The Story of the Parrot and the Merchant

There was once a merchant in old Persia, and in his house there was a parrot — a beautiful green parrot that had been kept all its life in a fine gilded cage on the windowsill. The bird could speak. It spoke kindly. The household loved its small voice in the morning.

When the merchant prepared to journey east to Hindustan to trade his goods, he was a generous man, and so before he left he went room by room asking each servant — every page-boy, every kitchen girl — what souvenir they would like him to bring back from that distant country. Some asked for silk. Some asked for spices. Some asked for sandalwood beads. To each one he listened, and to each he made a careful promise.

At last he came to the parrot on the windowsill. The bird had been listening to all of it. The merchant smiled and bent close to the bars. "And you, little friend?" he said. "What shall I bring back for you, all the way from the land of India?"

The parrot did not ask for a thing.

"When you are over there in Hindustan," it said, "and you see a flock of parrots in some great tree — green like me, every one of them — give them this message from me. Say: There is a parrot in a city far away who longs for you. By the decree of heaven I am held in a cage. Today I sent my greetings. I asked for help. I asked for some way out."

It paused. Its small head tilted.

"Tell them: Is this how it is between friends? That I sit in iron and you sit in the rose-garden? That I die of longing here while you fly between branches there? When you drink the morning, drink one cup in memory of this poor caged bird. When you have finished your cup, pour out the last sip onto the ground — for the one who eats only dust."

The merchant listened. He gave his word. He did not know yet what he had agreed to carry.