Tale of the week

The eighth tale: Ogdazh's challenge.

One day, the King had all his people gathered under the battlements of the castle. "Fellow subjects, I issue a challenge to those who are brave enough. The one who overcomes this challenge shall learn my most treasured of secrets. The root and flower of all my power." The crowd below began to stir as people began to voice their excitement. The King called for silence and continued. "For the next four days it will rain, and very hard, with no interruption. He or she who can catch but a single drop of rain from the sky and travel with it to the throne chamber shall be the receiver of my gift. But this must be done as it still rains outside, all must be soaking but the inside of the hand that holds but a drop. And, you may only travel once to see me, so be sure." With that, the King retired. The crowd became agitated. An electricity filled the air as excited young men and women declared their imminent victory. The older and wiser folk retired to prepare.
The next day the rain started, and throughout the village closest to the castle, a huge crowd of people could be seen, trying to catch but a drop of the pouring rain. A rain that poured furisouly, heavily, as to almost blind one completely. As the day went on, many gave up, covered in mud, sneezing, feverish, sliding and slipping as the rain did not yield in the slightest. The eldest of the challengers sat in meditation, contemplating the rain, and of the youngest only one still attempted it. Young Yarhid would not be deterred. He was a young man now, still before the age of adulthood, small in stature and known by his friends and fellow villagers as a very brave lad. In his pocket, his sacred keepsake, a golden egg with the inscription: "Yarhid prince of bravery", which he received as a child. Yarhid whipped his hand furiously into the rain hoping to catch one drop. He felt sure he could do it, even now, after a whole day in the rain, he thought how his hand had grown faster and that soon he would master the technique. A young monk, who was passing through the village looking for shelter before returning to his own Kingdom, observed the spectacle and inquired.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Trying to catch a single drop of rain, now leave me be." Yarhid replied impatiently.
"My apologies, could you possibly tell me where the nearest inn is? I am already soaked and would like to retire from this rain." Yarhid pointed south then turned away to continue. The monk thanked him and began to leave when he turned and said. "You will never achieve this, as you are doing it."
Yarhid turned to face him, looking insulted and scoffed. "And what would you know of catching rain, monk?"
"Oh, nothing, it's just that even if you succeed, how will you know. By the time you open your hand to see it, it will be lost." And with that the monk left.
Yarhid was stunned by this obvious truth. He had to travel with this drop all the way to the King first before finding a spot dry enough to check. Those were the rules. If that was not the case, Yarhid could run in and out of a place to see. Also, the monk must have realized that his hands were now too cold and wet all over to feel if there was but one drop.
Yarhid was discouraged, and sat in the mud to ponder upon this impossible task. He now understood why the elders had sat without acting. How to do this he thought? But no answer came. Later, all those who still remained retired for the night.
The next day Yarhid returned, determined, but this time he sat and like the elder ones, he watched the rain, studied it, trying to unlock the secret of all this. The next three days passed like this and all Yarhid caught was fever, sickness, tremblings and even waking nightmares. In the dying hours of the contest none remained but the boy, all had given up. The rain pounded mercilessly on his head, his body was numb and he wondered if he could even stand, but he would not move until the answer came. Eventually doubt began to settle in and his composure broke. “Am I not brave enough?” He shouted. “Am I not worthy enough?” He pounded his frozen fists desperately into the mud no longer able to contain his frustration. Then, the monk from the other day returned and saw Yarhid, concerned he stopped.
"Is this not a dangerous thing now, to catch the rain? Is it not foolish, is it not all so foolish?"Yarhid did not answer, and the monk continued. As the sounds of the monks steps grew fainter, his words reached Yarhid's mind and broke it. Yarhid burst into laughter.
"Indeed, it is all too foolish." And with that he ran to the castle, burst into the throne room and stood before the King showing him his hands, wet, inside and out.
"There is no way to hold it, for it cannot be held."
"As the single drop of water is to an ocean, as so are we to Kavik. Even on its own, the single drop remains a part of the ocean and the ocean remains a part of it, their essence being one in the same and their natures indistinguishable. That is the essence of Kavik, that is the great teaching of the Nasgari and the secret of your great King. In short you should have never tried to catch the rain, as the drop of water does not try to blend with the ocean. There is simply no need, it was indeed all too foolish" The King replied, smiling mischievously.