THE MOST PERFECT BRIDE

(Short story)

MANOJ DAS

Rain came down, suddenly, over Mount Luvurva, inside the forest not far from the capital. The wandering prince took shelter under a stout tree with thick layers of leaves.

He could see, through the screens of rain, something swaying in front of him. Couldn’t be a young plant, for it did not merely sway, but moved too. Couldn’t be a deer, for, it giggled sweetly.

And soon he could see clearly the lovely girl jumping from rock to rock and running.

The prince shouted, “You girl, is it proper for you to run through such rain?”

The girl, surprised, stopped (or a moment and said, “But how nice are these clouds, rain and wind!” and she ran away.

The prince realised that the storm that blowed till then all around him, had suddenly started blowing deep within him–quite a strong one!

The prince did not know when a heavy sleep overtook him–and for how long. When he opened his eyes, it was bright sunlight all around which soon grew quite severe.

With a sigh the prince tried to convince himself that the girl he thought he saw was no more than dream. And with yet another sight he made a vigorous effort to forget all about it.

But just then the girl was seen racing with a deer, not far from him.

The prince now intook a long breath and shouted, “Hey girl! Is it nice to run hither and thither under such a harsh sun?”

“Yes, indeed!” said the girl without stopping to look at the prince. And she and her deer disappeared inside the wood.

The prince cursed his own eyes. “You happen to be the eyes of an exalted prince. And yet you cannot see the mere wood!”

Back at the palace, the prince did not open his mouth–except for eating and drinking, of course. In an oral bulletin his chief valet gave out that he sighed every two minutes and the sighs were becoming fiercer hour by hour.

The minister told the king assertively, “It is purely a case of love at first sight, my lord.”

“At first sight, is it? That is what I expect from my son. Promptness in everything. Now, will you please find out who that lucky girl is? I expect a report before the whole of my only son is gone off in sighs.”

The minister reported to the king at night, “I regret to inform you, my lord, that she is neither a princess nor a nobleman’s daughter. Her father is only a poor wood-cutter living in a lone hut on the hill-top. But, no doubt, she is as beautiful as a fairy.”

The king said, “It will not take many minutes to carve a nobleman out of the wood-cutter. I have only one condition. The bride must be perfect in health and beauty. For some generations past the scions of this family have not been quite shapely, to be confidentially frank. It was all so nice before photography was invented. See on the walls how my forefathers projected themselves in the oil-paintings as roundly as they wished. Whatever that might be, the prince must be given the most perfect beauty for comely offsprings to be possible. You say, the wood-cutter’s daughter is like a fairy. Is a fairy a perfect beauty? Well, don’t cook up an answer. I don’t mind if you are not an expert on matters of beauty. But send our best experts to the hill-top and find out. In the meanwhile do not neglect to arrange for adequate oxygen for the Prince.”

After a month the experts met the king.

She is wonderful, my lord, but rather too quick-footed and light-minded for the royal family. For no reason whatever she would burst into songs when it would rain. Besides, should a sensible damsel dance with peacocks? But she does exactly that.”

“Well, we must employ two experts to teach her to behave! Till then let a man run with her holding an umbrella on her head. And drive all the peacocks off the mountain,” the king said.

“She is wonderful, my lord, but she giggles too much.”

“We should send two of the world’s most ghastly looking officers to shadow her constantly and to make faces at her whenever she would giggle. That will surely cure her,” said the king.

“She is wonderful, my lord, but only one tooth is slightly bigger than the rest.”

“We must knock that off and plant one of solid gold,” said the king.

“She is wonderful, my lord, but there is, quite unreasonably, a small mole on her left eye-lid.”

“Plastic surgery,” said the king.

“She has no appendicitis, my lord, but her grandfather had.”

“No good taking any chance. Operate upon her and forestall any possibility of the disease.” said the king.

But there were one hundred members in the committee of experts. By and by they spoke of so many and so very highly sophisticated defects and possible defects and possibly possible defects that the king soon thought it proper to limit his reaction only to nodding the head.

After prolonged discussions it was decided to hand over the responsibility of perfecting the would-be bride to a famous specialising firm across the seven seas. Cables were exchanged. The firm accepted the offer and a contract was signed.

The forest was done away with and a wide road, strong enough for vehicles heavy with huge imported machines and instruments, was laid up to the hill-top. Great specialists and experts, beginning from those on skin, heart, nerves, eyes, etc., to ones on the arts of smiles and sighs and eye-brow manipulation were lodged in hastily erected air-conditioned bungalows.

And the work of perfecting the bride went on, uninterrupted, for five years at the end of which the king was informed that the project had been complete.

The date of marriage was fixed and the prince, led by the king and followed by courtiers, proceeded to the hill-top.

Garland in hand, the bride stood ready to welcome the bridegroom. Unimaginably perfect, indeed, was she.

The director of the firm of experts was personally supervising the ceremony. There was sweet music and the bride advanced at the prince. But just as she was about to put the garland around his eager neck–something inexplicable seemed to happen–she stopped, pale and completely still.

The director, a bit upset but as smart as ever, passed on hurried instructions to his assistants.

“What is the matter?” asked the king.

“Nothing which will not be all right in a couple of minutes. It is like this: while working on the project we rejected a lot of the old girl–her original heart and lever, for example–apart from her teeth, hairs, etc., and put perfect synthetic parts, lasting and insured. In the process, one day, that little old thing available in plenty in every creature–what we call life or soul–slipped away. But that does not matter. She will speak, sing and in fact do everything that is required of a royal bride, powered by the latest super-electronic devices. Once in a while, though, there may be failure of the mechanism for a minute. Just look–she has already resumed functioning.”

The bride looked bright again as she began to move–stepping with the soft music.

But how sad! The sentimental prince collapsed suddenly, of an unreasonable shock.

Back