There is a story the bees used to tell, which makes it hard to disbelieve. #Storytime
On the edge of a great desert, where the wind blew incessantly from the east, there lived a cruel, tyrannical king. #Storytime
He lived in a golden palace surrounded by beautiful gardens, encircled all around by a wall, for this king, remarkable only by his tyranny and selfishness, had grown increasingly fearful as he entered his dotage. #Storytime
He grew increasingly certain that his people wished him dead – and for the most part he was right, for he was a cruel and selfish King, whose reign had brought nothing to the land but war and famine and pestilence. #Storytime
His servants secretly cursed his name. His courtiers hated and feared him. His wife, the Queen, lived for the day when she would be left a widow; and it had been many, many years since he walked among his people. #Storytime
His courtiers, fearing his temper, tried very hard to placate him. “Your people love you, Your Majesty,” they would repeat, when the King flew into one of his rages. “Only a minority of radicals and cowards wish you harm.” #Storytime
The King was vain, and therefore inclined to believe his courtiers’ flattery. From the safety of his palace, surrounded by acres of beautiful gardens, he was seldom reminded of the existence of his subjects. #Storytime
But whenever the east wind blew, the sound of their lamentations at his gates reached him once more from afar, and spoilt his pleasure in his lawns and gracious paths, and orangeries. #Storytime
“Let thousands of singing birds be released into the Palace grounds,” he said. “Let their voices drown out the sounds of these angry radicals.”#Storytime
And so his courtiers released cages of songbirds into the Palace grounds. The birds perched in the trees, and sang, and for a while the King was content, and the lament of his sorrowing people was lost in the singing of the birds.#Storytime
But days passed, and the birds flew away across the desert to greener climes, for they were free, and had no need to remain in the Palace gardens. And as the east wind blew, the sound of cries and lamentations once more came to disturb the King. #Storytime
“Let my court musicians come and regale me with music and song,” he said. “The cries of these rebels and renegades are displeasing to my ears. Let them be silenced immediately. I will have only refinement and beauty and splendour all around me.”#Storytime
And so his court musicians came to play their most cheerful music. They followed the King wherever he went, and when they heard the peoples’ lament, they played with especial vigour, in the hope that the King would be content. #Storytime
But the King was not content. Whenever the wind blew from the east, the sounds of protest reached him still, and the thought of the mob outside his gates spoilt his delight in the music. #Storytime
“Let the protesters be driven away from the Palace gates,” he said. Let them be driven far away from the heart of the city, and let a great enclosure be built, protecting the Palace from evil.” #Storytime
And so his guards drove the people away back to the slums of the city, and built a great wall, with a golden gate, around the city centre. #Storytime
They cleared the streets and promenades, and had slaves dressed in the finest clothes walk about the streets all day. And when the King came into view, these richly-clad slaves would call out his name and applaud, and cheer, and throw flowers. #Storytime
And yet, for all this flattery, the King still heard the harsh east wind blowing from the desert. It blew between the golden bars of the newly-erected gate, and it made a sound like the lament of a million suffering people. #Storytime
At night, when the King lay alone in bed, he heard that ominous keening sound. And when he walked in his gardens, he heard; and when he sat down at table. #Storytime
“It is the wind, Your Majesty,” said the servants nervously. “You are loved and respected; the sound is only that of the bad east wind.”#Storytime
And so the King declared war on the wind; and ordered more and more walls and gates to be built against it. But the more he built, the more the wind blew between the bars of those golden gates. #Storytime
And the east wind blew until the sound of its voice filled the land, and all the folk rose up at last, and tore down every gate, every wall, every statue and memorial, until there was nothing left of the King but the desert, and the harsh east wind.
#Storytime
The end
#Storytime
The end
