Once upon a time, a dragon was born at the
foot of a cliff, on the rocky shores of a sea far, far away.
It was a dark and stormy sea, under cloudy
skies in which lightning flickered constantly, and the waves which crashed on
the boulders below the cliff were the colour of slate. It was a dreary place,
where nothing grew, and where the sun never shone.
In such a place the dragon was born, and as
she grew older, she began searching for others of her kind, as dragons will,
you know. But there were none – in all that land she was the one and only
dragon, for she had been hatched from an egg that the sea had brought in from a
distant shore. And this, of course, distressed her terribly.
The dragon lived in a sort of castle carved
out of the rock by the waves; a castle most wonderful, with buttresses and
arches, chambers and grottoes, where the wind and the waves made music. She loved
the castle, but was unhappy in all else, because she was so lonely.
“Am I then condemned to spending my
existence in loneliness?” she wondered aloud, crouching in her castle and
watching the waves break and shatter on the boulders outside. “Can it be that I
am the only dragon that ever was, or will be?”
“Hardly,” said a voice, and she jumped in
fright. Sticking its head out of the water was a great sea-serpent, which
regarded her with huge but kindly eyes. “There are dragons in the world, but
they live elsewhere.”
“Where – where must I go to find them?” the
young dragon stuttered. “And if there are none others here, how is it that I was
born in this place?”
“I can’t answer those questions,” the
sea-serpent told her. “But you should go to the hut of the hermit Silence, who
lives at the top of the cliffs, and who has renounced all speech. He knows more
of the world than I do. But be careful that the knowledge you seek not bring
you more sorrow than joy.” So saying, it took a deep breath, and swam away.
“What did it mean by that warning?” the
dragon wondered. “But let me seek the hermit Silence, and ask him what I need to
know.” So she crawled out of the castle and climbed slowly and painfully up the
cliff, while the lightning flashed over her and the rain slashed on the rocks.
She was only a very small dragon, and had no wings, so this took her a long,
long time.
The hermit Silence lived in a hut at the
top of the cliff, a hut so small and battered by wind and weather that it
seemed part of the rock itself. He was standing outside when the dragon finally
found the place, and watched her come, his eyes expressionless over his grey
beard.
“I would like,” said the dragon, “to ask a
question of you, hermit. I need to know where other dragons live, for I am alone,
and so lonely that I can no longer bear it.”
The hermit Silence looked at her for a
moment, and then made signs with his hands and fingers, signs so expressive
that the dragon had no difficulty understanding their meaning.
“Go,” the fingers said, “inland towards the
forest which touches the sky, and there in the heart of it you will find the
abode of my sister, the witch without a name. She can tell you where the
dragons are. But be careful lest the knowledge bring you more sorrow than joy.”
He turned away thereafter, and would look at the dragon no more.
Thanking the hermit, who made no move to
acknowledge or respond, the dragon made her way across the cliffs and inland,
towards the forest which touches the sky. After a journey of many days, she
finally arrived at its outer fringes, and hesitated to enter, because the
trunks of the trees stood so close that they scarcely allowed her room, and
because the foliage overhead was so thick that it was dark as night even at
high noon.
“If I am to find other dragons,” the young
dragon then thought to herself, “I have no choice but to enter. Otherwise I
might as well return to the cliffs and stay alone forevermore.” So she squeezed
her way into the forest, seeking the witch with no name. For many long days and
nights she wandered, until she was quite lost, and drowning in despair.
The forest creatures saw her, and knew her
for a stranger; and though they kept themselves hidden from her sight, they
talked to each other about her, and finally one day the news reached the ears
of the witch with no name, who lived in a hut in the very centre of the forest.
The witch with no name had never liked
strangers entering the forest, for they were a disturbance to the tranquillity she
required. When she heard about the strange new creature, she resolved to get
rid of it as quickly as possible, and, taking the form of a small bird, she
flew through the forest to where she knew it would be found. When she saw it,
she was astonished, because it was a dragon; and she had not seen a dragon in
the forest, or anywhere else in as long as she could remember.
“What is it you do here?” she asked the
dragon, flying above her head. “Do you not know that you are in the realm of
the witch without a name, who destroys all strangers who dare enter her realm?”
“I seek the witch herself,” the dragon
replied. “I have a question to ask her. If she should answer it, I would be
grateful. If she destroys me, then, too, I should be grateful, for at least my
present agony would end.”
“What is your question?” the witch asked,
taking her real form. “If I can, I will help you, for I can feel the depths of
your anguish.”
So the dragon told her everything. “Long
have I wandered,” she finished, “and still I have not found a single other
dragon, or anyone who can tell me where one is to be found. If you can tell me
the answer, do so; and if you cannot, please destroy me without further delay.”
The witch with no name smiled, with mingled
sorrow and sympathy. “Far away, on the other side of this forest,” she said, “are
the mountains of the moon, as cold and white as their namesake. If you wish to
find what you seek, you must find your way across those mountains. But the wind
will cut at your flesh as with the blades of a million knives, and the cold
will eat into your bones.”
“I’m willing to suffer what I must,” the
dragon said.
