Fairy tales for young and old ~ English version

The Whispering Olive Tree

In the verdant heart of Beit Sahour, right in the center of the city, there stood an olive tree of legendary stature, known to the locals as "Al-Murād," the wish-granter. This ancient sentinel, with roots delving deep into the sacred soil, had been a silent witness to the ebb and flow of generations, its gnarled branches reaching skyward as if in supplication. For centuries, Al-Murād had been the embodiment of hope, its whispers carried on the wind, a symphony of solace to those who sought its counsel. Yet, as the relentless march of time wore on, the tree's whispers dwindled into silence, its once vibrant leaves now motionless, yearning for the familiar voices of the souls it once soothed.

Amira, a young girl whose spirit blazed with the courage of a lioness and whose heart overflowed with the kindness of a saint, called Beit Sahour her home. Renowned for her boundless altruism and her profound love for her people, Amira was the living embodiment of the city's enduring spirit.

As dark clouds of war gathered over Beit Sahour, casting ominous shadows across its ancient stones, foreign invaders threatened to shatter its tranquility. The air grew thick with fear, and the villagers, ensnared by the specter of impending doom, had forsaken the old ways. The power of wishes, once a beacon of hope, had faded from memory, along with the ancient olive tree that had lent a listening ear to their forebears.

With her heart laden with concern for her beloved city, Amira sought out Al-Murād. She approached the silent guardian not with a wish for personal gain, but with a fervent plea for her people. Standing before the tree, her voice was a tapestry of prayer and promise, woven with threads of desperation and hope.

"O Al-Murād, hear my voice as I stand before you. Our city, the cradle of peace and brotherhood, faces peril. I do not come to ask for wealth or fame, but for the safety and unity of Beit Sahour. If your ancient heart has ever heeded a call, heed mine now, for we have not forsaken your legacy."

The tree, moved by the purity of her intention, awakened from its slumber, its leaves dancing with the whispers of a thousand ancestral voices. Al-Murād, long languishing in solitude, found its purpose reignited by the selfless entreaty of the young girl. Amira's act of pure intent had reawakened the tree's slumbering magic.

A brilliant aura enveloped Al-Murād, and from its venerable branches, a ring of ethereal flames sprang forth. The flames encircled Beit Sahour, a radiant barrier that the villagers could pass through unscathed, yet lethal to any who bore them ill will.

Emboldened by this miraculous boon, the people of Beit Sahour rallied. With Al-Murād's fire safeguarding them, they faced the invaders with newfound bravery. The foreign legions, bewildered by the spectacle of the insurmountable flames and the villagers' unwavering determination, retreated, their ambitions of conquest crumbled before the might of the ancestral guardian tree.

Amira and Al-Murād were hailed with exuberant joy, and the tree was eternally cherished, regularly entrusted with the villagers' deepest wishes and concerns.