Esmeralda - A Short Story

Once upon a time, in the foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains, lived a beautiful horse called Esmeralda. The arrival of the foal brought much joy and excitement to the village children who, bound by the wonder of birth, jostled their bodies closer to the little mare as she lay exhausted by her first efforts to stand on her spindly, shaky legs, just minutes after her arrival in the crisp morning air. Esmeralda’s mother would have been happier without the gawking entourage and protectively nudged Esmeralda towards the rear of the stable, putting herself between her offspring and the excited children.

Within days, Esmeralda had mastered with the utmost confidence, the art of walking and always in the spirit of play, would leap and kick her back legs in the air in defiance of any restrictions, about which at her tender age, she knew or experienced nothing. She was free to roam the emerald green slopes with her dotting mother ever close by.

High above her, shrouded in fluffy, white clouds, stood the snow-capped mountains. Protective. Majestic. Permanent. The chill zephyrs that kissed her warm coat, brought energy and freshness. The icy-cold stream which cleaved through the hills sang as it fell over the rocks, rounded by the never-ending caress of the unsullied water.

Esmeralda was an extraordinary mare, full of adventure and curiosity. She had an insatiable thirst to explore her surroundings, her abilities, and the parameters of her young mind. Her infancy was filled with the pure joy of exploration. She knew no bounds and soon became admired by all in the village and hillsides for her spirit and inner beauty. Her coat shone like early morning dewdrops. Her limped eyes caught the morning’s first rays and reflected the unfetted joy of youth. As she learnt to gallop, her mane flowed behind like a billowing bed sheet hanging out to dry. Her tail, long and free, swished from side to side as she regally strode the hill’s gentle slopes. All who came to cast their eyes upon this magnificent specimen loved Esmeralda, but most importantly, Esmeralda loved herself. She knew nothing of the hardships, toil, discipline, regimen or conditioning that she was about to face.

Enrico, her owner’s son, poured affection on Esmeralda, as did her mother who came from a respected lineage of Andalusian horses, well known in these parts. One day, when Esmeralda was still very young but independent enough to feed herself, Enrico appeared at the gate leading into the pasture. He hung limply on the frame and as was the custom, Esmeralda trotted to his side in hope of a tasty apple or other delicious morsel that Enrico would often carry in his deep pockets. His eyes were filled with tears. This confused Esmeralda as her master was always happy to see her and would for hours, stroke her muzzle and say sweet words in her sharp, alert ears. She loved Enrico without conditions and her love was returned. As she thrust her wet nose into his face; she became aware of a great change that was to take place. It was a genesis, a mere spark of recognition that her Utopian life was about to be transformed. Enrico said nothing nor did he attempt to hide his sorrow and from the silence of those peaceful, early morning hills, Esmeralda heard the mechanical rumble of a truck reversing towards the gate and it dawned on her that her date with change was imminent. Her innocence was about to end.

Esmeralda’s new home was filled with noise and activity. No longer the leisurely stroll at her mother’s side around the green fields that filled her days, now clanking buckets and voices broke the early morning silence. She felt so alone, despite being in the company of many fine beasts. She longed for the solitude of her mountain retreat, her mother’s gentle touch and Enrico’s bubbling enthusiasm.

Her days were filled with regimen. Trainers came and went. Young boys and girls of Enrico’s age, groomed her magnificent coat and hooves, fed her nutritious grains and tendered a few shallow words of admiration, but she was aware they were not heartfelt.

Rafael was in his early thirties, strong of body and will and it was, for a few pesos a day, his job to transform Esmeralda into the prestigious role of lead horse in the troupe of Andalusians that was now to be her life. He was a harsh disciplinarian, knocking, not coaxing out of her all but the last vestige of youthful spirit from her heart. At first, Esmeralda reacted with force, but soon learnt that Rafael would not succumb to her efforts or charm and reluctantly, gave in to her fate. Every day he would teach her to lift her powerful legs high in the air, dancing the flamenco with the grace of a gypsy swirling up dust around a crackling fire. She would arch her back, standing royally on her hind legs, Rafael astride and thrash the air with her forelegs. She was a good student and despite conforming to her mentor’s every demand, he never returned her favours. Slowly, she became conditioned to his way, never asking or considering alternatives and the distant memory of her youthful freedom and experience, slowly faded. She forgot to think freely. In an effort to appease her master, she gave up the spirit of adventure and conformed. Learning only his way, she became the pride of the stable, admired by her peers for her diligence, unquestioning faith and commitment. She was transformed.

