‘I love him,’ warbled a quavery voice from below, where the little boy stood trembling before his parents, as they sat in their purple stillness, majestically high on their marvellously imperial royal thrones. As their royal court milled malevolently around and below them, in their magnificently ornate silver clad throne room of a 1001 musical stone pillars
The entire pantomime that performed before his eyes, including the pet parrot preening itself while perched on his mother’s finger, ground to a screeching halt. Shell pink, salmon, coral, eau-de-nil, powder blue, lilac and the other myriad shades of the court collided into each other, and created a cacophony of colours. Notes of music stopped short in their tracks and hung tremulously in the air, only to swiftly fall to the ground and shatter. The court astrologers, in their white, white robes with borders of solid, solid gold thread, started to quiver in fear. And the thick, thick gold rings in their ears started chattering in unison
The obsequious lords and ladies of the court, dressed in their fine, fine linens and gleaming silks, froze in mid-sentence. And then, fluttering their hand-fans, they slowly bared their fangs in wolfish grins from behind their masks. Fawning courtiers, at a loss for words, avoided looking at each other and wondered how they were to complete the adulations they had just begun. The musicians laid their instruments down to rest. Skittish retainers scampered out of the court to spread the news. And his sister, Yanna Kutti’s eyes twinkled in merriment
Not a single note of music dared to play, not a single drape of fabric volunteered to show its colour, not a single fold of silk ventured to rustle. And then the Queen shrieked. One long, hard note that went on for an eternity. Only to cut itself off abruptly, when the King, his face ashen, tottered up from his throne
For as long as the little boy could remember, the Queen, while at court, had always had her bright green parrot perched on the second finger of her right hand. In the deafening silence that ensued, the parrot let out a loud squawk and, spreading its wings out, circled clockwise thrice, and then anti-clockwise thrice above the little boy’s head. And flew to the forest to spread the news of cheer
The King was aghast at his son’s choice; the Queen was devastated. He wept before his son and pleaded with him to give up his love. She offered her son her love and support, and urged him to reconsider his decision
But the little boy, by now dancing in a state of ecstasy in front of one and all, neither could nor would budge from his position.
The King blamed the Queen bitterly in how she had brought up his son. She wept out of sheer guilt that she had failed in her promise to the King
‘You will leave him,’ thundered the Caliph
‘My heart cannot be commanded,’ retorted the little boy, self-righteous in all of his innocence
‘Then discipline your heart,’ wept the King. To no one but himself
‘Do not bare your truth for all to see,’ said the Queen gently. ‘Play with life but with intelligence’
‘I will not live a lie,’ retorted the little boy, self-righteous in the purity of his love
‘I feared this moment,’ wept the Queen. To no one but herself
* * * * *
‘Look for answers within the plants in your own gardens,’ murmured the little boy to himself, under his breath
‘You may scatter the seeds, you may nurture the plants. It is not however yours to determine in which direction the branches will spread’
‘Have you perchance noticed that they always grow towards the sun?’