The Golden Ladder

A Re-telling of a Khasi Tale by Aaron McEmrys

A long time ago, at the beginning of all things, a great golden tree bridged the distance between heaven and earth.

Its leaves were the color of honey and the sunlight that shone through them shone like drops of liquid gold. Her bark was smooth to the touch, but yielding so that every hand, claw, hoof and paw could find purchase and climb as easily as walking up a hill.

Back in those days, all the creatures of the earth lived together in peace. Mighty Tiger carried giggling human babies of her back like a pony, cats and birds sang duets and Crocodile mostly used his mighty jaws for cracking open coconuts.

Everyone spoke the same language, and a constant stream of song and chatter rose always from the earth to the Far Blue Village above.

The first people, the People of the Sixteen Huts, like all the other creatures, divided their time between the green earth and the blue heavens, climbing up and down the great golden tree like a ladder whenever they felt like it. There were villages in both places where everyone was welcome.

Squirrel spent most of her time in the Village of the Far Blue Heavens, where she had a nice little thatched hut in the very topmost branches of the tree. But she had to go down to the almost every day to collect the nuts that fell to the ground for her children.

The morning everything changed started out just like any other morning. Good morning, Mrs. Gibbon” she chattered. “Good morning, Squirrel” replied the black monkey, “Care for some banana?” “Not just now, thank you. Perhaps we can have tea when I come back up?”

When Squirrel got to the bottom of the Tree she noticed a group of humans busily lashing tall branches together and driving them into the ground. “How odd” she thought idly, before continuing to fill her pouch-like cheeks with an astonishing number of nuts.

By the time she was ready to head back up the tree to fix dinner, the sun was almost setting.

“What on earth?!”

“None shall pass,” said one of the humans. Squirrel had no word for what he looked like, but later, when such words had to be invented, she would have said, “fierce and dangerous.”

He was holding a long branch with a sharp stone on one end, and behind him was something else she didn’t have words for, a tall barrier, a wall – that went all the way around the base of the tree.

“None shall pass by order of the Chiefs.”

“The Chiefs, what are the Chiefs?”

“Not what, Ma’am – who. The Chiefs are whos – they are the Masters of the Tree.”

“I think you’ve been in the sun too long young man” Squirrel snapped, spitting out an acorn or two.

Suddenly, up in the high canopy of honeyed leaves, there was a terrible sound, and yet another new word was born – the terrible sound was the sound of crying. Down the smooth flanks of the Golden Ladder fled hundreds of animals: blackbirds, moles, tigers, deer, even the old Mrs. Peacock fled down the tree as fast as her aged legs would carry her – chased by a hail of rocks and angry voices.

“All animals must leave the tree at once by order of the Chiefs!”

The Chiefs, in their greedy pride, closed the tree in a wall of spears and decreed that from now on only they and they alone could climb back and forth between earth and heaven.

Squirrel felt sick to her stomach. “But…my children are still up there. They’re waiting for me!”

Behind the high wall, the Golden Tree shuddered. After uncounted generations of tiny paws, singing birds, swinging monkeys and laughing children, she was alone, standing untouched for the first time. Her oaky heart trembled and with every fearful cry a few more golden leaves fell slowly to the ground, turning a dull grey as they fell.

Over the next few days, as Squirrel and the other animals wept on the ground a soft sad rain of tears fell from their families above, and the Tree’s bark turned a little more grey every day.

The Chiefs and their men carved imposing thrones for themselves and crowned themselves with crowns of peacock feathers. Poor old Mrs. Peacock was nowhere to be found.

Finally Squirrel could take it no more.

“Throw me over, Mrs. Gibbon!”

With her strong monkey arms Mrs. Gibbon threw Squirrel over the wall. She landed on the smooth tree bark, which began to crumble under her sharp claws, and raced up the tree.

Her children, along with the lost children of many other animals: tiger cubs, baby hippos and newly hatched iguanas waited above at the Village of Far Blue Heaven. They were terribly frightened.

Squirrel comforted them as best she could, but realized she couldn’t possibly carry all of them back down.

“It’s okay, Squirrel. I will stay with all those who cannot make it down”, said wise old turtle. “I’m in no hurry.”

“I will stay too. No harm shall come while I am here.”, said Eagle.

Brushing her tears aside, Squirrel took a few deep breaths, stretching her cheeks bigger and bigger until they were like two big furry balloons. She opened her mouth wide and eagle and turtle started loading the children in, one by one.

When her cheeks were completely full Squirrel turned, leaving all the animals (and heart-broken humans) that could not fit, and raced back down the tottering Grey Ladder. She leaped off the tree and hit the ground hard, creatures of the Village Above tumbling out of her mouth.

She turned to scold the greedy humans, but she was so angry and hurt that not a single word came out, just an angry chattering sound. The Chiefs and their guards growled back, but their voices now sounded alien and monstrous.

They could no longer understand one another at all.

And so it came to pass that all the creatures of air and ground and tree and burrow went their own ways, each to their own village and each with their own language. The great Tree fell soon after, brought down it is said, by a broken heart, and the new Tribe of Men was left with nothing but an empty circular wall.

Those below still miss their friends above, and those above still miss their friends below. The two Villages will always be kin. By day, the people of the Village Above look down at us going about our lives in the sunshine, and by night when we look up into the limitless sky we can see the lights of their cook-fires burning bright. We call them stars.

And someday, if we remember the story of the Golden Ladder and the harmony that used to reign over all creation – perhaps we will be reunited, one great family once again.