Sacked! Folk Tales You Can Carry Around Read online

  SACKED!

  Folktales You Can Carry Around

  DEEPA AGARWAL

  Illustrations by Anupama Ajinkya Apte

  Dedication

  For my dear grandchildren

  Adya, Kartik, Aanya, Anika and Ahan

  Contents

  1.The Fruit of Hard Work

  2.The Talking Parrot and the Flying Horse

  3.Night into Day

  4.Roll My Pumpkin!

  5.Why Did the Fish Laugh?

  6.The Barber’s Secret

  7.The Talking Doll

  8.How Manjari Fooled the Jackal

  9.The Golden Rat

  10.The Palanquin of the Goddess

  11.The Music Loving Demon

  12.How Prince Ranbir Found Knowledge

  13.Wisdom for Sale

  14.King Vikram and the Princess of China

  15.The Pots of Plenty

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Copyright

  The Fruit of Hard Work

  Long, long ago, a priest named Ram Dhan lived in a village in the heart of India. He made his living by performing religious ceremonies for the villagers. But since the village was small and such ceremonies were required only once in a while, Ram Dhan barely made enough money to feed his wife and himself.

  One evening, as he and his wife, Sarla Devi, ate their dinner of two dry chapattis with a lump of salt, she said, ‘We deserve better than this, surely. I wish we had money to buy some vegetables at least.’

  Ram Dhan sighed. ‘There’s no way for me to earn more.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sarla Devi, ‘I’ve heard our raja sahib is very generous. He gives freely to learned men like you.’

  Ram Dhan frowned. ‘Kings acquire their wealth by taxing their subjects or by looting their enemies in battle. I’d rather remain poor than accept such money in alms.’

  ‘I’m sure not all of his money is earned like that,’ Sarla Devi insisted. ‘Why don’t you go to the palace and find out?’

  Ram Dhan thought for a while. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘But I’ll only accept money the king has earned by his own honest work.’

  The next morning, he set off for the capital. When he reached the palace, he noticed a long line of men winding out from the central gates. When he learnt that they were all alms seekers like himself, he joined the queue.

  Inside, the king was sitting on a jewelled throne. A huge diamond flashed in his turban, and his brocade coat shimmered with gold. Two attendants stood beside him, holding an enormous salver covered with coins. As each supplicant approached, the king picked up a handful of coins and poured them into the man’s cupped palms.

  After a long wait, Ram Dhan said, ‘Your Majesty, with all due respect, I would like to ask you a question. Have you earned this money by the sweat of your brow?’

  The king was so startled that the coins slid out of his hands back into the salver. ‘Earned?’ he replied. ‘Don’t you know kings do not sweat to earn money like ordinary people do?’

  Ram Dhan said, ‘Then I cannot accept this money. It is against my dharma to take money that has not been earned by honest labour.’

  The king paled. When he had become king, he had made a vow that a needy person would never go empty-handed from his door. If this Brahmin left without accepting alms from him, his vow would be broken!

  ‘Wait!’ he called to Ram Dhan, who was already turning away. ‘If you come again tomorrow, I promise you will get money that I have earned by my own labour.’

  After the crowd had dispersed, the king went to his chamber and disguised himself as a common labourer. He then slipped out of the palace and began to look for work in the city. After knocking on many doors, he found a job – that of fetching water for a householder.

  The king had never in his life lifted a finger to do any kind of work. Just filling the clay pot with water and carrying it on his head was exhausting. When he staggered back to the house with the full pot, he was ordered to fetch another. This was even more of an effort, but he thought of his vow and went on. However, as soon as he re-entered the house, he stumbled and dropped the pot. It shattered at once.

  The householder was furious. ‘You useless fellow!’ he cried. ‘Take this and get out. It’s more than you deserve!’ Saying this, he flung a couple of paise after the king.

  The king picked up the coins gratefully. At least he would not have to break his vow.

  The next day, when Ram Dhan appeared, the king produced the coins. He said, ‘This is all I could earn by my own labour.’

