Myth-Folklore Unit: Folktales of Bengal

Overview. These stories all come from Bengal, a region now divided between the Indian state of West Bengal and the neighboring nation of Bangladesh. Lal Behari Day collected these stories from Bengali storytellers in the early years of the 20th century as follows: "An old Brahman told me two stories; an old barber, three; an old servant of mine told me two; and the rest I heard from another old Brahman. None of my authorities knew English; they all told the stories in Bengali, and I translated them into English." There is an astrological tale about the power of the planet Sani (Saturn), a famous Indian folktale about a boy with seven mothers, stories about the origin of opium and about the origin of rubies, plus some marvelous tales about ghosts and other supernatural beings, both friendly and frightening. The illustrations, meanwhile, are by Warwick Goble, and they are beautiful!

Language. These stories are told in modern English, so the language used should not pose any problems.

Story Length. This unit contains mostly multi-page stories, along with a few single-page stories.

Navigation. You will find the table of contents below, and you can also use this link to see the story posts displayed on a single page: Bengali Folktales.

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READING A:

1. The Evil Eye of Sani
2. The Evil Eye of Sani (cont.)
3. The Evil Eye of Sani (end)
4. The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled
5. The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled (cont.)
6. The Origin of Opium
7. The Origin of Opium (cont.)
8. The Origin of Opium (end)
9. The Ghost-Brahman

READING B:

1. A Ghostly Wife
2. The Story of a Brahmadaitya
3. The Story of a Brahmadaitya (cont.)
4. The Story of a Brahmadaitya (end)
5. The Origin of Rubies
6. The Origin of Rubies (cont.)
7. The Ghost who was Afraid of being Bagged
8. The Bald Wife

Bengal: The Evil Eye of Sani

The author explains the name Sribatsa in a note: "Sri is another name of Lakshmi, and batsa means child; so that Sribatsa is literally the 'child of fortune.'"

[Notes by LKG]

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This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Evil Eye of Sani

Once upon a time Sani, or Saturn, the god of bad luck, and Lakshmi, the goddess of good luck, fell out with each other in heaven. Sani said he was higher in rank than Lakshmi, and Lakshmi said she was higher in rank than Sani. As all the gods and goddesses of heaven were equally ranged on either side, the contending deities agreed to refer the matter to some human being who had a name for wisdom and justice.

Now, there lived at that time upon earth a man of the name of Sribatsa who was as wise and just as he was rich. Him, therefore, both the god and the goddess chose as the settler of their dispute. One day, accordingly, Sribatsa was told that Sani and Lakshmi were wishing to pay him a visit to get their dispute settled.

Sribatsa was in a fix. If he said Sani was higher in rank than Lakshmi, she would be angry with him and forsake him. If he said Lakshmi was higher in rank than Sani, Sani would cast his evil eye upon him. Hence he made up his mind not to say anything directly, but to leave the god and the goddess to gather his opinion from his action. He got two stools made, the one of gold and the other of silver, and placed them beside him. When Sani and Lakshmi came to Sribatsa, he told Sani to sit upon the silver stool, and Lakshmi upon the gold stool.

Sani became mad with rage and said in an angry tone to Sribatsa, “Well, as you consider me lower in rank than Lakshmi, I will cast my eye on you for three years, and I should like to see how you fare at the end of that period.” The god then went away in high dudgeon.

Lakshmi, before going away, said to Sribatsa, “My child, do not fear. I’ll befriend you.”

The god and the goddess then went away.

Sribatsa said to his wife, whose name was Chintamani, “Dearest, as the evil eye of Sani will be upon me at once, I had better go away from the house, for if I remain in the house with you, evil will befall you and me, but if I go away, it will overtake me only.”

Chintamani said, “That cannot be. Wherever you go, I will go; your lot shall be my lot.”

The husband tried hard to persuade his wife to remain at home, but it was of no use. She would go with her husband. Sribatsa accordingly told his wife to make an opening in their mattress and to stow away in it all the money and jewels they had.

On the eve of leaving their house, Sribatsa invoked Lakshmi, who forthwith appeared. He then said to her, “Mother Lakshmi! as the evil eye of Sani is upon us, we are going away into exile. but do thou befriend us, and take care of our house and property.”

The goddess of good luck answered, “Do not fear: I’ll befriend you; all will be right at last.”

They then set out on their journey. Sribatsa rolled up the mattress and put it on his head. They had not gone many miles when they saw a river before them. It was not fordable, but there was a canoe there with a man sitting in it. The travellers requested the ferryman to take them across.

The ferryman said, “I can take only one at a time. but you are three—yourself, your wife, and the mattress.” Sribatsa proposed that first his wife and the mattress should be taken across, and then he, but the ferryman would not hear of it.

“Only one at a time,” repeated he; “first let me take across the mattress.”

When the canoe with the mattress was in the middle of the stream, a fierce gale arose, and carried away the mattress, the canoe, and the ferryman, no one knows whither. And it was strange the stream also disappeared, for the place, where they saw a few minutes since the rush of waters, had now become firm ground. Sribatsa then knew that this was nothing but the evil eye of Sani.

Next: The Evil Eye of Sani (cont.)

(700 words)

Bengal: The Evil Eye of Sani (cont.)

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

(one-pice coin, India, circa 1950)

The Evil Eye of Sani (cont.)

Sribatsa and his wife, without a pice in their pocket, went to a village which was hard by. It was dwelt in for the most part by wood-cutters, who used to go at sunrise to the forest to cut wood, which they sold in a town not far from the village. Sribatsa proposed to the wood-cutters that he should go along with them to cut wood. They agreed.

So he began to fell trees as well as the best of them, but there was this difference between Sribatsa and the other wood-cutters: that whereas the latter cut any and every sort of wood, the former cut only precious wood like sandal-wood. The wood-cutters used to bring to market large loads of common wood, and Sribatsa only a few pieces of sandal-wood, for which he got a great deal more money than the others. As this was going on day after day, the wood-cutters through envy plotted together and drove away from the village Sribatsa and his wife.

The next place they went to was a village of weavers, or rather cotton-spinners. Here Chintamani, the wife of Sribatsa, made herself useful by spinning cotton. And as she was an intelligent and skilful woman, she spun finer thread than the other women, and she got more money. This roused the envy of the native women of the village. But this was not all. Sribatsa, in order to gain the good grace of the weavers, asked them to a feast, the dishes of which were all cooked by his wife. As Chintamani excelled in cooking, the barbarous weavers of the village were quite charmed by the delicacies set before them. When the men went to their homes, they reproached their wives for not being able to cook so well as the wife of Sribatsa and called them good-for-nothing women. This thing made the women of the village hate Chintamani the more.

One day Chintamani went to the river-side to bathe along with the other women of the village. A boat had been lying on the bank stranded on the sand for many days; they had tried to move it, but in vain. It so happened that as Chintamani by accident touched the boat, it moved off to the river. The boatmen, astonished at the event, thought that the woman had uncommon power and might be useful on similar occasions in future. They therefore caught hold of her, put her in the boat, and rowed off. The women of the village, who were present, did not offer any resistance as they hated Chintamani.

When Sribatsa heard how his wife had been carried away by boatmen, he became mad with grief. He left the village, went to the river-side, and resolved to follow the course of the stream till he should meet the boat where his wife was a prisoner. He travelled on and on, along the side of the river, till it became dark. As there were no huts to be seen, he climbed into a tree for the night.

Next morning as he got down from the tree he saw at the foot of it a cow called a Kapila-cow, which never calves but which gives milk at all hours of the day whenever it is milked. Sribatsa milked the cow, and drank its milk to his heart’s content. He was astonished to find that the cow-dung which lay on the ground was of a bright yellow colour; indeed, he found it was pure gold. While it was in a soft state he wrote his own name upon it, and when in the course of the day it became hardened, it looked like a brick of gold—and so it was.

