Trandafir - the Wheat Grain

This happened a long, long time ago, when the bear was a puppy, the donkey was a young calf, and the wolf herded sheep under the mountain, filling the valleys with the sound of his flute. In those days, Krasen-tsar ruled in the south. He had reigned for many years, but he had no children. When sorrow and worry over this misfortune surrounded him from all sides, a guest appeared on the royal bed—the queen gave birth to a boy, beautiful and strong, and they named him Trandafir-the Wheat Grain. The king and queen ruled the country in peace and harmony with all the people. In their old age, they folded their hands on their chests and passed away. Their son, Trandafir-the Wheat Grain, who was then in the prime of his life, ascended the throne. He took the crown and began to rule as one should, but as the saying goes: when a flower blooms, the bee will gather its pollen.

Unnoticed, the fire of love crept up on the king and began to burn him, and he no longer cared for royal affairs or the advice of wise elders. Oh, where was he to care for such things now? The king heard nothing, saw nothing—he did not live, but merely existed, tormented by the heat of love in his heart. Like a gust of wind disturbing the leaves of a tree, his soul trembled with the premonition of heartache.

One fine day, abandoning his royal duties, he saddled his horse and set off on a journey. He rode for a long time and reached a steppe of extraordinary beauty. He rode further and arrived at some kingdom. It was evening, and he stopped to spend the night with the king. The king, of course, received him as kings are received: seated him at the table, treated him to a glass of wine, and offered him food. They began to talk. This and that, and the king learned the reason for his guest's suffering. And just as the spring wind melts the snow on the hills and drives bubbling streams into the valley, so the young king's words stirred the king's hospitality: they remembered the wealth and greatness of the guest, and besides, the king had a daughter of marriageable age. Before long, the adorned and dressed-up maiden was sitting next to the king. There was an abundance of food around, and the feast was merry. The young couple took a liking to each other, and that very evening they became engaged, setting the wedding day for exactly two weeks later.

The next morning, Trandafir-the Wheat Grain bid farewell to everyone, saddled his horse, and rode home to announce the wedding to his kingdom and begin preparations. He crossed many borders, large and small kingdoms, and arrived at the palace of another king, where he made a stop. Here, he was seated at the table with honors, as befits a king, and a young one at that—a guest is always dear everywhere. As they sat at the table, the king's daughter entered, beautiful and adorned from head to toe in gold, silver, and precious stones. The young king took one look at her and instantly fell in love. As long as he sat at the table, he could not take his eyes off her—so enchanted was he by the maiden. He even forgot about the king's daughter. Such is the way of things: when the moon rises in the sky, the stars fade. Amid the food and drink, there was conversation, and amid the conversation, there was food and drink, until the engagement. Once engaged, they set the wedding day for exactly two weeks later. The enamored and jubilant king hurried home to inform his subjects and begin preparations for the wedding. He had not gone far when he was suddenly overcome with fear and shame, wishing he could disappear into the ground. How could he have proposed to two brides at once and set the wedding day for the same time? Had anyone ever heard of such a thing? "What will people say when they hear of such folly?" he thought. "They will point their fingers at me and laugh. Not only will they laugh, but no one will ever give me their daughter in marriage again."

Distraught, he let the reins fall on the saddle, let the horse amble on, and began to ponder. He rode like this for a while and found himself in a valley. A wide river flowed peacefully through it. He followed the river and arrived at a village. At the outskirts, near a bend in the river, women were washing clothes. The rider approached them and greeted them: "Good day, women."

"May your heart be good, logothete!"

Looking at the women, the king saw a girl sitting on a rock, ragged and in tatters. She kept hiding and shrinking into a ball to cover the holes in her dress. Yet she was so beautiful that light seemed to emanate from her reflection in the water. Her face was smiling, like a spring day when the sun warms the earth and the grass turns green. Trandafir-the Wheat Grain froze at the sight of such beauty. He could not move forward, backward, left, or right. His heart trembled, his soul sighed, tears welled up in his eyes, and roses bloomed on his cheeks—so enchanted was he by the maiden. What more can be said? Just as the moon in May makes flowers bloom in the field, so the beautiful maiden made his heart tremble. Trandafir dismounted, took the maiden's hand, and asked her name.

