The Story of Hiraman

The Story of Hiraman

Once, a bird-catcher wandered all day through fields and groves, but his net stayed empty. The sun had nearly reached the horizon when he heard an unusual rustling of wings overhead. A large green parrot settled on a branch. Its feathers shone like emeralds after rain, and golden speckles glimmered around its neck. The bird-catcher stood very still. “What a remarkable bird,” he whispered. He set his net carefully, scattered a little grain, and hid behind a bush. The parrot hopped down, took a few steps, and was caught. That evening the bird-catcher brought the parrot home. “Look what I found,” he told his wife. She came close and shook her head. “Such a fine, beautiful bird. It would be a pity to harm him. Take him to the market tomorrow. Perhaps someone kind will care for him.” Then the parrot spoke in a human voice. “Do not take me to the market. Take me straight to the king’s palace.” The bird-catcher was so surprised that he nearly dropped the cage. “You can talk?” “I speak when I have something worth saying,” answered the parrot. “Tell the king that my name is Hiraman. If he asks my price, say ten thousand rupees.” “Ten thousand?” cried the bird-catcher. “For one parrot?” “For an ordinary parrot, far too much,” said Hiraman. “For Hiraman, we shall see.” The next morning the bird-catcher went to the palace. The king was sitting in his garden when he heard about the unusual bird and ordered the cage brought before him. “So you are worth ten thousand rupees?” he asked with a smile. “No, Your Majesty. That is the price of finding out whether I can be useful to you.” The king laughed aloud. “Well said!” He paid the promised sum, and for Hiraman he ordered a spacious golden cage placed by the window of his rooms. But the cage was almost always open. Hiraman did not run away. He flew about the garden, returned when called, told amusing stories, and noticed things that others missed. In time, the king grew so used to talking with the parrot that he could spend hours with no other companion. He came less often to see his six queens, and they began to resent it. “Because of that bird, he has forgotten us,” said one. “Hiraman is always beside him,” said another. “We must make him fly away and never return.” One day, while the king was away inspecting distant fields, the queens called Hiraman to them. “They say you are very wise,” said the eldest. “Settle a dispute for us. Which of us is the most beautiful?” Hiraman looked at them gravely from his cage. “Such an important question cannot be settled through bars. Let me out so I may fly around you and look properly.” The queens opened the cage door. Hiraman flew one circle around the room, another above the inner courtyard, and on the third he rose into a tall palm. “Hiraman!” the queens called. “Come back!” “I will return when people speak honestly to me,” the parrot replied, and disappeared beyond the rooftops. When the king returned, he was told the bird had flown away. Nearby lived a woodcutter who had seen the green parrot by a stream and heard his story. He led the king there, and Hiraman returned to perch on the king’s shoulder. The king listened to everyone and understood that he, too, had helped create the quarrel. “I became so enchanted by a new friend that I forgot the people already beside me,” he said. For a time the queens stayed in country homes, so that tempers in the palace could settle. Later they returned and asked Hiraman to forgive them. From then on, the king tried to give his attention to everyone, not only to the most fascinating voice in the room. One warm evening, he and Hiraman sat on the terrace as the wind drifted over the garden. “You have flown far,” said the king. “Have you ever seen a land unlike ours?” Hiraman thought. “Beyond seven seas and thirteen rivers lies another country. A young ruler lives there, admired not only for her beauty, but for being wise, brave, and willing to listen. Her palace stands among gardens, and white flowers shine above its roofs at night.” The king looked at the stars for a long time. “I would like to meet her.” “Then the road will not be easy,” Hiraman warned. “An ordinary horse cannot make it.” The next day the king ordered all the palace horses brought before him. Among the sturdy stallions, Hiraman flew to the weakest-looking horse of all. It stood in the farthest corner, thin, shaggy, and nothing like a hero from a tale. “This is our horse,” said the parrot. The stablekeeper laughed. “That one can scarcely walk across the yard.” “Because no one has cared for him properly,” said Hiraman. “He is Pakshiraj, a winged horse.” The king ordered the horse to be given good grain, a clean coat, and gentle exercise in the sun every day. One month passed, then another, then a third. After half a year, Pakshiraj had changed. His flanks were strong, his mane gleamed, and one morning two powerful wings unfolded from his shoulders. Hiraman nodded with satisfaction. “Now we may go.” He also asked for a little bag of silver khoy—light grains of toasted rice that shone in moonlight. Before they left, the parrot warned the king, “Pakshiraj needs only one light signal to take flight. Do not urge him a second time. Winged horses dislike impatience.” The king promised to remember. Pakshiraj ran along the garden path and rose into the sky. They flew over seas that glittered like blue glass by day and became black and endless at night. They crossed one river, then another, then the thirteenth. At last Hiraman pointed down with his wing. “There is the garden.” They