As the tree grew on the river-side, and as the Kapila-cow came morning and evening to supply him with milk, Sribatsa resolved to stay there till he should meet the boat. In the meantime the gold-bricks were increasing in number every day, for the cow both morning and evening deposited there the precious article. He put the gold-bricks, upon all of which his name was engraved, one upon another in rows, so that from a distance they looked like a hillock of gold.

Next: The Evil Eye of Sani (end)

(700 words)

Bengal: The Evil Eye of Sani (end)

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Evil Eye of Sani (end)

Leaving Sribatsa to arrange his gold-bricks under the tree on the river-side, we must follow the fortunes of his wife. Chintamani was a woman of great beauty and, thinking that her beauty might be her ruin, she, when seized by the boatmen, offered to Lakshmi the following prayer: “O Mother Lakshmi! Have pity upon me. Thou hast made me beautiful, but now my beauty will undoubtedly prove my ruin by the loss of honour and chastity. I therefore beseech thee, gracious Mother, to make me ugly and to cover my body with some loathsome disease that the boatmen may not touch me.” Lakshmi heard Chintamani’s prayer; and in the twinkling of an eye, while she was in the arms of the boatmen, her naturally beautiful form was turned into a vile carcase.

The boatmen, on putting her down in the boat, found her body covered with loathsome sores which were giving out a disgusting stench. They therefore threw her into the hold of the boat amongst the cargo, where they used morning and evening to send her a little boiled rice and some water. In that hold, Chintamani had a miserable life of it, but she greatly preferred that misery to the loss of chastity.

The boatmen went to some port, sold the cargo, and were returning to their country when the sight of what seemed a hillock of gold, not far from the river-side, attracted their attention. Sribatsa, whose eyes were ever directed towards the river, was delighted when he saw a boat turn towards the bank, as he fondly imagined his wife might be in it.

The boatmen went to the hillock of gold when Sribatsa said that the gold was his. They put all the gold-bricks on board their vessel, took Sribatsa prisoner, and put him into the hold not far from the woman covered with sores. They of course immediately recognised each other, in spite of the change Chintamani had undergone, but thought it prudent not to speak to each other. They communicated their ideas, therefore, by signs and gestures.

Now, the boatmen were fond of playing at dice, and as Sribatsa appeared to them from his looks to be a respectable man, they always asked him to join in the game. As he was an expert player, he almost always won the game, on which the boatmen, envying his superior skill, threw him overboard. Chintamani had the presence of mind, at that moment, to throw into the water a pillow which she had for resting her head upon. Sribatsa took hold of the pillow, by means of which he floated down the stream till he was carried at nightfall to what seemed a garden on the water’s edge. There he stuck among the trees, where he remained the whole night, wet and shivering.

Now, the garden belonged to an old widow who was in former years the chief flower-supplier to the king of that country. Through some cause or other, a blight seemed to have come over her garden, as almost all the trees and plants ceased flowering; she had therefore given up her place as the flower-supplier of the royal household. On the morning following the night on which Sribatsa had stuck among the trees, however, the old woman, on getting up from her bed, could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw the whole garden ablaze with flowers. There was not a single tree or plant which was not begemmed with flowers.

Not understanding the cause of such a miraculous sight, she took a walk through the garden, and found on the river’s brink, stuck among the trees, a man shivering and almost dying with cold. She brought him to her cottage, lighted a fire to give him warmth, and showed him every attention, as she ascribed the wonderful flowering of her trees to his presence. After making him as comfortable as she could, she ran to the king’s palace and told his chief servants that she was again in a position to supply the palace with flowers, so she was restored to her former office as the flower-woman of the royal household.

Sribatsa, who stopped a few days with the woman, requested her to recommend him to one of the king’s ministers for a berth. He was accordingly sent for to the palace, and as he was at once found to be a man of intelligence, the king’s minister asked him what post he would like to have. Agreeably to his wish, he was appointed collector of tolls on the river. While discharging his duties as river toll-gatherer, in the course of a few days he saw the very boat in which his wife was a prisoner. He detained the boat and charged the boatmen with the theft of gold-bricks which he claimed as his own.

At the mention of gold-bricks the king himself came to the river-side and was astonished beyond measure to see bricks made of gold, every one of which had the inscription—Sribatsa. At the same time, Sribatsa rescued from the boatmen his wife, who, the moment she came out of the vessel, became as lovely as before.

The king heard the story of Sribatsa’s misfortunes from his lips, entertained him in a princely style for many days, and at last sent him and his wife to their own country with presents of horses and elephants. The evil eye of Sani was now turned away from Sribatsa, and he again became what he formerly was, the Child of Fortune.

Next: The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled

(Lakshmi, goddess of Fortune)

(900 words)

Bengal: The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

(mango tree)

The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled

Once on a time there reigned a king who had seven queens. He was very sad, for the seven queens were all barren. A holy mendicant, however, one day told the king that in a certain forest there grew a tree, on a branch of which hung seven mangoes; if the king himself plucked those mangoes and gave one to each of the queens, they would all become mothers. So the king went to the forest, plucked the seven mangoes that grew upon one branch, and gave a mango to each of the queens to eat. In a short time the king’s heart was filled with joy, as he heard that the seven queens were all with child.

One day the king was out hunting when he saw a young lady of peerless beauty cross his path. He fell in love with her, brought her to his palace, and married her. This lady was, however, not a human being, but a Rakshasi, but the king of course did not know it. The king became dotingly fond of her; he did whatever she told him.

She said one day to the king, “You say that you love me more than any one else. Let me see whether you really love me so. If you love me, make your seven other queens blind, and let them be killed.”

The king became very sad at the request of his best-beloved queen, the more so as the seven queens were all with child. But there was nothing for it but to comply with the Rakshasi-queen’s request. The eyes of the seven queens were plucked out of their sockets, and the queens themselves were delivered up to the chief minister to be destroyed. But the chief minister was a merciful man. Instead of killing the seven queens, he hid them in a cave which was on the side of a hill.

In course of time the eldest of the seven queens gave birth to a child. “What shall I do with the child,” said she, “now that we are blind and are dying for want of food? Let me kill the child, and let us all eat of its flesh.” So saying, she killed the infant and gave to each of her sister-queens a part of the child to eat. The six ate their portion, but the seventh or youngest queen did not eat her share, but laid it beside her.

In a few days the second queen also was delivered of a child, and she did with it as her eldest sister had done with hers. So did the third, the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth queen. At last the seventh queen gave birth to a son; but she, instead of following the example of her sister-queens, resolved to nurse the child. The other queens demanded their portions of the newly-born babe. She gave each of them the portion she had got of the six children which had been killed, and which she had not eaten but laid aside. The other queens at once perceived that their portions were dry, and could not therefore be the parts of the child just born. The seventh queen told them that she had made up her mind not to kill the child but to nurse it. The others were glad to hear this, and they all said that they would help her in nursing the child. So the child was suckled by seven mothers, and it became after some years the hardiest and strongest boy that ever lived.

In the meantime the Rakshasi-wife of the king was doing infinite mischief to the royal household and to the capital. What she ate at the royal table did not fill her capacious stomach. She therefore, in the darkness of night, gradually ate up all the members of the royal family, all the king’s servants and attendants, all his horses, elephants, and cattle, till none remained in the palace except she herself and her royal consort. After that she used to go out in the evenings into the city and eat up a stray human being here and there. The king was left unattended by servants; there was no person left to cook for him, for no one would take his service.

Next: The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled (cont.)

(700 words)

Bengal: The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled (cont.)

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Boy whom Seven Mothers Suckled (cont.)

At last the boy, who had been suckled by seven mothers and who had now grown up to a stalwart youth, volunteered his services. He attended on the king and took every care to prevent the queen from swallowing him up, for he went away home long before nightfall, and the Rakshasi-queen never seized her victims except at night. Hence the queen determined in some other way to get rid of the boy.

