The grateful princess ran to him, not knowing him for her own husband, and flung one arm around his horse's neck, reaching up with the other to grip his hand. She babbled her thanks as she gazed tearfully at him. It was then that she noticed his wound.
Tearing off a strip of her gown, she quickly bandaged the bleeding thigh before he rode back into the battle that was raging in the streets of the town. Rallying men and repeatedly charging headlong into concentrations of the enemy, Goroba-Dike broke the invaders’ momentum. Gradually the tide turned and the raiders were in full retreat. When at last the town was secure and the defeated enemy sufficiently punished not to contemplate another attack, Goroba-Dike disappeared back to the peasant's house and put on his rags once more.
By now addicted to this game of masquerade, half enjoying his illfame and degradation, deliciously anticipating the final moment of revelation, he needed little urging from Ulal to wait a while longer before showing his hand. As for Ulal himself, he was already at work on the epic poem that he felt sure would immortalize them both.
All over Sariam there were many fallen soldiers to mourn but a great victory to celebrate as well. By the king's reckoning they had dispatched enough of their enemies to make themselves safe from them for a whole generation. At the feast held in the great hall of the palace, all the surviving warriors were boasting of their deeds that day, as wives and sweethearts, children and elders listened rapturously. Even Goroba-Dike's brothers-in-law, who had made sure to be observed charging off in the direction of the attack (only to duck into a cellar unseen), could brag of heroics always performed in some other quarter of the battle zone than that served in by anyone in earshot.
All the women of the court, including her older sisters, teased the youngest princess, reducing her to a quiet rage and to tears she was loath to shed in public.
“Where do you suppose your husband was during the fighting?” they asked with false innocence. “Do you know?” Her sisters, and even the lowliest nobles, burst out laughing.
“I have married a coward, a filthy pig,” she replied bitterly. All her efforts to discover the name of the warrior who had saved her proved futile, though many other people present also told tales of his fearlessness. Of course, the king himself was not unaware of this buzz, or of a certain song in which disparaging references about two of his sons-in-law and their part in the battle with the cattle raiders were made.
Following the revels, the young princess could not sleep and rising from her bed she stepped over to the window where a breeze moved the night air and stirred the muslin drapes. A snore startled her, for she had momentarily forgotten her despised husband, who was sleeping on the floor to which she had consigned him. And there he lay in disarray, beneath the window for coolness, bright moonlight streaming in on his recumbent form.
The princess nearly gasped in surprise at what she saw, for there on her husband's thigh was wrapped a bloody bandage. Bending low she examined it in the moonlight. The material was that which she had earlier ripped from her own dress. Lightly touching his forearm, she awakened him.
“Where did you get that wound?” she asked.
“That,” he said sleepily, “is something for you to ponder.”
“Who bandaged you?”
“That is something else for you to consider.”
After a pause, she spoke again.
“Thank you for what you did today.” She looked him frankly in the eye, showing true respect for the first time, put out her small hand to shake his, and smiled.
There was a long silence which developed into awkwardness when they became aware of their closeness and their position as husband and wife. She plucked up the courage to ask who he really was. He told her truthfully that he was the son of a king of sorts, but that he had nothing in the world beside his weapons, his horse and his loyal mabo.
“That is why I have had to deceive you,” he explained. “As a lone, penniless warrior, married to you out of nowhere, I could not have survived here long. Your sisters’ husbands, and no doubt others, would have seen to that. Without your full support and that of the king, I could still never be secure here.”
“I understand. You are very wise.”
“I am well advised by my old mabo,” he smiled, “a clever fellow and not a bad poet, who also pointed out that as your good-for-nothing husband I would not be missed if I decided that the marriage, let alone the situation, was intolerable, if I had to go away, knowing I could not care for you or you for me, if I could never be master in my own home. Even now, I would rather be the despised cur I was than your loved but tame lap dog.”
The princess studied her husband in the moonlight and slowly reached out to stroke his face, then she leaned forward to kiss him. He responded tenderly at first and then with increasing passion and no more words passed between them that night.
Having sworn his wife to keep his secret a while longer, the next morning, feeling as if he hovered light as air above his donkey's back, he rode to the peasant's farmhouse a final time. Still the object of derision, he made his way through the town, savouring his last moments of humility. Soon he was back for good in his fine silk robes, his loins girded with belt and sword. When he returned to Sariam as himself, Ulal was riding a respectful stride or two behind, and each was mounted on a splendid horse.
Recognized by many of the townspeople as the unknown hero who had performed great deeds in the two fights with the Burdama, his entry into Sariam could not have been more different from his exit an hour earlier. He was now followed by a cheering crowd and preceded by rapidly spreading word. When he arrived in the square, he was accompanied by almost the entire populace of the town. Here he and Ulal drove silver stakes into the ground to picket their horses and sat down cross-legged as if alone in the wilderness.
