Dreams dripping like acrylic paint fill canvas after canvas within the head of the young Navajo teenager asleep on the top bunk of a homemade bed. He wakes up to what sounds like the bark of Chihuahuas, but soon realizes the ruckus in an apricot tree outside the bedroom windows is coming from two desert-dwelling gray foxes yapping at bluejays and magpies in a fight for the branches most laden with freshly ripened apricot fruit.
A Night in the Clouds
This continuous survival-of-the-fittest scenario reigns supreme on the homeland of the Navajo Nation, a heartbeat so strong even today its bark can wake this 13-year-old boy named Bisahalani—meaning talkative—from a night spent soaring amongst the clouds high above Dinetah mounted upon the back of his favorite horse, an Appaloosa named Cisco.
Every night, Bisahalani dreams Cisco and he, like Pegasus and Hercules, soar on grand adventures flying over the four sacred Diné mountains. He talks to the rocks, whose wisdom came from withstanding time itself. Bisahalani loves to talk, and his conversations could wear off a mountain peak, a mule’s ear, or anything within earshot.
Yet one individual remained he still hadn’t met face to face. Bisahalani had never met a mountain lion—an animal embodying the last bit of freedom left in a postcolonial world.
First Light of Morning
Groggy-eyed gook blurs the boy’s vision as daylight’s first rays pierce his eyelids, stinging the blurriness of a fading dream in which he’d finally discovered the den of a mountain lion in the nearby hills.
Once again, Bisahalani’s attempt to meet the spirit of a mountain lion, even in his dreams, had been thwarted, this time by two cuddly gray foxes eating apricots. He simply couldn’t be mad, as nothing could be cuter than a frisky pair of foxes eating fruit in a tree.
Well-rested and returning to reality, Bisahalani slips off the top bunk, his bare feet landing on the dirt floor with the silent stealth of a big cat hunting its prey.
He pauses to feel the bed’s lower mattress, checking for warmth, but immediately realizing his older brother, a high school rodeo cowboy on summer break, must have once again left for an early shift at one of the three local coal mines to earn money for new rodeo chaps and entry fees.
Bisahalani leaves his bedroom, careful not to disturb his gray fox, bluejay and magpie neighbors.
Sunrise Over the Mesas
Nothing more beautiful can exist than eons of time eroding sandstone into mesa and butte megaliths. They stand like candles, taller than California redwoods, whose summits have been the first to greet the eastern light of each new day since the dinosaurs roamed the land.
Buttes and mesas are visually set on fire by Colorado’s red sandstone reflecting golden-orange sun rays with the rising sun, dividing nighttime from the daylight. This eternal line slowly sinks along eastern-facing canyon walls passing over ancient Puebloan petroglyphs and millions of years of sedimentary deposits before finally reaching the expansive desert floors of the Navajo Nation.
Witnessing this natural dividing moment is a continuous spiritual journey for all Navajo, and the reason Bisahalani sits astride Cisco at the precipice of Largo Canyon, a smaller cousin to the Grand Canyon. Cisco and Bisahalani watch a new day give birth in peaceful silence.
Rebellious Spirit
Rebellion burns hot in Bisahalani and Cisco’s souls, uniting them. Rebellion is what saved Cisco from his previous evil owner, and rebellion is why Bisahalani’s mother took him out of school when the principal demanded she cut her son’s hair short like all the other boys or risk expulsion.
Bisahalani’s hair grows long and healthy down his back, as his mother had given in to his demand to be homeschooled. Bisahalani envied his older brother for having short hair and being better skilled at fitting in, but Navajo believe our hair is an extension of the soul, and Bisahalani would not be confined by others who didn’t respect Diné (Navajo) traditions.
Searching Quest
Dressed in a loincloth he made himself and topped in a straw Stetson with a huge falcon feather sprouting from the turquoise hat band, Bisahalani stands in the stirrups. The adventurous boy uses his vantage point high atop the mesa to scan the arid terrain with hawk-like vision in search of a mountain lion.
Just as his former principal had warned of the consequences of not cutting his hair, so had his parents warned about staying away from searching their land’s incredibly dangerous carnivores.
Bisahalani knows his curiosity mustn’t rob him of his traditional integrity and respect for others and indeed all living things, but his goal really isn’t to talk to the mountain lion living in a den near his family’s homestead.
Instead, Bisahalani’s quest is discover if the local mountain lion has cubs. Mountain lions were overhunted, and Bisahalani’s clan, the Ta’neeszahnii, love nature. Mountain lion cubs would be cause for celebration—and Bisahalani wants to be the first messenger of such wonderful news!
Sudden Panic
He notices as muscles in Cisco’s neck tense, and his inner thighs can feel his horse’s entire body go rigidly still. The boy is given less than a second to prepare before Cisco begins bucking like a wild banshee, sending the young but expert rider flying into a cedar tree.
His body is scraped all over as he crashes through the branches before slamming into the ground, with Cisco out of sight and bolting for the barn. Despite throbbing pain, Bisahalani manages to roll from his back onto all fours, where he freezes at the sound of a snarling hiss directly in front of him.
Raising his head, the young Navajo finds himself face to face with the mountain lion whose nursing body tells Bisahalani the cougar does indeed have cubs—but he also realizes this fact may have cost him his life.
A Solemn Promise
The mountain lion softly sits to lick her paw, closely eyeing the boy who stands tall, raising both hands in the air, then roaring like brother bear showing his fangs. Bisahalani doesn’t move an inch, earning the mountain lion’s respect.
She greets him, “My name is Bich’ą́ą́h Naashá. I am the eternal night protector of all Navajo. What is your name?”
“Bisahalani,” he answers, trying to stay strong and not to let his voice quiver.
“Many moons ago, the universe was saved from destruction by a mythological deity named Changing Woman,” she continues. “Upon saving your future, Changing Woman turned my name to Bich’ą́ą́h Naashá, a title bequeathed with the magical power to protect all Navajo clans from the evil spirits defeated by her. The story of Changing Woman is now yours, but never forget it is in her honor that all Navajo are matrilineal. Never lose respect for our traditions or risk losing your Navajo pride. True heritage. Now leave under the condition that you vow to never return and swear to become a Navajo warrior, safeguarding our ways through storytelling instead of violence.
“Swear this to me!” she roars. Bisahalani jumps at Bich’ą́ą́h Naashá’s ferocity.
“I swear!” he promises with all sincerity.
Dreams or Reality
He continues standing tall, waving his arms in the air and roaring like a wild animal when blinding light appears out of thin air, cast from Father Sun, slowly changing position in the pale blue sky.
In an instant, Bich’ą́ą́h Naashá vanishes like an apparition, not even leaving behind paw prints on the red sandstone ground, making the boy wonder if this were all another magnificent dream.
Despite his uncertainty, not only did he never again risk his life by seeking Bich’ą́ą́h Naashá, but one day in the future, the young Navajo would become an author in Hollywood, California—but that’s a story for another time.
This is an alternate version of the short story from the November/December 2024 issue of Young Rider magazine. Click here to subscribe!