As the boy always boasted that he was equal to any work, however hard, the queen told him that she was suffering from some disease which could be cured only by eating a certain species of melon which was twelve cubits long, but the stone of which was thirteen cubits long, and that that fruit could be had only from her mother, who lived on the other side of the ocean. She gave him a letter of introduction to her mother, in which she requested her to devour the boy the moment he put the letter into her hands.

The boy, suspecting foul play, tore up the letter and proceeded on his journey. The dauntless youth passed through many lands, and at last stood on the shore of the ocean, on the other side of which was the country of the Rakshasis.

He then bawled as loud as he could, and said, “Granny! granny! Come and save your daughter; she is dangerously ill.” An old Rakshasi on the other side of the ocean heard the words, crossed the ocean, came to the boy, and on hearing the message took the boy on her back and re-crossed the ocean.

So the boy was in the country of the Rakshasis. The twelve-cubit melon with its thirteen-cubit stone was given to the boy at once, and he was told to perform the journey back. But the boy pleaded fatigue and begged to be allowed to rest one day. To this the old Rakshasi consented.

Observing a stout club and a rope hanging in the Rakshasi’s room, the boy inquired what they were there for. She replied, “Child, by that club and rope I cross the ocean. If any one takes the club and the rope in his hands, and addresses them in the following magical words — O stout club! O strong rope! Take me at once to the other side!” — then immediately the club and rope will take him to the other side of the ocean.”

Observing a bird in a cage hanging in one corner of the room, the boy inquired what it was. The old Rakshasi replied, “It contains a secret, child, which must not be disclosed to mortals, and yet how can I hide it from my own grandchild? That bird, child, contains the life of your mother. If the bird is killed, your mother will at once die.”

Armed with these secrets, the boy went to bed that night. Next morning the old Rakshasi, together with all the other Rakshasis, went to distant countries for forage. The boy took down the cage from the ceiling, as well as the club and rope. Having well secured the bird, he addressed the club and rope thus — “O stout club! O strong rope! Take me at once to the other side!”

In the twinkling of an eye, the boy was put on this side of the ocean. He then retraced his steps, came to the queen, and gave her, to her astonishment, the twelve-cubit melon with its thirteen-cubit stone; but the cage with the bird in it he kept carefully concealed.

In the course of time the people of the city came to the king and said, “A monstrous bird comes out apparently from the palace every evening, and seizes the passengers in the streets, and swallows them up. This has been going on for so long a time that the city has become almost desolate.”

The king could not make out what this monstrous bird was. The king’s servant, the boy, replied that he knew the monstrous bir, and that he would kill it provided the queen stood beside the king.

By royal command the queen was made to stand beside the king. The boy then took the bird from the cage which he had brought from the other side of the ocean, on seeing which she fell into a fainting fit.

Turning to the king the boy said, “Sire, you will soon perceive who the monstrous bird is that devours your subjects every evening. As I tear off each limb of this bird, the corresponding limb of the man-devourer will fall off.”

The boy then tore off one leg of the bird in his hand; immediately, to the astonishment of the whole assembly, for the citizens were all present, one of the legs of the queen fell off. And when the boy squeezed the throat of the bird, the queen gave up the ghost.

The boy then related his own history and that of his mother and his stepmothers. The seven queens, whose eyesight was miraculously restored, were brought back to the palace, and the boy that was suckled by seven mothers was recognised by the king as his rightful heir.

So they lived together happily.

Next: The Origin of Opium

(900 words)

Bengal: The Origin of Opium

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Origin of Opium

Once on a time there lived on the banks of the holy Ganga a Rishi who spent his days and nights in the performance of religious rites and in meditation upon God. From sunrise to sunset he sat on the river bank engaged in devotion, and at night he took shelter in a hut of palm-leaves which his own hand had raised in a bush hard by.

There were no men and women for miles round. In the hut, however, there was a mouse, which used to live upon the leavings of the Rishi’s supper. As it was not in the nature of the sage to hurt any living thing, our mouse never ran away from him, but, on the contrary, went to him, touched his feet, and played with him. The Rishi, partly in kindness to the little brute, and partly to have some one by to talk to at times, gave the mouse the power of speech.

One night the mouse, standing on its hind-legs and joining together its fore-legs reverently, said to the Rishi, “Holy sage, you have been so kind as to give me the power to speak like men. If it will not displease your reverence, I have one more boon to ask.”

“What is it?” said the Rishi. “What is it, little mousie? Say what you want.”

The mouse answered, “When your reverence goes in the day to the river-side for devotion, a cat comes to the hut to catch me. And had it not been for fear of your reverence, the cat would have eaten me up long ago, and I fear it will eat me some day. My prayer is that I may be changed into a cat that I may prove a match for my foe.” The Rishi became propitious to the mouse, and threw some holy water on its body, and it was at once changed into a cat.

Some nights after, the Rishi asked his pet, “Well, little puss, how do you like your present life?”

“Not much, your reverence,” answered the cat.

“Why not?” demanded the sage. “Are you not strong enough to hold your own against all the cats in the world?”

“Yes,” rejoined the cat. “Your reverence has made me a strong cat, able to cope with all the cats in the world. But I do not now fear cats; I have got a new foe. Whenever your reverence goes to the river-side, a pack of dogs comes to the hut and sets up such a loud barking that I am frightened out of my life. If your reverence will not be displeased with me, I beg you to change me into a dog.”

The Rishi said, “Be turned into a dog,” and the cat forthwith became a dog.

Some days passed, when one night the dog said thus to the Rishi: “I cannot thank your reverence enough for your kindness to me. I was but a poor mouse, and you not only gave me speech but turned me into a cat, and again you were kind enough to change me into a dog. As a dog, however, I suffer a great deal of trouble; I do not get enough food: my only food is the leavings of your supper, but that is not sufficient to fill the maw of such a large beast as you have made me. O how I envy those apes who jump about from tree to tree and eat all sorts of delicious fruits! If your reverence will not get angry with me, I pray that I be changed into an ape.” The kind-hearted sage readily granted his pet’s wish, and the dog became an ape.

Our ape was at first wild with joy. He leaped from one tree to another, and sucked every luscious fruit he could find. But his joy was short-lived.

Next: The Origin of Opium (cont.)

(gibbon)

(700 words)

Bengal: The Origin of Opium (cont.)

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Origin of Opium (cont.)

Summer came on with its drought. As a monkey he found it hard to drink water out of a river or of a pool, and he saw the wild boars splashing in the water all the day long. He envied their lot, and exclaimed, “O how happy those boars are! All day their bodies are cooled and refreshed by water. I wish I were a boar.”

Accordingly at night he recounted to the Rishi the troubles of the life of an ape and the pleasures of that of a boar, and begged of him to change him into a boar. The sage, whose kindness knew no bounds, complied with his pet’s request, and turned him into a wild boar. For two whole days our boar kept his body soaking wet, and on the third day, as he was splashing about in his favourite element, whom should he see but the king of the country riding on a richly caparisoned elephant. The king was out hunting, and it was only by a lucky chance that our boar escaped being bagged.

He dwelt in his own mind on the dangers attending the life of a wild boar and envied the lot of the stately elephant who was so fortunate as to carry about the king of the country on his back. He longed to be an elephant, and at night besought the Rishi to make him one.

(Indian elephant)

Our elephant was roaming about in the wilderness when he saw the king out hunting. The elephant went towards the king’s suite with the view of being caught. The king, seeing the elephant at a distance, admired it on account of its beauty and gave orders that it should be caught and tamed. Our elephant was easily caught, and taken into the royal stables, and was soon tamed.

It so chanced that the queen expressed a wish to bathe in the waters of the holy Ganga. The king, who wished to accompany his royal consort, ordered that the newly-caught elephant should be brought to him. The king and queen mounted on his back. One would suppose that the elephant had now got his wishes, as the king had mounted on his back. But no. There was a fly in the ointment. The elephant, who looked upon himself as a lordly beast, could not brook the idea that a woman, though a queen, should ride on his back. He thought himself degraded. He jumped up so violently that both the king and queen fell to the ground.