"Ilyana," she replied, blushing and shy.

"Where do you live?"

"In this village, in the valley."

"All alone?"

"No, I have a mother and father."

"What do they do?"

"Ever since I can remember, they have been weaving mats. Father weaves, mother hands him the reeds, they weave and weave, and then take them to the market."

"Let us go to your parents."

The girl gathered her belongings, and the two of them set off for the village. They walked, turning from the path to the road, from the road to the path, passing through dark alleys, and finally stopped at a half-ruined, dilapidated shack. Trandafir tied his horse to the doorpost and entered the house.

"Greetings, good people."

"May your heart be good, welcome," said the girl's parents, thinking that this must be a wealthy merchant who had come from afar to buy mats or reeds for new rugs. But they were mistaken, poor souls. They talked for a while, and then the stranger suddenly removed his hat and bowed, saying:

"Father and mother of the beautiful maiden, I mean no offense and no disrespect to your poverty, but would you bless your daughter to become my betrothed, my bride?"

The man, hearing this, said:

"Oh, dear sir, you live in a palace, while we live in a shack. Surely, you must be mocking us."

"No, no, I speak the truth."

"Can't you see that we are poor, without even shirts on our backs? You live in wealth and comfort—no, this conversation is pointless."

"Love is more precious than anything in the world."

"Ah, good man, even a door has two thresholds, and it is much worse to stumble over the upper one than the lower one."

"I do not argue with that, but it is time to end this conversation. Here is money—pay off your debts and prepare for the wedding," said the king, handing the poor couple two tightly stuffed purses so they could quickly buy everything needed for the betrothal.

Believing and yet not believing, the husband and wife set off to make the purchases. With what they had—and what they did not have—they set the table and betrothed their daughter. The wedding day was set for exactly two weeks later.

Trandafir-the Wheat Grain did not want to leave the poor man's shack, just as a man does not want to part with life. But there was nothing to be done—he had to part with his bride, return to his kingdom, announce the wedding, and prepare the feast. Ilyana accompanied Trandafir-the king to the outskirts of the village, to the top of the hill, and there they said their goodbyes. The horse galloped down the road, and the betrothed kept looking back at the maiden, who waved to him until she disappeared in the distance.

After riding for a while, Trandafir began to grieve and despair again, as if the hour of his death had come. And how could he...
It was no time for sorrow when he remembered that he had become engaged to three brides at once and set the wedding day for all of them exactly two weeks later! What a predicament! And now he had to decide which of the three to marry: the king's daughter, the tsar's daughter, or the peasant's daughter. Thoughts plagued him all along the way, and the more he pondered, the more distressed he became. The young tsar found himself in trouble and was as lost as a traveler at a crossroads. From grief and frustration, he could no longer see the light of day. Completely bewildered, he rode through many fields and desolate places, and under the canopy of the forest, he encountered a hare, thin and crippled, barely dragging its legs. Seeing Trandafir-the-wheat-grain, the hare began to plead with him, crying from pain:

"Oh, brave one, heal me, and a great reward will be yours for your kindness, if I survive."

"And what has happened to you, dear hare?"

"A pack of wolves chased me, and I barely escaped their fangs."

"Well, how can I help you?"

"Take me home, or the wolves will catch me again."
"And where is your home, long-eared one?"

"In the Cherry Palace, deep in the forest."