Hurrying from the palace with almost unseemly haste, the royal family and their retainers were not long in joining the crowd, agape at the prospect of seeing the fabled warrior to whom they owed so much.
The throng parted as the royals and their retinue appeared. The king, queen, daughters and sons-in-law looked in amazement at the warrior and his mabo sitting in the square. Nonchalantly, Ulal had started to brew tea over a small fire.
“Who is this fellow?” asked King Hamadi Ardo. “Who are you, sir?” he called to Goroba-Dike.
“This man,” said the youngest princess, striding towards the two men, who rose to their feet as she approached. “This man,” she repeated, clearly and loudly, standing by Goroba-Dike's side and taking his hand, “is my husband, champion and prince.” Then she whispered, smiling. “I do not keep pets.”
Uproar greeted the princess's public pronouncement.
The husbands of the other princesses demanded proof that Goroba-Dike was who he said he was. The attention he was getting from the people was far too enthusiastic for their liking.
““This fellow doesn't deserve any special honour,” cried one of the brothers-in-law.
“What has he done, except learnt to act the part of champion and prince?” scoffed another.
“Are we not all sons of the king by marriage, and heroes too?” cried a third.
A silence filled the square, as all eyes turned to the king. Seeing Hamadi Ardo's embarrassed nod and his shrug, they dreaded that nothing would change.
“Heroes?” Goroba-Dike asked, taking out his wallet. He dipped his long, elegant fingers into it and drew forth the missing ears of his irate brothers-in-law. The court gasped collectively. Loud bellows of laughter issued from the crowd as the warriors among them shouted out the true story of the recovery of the royal cattle and the absence of the two cowards from the recent fighting.
And so it was that the influence of the husbands of the older princesses was washed away for good and Goroba-Dike and his wife became the official heirs and favourites of the king and the people.
The Example of Miao Shan
Miao Shan is a popular figure in Chinese mythology. Her story is not unlike Countess Cathleen's e
arlier in this volume. Buddhist, perhaps Taoist in earlier times, it is about sacrifice but also spiritual development. No doubt it serves as a cautionary tale in a culture notorious for underestimating daughters.
Blood sprayed across the room as the bandits burst through the door and instantly severed the head of the father of the family. Shouting and running through the humble dwelling, they came upon the wife and hacked her in two, then went on to the three small boys. Elsewhere in that part of China there was also mayhem. A tyrant had slaughtered the rightful king together with members of his court, usurping the crown and forcing his will on the people. A few private murders like these would not be noticed amid the political upheaval and there was no law that would touch the killers.
Oddly, the bandits themselves had vaguely noted, none of the family had screamed even when they first saw their attackers, nor had even the smallest child cried out, tried to run away or raised an arm in defence against the descending swords. After the initial shock at the bandits’ entrance, they died without struggle, with calmness written on their faces.
All five of the victims were very spiritually developed and had recognized the imminence of death. As the darkness had descended and then gradually been lifted by the new bright light, they felt no confusion and did not linger in grieving for themselves or each other.
In the after-life they were greeted joyously and the customary rest and review period began. Soon it was recognized, by themselves above all, that the three small boys had died too early and that they had not developed much further in this lifetime than they had in the lifetime before. Like their mother and father they were devout Buddhists and steadily working towards enlightenment. The spirits that had been the boys decided to test and challenge themselves again and were reincarnated as the daughters of the wealthy but ruthless king who now ruled their former country. In this new life they would risk being spoiled by luxury and every temptation of material existence. They would also come under the direct influence of a most wicked and impious man.
Only one daughter, the youngest, proved to be equal to the challenge, to be able to retain her principles and to feel inside the cosmic truths she had learned.
For her father the king it had seemed a disaster when yet another little girl was born to his wife. A male heir was badly needed to solidify his hold on the kingdom, to begin a dynasty that would last long into the future. These daughters were useless, he declared to his closest advisers and confidants, among whom his eldest wife was a principal member.
“I would as soon strangle them and try again for sons, but we are growing past the time for such things.” He admitted to her, carefully avoiding accusing his wife and partner in ambition of being too old to produce the longed for heir.
“Yes,” his queen said. “But all the younger royal wives and concubines have only produced girls, as well.” She did not say ‘the fault is obviously not mine’ but it was the truth and all knew it.
“Trying for sons now would be a waste of time. We have failed.”
“That is not true,” said another adviser. “You must use what you have and turn it to advantage. One is not able to choose sons. But sonsin-law …”
“Indeed,” said the king with a sly smile, “they could be men whose wealth or lands might expand our influence and power.”
“They might also be played against each other until we are old and have selected a successor,” the queen pointed out.
“Three is the perfect number. Two might fight too soon or band together. Three will vie against one another,” the adviser said. “Each will try to please you, suspect his fellows but fear them, spy and report on them. Three can be used most brilliantly. Of course, two can easily be murdered just before the succession is announced, to avoid civil war and danger to the dynasty.”