The king carefully picked up the queen, took her in his arms, asked her whether she had been much hurt, wiped off the dust from her clothes with his handkerchief, and tenderly kissed her a hundred times. Our elephant, after witnessing the king’s caresses, scampered off to the woods as fast as his legs could carry him. As he ran he thought within himself thus: “After all, I see that a queen is the happiest of all creatures. Of what infinite regard is she the object! The king lifted her up, took her in his arms, made many tender inquiries, wiped off the dust from her clothes with his own royal hands, and kissed her a hundred times! O the happiness of being a queen! I must tell the Rishi to make me a queen!”

So saying, the elephant, after traversing the woods, went at sunset to the Rishi’s hut and fell prostrate on the ground at the feet of the holy sage. The Rishi said, “Well, what’s the news? Why have you left the king’s stud?”

“What shall I say to your reverence? You have been very kind to me; you have granted every wish of mine. I have one more boon to ask, and it will be the last. By becoming an elephant I have got only my bulk increased, but not my happiness. I see that of all creatures a queen is the happiest in the world. Do, holy father, make me a queen.”

“Silly child,” answered the Rishi, “how can I make you a queen? Where can I get a kingdom for you, and a royal husband to boot? All I can do is to change you into an exquisitely beautiful girl, possessed of charms to captivate the heart of a prince, if ever the gods grant you an interview with some great prince!”

Our elephant agreed to the change, and in a moment the sagacious beast was transformed into a beautiful young lady, to whom the holy sage gave the name of Postomani, or the poppy-seed lady.

Postomani lived in the Rishi’s hut and spent her time in tending the flowers and watering the plants. One day, as she was sitting at the door of the hut during the Rishi’s absence, she saw a man dressed in a very rich garb come towards the cottage. She stood up and asked the stranger who he was and what he had come there for.

The stranger answered that he had come a-hunting in those parts, that he had been chasing in vain a deer, that he felt thirsty, and that he came to the hut of the hermit for refreshment.

Next: The Origin of Opium (end)

(900 words)

Bengal: The Origin of Opium (end)

You might enjoy comparing this story about opium to the Jewish legend about Noah, Satan, and the invention of wine: The Curse of Drunkenness.

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Origin of Opium (end)

Postomani: “Stranger, look upon this cot as your own house. I’ll do everything I can to make you comfortable; I am only sorry we are too poor suitably to entertain, a man of your rank for, if I mistake not, you are the king of this country.”

The king smiled. Postomani then brought out a water-pot, and made as if she would wash the feet of her royal guest with her own hands when the king said, “Holy maid, do not touch my feet, for I am only a Kshatriya, and you are the daughter of a holy sage.”

Postomani: “Noble sir, I am not the daughter of the Rishi, neither am I a Brahmani girl, so there can be no harm in my touching your feet. Besides, you are my guest, and I am bound to wash your feet.”

King: “Forgive my impertinence. What caste do you belong to?”

Postomani: “I have heard from the sage that my parents were Kshatriyas.”

King: “May I ask you whether your father was a king? For your uncommon beauty and your stately demeanour show that you are a born princess.”

Postomani, without answering the question, went inside the hut, brought out a tray of the most delicious fruits, and set it before the king. The king, however, would not touch the fruits till the maid had answered his questions.

When pressed hard, Postomani gave the following answer: “The holy sage says that my father was a king. Having been overcome in battle, he, along with my mother, fled into the woods. My poor father was eaten up by a tiger, and my mother at that time was brought to bed of me, and she closed her eyes as I opened mine. Strange to say, there was a bee-hive on the tree at the foot of which I lay; drops of honey fell into my mouth and kept alive the spark of life till the kind Rishi found me and brought me into his hut. This is the simple story of the wretched girl who now stands before the king.”

King. “Call not yourself wretched. You are the loveliest and most beautiful of women. You would adorn the palace of the mightiest sovereign.”

The upshot was that the king made love to the girl, and they were joined in marriage by the Rishi. Postomani was treated as the favourite queen, and the former queen was in disgrace. Postomani’s happiness, however, was short-lived. One day as she was standing by a well, she became giddy, fell into the water, and died.

The Rishi then appeared before the king and said: “O king, grieve not over the past. What is fixed by fate must come to pass. The queen, who has just been drowned, was not of royal blood. She was born a mouse; I then changed her successively, according to her own wish, into a cat, a dog, an ape, a boar, an elephant, and a beautiful girl. Now that she is gone, do you again take into favour your former queen.

“As for my reputed daughter, through the favour of the gods I’ll make her name immortal. Let her body remain in the well; fill the well up with earth. Out of her flesh and bones will grow a tree which shall be called after her Posto, that is, the Poppy tree. From this tree will be obtained a drug called opium, which will be celebrated as a powerful medicine through all ages, and which will always be either swallowed or smoked as a wonderful narcotic to the end of time.

“The opium swallower or smoker will have one quality of each of the animals to which Postomani was transformed. He will be mischievous like a mouse, fond of milk like a cat, quarrelsome like a dog, filthy like an ape, savage like a boar, and high-tempered like a queen.”

Next: The Ghost-Brahman

(700 words)

Bengal: The Ghost-Brahman

You have seen references to Brahmans, or priests, in the previous stories, but this story invokes a particular type of Brahman known in Bengal: a Kulin (also spelled Kooleen) is a high-ranking Brahman considered to have special powers and given special privileges, including the right to have multiple wives. You can read more about the Kulin Brahmans (Brahmins) at Wikipedia.

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Ghost-Brahman

Once on a time there lived a poor Brahman who, not being a Kulin, found it the hardest thing in the world to get married. He went to rich people and begged of them to give him money that he might marry a wife. And a large sum of money was needed, not so much for the expenses of the wedding, as for giving to the parents of the bride. He begged from door to door, flattered many rich folk, and at last succeeded in scraping together the sum needed. The wedding took place in due time, and he brought home his wife to his mother.

After a short time he said to his mother, “Mother, I have no means to support you and my wife; I must therefore go to distant countries to get money somehow or other. I may be away for years, for I won’t return till I get a good sum. In the meantime, I’ll give you what I have; you make the best of it, and take care of my wife.”

The Brahman, receiving his mother’s blessing, set out on his travels. In the evening of that very day, a ghost assuming the exact appearance of the Brahman came into the house. The newly married woman, thinking it was her husband, said to him, “How is it that you have returned so soon? You said you might be away for years; why have you changed your mind?”

The ghost said, “Today is not a lucky day; I have therefore returned home. Besides, I have already got some money.” The mother did not doubt but that it was her son. So the ghost lived in the house as if he was its owner, and as if he was the son of the old woman and the husband of the young woman. As the ghost and the Brahman were exactly like each other in everything, like two peas, the people in the neighbourhood all thought that the ghost was the real Brahman.

After some years the Brahman returned from his travels, and what was his surprise when he found another like him in the house.

The ghost said to the Brahman, “Who are you? What business have you to come to my house?”

“Who am I?” replied the Brahman; “let me ask who you are. This is my house; that is my mother, and this is my wife.”

The ghost said, “Why herein is a strange thing. Everyone knows that this is my house, that is my wife, and yonder is my mother, and I have lived here for years. And you pretend this is your house, and that woman is your wife. Your head must have got turned, Brahman.”

So saying, the ghost drove away the Brahman from his house. The Brahman became mute with wonder. He did not know what to do. At last he bethought himself of going to the king and of laying his case before him. The king saw the ghost-Brahman as well as the Brahman, and the one was the picture of the other, so he was in a fix and did not know how to decide the quarrel.

Day after day, the Brahman went to the king and besought him to give him back his house, his wife, and his mother, and the king, not knowing what to say every time, put him off to the following day. Every day the king tells him to “come tomorrow,” and every day the Brahman goes away from the palace weeping and striking his forehead with the palm of his hand and saying, “What a wicked world this is! I am driven from my own house, and another fellow has taken possession of my house and of my wife! And what a king this is! He does not do justice.”