  Ram Dhan touched the coins to his forehead, bowed to the king and said, ‘These coins are more precious than gold and jewels.’ And he left for his village.

  His wife ran out eagerly as soon as she saw him arrive. ‘What did the king give you?’ she asked.

  Ram Dhan produced the two coins. ‘It was all he could earn by his own honest work.’

  Sarla Devi was bitterly disappointed. But she took the two coins and placed them as an offering to the sacred tulsi plant that grew in a pot in their tiny courtyard. It was her custom to light a lamp before the plant every night, in worship.

  One evening, Sarla Devi noticed that another plant had sprouted in the pot beside the tulsi. It was quite different from the common weeds that sometimes took root there. Curious to see how it would grow, she decided to let it remain. The plant grew taller and taller as the days passed. Tiny buds appeared on its stems. The buds bloomed into little white flowers, so pretty and unusual that Sarla Devi was quite fascinated by them.

  She was even more intrigued when the flowers began turning into fruit – the oddest fruit she had ever seen. Little white balls, hard, with a wonderful sheen.

  ‘Do you think this fruit has any use?’ she asked Ram Dhan.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Soon, the plant was producing so much fruit that it fell and scattered all over the courtyard. Every day Sarla Devi swept up a big handful. The little balls were so unusual that she didn’t feel like throwing them away, so she collected them in a mud pot.

  One day, she heard the fruit seller calling out, ‘Guavas, fresh guavas!’ Sarla Devi’s mouth watered. It had been years since she had eaten a sweet guava. But she had no money. As she stood there wondering what she could do, she suddenly had an idea.

  She ran and got some of the strange fruit and went to the fruit seller. ‘Leelabai,’ she said. 'Would you like to exchange these for some guavas?’

  Leelabai turned the white balls over in her hand. ‘What are they?’ she asked, perplexed.

  ‘I thought you would know,’ Sarla Devi replied.

  ‘Well, I’ve never seen this fruit before. But it’s so pretty that I don’t mind giving you some guavas in exchange.’

  The fruit seller took the strange fruit to the village grocer. As soon as he saw the little white balls, he exclaimed, ‘Where did you get these?’

  ‘From Sarla Devi, the priest’s wife. She says they grow on a plant in her courtyard. Do they have any use?’

  The grocer’s face grew guarded. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure. But they look very nice. I don’t mind giving you provisions in exchange for them.’

  Now Leelabai began to give Sarla Devi fruits and vegetables in exchange for the gleaming white balls. In turn, she passed on the little balls to the grocer.

  One day, on a visit to the city, the grocer heard the sound of the town crier’s drum. ‘Hear all! Hear all!’ he proclaimed. ‘The marriage of Her Highness Princess Roopvati has been arranged. Her wedding dress is to be embroidered with fine pearls. His Maje
sty the king will pay handsomely for the best pearls, so if you possess any, bring them forth.’

  The grocer rushed home. He took all the little white balls he had, put them in a silken pouch, and hurried back to the city.

  When the king saw them, his eyes gleamed with delight. ‘These pearls are incomparable,’ he said. ‘Where did you get them?’

  The grocer told him about the strange plant.

  ‘Impossible!’ cried the king. ‘Pearls do not grow on plants. You are lying!’

  ‘I speak the truth!’ the grocer pleaded, terrified. ‘There is such a plant.’

  ‘Then I must see it for myself.’ The king set off for the village at once.

  ‘Show me the wonderful plant that bears pearls for fruit,’ the king demanded, as soon as Sarla Devi opened the door.

  For a moment, she was confused. Then she cried, ‘Pearls! I knew they were something rare!’

  She ran and got the pot of tulsi. The king took it from her and looked at the pearl-bearing plant. ‘This is truly a miracle!’ he cried out, amazed. ‘But how is it possible?’

  As he tilted the pot this way and that, it slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. The pot broke, scattering soil and exposing the plant’s roots.

  ‘The coins!’ Sarla Devi exclaimed. ‘It is growing out of coins!’

