Tales from Watership Down (5 page)

It was not like any wood he had ever known. To start
with, it was full of odd sounds: Frightening sounds, which might have come from the trees or might have been made by animals; though what animals he could not tell. Furthermore, he could not find a single track or path. Sometimes he thought he could smell and hear water, but when he tried to go toward it he became confused. To go through the wood was something he had supposed would be easy to a rabbit of his knowledge and experience, but soon he found it was otherwise and that he was wandering in circles. He also felt sure that despite the noises, there was not a bird or any other living creature throughout the length and breadth he covered.

For four days and more—for hrair days—El-ahrairah wandered starving in that terrible wood, for there was no grass there. More than once he would have gone back, but he no more knew the way back than the way on. At last, one day, he came to a steep slope in the solitude, and at the foot of the slope ran a little stream, all overgrown. He determined to follow that stream, for sooner or later it must, he felt sure, run out of the wood, though on which side he could not tell.

He followed the stream for two days and became so faint that he could go no further. He sank down and fell asleep, and when he woke could see that lower down the course of the stream there was a faint glow of brighter light. He stumbled toward it and at last came to a marshy place, where the water ran out of the wood into a smooth, green meadow stretching away as far as he could see. The grass
was the best he had ever eaten and full of cowslips. He ate all he wanted, found a hole in a bank and slept for a full day and night.

When he woke he began to wander across the great meadow. It was full of flowers: buttercups and moon daisies, tormentil and orchid and salad burnet. His energy returned, and he began to wonder which way he ought now to take in his strange journey. As he rested on a bank where clumps of scented valerian were growing, he was startled to see once again his friend the yellowhammer, flitting about in the hedge.

El-ahrairah was puzzled at this, for he had supposed that he would now have to seek the Second Cow, of whom there was no sign. But he trusted the yellowhammer and went on with his journey over the grassy plain. He met no other animals and felt so safe that for two nights he lay down to sleep in the open.

On the third day he came to a place where the grass was all grazed short and trodden, and there, ahead of him, he saw the white bull. He had never seen so noble a creature. His great eyes were blue as the sky, and his long, curved horns were pure golden in color, while his coat was soft and white as summer clouds.

El-ahrairah greeted the bull as a friend, for he could tell that he would not harm him. They sat together in the grass and talked of nothing—of flowers and sunshine.

“Do you live here alone?” asked El-ahrairah.

“Alas! I am alone,” replied the bull. “I long for a mate, and in time gone by Frith promised me her whom they call the Second Cow; but I can never reach her, for she is surrounded by a great expanse of sharp rocks and pointed boulders, which cut my legs and break my hooves. I have lived here many months, but I can find no way to pass that cruel ravine.”

“Show me the way,” said El-ahrairah. “It may be that a rabbit can get through.”

Then the white bull led him a long way over the plain, until at last they came to the edge of the ravine about which he had spoken. It was a mass of stones sharp as gorse and thick as brambles, stretching, as it seemed, for miles.

“No bull can ever cross that,” sighed the white bull sorrowfully. “Yet that is the only way to the Second Cow.”

“A rabbit may very well be able to go where a bull cannot,” replied El-ahrairah. “I will go, friend bull, and bring you back word of what I find.”

Then El-ahrairah set off to slip in and out of the pointed boulders and between the sharp rocks. It was hard going even for a rabbit, and many times he was forced to stop and judge how best he could make his way forward. For three days he went on, over stones which cut his feet and rocks which scraped his sides as he squeezed between
them. And at sunset on the third day he came out onto a flat place beyond the stones and saw facing him the Second Cow.

She was gaunt and thin, with an air of lonely sorrow which moved him at once to pity her. He greeted her cheerfully, but she barely answered him, only telling him that he was welcome to make the best of the poor grass and to sleep under the nearest bank. In the morning he again spoke to her as a friend and told her of his journey and of the white bull, but she seemed so distracted and wretched that he could not tell whether she had understood him or not.

El-ahrairah stayed several days with the poor, unhappy cow but could not find any way to dispel her gloom. One day, as he was following her over the thin grass, he saw sharp rocks springing out of the ground in her very hoofsteps. He knew then the secret of her enchantment. The bitter land all around—yes, and the harsh, impassable ravine itself—were the reflection of her stony heart.

El-ahrairah set himself to use all his powers to comfort and encourage the Second Cow. He told her of the shallows of streams at sunset, where minnows swim and marsh marigolds grow thick in the little pools. He told her of sorrel and buttercups in the meadows where cows swish their tails in the long afternoons of June and July. He told her of newborn calves leaping and playing on the grass. He told her everything he could think of which could gladden and lighten her spirits.

At first she seemed to take in little of what he had to
say, but as the days went by and the rain fell and the sun shone in that harsh place, gradually her heart seemed to lighten. At last, one night, she told him that if he would guide her she would do her best to cross the ravine. But lo and behold! next morning, when they came to the edge, they saw the sharp rocks crumbling and green grass springing up between them. It was the melting of her own distracted heart.

Cautiously and gently El-ahrairah led the Second Cow into the ravine, which broke up before them as they went on. After a day and a night they climbed slowly up what had become the grassy edge of the further side, all twined now with ground ivy and dotted with blue bugle, and there waiting for them was the white bull.

Now began a happy time, while El-ahrairah remained with his friends on the great plain. He stayed for the whole winter and the following summer, and as it came on to autumn the Second Cow bore a beautiful calf, whom she named Whitethorn.

Whitethorn and El-ahrairah became great friends, and in the evenings El-ahrairah used to tell her stories about his warren and about his adventures in the days before he had set out on his search. One day, as he was telling Whitethorn of the trick he had played on the dog Rowsby Woof, the yellowhammer flew down to the juniper and sang:

“Ah! Little bird!” said El-ahrairah. “Don’t tell me to leave my friends! I’m so happy here.”

