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Bangkok Post
7 hours ago
- Lifestyle
- Bangkok Post
Ever wonder why Thais offer Red Fanta to the spirits?
Visitors to Thailand are often intrigued by the small, ornate structures known as spirit houses usually found outside homes and businesses and often also as roadside shrines. One element in particular tends to spark curiosity: the frequent offering of red Fanta drinks. But why is this fizzy beverage so commonly left as a gift for spirits? The Role of Spirit Houses Spirit houses, or San Phra Phum, are made to house guardian spirits believed to protect a home or place of business. These spirits are said to shield inhabitants from unseen forces and malevolent energies. Maintaining their favour is seen as essential for good fortune and harmony. So why Red Fanta? A Colour of Fortune Red is widely regarded across various Asian cultures as a colour of luck, joy and longevity. In spiritual contexts, it is thought to ward off evil and attract positivity. Psychologically, red evokes feelings of passion and energy - qualities also associated with powerful spirits. The use of red in rituals aligns with similar beliefs found in Chinese customs, where red plays a prominent role in auspicious ceremonies. From Blood to Beverage Historically, offerings to spirits and deities included animal sacrifices, often involving the use of blood as a symbol of devotion and vitality. Such practices have faded over time, replaced by more symbolic and humane alternatives. Red drinks, particularly red Fanta, emerged as a substitute - the vivid colour recalling the life force once represented by blood. A Practical Origin Another possible explanation is practicality. In the past, people would offer clear water with incense sticks in it. Over time, the red dye from the incense coloured the water, leading to its eventual replacement with already coloured red drinks like Fanta. This eliminated the need for the incense. Folklore and Modern Superstition One widely shared tale has it that those who first offered red Fanta to the spirits would later receive lucky lottery numbers in dreams - cementing its reputation as a bringer of good fortune. Curiously, a subtle class distinction has emerged as well. It has been noted that some believe offering off-brand red soda instead of actual Fanta is seen as disrespectful or low-class, revealing an unexpected consumerist layer to spiritual practices in modern Thailand. Spirits in Thai Culture The Thai interpretation of Buddhism includes frequent references to spirits (phut), non-human entities (amanut) and beings from other realms. Classic Buddhist texts like the Tipitaka recount tales of monks in remote forests being visited by spirits disguised as ghosts. To protect themselves, the Buddha gave them a sacred chant, the Metta Sutta - still recited today during house-blessing ceremonies - to ward off harmful spirits. This intersection of religion, folklore and superstition is part of daily life in Thailand. From birth to death, many Thais hold beliefs in spirits that command both reverence and fear. Spirit offerings, whether flowers, food or red Fanta, are acts of devotion, appeasement and protection. A Modern Media Phenomenon This fascination with the paranormal endures in modern Thai media. Long-running radio programmes like The Shock and The Ghost Radio feature real-life ghost stories from listeners, consistently drawing over 100,000 listeners per episode and often going viral online. Many of these tales reference the spirits' preferences - some even say their house spirits favour Pepsi or Coke over red Fanta. Whether through ancient rituals or viral ghost stories, red Fanta remains one of Thailand's most curious spiritual offerings - a symbol that blends old beliefs with new meanings, superstition with symbolism, and tradition with a splash of modern flair.
India.com
9 hours ago
- India.com
Planning A Trip To Northeast India? Don't Miss These 10 Incredible Heritage Sites
photoDetails english 2935564 Updated:Jul 23, 2025, 11:15 AM IST 1 / 12 Northeast India is a treasure trove of cultural richness, ancient traditions, and historical marvels waiting to be explored. Each state in the region offers a unique peek into its vibrant past through forts, temples, palaces, and sacred sites. Whether you're a history buff, spiritual seeker, or curious traveller, these heritage sites are bound to leave a lasting impression. Kamakhya Temple, Assam – A Powerful Shakti Peeth 2 / 12 Located atop Nilachal Hill in Guwahati, Kamakhya Temple is one of the most revered Shakti Peethas in India. Dedicated to Goddess Kamakhya, it draws millions of pilgrims, especially during the Ambubachi Mela. The temple's unique tantric rituals and ancient stone architecture reflect a mystical heritage. Rang Ghar, Assam – The Ancient Amphitheatre of Ahoms 3 / 12 Known as Asia's oldest amphitheatre, Rang Ghar was built by the Ahom kings in the 18th century. Located in Sivasagar, it was used as a royal pavilion for watching sports and cultural events. Its egg-shaped dome and Indo-Mughal architecture symbolize the grandeur of Ahom rule. Unakoti, Tripura – Rock Carvings Lost in Time 4 / 12 Unakoti is an archaeological and spiritual site dotted with thousands of rock-cut carvings and sculptures of Hindu deities. It is believed that the site is over a thousand years old, and the name "Unakoti" means "one less than a crore," referring to the number of carvings. Mawphlang Sacred Grove, Meghalaya – Forest of Legends 5 / 12 This ancient sacred forest near Shillong is deeply rooted in Khasi tribal traditions. Home to centuries-old trees and monoliths, the Mawphlang Sacred Grove is preserved by the local community and is considered spiritually inviolable. No object can be taken out from the forest, as per tribal belief. Tawang Monastery, Arunachal Pradesh – The Largest in India 6 / 12 Perched at 10,000 feet in the Himalayas, Tawang Monastery is a 17th-century Buddhist monastery that offers breathtaking views and deep spiritual energy. It houses valuable scriptures and a giant golden Buddha statue. The monastery plays a key role in the cultural identity of the Monpa people. Kangla Fort, Manipur – The Ancient Capital of Meitei Kings 7 / 12 Situated in Imphal, Kangla Fort once served as the royal palace of the Meitei kings. With sacred temples, royal shrines, and mythical structures, the fort is a symbol of Manipur's