Many years ago there lived a curious chicken. This chicken lived in a small village in the foothills of the Himalayas in northern India. For a while it lead a quiet life, along with the other chickens who looked much like her. The main difference was that ever since this chicken had hatched it was constantly asking, “Why?”

It bothered its mother with questions about what came first the chicken or the egg, why there was a pecking order, why they scratched and what happened to them after they were no more. Her frustrated mother eventually tired of all the questions. She soon ignored her child and often turned her back whenever she approached. Constantly asking similar questions of the others in the farmyard, they too soon ignored the chicken.
The chicken was young and impressionable, and one day it overheard a conversation between the farmers wife and a monk who had come begging alms. The monk later talked others in the village about the meaning of existence and life in his monastery.

From what little the monk had said the chicken began to think the pecking in the yard was limiting. She tried to talk about this to the other hens but was once again ignored. After one particularly unsatisfactory day the chicken decided to go off and find the monastery. There to see if she could find answers to some of her questions by listening to the monks. So later that evening, after hiding outside the coop, she flew over the garden wall and walked through the night. By dawn she had walked all the way the edge of the foothills. All day long and long into the night she continued walk. After resting for a while in a tree, she walked all the next day, and the day after that and for several after that, until finally she was high up in the mountains. Early one morning as the sun was just cresting the white mountain tops she eventually came to the gates of the monastery. The monks were already awake and heading to early prayers.

The chicken was exhausted but took up a position in the rafters and listened to the monks chanting. There she heard the head lama talk about the meaning of everything. For the next few months the chicken’s routine consisted of sleeping in the temple rafters by night. While by day she listened intently to the monks’ talks, watched them meditate and pray. When not listening or practicing the techniques gleaned from the monks she could be seen pecking in the yard for feed. Sometimes an amused monk would share a morsel of food with the chicken. The monks bemusedly wondered why the chicken seemed to be so keen to listen to the Bardo.

After nearly a year in the monastery the chicken decided to return to the farm and impart some of her new found wisdom to the other animals.

Early one afternoon not long after the sun had peaked in the sky, on the way back down the hill to her village the chicken passed by some bushes. Beneath the bushes a sly, young fox was resting out of the sun. He saw the chicken pass by, and feeling hungry, came sneaking out of the bushes to catch this chicken for his lunch. Just as the fox was ready to pounce, the chicken, who had heard the bushes rustle, turned around and faced the fox with a cheery hello. Caught off guard the fox stopped in his tracks. The chicken asked, “Why are you sneaking around?” Not use to having his lunch question his motives the fox irritably replied, “Because I want to have you for lunch. I’m hungry. Can’t you hear my stomach growling.”

The querulous chicken asked, “Why are you hungry?”.

“What do you mean why?! I’m always hungry, especially when my stomach is empty”, growled the fox.

“But why? What are you really hungry for?”, asked the chicken.

“What do you mean for?! For lunch of course.,” shouted the fox.

The chicken calmly asked, “Beyond that temporary hunger of your stomach do you have a deeper hunger?”

“Because that kind of hunger is only transitory. I have always been hungry for something beyond mere food,” continued the chicken.

“I kept asking myself if there was anything beyond this,” she said. “That’s what my why was about.”

The fox sat puzzled and confused by the chicken’s questions.

“What is your why?” she queried with a tilt of her head.

“What do you mean why? Why?! Why do you ask why all the time? I’m hungry because I just am”, said the fox.

“I was once hungry too, hungry for answers, hungry to know more about this world, hungry to why. So, I’m just asking you why do you want to eat me? Or haven’t you ever asked yourself, why you do what you do?”, quietly enquired the chicken of the fox.

So the conversation continued with the chicken asking so many questions of the fox. All of them based around the question why, if he ever thought more deeply than just his senses and why all he was focussed on was why he wanted to eat her. All the while the fox grew more confused, frustrated and baffled by the chicken’s questions.

“What do you mean why should I not eat you,” replied the fox.

“It’s what I do!” he shouted, starting to lose his temper.

“But why?” asked the curious chicken.

“Why do you eat meat? Have you tried being a vegetarian, it is much better for your soul?”, asked the chicken.

“Why? What do you mean why? Why can’t you stop with these infernal whys?”, exclaimed the frustrated fox.

“Anyway it is not even a question!!”

“Oh, but it is a valid question. It is the most important question there is,” said the chicken.

“Without asking why one can go through life being ignorant of the true meaning of this life. Throughout the ages philosophers and thinkers have asked this very question of their own existence.” she continued.

The chicken went on and on in this vein for some time. The more she talked the more irritated and confused the fox became of his own thoughts. Then his anger began to cloud his thinking. Forgetting his naturally wily ways he leapt at the chicken. The chicken in a philosophical mood simply stepped casually to one side. The force with which the fox had jumped caused him to over stretch himself. He tripped, then tumbled past the chicken.

He tumbled off the hillside path, then rolled and bounced down the hill before finally splashing into a fast-flowing mountain stream. The stream was freezing cold having been fed by melting ice. The fox was pushed and bashed against the rocks by the strong current Coming up spluttering and struggling to remain upright, he yelled, “Why me!?”

“Finally, a good question,” shouted back the chicken as the fox was swept further downstream and out of sight.

After her conversation with the fox, the chicken continued her journey home. It was fairly uneventful and she took her time enjoying the journey. She travelled only in the cooler parts of the day and rested from the noonday sun. At night she slept in a tree, or a barn, or in the rafters of a house. Although every morning just like the monks she was up early before the dawn. And before the day truly began she spent some time sitting quietly and meditated. She sat there and silently rolled over in her mind her personal mantra, one that she had gleaned from her time in the monastery.

Eventually, she returned to her own village and the yard where all the other chickens still lived their quiet, mindless existence. Most of the chickens were courteous, some even pleased to see her return, although even fewer were interested in her travels. Many had forgotten her constant questions as now she now had a much more quiet way about her. After several weeks spent unsuccessfully trying to pass on to the other chickens and farmyard animals the knowledge she had discovered, the chicken decided to return to the mountain monastery.

For all her efforts she had however managed to peak the interest of just one curious, young duck. They both set out early the next morning walking north towards the hills. Along the way the chicken explained some of the whys of this existence, and answered some of the young duck’s questions. Although as she said the meaning of this existence was a matter of discovering those answers yourself, and part of that was by finding a teacher or guru. When not in conversation the chicken paced along the path silently reciting her chicken mantra.