But the yellowhammer only sang:

So El-ahrairah went sadly to his friends and told them that the time had come for him to set out once more, to search for the Third Cow.

“Have a care, El-ahrairah,” said the white bull. “Take great care: for by all I ever heard, the Third Cow is like no other. The Third Cow lives at the end of the world and is able to swallow up the world and all that is in it. Why face such frightful danger? Stay here with us and be happy.”

El-ahrairah was sorely tempted, but although he thought for a long time, he could only conclude that the yellowhammer had told the truth and the time had indeed come for him to set out to find the Third Cow.

“Then take Whitethorn with you,” said the Second Cow. “She will be your comrade and your guardian and keep you company. Only, I beg you, look after her well. She is very dear to us, but there is nothing I would not do for you, my dear rabbit friend.”

So the two set out together; and as I was always told,
this was the hardest part of al El-ahrairah’s wanderings, for the way lay over great mountains and through thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice. Winter came on, and often they were starved with hunger and cold. If he could not have pressed up against Whitethorn, El-ahrairah would have frozen to death. Even the little bird was forced to leave them, for the bitter nights were more than he could endure.

It was many months before the end of that winter, but at last Whitethorn and El-ahrairah, thin as weasels, came slowly down out of the lower hills and found themselves in the land of the Third Cow.

Now, the Third Cow is herself the end of the world. In that land there is nothing that is not the Third Cow—horns and hooves and tail and ears. They could have traveled on and on and still have found themselves nowhere but upon the body of the Third Cow, for it fills the world and is the world. For many days they sought the Cow’s head, and at last they found it—a great, staring form of eyes and nostrils and a huge mouth that gaped like a cave. And the Cow spoke to them with the voice of a cave.

“What do you want, El-ahrairah? What are you seeking?”

“I am seeking for my youth,” answered El-ahrairah.

“I have swallowed it up,” replied the Third Cow. “I have swallowed it as I swallow all that is in the world. My name is Time, and no creature escapes me.” And with this she yawned and swallowed half the day.

In the silence El-ahrairah turned to Whitethorn, who stood shivering beside him.

“I am going to find my youth.”

“Don’t go, El-ahrairah,” Pleaded Whitethorn. “You will be lost: I know it! Stay with me. Let us go back to my kind father and mother and live in the green meadow.”

El-ahrairah said no more. As the Third Cow’s mouth opened in a vast snore, he plunged forward and disappeard into the red cavern.

No one knows all that befell El-ahrairah in the heart and stomach of the Third Cow, for it has never been told and never will be. There are no words in which to speak of the dark adventures, formless as dreams, which fell upon him, for he was among everything past: all that the Third Cow had ever swallowed over the long years. What dangers did he overcome? What dreadful creatures did he meet and delude? What did he find to eat? We shall never know. He himself became a dream, a wandering fragment of the past. And whether he could even remember who he had once been the story never tells. The Third Cow is beyond and beyond the reach of any rabbit’s understanding.

At last, when he was worn out and exhausted with long stumbling in the entrails of the Cow, he came to a slope that led downward into a faint, dim light. And here lay a lake—a lucent lake of golden milk. This place was nothing less than the udder of the Third Cow, whose milk contains all the blessings of the years and the warmth of all the suns that have ever shone. It is the lake of youth.

El-ahrairah stood gazing at that wonderful lake, and as he gazed he grew faint with wonder. His paws slipped, and all of a sudden he fell head over ears into the golden milk.

He struggled and paddled helplessly, for he could not find a way out. Little by little he felt his strength going from him. He was sinking; he was drowning. He gave himself up for lost.

At the very last, he felt himself drawn downward into a smooth tube and thence into a warm, wet mouth. The next moment he lay spluttering and choking in the open air, on patch of warm grass, and Whitethorn was bending over him. Near them rose the curve of the Cow’s udder. Whitethorn had suckled him out by one of the Cow’s teats.

A glow of youth and strength filled El-ahrairah. He danced on the grass. He capered on the stones. He sang to Whitethorn without knowing what he was singing. Whitethron sang with him, and together, still singing, they turned for home.

The way back was short, for now it was summer and they could travel three times as fast, knowing that all the adventure was blessedly over. All I know of El-ahrairah’s return is one strange thing. When he came to the place where the First Cow’s enchanted wood had stood, it was no longer there. It had vanished from under the Down as mysteriously as it had appeared, and no one has seen it again, from that day to this. All that was to be seen was the yellowhammer on the thorn, who sang:

*

“Well,” said Bigwig, “those were certainly no ordinary cows. It was stupid of me to think they might have been, considering they were an adventure of El-ahrairah. What about Whitethorn? Does she stay the same age too?”

“The stories don’t tell any more about her,” said Dandelion, “but I’m sure El-ahrairah would never forget a friend who’d meant so much to him.”

The rain was falling across Watership Down in long, billowing clouds, drenching the turf and the beech trees of the hanger. Hazel and several other rabbits were sitting snugly underground in the Honeycomb, some grooming themselves, others chatting of sunny days to come. Kehaar had arrived from the south a few days before and was sitting halfway down his run in quiet contentment.

“Who’ll tell a story?” asked Bigwig, rolling over on the floor. “Dandelion?”

“Let someone else for a change,” answered Dandelion.

“Bluebell, tell us that one you told me last year: about Elahrairah and the war with King Fur-Rocious. They haven’t heard it, I know.”

“That was the only time El-ahrairah ever went to war,” said Bluebell. “The first and the last.”

“Did he win?” asked Silver.

“Oh, yes, of course; but it was how he did it that was so clever. If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”