This piece is a modern re-telling of a folk tale from the Three Princes of Serendip.
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THE HAPPY CHANCES OF DILLIRAMMA
It must have been six or seven hours. My mouth was so dry, and my limbs were stiff. Soon, I would have a severe headache, then delusions. Even if I could loosen the ropes, it was unlikely that I could escape the forest. But I had to put up a fight for survival. Every twist and turn burned into my flesh, but I wriggled. I had enough room to breathe, perhaps I had enough room to roar. It might make me push harder against the twine. “ARRRRGH!” The ropes were still tight. Ants were starting to gather, crawling over my feet, and biting. I groaned in despair.
If only I had not insulted Beramo. Who was I, a slave concubine, to speak truth to power? Foolish girl that I was, I had begun to believe that he might love me in some strange way, so I forgot to fear him. Then I offended him. So, he ordered that I was to be tied to a tree in the forest and left to die.
I heard a rustling. Then it went quiet. Perhaps it could smell my fear. I closed my eyes, and waited for the animal to break its cover.
“Hello.”
It was the voice of a man. A hunter perhaps. Would he free me, or just rape me and leave me?
“I suppose that there is an interesting story behind your situation?”
I opened one eye. He didn’t look like a hunter. He was in colourful clothes.
“I’ll tell you my story if you set me free and I’ll do all sorts of other things for you if you bring me some good water to drink.”
“Madam, I am an honourable man – Nawazandi the troubadour, at your service.”
An honourable troubadour, I thought. That must be a first.
He started to untie me. “This is good quality rope, so there must be an important man to answer for this cruelty…scurrilous stories about the rich and powerful are always popular with audiences. I’m travelling with the great merchant Tajir, whose caravan is passing through the forest. We heard your cries. Come with me – we’ve water and food aplenty.”
He certainly knew how to pour musical words into my ears!
“Bless you, Nawazandi. I am Dilliramma, and I was the favourite slave, if you know what I mean, to Emperor Beramo. You can see that he intended me to die horribly. Is your master willing to take the risk of rescuing me?”
Nawazandi smiled knowingly. “Dilliramma, I can get a message across without naming names.”
I was shaking so much that I could barely walk. He guided me to the caravan, where the entourage of the great merchant Tajir was very curious. I sank to my knees, cried with joy, and blessed every person in turn, and the camels and mules too. I was happy to work for Tajir’s cooks and feed stories to Nawazandi to sing in the evenings, some true and some not so true. He was indeed a man of honour, so in due course, we married.
A few years later, Tajir was asked to procure some furnishings for a new palace. The officials working there wanted to hear stories in the evening, so Tajir offered Nawazandi’s services. I urged him to be careful.
Some days later, as we travelled north, the hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle. I dared to look out at the road behind us. Bile rose in my throat. There were so many soldiers, and a gold carriage pulled by four white horses. Who else could it be but Beramo?
The carriage door opened. The silver silk turban came first, then the leathery face. We all bowed deeply, and kept our eyes down. Imagine my curiosity when I could hear shuffling in the dirt of the road. He had started to crawl on his hands and knees towards us.
“Dilliramma! My darling!” He started to cry loudly. “Three clever princes from Serendip told me that I could find you by building new palaces where stories would be told, and it worked! I realised that I was sorry the day after I punished you.”
“A day. A whole day! I would have been dead by then if this noble troubadour had not found me!” I could not contain my fury.
“Yes indeed. Noble troubadour. Noble merchant Tajir. They will be richly rewarded. Come back to me my darling and be my empress! I forgive your cruel words.”
“I could have died of thirst…ants were starting to eat me…I was full of terror and despair… I do not forgive you for that! Tell your three princes that if they were really clever detectives, they would know that I would never go back!”
Tajir intervened. “I am sorry, Dilliramma. He is the emperor. If he wants you back, then back you must go.”
I knew that he was right, but I had to have one last try…
“Your majesty, do you love me enough to let me go?”
There was a long, long silence.
“Will you call me an honourable man if I do?”
“Yes, my Lord Beramo, I will sing of your honour all the way along the Silk Road.” Was he seriously considering not getting something that he wanted? Now he got to his feet and looked menacingly at Nawazandi.
“You will have a reward anyway, troubadour. But I will treble it if you change the ending to the story. Do you promise to sing about her coming back to me, declaring her love for me?”
Nawazandi bowed. “I give you my word, your majesty.”
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First published in published in 2024 (as Beth Rogers) in SLACK 6 by Marlow Writers’ Society.
Available on Amazon: SLACK – VOLUME SIX: Winter 2024 eBook : Writers’ Society, Marlow : Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store
