With the weapons gone, Gulliver now invited the emperor of Lilliput and the emperor of Blufescu, and all their people, to come to a great gathering on Lilliput, to talk about making peace, and about eggs.
The gathering took place outside Gulliver’s house, under the mountain. All the Lilliputians sat together on one side of him, all the Blufescuans on the other. They would not speak to one another. They would not even look at one another. Gulliver sat on a chair outside his home, with a scowling emperor on either side of him. When Gulliver got up and began to speak, they both looked down at their nails or up at the sky, and pretended not to be listening, but they were.
‘I come from a country, a world,’ Gulliver told them – and he spoke their language well enough by now – ‘where there is always a war somewhere, sometimes a dozen or more at a time. Often these wars are about God, or about how you say your prayers, or how you dress, or what you eat, or the language you speak, and some are about who owns the fish in the sea or the water in the wells. Sometimes they are ridiculous family squabbles between kings and emperors, about who owns this bit of land or that, this mountain or that, this island or that. Some kings and emperors are never happy unless they rule the world. So they make huge weapons of war, gather great armies, build warships by the hundreds. And they make war. And what happens?
‘I shall tell you. Thousands upon thousands die. Houses and villages and towns are burnt to the ground. Children become orphans, wives become widows. There is starvation and misery and sorrow. Driven from their homes, people wander the world searching for safety and peace, and are strangers wherever they go. They are people without a home. But there can be no peace in such a world. And at the end of any war, is anything resolved? For a time it might seem so maybe. But the trouble is that win or lose, sooner or later, one war only begins another war. This is how it is in the world I come from,’ Gulliver told them, ‘and how it will always be until all wars everywhere are ended for good. And sadly, in my world, there is little sign of that.
‘I have lived here amongst the Lilliputians long enough to know that once upon a time, and for hundreds of years, the people on this island and the people on Blufescu were friends. You all know the story well enough, how one day the emperor of Lilliput, who was all powerful and made quite mad by his power, made a decree, a law, that in future all boiled eggs had to be eaten round end first, and that anyone who eats their eggs sharp end first should be considered a traitor and henceforth be banished forever to the island of Blufescu.
‘Of course there were those who objected to this, who refused to eat their boiled eggs round end first, and the emperor banished them. These “traitors”, so-called, these sharp-end egg-eaters, all ended up on Blufescu, and those loyal to the emperor, all the round-end egg-eaters, remained on Lilliput. So, all because of eggs, the two islands soon became sworn enemies, each insisting theirs was the only right and proper way to eat eggs. That was how the egg war began.
‘Fishing boats were turned into warships. Ploughs were turned into swords and spears and cannon. Both islands armed themselves to the teeth with weapons. Each side built up a huge army of horsemen and swordsmen and lancers and archers. Fear and suspicion and hate ruled on both islands. Each threatened to invade the other. Each built walls to fortify their island against enemies.
‘Oh, you foolish people,’ Gulliver told them all. ‘You are as foolish as my people back at home in England, in Europe. You, us, we are all led by kings and emperors and governments into wars we don’t want. We are led to make strangers of friends, the enemies of friends. At home in England, I went to war once myself. I have seen what was done with my own eyes. Wars make monsters of us all. On my return from the wars I tried to speak up against it. They would not listen. They hounded me out. I became a stranger in my own land. But here, amongst friends, I can try. Here I am big, I am a giant. I could destroy you all. But I am not a mad giant. I am a gentle giant mostly – you know that. And I am angered only by silly greedy people who fight wars about how to eat eggs. I will show you now, right away, how we can all stop all this nonsense. Do not go away.’
Gulliver got up from his chair, and disappeared inside his house. He was back in a moment holding an egg in one hand and a small bowl in the other. ‘From now on, this is what we shall do, you, me, all of us,’ he declared. ‘From now on not one of us will crack open an egg at the sharp end, nor at the round end. We shall crack open our eggs only in the middle, like this.’
And with that, Gulliver tapped the egg smartly on the side of the bowl, cracking it open in the middle. ‘This way we can have scrambled eggs, fried eggs or poached eggs, we can even make an omelette. This way we all open our eggs the same way. This way neither side wins and neither side loses. This way we will all be friends again, and there will be no more war between us. There will be no need for war, and no need for weapons. Soon it won’t matter how we eat our eggs, because we shall all be friends, and then we can laugh together about how absurd and sad and silly and unbelievable it was that we ever had an egg war at all. This way Lilliputians and Blufescuans can be friends forever. What do you think? Are we all agreed?’
The emperors hung their heads in shame, as did everyone from both the warring islands.
‘And no more warships? Agreed?’ Gulliver said, wagging his finger. ‘And no more bows and arrows, no more cannons or gunpowder or spears or swords. Agreed?’
‘We agree,’ replied both the emperors, and they spoke in unison.
‘And now,’ Gulliver told them, ‘I would like everyone here to stand up. I want you all to go and find someone from the other island, and shake hands, and do it looking one another in the eye, so that you mean it, so that each knows the other means it, means to be friends. Emperors first.’
