The Emperor and the Bird

A long time ago in a land far away, there lived a small bird.

She was nothing special to look at. She had a small pointed beak, black eyes that moved constantly, and her feathers were brown and ordinary. She lived in an ordinary looking nest, in an ordinary looking tree. But she had the most beautiful voice in the whole forest.

Sometimes the little bird would watch the bright blue jays and scarlet cardinals flitting from tree to tree, and she would wish she were as brightly coloured as them. Then she would sing a sad song, and all the forest creatures who heard her, the foxes and stoats, the chipmunks and field mice, would feel their hearts fill with mourning, and would cuddle up with their young in their nests and burrows.

Sometimes the bird would watch the sunrise over the forest, and she would sing a song of joy at it’s beauty and splendor. Then the forest creatures would play and frolic in the fields, and they would go about their days with their tails held high and their ears pricked up, full of excitement about the coming day.

Sometimes the bird would watch the sunlight glinting of the towers of the palace in the distance, for in those days the land was ruled over by a great and wise Emperor, and his palace was magnificent, with gardens full of fountains and blossoming fruit trees. Then she would sing songs of wonder, and the forest creatures would stop and gaze into the distance, their hearts full of curiosity and wonder at the world.

Now it came to pass that one day the Emperor decided that it was time to appoint a new High Chancellor: “For I am getting old,” he said, “and the work of an emperor is hard. I need help to rule justly and fairly”.

Of course all his officials, advisors and noblemen argued that they should get the job. They all came before him, flattering and obsequious, deriding their rivals and making cases for why they should be they should be the new High Chancellor.

“Very well,” said the Emperor, for he quickly tired of such flattery and noise. “In one month, any who wishes to be my High Chancellor may bring a bird to me in the Imperial Gardens. He who brings the bird that pleases me most will be my new High Chancellor.”

At once all the advisors left to find the most fantastic birds they could. Some went to the markets to buy the rarest birds they could: bright yellow canaries, scarlet macaws, and beautiful peacocks with green iridescent feathers. Some chartered ships and sailed far and wide looking for even stranger birds. One bought back an ostrich from Australia, one a dodo from Mauritius, and one went as far as Norway and bought back a parrot with beautiful blue plumage.

Now in the palace there lived a poor servant boy. He had been born on a farm, but he was lame and his family was very poor and couldn’t afford to feed and clothe him, and so had sent him to the palace to try to find work. There he worked in the kitchens, or ran errands for various lesser noblemen, and, since he worked hard and stayed out of trouble, he managed to get by. Still he watched all the important men and women coming and going from the palace, seeking audiences with the emperor, and wished for more from his life. “If I had a great bird,” he thought, “I could get in to the Imperial Gardens and see the Emperor myself. I would serve him well.” But he could not travel far and had no money to buy a bird from any of the merchants in the town.

And so a month passed, and one day, being done with his chores for the day, the boy went out for a walk in the forests beyond the great palace. As he stood in thought, he saw the small brown bird alight on a branch near him.

“If you were to come with me,” he said, “we could enter the Imperial Gardens of the palace. We might even see the Emperor. For he has decreed that anyone with a bird can come to the palace today, and he will choose whosoever has the bird that pleases him the most tho be his High Chancellor.”

Of course the bird wanted to see the palace and the Imperial Gardens more than anything, and so she flew down to perch on the boy’s shoulder, and together they headed back to the palace.

The Imperial Gardens were alive with the chatter of officials, advisors and noblemen, all clamoring for the Emperor’s attention, mixed with the squarks and cries or a hundred different birds from all corners of the world.

The Emperor walked amongst them looking at each in turn. He saw the peacock with its magnificent tail feathers. “Too showy,” he said dismissively, “it can hardly fly”. He saw the fat dodo, with its enormous, bulbous beak. “Ridiculous,” he said, “How does such a creature survive?”. As he approached the ostrich it put its head in the ground and turned invisible. The lovely plumage of the blue parrot caught his eye, but as he came to look he was surprised to see that it did not move. He prodded it with his finger and it fell off its perch, dead.

And so he went from one bird to another, each more strange and marvelous than the last. But quickly he grew weary, for he found them all wanting, and somehow none pleased him.

The small brown bird watched quietly from her perch on the boys shoulder, wishing that she could be as graceful, or as splendid or as exceptional as these strange and wonderful creatures, and she started to sing a sad and mournful song.

Throughout the gardens, everyone fell silent, their hearts suddenly filled with a longing for things that might once have been, and things that could never be. The old Emperor felt a tear come to his eye.

But then the bird looked out at the blossoming cherry trees and the sparkling fountains, and she sang a different song - one of joy and wonders.