Now, it came to pass that as the Brahman went away every day from the court outside the town, he passed a spot at which a great many gopis [cowboys] used to play. They let the cows graze on the meadow while they themselves met together under a large tree to play. And they played at royalty. One cowboy was elected king; another, prime minister or vizier; another, kotwal, or prefect of the police; and others, constables.

Every day for several days together they saw the Brahman passing by weeping. One day the cowboy king asked his vizier whether he knew why the Brahman wept every day. On the vizier not being able to answer the question, the cowboy king ordered one of his constables to bring the Brahman to him.

One of them went and said to the Brahman, “The king requires your immediate attendance.”

The Brahman replied, “What for? I have just come from the king, and he put me off till tomorrow. Why does he want me again?”

“It is our king that wants you — our neat-herd king,” rejoined the constable.

“Who is neat-herd king?” asked the Brahman.

“Come and see,” was the reply.

The neat-herd king then asked the Brahman why he every day went away weeping. The Brahman then told him his sad story. The neat-herd king, after hearing the whole, said, “I understand your case; I will give you again all your rights. Only go to the king and ask his permission for me to decide your case.”

The Brahman went back to the king of the country and begged his Majesty to send his case to the neat-herd king, who had offered to decide it. The king, whom the case had greatly puzzled, granted the permission sought. The following morning was fixed for the trial.

The neat-herd king, who saw through the whole, brought with him next day a phial with a narrow neck. The Brahman and the ghost-Brahman both appeared at the bar. After a great deal of examination of witnesses and of speech-making, the neat-herd king said, “Well, I have heard enough. I’ll decide the case at once. Here is this phial. Whichever of you will enter into it shall be declared by the court to be the rightful owner of the house the title of which is in dispute. Now, let me see, which of you will enter.”

The Brahman said, “You are a neat-herd, and your intellect is that of a neat-herd. What man can enter into such a small phial?”

“If you cannot enter,” said the neat-herd king, “then you are not the rightful owner. What do you say, sir, to this?” turning to the ghost-Brahman and addressing him. “If you can enter into the phial, then the house and the wife and the mother become yours.”

“Of course I will enter,” said the ghost.

And true to his word, to the wonder of all, he made himself into a small creature like an insect and entered into the phial. The neat-herd king forthwith corked up the phial, and the ghost could not get out.

Then, addressing the Brahman, the neat-herd king said, “Throw this phial into the bottom of the sea and take possession of your house, wife, and mother.”

The Brahman did so, and lived happily for many years and begat sons and daughters.

Next: A Ghostly Wife

(1200 words)

Bengal: A Ghostly Wife

Here is the author's note about this particular type of ghost: "Sankchinnis or Sankhachurnis are female ghosts of white complexion. They usually stand at the dead of night at the foot of trees, and look like sheets of white cloth."

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

A Ghostly Wife

Once on a time there lived a Brahman who had married a wife and who lived in the same house with his mother. Near his house was a tank, on the embankment of which stood a tree, on the boughs of which lived a ghost of the kind called Sankchinni.

One night the Brahman’s wife had occasion to go to the tank and, as she went, she brushed by a Sankchinni who stood near, on which the she-ghost got very angry with the woman, seized her by the throat, climbed into her tree, and thrust her into a hole in the trunk. There the woman lay almost dead with fear.

The ghost put on the clothes of the woman and went into the house of the Brahman. Neither the Brahman nor his mother had any inkling of the change. The Brahman thought his wife returned from the tank, and the mother thought that it was her daughter-in-law.

Next morning the mother-in-law discovered some change in her daughter-in-law. Her daughter-in-law, she knew, was constitutionally weak and languid, and took a long time to do the work of the house. But she had apparently become quite a different person. All of a sudden she had become very active. She now did the work of the house in an incredibly short time. Suspecting nothing, the old woman said nothing either to her son or to her daughter-in-law; on the contrary, she inly rejoiced that her daughter-in-law had turned over a new leaf. But her surprise became every day greater and greater. The cooking of the household was done in much less time than before. When the mother-in-law wanted the daughter-in-law to bring anything from the next room, it was brought in much less time than was required in walking from one room to the other. The ghost, instead of going inside the next room, would stretch a long arm—for ghosts can lengthen or shorten any limb of their bodies—from the door and get the thing.

One day the old woman observed the ghost doing this. She ordered her to bring a vessel from some distance, and the ghost unconsciously stretched her hand to several yards’ distance and brought it in a trice. The old woman was struck with wonder at the sight. She said nothing to her, but spoke to her son. Both mother and son began to watch the ghost more narrowly.

One day the old woman knew that there was no fire in the house, and she knew also that her daughter-in-law had not gone out of doors to get it, and yet, strange to say, the hearth in the kitchen-room was quite in a blaze. She went in, and, to her infinite surprise, found that her daughter-in-law was not using any fuel for cooking, but had thrust into the oven her foot, which was blazing brightly.

The old mother told her son what she had seen, and they both concluded that the young woman in the house was not his real wife but a she-ghost. The son witnessed those very acts of the ghost which his mother had seen. An Ojha [exorcist] was therefore sent for.

The exorcist came and wanted in the first instance to ascertain whether the woman was a real woman or a ghost. For this purpose he lighted a piece of turmeric and set it below the nose of the supposed woman. Now this was an infallible test, as no ghost, whether male or female, can put up with the smell of burnt turmeric. The moment the lighted turmeric was taken near her, she screamed aloud and ran away from the room.

It was now plain that she was either a ghost or a woman possessed by a ghost. The woman was caught hold of by main force and asked who she was. At first she refused to make any disclosures, on which the Ojha took up his slippers and began belabouring her with them.

Then the ghost said with a strong nasal accent—for all ghosts speak through the nose—that she was a Sankchinni, that she lived on a tree by the side of the tank, that she had seized the young Brahmani and put her in the hollow of her tree because one night she had touched her, and that if any person went to the hole the woman would be found.

The woman was brought from the tree almost dead; the ghost was again shoebeaten, after which process, on her declaring solemnly that she would not again do any harm to the Brahman and his family, she was released from the spell of the Ojha and sent away, and the wife of the Brahman recovered slowly.

After which the Brahman and his wife lived many years happily together and begat many sons and daughters.

Next: The Story of a Brahmadaitya

(900 words)

Bengal: The Story of a Brahmadaitya

As the author explains in a note, a Brahmadaitya is "the ghost of a Brahman who dies unmarried."

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Story of a Brahmadaitya

Once on a time there lived a poor Brahman who had a wife. As he had no means of livelihood, he used every day to beg from door to door and thus got some rice which they boiled and ate, together with some greens which they gleaned from the fields.

After some time it chanced that the village changed its owner, and the Brahman bethought himself of asking some boon of the new laird. So one morning the Brahman went to the laird’s house to pay him court. It so happened that at that time the laird was making inquiries of his servants about the village and its various parts. The laird was told that a certain banyan-tree in the outskirts of the village was haunted by a number of ghosts and that no man had ever the boldness to go to that tree at night. In bygone days some rash fellows went to the tree at night, but the necks of them all were wrung, and they all died. Since that time no man had ventured to go to the tree at night, though in the day some neat-herds took their cows to the spot.

The new laird, on hearing this, said that if any one would go at night to the tree, cut one of its branches and bring it to him, he would make him a present of a hundred bighas [about 30 acres] of rent-free land. None of the servants of the laird accepted the challenge as they were sure they would be throttled by the ghosts. The Brahman, who was sitting there, thought within himself thus, “I am almost starved to death now, as I never get my bellyful. If I go to the tree at night and succeed in cutting off one of its branches I shall get one hundred bighas of rent-free land, and become independent for life. If the ghosts kill me, my case will not be worse, for to die of hunger is no better than to be killed by ghosts.”

He then offered to go to the tree and cut off a branch that night. The laird renewed his promise and said to the Brahman that if he succeeded in bringing one of the branches of that haunted tree at night, he would certainly give him one hundred bighas of rent-free land.

