The Hero

The lure of power has never touched humility. And the weasel very well knew it. 

If the wonderful forest of this story had anything to boast of, it was its four special creatures. Unlike the other animals of their own species, they were quite extraordinary, not by their own efforts, but by the gift of gods, or so the legend has it.

The tribe of hyenas that lived in the northern part of the forest took unnerving pride in their brother. The older ones in the tribe still vividly recollect the thrilling tale of a baby hyena born in the midst of a thunderstorm. While even the elder ones had stayed under the shades, the little kid had ventured out into the open grounds and incidentally got struck by a lightning bolt so powerful that it could have brought down the strongest of trees. As the members of the tribes watched in horror, and the thunder competed with the parents’ terrified screams, the little hyena, set ablaze, ran wildly about in circles. And each one of them had watched in awe, as the flames subsided and the kid had walked over to them, unscathed! “That was great!”, the kid had said without a slightest quiver in its voice or even a trace of fear in its eyes. The place where this unbelievable incident took place was still worshipped by the tribe.

Since then, the legendary Hyena has had the power of the lightning with him.

No lesser was the pride that the lynx had for their proclaimed leader whose story of rebirth was no rumour. It had been prophesised that the birth of a child would make their tribe remembered forever, and they were overjoyed for this baby lynx. Never had they suspected that their happiness would be so short-lived. The baby had not been breathing! The birth of a dead child, although not unheard of, had been new to their tribe. “This is something we will remember forever. Perhaps this was what the prophecy meant”, they had thought. Upon the insist of the tribe, with a heavy heart, the parents had left the new born kid outside the village bounds in an open windy field. The eastern winds would soon have taken the smell of the body to some scavenger lurking for flesh. The surprise the tribe three days later had when they saw the same kid walking back to its home, and say “I’m back”, was so much that one of the tribe’s elderly had died of shock. It was as if the eastern winds had blown life back into his lungs. The place where the newborn had been left would remain sacred to the tribe till time lasted.

Since then, the legendary Lynx has had the power of the winds with him.

Birds of prey had never been known to be able to swim in anything other than air, much less in water. And that would have remained the case, had the nasty incident in a southern part of the forest not taken place. A usual quarrel had been raging at a very unfortunate time for the baby hawk which was still unborn. In the scuffle that ensued, the egg had unceremoniously fallen out of the nest, and had rolled all the way down to the river. The shell had cracked open on a rocky landing, and the group’s squabbling had been halted by a heart-wrenching cry that lasted no more than a few seconds, as the baby hawk was pulled into the water stream. The hawks had remained motionless as the parents let out a scream at the top of their voices, which, it was rumoured, had not been unheard by any creature of the forest. The hawks fervently believed that this scream had been heard even by the gods, or how else could they have believed their eyes to not have ditched them just five minutes later! They had gasped in unison as, from the very spot that the newborn had fallen, bubbles emanated in the otherwise smooth but strong current of the river. And then the newborn had launched itself out from the surface of the water to fly back to its nest. The hawks still held that place in the river as holy and untouched by any other.

Since then, the legendary Hawk has had the power of the waters with him.

The small tribe of hartebeests residing peacefully in the western part of the forest had never imagined in their wildest dreams that they’d live to see this day. Although indignant, they knew it well that power and fame was not something that fate had for them. Their physical build was not such that allowed them to be of any other use than for finding food for themselves. They were already quite small in number, and hence were saddened by grief over the death of the newborn kid in their tribe. And the cause of the death was something they would have been glad to forget, had the aftermath gone unseen. Even today they winced at the thought of a newborn baby being crushed under the weight of a huge boulder, larger than the largest elephant in the neighbouring tribe. The parents wailed, and the tribe, knowing that they could never stand the sight of their broken child, had not made any effort to move the rock. The next day had seen the entire tribe wondering in lamenting tones what could have brought such tragedy on to the parents. But the day after, the tribe saw to their amazement a slight movement in the rock, and within no time, the newborn had moved it apart, and walked up as if nothing had happened. Since even the strongest males in the tribe could move the rock with great effort and only as a group, the tribe of hartebeests revered it even to this day.

Since then, the legendary Hartebeest has had the power of the rocks with him.

The king of the forest held these four creatures in the highest esteem. So much so, that if it were not for the fear of having his kingdom divided, he’d certainly have given it to them. He had not the slightest doubt over their unfathomable power and capability to turn all odds in their favour.

And that was precisely the reason that they all had been summoned in the grand courtroom this fine day.

“You can do this, can you not?” the king asked, almost pleadingly.

With the presence of all the ministers and most part of the forest, the environment had become tense. Time seemed to have stopped moving from the moment a weasel had announced a startling piece of information to all of them. According to it, in the untouched depths of the river that flowed through the forest, lay a chest of treasure of immense value. There was no direct means of extracting the box, since not only was the river extremely deep, but the box, heavier than one could expect, was buried under mounds of sand and rock. The king was extremely pleased with this information, and promised one fiftieth of whatever that treasure was to the weasel.
He knew pretty well that nothing could be called impossible as long as those four special creatures lived. And so he had invited them to his court and given them the task.

“We certainly can do this, my Lord. We will be needy of some time to figure out how exactly we are going to do this”, the Hawk said.

“Certainly... You can use the royal guest-house for as long as you want.”

The Hawk, the Hyena, the Lynx and the Hartebeest gathered in the luxurious guest-house, where they were sure not to be overheard.

“So…”

It was the Lynx who broke the long silence as they sat around the fireplace.

“The plan is obvious, isn’t it? We just need to work out the other thing”, said the Hyena.