So the emperors did as he said, and then all the people followed by his example. Maybe not all the people shook hands willingly that first time, but they did it. It was a start.
Gran Baruta told us that was the beginning of a peace which lasted throughout her grandfather’s long life, and all through hers too. So since then, and thanks to Gulliver, Lilliput and Blufescu have had over three hundred years of peace.
On both our islands, we all learnt that kindness and understanding were the way forward, kindness towards one another, understanding between the two islands. Without that understanding, there can be no kindness; without that kindness, there can be no understanding. Gulliver told us this. Think of a stranger, an enemy as your friend, he said, and he will be your friend. It’s quite simple. Think of your friend as your enemy and, sooner or later, you will end up fighting him. And let no emperor or king or government ever do your thinking for you. And treat any stranger coming to these shores as your friend. Be the people you wish to be, let no one decide for you. Guard your freedoms, guard your rights. Cling to them as to life itself!
And that is why, for hundreds of years on Lilliput and on Blufescu, we have never had an emperor or a king or government. We have no need of them. We decide everything amongst ourselves, don’t we? We live for each other, look after each other, work for each other, teach each other, for the good and happiness of us all.
Everyone always clapped then, and echoed Gran Baruta’s last words of her story. ‘For the good and happiness of us all.’
Once he had made this peace, Gulliver stayed with us and lived amongst us for many more years, and during this time Lilliputians and Blufescuans lived always at peace with one another, trading freely, coming and going to one another’s island as they pleased, some marrying one another and having children. And all of us, on both our islands, cracked our eggs in the middle and ate them fried, or poached or scrambled.
All this time Gulliver was teaching us his English language. He had learnt our language, now known as Lillifescuan, so he thought we should learn his. He was always saying that knowing the language of others is so important to the understanding of others, and that with understanding comes peace. So in time the people of both islands learnt to speak English, and of cour
se we still do.
But then came the sad, sad day when Gulliver announced that as much as he had loved living amongst us, the time had come for him to go home to his family in England, that he missed them more and more every day. And despite everything, all the wars and suffering back home, he longed for his country, that it was where he belonged.
Gran Baruta’s grandfather was one of those who helped build his boat. It took several months and hundreds of people from both islands to cut down the trees and build a boat big enough and strong enough to carry him safely over the seas back home to England. They had to make all the ropes and sails, and then fill the boat with all the food and water he would need for his long and arduous journey.
On the day Gulliver left, Gran Baruta told us how everyone gathered on the shore to say goodbye to him and to wish him a safe journey. The people from Blufescu had come over to see him off as well. They knew as well as we did how much Gulliver had done for us all. He had ended a war, made peace and taught us kindness. Standing in his boat, his sails set, Gulliver spoke to everyone on the shore. These were his last words to us, words Gran Baruta’s grandfather never forgot. ‘I promise I shall try to come back one day, my friends. That much I can promise you. If I do not, then it will only be because I cannot. And then maybe one day my son will come instead of me. I shall tell him all about you, I shall tell the world about you. Keep the peace. Be free, be happy.’
Gran Baruta reminded us often of those words. And she told us that even when they could no longer see the sail of Gulliver’s boat on the horizon, they still stood there on the beach, all of them, arm in arm, Lilliputians and Blufescuans, until the sun sank into the sea.
And in a way Gulliver did keep his promise. He never did come back, but his son did, Owzat did. Owzat, Son of Gulliver, came just when we needed him. But that’s his story to tell.
‘So it’s your turn again, Owzat,’ said Zaya. ‘You should tell J.J. all about Blufescu. About what happened. You should be the one to tell her, because you were the one who did it.’
To be honest, I thought this whole story had gone on quite long enough by now. But J.J. had been sitting there, leaning forward throughout it all, her eyes never leaving us, agog at our tale – whichever of us was telling it – and I could see she was longing to hear more.
‘Blufescu,’ she said. ‘Come on, Omar, tell me about Blufescu. What happened? What did you do? Don’t stop now.’
‘All right,’ I said, wondering how best to start. It was strange. This was my story and should have been easy to tell, but it wasn’t. It was a while before I could find a way to begin.
The first time I ever heard Gran Baruta tell the Gulliver story was on my first Gulliver Day, in my very early days on Lilliput. All through the telling of the story, I was becoming more and more troubled. At first I wasn’t quite sure what it was that was upsetting me. But then it came to me. I think I told you that I had noticed before quite often – and especially with Natoban and Zaya – that whenever I asked about the island of Blufescu, it always provoked a reaction that I had never really understood. It was only when I heard Gran Baruta telling Gulliver’s story for the first time that I knew for sure that, for everyone on Lilliput, it was as if some fearful shadow hung over the island of Blufescu.
At every mention of Blufescu in Gran Baruta’s story, I had noticed how everyone about me had become suddenly unsettled, troubled – as if they were hearing the rumble of distant thunder. It was clear to me now that all was far from well between the people of Lilliput and their neighbours across the sea on Blufescu. I had never liked to ask. Lilliputians were kind people, but private too. They would tell me when they were ready, I thought. But I had known for some time that something was wrong.