regal and spiritual history. It's a must-visit to understand the legacy of Manipuri culture. Dzongu, Sikkim – Preserving Lepcha Heritage 8 / 12 Dzongu is a heritage village area in North Sikkim, home to the indigenous Lepcha tribe. With traditional bamboo homes, ancestral practices, and untouched nature, Dzongu offers an authentic glimpse into tribal heritage and sustainable living. Ujjayanta Palace, Tripura – The Royal Heart of Agartala 9 / 12 Built in the early 20th century, Ujjayanta Palace is a grand structure that once housed the royal family of Tripura. Today, it serves as a state museum with exhibits on Northeast culture, tribal life, and royal artifacts. The Mughal-style gardens and regal halls are architectural highlights. Sibsagar Tank and Temples, Assam – Legacy of the Ahoms 10 / 12 Sibsagar, once the capital of the Ahom kingdom, is known for its massive water tank (Sibsagar Tank) and surrounding temples like Shivadol, Vishnudol, and Devidol. These structures showcase the Ahom dynasty's dedication to architecture, religion, and urban planning. Nartiang Monoliths, Meghalaya – Standing Stones of Strength 11 / 12 Nartiang, in the West Jaintia Hills, is home to one of the largest collections of monoliths in India. These megalithic stones were erected by the Jaintia kings as symbols of victory and respect. Walking among these stones is like stepping into a forgotten chapter of tribal valor. 12 / 12 Northeast India is more than just scenic beauty — it's a region steeped in history, mythology, and ancestral pride. These heritage sites reflect the cultural soul of their people and the enduring stories of kingdoms, communities, and faiths. Whether you're exploring majestic monasteries or sacred forests, every step uncovers a deeper connection to the past.
The Hindu
20 hours ago
- Politics
- The Hindu
China, India and the conflict over Buddhism
As headlines trumpet Chinese naval expansion across the Indo-Pacific and India's strategic countermoves in this regard, there is a quieter, higher-altitude contest already reshaping Asia's future. The real geopolitical frontier between India and China lies not in the oceans but in the Himalayas. And at its heart is not oil, trade, or weapons but faith. What looks like a spiritual tradition rooted in non-violence and mysticism has become, in the 21st century, a geopolitical chessboard. Monasteries that once served as centres of meditation and monastic education now sit at the frontlines of national power games. The reincarnation of lamas has become a matter not just of religion but also of sovereignty. And in regions such as Ladakh, Tawang, and even remote Bhutan, Buddhist culture is increasingly shaped not only by the sacred but also by strategy. China's campaign has escalated Both India and China understand that influence over Himalayan Buddhism is influence over identity, and in borderlands where lines on a map are fuzzy, identity is everything. For China, this means turning Buddhism into a tool of statecraft. Since the 1950s, Beijing has worked to dominate Tibetan religious life: it exiled or marginalised independent lamas, co-opted institutions, and, most crucially, claimed the sole right to approve reincarnations. In 2007, the Chinese government formally asserted that any 'Living Buddha' must be sanctioned by the state. The message was clear: spiritual legitimacy flows from political authority. This campaign has escalated in recent years. China now maintains a database of officially recognised reincarnate lamas, monitors monastery activities across Tibet, and has launched an ambitious Buddhist diplomacy campaign across the Himalayas. Sacred sites are being repurposed as instruments of soft power. Roads lead to shrines built with Beijing's help. Conference invitations are extended to Himalayan monks who return home with subtle shifts in loyalty. Meanwhile, India has largely played catch-up. Hosting the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan exile government since 1959 gave India moral clout but little strategic advantage — until recently. Only in the last decade has New Delhi begun to engage seriously with Buddhism as a tool of influence, promoting its heritage as the Buddha's birthplace and funding regional pilgrimage circuits. Yet, these efforts remain fragmented when compared to China's centralised vision. As one scholar puts it, India practises Buddhist diplomacy: China practises Buddhist statecraft. Nowhere is the tension more visible than in the looming succession of the 14th Dalai Lama. The spiritual leader who turned 90 in July, has signalled that he intends to reincarnate outside Chinese territory — most likely in India. Beijing, predictably, has vowed to appoint its own Dalai Lama, using the centuries-old 'Golden Urn' method. The result will almost certainly be two rival Dalai Lamas: one recognised by the Tibetan exile community and much of the global Buddhist diaspora, and one endorsed by Beijing and installed in Lhasa under heavy guard. This schism would not just split Tibetan Buddhism. It would force Buddhist communities across the Himalayan rim — in Ladakh, Sikkim, Arunachal Pradesh, Nepal, and Bhutan — to pick sides. In doing so, it could reshape the geopolitical allegiances of entire regions. If the spiritual figure they revere sits in India, loyalty may deepen toward New Delhi. If he is seated in Lhasa, with Chinese backing and resources, the gravitational pull could shift east. Already, signs of this tug-of-war are visible. In Arunachal Pradesh, China asserts its claim to Tawang, birthplace of the sixth Dalai Lama — not only through military posturing but also through spurious cultural logic. 