THE DAY THE SUN ATE THE MOUNTAINS

The last time that the Beatians saw the mountains was when Erie stopped singing. It was not Erie’s fault; the lack of mountains did not bother Erie. Neither did Erie think that singing can make the mountains disappear, why would anyone care about the mountains? No one ever visited these mountains, besides, not a living soul dared to climb up those mountains. Not after what happened to the girl with opal hair. It was probably a hundred years ago, or 2 days ago, or was it when Erie began singing? Does it matter anyway? It is fabled that the girl with the opal hair climbed up the mountains and was made to live there for eternity, it would have been fine had the mountains not been so unexciting, so vehemently dreary. Beatians fear boredom over anything else. Given a choice between a long life of careful abuses and a few years of reckless flattery the Beatians will never cease to choose the latter.

        Erie’s appearance was not the kind one would remember, it was not particularly significant, it was not that Erie was not good looking, it just did not possess the charm that is needed in a face or in a person to be remembered vividly, or even at all. Erie’s nights comprised ill-gotten currencies and a fervent desire to be remembered. Don’t we all covet what does not come naturally to us?? For Erie, it was creating a lasting impression. Had Erie not dreamt about the girl with the opal hair, the mountains would still exist. Some think that Erie had made the girl up to justify the incessant singing that continued till the sun came down and ate the mountains. Some even aggressively believed it was a desperate appeal for fame. Whatever be the reason Erie got what Erie wanted, at least for the time.

              

                     It all started the morning of the yearly festival. The Beatians would observe one day of revelry, not that there was a lack of it the other four thousand one hundred and fifty days. But on this day they would dress in their finest garments and do things that are expected to be done in festivals, I don’t really know what Beatian festivals consisted of. Erie woke up that day not hoping to be remembered for years to come. For as unimpressing as Erie was, Erie never failed to impress the people who were fortunate enough to listen to the stories that Erie had to tell. Below mentioned is the story/dream narrated by Erie.

“While returning home from my nightly duties from the blue oak, an incredible opalescent light drew me to its mystical embrace” The narration was interrupted shortly by Gregory the infamous town carouser. Gregory or as they call him Sponge, owing to his incredible ability to gulp down 10 pints of mead by 10 o’ clock in the morning, dropped a goblet causing Erie to stop speaking for a second. “………….the light was nothing like I had seen before, it was not the moon as the moon had gone to visit her brothers in the valley. As I walked towards it I could hear the trees talking about the girl. She walked to the forest and climbed up the mountains following a light. No, it was not this opalescent light, the trees were sure it was ruby red. Then it all went silent for a while and I could hear the wind, the wind as habitual was speaking in a tongue long forgotten with time. As I followed the light further, I saw the girl, the girl with opal hair. She was five, maybe six or a hundred, one can never know. She was sitting by a brook, the brook seemed to have no water but something that can be mistaken as water, no, it was more transparent than water normally is.”  Tawny saw the townsmen preparing for the parade and asked Erie to hurry up lest he misses it. “…… you thoughtless clown ! the town can wait, my story can’t. The girl sat there like she had nothing to do, can you fancy? Nothing to do, a life of such utmost futility. She did not seem to mind though. It is baffling how much she did not seem to mind. A Beatian fears an idle life, you either work or you die. The girl with the opal hair gestured me to go to her, curiosity took the better of me, and I did. She told me her story, the story of how the mountains don’t want to let her go and how she does not mind. But how she wishes the mountains disappeared so that she can disappear with them. She does not want to exist, nor does she want to be remembered. I asked her if I can tell her story and she agreed, as long as she does not exist, the story does not matter. A story is after all a story. Nothing more nothing less, that is it.  And the next thing I remember is waking up in my hut.” Sponge dismissively asked how Erie plans to get rid of the mountains. “Have you learned nothing?? A story is just a story. Stop asking what I plan to do with it”

             Erie got tired of thinking of ways to make the mountains disappear, how is it even possible to make something not exist anymore. The girl with the opal hair did not want to exist. Not existing is such an alien concept, Erie does not remember a time before existence. Does nonexistence exist? The parade had started and the Beatians were all gathered together in the town square, Sponger and Tawny were there too. Erie was still in the hut, still thinking up ways to make nonexistence exist. The girl with the opal hair was so unlike Erie, so elusive and such a frantic desire to be forgotten and all Erie wanted was to be known and to always exist. Sponge came in after the parade with some local mead that he vouched would clear up Erie’s mind and help Erie think better. The drunken stupor made Erie break into a song, not a song Beatians were familiar with or for the matter even Erie was familiar with. Erie was singing in the tongue of the winds. Erie sang and sang and sang.

No one knows how long Erie sang, not that anyone ever kept track. Erie was obviously insignificant, Erie’s song was nothing but a minor nuisance to the neighbors, but not enough to stop Erie. But the Beatians remember when the sun came down and gobbled up the mountains, it took just a second and they were gone. The mountains were gone and along with the girl with the opal hair. Erie stopped  the song not knowing how long it has been or how Erie managed to sing for so long without eating or sleeping. But Erie was now famous, not enough to be remembered for generations to come. Erie did not create anything, merely made the mountains not exist anymore. The mountains did not matter anyway.