  Ram Dhan came forward. ‘Your Majesty, you gave me these coins in charity. It was money you earned from your own honest labour.’

  The king was wonderstruck. ‘Of course, I remember,’ he said. ‘It was the first and only time I laboured with my own hands.’

  ‘These pearls are the fruit of that work, Your Majesty,’ said Ram Dhan.

  ‘You are truly the wisest man in my kingdom,’ declared the king. ‘You shall be the royal tutor and teach my sons all you know. Particularly the value of hard work.’

  Ram Dhan and Sarla Devi went to live in the palace. They never lacked for anything again.

  The Talking Parrot and the Flying Horse

  A fowler, who made his living by catching birds and selling them, fell upon hard times. One day, his wife and he did not have even a morsel of bread to eat. Faint with hunger, they went into the forest and decided to make a meal of the first bird they caught.

  After laying out their nets and snares, they sat and waited. Their hunger grew and grew, but not a single bird did they catch.

  ‘I fear we shall have to go to bed hungry tonight,’ said the fowler to his wife.

  ‘Not again,’ she moaned.

  Suddenly, she sat up straight. ‘Look!’ she cried, pointing towards the net.

  Sure enough, something flashed inside it. Something brilliantly green – a beautiful parrot! But as the wife watched the terrified bird fluttering within the net, she was overcome with pity.

  ‘We can’t eat this one,’ she said softly. ‘It’s too small to fill our stomachs.’

  The fowler was about to reply, when suddenly the parrot spoke in a sharp, shrill voice. ‘Have pity on me, Ma,’ he said. ‘If you spare my life, I promise I’ll make you very rich. Take me to the king. He will pay you a fortune when he hears me speak.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said the fowler. ‘Our young king would love to possess such a bird.’ And the man and his wife set out for the palace with the parrot.

  ‘Amazing,’ said the king, when the bird showed his skills. ‘But who can say what it is worth?’

  ‘Fifteen thousand pieces of gold, Your Majesty,’ said the parrot. ‘And I’m worth every paisa of it.’

  The king burst out laughing when he heard that. ‘You certainly are,’ he said. He paid the fowler and sent for a beautiful golden cage.

  The parrot turned out to be both intelligent and learned. He knew many prayers and was well versed in the scriptures. He even gave the young king good advice from time to time. The king was so enchanted and grew to rely on the parrot so much that the courtiers began to resent his influence.

  One day, when the king was out hunting, the courtiers decided to use the opportunity to get rid of the parrot. They went up to his cage and said, ‘You are supposed to be the wisest bird in the kingdom, wiser even than we are. So tell us who you think is the cleverest and who the most stupid among us.’

  The parrot immediately guessed that no matter what answer he gave, they would finish him off. So he said, ‘I cannot think properly, shut up like this. You will have to set me free if you want a reply.’

  The courtiers first closed all the doors and windows so the parrot could not escape. Then they let him out of his cage. The parrot had, however, noticed a small drain in a corner of the room. He flew towards it and said, ‘All of you are equally foolish. There is one person who has more wisdom in her little toe than all of you put together possess in your heads. It’s the princess who lives across the 7 seas and 13 rivers.’

  And before the enraged courtiers could do anything, the parrot flew out through the drain. He headed straight for the forest and took shelter in a poor woodcutter’s hut.

  When the king came back and found his precious parrot missing, he was overcome with grief. He ordered the palace, the grounds and the whole city to be turned upside down, but the bird could not be found. The king became sadder still. He lost interest in the affairs of state and spent all his time mourning his beloved parrot.

  Alarmed, the courtiers decided to try and get the parrot back. They sent criers around the kingdom, announcing a reward of five thousand pieces of gold. When the poor woodcutter heard the news, he guessed that the bird they were looking for was the one who had taken shelter with him. He immediately took the parrot back to the palace.

  The moment the king set eyes on his favourite, he was filled with joy.

  ‘Why did you leave me?’ the king cried. ‘Aren’t you happy here?’

