The Adarna Bird

In a dark room of the royal palace, the only sound was a faint, broken breathing, like a candle about to go out. It was the breath of a king who lay gravely ill.

This is an old corrido of the Philippines, a long poem that people have recited and sung from one generation to the next. Its king was named Fernando, and he ruled the faraway kingdom of Berbania.

King Fernando had been very sick for many days. The palace physicians did all they could, yet he grew no better. At last an old healer told the king that only one remedy in the world could save him. It was the song of a magic bird called the Adarna. The bird lived in an ancient tree called Piedras Platas, which grew in remote wild mountains, far away. There the ground was covered with slabs of stone as white as silver.

King Fernando had three sons. Don Pedro was the eldest, Don Diego the second, and Don Juan the youngest. When they heard how ill their father was, all three asked to set out and find the magic bird. Because Don Pedro was the eldest, the king gave the task to him first.

Don Pedro rode for day after day, through forests and over mountains, until at last he found the magic tree on its bed of white stone. He hid behind a large rock and waited, his heart pounding. When the Adarna sang its first song, the voice was so sweet that he could not fight off his drowsiness. His eyelids grew heavy and then closed. When the bird finished singing, it let its droppings fall right onto the sleeping prince. Don Pedro turned into a silent statue of stone beneath the tree.

In the capital, people waited and waited for news, but Don Pedro never came back. The king had no choice but to send Don Diego. He took the very road his brother had taken. He too found the magic tree and hid behind the same rock, telling himself he would be more careful than his elder brother. But his fate was no different. The moment the first song rang out, his whole body went limp. His eyelids were too heavy to lift, and he sank at once into sleep. Then he turned to stone, standing silent beside Don Pedro.

Twice the capital had waited, and twice no one had returned. Now it was the turn of Don Juan, the youngest, to ask his father to let him go. The king loved his youngest son most of all. He could not bear to send him, for fear he would share the fate of his brothers. But Don Juan insisted. He told his father that he must save him, and that if he found a way, he would save both his brothers too. Moved by his youngest son's devotion, the king at last agreed.

On the way, in a lonely forest, Don Juan met a strange old man resting at the foot of a tree. The old man asked him where he was going. When the prince said he was searching for the magic Adarna bird to save his father, the old man told him a secret that no one had ever known.

The Adarna does not sing just once, the old man said. It sings seven different songs in a row, each with its own melody, each more spellbinding than the last. Only someone who hears all seven songs without falling asleep can catch the bird, once it is tired from singing and has grown gentle. But if a listener drifts off even once, he will share the fate of the two brothers. The old man gave Don Juan a handful of sharply sour wild limes and a small flask of water. Each time the song made his eyelids heavy, the old man said, he should bite into a sour lime at once and let the sharp taste wake him. And the flask would help the two brothers waiting for him beneath the magic tree. Don Juan remembered every word, thanked the old man, and went on his way.

When he reached the magic tree on its bed of white stone, Don Juan saw two stone statues standing quietly under its branches. He knew at once that they were his brothers. His heart ached, but he did not turn back. He sat down at the foot of the tree, gripping the wild limes and the small flask, and waited.

The first song rang out, as sweet as honey, and Don Juan's eyes began to droop. Quickly he bit into a wild lime, and the sharp sourness shot straight up and woke him. The second song and the third followed one after another, each more achingly sweet than the last. Each time, Don Juan bit into another sour lime to keep his eyes open. By the fourth song and the fifth, sleep pressed down on him like a heavy, warm blanket, but he clenched his teeth and refused to give in. When the sixth song rang out, his mouth was raw and stinging from the sour limes. Yet Don Juan thought of his father drifting in and out of sleep in the palace. He thought of his brothers turned to stone right behind him, and once again he woke himself up.

Then came the seventh song, the last, clearer and more spellbinding than all the songs before it. Don Juan gritted his teeth and gathered every bit of strength he had left to get through that moment. As the seventh song ended, the Adarna had sung every melody it knew. It fell asleep right there on its branch, as gentle as an ordinary bird. Don Juan climbed up softly and gathered the magic bird into his arms.

At once he took from his bag the small flask the old man had given him. Its water could break any spell of stone. Don Juan sprinkled it, drop by drop, over the two statues. Before his eyes, the gray stone slowly faded away, giving way to warm skin. Don Pedro stirred first and slowly opened his eyes. Then Don Diego woke too, looking around in bewilderment, as if after a long sleep.

The two elder brothers saw Don Juan holding the magic Adarna bird. For a moment they felt a pang, because they had failed where their youngest brother had succeeded. But a bigger task lay ahead of all three: their father, lying sick in the capital. That small pang faded before it could grow. The three brothers looked at one another, turned their horses together, and rode like the wind back to the palace.

They reached the palace just as night was falling. Don Juan walked straight into the dark room, where King Fernando still lay drifting in and out of sleep, as on so many nights before. His breathing grew weaker by the moment. Don Juan gently set the Adarna down beside his father's bed. The whole room held its breath and waited.

At first, the king's breathing seemed to falter for one more beat, and everyone grew anxious and afraid. But then the Adarna tilted its head a little and began to sing. Its song rang through the dark room, as clear as a stream and as warm as early morning sun.

Slowly, King Fernando opened his eyes. His breathing, faint and broken through so many nights, grew steady again. Color slowly returned to his face. He smiled faintly, looked at the three sons standing around his bed, and with an effort sat up.

The room that had held only weak breathing in the dark now rang with the laughter of the three brothers and the warm voice of King Fernando, restored. And the Adarna was still singing softly, as if it did not want to stop. The people of the Philippines have sung that corrido through the generations, and each time they raise their voices, they recall the seven songs of long ago, the songs that woke a whole royal palace.