In the course of the day when the people of the village heard of the laird’s promise and of the Brahman’s offer, they all pitied the poor man. They blamed him for his foolhardiness, as they were sure the ghosts would kill him, as they had killed so many before. His wife tried to dissuade him from the rash undertaking, but in vain. He said he would die in any case, but there was some chance of his escaping, and of thus becoming independent for life. Accordingly, one hour after sundown, the Brahman set out.

He went to the outskirts of the village without the slightest fear as far as a certain vakula-tree from which the haunted tree was about one rope distant. But under the vakula-tree the Brahman’s heart misgave him. He began to quake with fear, and the heaving of his heart was like the upward and downward motion of the paddy-husking pedal.

Next: The Story of a Brahmadaitya (cont.)

(vakula tree)

(500 words)

Bengal: The Story of a Brahmadaitya (cont.)

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Story of a Brahmadaitya (cont.)

The vakula-tree was the haunt of a Brahmadaitya, who, seeing the Brahman stop under the tree, spoke to him, and said, “Are you afraid, Brahman? Tell me what you wish to do, and I’ll help you. I am a Brahmadaitya.”

The Brahman replied, “O blessed spirit, I wish to go to yonder banyan-tree and cut off one of its branches for the zemindar, who has promised to give me one hundred bighas of rent-free land for it. But my courage is failing me. I shall thank you very much for helping me.”

The Brahmadaitya answered, “Certainly I’ll help you, Brahman. Go on towards the tree, and I’ll come with you.”

The Brahman, relying on the supernatural strength of his invisible patron, who is the object of the fear and reverence of common ghosts, fearlessly walked towards the haunted tree, on reaching which he began to cut a branch with the bill which was in his hand. But the moment the first stroke was given, a great many ghosts rushed towards the Brahman, who would have been torn to pieces but for the interference of the Brahmadaitya.

The Brahmadaitya said in a commanding tone, “Ghosts, listen. This is a poor Brahman. He wishes to get a branch of this tree which will be of great use to him. It is my will that you let him cut a branch.”

The ghosts, hearing the voice of the Brahmadaitya, replied, “Be it according to thy will, lord. At thy bidding we are ready to do anything. Let not the Brahman take the trouble of cutting; we ourselves will cut a branch for him.”

So saying, in the twinkling of an eye, the ghosts put into the hands of the Brahman a branch of the tree, with which he went as fast as his legs could carry him to the house of the zemindar.

The zemindar and his people were not a little surprised to see the branch, but he said, “Well, I must see tomorrow whether this branch is a branch of the haunted tree or not; if it be, you will get the promised reward.”

Next morning the zemindar himself went along with his servants to the haunted tree and found to their infinite surprise that the branch in their hands was really a branch of that tree, as they saw the part from which it had been cut off. Being thus satisfied, the zemindar ordered a deed to be drawn up, by which he gave to the Brahman for ever one hundred bighas of rent-free land. Thus in one night the Brahman became a rich man.

It so happened that the fields, of which the Brahman became the owner, were covered with ripe paddy, ready for the sickle. But the Brahman had not the means to reap the golden harvest. He had not a pice in his pocket for paying the wages of the reapers. What was the Brahman to do? He went to his spirit-friend the Brahmadaitya, and said, “Oh, Brahmadaitya, I am in great distress. Through your kindness I got the rent-free land all covered with ripe paddy. But I have not the means of cutting the paddy, as I am a poor man. What shall I do?”

The kind Brahmadaitya answered, “Oh, Brahman, don’t be troubled in your mind about the matter. I’ll see to it that the paddy is not only cut, but that the corn is threshed and stored up in granaries, and the straw piled up in ricks. Only you do one thing. Borrow from men in the village one hundred sickles and put them all at the foot of this tree at night. Prepare also the exact spot on which the grain and the straw are to be stored up.”

The joy of the Brahman knew no bounds. He easily got a hundred sickles, as the husbandmen of the village, knowing that he had become rich, readily lent him what he wanted. At sunset he took the hundred sickles and put them beneath the vakula-tree. He also selected a spot of ground near his hut for his magazine of paddy and for his ricks of straw; and washed the spot with a solution of cow-dung and water. After making these preparations he went to sleep.

Next: The Story of a Brahmadaitya (end)

(800 words)

Bengal: The Story of a Brahmadaitya (end)

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Story of a Brahmadaitya (end)

In the meantime, soon after nightfall, when the villagers had all retired to their houses, the Brahmadaitya called to him the ghosts of the haunted tree, who were one hundred in number, and said to them, “You must to-night do some work for the poor Brahman whom I am befriending. The hundred bighas of land which he has got from the zemindar are all covered with standing ripe corn. He has not the means to reap it. This night you all must do the work for him. Here are, you see, a hundred sickles; let each of you take a sickle in hand and come to the field I shall show him. There are a hundred of you. Let each ghost cut the paddy of one bigha, bring the sheaves on his back to the Brahman’s house, thresh the corn, put the corn in one large granary, and pile up the straw in separate ricks. Now, don’t lose time. You must do it all this very night.”

The hundred ghosts at once said to the Brahmadaitya, “We are ready to do whatever your lordship commands us.” The Brahmadaitya showed the ghosts the Brahman’s house and the spot prepared for receiving the grain and the straw, and then took them to the Brahman’s fields, all waving with the golden harvest.

The ghosts at once fell to it. A ghost harvest-reaper is different from a human harvest-reaper. What a man cuts in a whole day, a ghost cuts in a minute. Mash, mash, mash, the sickles went round, and the long stalks of paddy fell to the ground. The reaping over, the ghosts took up the sheaves on their huge backs and carried them all to the Brahman’s house. The ghosts then separated the grain from the straw, stored up the grain in one huge store-house, and piled up the straw in many a fantastic rick. It was full two hours before sunrise when the ghosts finished their work and retired to rest on their tree.

No words can tell either the joy of the Brahman and his wife when early next morning they opened the door of their hut, or the surprise of the villagers, when they saw the huge granary and the fantastic ricks of straw. The villagers did not understand it. They at once ascribed it to the gods.

A few days after this the Brahman went to the vakula-tree and said to the Brahmadaitya, “I have one more favour to ask of you, Brahmadaitya. As the gods have been very gracious to me, I wish to feed one thousand Brahmans, and I shall thank you for providing me with the materials of the feast.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said the polite Brahmadaitya; “I’ll supply you with the requirements of a feast for a thousand Brahmans, only show me the cellars in which the provisions are to be stored away.”

The Brahman improvised a store-room. The day before the feast the store-room was overflowing with provisions. There were one hundred jars of ghi (clarified butter), one hill of flour, one hundred jars of sugar, one hundred jars of milk, curds, and congealed milk, and the other thousand and one things required in a great Brahmanical feast.

The next morning one hundred Brahman pastry cooks were employed, the thousand Brahmans ate their fill, but the host, the Brahman of the story, did not eat. He thought he would eat with the Brahmadaitya. But the Brahmadaitya, who was present there though unseen, told him that he could not gratify him on that point, as by befriending the Brahman the Brahmadaitya’s allotted period had come to an end, and the pushpaka chariot had been sent to him from heaven. The Brahmadaitya, being released from his ghostly life, was taken up into heaven; and the Brahman lived happily for many years, begetting sons and grandsons.

Next: The Origin of Rubies

(the pushpaka chariot belongs to
Kubera, the god of wealth, shown here)

(600 words)

Bengal: The Origin of Rubies

You may be surprised to find that the god Shiva makes an appearance in this story; for more about Shiva, see Wikipedia.

[Notes by LKG]

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This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Origin of Rubies

There was a certain king who died, leaving four sons behind him, with his queen. The queen was passionately fond of the youngest of the princes. She gave him the best robes, the best horses, the best food, and the best furniture. The other three princes became exceedingly jealous of their youngest brother and, conspiring against him and their mother, made them live in a separate house and took possession of the estate.

