Two seas away there be a land,
its bounty, unlike none before.
It drew two groups of warring men
who long had fought to win its shores.
For ages now their battle cries
have echoed through the wind and sky.
They’ve stained the crystal waters red.
Their blood has quenched the earth instead.
This ancient war thus rages on,
for none would ever want to yield
and lose the space they yearn to have
or honor on the battle field.
But now the Badhyas, of the east,
fear they might finally taste defeat.
The rival’s got the upper hand—
a stronger and a bigger fleet.
“What now?” the chief says to his priest
“What can be done so that, at least
the Badhyas lose without disgrace,
without the need to leave this place?”
The chief has been quite worried now
(distress was clear upon his brow)
until a lovely maiden came --
his lovely daughter, Princess Rein.
She helped to ease his grim dismay,
she touched his shoulder as he prayed.
They'd give all, even for a sign
that peace be in the grand design.
Like him she's long been praying for
a way to finally end this war.
She left his side to leave him be
and walk to let her mind roam free.
To her surprise, along the way
she found a wounded Punshalei—
a member of the rival tribe
was struggling now to stay alive.
“An enemy!” she said surprised,
was badly injured on the thigh.
Now should she heed the stranger’s cry?
Or leave him there alone to die?
Her conscience she could not evade
and so she took to him to aid.
This wounded stranger she just saved
had bathed the grass a crimson shade.
He thanked the girl and asked her, why?
Was she an angel from on high?
She smiled at him and then replied
as she rest seated by his side.
They talked all through the afternoon,
two members of opposing sides,
until he took her hands and asked,
if she, tonight, would be his bride.
"Of course" She smiled and told him "yes!"
that she’d be honored, thrilled and blessed.
And this could finally bring them peace
and have the senseless fighting cease.
They parted with a brief farewell
and she sped home so she could tell
her father how she would be wed
unto a Punshalei instead.
She found him troubled, on his chair.
His mind had wandered off somewhere.
She went to him to tell him how
she knew she’d solve this all somehow
He broke in tears and said he knew
just what it was she meant to do
“You’ve come of age, my sweetest one.
I know, full well, it must be done.”
He summoned maids and servants too
“Prepare her for the ritual due.”
They bathed her in most sweet perfume
and after, took her to her room.
A dress lay there, of finest threading,
perfect for a royal wedding!
"Summon her" she'd long been ready,
dreaming of her destined ending.
“The ceremony's starting soon
Upon the shrine of Keelatoom--
The greatest Badhya goddess who
will bring us peace and life anew”
They soon arrived and silence broke
and then the priests and chanters spoke:
“To you, great one, we now consign,
oh goddess of volcano shrine,
“our princess-- take her in your hands
and bring peace to these blood-stained lands”
“Please don’t!” the princess said surprised.
But none would heed her muffled cries.
They held her down and chanted on
she struggled 'til her strength was gone.
“It’s working! Look the Punshalei
come bearing gifts and head this way.”
The priest was pleased and gestured to
the guards to tell them what to do:
“Now throw the princess, let her fall
to bring salvation to us all.”
The princess let out one, shrill cry
That echoed through the dark night sky.
She plunged into the scarlet sea—
the tribe’s sole hope to liberty.
The Punshalei chief hears and sees
a female figure sent to die
His heart hurt now just like his thigh,
Had he just heard his kind bride’s cry?
“Men! Line up” the young chief said
“attack and leave those bastards dead.”
With that they charged the Badhya tribe
And made sure none was left alive.
Such was the end, ‘tis sad indeed,
the fruit of which, war was the seed.
For shedding blood is not the key,
except to reep more tragedy.
But still the Badhyas’ wish came true,
the foolish battles now are through;
and in this land they’ll stay at last,
as bitter remnants of the past.
