The List of the Chosen Ones

Mangu used to watch enviously as worshippers piled into the temple, noisy, happy, a thousand friendships and stories he could never share. On festival days he would join the cheering crowds as the priests and temple maidens paraded the streets, festooned with bunting, huge, colourful elephants leading the procession.

Afterwards, the parties would last long into the night, and even the following morning, with food, wine, song, dance, every entertainment you could imagine.

Mangu wasn’t invited to the parties.

Mangu wasn’t allowed into the temple either. Only the Chosen may join the temple crowd, and Mangu wasn’t on the List of the Chosen.

He tried to gain entry, tried to take part, but the priest broke the bad news to him, he lacked the divine approval necessary to gain entry to the temple. He wasn’t on The List. “Only the Chosen may join the temple crowd.”

“But everyone else goes,” Mangu protested. He recited a long list of names, a very long list, over fifty people. “They all go to the temple,” he said, finally.

“They are all on the List of the Chosen,” the priest replied, having, to his great credit, attended to every name.

“How can I get added to the list?” Mangu asked.

“You can’t. The list is supplied to us by God himself. Those on the list may, of course, choose whether or not to join the church, to attend the temple, it’s a free country. But those not on the list – they have no right of entry.”

In fact, if the truth can be shared discreetly amongst friends, God had played no part in Mangu’s omission from the List of the Chosen, which was simply the result of a clinical error on the part of a minor church underling. But it was unthinkable that the priest could admit such an error, so Mangu’s exclusion of the church became a truth.

Mangu approached other temples and churches in the town, but these too had omitted him from their Lists of the Chosen, and he was turned away by every church and temple in town.

It is a sad thing for a boy to miss out on parties and festivals. It a sad thing for a boy to miss out on opportunities for friendship – for most social gatherings in the town centred around the churches and temples.

But it is even more sad for a boy to miss out on school, for that is what happened to Mangu, because access to schooling was restricted to those on the List of the Chosen. For the same reason Mangu knew that he would never be allowed to marry, for to marry you had to belong to a church.  He would not even be allowed to work, for employment was restricted to registered believers, though at least the government would be considerate enough to take taxes from him, there was no restriction in that regard.

After being turned away from the last church in town, Mangu sat on the steps and cried. He was ruined, with no hope of any future.

He cried for a long time. Eventually he became aware that there was a man sitting on the steps near to him, also crying.  Mangu was intrigued, for he had never seen a grown man cry.

“Why are you so sad?” he asked the man.

“I’m a god,” he replied, “but I’ve lost my last believer and without belief I’m nothing. I’ve been kicked out of the realm of the gods and now I’m homeless, on top of everything else. But what about you, how can someone so young be so sad?”

Mangu told the god his story. “But this is perfect,” he said once he’d finished, “I’m a boy in need of a god and you’re a god in need of believers.”

The god nodded thoughtfully. “I’m perfectly happy for you to worship me,” he said.

“Will you add me to your List of the Chosen?”

“Well, I’ve never had a list of the chosen, but I suppose I could start one.” He took out a piece of paper and a pen. “What’s your name?”

“Mangu.”

On the paper (the back of a corner store receipt) the god wrote ‘List of the Chosen’ and below it ‘Mangu’.

“Fantastic,” said the boy, “I’m finally a believer. I can go to school, get a job, get married.”

“Right,” said the god, standing to his feet. “I can’t sit her chatting to you. My rightful place is in heaven with the other gods.” He started to walk away, but then turned and said to the boy: “It’s Tuesday tomorrow, so you’d better get fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“For the halibut sacrifice. It’s the Tuesday Festival tomorrow.”

“Right,” said the boy, “Halibuts for the Halibut Sacrifice. Anything else?”

“Well, it’s the Tuesday Festival, so you’ll need elephants and bunting for the parade, but otherwise just bring yourself.”