Tag: 05. Transformation

Physical, emotional, or spiritual changes

Akigsiak

Of this tale six different copies have been received. It seems in a very remarkable way to refer to certain historical facts in regard to the intercourse between the Indians and the Eskimo, and is in some measure analogous to the folk-lore of several other nations, ascribing certain great actions, especially such as the defeating of some monstrous and dreadful animal, to one special hero. The text, however, is here given in an abridged form, the story itself not being very interesting.

Source: 
Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo 
by Henry Rink 
[William Blackwood and Sons] 
Edinburgh and London, 1875

► Themes of the story

Quest: Akigsiak embarks on a perilous journey, defying his father’s warnings, to explore unknown territories.

Conflict with Nature: He confronts a formidable reptilian creature, symbolizing the challenges humans face against natural forces.

Transformation: Through his encounter and subsequent survival, Akigsiak undergoes a personal transformation, gaining respect and recognition among his people.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Inuit peoples

In days of yore it once happened that some people went far into a firth to fish for salmon, and at the time one of the women was carried off by an inlander, and was taken by him to a very remote place. She belonged to the coast people, but afterwards married the man who carried her off, and they begat a son, who was named Akigsiak.

In his boyhood two of his father’s nephews were his constant playfellows. They often used to box and fight each other, but Akigsiak soon outdid them completely; even in swiftness his friends did not surpass him.

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As his mother belonged to the coast people, while his father was from the interior of the country, he was smaller of growth; but notwithstanding, he was respected and feared by the other inlanders, and had a great reputation for strength and ability in hunting. Akigsiak used to seek intercourse with the coast people in order to gain information concerning his mother’s relatives; and at such a meeting he once told them as follows: “When my father grew older he was incapable of providing for us. One winter we had a great famine, and every day I went out in search of provisions; and meanwhile my father watched me from the tops of the highest mountains, at the same time taking note of any change in the weather, and as soon as the sky darkened he made me a signal that I could hear far and wide, after which I took my way homewards. He also gave me several instructions, and said I might go anywhere excepting to the north, because of a monstrous reptile that was reported to ravage those parts. One day my father gave me the signal; but not even having had a chance of killing any game, I did not obey his call. Afterwards, when I was going to return home, the storm overtook me, and I could hardly see anything on account of the wind and the snow-drifts, and consequently lost my way. Wandering about in this manner, I at length discovered something that appeared to me like two large windows of a house; then I saw that the other parts were like a hill; and finally I saw that this was the terrible reptile against which my father had warned me. I at once took to flight. However, he had already seen me, and pursued me; but whenever he came up I leapt across him, and striking him with my lance, I continued running. At last, however, turning round to look for him, and noticing that he was quite close upon me, I cried aloud with fatigue, and falling to the ground, I lost my senses. I was soon awakened by a cool touch upon my face, and at once remembered the monster reptile. Looking about for him, I beheld him lying close to my feet. With my eyes constantly fixed upon him, I very cautiously crept away; and as he did not even move, I rose to my feet and walked on: but I did not reach my home until the fourth day, and had been given up for lost. On entering the house my father said, ‘Our housemates have got nothing to help thee with.’ But I told him that I had barely escaped from the reptile, and that apparently I had left him dead; and then my father said, ‘The body of the reptile is said to consist of nothing but fat;’ and he added, ‘our house-fellows are almost starving.’ These were now informed of what had happened, and they went out in search of the monster; but many of them died before they reached the spot — some just outside their houses others farther away, till the whole road was covered with dead bodies. But those who reached the reptile flensed away at him, and found him to consist principally of fat, mixed with a little lean flesh. They afterwards had it for food the whole winter.” This was Akigsiak’s report at his first meeting with the coast people.

