The Stonecutter

Retold by Mary Lloyd Dugan

There was once a poor stonecutter who worked at the base of a mountain, chipping away at rocks. Day after day, dressed in moth-eaten rags, he labored in the hot sun, pounding stones. One weary day, as he looked up from his toil, something caught his eye. The prince of the district was flying by in his chariot, his royal red robes flapping in the wind, his diamond buttons sparkling as they caught the sun.

"Ohhhhh!" sighed the stonecutter. "What a fine life he has! Oh, to be a wealthy prince! I wish that could be me! No one would be more powerful!"

Suddenly, the stonecutter found himself ripping along in the chariot, his clothes now rich and luminous. Around his neck hung a heavy golden chain. He puffed up his princely chest and raced along, smiling at his fortune. Then he turned homeward through the huge stone gates toward the palace and pulled up in front of golden doors.

Servants rushed out to greet him. One took his horse. Another offered him a drink. A third wiped his brow. More servants bowed and opened up the palace doors. The prince strode proudly through the cool marble halls, drinking in the beauty of the paintings and plush carpets. He had everything. Everything! That evening he relaxed to beautiful music and enjoyed plates of fruits and nuts, succulent meats and all the best wines.

But outside the palace, life was harsh. There was Drought. The merciless sun had been drying up the land for many months--scorching the grasses and choking the rivers. Everywhere, the people were crying: "What shall we eat? Our crops are burned. The sun has beaten us down."

One morning, the prince stood at his window surveying his parched kingdom. He could hear an old man from outside the palace gates begging for help. The prince raised his eyes to the sky. He was more impressed with the power of the sun than the plight of his people.

"What a might being is the Sun! I, as prince, can do nothing to save my people from its rage. That Sun is more powerful than I. How I would love to have such power!"

At once he found himself in the center of a blinding light. He was the Sun. Rays of fire beamed out from him, sending more and more heat onto the dry crusty kingdom that had once been his. For hours he beamed with pride, feeling as though he owned the sky. But then, looking down upon the distant hills, he saw a shadow slipping over the land toward him.

In an instant, he was surrounded by a damp, gray fog.

"What's this?" he cried. "A cloud has blocked my light? A cloud now reigns the skies? My power gone? Oh, to be that Cloud and mock the Sun!"

A moment later, he felt the weight of water on his back. His damp self spread across the sky and he could see his shadow stretch and stretch down along the ground. He was angry now, rumbling cold complaints and coughing thunder. The weight was growing worse upon his back.

Suddenly, he split apart, shooting streams of rain onto the ground. The water, furious, fell faster than the earth could drink. It washed the hills, grabbing rocks and plants along its way. The water rushed to swell the rivers and send them to the sea. Its torrents dragged away whole villages and swallowed herds of cows and pigs. And all the while, the Cloud was laughing thunder, delighted, throwing bolts...The sun could scorch the earth, but he could wash it clean. Wash everything away.

Yet one thing underneath him stood its ground: the Mountain.

"What's this?" he hissed, "I want that thing to move!" He squeezed himself and threw more sheets of rain upon the mountain; he ordered winds to blow with all their might. He threw more bolts of lightning, coughed more thunder. The Mountain stood its ground.

"What power is this? I am impressed. A solid foe, he shows more strength than I. I'd like to know his secret."

Immediately he was transformed: a massive rock. Immovable. A Mountain. Solid rock.

The rain stopped. The clouds blew off and freed the sun. The Mountain took a deep, proud breath. "Now truly I am Lord of all this land. Nothing can move me. Nothing can sway me. I have the power which I sought." He spent the day, his head in the clouds, delighting in himself.

At sunrise he was awakened by disturbing sounds below. A pounding. Someone chipping at his rocks. There, at the base, a poor stonecutter broke the mountain, bit by bit.

"He breaks my back!" the Mountain roared. But now he could do nothing. He could not move. He could not push the man away.

"Is it possible that I will lose my power to that man? Can that poor stonecutter bring me to my knees while I do nothing to prevent it? I wish that could be me!"

In an instant, there he was sweating in the sun. Pounding at the stones, chipping at the rocks in the morning heat, smiling as he did his work.

From an ancient eastern tale, retold by Mary Lloyd Dugan, © 2001. Mary Lloyd Dugan performs all over the country. Based in Myrtle Beach, SC she's travelled as far as India to share tales and collect new ones. To order a storytelling tape or CD, visit www.DancingPonyProductions.com.