The Curse of the Great Eye

The Storyteller took a long toke of her pipe and, blowing the smoke upwards, saw that the sun was already half-obscured by the moon. She looked down at the children sitting before her and said, “Do you know why the streets are fit to bursting with revelers today? Why your mothers and fathers saddled me with you young’uns?”

One boy raised his hand. “Because of the eclipse, Auntie?”

“Aye,” said the Storyteller. “And do you know why, every twenty-odd years, the moon blots out the sun, cloaking the land in darkness?”

The children shook their heads.

“Well,” she began, taking another puff, “The story begins as they are wont to do: with good intentions.

Himar, a great sultan, had one-hundred-and-eight daughters, but none pleased him more than Yasmin, the youngest. A kind and charitable princess, she was beloved by all who knew her. She was moreover exceptionally beautiful, so much so that her father declared that she outmatched the Sun in brilliance, a grave mistake, for the Great Eye suffered no rivals. On the eve of her tenth birthday, Yasmin was afflicted by a terrible curse. If so much as a streak of sunlight kissed her skin, it would leave blistering marks upon her body.

Fearing for his daughter’s life, Himar ordered the erection of a tower in which to confine her. This tower stood at one-hundred-and-eighty-six feet and was so expertly crafted that even a grain of sand could not bypass its walls, let alone a ray of sunlight. A single window was built, but was to be kept shut during the day. The Sultan bade Yasmin never leave the tower while the Sun was out, and, save a scant few, prescribed death to whomsoever touched its walls.

And so, for many years, Yasmin spent her days reading books and spinning her wheel, and her nights walking in the garden under the Sultan’s watchful eye. She was bound by both honor and the Law to obey her father, but nonetheless greatly wished to come and go as she pleased, with neither the Sun’s nor his burning gaze upon her neck.

It was for this reason that she did not call for the guards when, one night, she espied someone scaling the walls of the tower, but looked on in silent wonder. The young man climbed his way up until he reached her room and, sitting upon the ledge of her window, hailed her.

“Greetings, fair Yasmin,” said he, in between gasps for air. “My sincerest apologies, but when I heard tale of a maiden kept shut away from the world, my heart bled for her, and I could not but climb this tower to come see her.”

“I could have you thrown off this very tower for your trespass, Sir,” she replied, a coy smile upon her face.

“As is your right,” he said, reaching into his robes, “but allow me to persuade you, Your Majesty.”

He presented a canvas, upon which was drawn a flower, its petals a regal purple. Yasmin had never seen such beauty in her books or the royal garden. She contemplated the painting for a few moments, before her guest spoke up.

“It was my presumption,” he began, “that Milady has never seen a Morning Glory in full bloom.”

Yasmin eyed the fellow, almost as long as she did the flower. “What is your name, Sir?”

“Idris, your grace,” he answered.

“Do you have more portraits, Idris?”

“Not just portraits, Your Majesty” smiled Idris, pulling a flute from under his robes. “I can provide that which has been kept from you your whole life.”

Throughout the night, and many more thereafter, Idris entertained Yasmin with drawings of flowers and creatures she had never seen before, jaunty songs on his flute, and stories of a more ribald nature. The more time they spent together, the more Yasmin was certain that the feelings she held for Idris were that of love. Her father had long since given up on the idea of marrying her off out of fear that her husband could not protect her as he did, but young Idris instilled a sense of comfort she had not felt in many years.

“I love you,” she said one night, as he was about to descend from her window’s ledge.

“And I you,” he said in turn, clasping her hands. “You are the center of my universe.”

But no sooner had the words left his mouth than the rooster crowed, and the people in the tower roused awake. The first beams of sunlight began to peek out from behind the mountains.

“What?” gasped Yasmin. “But the Sun should not be out so soon. Y-You must leave at-”

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The Princess scarcely had time to conjure up an excuse before the door was swung open. Her father and a cadre of guards stood in the doorway. His soft face, elated to see Yasmin safe and sound, was soon contorted with rage when he caught sight of the young man on the ledge, her hands in his.

Believing Idris to be a scoundrel attempting to abduct his beloved daughter, the Sultan at once commanded his guards to dispatch the intruder. Yasmin moved to explain the truth of the matter to her father, but a guard brushed her aside, grabbed hold of Idris and shoved him off the ledge.

And Idris fell. Oh, how he fell! But know this, children. Not once did his eyes leave Yasmin’s. The two youths gazed at one another, her face twisted in anguish and his fixed in calm acceptance, until, at last, his body lay crumpled on the ground.

Refusing to believe her Love dead, Yasmin pushed past her father and raced down the tower. She vaulted over its many steps and barreled into servants, who could hardly believe the blur that flew by was the Princess. When Yasmin arrived at the bottom of the tower, she bade the guards open the doors to the courtyard. The guards made to impede her, but such was her haste that she hurtled past them and opened the doors herself.

When she saw that the dead man on the ground was indeed her Idris, the Princess wailed. Oh, how she wailed! Hot tears streamed down her face, and though they knew not what transpired, soon even the servants and guards could not but wet their faces with tears as well. Birds ceased singing, barking dogs quieted, and the wind stilled itself. T’was as if the very World mourned with the Princess, who sorely wished to go out and embrace Idris’ body, but she feared the Sun, her eternal adversary, would smite her on the spot.

However, from a distance, Yasmin observed a shadow skulking over the land. Looking upwards, she saw the Moon edging towards the Sun. It continued its path until silver covered gold, and a shroud of darkness was cast over all below. Those present trembled in naked terror, for never before had day turned to night in such a manner, but Yasmin, after a few moments, dashed outside the tower. Now possessed by fear for her safety, the servants begged the Princess to return at once, and made to apprehend her, but found themselves staring dumbly as her skin remained unblemished under the shadow of the Moon.

Yasmin lay beside Idris, as charming in death as he was in life, and she hugged him, and she kissed him, and she tidied his hair best as she could. Her tears never stopped pouring that day, and it would be many years before she opened her heart again, but embracing her Love one last time softened the pain she felt.

The Tragedy of Yasmin and Idris has long since passed, but it is said that the Moon, in the lovers’ memory, continues to obstruct the Sun’s spiteful gaze once… in a blue moon, I suppose.”