That night in my house, after hearing the story of the coming of Gulliver for the first time, I told Mother all about Gulliver, and about how much I liked being called his son. I did say – so that I would not upset her – how I hoped Father would not mind too much that I had another father now, in a way. As time passed I spoke to her less and less in Pashto, and much more in English because I thought it would be good practice, and because I imagined she had been in England for quite a while now and would understand me easily enough.
Every time I spoke to Mother I promised her again I would come to find her there in England, in Fore Street, Mevagissey. Somehow I would find a way. It was strange, but it seemed easier for me to speak the truth to Mother, to tell her how I was feeling, now that she was not with me. The distance between us seemed in a way to bring us closer. I would come one day, I would – I promised her this – but I did tell her also how difficult it would be to leave a place where there was peace, and safety, where there was always enough food and drink, where I was not a stranger nor a refugee, where I had good friends, who were like family to me, and kind, and where I was big, a boy giant, where I was needed.
And Mother was the only one I felt I could confide in about the island of Blufescu, about how anxious everyone on Lilliput seemed to be about the place, and how puzzled I was. I told her how Gran Baruta had said how happy everyone was that I had come, that Son of Gulliver was ‘needed’, how I thought it must be something to do with Blufescu, but had no idea what it could be.
Standing high on the mountain above my house, I would often look out across the sea towards Blufescu and wonder what was going on over there that seemed to alarm the Lilliputians as it did. There was so much I did not know, that I wanted to ask. Gran Baruta’s story had explained all about Gulliver, and his coming, but there was so much I did not understand about Lilliput and Blufescu, about how these little people really saw me, and why I was ‘needed’.
After that day when I first heard the story of Gulliver under the apple tree, I thought of asking Gran Baruta about Blufescu; but kind though she had been to me, I was always a little nervous of her. Tapit was constantly at her side, so Gran Baruta and I were never alone, and Tapit, I could tell, was wary of me, and very protective of her. Gran Baruta to me was like my grandmother had been at home in Afghanistan, the most important person in our family. Gran Baruta was the most important person on Lilliput, a figure of great wisdom and age and authority, who commanded universal respect. I just didn’t like to ask her in case I upset her.
In the end I asked Zaya and Natoban straight out, didn’t I? The three of us were all there together, I remember, scouring the beach for driftwood, for my fire. That was when they told me.
‘And I remember too.’ Natoban was interrupting me. ‘I’ll explain,’ he went on. ‘We didn’t want to tell Owzat, because we just didn’t want to talk about Blufescu. Everyone on Lilliput was fearful of Blufescu, about Blufescu. Zaya and me more than anyone perhaps. We had good reason. But Gran Baruta had told us also that it was best not to talk about Blufescu, to try not to think about what was going on there. We had to think and speak of them as our friends, she said, whatever we might think, or they would soon become our enemies. Gran Baruta thought, as we all did, that everyone on Blufescu would know that we had a giant living with us on Lilliput, a friend. They had their telescopes and their spies. They could hardly miss Owzat, could they?
‘Gran Baruta never said anything, but I know she hoped, as we all did on Lilliput, that they would not dare attack us. They knew Owzat was a man mountain, a huge giant with great strength and power, that all their muskets and spears and swords could not harm him. While Owzat was with us on Lilliput we were safe. Meanwhile, we just tried to forget that Blufescu was there, put the place out of our minds.
‘For Zaya and me, though, that was never easy. I will tell you why.’
You might be thinking that after Gulliver there was a lasting peace between Lilliput and Blufescu, that we were all good friends. Well, once we were. For hundreds of years, we had lived as the best of friends. But then, about ten years ago, everything changed. And it was quite sudden. Until we talked on the beach that day, we had never told you that, like many of us living now on Lilliput, Zaya and I came from Blufescu. We were born th
ere, grew up there, so we saw it happen all around us. We still don’t like to talk about it.
It was one man, just an ordinary man, but he became a tyrant. Bronar, he was called. He was a boatbuilder, and a good boatbuilder too. Nobody on Blufescu built boats as fine and fast nor as strong as his. He made money, became rich, and then richer still, and soon he was the most powerful man on the island. Gran Baruta always said he must have been blinded by the glitter of gold, by a lust for power. He built himself a grand palace in the middle of the island. But a palace wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to be emperor, to own the whole island and everyone that lived there. Mother and Father, Zaya and me, our whole family, we were soon to become his slaves.
Father died from overwork, Mother soon after, of a broken heart. And because they died we were told we had to leave our farm, that we had no right to stay in our house any more. We had nowhere to go. We lived in the fields, in the ditches, in the forests. We were starving. The emperor Bronar was always making new laws. Whenever we saw him coming, we had to lie down and kiss the ground at his feet. No one was allowed to leave the island, except the fishermen, and they had to give almost everything they caught to him. Everything on Blufescu belonged to Bronar. And no one was ever allowed to speak English again. Only Blufescuan. He created his own flag, a picture of himself silhouetted in gold on a scarlet background, his fist raised. We all had to stand there as the trumpets sounded, and the flag of Blufescu was raised over the palace every morning. And we all had to chant: ‘Blufescu forever! Blufescu first! Blufescu is best!’
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