'It is Tibetan,' Beijing summarily argues, 'and therefore ours'. In Nepal, Beijing has invested heavily in Buddhist infrastructure, especially around Lumbini, the Buddha's birthplace. And in Bhutan, China subtly courts monastic communities even as the kingdom maintains a tight control over religious affairs. Working on internal disagreements What is striking is how even internal Buddhist disagreements are now strategic openings. The Karma Kagyu school — one of Tibetan Buddhism's major lineages — has two rival Karmapas, each claiming rightful leadership. China and India have found ways to align with different sides of the split, transforming a spiritual dispute into a proxy conflict. Similarly, the contentious Dorje Shugden sect, ostracised by the Dalai Lama, has found unexpected empathy from Chinese authorities eager to weaken the exile hierarchy. The battle for Buddhism is not about dogma — it is about who gets to define legitimacy, and in doing so, shape the loyalties of border populations. This is particularly relevant in places such as Ladakh, where the Buddhist identity coexists with a deep nationalist pride that is Indian. India's challenge is to ensure that spiritual allegiance does not drift toward foreign-controlled lineages, especially when those lineages sit across the Line of Actual Control. It is tempting to dismiss all this as secondary — religious pageantry in the face of realpolitik. But that would be a mistake. In the Himalayas, where territory is often inaccessible and infrastructure scarce, soft power is hard power. A monastery that shifts allegiance is a strategic loss. A high lama that pledges loyalty across the border can change the balance of influence in a valley, or even a district. And the stakes are only rising. After the Dalai Lama's time, the question of succession will become a global issue. Countries with significant Buddhist populations, from Mongolia to Sri Lanka, may be asked to take sides. The diplomatic fallout could be severe. For India, hosting the next Dalai Lama will be both an opportunity and a challenge: a chance to cement spiritual influence in the region, but also a trigger for intense Chinese pressure. The stage In this unfolding story, the Himalayas are not a backwater. They are the stage. The monasteries-in-the-clouds, the chanting monks, the adorned prayer wheels; they are not just relics of a bygone age, but instruments of power in a new one. This is where China and India are already competing — not with missiles, but with a spiritual succession crisis. And that is why, even as the world watches for signs of confrontation in the oceanic waters of the Indo-Pacific, the real front may lie higher — among the clouds and the cliffs, in the realm where the spiritual becomes geopolitical. The next great struggle between Asia's two giants could well be fought not with submarines and aircraft carriers, but with threngwas (prayer beads in Tibetan) and reincarnations. Nirupama Rao is a former Foreign Secretary and the author of 'The Fractured Himalaya; India, Tibet, China: 1949 to 1962'She posts on X as @NMenonRao
Newsroom
21 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Newsroom
Maurice and me, by Geoff Chapple: part 2
George Orwell says in one of his essays that a writer's best years lie between the ages of 30 and 45. Maurice Gee has read those essays – what writer doesn't? – and at 44, in 1975, it's late in the day maybe, but for the first time his inchoate life is aligning. He resigns from his library position. Margareta and Moss sell their Mt Eden house, and by November 1975, have settled in Nelson. The house overhangs the Maitai River and has a dirt-floored basement where Maurice separates off a two-metre square room with one small window onto the outside world. He needs to concentrate like never before, and he and Margareta establish a Foot Stamp Chart – one stamp from the floor above signals a phone call, two a visitor, three a cup of tea, four important mail, five an emergency. In December 1975, there's a final affirming flourish to the decision to relocate. Moss is told confidentially that he's won the Literary Fund grant of $6,000. In mid-February 1976, he descends to the basement room and is now alone with the memory of his grandfather at Peacehaven, in the study where a fat and shiny brass Buddha sits on the desk and the library goes up to the ceiling. He'll wander first of all through to the kitchen of the Peacehaven bungalow on Lincoln Road. Later he'll wander at length over the five-acre Peacehaven on Millbrook Road, to the creek, and the eels, and the shadows within the orchard. He begins to write Plumb. Memory is a Maurice Gee strong suit. He's written about his remembering in Blind Road. His youngest childhood memories, as he describes them, seem almost to resemble paintings by old masters, where the light falls on certain prominent features, but the backgrounds are dulled out. Later, as he grows up, the memories are more self-aware, his positional skills increase and the shadowy backgrounds are usually gone. Everything is sharply defined 'as if the sun strikes down from straight overhead'. Yet occasionally as the eidetic explorer moves through these brighter frames the shadows become important, and yes, he'll see which way they fall, and he'll see that they have sharp edges. Memories make up about two thirds the length of Plumb. Throughout the majority of the novel, the Reverend George Plumb is remembering his past life, and at one point suggests his remembering is a skill: 'Memory with me is an active thing, not an undisciplined dreaming. It can be, and was now, an acceptable substitute for reading and writing. I get a hold on acts, words, gestures, worry them out of the corners they've got themselves lost in, and brush the dust away. And yet, because they come from far away, from lost realms and because their shapes are refined and mysterious, they have visionary force.' That's Moss himself laying out, I'd say, his own professional method. His manner was often mild, his face almost bland, but the inside of his head was a vault with a thousand chambers. The beginning of the novel Plumb is brilliant in every way. The Reverend, deaf to the world but not sufficiently worried about the deafness to deploy his big black bakelite hearing trumpet more than occasionally, is suddenly aware of an excited and gesticulating daughter, Meg. She beckons him through to the Peacehaven kitchen, and once there he's further invited to be amazed at the brand-new Atlas electric stove. Meg opens the oven door and there – look Dad –the polished interior. So to the stove top – look Dad – three elements. Meg holds up three fingers, and in a near-theatrical display of the stove's excellence, shifts a pot of boiling porridge off one of the elements and turns the knob below – just so Dad! – cutting off the electricity. The Reverend sees a further sign of approval is needed and, assuming the thing turns cold once the electricity is gone, places his hand firmly onto the element. Turmoil. Family bursting into the kitchen from all over the house. At a stroke we see an old man's isolation from the modern – that is the 1940s – world. In the