Throughout the gardens, all who heard felt their souls rise up, filled with joy. Suddenly the old Emperor felt the weight of the years of responsibility and lifted from his shoulders, and recalled the joy and vigor of his youth. He rose up tall and straight. “Where is the bird that sings this song?” he said. “Bring it to me.”

The servants and courtiers rushed about, trying to find the source of the song, and finally the boy was bought before the Emperor, the small bird still perched on his shoulder.

First the Emperor turned to the bird. “There is more beauty in your song than all these others put together,” he said. “Please will you come to live in my gardens, and sing your songs for me and my visitors?”.

Then he turned to the boy. “You have shown more wisdom and judgement than all these others,” he said. “You will make a fine High Chancellor”.

And so it came to pass. The boy served the Emperor as High Chancellor for many years, and helped him to rule wisely and well. When the Emperor finally passed, the High Chancellor remained, advising his heirs, until he too grew very old, and the people of the land lived happily in peace and prosperity.

In the Imperial Gardens, the small, brown bird lived out her life, singing her songs. She lived long and had many chicks, each of whom sang just as sweetly as she did. And they too had chicks, so that the air of the gardens was always full of song.

Visitors would come from far away lands to seek an audience with the Emperor, and would walk amongst the Imperial Gardens, and always they would return home telling tales of the splendors and marvels they had seen, but, especially, of the songs of the Emperor’s birds.

The Very Muddy Hippopotamus

Once there was a very muddy hippopotamus. She liked to spend her days wallowing in her favorite mud hole. She would roll in the mud. She would squish the mud between her toes. She would sing songs about the mud. She only left to go to the river and and drink, or to get food. And, whenever she left the mud hole, she would always be covered, from the tips of her ears to the end of her tail, in thick, gooey mud.

The other animals in the jungle were not happy with the hippopotamus. The birds, the swallows and flamingos, complained that she would get mud on their lovely feathers. The leopard complained that she would get mud on her elegant spots. The tiger complained that she would get mud over his splendid stripes. Even the antelope complained that she would get mud on her silky, fawn fur (before noticing that she was sharing a paragraph with a tiger and promptly being eaten).

What the other animals did not know was that the hippopotamus had a secret: underneath the mud her skin was a bright, shocking pink. Of course the hippopotamus was very shy about this. “If the other animals see that I’m pink, they’ll all laugh at me,” she thought. And so, whenever she left her mud hole, she would make sure she was completely covered in thick, gooey mud.

One day a fairy queen came to the jungle to see how the animals  were getting along.

All the animals complained about the very muddy hippopotamus. The tiger complained about getting mud on his splendid stripes. The leopard complained about getting mud on her elegant spots. The storks and the flamingos complained about getting mud on their lovely feathers. Even an antelope complained about getting mud on her silky, fawn fur. (This was another antelope who was carefully staying at the opposite end of the paragraph from the tiger).

The fairy queen listened to all the animals grumbling, and then she waved her wand to create a magical hippopotamus washer. There were round, whirling brushes that would scrub the mud off the hippopotamus’ sides. There was another whirling brush that would come down from above and scrub the hippopotamus’ back. There were nozzles that would go back and forth, spraying the hippopotamus with warm, soapy water. There were more nozzles to rinse the hippopotamus with clean water, and more whirling brushes with towels attached to dry her off afterwards. There was even a conveyor belt which would carry the hippopotamus between the whirling brushes and spraying nozzles before she knew what was happening. (The fairy queen decided against including the magical under-body hot wax spray).

And so, the next day, when the hippopotamus left her mud hole to go to the river, she stepped onto the conveyor belt and the magical hippopotamus washer started up. Suddenly there were whirly brushes scrubbing her and nozzles spraying her from directions. Before she knew it the mud was all gone and, the hippopotamus was standing, bright pink, in the middle of the jungle.

The poor hippopotamus was so shy and embarrassed that she wanted to run away and hide. But then something strange happened. All the other animals started saying “ooh” and “ahh”. The tiger said how splendid his black and orange stripes would look next to the pink hippopotamus. The leopard said how elegant his spots would be against a bright pink backdrop. The stork said how lovely it would be with her feathers, and the flamingo was particularly impressed. Even the antelope seemed about to say how well pink would go with her silky, fawn fur, except that she was eaten by a lion before she could speak. (The lion hadn’t been mentioned in our story so far because she’d been hiding in the tall grass waiting to pounce the whole time.)

After that things changed for the hippopotamus. She would still spend most of her days wallowing in her favorite mud hole. She would still roll in the mud. She would still squish the mud between her toes. She would still sings songs about the mud. But now, whenever she left her mud hole, she would jump onto the conveyor belt of the magical hippopotamus washer, and then she would parade about the jungle, bright pink and as happy and proud as can be.