americans who lived and worked in Canada. When Canada declared war on Germany, on September 10, 1939, Mr. Ellis did something so typically American--he enlisted in a war not his own to fight for the freedom of others unrelated to him. He could have very well instead returned to the U.S. My father enlisted alongside him, expecting, I guess, that they'd both serve in the same unit. As it turned out, my dad was sent to England, while Mr. Ellis was sent with other Canadians to bolster the British garrison in Hong Kong. It was there, in Hong Kong, that Mr. Ellis was captured by the invading Japanese and sent as a POW to Japan to work in the mines. He died there in captivity on March 17, 1944; the official cause: pneumonia. He is buried in the British Commonwealth POW cemetery in Yokohama. My dad fortunately returned home after the war. Years later, he told me, while I was still a boy, about Lyle Ellis.

I'd like very much for the world, at least for as many people as possible, to know that Lyle L. Ellis once lived in this world and that, like so many Americans, he made the ultimate sacrifice for people he didn't know and for whom he had not yet been required to fight.

Rest in peace, Uncle Lyle, and eternal thanks to you and all Americans who have given their lives for our nation.

Taiwan Folktales -- Now on Amazon

I'm very pleased to announce that my translations of Taiwanese folktales, Taiwan Folktales, published by Booksfromtaiwan.com, is now available on Amazon UK & Amazon USA, as well as on other worldwide Amazon sites, as a Kindle e-book. Please take a look at publisher Richard Foster's Booksfromtaiwan.com and his Barking-deer.com. At both sites you can find all kinds of interesting things! Fred H. Lobb

Mulian Rescues His Mother -- An Ancient Indo-Buddhist Myth From China

In ancient times, in the holy city of Wangshe Cheng, there was a Brahman, a son of a high official, a man named Mulian. He was an original follower and disciple of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, and he was renowned for his ability to detect and to communicate with those now in the other realm. Accordingly, he was regarded as the foremost sensitive, medium or spiritualist among all of the Buddha's disciples.

Mulian had for many years "gone out"; that is to say, he had renounced the world, undergone the meditations and exercises required of ascetics, and traveled as a holy man, preaching the doctrine of the Buddha, returning periodically to receive instructions from the Buddha but always on the road far from home.

Now one day the Buddha happened to lecture on the Four Objects of Gratitude, the first precept being filial piety. Mulian attended this lecture and was so moved by the Buddha's words that he desired to return home to see his mother once again.

The day came when he finally arrived back in his hometown but only to discover his mother had already died. How he had planned to dote on her, to see to her every needs--and now she was gone! And how regretful he now was!

Mulian then called upon his abilities as a medium to reach his mother now in the other world, to see her in her new existence.

To his shock, he discovered his mother had sunk to the hell of hungry ghosts and was now undergoing great torment there.

He could see her and was within reach of her. Mulian looked closely at his mother. Besides her stomach's being enlarged extended like a great drum, her neck itself was as thin as a needle.

He cried great tears and held out his rice bowl containing leftover rice to her. Before she could even eat one grain, though, the rice before his eyes turned into a mass of flames. Such is the torment hungry ghosts endure--drifting, with their stomachs extended due to starvation and their threadlike throats connecting their heads to their bodies, they are unable to eat a morsel of anything, for all offered to them turns to fire.

There was nothing Mulian could further do at that moment. He was, however, resolved to save his mother from this horrible existence.

He sought out the Buddha.

"Venerable Lord," he said, addressing the Buddha, "my mother is experiencing unbelievable suffering! Please let her be released through your mercy!"

"Mulian," replied the Buddha, "your mother's sins in her past life were too great. There is nothing no individual, you included, can do. However, there is hope of salvation through the power of the Sangha. Only with that power can your mother be saved.

"So, Mulian," continued the Buddha, "on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, make an offering of one hundred different meals for the community of monks. Doing so, you will not only save your mother but all the other hungry ghosts gathered as well from the torments of hell. Seven past generations of parents, grandparents and ancestors will be blessed by your gesture, and your offerings will earn great merit."

Mulian followed the Buddha's instructions, preparing a hundred dishes of food on the fifteenth day of the seventh month for the community of monks, including those from far and near. The monks, in turn, commenced praying, entered into meditation, and then received the offerings.

Thus was Mulian's mother saved from hell.

This was the origin of what is called Pudu, "the ferrying of souls."

The Chinese Pudu, the Feast of Souls, is known as Yulanpen, or Ullambana. The tradition started in China when Emperor Wu of Liang (464-549 A.D.) entered a temple and inaugurated the Feast based on Indian traditions. He too provided a feast of many foods, each in a bowl, allowing seven generations of souls to leave behind the existence of hungry ghost in hell.

Sadly, today in Taiwan the tradition has lost its original mission in providing donations and relief and venerating ancestors. Instead, it has regressed to that of being a mere raucous and wasteful festival.

Notes

from Fojiao gushiji (An anthology of Buddhist stories); Taiwan Fojiao Bianji Weiyuanhui, ed.; Taipei: Fojiao Chubanshe, 1986; pp. 90-92.

The very last paragraph contains the editorial sentiments of the original Chinese text.

Mulian is the sinicized form of Maudgalyayana. Wangshe Cheng is the historical ancient city of Rajagrha, Rajgir, or Rajagaha, located in Bihar, Northeast India. The Four Objects of Gratitude are family (filial piety), all sentient beings, one's homeland, and the Triratna, or the Three Jewels of Buddhism (the Buddha; the Sangha, or Buddhist monastic community; and the Dharma, or the Law). The non-Chinese term Yulanpen is the Chinese transliteration of the Sanskrit Ullambana, which means "hanging upside" or "[im]pending," perhaps reflective of the continual fate of hungry ghosts.

The story is very important historically. Now with the Buddha's own lecturing on filial piety and his encouragement of Mulian's mission to rescue his mother, Buddhism in China began to take a different course from that of Indian Buddhism. Chinese Buddhism, with the Buddha's apparent blessings, began emphasizing the ancient, pre-Buddhist Chinese concern with filial piety. The supposed abandonment of earthly ties with which Indian Buddhism has been popularly associated was now played down. Most important, perhaps, are the Buddha's words to Mulian regarding the need for a unified response to relieving the sad souls in hell, that one cannot go about providing such relief alone. His words, in effect, inaugurated the codified approach of making large offerings to aid those in hell. In his masterful book on Yulanpen (The Ghost Festival in Medieval China; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), Stephen Teiser points out that a growing number of scholars now discount the above stereotype of Indian Buddhism of being overly unconcerned with existing familial ties. He also writes that one scholar, Iwamoto Yutaka, suggests the origin of Ullambana might lie, not with the above circa sixth-century myth, but with the Greek myth of Dionysus's descent into the underworld to rescue his mother, Semele (23-24). Among most people in medieval China and probably among most Chinese in our time, Ullambana has long coalesced with the likewise ancient Taoist Zhongyuan so that today people tend not to differentiate between Buddhist and Taoist feasts for the dead (Teiser, 41).