rush to the kitchen we also see the main family members who'll be important as the novel unfolds. But better yet – a structural point – that for ease of reader reference, the burned hand, immediately treated with Vaseline then heavily bandaged, can serve as a signal. The book's mainstay is Plumb's remembrance reaching across the decades from the 1880s to the 1940s. Those passages run parallel to a month-long present-day narrative, and at each return to that present, the bandaged hand welcomes the reader back, either by direct sight of the bulky white bandage, or Plumb's own comment upon the healing that's under way, or by a concerned enquiry from someone in the 12-strong Plumb family – How's your hand Dad? By the end of March Maurice has written 40,000 words. Ah, at 40,000 words or thereabouts is the passage I first read when I was flying over China in 1979. Moss had inscribed a copy of Plumb for my mother, and she'd passed it on to me as I left New Zealand, part of a four-man team documenting the life, in China, of the kiwi farmer, Rewi Alley. The old DC3 carrying our documentary film team towards Inner Mongolia seemed to move crabwise in a side wind over the dunes of the Gobi Desert, for hours – a good bland background perhaps to be teleported in an instant back to the most vivid New Zealand scene I've ever read. The Night Limited Express of the late 1940s plunges on across the Central Plateau. In one of the sleeping carriages, the 80 year-old Plumb is on his way to visit his three adult children in Wellington. Blistered hand and all, he lies awake: 'The small hours. A moon-rayed closet full of dead air and burnt coal. A swaying circular motion that set my stomach floating as though on oil. . . . Close at hand Mount Ruapehu was shining in the moonlight.' So quick. So tight. Maybe it's just me. This is set in the late 1940s when steam trains travelled the main trunk line and maybe I'm just sentimental for having known those steam trains as a youth. No. I'd rather see it as writing doing the thing it does best, holding something important back from the void, forever. The atmosphere of the Night Limited Express which was once and never will be again is ageless here. Is Moss Gee magic, is one of the gifts that are given by a terrific writer, and one of the gratitudes you may feel. The Faber original, 1979, of Maurice Gee's classic book By mid-May he's written 70,000 words, by July 90,000, and his projected final total of 110,000 will roughly coincide with his 45th birthday. Amidst the Chapple's family's rich history, and his own extensive research, each day's work has felt like the work he's been born to do. He writes to Robin Dudding that the Plumb stuff flows each day 'like dipping into a barrel.' When he'd first begun seriously shaping up the novel he'd reassured his mother that the more he brooded on it, the more distant the Reverend George Plumb was becoming from the Reverend James Chapple. Later though, the Barrowman biography speculates that Moss has begun emphasizing to his mother that the book is fiction, for the very reason that the further in he got, the more the characters came to resemble the Chapples. In the 'Author's note' that concludes Plumb Moss says his aunts and uncles are not to accuse him of putting them in a novel. Despite that, many within the family could pick precisely who was who. Moss Gee's further note though is correct: that the early part of the novel is based on the facts of James Chapple's life, but from 1918 onwards including details of the relationship between Plumb and his wife Edie, it is not. So we approach the novel's climax – set around the early 1920s when Plumb is in his 60s and has just conducted a Unitarian Service for the Peacehaven wedding of his daughter Esther. Guests promenade about, and 'the bowl of the lawn' – part of the original 5-acre Peacehaven – 'is brimful of sunshine.' One of the guests is John Willis, the lawyer who defended Plumb in the 1917 sedition trial. John meets Plumb's 19 year-old son Alfred, at this wedding, and takes an interest in the youth's poetry. A month or two later, Plumb crests a rise in the Peacehaven orchard, sees Alfred and John Willis in flagrante in the grasses below, and is momentarily overwhelmed by darkness. He's clutching the branch of a tree to stay himself as he comes out of the darkness cursing the two of them with Old Testament bloodiness, watching their faces turn 'white and bestial', hearing the male voices that 'croaked like toads'. He flees to his study, grabs a handful of the gold sovereigns stashed there and is back in time to find the lovers crossing the creek bridge that exits the orchard. He flings sovereigns at their feet: 'You are dead. You are dead to me Alfred. Never come here again. Your name isn't Plumb. There's money to change your name.' In the aftermath, Plumb's wife Edie is calm. Plumb tells her he's banished Alfred. Pressed as to why, he speaks of the sin of Sodom, and she remains calm. He guesses she's known Alfred's nature all along and long ago forgiven. The banishment of Alfred becomes an estrangement in some small degree from his adult children who simply laugh at him, but in no small degree from Edie. In the first hours of the crisis it's Plumb the patriarch who forbids anyone ever again mentioning Alfred's name to him, but in that same hour of crisis it's Edie, with the dignity and soft power of motherhood, who insists that he, Plumb, should never speak of Alfred to her again. And it's she who, despite his command, departs often within the years ahead for what he knows are visits to Alfred. Hat and gloves. Departing Peacehaven, and returning, in silence. Eight years on, as a storm shakes Peacehaven, Edie lies dying, and the Reverend Plumb has a vivid and terrifying glimpse of his wife's immortal soul, sees Light and Love, and backs away, knowing suddenly he's thrown away any right to look upon it. She reaches for his hand – 'George ' and their life together rests in the strength of that grasp, but again 'George' her last word that he knows is also a last wish – to take Alfred as his son again. Still, he cannot. Back now to the novel's present-day narrative, Plumb arrives home by car from the Wellington visit. Peacehaven shines for him with Edie's presence. She's the one who chose that name. Her brush painted the nameplate. She's dead now. Eight years lay between Alfred's banishment and her death. Now a further 12 years have passed. Forgiveness. Love. Why has he not? He rests in the summerhouse and the change comes, finally, easily. That he can love Alfred. That too, he can forgive himself. He is a man. Nothing human is alien to him. The reconciliation is arranged to take place in the house of one of the Plumb children. Alfred arrives, ignores his father and kisses the two sisters who are looking on. Plumb seeks to talk with Alfred alone, and the atmosphere turns spiteful – 'Who is this man?' Alf asks – then begins a verbal assault that's brought finally to a climax as Plumb counters with a suggestion that Robert, Alfred's older brother, has a healing touch, has in fact during the recent visit to Wellington, helped Plumb's burned hand to heal, and could help Alfred too. It's an ambiguous suggestion. To help assuage Alfred's entrenched bitterness perhaps, but Alfred takes it differently. 