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  No one dared offer him their daughters for fear that he would early desert them for the land of death that he seemed to find so sweet. And yet all the maidens loved him passionately, mutely, dreamily, from a distance. When he spoke to them with his soft and confident and thrilling voice, they became petrified with an unmasterable enchantment. And when he touched them, it was like being scalded by something sublime, and some maidens were known to cry out suddenly, others to suffer great pain and agony, and many became unwell afterwards and shivered in love fevers undiagnosed for weeks. Later, one maiden whom he played with and wrestled into the river fell profoundly ill, lost her senses to incomprehensible love ravings, and died, when least expected, of a kind of fatal happiness. Some said, in malice, that a curse hovered over our young hero, and that one day ...

  CHAPTER TWO

  And so time passed as he grew up in mystery. In accordance with the rites instituted by the ancient traditions of the royal family, our young hero was initiated into the deep mysteries of the tribe, and of royalty. He underwent seven initiations, most of which took place when he wasn't aware of them. There were the mysteries of the hidden order that showed his place among the stars, the sands, the gods, the ancestors. There were the mysteries that revealed to him his place in the royal tradition, revealed the terrors of kingship, the dread that attends noble blood, the fire that follows the line of his birth, the madness he must overcome as a gift of his birth, and the greatness of heart he must cultivate in the midst of the tangled threads of a strong destiny.

  These initiations took place at night, in the forest. He witnessed the raising of the ancestral spirits in their fearful splendour, and spent seven nights in the company of the illustrious and the infamous dead of all times and all places, so that all the great and most wicked and most loving deeds of men and women would never be a stranger to him.

  These initiations into the mysteries began in him an unsuspected transformation. He became more silent, and yet more open. His utterances, though perfectly clear, were completely opaque. His voice changed and took on tones that were at once deep, surprising and gentle. Sometimes he seemed hard, cold, remote; and other times joyful, rich with love, basking in wonderment. He became an enigma to the village, but was a bigger enigma to himself. He didn't know who he was any more.

  And so he spent more time in the forest, around the river, in the hills, listening to the birds, searching for God to give him the answers to the questions that the initiations had awoken in him like thunderous bells, or drums.

  The royal family began to fear that the initiations had done him more harm than good. Instead of making a bigger man of him, they had, it seemed, made him more vulnerable, more unstable. They feared he was going mad. Or that, worse, he might take his own life, in an attempt to return to heaven. So they decided that what he needed was a wife.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He didn't need a wife. He needed time. No one thought to leave him alone so that he could come round in his own way. They fretted over him and troubled him with their fears and projections. They made him the concern and the problem and the focus of the kingdom. They interfered with every aspect of his life. They gave him no space to grow into his own man. They robbed him of space and time. They spied on him everywhere he went. They reported his every move. They misunderstood his every gesture and utterance. They magnified his silence. They distorted his stillness. They suspected his prayers. They saw sinister aspects to his complete innocence. And so, unwittingly, they drove him further and further away from the kingdom.

  He began to roam, to explore the deep forests, in unconscious attempts to escape the prying eyes that gave him no peace. If they hadn't worried over him so much, and made him seek escape, what happened would never have happened; and, mysteriously, the world would have been smaller for it. Destiny conceals strange illuminations in the suffering life visits on us. The tale of fate is entangled with mysteries. Dare one say such and such shouldn't have happened? History is replete with monstrosities that shouldn't have happened. But they did. And we are what we are because they did. And history's bizarre seeding has not yet yielded all of its harvest. Who knows what events will mean in the fullness of time? Our hero ran away from the prison of his royal role into something much worse. Who is to say why, or what its purpose and ultimate meaning was? In the presence of great things glimpsed in the book of life one can only be silent and humble. The ultimate meaning of history is beyond the mortal mind. All one can say is that this happened. Make of it what you will. Our hero went searching for God in the hills, and one day came upon a maiden by the river, with a bucket of water on her head. She was returning to the farms. And he took her for a sign.

  She was not, at first, beautiful. She became very beautiful later on. She was, at that time, quite plain, quite odd in the face, like a work of art in formation, verging on ugly, but rich with the potential of many different kinds of harmonies emerging from the early stages of the manifestation of a personality. There was something about her that was rare, special, hidden, waiting. Something fine, clear, like a cloudy uncertain dawn that, to the trained eye, already hints at an especially brilliant day.