landed behind the ruler’s palace wall. Hiraman scattered the silver khoy in a thin shining trail from the garden to a great tree where the travelers hid. That night the young ruler stepped onto her balcony and saw the strange light in the grass. “It is as if stars have fallen into the garden,” she said. She went down and followed the silver trail. Beneath the tree she met Hiraman. “Do not be afraid,” said the parrot. “I have flown from far away with someone who hoped to meet you.” The king stepped from the shadow and bowed. “I heard of your country and came a long way. But if my arrival is unwelcome, I will return home.” The young ruler looked at the winged horse, then at the parrot, then at the stranger. “You crossed seven seas just to speak with me?” “And thirteen rivers,” Hiraman added. She laughed. They spoke for a long time beneath the tree. The king told her of his country, and she told him of hers. When it was time to part, she said, “All my life I have heard of lands beyond the seas. I would like to see them for myself. I will travel with you on one condition: if I wish to return, you will help me reach my home.” “I promise,” said the king. They climbed onto Pakshiraj, while Hiraman perched at the front of the saddle. The winged horse lifted into the air as lightly as if carried by the wind. At first, the journey home was calm. But when familiar shores appeared ahead, the king was so happy that he forgot Hiraman’s warning and gave Pakshiraj a second impatient signal to hurry. The horse shuddered. “I said one signal!” cried Hiraman. Pakshiraj’s wings lost their steady rhythm, and he had to land in an unfamiliar forest. “He cannot fly farther until he has rested,” said the parrot. Not far away stood another palace. Its ruler heard of strangers with a winged horse and sent guards to learn who they were. The ruler was suspicious. “A winged horse, a talking parrot, travelers with no escort—this is a very strange tale. Until we understand it, you will stay here.” The guests were separated. The young ruler was given rooms in a guest tower, and the king was placed in another wing of the palace. During the confusion, a fierce dust storm blew up. The king could not shield his eyes, and when it passed, he could barely see. “Do not be afraid,” said Hiraman, settling on his shoulder. “On fairy-tale roads, trouble often arrives with a clue. We only have to find it.” Meanwhile, the young ruler asked the local king for six quiet months. “I will care for the winged horse until he is well,” she said, “and I will do nothing in secret.” He agreed. Each day she fed Pakshiraj, brushed his mane, and led him into the yard. There she scattered grain for wild birds. “Fly far,” she told them. “Perhaps one of you will meet a green parrot called Hiraman.” The birds carried her words from tree to tree. One morning Hiraman heard them. “She is here!” he cried. He flew to the tower, and the young ruler greeted him as joyfully as an old friend. “The king can hardly see,” Hiraman told her. “I must find a remedy.” “What do you need?” The parrot remembered an old bird legend. Far beyond the seas, at the top of a high tree, lived the bihangama and bihangami birds. In the morning, healing dew gathered beside their nest, said to bring clear sight back to weary eyes. “It is a long journey,” said the young ruler. “For wings, the only truly distant road is one we do not dare to fly,” said Hiraman. And he flew. He crossed rivers, rested on ship masts, sheltered from rain beneath broad leaves, and at last reached the tree with the magical nest. The young bihangama and bihangami heard his request and allowed him to gather a few drops of healing dew on a leaf. “Take only what you need,” they said. “That is all I will take,” promised Hiraman. He carried the precious drops carefully home. When he returned, the young ruler guided him to the king. They brushed the healing dew over his eyelids, and the darkness before his eyes began to brighten. First he saw a green blur. “Hiraman?” he whispered. “Who else did you expect to see first?” the parrot replied. Then came the outline of a window, a tree, and the sky. His sight returned. By then Pakshiraj, too, had grown strong again. His wings were powerful once more. The young ruler asked to speak with the local king. Together they told the entire story from the beginning. He listened, looked at the recovered horse, and finally said, “I was too suspicious. You are free to go.” “Next time, perhaps ask questions before locking your guests in different wings of the palace,” added Hiraman. The ruler even smiled. Pakshiraj stepped into the courtyard. The king took the saddle, the young ruler sat behind him, and Hiraman settled between the horse’s ears. “And how many signals does a winged horse need to fly?” asked the parrot. “One,” said the king. “At last.” Pakshiraj spread his wings and rose into the air. This time the king did not hurry him. They crossed thirteen rivers and seven seas in peace and returned to the king’s palace. The young ruler stayed long enough to know the country for herself, not through anyone else’s stories. She exchanged letters with her own home, advised the king in matters of the realm, and often reminded him that a good ruler must listen not only to the loudest voice. Later, when they were both certain of their choice, they celebrated their wedding. Hiraman remained their friend. His cage stood by the window, but its door was never closed. For a wise bird, like true friendship, stays closest when it has the freedom to fly.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