'To stop me being a homosexual?' he asks. ' I did not say that' replies Plumb, but Alfred has begun to frenzy. The big black bakelite hearing trumpet has been tilted to catch his replies once too often, and he batters it away, picks it up and smashes it against the wall. Reflecting later on the impossibility of this or any other possible reconciliation with his son, Plumb says: 'His hatred of me was so great I did not believe he would survive me long.' The last 56 pages of the original Faber and Faber hardback edition are the pages that hold these stark descriptions of love's flip side – Plumb's black curses, and 20 years on, the bitter harvest. Hatred, cold, hard, and ferocious. Yet even as the novel comes up to its end, love is gathering again in bits and pieces, his other adult children support his needs, and look after each other too during any personal distress. And why not? The whole book is an intermittent soliloquy on love – Edie's intimate attendance and understanding of both the children and of Plumb. And the contrast – Plumb's spiritual yearning for Divine love. The book explores both the tragedy and the humour of those two loves, one to another, a separation that's at its most clear as the Reverend sits in his study, writing the ascent of Man, and requests yet another cup of tea by tinkling his teaspoon within the empty cup, a sound faintly heard and drawing a prompt response from the loyal household beyond. But in the course of the novel he will see also, that Edie's love is complete, and that he has fallen short. The novel ends at the summerhouse. Plumb, alone now, talks to his dead wife, tells her the hearing trumpet is smashed and he can't hear whether her thrush is singing, or not. Raymond the favoured grandson arrives to play draughts, and presently Plumb jumps his grandson's last man, and wins. He's ready to die, or love, or whatever it is. He's glad of the good he's done, sorry about the bad. Daughter Meg comes, takes him by the hand and leads him in to tea. Aside from its memorable characters, Plumb is beloved by New Zealanders for its depiction of what Moss Gee has called New Zealandy things. Its trains, its motorcars, its lawns, its language, its pragmatism, its attitude to Catholics perhaps, its idealism. Yet I'd say it was bigger than that too. Plumb won the 1978 James Tait Black Memorial Prize, one of the oldest British literary awards, for the work of fiction judged the best novel published by a British imprint that year, regardless of the author's nationality. With that one proviso of a British imprint, the Tait Black was open to the whole English-speaking world. To put the award into a longer perspective, the other winners in that same decade included Nadine Gordimer, Iris Murdoch, Lawrence Durrell, John Banville, John Le Carré, and William Golding. Portrait of author Maurice Gee, 1990s, photographed by Reg Graham. Ref: PAColl-6458-1-08 Alexander Turnbull Library. The book sold internationally, and when Marilynne Robinson won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 2005 for her novel Gilead, which detailed the life and family ties of an aging Congregationalist Minister in Iowa USA, Plumb was the novel that various literary critics reached for in their comparisons. I'd suggest also that the novel made an international impact because it gave voice to the hopeful vocabulary humanity has erected to cope with infinity. Plumb is a flawed man, but he's studied religion, the poetry canon, also the literature of enlightenment, and he's unafraid of the big words. Let's hear it for the Salvation Army's blessing upon the newly dead – they're Risen to Glory. Let's proceed further with Heaven on Earth 'where I, the imperfect, can adore my own Perfect', or where 'man comes in sight of Man'. Or, let's catch sight of the eternal in the vivid glimpse of Edie's immortal soul. Or sight some ineffable Light that earthly mortals can glimpse, but cannot, on this earth, live within. On the day of Esther's wedding, after the Unitarian Service, the 60-year-old Plumb is pierced by such a light, and to describe the vision will reach for the words of the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:51: 'Behold I show you a mystery.' Plumb tells us that on this day he beheld just that mystery –'Which was made plain – a great light, a bliss, a splendour, a white radiance streamed through me.' You don't have to believe any of it, but these are words you've heard before, not often, perhaps but nonetheless, embedded, and in Plumb out they spill and on we go – it's terrific. Lastly let me recall a few of the more memorable meetings with Moss Gee over the years. In 1983 the Listener had agreed to a proposal that I write and photograph a regular fortnightly column as, with Miriam and my three children aboard, I manoeuvred a housebus anti-clockwise around the South Island. I knew already that when I reached Timaru one of the episodes would centre on the Reverend James Chapple. Moss was the man to talk that through with, and after we rolled off the inter-island ferry, we drove straight to his Nelson house. Moss brought out the Reverend's Bible, and we leafed through it together, the first time I'd seen the extensively inked monument. I told Moss about a recent visit to the United States to look up my Uncle Aynsley there and a few of my cousins. Aunt Dora, the local poet at Carmel California was the oldest of the Chapple children, and was now dead, but her son, David Hagermeyer still lived in Carmel and David suggested I talk to the