The God Of Bountiful

 

A God's Hunger

He was angry as he looked down on the mortal world below. If you looked closely, you would see his cheeks growing redder and redder with every passing moment. He hadn't been the same for a year now, and it had started showing on his appearance.

"How dare them," he wailed. "How dare they let me suffer — after all, I am the God of Bountiful."

He could do nothing but watch from above as those he thought worshipped him enjoyed a feast like never before. He could practically smell the grease coming from the large elk on the spit over a roaring fire. He watched as they sat around the fire, cutting huge chunks of meat and drinking from jugs of wine. He didn't know when he had taken a step toward the mortals, but he caught himself. It was so painful to watch.

He was about to look away when he saw a kid — no more than ten — brandishing a knife as he went to the elk and carved a large chunk, while the elders laughed and praised him, saying he would be a real man.

The God of Bountiful watched as the kid took his meat to a secluded corner and started eating, grease sliding down from his chin and hands. The god practically opened his mouth in time with every bite, yet he was unaware of his own involuntary action until he felt his teeth slam together. He snarled, thinking about going to the kid and taking the meat, when he felt the wind rustle behind him. He turned around to see the God of Drought and Famine standing there. He swore silently but maintained his composure, knowing he had no chance against his nemesis.

"What do you want?" he finally asked, not taking his eyes from the kid, who had finished his first portion and was already going back for another.

Brothers

"I'm just here to check on you, to make sure you're okay," the God of Drought and Famine said, eyeing the kid with a small smile that the God of Bountiful couldn't help noticing.

"I'm fine. Leave me be."

"Now, stop pretending. You don't look fine. Your waist is getting thinner, and I could hear your stomach growling from far away."

"Are you here to mock me?"

"Why would I do that? I'm only concerned about you — after all, we are brothers."

The God of Bountiful scoffed but never took his eyes from the kid. He silently begged the boy to pray, to thank him for the bounty — but the prayer never came. He felt tears about to slide down and suppressed them. He lived on the prayers offered by mortals when they wanted to eat, and on the sacrifices they provided him. But for more than a year now, no prayer had come and no sacrifice either, and it had started showing on his body. He was leaner now; his once robust stomach flat as a plank. He yawned, watching as the boy cut a big chunk of meat and tossed it to a dog.

"Are you really okay?" he heard a voice and swore. He had forgotten about the God of Drought and Famine.

"This is all your handiwork," he said, finally taking his eyes away from the feast and looking at his brother.

"Now that is not fair, accusing me like that."

"You caused the famine."

"Does that feast look like a famine?"

"That is not the point. You made them suffer for three years before I could wrestle power from you, and now they are feasting out of fear that they will suffer again."

"You have your duty, and I have mine. Don't blame me for doing my work."

"Just stop it."

"That wouldn't make them pray to you, brother. We are all concerned about your situation."

The Feast Below

At that moment, there was a commotion on the feast floor and the god turned to look as a group of men danced and ate meat. Some were already slurring from too much drink.

"This is so fun," one of the men said, laughing.

"Yeah — see how we're enjoying ourselves since we didn't give that greedy god a portion. I bet he'd be green with envy."

"You're right, Markson," the first man said. "That god has been a thorn in our side — eating everything we had while we suffered. He was the one having fun."

"Yeah, my wife nearly prayed to him the day we killed a chicken. I had to threaten to kick her out before she stopped. That god has a huge debt to pay for our suffering."

"Yeah," the rest chorused.

A Prayer Unlike Any Other

The God of Bountiful could hold it no longer and he wept.

"Brother, I'm starving — can you help me?"

"How can I help you when I am the God of Drought and Famine, eh?"

The god was silent, watching the enjoyment below. Then he saw a young girl cutting her share of the elk. After she had finished, he saw her kneel down with her plate, clasping her hands in the manner of prayer. His heart lifted. He waited eagerly for the prayer to come — and when it did, he roared like a wounded lion.

She had prayed:

"Dear God of Bountiful, I hope you have seen our feast, and I hope you choke on the scent. You are selfish, wicked, and only know how to collect but never give. Take a look at my plate and enjoy the scent of the meat, and let your saliva drop like the grease. Amen."

There was mad laughter behind him. He turned to see his brother doubled over with mirth.

"Oh, that was wonderful. What a prayer."

The worst part was that he could never leave until the feast was over. So he watched — humiliated by his brother and by the very people who once prayed to him with gratitude for their bounties.

The Bone

The God of Bountiful was furious when that prayer reached him. How dare they. He had been taking care of them since the creation of time, and they chose to turn their backs on him over just three years of famine.

"How dare they starve me too," he fumed, but there was nothing he could do.

What annoyed him most was the realisation settling over him like a cold fog — he, a god, would now be the one praying to his own people, begging them to remember him, to send offerings and sacrifices. What a humiliation. He would never show his face at the gathering of gods again. No god had ever faced what he was facing now, not from the very people he had stood for since the beginning. He shook his head and stared down at the feast. At least it would soon be over, and he could lick his wounds in peace — away from his brother, who had gone about inviting every god he could find to come and watch his disgrace.

But just when he thought the feast was drawing to a close, they dragged out another fat pig and dumped it on the spit. And at that very moment, the rest of the gods chose to appear right beside him.

"This is interesting," said the God of Fire, sniffing the air. "I can feel the warmth of that pig from here. So nourishing. I'm glad they gave me a portion."

"Good for you," the God of Wood said, laughing. "I can feel the weight of it on the wood beneath the fire. I'd say that says quite a lot."

"I will thank them too," said the God of Spice. "My contribution is everywhere in that aroma. They were generous to remember me."

"ENOUGH!" the God of Bountiful roared. "How dare you all mock me."

"Calm down, brother," said the God of Fire. "What is wrong with praising the people who gave us a portion of their meat?"

"None of you deserved it more than I did," he said, choking on the words. To hell with the laughter and the humiliation. "I have been starving for a year. Look at me — I am nothing but a husk."

"We are sorry, but there is nothing we can do," said the God of Plate and Spoon. "As for me, I only dish out to those who hold a plate."

"You could always pray to them to remember you," the God of Fire said, hiding a laugh behind his hand.

"Have you ever heard of a god praying to his own people and begging them for food?"

"No," said the God of Famine, "but you could be the first. It wouldn't hurt to beg."

Just then, a prayer arrived — soft and small, from a little girl.

"Dear God of Bounty, I'm sorry — I have eaten all the meat and only the bone is left. My dog Fluffy wanted it, but I wouldn't let him have it. I am offering it to you to manage. Thank you."

The God of Bountiful stood very still. He could not believe what he had just heard. When the prayer ended, he turned slowly to the others.

"A bone. She is offering me a bone."

The gods could not hold back any longer. Laughter erupted around him, loud and merciless. He stood frozen, stiff with humiliation, the sound crashing over him in waves. Then, after a long silence, he reached out and accepted the bone.

"It is better than nothing," he muttered.

The gods roared, and from that day forward, whenever they needed to name the most desperate of beggars, they called his name.

And the God of Bountiful, who had once fed the world, went hungry.

Have you taste what it's like to be love? Check it out here: Let Them See Me Cry

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