  Our hero didn't fall in love with her at first sight. Nor did she notice him. She was like a swan in infancy, all clumsy, out of colour, perplexed, seeing things all wrong. How unpromising excellent things are in their youth. How awkward true beauty seems in its early stages. Who could tell that a butterfly would emerge from such a mess of matter that is a caterpillar? She was such a creature, all at sixes and sevens, at odds with her own unique spirit growing within her. And yet her eyes, how clearly they revealed the presence of diamonds within. Except that the young all have clear eyes. But hers had a touch of heaven. He didn't notice. He saw her as a sign.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He called to her from his hiding place, and she started, and fell. He was silent. She looked about her, and saw nothing. She got up and fetched more water from the river. As she was leaving he called her again, and she jumped. It seemed to her that the spirits of the land were addressing her. Or that she had heard the goddess of the sea. This was a sign for her that she was about to die, as a mark of special favour.

  'But I have not lived yet,' she said out aloud, as if pleading for clemency.

  'You will live now,' he said, enjoying this game of destiny.

  'What am I to do?'

  'Answer my three questions then you can live.'

  She put down the bucket, and then fell on her knees.

  'I am ready,' she said, with tears in her voice.

  He laughed to himself in his hiding place among the wild flowers on the border of his kingdom.

  'First,' he said, in his strange disguised voice, 'where does the river end?'

  'In the wisdom of God,' she replied, humbly.

  He was startled by the answer. He stayed silent a while. The wind blew enchantments over them. The river yielded the lights of the sky. Spirits converged at the river's edge to witness a special moment in time. Unborn children hovered over that potent space above her head. Invisible story-tellers held their breaths. Those who wander in dreams paused there, to drink in the mood of magic.

  'Second,' he said, more sternly, 'where does all our suffering end?'

  'In the happiness that lies beyond all things,' she replied, as if in a trance.

  He caught his breath. For the first time in his life he knew that deep inside agony there is a sweetness that is beyond compare. Only those who venture into such a dark find such a light. Deep in the pain is beauty from the high mountains of the sublime. How can it be? What fruit would give bitterness and reserve such impossible richness in its core, in its seed that is tough as diamond? The world's puzzle shone around him. The river shone with gold and silver showers from the sun. Is the air so rich with the vitality that makes new life? He breathed in enchantments, and the air he breathed changed the initiated man within into something rested, settled, and forming, as an angel crystallises into a child. Dreamers all around, ling
ering in that ancient mood, felt the happy sunlight above their houses. Spirits were in a mood of delight. Time converged here. Such lovely moments pipe an eternal happiness all over the world, through all time, wherever it is needed, and can be reached, by the fortunate, or those who know.

  He spoke like an oracle now, except not giving, but asking. He said:

  'And finally, what are we all seeking?'

  'The kingdom,' she replied, 'which we are in already, which we have got, and which is our home.'

  The answer seemed so appropriate that he was astonished. He fell into a deep silence in which he was borne by the wind and the fragrance of mysterious flowers into a dim realm where, for a moment, he glimpsed a strange white horse with a golden horn in the middle of its forehead.

  When his mind cleared he saw that the girl was rising from her prayerful position, and he felt he had to say something while the mystery still held. He noticed though that there was a mist rising from the river. It was a white mist, like a shroud, or an unusual cloud, and some of its skeins seemed to float across towards the girl, obscuring her. He was suddenly afraid. Seized with a sense of immensity he had never felt before, and having the presence of mind to break through it, he said:

  'Come back here the same time tomorrow. Come alone.'

  The mist around her briefly cleared, and he saw her nodding. Then before he could think what else to do or say, she got up, snatched her bucket, and disappeared into the forest.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He left his hiding place and wandered the woods in this new mood of splendour, of faint shining terror, and a joy bordering on madness. What had come over him? He was addressing love songs to the birds and the trees, wrestling playfully with spirits in the air, laughing at dreams that floated past him, making jokes at wood sprites that he saw dancing in yellow clearings. The whole sky had become a love mood wherein he saw everything more clearly. Everything made sense. Everything was simple. And in the kingdom he saw himself everywhere, with all the people in the world, all as one.

  He wandered in this state, dreaming of the girl he had just seen, who was so clear to him in his mind that she seemed to accompany him. And he spoke to her, and sang, and laughed at the rich silence of her replies; and he remained spellbound by her liquid luminous eyes and her pale awkward face.