last of my living American aunts. He called her up, and soon enough an American voice purred down the line – – Hello, it's your Aunt Mercy here – and who are you again? – Geoff Chapple – – Ah Geoff – Son of Geoffrey? Yes, I remember him well. And what do you do Geoff? – I'm a writer. – Oh that'd be right. That's the Chapples. Teachers, writers, or neurotics. I looked at Moss and refused to pass judgement. Moss looked at me, and, I hope, did the same. Under the Mountain was by now flying off the shelves. Plumb was doing edition after edition and the family trilogy with Meg (Faber and Faber 1981) and Sole Survivor (Faber and Faber 1983) was now complete. A little later those three novels, all inspired by the Chapple / Gee intergenerational line of Reverend James, Lyndahl, and Moss Gee would be gathered together by Penguin, published under the title The Plumb Trilogy, and reviewed by Michael King as 'One of the finest achievements in New Zealand literature.' It would feature on its cover a photo of the Reverend James Chapple – Moss's grandfather and mine. A meeting in Menton April 1992. I'd been the ideas guy for the main film the New Zealand pavilion showed at the Seville Expo 92, in Spain. This is New Zealand had separate images projected on three screens showcasing the country's landscape and culture including perhaps some wacky stuff like chooks pecking away at the country's NZ initials, laid out in wheat. I can't now remember if that one made the final cut, a lot of my ideas went west, but the pay was good, and so Miriam and I set out to catch the opening of the Expo on April 20. That same year Moss had won the Katherine Mansfield Menton Fellowship, and once we'd landed in Paris, Miriam and I diverted to Nice then took a local train to Menton, walked up to the enormous pastel frontage of the Palais Lutetia, up one floor, and knocked on Moss's door. He hadn't known we were coming. The door opened and Moss stepped back and threw up his arms – 'Geoff! Rachel Barrowman's masterful 2015 biography of Maurice Gee After leaning awhile on the balcony with a glass of wine and contemplating the mighty Mediterranean, the three of us walked down to the nearby Katherine Mansfield writer's room. In 1920 Katherine Mansfield did her actual writing in the Villa Isola Bella which stood above us, locked, and we were down in a basement room that would have been, in 1920, a gardener's hangout, or perhaps a lapinière for raising rabbits. White concrete walls, a bed, a chair, a desk, an exercise book where Moss had been hard at work hand-writing his novel, main text on the right of each opened page, and revisions on the left. Crime Story (1994) was under way. I had something to tell him – I'd known that his research for the Plumb novel, years back, had turned up a former pupil of the Reverend James Chapple who'd said the Reverend had told her that he, Maurice Gee, of all the Reverend's grandchildren, was the one who'd have the most trouble finding himself, but was also the one most likely to carry forward the Reverend Chapple's life's work. Wrong. At the time of the Reverend's death in 1947, the one who'd come closest to doing that was running around somewhere in Mt Roskill as an energetic 7-year-old. He was the son of the 12th Chapple child, Joyce, who'd married Phil Reanney, a trucking contractor. In due course their son, Darryl Reanney, would gain PhD level qualifications in bio-chemistry and molecular biology. He lectured at Canterbury University, then La Trobe University in Melbourne and in 1982 became an Australian media figure as presenter for the ABC-TV's 7-part science programme Genesis. Early in 1992, Darryl had come across from Australia for a conference in Auckland, and I'd sat with him over a beer on his side of the harbour bridge. To cross that span, he told me, he'd need a whisky to settle his fear of heights. It was 36 years since I'd seen him last, and he was keen to talk. He'd recently published a book called The Death of Forever – A New Future for Human Consciousness (Longman Cheshire 1991) and he laid out the book's central thesis – that the insights of science now validated the insights of the sacred tradition. That every atom of the human body was generated first in the heat of a star. That the star-child, humanity, was a conscious entity, self-aware and part then, either a large or small part, of a cosmos awakening to understand what it was, so it could understand what it is, so it could understand what it may be. This tripped off Darryl's tongue with a practised ease, but became speculative with the proposal that as part of that forward momentum consciousness survives death. Not the individual ego, but a joining of some sort with a greater power. After that, Darryl lost me in subtle arguments about wave / particle dualities at the quantum level – except I remember him saying the wave part of the duality was 'very like a thought.' But yup, Moss agreed, as we leaned on the balcony again later and looked out over the Mediterranean, that certainly sounded like something the Reverend James Chapple would approve. Moss must have gone on to research Darryl further, for in the essay, Double Unit, he notes Darryl was 'a brilliant boy' who'd gone on to write two books on human consciousness and the interface between science and mysticism, the second published in 1994. Moss noted 'Of all James Chapple's grandchildren, he would have pleased the old man the most.' In August 1998 I was just coming to the end of route testing Te Araroa's proposed North Island trail, Miriam was walking with me, and we dropped down off the Mt Kaukau walkway straight into the Ngaio suburb and the Gee house in Chelmsford Street. I unslung my pack on the front porch, then knocked and delivered a prepared greeting as the door opened – – Moss, I've walked 1700 kilometres to your door. – Then please, theatrically with a sweeping arm, do come in. We had a good night of reminiscing the various Chapple foibles and scandals. Moss had just won that year's top fiction award, the Deutz medal, for his novel Live Bodies (1998), at the Montana New Zealand Book Awards, passed it across, and Miriam and I got to weigh it in our hands. He was by then finishing the young adult novel Hostel Girl (1999) and about to start on another adult novel – Ellie and the Shadow Man (2001). His industry was always, to me, sobering. In the morning as we walked down Chelmsford Street towards