Folktales from Bengal (10 page)

All the tigers looked up,
but could not see him behind the leaves.

“
What a long
tail he has,” said one of the cubs.

It was actually a long
piece of rope he had taken to tie the horse down. Now, it was
dangling between the branches.

“
What has a
tail that is this long? The smiger!” cried one of the tigers, and
in a flash, all the tigers began to run away, and the area was as
tiger free as his cow-barn.

The farmer thanked god,
and climbed down.

When he reached his
house, his son asked. “Father, did you bring my horse?”

He smacked his son on the
head and said, “Here’s your horse.”

The son never asked for a
horse again.

Once upon a time, in a
faraway village, lived an old woman. She was so old, that when she
walked, she hunched to the ground, and her head wobbled like a
pendulum. The woman had three dogs: Ronga, Bhonga, and
Bhutu.

One day, the woman wanted
to visit her granddaughter’s house. She told her dogs, “Stay and
guard the hut. Don’t run away, okay?”

The dogs barked, and
wagged their tails in agreement.

The old woman went along
the path to her granddaughter’s home, which was in a village a
day’s walk from her house. She went slowly, her head bobbing as she
walked, and her cane tapping the ground. As it happened, the path
to the village ran across a deep and dangerous forest. Many wild
creatures lived there, but the woman was fearless, because she
knew, with her wit, she could outsmart anyone.

After an hour of walking,
when she was quite deep into the forest, a fox spotted her. He
jumped in her way, and said, “Hello, little old lady. I am going to
eat you now.”

The woman replied, “Of
course you will. But wait for a while. I am travelling to my
granddaughter’s place. I’ll live there for a month, and fatten up.
Eat me then. If you eat me now, all you’ll get is skin and bones.
“

The fox said, “All right
then. Fatten up for me, and then I’ll eat you.” And he
left.

The old woman continued
in her path, cane tapping and head bobbing, for a while more. Now
she was stopped by a tiger.

The tiger said, “Ah my
lucky day, a three legged woman. I am going to eat you now, if you
don’t mind.”

“
I don’t mind
at all,” said the woman. “But if you eat me now, all you’ll get are
my skin and bones. I do not have an ounce of flesh on me. But I am
going to my granddaughter’s place. In a month, I will returned, and
have a lot more meat on me then. Can’t you wait for just a month
now?”

The tiger said, “Very
well. See you in a month,” and went away.

The old woman walked
again, slowly but surely, with her head bobbing and her cane
tapping. Nearing the afternoon, she was stopped by a
bear.

The bear said, “Ah, what
a slow little thing you are, on your three legs. Why don’t you stop
now, so I can eat you?”

“
Well, bear.
You could eat me now, but you’ll be the loser, because in a month I
will return from my granddaughter’s place, where I am going now,
and will be fatter and tastier than ever. Now all I have are these
skin and bones.”

“
Very well
then. Just a month. No more.” And he went his way.

Soon after this, the old
woman reached her granddaughter’s house. There, she ate so much
curd and sweets in the following month that she was fat beyond
recognition. If she had eaten a bit more, she would have probably
burst. But when the month was over, she was worried.

“
Why do you
look so worried, granny?” asked her granddaughter.

“
Oh my dear
granddaughter, it is time I return home. But I have become so fat,
I cannot walk back. I’ll have to roll back. And there’s a bear and
a tiger and a fox waiting for me in the path, and they will eat me
the moment they see me.”

“
Don’t worry,
grandma. I am going to put you inside this gourd, and roll you
towards your village. You’ll be safe inside, and the beasts won’t
be able to see you.”

She carved out the
insides from a giant gourd, and then put the old woman in, with
some sweets in a jar, so that she did not go hungry on the way.
Then she rolled her downhill, and the gourd rolled away in the
direction of her house, through the forest.

The old woman sang from
inside the gourd,

“
Dham kurkur
dham kurkur

Eating sweets in a
jar,

The old woman goes far
and far.”

The bear was eagerly
waiting by the path for the woman to return. He did not see the
woman coming back, but saw something peculiar instead. A giant
gourd was rolling down the path, and it was singing.

He stopped it and turned
it around. He then sniffed it, and licked it. It did not seem
edible at all, and all the while, the gourd kept singing, “The old
woman goes far and far.” After listening to this for a while, he
got frustrated thinking about how the woman had tricked him, and
gave the gourd a kick, and it rolled about in its merry
way.

About halfway through its
path, the gourd was stopped by the tiger. He considered taking a
bite out of it, but it smelled funny. And he was not a vegetarian,
the tiger, so he decided that the old woman had somehow made a fool
out of him, and let the gourd go.

The old woman had almost
reached her home when the fox spotted the gourd. Unlike the other
two, he was not so easy to fool. “A thing that rolls along by
itself, and sings, yet has no mouth. Strange, very strange indeed.”
The fox said to himself, and then placed a sharp rock in its
path.

The gourd slammed into
the rock with a huge crash, and burst open, and the old woman
rolled a bit further down the road before she came to a
halt.

“
Ha! You hag,
nice try, but I got you now.” He said, and proceeded to eat
her.

The old woman brushed the
dirt off her clothes, and stood up. She said, “All right all right,
you got me fair and square. But why don’t you let me clean up a
bit. Here, I’ll sing a song for you.”

“
Fine, but be
quick.” The fox said. He did not like dirt getting inside his
teeth. It was really hard to clean afterwards. And he did not mind
listening to a little music.