  The elders found him in this state, and fearing him to be unhinged they grappled with him and were surprised that he offered no resistance. They carried him home on their shoulders to the royal palace. He re-entered the village a different person, and saw it all anew, as if he were waking up from a deep sleep that had lasted all his life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In the palace the first thing he noticed were the slaves. Then he became aware of the numerous servants. Then he saw the many wives of his father. Then he saw his father. It was strange. He thought: who are all these people?

  'Are you well, my son?' his father asked.

  He stared at the imposing, fleshy, big and powerful face of his father, the king. He stared into the big, wise and sensuous eyes, at once alert and lazy, at once dangerous and complacent. The king did not smile. He never remembered his father as ever having smiled. Laughing, yes; but never smiling. He smiled at his father. The elders who were present nodded sagely at this interesting development. Then they were baffled when he put his arms round his father's neck and held him in a deep unrequited embrace.

  'I only asked you if you are well, my son,' the king said, embarrassed. 'There is no need for all this demonstration. Remember who you are. You are a prince, and the future king. Now control yourself.'

  He didn't. He stayed hugging his father, breathing in the strong essences and smells of his body, smells rich and potent with the personality of the king, his power, his strength, his unyielding force, his compact radiance, his awesome build, the herbs and potions of his personal and spiritual fortification. The son held on to the father as on to a great tree, a mighty legend. The son held on even when the father threw up his hands in royal exasperation. Then the father, the king, began to laugh. It was a wonderful laughter, and it rocked the kingdom.

  And all the elders began laughing too, and they held hands and spontaneously formed a circle and they danced, singing praise-songs around the son and his father, the prince and the king. And still the son held on to the might of the man, to the splendour of the father, feeling the king's great laughter shaking his tender frame and reordering forces within him that were misaligned, and filling him with energies, with wisdom, with unknown powers, with the spiritual strength of kingship, and with a love he could not express to his son but which was there in the embarrassment of laughter.

  Then suddenly the son disengaged from the father, and said:

  'Father, I am not well. I saw a maiden today who touched my heart. I don't know who she is or where she comes from. I am not well and I am too well because of her.'

  Then abruptly he left the presence of the king. Silence fell over the elders. The king was perplexed by what his son had said, and his odd behaviour. He sensed something sinister. He feared that enemies had bewitched his son, or cast a spell on him, or twisted his mind with the vision of woman. He feared bewitchment more than wars. Armies can fight armies; but how do you fight bewitchment?

  'My son has been bewitched,' he said out loud. 'Keep an eye on him. Follow his movements. And find out who this maiden is that has clouded the mind of the prince.'

  The elders bowed. Instructions were given, and put into motion. The forest became the home of spies.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  An intuition made him take a convoluted route that confused the spies watching him from behind every tree. The next day he returned to his hiding place in the far boundary of the kingdom and waited for the maiden to appear. He arrived long before the appointed time. He hadn't slept all night, or so he thought.

  He felt he hadn't slept because he spent all night wandering through the world looking for a maiden who bore his heart in her womb. His heart grew in her like a child. She was pregnant with his heart for a long time, for a year, for ten years, for a generation, for a hundred and two years. His heart grew bigger and bigger in her, and she grew bigger and bigger to accommodate the growth of his heart in her womb. He never knew when she would give birth to his heart and he lost her and searched for her the world over and couldn't find her. His father, the king, told him that the world in which he searched for her was his heart, and that she was the mother of the world, and that his search was over when it began but he didn't know it. He was nonetheless unconsoled and was still searching when he awoke into a sleepless state that left him unrested and bewildered.

  The birds played, the flowers breathed out their fragrances, the river ran on into the heart of God, the sky was clear and sent down fine spangles of diamonds, and dreams floated past, and the forest sang, and the spirits danced in the air, and the future hovered over him, and the sun passed the shadows it cast at the appointed hour, and still the maiden didn't appear.

  He waited till strange women came to the river and fetched water and laughed and played and went away. He waited till the noonday sun changed its colour and its flashing swords cut down on the earth and water. He slept while he waited and many voices spoke around him and wizards danced above him and sorcerers chanted over his sleeping form. When he awoke it was evening. And she still hadn't appeared.

  He went home with a heavy heart and didn't notice the trees in the forest or the cats that eyed him or the spies that watched him. It was only when he got to the village that he saw a group of men and women that he had never seen before. They were from a different land. They were fetching wood and they were downcast and the men looked brave and the women looked unhappy. So he went among them and asked who they were. The leader among them, a burly man, with a warrior's mien, said:

  'We are men and women captured in war. We are slaves of your kingdom. We do your dirty work till our people can pay our ransom.'