The next time he told how he had once been away on an excursion with his father, and that on approaching the sea-shore they observed a whale close outside, and a number of coast people standing on the beach. By his father’s orders he ran down and made an old man teach him a magic lay for luring the whale up the river. As soon as the whale had entered the river a crowd of inlanders appeared; but before they had been able to penetrate the skin of the whale with their harpoons, Akigsiak ran off home in order to fetch his weapons. Though he had to round three large bays on his way, he was still in good time to despatch the whale after his return, and then proceeded to give everybody his share of it, not forgetting the old coast man, whom he protected against the inlanders. At the third meeting he went on to tell how, having once heard that some other inlanders had caught an immense fish the shape of a salmon, he hurried down to the river-side and threw his harpoon also into the fish, but that his companions being too few, the other inlanders stationed on the opposite side succeeded in hauling it from them. He then hastened on to a place where the river was somewhat narrower, and in jumping across hurled himself round, head over heels, before he alighted on his feet at the opposite shore. There he soon frightened away the other inlanders, took his share of the fish — which he threw across to his own people on the other side — and then jumped back in the same way he had come. At his fourth meeting with the coast people, Akigsiak told them about a quarrel he once had with an igalilik (viz., “pot-bearer,” certain fabulous inlanders carrying boiling pots on their shoulders), whom he had pushed down a precipice, crushing him to death against the rocks. At last, Akigsiak met with an inorusek (another kind of gigantic inlanders) on the high banks of a river. While they were amusing themselves with throwing stones, the inorusek persuaded him to try to hit a kayaker just passing by below, whom he did not fail to kill on the spot. Akigsiak, repenting himself of his deed, afterwards slew the inorusek, but is said never from this time to have ventured himself among the coast people again, because of the murder he had committed. Only once, they say, did he go to visit a certain coast man, who lived on the banks of a river, in order to try a boxing-match and a race with him. Although he was said to be a smaller man than the other inlanders, he was at all events larger than our people; his back was as broad as that of two others put together, and his height very little less than two people on top of each other.

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The blind man who recovered his sight

The text of this story has been collated from eight copies, among which two have been received from Labrador, the rest from different parts of Greenland, three of them having been written down before 1828. Like the former, it seems to have no historical, but only a moral or mythological reference.

Source: 
Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo 
by Henry Rink 
[William Blackwood and Sons] 
Edinburgh and London, 1875

► Themes of the story

Transformation: The protagonist undergoes a significant change, regaining his sight after a period of blindness.

Family Dynamics: The narrative explores complex relationships within the family, highlighting the mother’s jealousy and the sister’s loyalty.

Trials and Tribulations: The blind man’s journey is marked by challenges, including his initial blindness and the subsequent hardships he faces, which he overcomes with determination and support from his sister.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Inuit peoples

A widow had a son and a daughter. When the son grew up, he made himself useful in different ways, and also commenced seal-hunting. One day in the beginning of winter he caught a thong-seal (a very large species, Phoca barbata [or bearded seal — “the ground-seal” of the English sealers: also called a “thong-seal,” because the Eskimo cut their thongs and lines out of its hide]). On bringing it home, his mother wanted the skin for a ledge-cover, but he insisted on having it for making hunting-lines [line or thong attached with one end to the harpoon, with the other to the hunting-bladder, an inflated entire seal-skin, which prevents the harpooned seals running away].

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The mother grew angry, and in preparing the skin and removing the hairs, she practised some witchcraft on it, and spoke thus: “When he cuts thee into thongs, when he cuts thee asunder, then thou shalt snap and smite his face;” and she rejoiced in the thought that it would hit him. When she had finished her preparations, and he had cut out the first thong, he stretched and strained it; but in scraping it with a shell, a small blister burst, and hitting both his eyes, blinded him.

The winter coming on, they were destitute of their main provisions, and had to live entirely upon mussels (Mytilus edulis); and the blind boy took his place on the ledge, unable to go out hunting any more. Thus he passed the first half of the winter. A great bear then appeared, which began to eat away their (skin) window-pane, and next thrust its head into the room. [In modern times, most of the Eskimo huts in Danish Greenland have got glass window-panes; but through Eskimo-land generally, the semi-transparent entrail of some animal serves this purpose.] The mother and the sister fled in great terror to the inmost retired part of the ledge; but the blind man said to his sister, “Please bring my bow;” and she having given it to him, he bent it, and asked her to take the right aim for him. Levelling it at the animal, she gave him the signal, whereon he shot, and the arrow struck the bear so that it fell to the ground. The mother said, “Thou hitst the window instead of the beast;” but his sister whispered, “Thou hast killed a bear.” They had now provisions for the coming days; but the mother never gave her son any of the boiled bear-flesh, but only a few shell-fish instead, and never let him taste a meal from his own hunting, but, in order to starve him, concealed her having any flesh. His sister, however, gave him his portion when the mother was absent, and he swallowed it in haste before her return. In this manner the greater part of the winter passed away. At last the days lengthened; and one day, in the spring, the sister said, “Dost thou remember how very delightful the time was when thou hadst still got thy sight, and wast able to go out hunting, and how we used to roam about the country?” The brother answered, “To be sure; let us be off again. I can take hold of thee.”

