The people’s princesses: A tale from Gillie Bolton

‘In the rarified atmosphere of the holy mountain, the sisters shared their life journeys.’

Once upon a time there were three princesses. Their father was mean, but they grew up to be a great support to each other.

Sadly, a horrific war swept their country when they were young adults. It affected the whole course of their lives, and swept them apart from each other.

One princess, Karana, joined the army. Karana became skilled at directing conflict, tough negotiation, and causing the most possible damage to a human body.

The second princess, Hazala, went into politics, where she felt power and influence lay. Hazala eventually led the country through its bitterest war.

The third princess, Zaroa, felt the best way to serve was to heal the injured – not so they could return to battle, but so they could use the wisdom gained through suffering to shift the country towards a more loving way of being.

Karana, Hazala and Zaroa did not meet again in the strength of their adulthood – not until all three were grey-haired. It was a chance meeting, at the holiest place in their country, high on a spectacular mountain. They recognised each other instantly. There, in the rarified atmosphere of the holy mountain, the sisters shared their life journeys.

Karana began: ‘I thought I was going to win the war: that the mightier our army, the more likely we were to bring peace. But the more we fought, the more widows and orphans we made. The more we killed and maimed, the more honour we lost. And the more we laid waste to beautiful countryside, the more we lost our pride in our nation. I still have some energy and life left; I came up here to try to find what I should do with the last of it.’

‘I thought I could tell others the truth,’ followed Hazala. ‘That I could force people to pass laws that would make our country strong and peaceful. But the more eloquently I presented my policies, the more the opposition’s eloquence developed. Our country became more divided, with citizens not knowing who or what to believe. They, and we their leaders, lost our pride in our nation, and our honour. I came up here with the same purpose as Karana, hoping to see how I might do better in the last of my life.’

‘Like you, my life project was to try to bring health and life back to our people,’ Zaroa said. ‘But the more I laboured, the more I realised I was curing bodies with lustreless eyes, which only saw pain and aggression. I too came here seeking understanding. But that was some time ago. Someone told me, on my way up, that they’d gained great freedom, strength and purpose by putting their hand into the strong hand of God. I thought long about that but couldn’t do it, remembering our father who did not care for us. But after much reflection I realised that I could put out my hand and it would be taken in love. In all my life since, I’ve not taken a single decision without love in my hand. That love has crept up to my heart … And love moves from my hand to others’ hands and up to their hearts.’

Karana and Hazala sat back with a sigh, smiling at Zaroa. All three reached out their hands, together again in a ring.

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