“Yes. It is very easy to do this. But this might also be the opportunity to seize the kingdom. We need to work out how”, said the Hawk.

“Indeed! We have so much power, why can’t we just use this time to overthrow the king? The problem is that we must not make it look like we seized the kingdom by force”, said the Lynx.

They all fell silent again.

“I say,” said the Hartebeest, “let us do this task and see what happens. I’m personally tired of calling that fool “your Majesty” every time. We will just have to make the opportunity on our way.”

They all agreed to this, because none of them could seem to have a better idea. And so they approached the king, but not before they had enjoyed all the royal luxuries. The happiness on the king’s face was reflected in each of the faces present in the courtroom when they entered.

“Have you reached a solution already?”, the king asked expectantly.

“Yes, your Majesty”, said the Hartebeest.

“We think thus,” started the Hawk, “I, with the power of the waters, can control the flow of the river. I will swim and make a whirlpool in the river water, thus making the buried spot visible.”

“When the vortex is at the exact spot,” said the Hyena, “I’ll use my power of the lightning to crack apart the rocks that bury the treasure with a single powerful bolt.”

The excitement of the king seemed to increase with every word. But he could not imagine any further than this.

“When the box is visible,” said the Lynx, “I’ll use my power of the winds to lift my friend here, and guide him down to it.”

“And I,” said the Hartebeest, even though he knew it was not important for him to speak when the Lynx had made it clear enough, “with my strength, will lift the box up and present it to you.”

Two days later, the entire forest had gathered to witness the grand event presented by their four heroes. The king stood with his ministers on the banks of the river, as the Hawk dived into it. Slowly and steadily, the Hawk changed the course of the water. Within no time, the currents were swirling about the point that the weasel had indicated. The Hawk used all its might to deepen the vortex further down. The mighty applause the crowd gave just when the vortex touched the rocky base of the river was silenced by the thunder of the most powerful lightning bolt they had ever witnessed. The crowd realized that the Hyena had done his job well, as small pieces of rock were thrown about. They again held a mighty applause as the unmistakable glint of gold became visible at the depths of river.

Now the Lynx stood with his eyes shut tight, and called the winds. Soon, everybody was in the need to hide for cover as powerful gusts of wind hurried past them. Again a mighty applause, as the Hartebeest was lifted off the ground and lowered into the river.

It took time for the dust and the storm to subside. But when it did, a tumult of applause broke the eerie silence that had settled upon them. Every pair of eyes seemed to be fixed on the four heroes. Every pair of hands was clapping violently. The animals were screaming wildly; some were bowing. Nobody seemed to notice the little weasel that did nothing but smile.

After what seemed to be long endless minutes, the crowd finally began to lower their voices.

The weasel, knowing this opportunity, shouted, “Hartebeest is the hero!”, and silently slipped away. The rest will be taken care of, he knew.

In the enormous crowd, that single voice went unidentified. But the words were clear. And the crowd fought.

When the king had managed to get the crowd silenced a bit, each of the four heroes claimed himself to be the real hero before him.

“The box would have remained unreachable under the water had I not used my power to control the river. So I am the hero!”

The king nodded.

“But it would have remained buried had I not used my power of lighting. I was the one who made it accessible, so I alone am the hero!”

The king nodded again.

“And you all could have remained satisfied just by looking at the box lying there had I not used my strength to pull it up. There is no question that I am the real hero!”

The king nodded fervently again.

“And you think you could have reached the box to pull it up if I had not used the power of winds to guide you through? Indeed, I’m the real hero!”

The king nodded, even more confused.

The king was asked to pronounce justice on this matter, which, naturally, he couldn’t. The fight that resumed in the crowd was nothing as compared to the historic fight that raged between the four legendary creatures. Tremors shook the earth while the wind seemed to be in such fury that it could uproot all the trees of the forest. The wrath of thunder and lightning threatened to charr one and all to death; and the treacherous waters of the river splashed violently everywhere, potent enough to dilute everything in itself. Fire blazed over the flooded banks of the river, where the ground powerfully split open and the wind-storm raked the cauldron of what seemed to be hell.

When all seemed to have ended, and the ashes and dust subsided, a gasp seemed to travel among the few of the crowd that remained. The four legendary creatures of the forest lay dead upon the forest floor, just a pile of mass, broken and powerless, defeated by each others’ powers.

History has had not, but disgraced place for heroes who knew only vanity.

Then a laugh stunned each one present at the site of disaster. It was harshly laced with irony and was almost challenging. Every head turned in the direction of the sound, and each one of them was dumbfounded to see the weasel walking towards the king, apparently unaffected by the tragedy.

He bowed gently before the king, who stood transfixed in his place even though his clothes were torn and dirty. The king’s eyes widened in a sudden revelation, and for some time it seemed that he could not blink.

“Your Majesty, didn’t I tell you that each one of them was useless?” He moved towards the ornate golden box and, to the surprise of all, picked it up with one hand and opened the lid effortlessly. The crowd gasped as one upon seeing the contents of the box that had caused so much trouble. It was empty.

“And if you still need to proclaim someone as the hero, then it is me, for if it weren’t for me, then all you could have done is worship them till you lived, while they took the kingdom and played with their powers”, the weasel said. “I was the one who placed this box there.”

Almost every face showed nothing but anger and loathing for this creature whose existence seemed to be an increasing burden with every word he spoke. The king’s eyes showed only revulsion and his face too was contorted with anger.

“I pronounce murder on you”, were the five words the king said.

The weasel’s face didn’t change at all. He merely said, “Killing me will not serve any purpose. But even if I’m killed, it won’t be the first time that the eyes of justice are blinded by the clouds of hatred.”

And the weasel was killed.

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