And the next morning at daybreak they went out together, he taking hold of her garments; and all day long they wandered about, the sister occupied in gathering shrubs for fuel.

One day they came to a large plain beside a lake, and the brother then said, “I think I will lie down a little, while thou goest away to find more fuel;” and accordingly she left him. Whilst he was thus resting himself, he heard some wild geese flying in the air above him, and when they were right over his head, he heard one of them crying out, “Look at the poor young man down there; he is blind: would we could make him see.” When the birds approached him he never stirred, but lay quietly on his back. At this moment he had a sense of something warm falling down on his eyes, one of the wild geese having dropped its excrement upon them, and heard a voice saying, “Keep thy eyes shut till the sound of our wings has altogether passed away, then thou mayst try to open them.” Again he lay down motionless; while the wild goose, sweeping its wings across his face, repeated, “Mind thou dost not open thy eyes.” The sound of their wings now dying away, he already observed a certain brightness; but when the noise had altogether passed away, he opened his eyes wide, and had his sight restored to him. He now called out, “Nayagta!” (so he called his sister). But she did not return till evening, when she was seen coming across the country, moody and downhearted, with one arm drawn out of the sleeve of her jacket, and her chin hidden in the fur collar. Perceiving her, he again called out, “Nayagta, now thou needst not be in want of food or anything else; I shall give thee clothes, for now I have my sight again.” But she only gainsaid him, and would not believe him until she looked into his reopened eyes, and saw their sound and healthy appearance. They both agreed not to let their mother know what had happened. In descending the hills, and approaching the house, he caught sight of his bear-skin stretched out to dry, and in front of the entrance its bones, and on entering the main room he got a glimpse of its paws. Shutting his eyes, he now took his usual place on the ledge, and feigning to have been asleep, he started up, saying, “I dreamt I saw a bear-skin stretched out behind the house;” but the old woman merely replied, “Thou must surely have been thinking about somebody who happened to hurt thee some time ago.” Again the son feigned sleeping, and starting up, he said, “Methinks I also saw a lot of bear-bones outside the entrance.” The old woman repeated her first answer; but the third time, on seeming to awake, the son said, “I dreamt I saw two bear’s paws here underneath the couch;” and the mother again giving the same answer, suddenly opening his eyes, he said, “Mother, I mean these;” and then she knew that he had regained the use of his eyes, and she exclaimed, “Eat them, just eat them!” He now took up his old habits, and again commenced seal-hunting; but, after some time, the idea grew upon him to take revenge on his detestable old mother. The season was at hand when the white whales [a large sort of dolphin, Beluga or Delphinus albicans, captured in great abundance in Greenland] began to appear along the ice-bound shore, and he used to catch them in the following manner: he went out on the ice with his sister, and having fastened his hunting-line round her waist, he threw the harpoon which was attached to the line into the fish, thus making her serve him instead of a hunting-bladder [the inflated skin or bladder attached to the line to bring up the animal, as well as the weapon when it has missed its mark and fallen into the sea.]. After which, they hauled together till they had safely landed the fish on the ice, where they afterwards killed it.

