Ramoon and the army of a thousand monkeys

Once, in a far off and exotic kingdom, there lived a young prince called Ramoon and Ramoon would often go to the market place to listen to the storytellers and watch the street magicians perform their amazing conjuring tricks.

One day, however, there was a fortune teller in the market place; an old man who claimed that he could read a person’s fortune just by studying the lines on their palm and, curious about his future, the young prince sat down in front of the old man and held out his hand for the fortune teller to look at.

The moment that the fortune teller looked at the prince’s palm, however, he became very worried and said to the prince, “Do not go back home to your palace, your majesty, for I see in your future
that your uncle is going to kill your father; steal his throne and have you locked up in a tower”.

But the young prince didn’t believe the fortune teller and, in fact, was angry with him.

“I should have you locked up in a tower”, he said, “For telling such a wicked lie”.

The old man would not apologize however,

“The truth is often unpleasant, your majesty”, he said and then, reaching into the folds of his kaftan, he pulled out a small wooden box, holding it out for the prince to take, adding, “But if you will not believe me and take my advice then at least take this box; it will help you if you ever get into trouble”.

The prince took the box from the old man’s hand but only threw it angrily upon the ground before storming off.

However, only two days later, there was a coup and, just as the old man had predicted, the boy’s father was killed by his wicked uncle and he was arrested and locked in a tower overlooking the palace.

Terrified, sad and lonely; the prince wept and wished that he had listened to the old man and followed his advice.

But then, amongst the shadows of his little dungeon, the prince noticed the edge of something; a small, square object and, picking it up and holding it to the light that was streaming in through his narrow dungeon window, he saw that it was the box that the fortune teller had tried to give him.

“God be praised”, he said, smiling, opening the lid and peering inside.

The moment that he opened the box, however, out leapt a tiny monkey in a red, gold trimmed waistcoat with a red fez upon its head and, shocked, the prince dropped the box and it fell to the floor.

“Do not be alarmed, my prince”, said the Monkey, as another identical monkey dressed in identical clothes leapt out of the box, “My name is Mombo and we are the army of the thousand monkeys; we are here to help you”.

“Thousand?”, asked the Prince, confused, “But there are only two of you”.

Mombo smiled.

“Ah, but you have not seen all of my brothers”, he said and then, looking down into the box, he shouted, “Come out my brothers! Come out my army of one thousand monkeys and meet Prince Ramoon”.

Then, suddenly, more little monkeys began to emerge from the box, hundreds of them in fact and all wearing the same red, gold trimmed waistcoats and red fez’s upon their heads.

“There are an awful lot of you”, said the Prince laughing, “But your still very small. I don’t see how you can help me escape from this tower”.

But then the head monkey gave out a long, loud whistle and, to the prince’s astonishment, all of his fellow monkey’s began leaping and somersaulting, like a troupe of acrobats, out of the window of his dungeon and, as they did so, they began turning into a long red ladder with golden rungs.

Leaning out of the window and looking down at the ladder, the prince was overjoyed and, hurriedly, desperate to be free, he climbed down the ladder.

But the moment that his feet were back upon the ground he heard one of his uncles men shouting , “The prisoner has escaped!” and soon they were being surrounded by granite faced palace guards
with golden poleaxes and the prince was starting to panic.

He need not have panicked though because then he heard Mombo, the head monkey whistle
as he had before and the monkeys that had been a red and gold ladder now scrambled, like a waterfall of fur and tiny scurrying limbs, down the tower wall and, in front of Ramoon and a hundred astonished guards, transformed themselves into a red and gold coach with two white horses and Mombo as its coach driver.

“Get in, your majesty, quickly!”, shouted Mombo as the red and golden carriage door that was facing the prince flew open.

While the guards were still standing around, awestruck by the feat of incredible magic they had just witnessed, the Prince, seizing his chance, leapt on board the coach and, with a crack of Mombo’s monkey sized whip, the monkey coach sped off out of the palace courtyard so fast that it left all of the guards coughing and choking on a cloud of dust.

“But where are we going to?”, the Prince called to Mombo, sticking his head out of the coach window.

“First we cross the river”, said the monkey coach driver, “Then…well, you’ll see”.

When they got to the river, however, to Prince Ramoon’s dismay, he saw that there was no bridge for the coach to cross and the river was wild and fierce with high white quickly rushing waves; large boulders and a loud roar.

“Fear not, my Prince”, said Mombo, smiling and looking back over his shoulder at his passenger, “This coach may not be able to cross the wild river but you shall”.

And then, as the head monkey whistled one more time, Ramoon saw the coach round about him start to break up into a thousand scurrying monkeys that, rushing towards the raging waters, turned
themselves into a red and gold bridge that completely spanned the river and allowed an astounded but very relieved prince to cross over safely to the other side.
But then, just as the Prince was stepping onto the opposite bank of the river, racing towards the bridge on frantically galloping horses, came a company of royal guardsmen; the men of Ramoon’s wicked uncle, waving swords, yelling and firing rifles into the air.

