When three nights were spent in that fashion, the prince became quite worried: “Ya Allah: What kind of affair is this? As soon as it is evening, I lose all awareness of myself. Is it that someone has put a spell on me?” And he reproached himself: “Oh lazy fool: You, you had come here to rescue the fair princess from the clutches of the white giant; now you are also caught in his web of magic.” Then at the hour of darkness, he saw the princess turn toward him and cast a spell that made him begin to shrink. And though he struggled to retain his true shape, he kept on shrinking, as on other evenings.
In the morning, he felt like he had just come out of a terrible dream; but again, he could not remember much of what had passed that night. Only very little of it came back; he recalled seeing the princess move her lips. His suspicions were aroused; some mischief was afoot. He turned to her in anger: “O ill-fated creature. I am only trying to rescue you from this white giant. Is this how you reward me, by putting a spell over me?”
The princess tried to make some excuses, but the prince was not satisfied. He kept asking her for the truth. Then the princess retorted: “You simpleton! What I do every day is only for your own good. This white giant is an enemy of mankind. If he ever saw you he would devour you in a twinkling of an eye, and also torture me no end. This is why I turn you into a fly every evening and stick you to the wall. Even then all night long the monster keeps shouting Manas gandh, manas gandh! But I satisfy him by telling him to eat me if he smells a human being. When in the morning he is gone, I return you to your human shape.
When the prince learned that at nights he is turned into a fly, and that a woman brings about this change in order to save his life, his pride was hurt. He found that situation highly intolerable. Full of indignation he reflected: “O Azad Bakht, you used to be so proud of your noble blood, of your brave deeds and manly courage. And you thought you possessed a profound skill and knowledge in all affairs. But today your pride has touched the dust. A monster tyrannizes a human being while you, for the sake of your dear life, turn into the most lowly of all beings.”
Thus he reflected, and frowned in anger, first at himself, then at the princess. And she was dismayed at his anger. (It must be mentioned here that the princess had always kept herself physically at a distance from the prince, promising him the wine of union only after their escape from the tyrant’s clutches. And for that reason the prince had always felt himself being consumed in a fire of separation, though always very close to his beloved.) So today, after being reproached by the prince, the princess was unusually upset; her eyes brimmed with tears, and putting her head on his chest, she started to cry. The prince’s heart waxened; and he put his arm around her neck. The two bodies met in an embrace and clung to each other. All their reserve and fear were gone. Though it was day, the effect was that of the night of nuptials. The prince became lost in that warm embrace, and he raised his head only when the walls of the fort began to rock with the giant’s thunder. He began to shrink again, and though he tried hard, he kept shrinking until he was naught but a black dot, a fly.
In the morning, the prince awoke full of misgivings. Did he really become a fly? Can a man be turned into a fly? And his heart filled with sorrow at these thoughts. He was a fine person: well-initiated in all the arts and sciences, unmatched in bravery. Of noble birth and great dignity, he conquered every country he attacked. But in the white giant’s fort, that noble victorious prince became a fly. “So, Azad Bakht, inside, you were only a fly.” And he thought of his glorious past, his adventures and conquests, his ancestors who were renowned throughout the entire world. Now everything seemed so distant, so removed. And when it was evening, he started to shrink again until he became a fly.
Thus every evening, the giant returned to the fort, shouting “Manas gandh! Manas gandh!”
And the princess, full of coquetry, replied: “I’m a human being. Eat me up!” The giant would then turn to the pleasures of night, and all night the prince would remain stuck to the wall in the shape of a fly. In the morning, the princess would turn him into a man again. Such was the prince’s life: a man at day, a fly at night. It disgusted him to lead such a life. The princess tried to console him; she took him around the garden, offered him gifts of fruit and flowers, for there was an abundance of both in the white giant’s garden. There was also a great deal of food at the white giant’s table. The prince saw this bounty and hovered over it, like a fly. In his life of adventure, he’d never seen such abundance before.