Trelissick Park and the Tinakori Hill track into Wellington central, Miriam turned to me – – Did you see that your cuzzie had one of his slippers done up with a plastic clothes peg? We called in again in January 2014, Moss had relocated to Nelson by then, and, with an occasional eye-roll at his own stupidity, recounted how he and Margareta had sold up their Nile Street house there and opted for a cottage in a retirement village. They'd been in the village just two weeks when they knew they'd made a terrible mistake. They contacted the Nile Steet purchaser, who'd bought the house for his daughter – would he consider selling the house back? Luckily the purchaser was having misgivings about his purchase. So yes, he would. Maurice and Margareta then lost their deposit on the retirement cottage, but got back the Nile Street house and its high enclosing hedge. I'd been hosted to Wellington for a panel discussion at the Wellington Art Gallery and Miriam and I then popped across to Nelson, for a chat with Moss. I'd just read his second-to-last book, a junior fiction novel, The Severed Land (Penguin 2017). The land is Galb, and the indigenees have erected an invisible but effective temporal seal between the aristocratic colonisers at one end, and themselves at the other. But the invisible wall, held in place by the Old One's will, is starting to decay. The novel, I said to Moss, seemed set up for as sequel. He agreed, and offered that I wanted to take that on, he'd to pass it over. I re-read the book, but declined, and Moss subsequently gave the sequel rights to Tony Chapelle, son of my Uncle Hollis, but who'd changed the spelling of his name after a dispute with his father. Tony's sequel was endorsed by Moss Gee before publication, Truthmaker (Penguin 2021). In 2018, a Unitarian Group in Canada had discovered an unpublished hand-written manuscript by the Reverend James Chapple that Moss himself had donated to the Turnbull Library. The Canadians wanted to published it online, and after some family discussion, David Chapple, son of Leonard Chapple, the second of the 14 Chapple children, volunteered to type out a soft copy to send to the Canadians. Moss and I discussed copyright and decided that was irrelevant, Moss then withdrew from the project commenting that he was 'all Chappled out', but did think the Reverend's title on this one – The Growing Point of Truth – was a good one. The book was duly published on the aptly named website. In Late November 2023 he came to the door of his Nile Street house and welcomed us in, then returned to the sitting room to settle into his big chair. The sun was coming in through window. We talked and came up to the point – – I've lost the urge to write. I challenged that statement but he replied – It's the words Geoff, I'm losing the words. We noticed also that he was keeping a sharp eye on Margareta as she pottered about in the kitchen. When we got up to leave, he rose too quickly from the big chair, momentarily lost balance and stood swaying. I stepped forward to steady him, but he'd righted himself quickly, saw us to the door, and gave us the usual cheery farewell. We'd felt, though, an obvious change within the Nile Street house. In the course of testing the North Island Te Araroa route in 1998, Geoff Chapple drops in on his cousin Maurice Gee. (Note plastic clothes peg on Gee's slipper.) Photo: Miriam Beatson On February 12 this year I sent an email to Moss asking him to identify one of my Chapple cousins in an old photograph that shows my mother Dawn , his mother Lyndahl, then Florence and the Reverend James all in a line and my sister Bronwen being held by my father. I can date it easily, February or March 1944 because my mother is obviously pregnant, and I'm not yet there. I wrote to Moss that I needed the identity of the unknown cousin because I was thinking of including the photo in a memoir of my own and might need a caption. His answer came three days later – Deorwyn the 10th Chapple had a couple of sons and the cousin in the picture was one of them, Malcolm Fergus. Good luck with the memoir Geoff, he wrote. I'll hang on in the hope of reading it. It wasn't to be. Moss had talked to me more than once about seeing death as the last great experience. When the news came, I didn't know at first it was an end of life choice, but in the following days his family forwarded his final letter, and that made it clear. The family also sent me the note, hand-written on lined notepaper, that listed what should happen when he was found. Each separate item was given its own space upon the page, with the first two words at the top of the list encircled to indicate priority: no service – – family and friends – cremation – river or hill or burial. I learned also that he'd last visited Margareta on June 3, nine days before his own death on 12 June 2025. Margareta was then in a Nelson Hospital ward. She was no longer recognising him, and was about to be shifted to a full-time care unit at Stillwater Gardens, so loyalty to her was no longer a consideration. I thought then – so of course, my beloved cousin, you wanted to experience death and to do it before you were too wrecked to appreciate the last great experience. So how was it? I've seen it written that some perfectly crafted airtight door opens. Death's door, and with the slightest of sounds – tk! – through you go. And maybe this side of the divide, a slight suction at its closing. A thing of minimalist beauty. I hope there's something in there –maybe the tk! – that you might place, thrillingly, in your own minimalist, hard-edged prose. # The timelines and many of the details in this remembrance are taken from Rachel Barrowman's meticulous Maurice Gee: Life and Work (VUP 2015), and Maurice Gee's Memory Pieces (VUP 2018). Peter Beatson, the Associate Professor in Sociology at Massey University, now retired, was helpful in suggesting that the so-called evil in Gee's novels is not theological, and usually pertains to human cruelty of whatever kind. Helpful also in pointing out the structural similarity between Plumb and In My Father's Den. The 'Death's door' description leans on an episode in David James Duncan's Sun House (Little Brown and Company 2023). The opinions on how Maurice's life unfolded and the conclusions reached are my own. Part 1 of Geoff Chapple's memoir of Maurice Gee (August 22, 1931-June 22, 2025) appeared in ReadingRoom on Tuesday.
