The Braveheart who Freed the Sun, 1st of March, 1 Martie Mărțișor #Im4Ro

The Braveheart who Freed the Sun on 1st of March is a story lesser known about the symbolism behind the red and white ribbon of 1 Martie, the Mărțișor in Romania.

The Braveheart who Freed the Sun

It was the way it’s always been, the way his father honored the tradition, as did his father before him. No questions asked. It was a ritual that required to be fulfilled because it made the world turn around. And it went like this.

Day after day, from the height of its balcony in the sky, Sun poured its life-giving light onto the earth. Day after day he witnessed rainbows smiling over streams, birds joining in song, and flowers blooming everywhere. Yet he couldn’t touch any, couldn’t hear their song, and couldn’t even smell the flowers. His own work and he couldn’t enjoy it.

Yet it’s always been like this. It was tradition.

Until one day when Sun crossed his arms – and they were strong, passionate arms. As he did so, more energy roamed through his body, and more fire and light his presence radiated… One day Sun crossed his arms and made up his mind.

He will touch the rainbow, splash in the rivers, and smell the flowers. Just once.

So he turned himself, changed himself, just like that, using only a wink of its energy, into a girl. A beautiful girl, for everything Sun created, was beautiful. And the girl could splash into the streams, smell the flowers, and chase the rainbows. She was very happy. And very beautiful, so beautiful that she caught the eye of a few young men.

One of them especially thought more of himself than the others. He was taller too, much taller than most young men. The earth shook when he walked, for he was that strongly built, and nobody dared cross him, or cross his way, for he had claws where his fingers ended, he breathed out fire when he was angry, and whenever he swiped his tail left and right to prove a point, nothing was left standing. He was Dragon, Zmeu. And Dragon took the beautiful maiden who frolicked in the waters, had garlands of flowers in her hair and over her bosom, and chased rainbows. He took her because he liked her. Yet people said, whispered in dark corners, that he stole her, he kidnapped her. For she never agreed.
But did Dragon cared? No.

People saw everything, heard it all, but not knowing the young girl and fearing Dragon did nothing. They went on with their lives as if nothing happened. Burdened enough as they were by the fact that the sun would not come up.

All but one. A Braveheart, a Voinic, a young lad, shorter than the average, true, but one who saw, and did, and thought, and acted. A foolish lad, some would say. The same ones for whom the grapes were sour if they could not reach them.

Braveheart chased after Dragon and, eventually, much later than expected for he did not know where Dragon lived and had only the tracks left behind to read, follow only the broken flower heads streaming the way, and pay attention only to the tell-tale signs of burned bushes and destroyed structures, later, much later, he reached the Dragon’s lair. Outside the gate, Braveheart almost missed the last flower, almost burned to a crisp, the last whisper to tell him that he was in the right place. Where no one else wanted to be.

By now it was pitch dark for the sun was still not shining, and all humans were mourning, their wailing having replaced the song of birds and the singing of streams. The children even forgot their games, and even how to be happy, for no one was cheerful around them anymore, to show them how to smile.

 It took Braveheart a lot of knocking in the Dragon’s door, and calling, till Dragon showed up, and he would have burned Braveheart with his angry, fiery breath if it wasn’t for the lad’s quick instincts. Or perhaps it’s been the stench that warned him of the beast’s sudden arrival.

On hearing why the human bothered him, and such a puny specimen even, to ask him to release the beautiful maiden, Dragon laughed, sure of himself, and accepted the lad’s call to a fair fight.

The fight was short, a sword against a claw, a good heart against a wicked one, an honest mind against a twisted one, and surprisingly (but not to me and I hope that not to you either) Braveheart won. The maiden was released and she ran back into the sky, almost instantly (had she thanked her saviour? We do not know…) turning herself into the Sun again, appalled with the human’s egoism.

And the Sun shone again, the humans were happy again, children played once more, flowers bloomed, rainbows formed bridges, and birds flew underneath ad over them. All was as before, except for Braveheart who never recovered from the fight, and no one searched for.

During the time that Sun had turned himself into a maiden, and darkness had covered earth, snow fell too. Now with the Sun shining again, snow started to melt. In a spot near the Dragon’s lair, where Braveheart fell without being able to get up again – and nobody came to his rescue or care – Snowdrops lifted their heads from underneath the icy snow. And nearby, still bright red was Braveheart’s blood that he lost in battle.

News of his help in bringing the Sun back up on the sky spread slowly. At first, few believed, some even said it was but a legend, a bedtime story. Eventually, humans, feeling guilty for not having come to the lad’s rescue, thought of bringing at least a small homage to Braveheart. So they tied together two flowers, one white, to symbolize spring and rebirth, a new chance for humankind, and one red in remembrance of the lad’s sacrifice, and of his love for freedom and a fair chance in life for everyone.

Copyright © Patricia Furstenberg. All Rights Reserved.