So, during the day, the prince hovered like a fly over the delicacies of the giant’s table, and at night, turned into a fly, to sleep on the wall. And the days were like nights of love, for the princess would be in his arms to make him forget all the discomforts of night. Then the nights grew longer, and the days shortened. The prince had to stay longer in the form of a fly. Soon it happened that sometime during the day he would feel as if he was becoming a fly. In the beginning it used to be just a momentary feeling; and he would be immediately reminded of the fact that it was not yet night and he was still in the shape of a man, but slowly these lapses increased in duration. In the sweet embrace of the princess’ arms there would suddenly be moments when he would think of himself as a fly; then the princess would shift under him, and he would be as suddenly reminded of the sunlight and his manhood. Then he began to have these lapses even when he was fully conscious of himself. Picking flowers and fruit in the giant’s garden, or sitting down to a luxurious meal from the giant’s kitchens, he would find himself wondering: “Am I still a man?” Then waves of doubt and apprehension would overwhelm him.
Prince Azad Bakht struggled to break out of that net of doubts and apprehensions and sought an opportunity to challenge the giant. He struggled, and at his each move, the princess would tell him: “Look, it’s no use to fight with the giant, for his life is not inside him. His life is in a parrot, and the parrot is in a cage, and the cage is hung in a tree, and that tree is on an island across the seven seas. In that parrot is the white giant’s life.”
Prince Azad Bakht was astounded by this tale. “How can it be that the white giant lives here, but yet his life is in a parrot across the seven seas?” He found it hard to believe that life could exist separate from the body. Then he wondered about his own life: “Was it somewhere else? Was it in the fly?”
For days on end he was lost in such thoughts. How to get out of that fort? How to kill that parrot across the seven seas? When the princess saw him so absorbed in thought she complained: “Your love is now dead. You are planning to deceive me.” The prince, madly in love with her, was only too anxious to convince her of his fidelity, and among such complaints and declarations and confessions, the subject of escape was totally forgotten.
Prince Azad Bakht was now virtually a slave to the princess’ whims. He would not pluck a leaf without her express permission. At her command, he would turn into a fly and return to his human form when she would so desire. Then many times it so happened that the prince would shrink before she cast her spell, and then in morning, he would lie tired and helpless, even after receiving his human form. Though he had come out of the fly form, he was not fully in the human form; it was as if he lacked something. This period of uncertainty kept increasing day by day, as did his weakness and discomfort. In the evening, he would swiftly turn into a fly, but in the morning, there would be a long and miserable interval before he would start to function as a human being. The memory of this period of misery would linger on, long after it was over. One day, in that state of mind, he asked himself a question: “Am I a fly or a man?” That was the first time he looked at the problem in that light. He became nervous with apprehension. He hurried to reassure himself: “I am first a man, then a fly. My real life is my day; my night is only an illusion.” For a moment he was satisfied, then the doubt returned: “Perhaps my night is my real life, and my day is merely a masquerade.” And so, once again, Prince Azad Bakht was caught in a web of fears and misgivings.
He argued: “What is my real being? Am I, in fact, a man, and is it only for prudence’s sake that I am turned into a fly? Or is it that I was, in fact, a fly, and became a human being for a short time? That’s possible too. Everything must return to its origin. I, who was a fly, have returned to the form of a fly.” (He was nauseated at this thought and immediately rejected it.) “But then, am I really a man?” Despite his efforts, he could not convince himself one way or another. Finally, he made a compromise: he was a man as well as a fly.
Now Prince Azad Bakht was a man as well as a fly. And the fly addressed the man: “I protect you during the night. You should, then, share your day with me.”
The man was very prudent, so he said: “I have heard you, and will include you in my days.”
And his days gained a dual color. In the morning he would, after a long and miserable interval, regain his human form; and then, like a fly, pounce upon the condiments and fruits and fancy food of the giant’s table. He would forget everything in his ecstasy. Then the shadow of the white giant would darken his thoughts and he would feel shrinking into himself. Shut in the fort, fearful of the giant, and afraid of the princess’ ire, he would shrink into himself all the time as if he were always turning into a fly. With difficulty, he would recover himself. He felt like he was walking at the edge of a dark abyss; and any moment he might take a false step and turn into a fly.
