The Magic Pipe

Whether it was long ago or not so long ago, whether it happened this way or not—now no one knows for sure.

Well, let us tell you what grandfathers told their grandchildren, and grandchildren told their grandchildren.

Once upon a time, people lived in a land of peace and harmony. There was plenty of land, space everywhere—no one got in each other's way, and if someone faced misfortune, others would help and overcome the trouble together.

But then, a terrible, fearsome dragon began flying into those lands from somewhere. He started flying around, stealing people's goods and dragging them to his lair.

He gathered so much wealth that he had nowhere to put it! So he decided to build himself a grand palace. But he didn’t know how to work and was lazy. The dragon wasn’t used to labor. So he began capturing people and dragging them to his lair.

He would catch people and force them to build his palace, dig deep moats, raise high embankments, and surround it with thick fences. And he ordered his servants—the overseers and henchmen—to show no mercy, to beat and punish the people.

The people worked for the dragon, toiling day and night, grieving, cursing their bitter fate, and dying before their time.

And the dragon kept capturing more and more people. With their labor, he built so many palaces that they were countless, laid roads between them, and erected fences and palisades.

The people swelled from hunger, dying like flies. And the worse it got, the more hopeless it seemed: there was no escape from the dragon.

But then the dragon grew old, weakened, and lay barely breathing, unable to capture people or steal their goods anymore.

Meanwhile, the dragon’s servants—the overseers and henchmen—became lords themselves and began spreading out from the dragon’s palaces, chasing after the people. And the people suffered even more under these lords than they had under the dragon. There was no hiding from them: they had overrun the entire kingdom.

And so as not to resemble ordinary people, the lords came up with new names and nicknames for themselves. One called himself Wolf, another Bear or some other beast, another Kite, Crow, or even a tree. But they called the common people nothing but "cattle."

The people served the dragon, served the lords, gave up their last possessions, and lived in hunger and cold, never seeing the light of day.

And so they lived. Some died, others were born, but there was no relief. And no one knew what to do to change their lives.

And then, a boy was born in that land. He was so weak—he fell ill as a child and never recovered. He grew up so frail that even the lords didn’t bother him, didn’t force him into labor: he was useless to everyone.

He grew older but still played with children like a little one. And the people called him Ivan the Simpleton.

In winter, Ivan the Simpleton sat on the stove, making toys out of wood chips, and in summer, he sifted sand on the porch.

One day, three wandering elders came to the village where Ivan the Simpleton lived. Wherever they went, it was empty, not a soul in sight: the lords had driven everyone to work.

The elders saw Ivan on the porch and came into his yard to rest.

They sat down, caught their breath, and filled their pipes with tobacco. They rummaged through their pockets but found no flint to light a fire. So they asked Ivan for a light. Ivan went into the house, gathered some embers from the hearth, and brought them to the elders.

The elders lit their pipes, thanked Ivan, and asked what he did at home.

"I sift sand on the porch," Ivan replied. "But whatever I do, it all goes to the lords."

The wandering elders listened to Ivan, shook their heads, then took up their lyres and began to play loudly.

The first time they played, they gave Ivan great wisdom.

The second time they played, they gave him the gift of words and music.

The third time they played, they filled his heart with anger toward the lords.

The elders left, and Ivan felt a light in his mind and a boiling anger in his heart toward the lords... He began to take action, preparing for a journey.

He made himself a merry flute and played it so beautifully that not only people but also animals and birds stopped to listen.

Ivan began walking among the people, playing his magical flute and telling the truth about the dragon and his servants.

People’s eyes began to open. They saw that a great injustice lived in the world: some ruled, others suffered, some had immeasurable wealth, while others starved to death.

And wherever Ivan went, people gained wisdom from him, grabbing their scythes and axes.

The lords thought and plotted how to rid the world of Ivan. They began gathering an army to find him. They heard a voice in the east—they rushed there. Sabers clashed, pikes stood like a forest, cannons roared like thunder, but Ivan was nowhere to be seen...

The lords and their army stopped, stood, and listened. Suddenly, they heard a voice in the west—Ivan’s flute was playing, teaching the people, rousing them to a great battle. A murmur spread from village to village, from one end of the land to the other.

The lords rushed westward. Horses flew like the wind, sabers clashed, cannons fired, but they didn’t know where Ivan was.

And from that day on, the dragon’s servants had no peace, day or night. As soon as they heard the flute, a chill ran down their spines: they awaited disaster like a bull awaits the slaughter.

And the flute whistled, the flute played, the murmur spread far and wide, gathering the people. It could not be caught, nor shot down by cannons. It carved its path everywhere, knowing no obstacles.

The flute played and played, troubling the lords, and when the time came, it would destroy them all.

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The Magic Pipe

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