One day, returning home, he asked his sister, “Dost thou like our old mother?” She made no answer; but on his repeating the question she only answered, “I am more fond of thee than of her; thou art the only one I do love.” “Well, then, tomorrow she shall serve us for a bladder. I’ll pay her off for having made me blind.” They both agreed upon the plan; and returning to the house where they found the mother busy mending boots, he said, “Oh dear, how tired we are with hauling in the fish! Now let my sister have a rest tomorrow; meantime thou mightst serve me as a hunting-bladder. I suppose thou canst keep thy footing when the fish pull the line.” The mother declaring herself willing, they all went down to the open sea the next morning; but when the white whales appeared, and he was preparing to harpoon them, she said: “Take one of the smallest, and not the large ones;” and perceiving some very little fish coming up, she cried, “Look out and try for one of these;” but be answered, “They are still too big.” At the same instant, however, one of the very largest fishes rose to the surface; and harpooning it, he let go his hold of the line, and when the animal had drawn his mother pretty close to the water, he cried out, “Dost thou remember the time thou madest me blind?” and while she endeavoured to hold back, he pushed her on, saying, “That fellow will give me my revenge.” When she was close to the very edge of the water, she cried, “My ullo!” (woman’s knife) — “it was I who nursed thee;” and with these words she was plunged into the sea, which soon covered her. Still she reappeared on the surface, crying, “My ullo, my ullo; I nursed thee!” but then disappeared for ever. It is said that she was afterwards transformed into a fish, and that her spreading hair turned into long horny teeth, from which the narwals [Monodon monoceros] are said to have their origin. The white whales having all disappeared, brother and sister returned to the house, and lamented the loss of their mother, feeling conscious that she had nursed them, and taken care of them. They now began to be terrified at their deed, and dared not stay in their little house; they therefore fled on eastward, far away to the large continent, roaming about the interior parts of the country. [People who fled from mankind in order to live in the desolate interior of Greenland were called kivigtoks, and believed to acquire supernatural qualities — such as clairvoyance, immense swiftness, and longevity.] At first he would not even kill a bird, feeling pity towards them for having restored the use of his eyes to him; but at last he killed a swan, because his sister wanted to have it, and it is said that this was the only bird he caught for the remainder of his life. Far away from the coast they built their house; they grew to be immensely old, and were always without friends. At length they determined to show themselves among other people, and he resolved upon going to some place which had an angakok (priest of the heathens). After a while he found such people, and decided to await the time when the angakok was going to conjure his spirits. He then went up to the house; but ere he reached it, the angakok began to complain, and cried, “I am going to let a spirit out upon you; a large fire is just outside” (viz., the kivigtok, supernatural beings in general making their appearance like a flame or brightness). The man who was standing outside now made his inquiry: “Do you not know me? — have ye heard of him who used his mother for a hunting-bladder?” and as no one answered him, he repeated the same question over again. An old woman now rejoined: “I remember to have heard in my childhood that many many years ago there lived a brother and a sister who fastened their poor mother as a bladder to a white whale.” The stranger outside then said: “I am that very man; I have come to denounce myself: do come out and see what I am like.” The angakok went out, followed by his auditors, and they saw him standing erect in the bright moonlight beside the boat. The hair of his head was snowy white, as if he had been covered with a hood of white hare-skins; but his face was black, and his clothes were made of reindeer-skins, and he told them that his sister was not able to move from old age, and that they had their hut far away in the interior of the country, and that their house-fellows were terrible beings with heads like seals; and lastly he added: “After this, I will not show myself any more to human creatures; those to whom I wanted to denounce myself I have done it to.” After having said these words he turned away, and has never been seen afterwards.

The son’s name has in Greenland been called Tutigak; in Labrador, Kemongak. According to the Labrador tale, the birds make him dive into the lake; according to the Greenland readings, the mother cried, “It was I who cleared away thy urine” — instead of “nursed thee.”

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Kagsagsuk

The following tale has been constructed from nine different copies, received partly from various places in Greenland, and partly from Labrador, all, however, agreeing upon every principal point. It does not appear to rest upon any historical basis, but merely to have a moral tendency, bringing before us the idea of a superior power protecting the helpless, and avenging mercilessness and cruelty.

Source: 
Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo 
by Henry Rink 
[William Blackwood and Sons] 
Edinburgh and London, 1875

► Themes of the story

Transformation: Kagsagsuk undergoes a significant change from a mistreated orphan to a powerful individual, highlighting themes of personal growth and metamorphosis.

Cunning and Deception: The tale illustrates how Kagsagsuk uses his newfound strength and cleverness to overcome those who previously oppressed him, showcasing the use of wit to achieve one’s goals.