Barcelona stadium was abuzz with excitement. This was to be Esmeralda’s debut. She looked magnificent; her coat glistened like a thousand diamonds, her plaited mane tied with blood-red ribbons, clung tightly to her powerful neck and her polished saddle, crafted by the country’s finest artisans, reflected the clear blue Mediterranean sky. Esmeralda was so proud of herself. From humble beginnings in the foothills of the Pyrenees, she had risen through the ranks to be acclaimed the most disciplined and capable horse in the whole of Spain, or so the posters adorning the stadium walls would have us believe.

Her performance was outstanding. Impeccable. Every move was conducted with the precision of a palace guard. Flawless motion. Energy abound. The grace of a swan and oh, the accolades. The crowds were mesmerised and with each ballet-like feat, rose from their seats to applaud and cheer. Thunderous roars of approval resonated through the warm afternoon air. Esmeralda thought her life was complete; it surely couldn’t become any better than this. This was the moment she had waited for all her life, the culmination of her hard work, discipline, sacrifice, commitment, and dedication. There could be no better life beyond this, she thought, as she trotted around the arena on her lap of honour at the end of the day. Nothing I have learnt could surpass this moment. There could not be a better way to live than to know what I know now she mulled, as ten thousand Spaniards rose to pay tribute to her performance. She was, for all intense purposes, in Heaven.

Esmeralda traveled throughout the land, from stadium to stadium, repeating her same routine, always to the approval of her adoring fans and with some trepidation, her trainer. Her performance and regimen perfected to flawlessness.

Years passed and after her heyday, a younger, more agile horse replaced Esmeralda and her days of fame were over. She was comfortable in her stable at the hacienda and treated with the dignity of an ex-star, but now with the roar of approval subsided and time to reflect, Esmeralda contemplated a distant memory.

Expansiveness came to mind. A faint inkling of expansiveness. What was it she thought, struggling to recall, but alas, the years of control and routine had dulled her memory. She remembered her performances and on rare occasions, how she seemed to fill the entire stadium with her very being. How she and the crowd became one. How nothing separated her from every conceivable thing that this world had to offer. She recalled the immeasurable joy in her heart and love. She felt pure love but it was fleeting and illusive. Now as she became older and less agile she felt a sense of emptiness, that something was missing, but try as she may, she could not identify what it was that disturbed her so.

One day, while she stroked the floor of her stable with her hooves, she became aware of a vaguely familiar presence and looking up, saw a family approaching her. As they grew close, the man, holding a pretty little girl in his arms, her bangles kissing her brown shoulders, called out her name, “Esmeralda”! “Esmeralda”! It was Enrico, now grown and very mature, but still with that amazing kind aura that flooded Esmeralda’s heart. Esmeralda was so elated. The children ran around in glee and Enrico’s wife, herself an acclaimed flamenco dancer, rubbed Esmeralda’s nose as if they were childhood sweethearts. That cool, soothing voice of Enrico stimulated Esmeralda’s senses and soon she recalled the mountain slopes and crisp morning air. It was all slowly coming back to her.

“Esmeralda”, Enrico affectionately cooed, “We have a lovely surprise for you”. “We are taking you back with us to the farm in the Pyrenees, where you will spend the rest of your days in peace and happiness”. Esmeralda was beside herself, as were the children. “Oh and by the way, you won’t need these anymore” said Enrico reaching for the blinkers hanging on her stable door. “You see my dear Esmeralda, when you were taken away; you were fitted with these blinkers so that you could focus only on that which was in front of you”. “You have been wearing them for years, but now it is time to discard them so you can view beyond what you have been conditioned to see and enjoy everything that exists”. And with a gesture of defiance, Enrico tossed them into an open bin. At that precise point in time, Esmeralda realised what expansiveness really meant.

Returning to innocence.

© Rick Pursell

www.spirituality-bali.com

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