Folktales from Bengal (12 page)

He called the fox,
“Clever fox, wait up. You are my witness.”

The fox was startled and
asked, “What? How did I become your witness, and to
what?”

The Brahmin said, “Okay,
tell me this. If I do someone good, will he harm me?”

The fox thought for a
while and said, “I have to know in detail before answering. Who
helped whom, and who harmed whom?’

The Brahmin pointed to
the tiger and said, “This tiger was trapped in a cage, and I was
walking by, when…”

The fox interrupted,
“It’s too complicated. I need to see the cage and the path to get a
clear picture.”

And they walked all the
way back to the cage. The fox walked around the cage, and up and
down the path, and said, “Okay, I see the path and the cage. So,
what happened?”

So, the Brahmin said,
“The tiger was in the cage, and I, the Brahmin, was walking down
the path…”

The fox stopped him
again, “Wow there! It’s too complicated. Go slowly. So, the tiger
was a Brahmin, and the path was walking inside the cage,
right?”

The tiger laughed at
this, and said, “No you idiot. I was trapped inside the cage, and
the Brahmin was walking by, in the path.”

The fox shook his head
and blinked. “Wait. I got it now. The Brahmin was trapped inside
the cage, and the path was walking by the tiger, right?”

The tiger said
impatiently, “No. the tiger was in the cage, and the Brahmin was on
the path.”

The fox said, “It’s too
confusing. The tiger was inside the Brahmin, and the path was
walking along the cage?”

The tiger roared out in
frustration now, “No, you idiot! I was in the cage, and the Brahmin
was in the cage… no… the path. You are getting me confused now. I
was in the cage, and the Brahmin on the path. Got it?”

The fox sighed, shaking
his head, and sat down. “It’s too complicated. I don’t think I can
help you here.”

The tiger was furious
now. “No, you have to understand. I was inside the cage. See? Like
this.” He jumped into the cage.

Immediately, the fox
locked the cage door. Then he said, “Now I understand. Mr Brahmin,
I am with the tiger on this one. You should not help a wicked
person. Now go to the feast and enjoy yourself.”

And the Brahmin went to
the feast and the fox to his own business. And the tiger foolishly
stared at them, his mouth open.

Once upon a time, in a
land just beyond the horizon, there lived a king. He had a son and
a daughter, he had a beautiful wife. The land was prospering. No
enemy king was plotting against him. He had no reason not to be
content. So he invented one.

He set out word, that if
a storyteller could tell him a story, that would go on and on,
until he got tired, he would make the storyteller rich beyond
dreams. But if the storyteller ever stopped before the king urged,
he would be thrown into the dungeons.

The demand seemed simple
at first, so hundreds of storytellers began to flock in from
nations all over the world. They had stories of kings and kingdoms,
ghouls and ghosts, thieves and plunderers, fairies and mermaids,
and everything else that lived under the sun. There was one
problem, though. None of the stories were long enough.

On a typical day, a
storyteller would start – “Once upon a time, in a land far far
away, there lived a king and a queen.”

“
And then?”
the king would ask.

“
The citizens
loved their king, enemies feared the king, and the kingdom
prospered. But the king was not happy.”

“
Go on.” The
king would urge.

“
The king did
not have an heir, you see.”

“
Then what
happened.”

The story would continue,
with its twists and turns, and eventually, the long repeated line
would appear,

“
And then
they lived happily ever after.”

“
And then
what happened?”

After this point, it was
a test of stamina. The storyteller would continue the story, adding
lines after lines of whatever he could cook up. But eventually, his
stock would end. His throat would be perched, and he would stop at
one point, exhausted. And then, he would be thrown into
prison.

After a while, the flocks
of storytellers flooding into town dispersed, and eventually, it
stopped.

One day, a weary
traveller came to the kingdom. He asked the men around, “Is this
the kingdom where storytellers enter but never leave?”

The people said
yes.

“
Tell your
king I ask for an audience.”

The king was carrying out
his daily duties in his courtroom. After the never ending rush of
stories, everyday life seemed dull and trivial.

And everyone was quite
startled when a tall, bearded man in a dirty old robe came bursting
into the king’s hall.

“
I demand an
audience with the king.”

“
And you have
been granted your demand,” said the king, curious.

“
Is it true
that you have been jailing storytellers from all over the world in
your dungeons?”

“
Yes, and
what of it?”

“
Nothing of
it.” He said, stroking his beard.” Tell me king, what did the men
do to be thrown into the dark cells?”

“
Their
stories ended before I got tired,” said the king.

“
And what did
they wish to win?” the man asked.

“
A large sum
of money,” was the reply.

“
Can I have a
go at this game of yours?”

The king thought for a
while. Then he said, “Well, what do I have to lose? Go
on.”

“
But I have a
condition.” said the man. “If at any point of the story, you ask me
to stop or to rush to the end, you would have to grant me anything
I ask for.”

“
You are
raising the stakes,” said the king, “So be it, but if you stop
before I tell you to, off with your head.”

The old man
agreed.

And then, he began his
story.

“
Just last
year, in a country over yonder, the people were preparing for a
great harvest.”

“
This is
new,” said the king, “Now go on.”

“
But the
country had a little problem. After every harvest, a huge swarm of
locusts would fly into the fields, covering the sky, and eating all
the grain. The farmers all gathered together, and devised a plan to
save their crop.”

“
And…”

“
They divided
into two groups. One was doing the harvest, and the other group
weaved together layer upon layer of fibre to make a giant drum with
no holes in them, so that no locust could go in.”

“
And
then?”

“
After
several weeks of hard work, the drum was completed. It was two
miles in circumference, and over a mile in height. Grain was poured
upon it, until it filled to the brim. Then the farmers tied the
drum up real good, and went to sleep.”

“
What
happened next?”

“
No sooner
than the farmers had gone to sleep did the locusts appear. They
swarmed over the sky, and covered every inch of the drum. But they
could not go in, because the drum was weaved so neatly.”

“
And
then?”

“
But the
locusts were not so keen on giving up. They looked all over the
surface, hoping for the tiniest hole, so that they could get the
grains out. The search went on for hours, and finally, one of the
locusts found the tiniest of holes where the fibres were
crisscrossed. But the hole was so small, only one locust could go
in at a time. So the first locust got in.”

“
And
then?”

“
He picked up
the grain, squirmed out of the hole, and flew away.”

“
And
then?”

“
The next
locust got in, took a grain, and flew away.”

“
And
then?”

“
The next
one.”

“
And
then?”

“
Another
one.”

“
And
then?”

“
Another
one.”

And this went on and on.
The king could not ask the man to stop, or ask him to skip to the
end of the story.”

This went on for days,
and weeks, and just when everyone thought they would go mad, the
king said,

“
Fine, I
yield. Take whatever you want. I can’t listen to this stupid story
anymore.”

Then the man said, “Very
well. Release all the storytellers from your dungeons. The world is
churning out good stories, and people are needed to capture
them.”

Once the last man was
released, the storyteller said his goodbye, and told the king,
“Farewell, king, but it’s a pity you did not listen till the end of
the story. It has such a nice ending.”

“
Just get out
of my sight,” yelled the king.

The man swirled his robe,
and disappeared. He was never seen in the kingdom again.

In the grassy plains in the
morning shine

A cow once chewed on an eggplant
vine

It pulled and pulled till the
eggplant bent

And thus my story comes to an
end.