As the lights go dim I retire into my bed with visions
of daily living running through my head. In a few moments, I am transported
into the world of dreams. Dreams where I see cackling witches sitting on dusty
brooms and speeding off into misty skies, of pretty princesses locked up in
high towers and ugly toads turning into handsome princes the minute they get released
from their wicked spells. As the morning sunlight slides through the thick
window blinds with a slight twinge I realize that my fairy tale dream has come
to an end. These dreams have filled me with warmth as soft and gooey as marshmallows.
They say dreams are the mirror to your soul and I cling on to them, because they
stir something deep within me making me believe that my soul belongs someplace else;
from a long forgotten era, wrapped up in fantasies of enchanting stories from
faraway lands.
For instance I find the
tale of “The Pied Piper” fascinating and bewildering at the same time. With his
red pointed shiny hat, a tiny beard twitching at his chin and a cape loosely
thrown over his shoulders he makes a very queer picture. But he has immense prowess
stacked up inside him as he succeeds in banishing an entire colony of rats from
the city of Hamelin. Hypnotized, rats from all nooks and corner; big fat ones,
skinny ones, some having their tails standing erect all jump and scuttle to the
strain of Pied Piper’s flute. He finally leads them to the sea, where they all
perish. But poor Pied Piper gets a raw deal when the people of Hamelin do not
stick to their end of the bargain. As part of revenge he leads all the kids
from the city; golden haired girls with rosy cheeks and boys with pearly white teeth
and shiny shoes to a merry trail of dance and music. The whole fairy tale has
this unreal fantasy woven around it as the children flounder behind Pied Piper following
him in a trance. In my many childish fantasies I had come to think of myself as
one of the kids clambering on to the hill top, happily rambling behind Pied
Piper as he takes us to the mouth of a huge dark cave. Beautiful visions are
assured that once we enter the cave, we shall all topple to the other side of
life which promises blissful joys, colourful candies, a forest where honeybees have lost their stings
and where horses wore eagle’s wings and finally a garden which is a paradise
blazing with sweet scented roses.
And then there is my eternal favourite fairy
tale character “Rapunzel” seated atop a lonely chamber, all by herself,
ensconced in a fortress so tall, which is impossible for any man to scale it.
In this story, I do not envision myself as Rapunzel for her beauty is one which
no living mortal can surpass, but I could be a mere bystander maybe a tiny
mouse living between the ruined walls of the tall tower, playing hide and seek
with day and light, watching Rapunzel’s love story unravel before me. In my
fantasy, my face is plastered to a tiny hole as I literally stay there morning,
noon and night watching her every move with my beady eyes. I am mesmerised with
her beauty. Her skin is so pale and translucent; it glows when the flames from
the firewood embers casts its gleaming specs, her quivering mouth has the
deepest set of red lips and finally her hair. Beautiful long tresses falling
like a golden sheet of finely spun gossamer yarn, casting a shadow of glittering
yellow all around. She has a voice so divine, that even the birds outside the
fort stop chirping just to listen to her melodious singing. It is filled with
melancholy and pain of being trapped inside the tower, but it is this very
soulful singing that one day entraps a handsome royal prince riding in the
woods, making him stop by and fall in love with her. As the days go by, every
evening, Rapunzel lets down her golden braid so that her lover can use it as a
rope to climb up and visit her. There is something so clandestine and charming
about the whole romance from that era that it takes my breath away. Maybe there
is a tragic ending out there but I shut my mind towards it.
And who can forget little
Thumbelina. No taller than the size of a little thumb, she portrays a picture
of a delicate elusive little maiden. Her bed is cushioned with soft blue
leaves, enclosed in a walnut shell and rose petals aid as her blanket. Her
perilous journey begins when one day she is whisked from her comforts by a large
ugly toad who insists she marries his equally ugly son. She manages to escape
only to land up at a mouse’s house who introduces her to his friend a dark,
shortsighted mole. The mole falls in love with Thumbelina and wants her to become
his wedded wife. Thumbelina’s life is in doldrums and this is the part where I
envision myself coming to her rescue in the form of a friendly swallow. With my
wings outstretched I let her nestle at the croon of my neck and together we
manage our escape from the dark tunnel. Soaring over snowcapped mountains and
beautiful hilltops we finally reach a warmer place where I drop her into a
little blossoming flower. Here, she finally finds her man of dreams the King of
the Angel Fairies who is as tiny as her.
In all the above tales, I do not see myself as
the main protagonist. At times, I am only a mere onlooker in the back run
watching the sequence of events unfold around me. These fairy tales will always
be surrounded with an age old beauty that shall never get dull with the passage
of time. There will be stories told of ogres and the fiery dragons being run
over and trampled by handsome princes, magical goblins hidden in beautiful
scented flowers, tiny dwarfs acting as soldiers and protecting pretty princesses,
fairy angels springing up and spreading their special charms. So the good will
always triumph over the evil and as long as these tales continue to stir magic
into my soul and fantasies are spun around them, every minute of living becomes
worth it.
So dream on; tell me who your favourite fairy
tale character is?