  ‘I have no complaint,’ said the parrot. ‘But some people are eager to get rid of me.’ He told the king how the courtiers had hatched a plot to kill him. Furious, the king wanted to banish all of them. But the courtiers pleaded for mercy, and at the parrot’s request, the king forgave them.

  Then the king asked the parrot, ‘Who is this princess who is so wise? Where does she live?’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said the parrot, ‘the princess, who is as beautiful as she is wise, lives thousands of miles away, across the 7 seas and 13 rivers. I can take you there, but no ordinary horse can carry you such a long distance. You will need a pakshiraj, a flying horse.’

  ‘A flying horse!’ said the king. ‘But where can we find one?’

  ‘You possess thousands of horses, Your Majesty,’ said the parrot. ‘There might be one in your stables.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said the king. ‘Surely I would know if I possessed such a wonderful beast.’

  ‘Often, great qualities remain hidden,’ replied the parrot. ‘Let me inspect all your horses. I will be able to recognise one that can fly, even if its wings cannot be seen.’

  All the horses from the king’s stable were paraded before the parrot. They were tall, beautiful creatures, sleek and well-fed. But the bird rejected all of them. The king was in despair, but the parrot asked the chief groom, ‘Are these all? Are you sure you have shown me all the king’s horses?’

  The man hesitated, but a small stable boy spoke up. ‘There is another horse. But it’s such a miserable specimen that we felt it was not worth showing to you.’

  ‘Bring it right away,’ squawked the parrot. A pathetic-looking beast was led forth. To everyone’s surprise, the bird exclaimed, ‘The pakshiraj! I can make out its distinctive markings.’

  ‘You mean this creature will be able to carry me across the 7 seas and 13 rivers?’ cried the king.

  ‘Feed it on the finest grain, and give it a generous pinch of saffron every day for six months,’ said the parrot, ‘and it will fly like the swiftest bird that ever took wing.’

  After six months, it was impossible to recognise the sad-looking nag.

  ‘There’s only one more thing to be done,’ said the parrot. ‘Ask your silve
rsmiths to make some silver grains of rice.’

  When they had done so, the parrot perched on the king’s shoulder and said, ‘We can leave now. But you must remember one very important thing. Touch the horse lightly with your whip just once, as we are about to start. On no account must you use the whip on the way, even if you wish to fly faster. If you do, the horse will stop, and we’ll be stranded.’

  The king climbed on the horse and touched it lightly with the whip. The pakshiraj shot into the air with lightning speed. It flew swiftly across the 7 seas and 13 rivers.

  The night was well advanced and they had just crossed the 13th river, when the king cried out, ‘A palace! A beautiful palace!’

  And sure enough, a magnificent palace loomed before them in the dark.

  ‘We’ve reached,’ said the parrot.

  They landed by a tall tree near the palace gates. The parrot told the king to hide in the tree’s branches. Then the bird took the bag of rice and laid a trail of silver grains with his beak, all the way from the foot of the tree to the gate, through the palace and up to the door of the princess’s bedroom.

  Shortly after midnight, the princess’s maid happened to come out. She saw the silver grains gleaming in the moonlight and was so amazed that she went and woke up the princess. The princess came out to take a look. She picked up some of the grains to see what they were and, fascinated, followed the trail right up to the tree.

  The moment the king saw her, he jumped down and said, ‘O Esteemed Princess, I heard of your wisdom and beauty and came across the 7 seas and 13 rivers to see you. And now that I have, I wish only to ask your hand in marriage. Will you be my queen?’

  The princess was quite astonished. But she was impressed that he had come so far to find her. The young king looked so kind and handsome that she, too, fell in love and agreed to go back with him. Without delay, they all mounted the flying horse and set off.

  Now, the king was impatient to return home quickly so he could marry the beautiful princess. He forgot what the parrot had told him, and while they were flying, he touched the whip to the pakshiraj’s flanks. No sooner had he done so than the horse folded its wings and landed in the middle of a dense forest.