A Story of Two Childless Kings
Once upon a time, in the gardens of the King of Maiyahr, there was a simple man who had lived all his days in a hovel by the wall. He was born the son of the King's gardener, and after his father's death had himself become gardener for the King. This was the way it had always been, that father to son should pass on the honor of caring for the famed Shah-maiyahr roses, and this was the way, as God and King decreed, it always should be.
But alas! the gardener sat weeping, many a night in his small hut, which was built so long ago and of such poor wood that the roof was hardly a roof at all, and the floor was but dirt (diligently swept and patted down by father and son for many years) and through the cracks in the wall blew the wind, cold or hot, bringing with it the fragrance of roses (many a father had told his son, moaning over the wintry wind and their home's ill protection from it, that with that scent in the nose, what right had man to complain of else?).
He sat weeping, this sad old man, for he had no son to whom he might pass down his spade and title.
In his grief, for he knew he soon must die, and be buried (as had his father and grandfather before him) in that corner of the garden in which bloomed the brightest and sweetest-scented roses, and leave no heir (the gardener's heir as important and necessary a gift as that of the King's own) but this silent, decrepit hut, he called to God and begged that the Lord might smile upon his prayer and grant him a son.
For the old man's wife had left him, so many years ago, when she discovered she was expected to live out the rest of her days in an ancient and rickety hovel, bound in by the King's high garden walls, and never again see the city of Maiyahr, which she had lived in and loved all her days. She left him, that rosy-cheeked bride, and left him no son to make up for the loss of her bright laughter.
On this night when the old man sat in his house and prayed for a son, so too did the King of Maiyahr, whose lily-white Queen had died but three nights ago, taking with her to the Kingdom of God the early-born son who might have been Prince to a childless Shah.
Two men wept and prayed for their lost brides, and for their kingdoms - the sparkling and the sweet, the grand and the humble - that would have no caretaker or sovereign in the years to come.
But alas! the gardener sat weeping, many a night in his small hut, which was built so long ago and of such poor wood that the roof was hardly a roof at all, and the floor was but dirt (diligently swept and patted down by father and son for many years) and through the cracks in the wall blew the wind, cold or hot, bringing with it the fragrance of roses (many a father had told his son, moaning over the wintry wind and their home's ill protection from it, that with that scent in the nose, what right had man to complain of else?).
He sat weeping, this sad old man, for he had no son to whom he might pass down his spade and title.
In his grief, for he knew he soon must die, and be buried (as had his father and grandfather before him) in that corner of the garden in which bloomed the brightest and sweetest-scented roses, and leave no heir (the gardener's heir as important and necessary a gift as that of the King's own) but this silent, decrepit hut, he called to God and begged that the Lord might smile upon his prayer and grant him a son.
For the old man's wife had left him, so many years ago, when she discovered she was expected to live out the rest of her days in an ancient and rickety hovel, bound in by the King's high garden walls, and never again see the city of Maiyahr, which she had lived in and loved all her days. She left him, that rosy-cheeked bride, and left him no son to make up for the loss of her bright laughter.
On this night when the old man sat in his house and prayed for a son, so too did the King of Maiyahr, whose lily-white Queen had died but three nights ago, taking with her to the Kingdom of God the early-born son who might have been Prince to a childless Shah.
Two men wept and prayed for their lost brides, and for their kingdoms - the sparkling and the sweet, the grand and the humble - that would have no caretaker or sovereign in the years to come.