Moral Lessons: The narrative imparts ethical teachings about the consequences of cruelty and the virtues of resilience and self-improvement.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Inuit peoples

There was once a poor orphan boy who lived among a lot of uncharitable men. His name was Kagsagsuk, and his foster-mother was a miserable old woman. These poor people had a wretched little shed adjoining the house-passage [or doorway, a long and very narrow, sometimes half-subterranean, tunnel, leading by an upward step to the main, or rather the only, room of the winter hut, and adapted to keeping out the cold air. Its ends we have called the outer and the inner entrance], and they were not allowed to enter the main room. Kagsagsuk did not even venture to enter the shed, but lay in the passage, seeking to warm himself among the dogs.

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In the morning, when the men were rousing their sledge-dogs with their whips, they often hit the poor boy as well as the dogs. He then would cry out, “Na-ah! Na-ah!” mocking himself in imitating the dogs. When the men were feasting upon various frozen dishes, such as the hide of the walrus and frozen meat, the little Kagsagsuk used to peep over the threshold, and sometimes the men lifted him up above it, but only by putting their fingers into his nostrils; these accordingly enlarged, but otherwise he did not grow at all. They would give the poor wretch frozen meat, without allowing him a knife to cut it with, saying his teeth might do instead; and sometimes they pulled out a couple of teeth, complaining of his eating too much. His poor foster-mother procured him boots and a small bird-spear, in order to enable him to go outside the house and play with the other children; but they would turn him over and roll him in the snow, filling his clothes with it, and treating him most cruelly in various ways: the girls sometimes covered him all over with filth. Thus the little boy was always tormented and mocked, and did not grow except about the nostrils. At length he ventured out among the mountains by himself, choosing solitary places, and meditating how to get strength. His foster-mother had taught him how to manage this. Once, standing between two high mountains, he called out: “Lord of strength, come forth! Lord of strength, come to me!” A large animal now appeared in the shape of an amarok (now a fabulous animal, originally a wolf), and Kagsagsuk got very terrified, and was on the point of taking to his heels; but the beast soon overtook him, and, twisting its tail round his body, threw him down. Totally unable to rise, he heard the while a rustling sound, and saw a number of seal-bones, like small toys, falling from his own body. The amarok now said: “It is because of these bones that thy growth has been stopped.” Again it wound its tail round the boy, and again they fell down, but the little bones were fewer this time; and when the beast threw him down the third time, the last bones fell off. The fourth time he did not quite fall, and at the fifth he did not fall at all, but jumped along the ground. The amarok now said: “If it be thy wish to become strong and vigorous, thou mayst come every day to me.” On his way home, Kagsagsuk felt very much lighter, and could even run home, meanwhile kicking and striking the stones on his way. Approaching the house, the girls who nursed the babies met him, and shouted, “Kagsagsuk is coming — let us pelt him with mud;” and the boys beat him and tormented him as before: but he made no opposition, and following his old habits, he went to sleep among the dogs. Afterwards, he met the amarok every day, and always underwent the same process. The boy felt stronger every day, and on his way home he kicked the very rocks, and rolling himself on the ground, made the stones fly about him. At last the beast was not able to overthrow him, and then it spoke: “Now, that will do; human beings will not be able to conquer thee any more. Still, thou hast better stick to thy old habits. When winter sets in, and the sea is frozen, then is thy time to show thyself; three great bears will then appear, and they shall be killed by thy hand.” That day Kagsagsuk ran all the way back, kicking the stones right and left, as was his wont. But at home he went on as usual, and the people tormented him more than ever. One day, in the autumn, the kayakers [men in their kayaks, or skin canoes, made for the purpose of seal-hunting, with room only for a single person] returned home with a large piece of driftwood, which they only made fast to some large stones on the beach, finding it too heavy to be carried up to the house at once. At nightfall, Kagsagsuk said to his mother, “Let me have thy boots, mother, that I too may go down and have a look at the large piece of timber.” When all had gone to rest, he slipped out of the house, and having reached the beach, and loosened the moorings, he flung the piece of timber on his shoulders and carried it up behind the house, where he buried it deep in the ground. In the morning, when the first of the men came out, he cried, “The driftwood is gone!” and when he was joined by the rest, and they saw the strings cut, they wondered how it could possibly have drifted away, there being neither wind nor tide. But an old woman, who happened to go behind the house, cried, “Just look! here is the spar!” whereat they all rushed to the spot, making a fearful noise, shouting, “Who can have done this? there surely must be a man of extraordinary strength among us!” and the young men all gave themselves great airs, that each might be believed to be the great unknown strong man — the impostors!