“Very well,” the witch replied. “On the
other side of the mountains is a plateau so desolate that not a blade of grass
grows; and in the middle of it is a valley, where the fire rises from the
ground and the smoke lies heavy in the air. Go to that valley, and you will
find what you are seeking. But be careful that the knowledge you seek not bring
you more sorrow than joy.”
“I’ll have to take that chance,” the dragon
said, wondering at the repeated warning. “Show me, if you can, a way out of
this forest, for I am lost and helpless here.”
So the witch with no name took again the
form of a bird. “Follow me,” she said, and flew off through the forest, the
dragon following; and in less time than it takes to tell it, they emerged from
between the trees, and in the distance the dragon saw, towering towards the
sky, the mountains of the moon.
“Thank you, kind witch,” the dragon said,
but the witch with no name had already flown back to her home in the heart of the
forest. So the dragon crawled over the broken plain until at last she reached
the mountains; and, without pausing a moment to rest, she began her lonely
crawl up the mountain slopes. The wind whistled and howled and cut at her as
with the blades of a million knives, and the cold bit mercilessly into her
bones.
But she persevered, and, one day, she saw
that there were no further slopes to climb up; and, below her, stretching to
the limits of her vision, was the plateau, so desolate and bleak that the sight
of it brought a chill to her soul greater than the mountain cold. But far in
the distance she could see the smoke rising from a cleft in the ground, and she
knew that was where the valley lay.
The sight brought increased vigour to her
weary limbs, and as she climbed down the mountain and set off across the
plateau, she felt a touch of happiness for the first time in her life; for she
told herself that with every moment she was nearing her goal.
And so it was that early one morning, while
dawn still painted the air, she finally reached the valley, the floor of which
was obscured by flame and smoke, which rose in eddies into the air. As she
crawled down into the valley, the heat rose until it seemed the very air was on
fire, and the smoke burned her eyes.
But she kept going, for she had come so far
that there was no question of turning back now; and at last she stood on the
valley floor, while all around jets of flame rose from the earth, and ashes
rained from the smoke rising towards the sky above.
And here were dragons. Large dragons and
small, they crawled and flew and flitted about, and they came crowding round
her, for she was the first to reach the valley from outside in many, many long
years. And when she saw them, the aches and weariness dropped from her limbs,
so that she would have wept with joy if she could.
The dragons came all around her, and welcomed
her, and asked her where she came from. So she told them the tale of her long
and weary journey; and they all shed tears for her, and not for her alone.
“We weep,” they said, “for all the dragons
who live all through the world, alone like you, and will never find anyone to
tell them of this valley, the only place where our kind can call home. We
welcome you, sister, and we wish only that we could welcome all the others who
live alone and sorrowing, looking forever for a place to call home.”
They made the dragon welcome, and gave her
a cave to inhabit; and for many long years she lived there, until she was
full-grown, a splendour to behold in ivory and gold, with wings red as blood
rippling along her back. But she was never at peace, for she remembered the
words of the other dragons, and knew also that in all the years she had stayed
in the valley, not a single other dragon from outside had found its way there.
So one day she emerged from her cave, and
called to the other dragons; and they came round, to hear what she had to say.
“Brothers and sisters,” she told them, “many
long years ago, when I was looking for this valley, three separate beings – a sea-serpent,
a hermit, and a witch – gave me a warning. They told me to beware lest my quest
bring me more sorrow than joy.
“At the time I did not understand them, but
I never forgot their words; and, after all this time, I am beginning to
understand. For there are other words I have never been able to forget – your words,
that you used to welcome me, when I first came here; you had lamented that
there are other dragons like me, scattered through the world, alone and
despairing of ever finding a home.
“I have thought long on these things, and I
must say that my soul now hangs heavy with the thought of those dragons, so
that I am no longer content here. No, I must go forth, and find those dragons,
and tell them of this place. Only then will I find contentment.”
So saying, and paying no heed to their
attempts to draw her back, she climbed out of the valley and flew into the sky.
Wings beating heavily, she soared over the mountains she had crawled over so
long ago, and set out to search the world for other dragons.
In ones and twos she found them – under ruined
desert cities, crouching in dusty caverns; turning and turning round stone
spires on rocky islands set in distant seas; lying quiescent by slow-moving
rivers meandering through swamps; and in a hundred other places. One by one she
found them, and told them where the valley of dragons was to be found; and then
she moved on, restlessly, always seeking. And so the seasons fled, and the
years turned to decades, and finally to centuries; and she found fewer and
fewer dragons, but she searched on and on, though her body grew old and weary
and her sight began to dim. Then at last she found no other dragons at all, but
still she flew on.
Then, at last, one day she came to a cliff
by a distant and sunless sea, where the lightning flashed without cease, and
the water lashed at the rock; and it seemed to her that she had seen this place
before. And there, at the foot of a cliff, she found a curious thing – a castle
made by storm and wave, of delicate stone arches and rock buttresses, full of
hidden pools and caves, where the wind played music. It seemed to her that she
remembered this place, from somewhere in the distant past; perhaps, she
thought, she had seen it before.
Curling herself up in the recesses of the
castle, she looked out at the storm and rain, and thought she would rest a
while here. Perhaps she would stay longer than a while. It felt good to her old
body; for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt content.
It felt to her as though she had come home.
Copyright B Purkayastha 2013