Owing to overindulgence, the youngest prince had become very wilful. He never listened to any one, not even to his mother, but had his own way in everything.

One day he went with his mother to bathe in the river. A large boat was riding there at anchor. None of the boatmen were in it. The prince went into the boat and told his mother to come into it. His mother besought him to get down from the boat, as it did not belong to him. But the prince said, “No, mother, I am not coming down; I mean to go on a voyage, and if you wish to come with me, then delay not but come up at once, or I shall be off in a trice.”

The queen besought the prince to do no such thing, but to come down instantly. But the prince gave no heed to what she said and began to take up the anchor. The queen went up into the boat in great haste, and the moment she was on board, the boat started and, falling into the current, passed on swiftly like an arrow.

The boat went on and on till it reached the sea. After it had gone many furlongs into the open sea, the boat came near a whirlpool, where the prince saw a great many rubies of monstrous size floating on the waters. Such large rubies no one had ever seen, each being in value equal to the wealth of seven kings.

The prince caught hold of half a dozen of those rubies, and put them on board. His mother said, “Darling, don’t take up those red balls; they must belong to somebody who has been shipwrecked, and we may be taken up as thieves.” At the repeated entreaties of his mother, the prince threw them into the sea, keeping only one tied up in his clothes. The boat then drifted towards the coast, and the queen and the prince arrived at a certain port where they landed.

The port where they landed was not a small place; it was a large city, the capital of a great king. Not far from the place, the queen and her son hired a hut where they lived. As the prince was yet a boy, he was fond of playing at marbles. When the children of the king came out to play on a lawn before the palace, our young prince joined them. He had no marbles, but he played with the ruby which he had in his possession. The ruby was so hard that it broke every taw against which it struck.

The daughter of the king, who used to watch the games from a balcony of the palace, was astonished to see a brilliant red ball in the hand of the strange lad and wanted to take possession of it. She told her father that a boy of the street had an uncommonly bright stone in his possession which she must have, or else she would starve herself to death.

The king ordered his servants to bring to him the lad with the precious stone. When the boy was brought, the king wondered at the largeness and brilliancy of the ruby. He had never seen anything like it. He doubted whether any king of any country in the world possessed so great a treasure. He asked the lad where he had got it. The lad replied that he got it from the sea.

The king offered a thousand rupees for the ruby, and the lad, not knowing its value, readily parted with it for that sum. He went with the money to his mother, who was not a little frightened, thinking that her son had stolen the money from some rich man’s house. She became quiet, however, on being assured that the money was given to him by the king in exchange for the red ball which he had picked up in the sea.

The king’s daughter, on getting the ruby, put it in her hair, and, standing before her pet parrot, said to the bird, “Oh, my darling parrot, don’t I look very beautiful with this ruby in my hair?”

Next: The Origin of Rubies (cont.)

(700 words)

Bengal: The Origin of Rubies (cont.)

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Origin of Rubies (cont.)

The parrot replied, “Beautiful! You look quite hideous with it! What princess ever puts only one ruby in her hair? It would be somewhat feasible if you had two at least.”

Stung with shame at the reproach cast in her teeth by the parrot, the princess went into the grief-chamber of the palace and would neither eat nor drink.

The king was not a little concerned when he heard that his daughter had gone into the grief-chamber. He went to her and asked her the cause of her grief. The princess told the king what her pet parrot had said, and added, “Father, if you do not procure for me another ruby like this, I’ll put an end to my life by mine own hands.”

The king was overwhelmed with grief. Where was he to get another ruby like it? He doubted whether another like it could be found in the whole world.

He ordered the lad who had sold the ruby to be brought into his presence. “Have you, young man,” asked the king, “another ruby like the one you sold me?”

The lad replied, “No, I have not got one. Why, do you want another? I can give you lots, if you wish to have them. They are to be found in a whirlpool in the sea, far, far away. I can go and fetch some for you.”

Amazed at the lad’s reply, the king offered rich rewards for procuring only another ruby of the same sort.

The lad went home and said to his mother that he must go to sea again to fetch some rubies for the king. The woman was quite frightened at the idea and begged him not to go. But the lad was resolved on going, and nothing could prevent him from carrying out his purpose.

He accordingly went alone on board that same vessel which had brought him and his mother, and set sail. He reached the whirlpool, from near which he had formerly picked up the rubies. This time, however, he determined to go to the exact spot whence the rubies were coming out. He went to the centre of the whirlpool, where he saw a gap reaching to the bottom of the ocean. He dived into it, leaving his boat to wheel round the whirlpool.

When he reached the bottom of the ocean, he saw there a beautiful palace. He went inside. In the central room of the palace there was the god Siva, with his eyes closed and absorbed apparently in intense meditation. A few feet above Siva’s head was a platform on which lay a young lady of exquisite beauty.

The prince went to the platform and saw that the head of the lady was separated from her body. Horrified at the sight, he did not know what to make of it. He saw a stream of blood trickling from the severed head, falling upon the matted head of Siva and running into the ocean in the form of rubies.

After a little, two small rods, one of silver and one of gold, which were lying near the head of the lady, attracted his eyes. As he took up the rods in his hands, the golden rod accidentally fell upon the head, on which the head immediately joined itself to the body, and the lady got up.

Astonished at the sight of a human being, the lady asked the prince who he was and how he had got there. After hearing the story of the prince’s adventures, the lady said, “Unhappy young man, depart instantly from this place, for when Siva finishes his meditations, he will turn you to ashes by a single glance of his eyes.”

The young man, however, would not go except in her company, as he was over head and ears in love with the beautiful lady. At last they both contrived to run away from the palace and, coming up to the surface of the ocean, they climbed into the boat near the centre of the whirlpool and sailed away towards land, having previously laden the vessel with a cargo of rubies.

The wonder of the prince’s mother at seeing the beautiful damsel may be well imagined. Early next morning the prince sent a basin full of big rubies to the king through a servant. The king was astonished beyond measure. His daughter, on getting the rubies, resolved on marrying the wonderful lad who had made a present of them to her.

Though the prince had a wife whom he had brought up from the depths of the ocean, he consented to have a second wife. They were accordingly married, and lived happily for years, begetting sons and daughters.

Next: The Ghost who was Afraid of being Bagged

(800 words)

Bengal: The Ghost who was Afraid of being Bagged

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Ghost who was Afraid of being Bagged

Once on a time there lived a barber who had a wife. They did not live happily together, as the wife always complained that she had not enough to eat. Many were the curtain lectures which were inflicted upon the poor barber.

The wife used often to say to her mate, “If you had not the means to support a wife, why did you marry me? People who have not means ought not to indulge in the luxury of a wife. When I was in my father’s house I had plenty to eat, but it seems that I have come to your house to fast. Widows only fast; I have become a widow in your life-time.” She was not content with mere words; she got very angry one day and struck her husband with the broomstick of the house.

Stung with shame, and abhorring himself on account of his wife’s reproach and beating, he left his house, with the implements of his craft, and vowed never to return and see his wife’s face again till he had become rich.

He went from village to village, and towards nightfall came to the outskirts of a forest. He laid himself down at the foot of a tree, and spent many a sad hour in bemoaning his hard lot.

It so chanced that the tree, at the foot of which the barber was lying down, was dwelt in by a ghost. The ghost, seeing a human being at the foot of the tree, naturally thought of destroying him. With this intention the ghost alighted from the tree and, with outspread arms and a gaping mouth, stood like a tall palmyra tree before the barber and said, “Now, barber, I am going to destroy you. Who will protect you?”

The barber, though quaking in every limb through fear and his hair standing erect, did not lose his presence of mind, but with that promptitude and shrewdness which are characteristic of his fraternity, replied, “O spirit, wait a bit, and I’ll show you how many ghosts I have captured this very night and put into my bag, and right glad am I to find you here, as I shall have one more ghost in my bag.”