In the beginning of the winter, the housemates of Kagsaguk ill-treated him even worse than before; but he stuck to his old habits, and did not let them suspect anything. At last the sea was quite frozen over, and seal-hunting out of the question. But when the days began to lengthen, the men one day came running in to report that three bears were seen climbing an iceberg. Nobody, however, ventured to go out and attack them. Now was Kagsagsuk’s time to be up and doing. “Mother,” he said, “let me have thy boots, that I too may go out and have a look at the bears!” She did not like it much, but, however, she threw her boots to him, at the same time mocking him, saying, “Then fetch me a skin for my couch, and another for my coverlet, in return.” He took the boots, fastened his ragged clothes around him, and then was off for the bears. Those who were standing outside cried, “Well, if that is not Kagsagsuk! What can he be about? Kick him away!” and the girls went on, “He must surely be out of his wits!” But Kagsagsuk came running right through the crowd, as if they had been a shoal of small fish; his heels seemed almost to be touching his neck, while the snow, foaming about, sparkled in rainbow colours. He ascended the iceberg by taking hold with his hands, and instantly the largest bear lifted his paw, but Kagsagsuk turned round to make himself hard (viz., invulnerable by charm), and seizing hold of the animal by the fore-paws, flung it against the iceberg, so that the haunches were severed from the body, and then threw it down on the ice to the bystanders, crying, “This was my first catch; now, flense away [take off the skin and blubber] and divide!” The others now thought, “The next bear will be sure to kill him.” The former process, however, was repeated, and the beast thrown down on the ice; but the third bear he merely caught hold of by the fore-paws, and, swinging it above his head, he hurled it at the bystanders, crying, “This fellow behaved shamefully towards me!” and then, smiting another, “That one treated me still worse!” until they all fled before him, making for the house in great consternation. On entering it himself he went straight to his foster-mother with the two bear-skins, crying, “There is one for thy couch, and another for thy coverlet!” after which he ordered the flesh of the bears to be dressed and cooked. Kagsagsuk was now requested to enter the main room; in answer to which request he, as was his wont, only peeped above the threshold, saying, “I really can’t get across, unless some one will lift me up by the nostrils;” but nobody else venturing to do so now, his old foster-mother came and lifted him up as he desired. All the men had now become very civil to him. One would say, “Step forward;” another, “Come and sit down, friend.” “No, not there where the ledge has no cover,” cried another; “here is a nice seat for Kagsagsuk.” [The main ledge or bench; a low and broad bench for sitting and sleeping places, occupying the whole length of the wall opposite to the windows, the narrower side-ledge and window-ledge bordering the other walls. It is generally known in Greenland as the “brix.”] But rejecting their offers, he sat down, as usual, on the side-ledge. Some of them went on, “We have got boots for Kagsagsuk;” and others, “Here are breeches for him!” and the girls rivalled each other in offering to make clothes for him. After supper, one of the inmates of the house told a girl to go and fetch some water for “dear Kagsagsuk.” When she had returned and he had taken a drink, he drew her tenderly towards him, praising her for being so smart for fetching water; but, all of a sudden, he squeezed her so hard that the blood rushed out of her mouth. But he only remarked, “Why, I think she is burst!” The parents, however, quite meekly rejoined, “Never mind, she was good for nothing but fetching water.” Later on, when the boys came in, he called out to them, “What great seal-hunters ye will make!” at the same time seizing hold of them and crushing them to death; others he killed by tearing their limbs asunder. But the parents only said, “It does not signify — he was a good-for-nothing; he only played a little at shooting.” Thus Kagsagsuk went on attacking and putting to death all the inmates of the house, never stopping until the whole of them had perished by his hand. Only the poor people who had been kind to him he spared, and lived with them upon the provisions that had been set by as stores for the winter. Taking also the best of the kayaks left, he trained himself to the use of it, at first keeping close to the shore; but after some time he ventured farther out to sea, and soon went south and northwards in his kayak. In the pride of his heart he roamed all over the country to show off his strength; therefore, even nowadays he is known all along the coast, and on many places there are marks of his great deeds still shown, and this is why the history of Kagsagsuk is supposed to be true.

