The Tale of the Golden Cockerel

In a faraway kingdom, in a distant land,
There once lived a glorious king named Dadon.
In his youth, he was fierce and bold,
And to his neighbors, he often caused grief untold.
But in his old age, he wished to rest,
To retire from wars and find peace at best.
Yet his neighbors began to trouble the old king,
Causing him harm and endless suffering.
To protect the borders of his vast domain,
He had to maintain a mighty army in his reign.
The commanders were vigilant, but no matter their might,
They could not keep up with the constant fight.
They would expect an attack from the south, but lo—
An army would come from the east, you know!
They’d repel one threat, but then, to their dismay,
Fierce foes would arrive from the sea that day.
King Dadon, in frustration, would weep and groan,
Even forgetting his sleep, his peace overthrown.
What kind of life is this, filled with such strife?
So he turned to a wise man for help in his life,
A stargazer and eunuch, renowned for his lore.
He sent a messenger to summon him to the fore.

The wise man stood before Dadon,
And from his bag, he drew a golden rooster, a marvel to behold.
"Place this bird," he said, "on a high spire,
And my golden rooster will guard your empire:
If all is peaceful, he’ll sit quite still,
But if war or invasion threatens your hill,
Or any uninvited trouble draws near,
My rooster will crow, and you’ll know to fear.
He’ll raise his comb, give a mighty cry,
And turn toward the danger from the sky."
King Dadon thanked the eunuch with glee,
Promising mountains of gold as his fee.
"For such a favor," the king declared,
"Your first wish shall be mine to share."

The rooster, perched high on the spire,
Began to guard the kingdom’s borders entire.
At the slightest hint of danger or threat,
The faithful watchman would rouse and fret,
Turn toward the danger, and loudly crow:
"Cock-a-doodle-doo! Rule while lying low!"
And the neighbors, subdued, no longer dared fight,
For King Dadon had repelled them left and right!

A year passed, then another, in peace and calm;
The rooster sat still, causing no alarm.
But one day, King Dadon was awakened by a fright:
"Our king! Father of the people!" the commander cried.
"Sire, wake up! Disaster is near!"
"What is it, my lords?" Dadon asked, yawning clear.
"What’s the matter? Who’s there? What’s the plight?"
The commander replied, "The rooster crows again tonight;
Fear and noise fill the capital’s air."
The king looked out—and there, on the spire,
He saw the rooster, flapping with ire,
Turned toward the east, a warning dire.
No time to waste: "Quickly! To horse! Make haste!"
The king sent his army eastward in a race,
Led by his eldest son, to face the threat.
The rooster calmed down, the noise ceased, and yet—
The king, though troubled, soon fell back to sleep.

Eight days passed, but no news did they reap:
Had there been a battle? No word to keep.
The rooster crowed again, a warning anew.
The king called another army to pursue,
Sending his younger son to rescue the first.
The rooster quieted, but again, the worst:
No word came from the army, no news to hear.
Eight more days passed, filled with fear.
The rooster crowed once more, a third alarm.
The king gathered a third army, full of charm,
And led it eastward, unsure of the gain.

The army marched day and night, through strain and pain,
But found no battle, no camp, no slain,
No burial mounds, no signs of war.
"What kind of wonder is this?" Dadon thought, unsure.
On the eighth day, they reached a mountain pass,
And there, amidst the peaks, they saw, alas,
A silken tent, standing in silent grace.
Around it, in the narrow gorge’s space,
Lay the defeated army, lifeless and still.
King Dadon rushed to the tent, against his will...
What a terrible sight met his eyes!
Before him lay his two sons, their lives sacrificed,
Without helmets or armor, dead in a trance,
Their swords plunged into each other by chance.
Their horses wandered the meadow, grazing free,
On trampled grass, on blood-soaked lea...
The king wailed: "Oh, my sons, my sons!
Woe is me! Caught in these deadly runs,
Both my falcons have fallen, my pride undone!
Woe! My death has surely come."
All around, the people wailed with Dadon,
The valleys echoed with a mournful tone,
And the heart of the mountains trembled in despair.
Suddenly, the tent opened... and there,
The Shamakhan Queen appeared, radiant and bright,
Like the dawn, she met the king with light.
As a night bird before the sun,
The king fell silent, her gaze undone,
And before her, he forgot his sons’ demise.
She smiled at Dadon, with a glance so wise,
Took his hand, and led him inside,
Where she seated him, with food supplied,
And laid him to rest on a bed of silk,
Where he slept, entranced, in her realm of milk.
For a week, he feasted, enchanted and charmed,
Completely under her spell, disarmed.

At last, with his army and the young queen,
King Dadon set off home, his heart serene.
Rumors raced ahead, spreading far and wide,
Truth and tales intertwined, side by side.
At the city gates, the people gathered in cheer,
Running after the chariot, drawing near,
Welcoming Dadon and the queen with delight...
But in the crowd, the king saw a sight:
In a white Saracen hat, aged and gray,
Stood his old friend, the eunuch, that day.
"Ah, greetings, my father," the king did say,
"Come closer! What do you wish today?"
"King," replied the wise man, "let us settle the score.
Remember? For my service, you swore
To grant my first wish, as if it were thine.
Now, I ask for the maiden, the Shamakhan Queen."
The king was shocked, his face turned pale.
"What’s this?" he said. "Has madness set sail?
Or has a demon possessed your mind?
What foolish thought have you assigned?
I did promise, but there’s a limit, you see!
Why would you want the maiden from me?
Ask for my treasury, a noble rank,
Or a horse from my royal stable’s flank,
Or even half my kingdom, if you please!"
"I want nothing of these," said the sage with ease.
"Give me the maiden, the Shamakhan Queen."
The king spat: "Then take this: nothing, I mean!
You’ll get nothing, you sinner, you fool!
Away with you, while I still rule!"
The old man tried to argue, but it was in vain;
To quarrel with a king brought only pain.
The king struck him with his scepter, a blow to the head,
And the sage fell dead, his spirit fled.
The city shuddered; but the queen,
She laughed—"Hee-hee-hee! Ha-ha-ha!"—unseen,
Unbothered by sin, unafraid of the deed.
The king, though troubled, smiled with heed.

As they entered the city, a light chime rang,
And before the eyes of the crowd, the rooster sprang
From the spire, flew to the chariot’s crest,
And perched on the king’s head, a final test.
It flapped its wings, pecked his crown,
Then soared away... and at that same moment, down
Fell King Dadon from the chariot’s height.
He gasped once—and died that very night.
And the queen? She vanished, as if never there,
Disappearing into thin air.

The tale is a lie, but it holds a clue—
A lesson for the good and the true!

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The Tale of the Golden Cockerel

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