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Zen Egg Grow a Garden update: How to unlock tranquil mutation pets like Kitsune & redeem rewards
Whether you aim to grow an exquisite zen garden, collect rare pets like Kitsune, or simply amass cosmetic items, this expansion delivers on its promise of tranquility and reward. Tired of too many ads? Remove Ads Zen Update Overview: A Serenity-Inspired Refresh Tranquil Mutation: Core of the Zen Experience Tired of too many ads? Remove Ads Trade in at the Zen Shop tanuki to earn Chi, used to unlock cosmetics and seeds. Donate to the Zen Channeller to expand the Zen tree. Completing all five growth stages earns access to exclusive items. Pets & Mutations: From Zen Egg to Shard Zen Cosmetics & Gardening Enhancements Tired of too many ads? Remove Ads Aesthetic additions: Hot spring décor, bamboo fences, temple lamps, and Buddha statues. Hot spring décor, bamboo fences, temple lamps, and Buddha statues. Garden upgrades: Zen-themed bridge, waterfall, and ambient effects. Zen-themed bridge, waterfall, and ambient effects. Seeds & crops: Including Soft Sunshine, Zenflare, Spiked Mango. You can also purchase a Zen Seed Pack to randomly obtain seeds like Monoblooma, Serenity, Hinomai, or rare Maple Apple. Save Slots & Weather Events Garden Save Slots – accessible via a new in-game mailbox, these allow players to lift and swap entire garden states. Slots are available for purchase, but require Robux. New Weather Events – including Zen Aura, Armageddon, Crystal Beam, and Radioactive Carrot, each linked with unique mutation effects. New sprays and weather tools can be acquired through the Spray Merchant. Event Strategy: Maximizing Tranquil Outputs Log in at the top of each hour to farm Tranquil fruits during the Zen Aura. Use or hatch Tanchōzuru or apply shard to any pet for automated mutation support. Watch the aura threshold: even outside aura windows, pets can still make fruit Tranquil. Balance fruit exchange between Channeller (event progression) and Tanuki (Chi for cosmetics). Consider save slots if regularly experimenting with different garden layouts or cosmetic testing. Summary Table: Zen Event at a Glance Feature Description Tranquil Mutation Mutated fruits during Zen Aura event Zen Egg Pets Shiba Inu, Tanuki, Kitsune, Tanchōzuru, etc. Tranquil Shard Applies mutation to pets post-tree-level 7 Zen Channeller Tree Unlocks shards and rewards through fruit donations Zen Shop Items Seeds, pets, cosmetics Garden Save Slot Slot-based garden save feature New Weather & Tools Adds variety with new sprays and effects Cultivating Zen, Harvesting Rewards FAQs: What is the Zen Update in Grow a Garden? What is the main objective of the Zen Update? ( Originally published on Jul 19, 2025 ) Roblox continues to expand its gardening universe with the launch of the Zen Update on Grow a Garden. The new event features a Zen Aura mini-game, exclusive pets and cosmetics, and especially the sought-after Tranquil Mutation. With players vying to assemble the Zen Channeller's tree and claim event rewards, here's a detailed guide to everything you need to flourish in Roblox's garden Zen Update, launched on July 19, 2025, brings a calm, Japanese-inspired theme to Grow a Garden. Players are invited to gather Tranquil Mutations through two routes: harvesting mutated fruits during timed Aura events, or by hatching from a Zen the Zen Channeller's tree reaches level 7, a special shard unlocks, allowing mutation of pets. All of this revolves around the core gameplay shift—uncovering and using Tranquil Fruits to earn in-game Chi and unlock cosmetics, seeds, and hour, for 10 minutes, the map is graced by a visible pinkish-orange cylinder of clouds and falling leaves. During this 'Zen Aura' window, fruits can randomly mutate into Tranquil if they're within the map's aura fruits release a faint, glowing aura and are clearly labelled 'Tranquil' when inspected, making them easy to spot and Zen Egg is your starting gateway to the event's new pets. Among the pets are peaceful additions like the Shiba Inu, Tanuki, and the elusive Kitsune (0.08% hatch chance), alongside the rare Tanchōzuru, as per a report by How to Geek.A hatched Tanchōzuru meditates every ~10 minutes and can passively mutat e nearby fruits. This makes it an excellent asset for mutation unlocking via the level 7 Zen tree, players can purchase this shard (for Chi or 279 Robux) to convert any pet's ability into Tranquility every ~24 minutes within a 15-stud you've collected Chi, visit the Zen Shop to claim:Two major gameplay enhancements came with the update:To make the most of the event:The Zen Update succeeds in blending thematic design with gameplay mechanics, offering both aesthetic charm and functional depth. From low‑effort get-going features like hourly Aura, to strategic investments like pets and save slots, players of all levels can participate Zen Update is a new event in the Roblox game Grow a Garden, launched on July 19, 2025. It introduces Tranquil Mutations, the Zen Aura mini-game, exclusive pets, cosmetics, and a level-based Zen Channeller tree that rewards players with upgrades and unique aim to mutate fruits into Tranquil variants, unlock Chi, hatch new pets from the Zen Egg, grow the Zen Channeller's tree, and earn cosmetic upgrades and game enhancements.