The hare's plea and its unfortunate fate moved Trandafir-the-wheat-grain. He took the hare in his arms and set off on his journey, urging his horse onward until he found himself in the heart of a vast, dense forest. In that forest stood a palace made of cherry trees. The trees grew so close together that their branches and leaves intertwined tightly, and not even a drop of rain reached the ground. Trandafir-the-wheat-grain dismounted, entered the palace, and there he saw... what do you think? Tables set with food, burning torches, and in the depths of the palace, on a throne, sat the king of the long-eared ones, surrounded by countless hares: some spinning their ears, others sitting with them drooping. Trandafir approached the throne and released the hare.

When the king saw the hare, he nearly burst into tears: it was his son.

"Father, my radiant sovereign, do not weep—better thank the traveler: had he not picked me up, who knows if we would have ever met again."
The king ordered his subjects to summon all the healers in the land to cure his unfortunate son at once, while Trandafir was seated at the head of the table, next to the royal chair, and the king began to thank him and ask how he could repay him for his good deed.

"Perhaps with gold, or precious stones?" the king asked.

"I need nothing in the whole world, radiant sovereign, for I have a wound in my heart."

"What kind of wound?"

"Well, I shall begin my tale from the very beginning. I am Trandafir-the-wheat-grain, son of King Krasen. I was very young when the reins of power passed to me. I ruled as the times and circumstances demanded, but when the time came to marry, no one could hold me back—I saddled my horse and rode across the wide world to seek my betrothed. I rode and rode and stopped to rest in the palace of a certain king, who had a daughter. She pleased me, and I became engaged to her, setting the wedding day for two weeks later. On my way back to prepare for the wedding, I stopped at the court of another king, and he too had a beautiful daughter. As if someone had robbed me of my senses, I forgot about my betrothed and became engaged to the king's daughter, setting the wedding day for two weeks later. I rejoiced and celebrated until I crossed the border of that kingdom. But as soon as I did, I was overcome with such fear and dread that I did not know what to do—I feared ridicule and scorn from others. What kind of thing is this, to become engaged to two brides at once and set the wedding for the same day! Deep in thought, I let go of the reins, and my horse carried me wherever its eyes led. It carried me and carried me until it reached a valley where women were washing clothes in a river. Among them was a maiden, ragged and in tatters, but of exquisite beauty. And just as the wind scatters leaden clouds, so did the beautiful maiden banish fear and confusion from my soul, and without much ado, I became engaged to her. The wedding day was set again for two weeks later. Now, radiant king, judge for yourself: which of them should I choose as my bride—the king's daughter, the tsar's daughter, or the poor man's daughter?"

The hare king fell into thought but could not come up with a solution, so he ordered all his judges to be summoned. The judges arrived—humble, bowing respectfully. They listened to the matter and began to deliberate, but no matter how much they reasoned, they arrived at three different conclusions. Some said: the king should marry the king's daughter, for he was engaged to her first. Others said: he should marry the tsar's daughter, for she pleased him more. Thankfully, there were also those who believed that Trandafir should marry the poor man's daughter, for she was more beautiful than the other brides and dearer to the king's heart.

The debates and deliberations continued, and the judges would likely have conferred for a long time if one of them had not spoken up:

"Brothers, the devil is surely involved here, no doubt about it. He stirred this pot, so let him deal with it."

"But where will we find him?"

"His abode is not far from here," replied the hare king. Since the young man was in a hurry, they assigned a hare as his guide, and in that very moment, they set off on their journey—the hare leading the way, the rider following, until they reached the gates of the devil's fortress. On a copper plaque at the entrance was written: "Whoever wishes to speak with the devil must first measure strength with him three times, and whoever measures strength but does not overcome the devil must bid farewell to the light of day." Trandafir read the inscription and shuddered with fear, but he knocked on the gates, and out came the devil himself.

"Welcome!"

"Thank you."

"Are you planning to measure strength with me?" asked the devil.

"If you wish."

"My agreement will be your end."

"No, yours."

"Ha-ha-ha! I've never met anyone so stubborn. Well then, let's first measure our speed. Let's see who can run around the fortress faster."