“Oh no!”, cried Ramoon as he saw the horsemen getting nearer, “My uncle’s men. What will I do”.

“Don’t worry”, said Mombo, confidently, “They won’t get across”.

And, just as the horsemen were riding over the bridge towards them, Mombo let out another of his whistles and, suddenly, the entire bridge started to crumble beneath them, turning back into an army of a thousand monkeys and, screaming in surprise and terror, the horsemen and their horses went crashing down onto the roaring river waters and large boulders below.

“Huzzah!”, cried the head monkey, jubilantly, as if he was a general who had just won a battle and hurling his fez up in the air, “No one defeats my monkey army”.

But then, just at that moment, the Prince felt a tap upon his shoulder and, turning around he saw, standing before him, the old man who had read his palm in the market place, only now he was not wearing the ragged garb of a poor fortune teller but the long, white flowing robes and turban of a wizard.

“Welcome prince, to my home”, said the old man, smiling.

The Prince looked round about him but could see nothing but a vast desert landscape full of undulating dunes.

“This desert is your home?”, asked the Prince, confused.

The old man just laughed and then, turning around he waved his long walking staff in the air and, suddenly, up from the sands of the desert, the prince saw a giant Sand Castle arise with turrets and spires; minarets and domes, as vast and lavish as the castle of any king.

“Behold”, he said, “My Sand Palace”.

But the Prince was still not safe; not while his wicked uncle lived and his Uncle, because he was also a powerful sorcerer, had seen through his magical glass eye how the army of the monkeys had helped his nephew and taken him to the home of the white wizard.

“While the Prince is in the home of the Wizard”, he thought to himself, “He is beyond my reach and yet there are ways to lure him out”.

And, waiting until nightfall, the wicked uncle took hold of his magical pipe that could enchant all living things and, climbing upon the back of a giant, mechanical bird he flew through the bright star crowded skies until he came to the wizards palace.

Then, while the Prince slept, his uncle played upon his magical pipe; a tune so enchanting that it made the sleeping prince rise from his bed and walk out of the palace and into the desert.

“Good”, said his uncle, smiling evilly as he saw the prince sleep walking towards him, “Come to me, my Nephew”.

Fortunately, Mombo, the little monkey who had been enjoying a banana as a little late night snack, also heard the wicked Sorceror’s music and ran quickly to tell the wizard.

Faster than a finger snap, and not a moment too soon, the wizard appeared at the gates of his palace and, seeing the Prince’s wicked pipe playing uncle, took of his turban, unravelling it and tying it into a sort of lasso which, swinging it around his head, he then used to grab hold of the magical pipe pulling it out of the wicked uncles hands and breaking the spell that had been placed over the prince.

Waking with a start, the Prince looked up and saw his uncle seated upon his flapping and squawking mechanical bird.

But then the old wizard placed a sword in Prince Ramoon’s hand and said, “This I saw in your palm as well, young prince; that you and you alone would defeat your uncle”.

The Prince was terrified for he was not a fighter but the old man begged him, “Trust me. You will win”.

Then little Mombo gave another of his whistles and, all of a sudden, the army of a thousand monkeys had made themselves into a red and golden flying machine with two sets of large flapping, red and gold, butterfly like wings and, with Mombo as his co-pilot, Prince Ramoon climbed into the pilots seat and took hold of the reigns.

Then, all at once, the machine took off into the midnight air which was now growing stormy and lightning cracked and, letting out a yell of determination, the prince raised his sword and they flew
towards his uncles monstrous, raven like, mechanical steed.

Then, as the lightning crashed between them, Ramoon and his uncle locked swords.

The evil wizard knew that his nephew was no fighter and cackling as he lashed out with his thunderbolt shaped scimitar, he felt confident that he would win.

But he had forgotten all about the magical pipe that the old, white wizard had snatched away from him and, now, placing the pipe to his lips, the old man began to play; not a hypnotizing melody this time but a stirring tune of battle that, because it came from the magical pipe, turned the Princes heart into a tiger’s; giving the boy the courage of twenty.

Then, feeling that new courage blazing within, his eyes becoming steely and determined, the Prince leapt through the air and onto his uncle, swinging his sword down upon him and, shocked and terrified, his uncle let go of his reigns and was knocked from the saddle of his raven like flying machine, falling to the ground which was miles below and breaking his wicked neck.

With the prince at its reigns, the black feathers of the raven flying machine became pure white as it transformed from a crow to a dove and landed gently upon the ground.

At last the Prince was safe and, as he dismounted from his dove white flying machine, the old wizard
knelt and bowed saying, “Your royal highness; King Ramoon”.

And from that day on, with his uncle dead, the Prince did become king of his country and, with the wise wizard to guide him and the army of the thousand monkeys at his side, King Ramoon became one of the greatest kings that that land had ever known.