In the Labrador tale, the name of the champion is called Kaujakjuk, and in different copies from Greenland, Kausaksuk, Kassaksuk, Kausasuk, and Kauksaksuk. Several parts of Greenland claim the honour of pointing out the ruins of his house. A remarkable ruin on cape Noogsuak, of a very doubtful origin, is supposed to have been his bear-trap. In one of the writings, the relater, hinting at the European fancy for curiosities, observes: “I wonder why the masters, or even the king himself, who all seem so very fond of collecting rare things, if they really believe in the tale, have not taken one of the stones from this trap to be brought away with some ship, if possible.”

Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page

H’ab Sliman

A tale of jealousy and resilience unfolds as a young girl, betrayed by her stepmother, suffers blindness and exile. Transformed into a pigeon by magical crows, she returns to expose the truth. Her suffering inspires nature’s upheaval, compelling the community to seek justice. Through poetic vengeance, harmony is restored, showcasing themes of injustice, transformation, and eventual triumph over cruelty.

Source
Moorish Literature
   romantic ballads, tales of the Berbers,
   stories of the Kabyles, folk-lore,
   and national traditions
The Colonial Press,
   London, New York, 1901

► Themes of the story

Transformation: The young girl’s metamorphosis into a pigeon, facilitated by magical crows, symbolizes resilience and the potential for change in the face of adversity.

Divine Intervention: The crows’ intervention to restore the girl’s sight and transform her underscores the influence of supernatural forces in guiding and correcting human affairs.

Harmony with Nature: The connection between the girl’s emotions and the environment reflects a deep bond between humans and nature, emphasizing how personal suffering can resonate with the natural world.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Berber peoples

Translated by J. Rivière
and Chauncey C. Starkweather

A man had a boy and a girl. Their mother died and he took another wife. The little boy stayed at school until evening. The school-master asked them:

“What do your sisters do?”

One answered, “She makes bread.”

A second, “She goes to fetch water.”

A third, “She prepares the couscous.”

When he questioned H’ab Sliman, the child played deaf, the master struck him.

► Continue reading…

One day his sister said to him: “What is the matter, O my brother? You seem to be sad.”

“Our schoolmaster punishes us,” answered the child.

“And why does he punish you?” inquired the young girl.

The child replied: “After we have studied until evening he asks each of us what our sisters do. They answer him: she kneads bread, she goes to get water. But when he questions me I have nothing to say, and he beats me.”

“Is it nothing but for that?”

“That is all.”

“Well,” added the young girl, “the next time he asks you, answer him: ‘This is what my sister does: When she laughs the sun shines; when she weeps it rains; when she combs her hair, legs of mutton fall; when she goes from one place to another, roses drop.'”

The child gave that answer.

“Truly,” said the schoolmaster, “that is a rich match.” A few days after he bought her, and they made preparations for her departure for the house of her husband. The stepmother of the young girl made her a little loaf of salt bread. She ate it and asked some drink from her sister, the daughter of her stepmother.

“Let me pluck out one of your eyes,” said the sister.

“Pluck it out,” said the promised bride, “for our people are already on the way.”

The stepmother gave her to drink and plucked out one of her eyes.

“A little more,” she said.

“Let me take out your other eye,” answered the cruel woman.

The young girl drank and let her pluck out the other eye. Scarcely had she left the house than the stepmother thrust her out on the road. She dressed her own daughter and put her in the place of the blind one. They arrive.

“Comb yourself,” they told her, and there fell dust.

“Walk,” and nothing happened.

“Laugh,” and her front teeth fell out.

All cried, “Hang H’ab Sliman!”

