Narhdarn the Bat

Narhdarn the Bat

It is said that in the old days Narhdarn the bat loved honey very much. Whenever he caught its sweet scent somewhere among the trees, he could think of nothing else.

One warm morning Narhdarn saw Wurranunna the bee. She landed on a flower, gathered pollen, and rose into the air again.

“There is someone who can show me the way to honey,” Narhdarn whispered.

He noticed the direction in which the bee flew and set off after her. Wurranunna vanished among the branches and then appeared again in a shaft of sunlight. Narhdarn followed her for a long time. When the twilight grew thick, he remembered the place where he had last seen her and returned to the camp.

The next morning he called two Bilber sisters.

“I have found a tree where bees live,” he said. “There must be plenty of honey there. Let us go together.”

The sisters took light woven baskets. The way was not short, but Narhdarn hurried as though the honey might run away on its own feet.

“Slow down,” the elder Bilber asked. “We are not late for anything.”

“Just a little farther!” Narhdarn replied. “You will see what wonderful honey there is!”

At last they came to a tall tree with a narrow crack in its trunk. A soft buzzing drifted out of it.

“Here it is!” Narhdarn rejoiced. “I was not mistaken.”

The elder sister studied the trunk carefully.

“The opening is very narrow. First we should widen it with a wooden wedge, and we must not disturb the bees without need.”

But Narhdarn already wanted to taste the honey.

“Why make so much trouble? Put your hand in and take out a piece of honeycomb.”

“It is better not to hurry,” she said.

“Only a little,” Narhdarn insisted.

The elder Bilber carefully slipped her hand into the crack. For a moment all was well, but when she tried to pull her hand out, it became stuck between the rough edges of the tree.

“Narhdarn, do not pull!” she said at once. “We must think.”

But Narhdarn was frightened. He seized her by the shoulder and began to tug.

“We will get you out now!”

“Stop! You are only making it worse!”

The younger Bilber climbed up to them and said firmly, “What we need now is not strength, but thought.”

She climbed down, found a sturdy branch, made it into a wedge, and slowly spread the sides of the crack apart. The elder sister freed her hand.

Red marks remained on her skin, but she could move her fingers.

Narhdarn breathed out.

“There, everything is all right. Now we can get the honey.”

Both sisters looked at him in such a way that he fell silent.

“No,” said the elder. “First we are going home.”

“But we are already here!”

“That is exactly why you stopped hearing anything but the word ‘honey,’” said the younger. “That is enough for today.”

Narhdarn frowned. He was ashamed, but he was even more sorry to leave the honey in the tree.

“I did not mean to do anything bad,” he muttered.

“Meaning something and doing something are not the same,” said the elder Bilber. “When someone warns you about danger, you must listen.”

They began the journey home. Narhdarn hardly spoke along the way.

When they came close to the camp, the younger Bilber sisters ran out to meet them.

“Did you bring honey?”

“No,” the elder sister answered.

“What happened?”

Narhdarn quickly said, “The bees hid it too deep. Nothing could be done.”

The elder Bilber turned to him in surprise.

“That is not the whole truth.”

Narhdarn pretended not to hear.

Before long, the sisters’ mother heard about the adventure. She examined her daughter’s hand and asked Narhdarn, “Tell me what happened at the tree.”

“What is there to tell?” he said. “Wurranunna led us to an awkward place. That is all.”

“The bee did not make anyone hurry,” said the younger Bilber quietly.

That evening the elders of the community invited everyone to sit together. No one shouted or threatened. They simply asked each person to tell the truth in turn.

First the elder Bilber spoke. Then the younger one. At last it was Narhdarn’s turn.

He looked at the ground for a long time.

All around was quiet. Only night insects and the rustling leaves could be heard.

“I wanted honey,” he said at last. “I wanted it very much. I heard the advice, but I did not want to wait. When Bilber’s hand became stuck, I began to pull her instead of stopping. Then I was ashamed, so I tried to pretend that nothing had happened.”

One of the elder women asked, “What was worse: that you made a mistake, or that you hid it?”

Narhdarn thought.

“Probably the second. We can mend a mistake together. But when you keep silent, others do not know what to watch out for.”

“Well said,” she replied.

Bilber’s mother turned to him.

“Now tell us what you will do differently next time.”

Narhdarn raised his head.

“I will not rush. If someone says it is dangerous, I will stop. And if something happens, I will not hide the truth.”

“And the honey?” one of the little sisters asked.

Everyone smiled.

Narhdarn smiled too.

“The honey can wait.”

A few days later they went to the tree again. This time experienced gatherers went with them. They did not reach into the narrow crack with their hands. First they calmly examined the trunk, prepared a safe opening, and took only part of the honey, leaving the bees enough stores.

Narhdarn stood nearby and watched carefully.

“Do you understand now?” the elder Bilber asked.

“I do,” he nodded. “The shortest road to honey can sometimes be the longest road to trouble.”

The younger sister laughed.

“That sounds like wisdom at last.”

When they returned, they shared the honey among everyone. The youngest received a drop on a finger, the older ones added it to their food, and Narhdarn carried his share to Bilber’s mother.

“This is because I did not listen to your daughters,” he said.

She accepted the basket and answered, “Honey does not make an apology real. What makes it real is how you behave after it.”

Narhdarn remembered those words.

From then on, whenever he saw Wurranunna the bee, he no longer rushed after her, forgetting everything else. First he looked at where the path led, who was going with him, and whether it would be safe to return.

And if one of the younger ones hurried too much, Narhdarn would smile and say, “I know a story about honey that almost became dearer than all the sweetness in the world.”

Then everyone would sit a little closer, and he would begin from the very start: with Wurranunna the bee, the tall tree, and the day he learned that courage is not doing everything alone and quickly. Sometimes true courage is stopping, listening, and honestly saying, “I was wrong.”

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