The Story of Beowolf

               

   The Story of Beowolf

At the onset of mankind’s first poetry – the first desire got its world of words – words which turned it into a reality – deep inside the sub – conscious of its creator and those that proudly bored it all to be truth.

The first poem entertains the desire of a man to find a cosmic child – orphaned by his mysterious parents, owner of courage and armaments – enough to make him a warrior and an aura to lead a destitute land called Spear Danes.

Imagine a ship all loaded with warrior’s possessions.- those armours, shields, swords and right in the middle of all – a little baby – all alone, still strong enough to become the future king of a land where he had floated all alone asking for both – a shelter and love, years before. And after a long, peaceful kingship, that glorious baby now turned to an old man – Skylde meets wyrd/fate – ‘that speaks but once to any man’.

‘sad - souled they gave back its gift to the ocean,

Mournful their mood as he sailed out to the sea.’

And then followed the real hero of the poem – beowolf – to rule that land of danes which had cosmic blessing upon its head. Skylde’s son beowolf was equally heroic. His comradeship helped him triumph over three disasterous , demonic, mythical sea- dragons in his entire life time. His steel rings, iron cladded body and will of steel helped him conquer the horrors of mankind – may it be sea or their worst – nightmares.

The death scene included the old Beowolf  with a dragon’s just demolished body beside, a large amount of hidden mystical treasures. The fire dragon was killed, but Beowolf was having his last word with Wyrd.

‘for the time that Wyrd controls. Mine own i kept,

Nor quarrels sought, nor ever falsely swore.

Now wounded sore, i wait for jot to come.’

His loyal comrade Wiglaf was too grieved for the death of his leader that treasures found seemed insignificant as compared to what he had lost. Goth’s people had a huge loss and the poem concluded with Beowolf’s praise – the ideal king of the mythical worlds.

‘they left the riches, golden joy of earls,

In dust, for earth to hold; where yet it lies,

Useless as ever.’

Like all imagination is an after- product of reality and vice – verse, it is not known whether the mythical legend had its roots somewhere or not. Maybe, Beowolf was the proto-type of king Alfred. Maybe it all happened in realas analyzed by the chronicler chochilaicus (year 520) who travelled up the Rhine and considered the poem a dedication to the gigantic nephew of Hygelac who did perform heroic feats of valor and had a marvellous feat of swimming. Maybe the poem belonged to those magical, mythical, northern legends of Beowa, a half divine hero with also a monster – grandel in it. Or maybe the three dragons were mere representations of men’s fear at the time of its composition – the fear of sea, anxiety to conquer it and to win over one’s will.

The authenticity of poem has equal weightage like that of a historical myth – slowly becoming truth for future generations or a truth for future generations or a truth gradually becoming a myth as reality changes with time.

But yes, without using any imposed adornments or poetry techniques, the beautifully justifies heroic poetry adhering numerous humane emotions and desires. Its a land where the mother dragon is emotional enough to avenge his son’s murder, state people ready to die for their leader and kings – all devoted to their land and people.

The background, a common host and hostile – all become – The Sea – which both challenges and becomes the beginning and concluding Eden in the lives of its heroes.  Call it Sea, holm, brim, upmounding, the swan-rode, the whale path, heaving battle pain or merely their call and answer – Sea was the origin and Sea – the conclusion of all anxieties and desires of that Anglo Saxon race.

The music of poem ends with the death of the brave king but its rhythm of waves are intact – still echoing those sounds inside the walls of every shell that had heard that song of the sea. All it needs is to place one’s ears to the edge of the wall of the shell and it unleashes those hidden stories  still playing with the shadows of mythicism and reality.

   - Mystical Wanderer