Once There was a King

by Rabindranath Tagore

"Once upon a time there was a king."

When we were children there was no need to know who the king in the fairy tale was. It didn't matter if he was called Shiladitya or Shaliban, where he lived or when. The thing that made a seven-year-old boy's heart jump with happiness was this reality of all realities: "Once there was a king."

But the readers of this modern age always want more information. When they hear this opening to a story, they ask: "Which king?"

But there is an English proverb: "Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies." The boy of seven who is listening to a fairy tale understands that perfectly well; he does not ask his questions. So the pure and beautiful lie stays as innocent as a baby; as clear as truth; fresh as running water in a river.

When we were young, we understood everything sweet and we could find the sweetness in a fairy tale naturally. We never cared about useless things, like knowledge. We only cared about truth. And our uncomplicated little hearts knew that the truth was simply this:

"There was a king."

I remember vividly that evening in Calcutta when the fairy story began. It was raining non-stop. The whole of the city was under water. It was knee-deep in our road. I hoped, I was almost sure, that my private teacher could not come that evening. I sat looking down the road. Every minute I kept my eye on the rain and, when it began to grow less, I prayed with all my heart; "Please, God, send some more rain till half-past seven." Because I was ready to believe that we only needed the rain to help one helpless boy one evening in one corner of Calcutta escape from one boring private teacher.

The rain did not stop.

But, unfortunately, my teacher did not stop either.

Exactly at half past seven, I saw my teacher’s umbrella in the road. My hope disappeared.

When I saw his umbrella, I ran as fast as I could to my mother's room. My mother and my grandmother were sitting playing cards. I ran into the room and threw myself on the bed beside my mother, and said:

"Mother, the teacher has come and I have a bad headache; do I need to do lessons today?"

I hope no young child will read this story. Because what I did was very bad but it was successful.

My mother said to me: "All right," and added to the servant:

"Tell the teacher that he can go back home."

It was clear that she didn't think my illness very serious, as she went on with her game of cards, and took no notice of me. And I also put my head under the pillow and laughed with happiness. We understood one another perfectly, my mother and I.

After about a minute I said to my grandmother: "Grannie, tell me a story."

I had to ask this many times. Grannie and Mother went on playing cards and took no notice. At last Mother said to me: "Child, don't bother us. Wait till we've finished our game." But I continued: "Grannie, tell me a story." I told Mother she could finish her game tomorrow, but she must let Grannie tell me a story there and then.

At last Mother threw down the cards and said: "You'd better do what he wants. I can't control him."

When Mother stopped playing, I hurried to Grannie. I got hold of her hand and, dancing with happiness, dragged her to my bed. In my excitement, I jumped up and down with happiness and, when I was a little quieter, said:

"Now, Grannie, let's have the story!"

Grannie went on: "And the king had a queen." That was good to begin with.

We next hear that the king had not got a son. At the age of seven I didn't think there was any need to bother if a man had no son. And we’re not greatly excited when we hear that the king has gone away into the forest to live simply to pray for a son. There was only one thing that would make me go into the forest, and that was to get away from my teacher!

But the king left behind with his queen a small daughter, who grew up into a beautiful princess.

Twelve years passed and the king went on praying and living simply and he never thought about his beautiful daughter. The age for her to be married arrived, but the king did not return. And the queen was very worried and cried:

"Is my golden daughter going to die unmarried?"

Then the queen sent men to the king to ask him very seriously to come back for one night and take one meal in the palace. And the king agreed.

The queen cooked with her own hands, and with the greatest care, sixty-four dishes and put the food on plates of gold and the drink in cups of silver. The princess stood behind him with the peacock-tail fan in her hand. The king, after twelve years' away, came into the house, and the princess moved the fan, making the room bright with her beauty. The king looked in his daughter's face and forgot to eat his food.

At last he asked his queen: "Who is this beautiful girl? Whose daughter is she?"

The queen cried: "Don’t you know your own daughter?"

The king was amazed. He said at last; "My tiny daughter has grown into a woman."

"Of course" the queen said. "Don’t you know that twelve years have passed?"

"But why isn’t she married?" asked the king.

"You were away," the queen said. "And how could I find her a husband?"

The king got very excited. "The first man I see tomorrow," he said, "when I come out of the palace will marry her."

The princess went on moving her fan of peacock feathers and the king finished his meal.

The next morning, when the king came out of his palace, he saw a young boy in the forest outside the gates. He was about seven or eight.

The king said: "He will marry my daughter."

Who can change a king's mind? He called the boy at once and he married the princess.

At that moment, I went up to my clever Grannie and asked her: "What then?"

In my heart, I wanted to be that lucky boy of seven years old. The night was full of rain. The lamp by my bed was burning low. My grandmother's voice murmured on and on as she told the story. And all these things helped me to think I was in the forest at dawn in the country of some unknown king and, in a moment, I had married the beautiful princess. She had gold earrings in her ears. She had a necklace and bracelets of gold too.

I asked Grannie: "What then?"

Grannie went on: Then the princess took her little husband away and built a large palace and began to look after him.

Grannie continued: The little boy went to school and learnt many lessons from his teachers and, as he grew up, his classmates began to ask him:

"Who is that beautiful lady who lives with you in the palace?" The boy also wanted to know who she was. He could only remember how one day he had been in the forest. But all that was so long ago that he could not remember.

Four or five years passed in this way. His friends always asked him:

"Who is that beautiful lady in the palace?" And the boy would come back from school and sadly tell the princess:

"My schoolmates always ask me who is that beautiful lady in the palace and I cannot answer them. Tell me, oh, tell me, who you are!"

The princess said: "Forget about it today. I will tell you some other day." And every day the boy asked; "Who are you?" and the princess would reply: "Forget it today. I will tell you some other day." In this way, four or five more years passed.

At last the boy became very impatient and said: "If you do not tell me today who you are, beautiful lady, I will leave this palace." Then the princess said: "I will certainly tell you tomorrow."

Next day the boy, as soon as he came home from school, said:

"Now, tell me who you are." The princess said: "Tonight I will tell you after supper, when you are in bed."

The boy agreed and he began to count the hours, waiting for night to come. And the princess, on her side, put white flowers over the golden bed and lit a gold lamp and put perfume in her hair and put on a beautiful dress of blue and began to count the hours, waiting for night.

That evening when her husband, the boy, had finished his meal, too excited to eat, and gone to the golden bed covered with flowers, he said to himself: "Tonight I’ll know who this beautiful lady in the palace is."

The princess ate a little of the food that her husband did not want and slowly entered the boy’s bedroom. She had to answer the question that night; she had to say that the beautiful lady who lived in the palace with him was his wife. And one day, he was going to be king. And as she went to the bed to tell him, she found a snake had come out of the flowers and bitten the boy.

Her boy-husband was lying on the bed of flowers, with his face white in death.

My heart suddenly stopped, and I asked in a whisper: "What then?"

Grannie said; "Then..."

But why go on with the story? It only becomes more and more impossible. The boy of seven did not know that no grandmother could explain 'What then?' after death. But the child's belief never stops. It is impossible for him to think that the story, on one teacherless evening, could stop so suddenly. Therefore the grandmother talks about the dead body travelling on a banana leaf on the river with the princess to a place where the boy and girl can be together again. And on that rainy night and in the light of a lamp, death loses all its horror for the boy and seems nothing more than a deep sleep.

When the story ends my tired eyes are heavy with sleep. So, we send the child's little body over the water of time on his banana leaf to his princess and, in the morning, bring him back to the world of life and light.