The old woman got up on a
hillock, from which she could see her little hut. She sang loud and
clear,

“
Come on,
come on, too too,

Ronga, Bhonga,
Bhutu.”

And before the fox could
say ‘darn’, the three dogs came running to her rescue, and tore up
the fox into shreds. The old woman hummed a song, and went back to
her hut, her head bobbing and her cane tapping on the forest
floor.

Pantabhaat is a dish that
poor people have for dinner every day, and these days, the rich
people eat once a year as a delicacy. When dinner is finished, the
leftover rice is placed in a small clay pot called the shanki, and
soaked in water. The shanki is hung with a rope close to the
ceiling so that the rice is not stolen by cats. In the morning, the
shanki is taken down, a little salt is sprinkled on the rice, and
if you’re lucky, you might even paste in a green chilli, and have
the dish for breakfast, before you go out to work.

At least, this is what
the old woman was planning on doing the night before she hung the
shanki up in the balcony of her little cottage. In the morning,
when she woke up, it was gone! The old woman we are talking about
was very poor, so poor that all she had in the world was the small
cottage, the shanki, and the one piece of cloth she wore, and so
old that nobody would give her any work to do. All day long, she
would have to walk around the village, begging for food, and at
night, she cooked whatever she had collected, and ate half. The
rest she left for breakfast, which she ate before heading out for
begging again.

But not this day. The
pantabhaat, her meagre breakfast, was missing today. The shanki was
hanging from the rope in the ceiling, but the rice, not a grain of
it was left. The thief had licked the pot clean.

What was the old woman to
do? She headed out to beg again, hungry, and brought back what she
collected for dinner. She cooked, ate, and hung up the pantabhaat.
But next morning, it was gone again.

The next night, she
decided she would stay up and guard the rice, but she was so tired
from the day’s work, that she fell asleep, and the thief swiped it
again.

The following day, she
went to the king to complain.

The path was long and
winded, and her joints creaked and her hip hurt from all the
walking. But she went along anyways. She stopped by a pond to rest,
and a catfish swam close.

“
Hello,
granny, what are you doing so far from home?” gurgled the
fish.

“
Going to the
king to complain about a thief who eats my rice every night,” the
old woman said.

“
Why do you
think the king will care?” said the fish, and blew a
bubble.

“
Because I am
hungry for three mornings now. I can barely walk.”

“
No, no. Why
would
he
care?
You are poor. He is rich. He won’t know your pain,” said the
catfish.

“
Of course he
will. He’s the king.”

At this, the catfish
shrugged, and said, “Pick me up on your way back. I might come
handy.”

The old woman got up and
started to walk again, and the fish swished its tail and swam deep
into the pond.

A little further down the
road, she saw a wizened thorn apple lying on the ground beneath a
tree.

“
Granny,
where are you going?” the thornapple asked.

“
To the king
to complain about a thief,” she said.

“
The king
won’t listen to you. He’s got better things to do,” said the
thornapple.

“
Why is he
king then?” she asked, annoyed.

“
To be rich
and have fun, like all other kings,” the thornapple said,
wisely.

“
He has to
listen,” she said.

“
Go if you
are this stubborn. But pick me up on your way back. I might come in
useful,” said the thornapple, and the old woman walked
again.

She walked, walked, and
walked, her joints creaking and cane tapping, until she saw a razor
blade lying by the roadside.

“
Granny,
where are you off too?” the razor asked.

“
To the king
to complain about a thief, who eats my rice every night,” she
said.

“
He won’t
listen,” said the razor, his edge glistening.

“
He will,”
said the old woman.

“
Take me with
you on your way back,” said the razor.

The old woman nodded and
went ahead.

She was passing through
the king’s stables when she came across some cow dung. They had the
same conversation, and the old woman promised she would pick the
dung up on her way back.

Finally, she reached the
king. The king was in his court room, having a great intellectual
discussion about philosophy and what not, with a bunch of old,
bearded men who looked like prunes. She paid no heed to them, and
went straight up to the king.

“
Oh mighty
king, please help me by catching this thief that eats my pantabhaat
every night. I do not know what to do.”

The king looked at her
angrily and said, “What is this pantabhaat, old woman? And more
importantly, how did you get inside my court?”

“
It’s the
food I eat for breakfast. You take some rice that is left over
and…”

“
Seriously,
how do these people get in here? Guards, show her out.” He yelled,
then turned to the old woman and said, “If he eats your breakfast,
just buy some more and eat yourself. Don’t bother me with these
trivia. Can’t you see I have more important stuff to ponder about,
like philosophy, music, and religion? Get out!”

The guards pushed her
out, and she went back to her home, hungry more than sad, and sad
more than hopeless. But she did not forget to pick up the cow dung,
the blade, the thornapple and the catfish.

It was nearly night time
when she reached home. She asked the strange bunch she had gathered
what to do with them.

“
Keep me
hidden in the grass,” said the blade.

“
Keep me on
the balcony floor,” said the cow dung.

“
Keep me
inside the oven,” said the thornapple.

“
Keep me
inside your clay bot,” said the catfish.

The old woman did all
that, and went to sleep.

Deep in the night, came
the thief. He did not know what arrangements she had made for him.
He tiptoed to the clay pot, and put his hand in. And immediately,
the catfish stabbed his finger with his bony whiskers.

Swallowing his yelp, the
thief took his bleeding finger to the fire to seal the cut. No
sooner was he in front of the oven did the thornapple burst,
singing his face and eyebrows with its boiling insides.