The Betrothed, the Prince and the Emissary
Part 2 : The Emissary Arrives
Suddenly the betrothed woke up and realized it had been a dream. The gust of wind through a window, inexplicably left ajar near her bed, made her feel it was so real, as if he just left through the window!
“How strange!” she thought. Was that a dream or was he really here? Suddenly feeling chilly she closed the window. She found its latch was loose, for the window, and in fact, the whole house itself was really old. They have not done any changes to it since her dear parents passed away. Her aunt and uncle and their little children, her adoptive family, have gone through dire times, farming the estate of the cruel feudal Lord Migdol who enjoyed the protection of the king, the Sly One. They are lucky the exacting Lord Migdol has not evicted them when for a few years they couldn’t meet the quota of produce he demanded. Her uncle Kelubai had insisted that the land need to lie fallow for a year after every six years of tilling, so it could recover in vitality, but Lord Migdol and the Sly One said those beliefs are passe, obsolete. They have dismissed the farming traditions, passed from generation to generation, of the betrothed’s clan, and their way of life in general, as “dogmatic” and “farcical.” The Sly One is purported to have hired knowledgeable experts, who know better, on how to make the land and its associated “assets” cough up the highest “returns on investment.” Of course, the use of such foreign terms was calculated at intimidating uncle Kelubai and all his clan. Yet, the farming community of the whole fiefdom knows in their heart of hearts that the Sly One and his puppet underling Lord Migdol are wrong, dead wrong. For the land, the rivers that water it, the animals, the climate and the associated “assets” – the farmers themselves – have always proven, for generations, to respond and function according to the basic principles taught by their ancestors, the founding fathers. In fact, it was for this reason that this major disagreement fomented the revolt among the farmers against the exacting Lords. And sadly, the parents of the betrothed perished in that bloody and unfortunate uprising. And her adoptive parents refuse to talk about it reckoning she is too young to face such painful realities.
The dream consumed the betrothed’s thoughts for the weeks that followed, even till mid-summer. “If he had laid down his life for me and my people, would that mean he’s already dead? But why did he say he is coming for me, very soon!?” she pondered deeply. The more she thought about it the more she went for long walks in the woods, recalling the treasured times they had together, wondering if the words her prince spoke to her in the dream were true. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks and gasped, “Oh, yes! The emissary! He should be here, soon,… IF the dream was real! He would be the proof if this dream is true!” For a moment she was elated. And then the better side of her took over: “Or it’s just another meaningless dream… probably a most elegant concoction of imagination by my subconscious…because I miss my prince… my love, my friend… so much.” And once again the very air she breathed, the warm humid air of summer, seemed to be sadness itself.
For some days she left her silk embroidery untouched. Neither did she pick up her easel, brush and paints. She took to berry-picking as it was summer and some berries have ripened. It was also a good excuse to be out of the house for her long walks. Her only comfort was her flute. She would fill the woods with its sad tunes and brooding tones. Even the birds would sometimes hush their singing to listen and the squirrels would sit still, petrified by the seemingly weeping melodies. One day, when she was weary of the flute-blowing, she was sitting on a tree stump lost in reverie over her beloved, when all of a sudden a breeze swept over her. Awakened from the assault of such a wind, she got up to pick up her bonnet swept adrift. Suddenly, a human form seemed to be conjuring itself in front of her. It was transparent, yet had the amazing colours of rainbow, and yet like a precious stone, an emerald. She froze in fright, yet awed by its beauty, too. The breeze that had earlier assaulted her seemed to hang around, playing with her long tresses, her skirt and her ribbons. The air wafted with a smell, like a collection of spices - the sweet pure smell of cinnamon, calamus, spikenard, camphire, frankincense, myrrh, - all together. She felt like passing out but was steadied by the pleasant comforting feel of the warm breeze and the refreshing smells. It was like a dream! But then the “rainbow person” started talking, in a clear quiet voice:
“Do not be frightened, child, I am the emissary. The king himself had sent me, as a gift to you, the future bride of his son, the prince. Here, take this tongue of fire, a token of myself, the deposit guaranteeing your royal destiny as the betrothed of the prince.”
A tongue of pure fumeless fire suddenly appeared in the emissary’s hand but it didn’t burn him. He brought it over her head and it rested there and burned her neither. The sweet smells in the air seemed to intensify but instead of feeling giddy it refreshed her and she kept inhaling it, like taking in all of this wondrous moment.
“All these is too much for you at the moment. I shall come again to renew our acquaintance.”
And just as suddenly as the breeze came, another breeze swept over her and the “rainbow person,” the emissary was gone. The smells lingered for a moment and she saw the branches and the leaves, even the grass, move as being blown by a wind. She felt her cheeks flushed and inside her was a feeling of warmth, of joy, satisfaction and well-being, like she just had a hearty meal. She savored the peace and the blessedness of the moment, knowing her dream had been real, though it still left many questions unanswered. She slumped to the ground as weakness of knees took over and she lied down there for a long time.
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"Juliet" of the painting by Philip Calderon (England, 1887) from http://www.romeo-juliet.newmail.ru
Rainbow image from http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia
Emerald image from http://www.worldofrockhounds.com