Prince Azad Bakht, now that he was a fly as well as a man, was disgusted by his dual, compromising life. The terrified man, walking along the edge of an abyss, said: “I must somehow kill the giant so this duality will be finished and I’ll again become a free man.” But he no longer possessed the courage to fight the white giant. He made scores of plans: to fight the giant, to get out of the fort and cross the seven seas, to wring the neck of the parrot. Then he rejected all of them. He glanced up at the towering walls of the fort, considered his fatigued condition, recalled the thunder of the giant, and his heart fluttered like a fan. Why not then change completely into a fly; then the fort would become meaningless and no fear of the giant would remain. After all, giants do not seem to be bothered by flies. But the prince still had some qualms about this idea, so he remained suspended between his doubts and fears, and the fly inside him kept gaining more and more strength. The shadow of night kept spreading over the light of day.
Then one day the prince felt that somewhere deep inside him was a tiny fly, buzzing ever so eagerly. He rejected this feeling as a mere trick of his imagination. But the feeling grew within him. So this fly nourishing itself inside him continued. He felt nauseated. He felt like he was rolling in his own excrement; his being, once pure as milk and sweet as honey, was now being contaminated by a fly.
Thus the days flew by, and the masquerade of darkness and light continued. The prince never went out of the fort. For the fort became a spider’s web. The fly fluttered its tiny wings and its needle-thin legs; then giving up all hope, it hung upside down in the web. The web began to penetrate into the prince. His link with the outside world grew weaker every day. Some cobweb dimmed the prince’s memory, and the world around him faded away. His home, the people of his land, they were like dreams, slowly dying into oblivion. And he used to think of his father a conqueror of conquerors whom the prince had previously remembered with hopes of rescue. But now the prince was confused no end, his mind was burdened with cobwebs. “Who was my father?” And to his amazement, he could not remember his own father’s name. “What is my father’s name? What is my name? Name,” he said, “is the key to reality. Where is the key reality?”
Once there was a fly. She was busy cleaning her house when suddenly she could no longer recall her name. She dropped what she was doing and flew from place to place, door to door, asking people to tell her her name. And everywhere she was cursed away. She went to a mosquito and said. “O mosquito, mosquito, what is my name?”
The mosquito answered; “Go away. Why should I know your name?”
Then the fly went to a buffalo: “O buffalo, buffalo, tell me my name.”
But the buffalo was very proud of herself; she did not reply. She kept on chewing, her eyes closed, and haughtily swished her tail. And Prince Azad Bakht tried very hard to remember his name, but could not. So he lost his reality, as if his life as a prince had been in some previous birth, and this was a new birth in which he was merely a creature, true and simple. As he reflected on this matter, he became more and more apprehensive. He asked: “How should I distinguish myself from other creatures?” He searched his mind for an answer, but encountered more questions: what was his name, his father’s name, who were the people around him; where was his native land? But he could remember nothing. The cobweb penetrated deep into him and spread inside him. And he declared: “What I was has now become my past; I am what I am now.”
So, now he was what he was now. And the fly inside him was stronger than ever and more compulsive. The man within him was fast fading into the dim past. His daily return into the human form was now a painful experience. When he would wake up, he would feel himself terribly filthy and tired; his body would ache as if the night before it had been torn apart, limb from limb, and had never healed. With his eyes closed, he would lie in a trance for a long time; only with great reluctance would he get up, then feeling himself dirty, go to the garden canal and bathe in water that glistened like the purest pearl. But afterwards, he would be reminded of the night before, and he would then feel sick all over. He felt as if something constantly buzzed behind the portals of his mind. He would take another bath, yet feel as dirty as ever. His nausea never left him.
