Before I go into what I've written, I want to give some context to this.
Some five years ago (in 2012) I brought my bodhrán with me to a youth gathering of sorts. One of the friends I met there was an Irish music aficionado, and she told me about the tale of young men and women dancing to the beat of a single bodhrán, with the aim of finding someone to marry. I began to contemplate this story and I broke down in tears, so in a way, this is a story of my soul. And as for the whole Ó Ceallacháin (O'Callaghan) thing, that also holds in a way; my fiancé is one. But anyway, I wrote this thing in 2012, abandoned it for several years because it made me cry very much, and then picked up only today and tried to finish it. It's probably unpolished, wishful junk, but here it is. Also, apologies in advance for any formatting errors this post will likely have.
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Once upon a time, in a quiet, remote village, there lived many lively, cheerful people. There was especially a big group of young men and women, all in their twenties.
The village was near a stream of cool, clear water. Every so often, the young men and women would gather there to dance. They did this to give each other joy, as well as find the one whom they would marry. They danced to the beat of a single drum, in pairs as well as in groups, and the sound of their laughter brought cheer to the village.
The drummer was a young woman named Siobhan.
Siobhan derived great joy from beating her drum, and she believed it made her friends happy too. She hardly saw them dancing, because her eyes were often closed as she rocked back and forth to the beat. Her friends’ giggles and chatter made her smile.
One by one, her friends found the ones they were going to marry, and as soon as they were married, they left. The people who turned up near the stream dwindled in number as the months passed, and soon, no one turned up by the stream ever again.
No one, except Siobhan.
She let out a weak smile.
She was indeed happy that the dance brought people together to live happy lives. She was indeed happy that her friends found the love of their lives. But who was going to marry her? Would there be anyone out there who could love her?
Her eyes filled with tears, and she spent her first day alone by the brook, crying.
It became a ritual for her to visit the stream and sit by it. She often stared blankly at it. She often brought her drum with her for old times’ sake, but she did not play it. Her entire day would be spent in near-complete silence before the sun set, and then she would head home. Only the sound of the water and her occasional crying filled the air. On rare occasions, a friend would pass by -- one of the many friends who had already married -- and sit by her side. Sometimes the words would be comforting, and sometimes, condescending and cold. It ranged from "You'll be alright" to "Get a move on, no one's gonna want you!".
While she was by that stream, regardless of whether anyone was with her, she would dream.
She would dream that a man would pass by that stream, look upon her kindly, and ask to dance with her. Their dance would be far more passionate than anything she’d ever imagined. And then, he would wipe away her tears, take her in his arms and vow to love her for the rest of his life.
This dream kindled in her a flame of hope.
But that flame was quickly fading.
After three months of going through that same ritual, Siobhan was determined to spend one more day by the stream, and never come back again. She was ready to dismiss any hope of finding her true love.
The next day, she trundled slowly to the stream with her drum in her hand.
Incidentally, a young man on a white horse passed by.
He had never been through that route before, and he had never seen Siobhan before. Yet, he had time on his hands and his horse was thirsty, so he dismounted, and brought his horse for a drink.
While his faithful steed was sipping the cool stream water, the young man spoke to Siobhan.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
She simply nodded. By this point she did not bother to hide the tear stains on her face. The young man, however, soon noticed them and asked,
“Are you all right?”
Tears welled up in her eyes again.
“Here, here.” The young man placed his hands on her shoulders, and then sat on a nearby rock. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Siobhan didn’t know where to begin, so she brought out her drum and showed it to him. It meant so much to her, but now it pained her to play.
“I see,” replied the young man.
He had heard of young men and women finding partners as they danced to the drum, but it was rarely asked among the people, what would happen to the drummer. Many tales were told about the dancers getting married and living happily ever after, but no one ever thought about the drummer. And for the first time, he had to ask himself this question.
Determined to make her smile once again, he asked her,
“Will you play your drum for me?”
Siobhan hesitated at first, and then nodded.
The young man found her rhythm very hypnotic, and began to dance. It was when Siobhan heard the grass and leaves rustling around her that she realised that for the first time in a long while, someone was dancing to her beat. Still playing, she opened her eyes and looked at him. He was really enjoying himself!
And then, she stopped.
The young man was determined to make her day.
“Will you dance with me?” he asked.
Her eyes lit up and her mouth creased into the biggest smile she ever made. She picked up her drum and began to play. Her hips swayed, and soon she was twirling. The two danced until they could dance no more.
As they sat down by the stream, exhausted from their dancing, the young man said,
“Oh, I forgot to ask you your name.”
“Siobhan ní Conaill,” the young woman whispered.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he replied. “I’m Cináed Ó Ceallacháin.”
The house of Ó Ceallacháin was the house of the royal family. Siobhan couldn’t believe her ears. She had danced with a prince! She’d probably made a right fool of herself in front of him!
She was about to pick up her drum, say goodbye and leave for fear of embarrassing herself even further, but he stopped her.
“Please don’t go.”
She turned around and looked straight into his eyes.
“But I---”
“In all my journeys around Munster I have never found a woman like you. I want to know you, and I think I have fallen in love with you.”
Tears flowed down Siobhan’s face. Cináed took her in his arms, and she did not resist. She cried on the prince’s shoulder. He did not seem to mind.
“Let me meet your family,” Cináed whispered in Siobhan’s ear.
“I don’t have any left,” Siobhan replied through her tears. Her parents had died and for a long time, her friends were her only source of strength.
“Then come home with me.”
Cináed gently lifted Siobhan up and mounted her on his horse. After he himself got on his steed, the two rode off into the distance, off to his castle. That day, Siobhan could have very well decided that she was never to find love, and she could have very well given up. And yet, she found love in an extraordinary man, a prince – someone whom she and her friends in the village never thought they would meet. Cináed and Siobhan would later marry, and give each other joy and strength for many years to come.