"You really want to measure strength with me?" Trandafir asked in surprise. "You won't even take a step before I run the whole way around. And so you won't be surprised later, try to outrun my little brother first," said Trandafir, pointing to the hare.

"Let's go!"

And off they ran—dust swirled in the air. But the devil fell behind... he-he! He returned much later than the hare, barely catching his breath, furious and seething.
- "Well, what do you say?" asks Trandafir. "Don't rejoice too soon; let's measure our strength. We'll see who can carry this horse farther on their back."

- "You go first," says Trandafir.

The devil grabs the horse, hoists it onto his back, and—clomp, clomp—he makes it to the hill, struggles mightily to reach the top, and drags the horse back, drenched in sweat.

Trandafir looks at him and bursts out laughing:
- "Ah, you cursed one, and you still dare to boast? You’d better not have flapped your wings for nothing. You barely carried the horse once on your back, while I’ll grip it with just my legs and carry it ten times to the hill and back without breaking a sweat."

- "Let’s see, then," the devil taunts him. Trandafir mounts the horse, digs his heels into its sides, and gallops off. To the hill and back, then again. The devil is dumbfounded. He never imagined such a thing. He thought even a tenth of that weight would be too much for a man.
- "Well, do you admit defeat, you devil?" Trandafir needles him as he dismounts.

- "Let’s see who can whistle louder," the devil persists. "You go first, and I’ll see how far it carries. Otherwise, I might whistle so loud you’ll lose your ears."

The devil is nervous but takes a deep breath and lets out a whistle—once—and the fortress walls tremble.
- "Tsk, tsk! Is that all? When I whistle, I’ll mangle you." The devil shudders in fear at these words:
- "If you want to keep your ears intact," says Trandafir, "bring me a towel, and I’ll wrap them for you."

The devil runs off and returns with a towel. Trandafir wraps the devil’s eyes and—wham! bang!—pushes him under the horse’s hooves. The horse, startled, lets out a deafening neigh and kicks the devil so hard on the temple that he goes tumbling who knows where.

When he comes to his senses, he pleads with the young man:
- "Don’t whistle again, or you’ll be the death of me."
- "I wouldn’t have whistled, devil, if you’d answered my question."
- "I’ll answer anything you ask."
- "I am Trandafir, the wheat grain. You’re to blame for all my troubles. Tell me, which of the three maidens should I marry?"
- "How should I know?"
- "Either tell me, or I’ll whistle again."
- "Don’t whistle, don’t whistle, I’ll tell you."
- "Where’s the answer?"
- "Here it is: be silent—I’ll speak, rise—I’ll sit, whatever you decide, master, mount your horse and ride."
- "Are you mocking me?"
- "No, young man."
- "Then speak plainly."
- "The king’s daughter will say: let all be silent—I will speak, I will be first everywhere; the tsar’s daughter will say: clear the way—I will walk, and where the road is better, where it suits me, and neither will respect you. They want to be higher than the highest, stronger than the strongest. Such are all the rich brides. But the poor man’s daughter will follow you with a cup of wine, a towel in her hand, and always ask: 'What do you desire, master?' Marry her, and she will be a true wife to you."

When old woman Dokia shakes out her fur coats on a spring day, the day becomes clear, cloudless, and warm—so very warm. So too did Trandafir’s heart clear, and he breathed easier. He returned to his kingdom, and for two weeks they prepared various dishes and opened barrels of fine wine. They threw such a feast and wedding as had never been seen under the proud sun. Trandafir, the wheat grain, and Ileana began to rule the land, and they ruled and lived in love and harmony. Their reign could be compared to the flow of a calm river through a meadow—it meets no obstacles and quietly carries its waters.

More fairy tales

• The Horse and the Bear
• The Devil and the Man
• The Traveler and the Crucifix
• The Cook and the Tsar
• You Got One Soul, and I Got Two