"After the passage of three more weeks, a delegation from the temple again waited upon Mr. Takahashi, with the news that his son now measured 9 feet 3 inches in length, weighed 1175 pounds, and consumed the entire output of a local dairy. They politely requested that he take care of his own infant. Mr. Takahashi as politely refused, and at this point bowed out of our story completely."
Phobat Rau hesitated again and inquired if his statistics were boring us. Baker glanced out of the window and replied that while he ordinarily did not have much appreciation of figures of this kind, under the circumstances they had a certain interest. Rau smiled briefly and continued.
"The summer of 1946 was one of increasing difficulty for the temple. By the beginning of July Kazu weighed 1600 pounds and cried with a voice like a wounded bull. A number of trustworthy medical men examined him, and concurred that his only abnormality was size. In bodily proportions he was quite ordinary, and, for a 3-1/2 month baby, his mental development was, if anything, a bit ahead of normal. The priests took in their belts, appointed eight of the strongest as nursemaids, and wondered where it would all end.
"It was at this point that a member of the Buddhist priesthood from Burma happened to pass through the neighborhood and heard of the infant. After being sworn to secrecy; even from other members of his order, he was allowed to view little Kazu. Now this priest, whose name I might as well admit was Phobat Rau, had perhaps a bit more imagination than some others, and when he looked upon the little monster, he was struck by an idea which was to grow like Kazu himself."
"The Living Buddha," murmured Baker, "Ye Gods, what a symbol."
Rau nodded like a schoolteacher. "A symbol, and more. A machine to rebuild the world, or conquer it!"
BAKER CHOSE to ignore this leading remark. He wanted more of the story.
"So you took him over?"
"Well, it was not so easy as that. You see, I was only a young priest then, and had no resources to undertake such a project. But the more I thought of the possibilities, the more sure I was. But first I had to convince others, and time was short. The priests were near to their limit, and were about to appeal to the Americans. I secured their promise to wait until I could return to Burma, and then I flew to Bangkok, to Rangoon, to every center of Buddhism where I was known. It was a sales trip, you might say, and for a time I thought that I had failed. But there were also forces working for me. The world was uncertain. The communists were at the start of their triumphal sweep over Asia, and the leaders of our faith foresaw what lay ahead. On the first of August, 1946, a delegation of priests from eight Buddhist countries journeyed to Japan to view Kazu, who was now a lusty 4-1/2 months old, 12-1/2 feet long and of 2914 pounds weight. He was in fine health, and when he slept the resemblance to the infant Buddha was startling. You gentlemen are worldly men, and I pride myself upon freedom from the more naive illusions of my faith, but perhaps you can try to imagine that our feelings were not entirely those of ambitious schemers—that perhaps within us was some higher motive for the step we took. Our poor suffering Asia was in deeper misery than ever before, for atop her own famine and war had come also the troubles of the west. Under the Red flag millions of our deluded countrymen were taking arms against their brothers. Confused by a glib ideology, they were daily turning more from the religion of their fathers. Although we did not speak it, we all felt inwardly that perhaps there was a purpose in this great infant—that, though we made promises with tongue in cheek, perhaps a miracle would occur to fulfill them.