So saying the barber produced from his bag a small looking-glass, which he always carried about with him along with his razors, his whet-stone, his strop and other utensils, to enable his customers to see whether their beards had been well shaved or not. He stood up, placed the looking-glass right against the face of the ghost, and said, “Here you see one ghost which I have seized and bagged; I am going to put you also in the bag to keep this ghost company.”

The ghost, seeing his own face in the looking-glass, was convinced of the truth of what the barber had said and was filled with fear. He said to the barber, “O, sir barber, I’ll do whatever you bid me, only do not put me into your bag. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The barber said, “You ghosts are a faithless set; there is no trusting you. You will promise, and not give what you promise.”

“O, sir,” replied the ghost, “be merciful to me; I’ll bring to you whatever you order, and if I do not bring it, then put me into your bag.”

“Very well,” said the barber, “bring me just now one thousand gold mohurs, and by to-morrow night you must raise a granary in my house and fill it with paddy [unmilled rice]. Go and get the gold mohurs immediately, and if you fail to do my bidding you will certainly be put into my bag.”

The ghost gladly consented to the conditions. He went away and, in the course of a short time, returned with a bag containing a thousand gold mohurs. The barber was delighted beyond measure at the sight of the gold mohurs. He then told the ghost to see to it that by the following night a granary was erected in his house and filled with paddy.

It was during the small hours of the morning that the barber, loaded with the heavy treasure, knocked at the door of his house. His wife, who reproached herself for having in a fit of rage struck her husband with a broomstick, got out of bed and unbolted the door. Her surprise was great when she saw her husband pour out of the bag a glittering heap of gold mohurs.

The next night the poor devil, through fear of being bagged, raised a large granary in the barber’s house and spent the live-long night in carrying on his back large packages of paddy till the granary was filled up to the brim.

The uncle of this terrified ghost, seeing his worthy nephew carrying on his back loads of paddy, asked what the matter was. The ghost related what had happened.

The uncle-ghost then said, “You fool, you think the barber can bag you! The barber is a cunning fellow; he has cheated you, like a simpleton as you are.”

“You doubt,” said the nephew-ghost, “the power of the barber! Come and see.”

The uncle-ghost then went to the barber’s house and peeped into it through a window. The barber, perceiving from the blast of wind which the arrival of the ghost had produced that a ghost was at the window, placed full before it the self-same looking-glass, saying, “Come now! I’ll put you also into the bag.”

The uncle-ghost, seeing his own face in the looking-glass, got quite frightened, and promised that very night to raise another granary and to fill it, not this time with paddy, but with rice.

So in two nights the barber became a rich man, and lived happily with his wife begetting sons and daughters.

Next: The Bald Wife

(1000 words)

Bengal: The Bald Wife

This story is part of the Bengali Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of Bengal by the Rev. Lal Behari Day, with illustrations by Warwick Goble (1912).

The Bald Wife

A certain man had two wives, the younger of whom he loved more than the elder. The younger wife had two tufts of hair on her head, and the elder only one. The man went to a distant town for merchandise, so the two wives lived together in the house. But they hated each other: the younger one, who was her husband’s favourite, ill-treated the other. She made her do all the menial work in the house, rebuked her all day and night, and did not give her enough to eat.

One day the younger wife said to the elder, “Come and take away all the lice from the hair of my head.” While the elder wife was searching among the younger one’s hair for the vermin, one lock of hair by chance gave way, on which the younger one, mightily incensed, tore off the single tuft that was on the head of the elder wife and drove her away from the house.

The elder wife, now become completely bald, determined to go into the forest and there either die of starvation or be devoured by some wild beast. On her way she passed by a cotton plant. She stopped near it, made for herself a broom with some sticks which lay about, and swept clean the ground round about the plant. The plant was much pleased, and gave her a blessing.

She wended on her way and now saw a plantain tree. She swept the ground round about the plantain tree which, being pleased with her, gave her a blessing.

As she went on, she saw the shed of a Brahmani bull. As the shed was very dirty, she swept the place clean, on which the bull, being much pleased, blessed her.

She next saw a tulasi plant, bowed herself down before it and cleaned the place round about, on which the plant gave her a blessing.

As she was going on in her journey, she saw a hut made of branches of trees and leaves and, near it, a man sitting cross-legged, apparently absorbed in meditation. She stood for a moment behind the venerable muni.

“Whoever you may be,” he said, “come before me; do not stand behind me: if you do, I will reduce you to ashes.”

The woman, trembling with fear, stood before the muni. “What is your petition?” asked the muni.

“Father Muni,” answered the woman, “thou knowest how miserable I am, since thou art all-knowing. My husband does not love me, and his other wife, having torn off the only tuft of hair on my head, has driven me away from the house. Have pity upon me, Father Muni!”

The muni, continuing sitting, said, “Go into the tank which you see yonder. Plunge into the water only once, and then come to me again.”

The woman went to the tank, washed in it, and plunged into the water only once, according to the bidding of the muni.

When she got out of the water, what a change was seen in her! Her head was full of jet black hair, which was so long that it touched her heels, her complexion had become perfectly fair, and she looked young and beautiful.

Filled with joy and gratitude, she went to the muni and bowed herself to the ground. The muni said to her, “Rise, woman. Go inside the hut, and you will find a number of wicker baskets, and bring out any you like.”

The woman went into the hut and selected a modest-looking basket. The muni said, “Open the basket.”

She opened it and found it filled with ingots of gold, pearls and all sorts of precious stones. The muni said, “Woman, take that basket with you. It will never get empty. When you take away the present contents, their room will be supplied by another set, and that by another, and that by another, and the basket will never become empty. Daughter, go in peace.”

The woman bowed herself down to the ground in profound but silent gratitude, and went away.

As she was returning homewards with the basket in her hand, she passed by the tulasi plant whose bottom she had swept. The tulasi plant said to her, “Go in peace, child! thy husband will love thee warmly.”

She next came to the shed of the Brahmani bull, who gave her two shell ornaments which were twined round its horns, saying, “Daughter, take these shells, put them on your wrists, and whenever you shake either of them you will get whatever ornaments you wish to obtain.”

She then came to the plantain tree, which gave her one of its broad leaves, saying, “Take, child, this leaf; and when you move it you will get not only all sorts of delicious plantains, but all kinds of agreeable food.”

She came last of all to the cotton plant, which gave her one of its own branches, saying, “Daughter, take this branch, and when you shake it, you will get not only all sorts of cotton clothes, but also of silk and purple. Shake it now in my presence.” She shook the branch, and a fabric of the finest glossy silk fell on her lap. She put on that silk cloth and wended on her way with the shells on her wrists and the basket and the branch and the leaf in her hands.

The younger wife was standing at the door of her house when she saw a beautiful woman approach her. She could scarcely believe her eyes. What a change! The old, bald hag turned into the very Queen of Beauty herself!

The elder wife, now grown rich and beautiful, treated the younger wife with kindness. She gave her fine clothes, costly ornaments, and the richest viands. But all to no purpose. The younger wife envied the beauty and hair of her associate.

Having heard that she got it all from Father Muni in the forest, she determined to go there. Accordingly she started on her journey. She saw the cotton plant, but did nothing to it; she passed by the plantain tree, the shed of the Brahmani bull, and the tulasi plant, without taking any notice of them.

She approached the muni. The muni told her to bathe in the tank and plunge only once into the water. She gave one plunge, at which she got a glorious head of hair and a beautifully fair complexion.

She thought a second plunge would make her still more beautiful. Accordingly she plunged into the water again and came out as bald and ugly as before.

She came to the muni, and wept. The sage drove her away, saying, “Be off, you disobedient woman. You will get no boon from me.”

She went back to her house mad with grief. The lord of the two women returned from his travels and was struck with the long locks and beauty of his first wife. He loved her dearly, and when he saw her secret and untold resources and her incredible wealth, he almost adored her.

They lived together happily for many years, and had for their maid-servant the younger woman, who had been formerly his best beloved.

(1300 words)