“It is perfect,” the king nodded. “I pity the sovereign with one son. It is an invitation to regicide and patricide, nothing more.” He smiled thinly. “Let the princesses be brought up to understand their duty and be best formed to attract worthy, malleable but advantageous suitors. Above all, they must be trained to obey the will of their father and appreciate the power and wealth we hold and must always hold. They must know that nothing is more important. Their loyalty to us and our family's position must be absolute.”
Miao Shan was destined to be the problem child in such a clan. From the beginning of her life she demonstrated kindness and consideration for all creatures. She was generous and helpful with her sisters and parents but did not sacrifice the needs of others over theirs. She did not beat servants, inform on them or her sisters, and liked best to eat only plain vegetables and rice, rather than the lavishly prepared food of the court. Once she risked her future value as a lure to useful suitors by getting a scar on her forehead. She had been rescuing a cricket from a preying mantas in the garden and had fallen out of the tree while carrying out this mercy mission and hit her head. Bleeding copiously from the wound, Miao Shan told her attendants that the injury had been well worth the price of saving the life of the cricket.
This incident infuriated her father, embarrassed her mother and nearly got the child's nurses killed. The nurses hardly minded this threat, for they had come to love Miao Shan and although they were sorry she had hurt herself, they admired her courage and her kind intentions. She had been in their care since early childhood and they were the first to be inspired by her spiritual qualities and inner serenity. As she grew older there would be many other adherents to her way.
Needless to say, none of these people who thought the young princess admirable were of the sort her parents considered desirable, any more than they found Miao Shan's attributes in accord with their own values. The love of servants and peasants, people who were in one's power as a matter of course, was valueless and a waste of effort. Gentleness and a fondness for simplicity were counter-productive in that they did not demonstrate authority, as did ostentation, or the fruits of high position. If these things were not valued, the argument ran, one seemed not to value one's position, and this showed dangerous weakness.
Lectures on this subject were a common thread in the lives of all three girls. Miao Shan's sisters took them to heart, fully enjoying their privileges, the gossip and intrigue of court life, the trappings of wealth, and the thrill of power over others. When they were old enough to marry, the only thing they insisted upon in their husbands that their parents had not put in their own list of priorities for them was good looks. The king and queen could see the wisdom of this requirement, however. A handsome face was certainly an asset if one was to command respect and loyalty of the aristocratic and middle ranking classes. Heirs were more likely to be forthcoming if the princess found her husband attractive. This attribute was also considered a sign of good breeding.
“Only the helpless marry the ugly and have ugly children,” the king pronounced, reassuring his eldest daughter on this point. “Wealth might be first found through marriage to the ugly, naturally, but this is not a necessity for our family. We are rich, powerful and feared for our ferocity. Our neighbours will be only too glad to send not only their most noble princes to us, but their most handsome too, lest we turn them away as unsuitable. As to character, I will mould them myself. You need not concern yourself.”
So the first princess did not worry and indeed a husband was found among the princes from nearby, very intimidated, realms. The king and queen decided he was excellent material for their purposes, being goodlooking, spoiled, vain and greedy, all qualities which greatly endeared him to them. The princess was far less likely to risk having an affair of the heart (or loins) on the side with this fine specimen available to her. Her parents were mindful that scandal of that sort often caused internecine fighting that could endanger even well established dynasties.
It was decided that the second eldest daughter should be married off promptly the following year, and that just as this second son-in-law was finding his feet, perhaps even getting ideas of his own, the third would arrive.
The
king and queen were as fortunate in their choice for their second daughter as they had been first time around. Handsome, devious, shallow, malleable, yet clever, prince number two was a match both for the girl and his brother-in-law. He was a counter-balance and yet a possible future king if, in the end, he proved the more worthy in the eyes of the royal couple.
All was well with the dynastic scheme until the time came for Miao Shan to be married. She flatly refused to entertain the notion. Though respectful to her parents, far more so than her sisters were, she was always thought of as troublesome, difficult and impossible to understand. A foundling or changeling could not have been less like the rest of her family.
All her young life Miao Shan had been dedicated to charity and kind service to others within the limited world of the court. Kindness and consideration, modesty and calm were her most obvious traits. She always put other people's interests before her own, was gentle and helpful to all living things and known by now to have a heart of pure gold.
“I have not been unaware of your nature, as you have grown,” her father said when she was called before him to discuss her marriage yet again. “Your qualities, all very well and good in a lowly peasant or official's offspring, are not welcomed in a family trying to hold on to vast wealth, estates, titles and authority we have but recently stol…,” the king pretended to cough, “come into. You must mend your ways. You can make up for all the years of disappointment you have thus far given your mother and me by making a suitable match.”
“I am sorry that I have disappointed you,” Miao Shan said respectfully, her hands clasped before her and her eyes cast down. “That has never been my intention.”
“It is simply that you do not value any of the important things in life,” her father said.
Myths and Legends from Around the World Page 35