That nausea became a part of his being. He was constantly feeling sick—of himself. After spending the night as a fly, he would, after a long and painful struggle, regain his human form and would lie weak and numb beyond any help. Everything seemed to have been touched by some filth: the fort walls, the leaves of the trees, the water of the canal, even the princess. He felt buried under a pile of dead flies. At that moment, he was too weak to fight against the fly inside him; it seemed to have penetrated even into his soul. Some mornings he wondered if the princess had not forgotten to break her spell; he wondered if he was still stuck to the wall. Sometimes the fly seemed to come out and overwhelm his entire being. So, in the evening, he would shrink even before the princess could finish casting her spell. In the morning, he would lie unconscious for many hours after returning to his human shape. He could not believe, or rather, he could not be certain that he had come out of the fly form and was a man again. That act of transference grew more and more painful every day. And now, all day long he would suffer from his uncertainty. Thus when evening came and the giant returned to the fort, the prince breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe and happy in the guise of a fly.
So now he felt happier in the shape of a fly, and found it painful to return to his human form. Leaving the guise of the fly would seem like his soul had deserted him. One day, after a spell of excruciating pain, he was able to leave his fly form, but did not fully turn into a man. He was in a kind of limbo, and felt older by centuries. All day long he was pursued by doubts. Had he not changed into a man, or was he still in an intermediate state? He went before a mirror time and time again, and said: “I am not a man. Am I a fly then?” (But he was not a fly either.) “So I am neither a man nor a fly. What am I then? Perhaps I am nothing.” And he sweat in anxiety, for it was better to be a fly than naught. Then, he is not able to think any longer.
The princess trembled in apprehension on seeing his sorry condition; and she blamed herself for everything. She decided never to turn him into a fly again. That evening she simply locked him in the cellars.
So that evening, the princess did not turn the prince into a fly, but locked him in a cellar. Still, when the darkness spread and the walls began to rock with the fury of the giant’s arrival, the prince felt frightened as usual and shrank into himself.
That night the giant did not shout “Manas ga
ndh, manas gandh.” The princess found it hard to explain; when she used to turn the prince into a fly, the giant was still able to smell his human odor. Yet today, despite the fact that she did not turn the prince into a fly, the giant found nothing amiss. What had happened to the human odor of Prince Azad Bakht?
Thus, in perplexity and confusion, the night passed and, finally the day broke. After the giant left, the princess opened the cellar door. She was dumbfounded when she found no prince in the cellar; instead there was only a huge fat fly on the wall. She stood, hesitating and confused, unable to understand how the prince turned into a fly without her help. Then she chanted the magic words to turn him into a man again. But the words failed. That morning Prince Azad Bakht remained a fly. And thus it happened that Prince Azad Bakht saw morning in the guise of a fly.
Tove Jansson (1914–2001) was a Finnish writer and artist who is most renowned for her Moomin children’s books, though she was also the author of six novels and five books of stories for adults. Jansson studied art in Stockholm, Helsinki, and Paris and worked as a writer and illustrator. Her first Moomin book, The Moomins and the Great Flood, was published in 1945 and introduced the characters of Moominmamma and Moomintroll (the little boy of the family). It was not until the second and third books, Comet in Moominland (1946) and Finn Family Moomintroll (1948), that the series began to gain popularity. In 1947, Jansson began a series of Moomin comic strips that were later translated and published in the London Evening News, bringing Jansson much more international notice. She continued creating the strips until 1959, after which time she collaborated with her brother, Lars, on them, until he took over for the remainder of the strip’s life from 1961 to 1975. Lars would also work on an animated TV series that helped spark significant popularity for the Moomins in the 1990s, particularly in Japan. After finishing the last of the Moomin chapter books, Moominvalley in November (1970), Jansson began writing more fiction for adults, including the novel The Summer Book (1972), her best-known adult novel. “The Last Dragon in the World” appeared in Tales from Moomin Valley (1962) and involves Moomintroll and his best friend, Snufkin, a vagabond musician.
The Big Book of Modern Fantasy Page 28