Tenzin was a monk with a murky past.
He had committed so many indiscretions that his brothers had lost count. That is why the other monks had sequestered him in the little patch of garden. It was fenced in by a low wall of stakes that had been covered with barbed wire. He was supposed to be there in order to repent. But Tenzin didn’t feel a bit like repenting. He’d had it with this religion. He figured it was broth time.
The Order had many virtues, but choice was not one of them. With each passing day in the monastery he had drifted away from the doctrine of predestination. A notion that the Almighty had, in consequence of his foreknowledge of all events, set out a path for all those destined for salvation. Some of the arguments that had taken place during the evening meal had become so heated that he had been sent off to bed without supper.
Yes, it was definitely broth time. He looked around his little plot. He had all of the ingredients right here in the garden; potatoes, celery, carrots and onions. As it happened, he was on kitchen duty.
That evening he was chopping up vegetables and dropping them into a pot. When he found himself alone with his chores, from under his garment he took a small bottle and gave it a shake. He did it once and he would do it again. He prayed desperately that he wouldn’t reincarnate as himself for the second time. What were the odds?
Meantime, he would conjure up a broth to die for.