Meanwhile some crows came flying near the young blind girl, and one said to her: “Some merchants are on the point of passing this way. Ask them for a little wool, and I will restore your sight.”

The merchants came up and the blind girl asked them for a little wool, and each one of them threw her a bit. The crow descended near her and restored her sight.

“Into what shall we change you?” they asked.

“Change me into a pigeon,” she answered.

The crows stuck a needle into her head and she was changed into a pigeon. She took her flight to the house of the schoolmaster and perched upon a tree near by. The people went to sow wheat.

“O master of the field,” she said, “is H’ab Sliman yet hanged?”

She began to weep, and the rain fell until the end of the day’s work.

One day the people of the village went to find a venerable old man and said to him:

“O old man, a bird is perched on one of our trees. When we go to work the sky is covered with clouds and it rains. When the day’s work is done the sun shines.”

“Go,” said the old man, “put glue on the branch where it perches.”

They put glue on its branch and caught the bird. The daughter of the stepmother said to her mother:

“Let us kill it.”

“No,” said a slave, “we will amuse ourselves with it.”

“No; kill it.” And they killed it. Its blood spurted upon a rose-tree. The rose-tree became so large that it overspread all the village. The people worked to cut it down until evening, and yet it remained the size of a thread.

“To-morrow,” they said, “we will finish it.” The next morning they found it as big as it was the day before. They returned to the old man and said to him:

“O old man, we caught the bird and killed it. Its blood gushed upon a rose-tree, which became so large that it overspreads the whole village. Yesterday we worked all day to cut it down. We left it the size of a thread. This morning we find it as big as ever.”

“O my children,” said the old man, “you are not yet punished enough. Take H’ab Sliman, perhaps he will have an expedient. Make him sleep at your house.” H’ab Sliman said to them, “Give me a sickle.” Someone said to him: “We who are strong have cut all day without being able to accomplish it, and do you think you will be capable of it? Let us see if you will find a new way to do it.”

At the moment when he gave the first blow a voice said to him:

“Take care of me, O my brother!”

The voice wept, the child began to weep, and it rained. H’ab Sliman recognized his sister.

“Laugh,” he said. She laughed and the sun shone, and the people got dried.

“Comb yourself,” and legs of mutton fell. All those who were present regaled themselves on them. “Walk,” and roses fell. “But what is the matter with you, my sister?”

“What has happened to me.”

“What revenge does your heart desire?”

“Attach the daughter of my stepmother to the tail of a horse that she may be dragged in the bushes.”

When the young girl was dead, they took her to the house, cooked her, and sent her to her mother and sister.

“O my mother,” cried the latter, “this eye is that of my sister Aftelis.”

“Eat, unhappy one,” said the mother, “your sister Aftelis has become the slave of slaves.”

“But look at it,” insisted the young girl. “You have not even looked at it. I will give this piece to the one who will weep a little.”

“Well,” said the cat, “if you give me that piece I will weep with one eye.”

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The King and the ‘Nsiat Bird

King ‘Ndarake of Idu, captivated by Adit, the daughter of the ‘Nsiat bird, marries her despite warnings of her lineage’s tendency to bear twins—a taboo in their land. When Adit gives birth to twins, the king spares them, allowing the ‘Nsiat family to ascend into the trees with Adit and her children. This explains why ‘Nsiat birds nest near human dwellings, symbolizing the union of earth and sky.

Source
Folk Stories from Southern Nigeria
by Elphinstone Dayrell
Longmans, Green & Co.
London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, 1910

► Themes of the story

Forbidden Love: King ‘Ndarake’s marriage to Adit, the ‘Nsiat bird’s daughter, occurs despite societal taboos against her lineage’s tendency to bear twins.

Transformation: The ‘Nsiat bird’s family transitions from earth to the trees, symbolizing a shift in existence to protect their offspring.

Harmony with Nature: The ‘Nsiat birds’ relocation to the trees near human dwellings reflects a balance between human society and the natural world.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Nigerian peoples

When ‘Ndarake was King of Idu, being young and rich, he was very fond of fine girls, and had plenty of slaves. The ‘Nsiat bird was then living at Idu, and had a very pretty daughter, whom ‘Ndarake wished to marry. When he spoke to the father about the matter, he replied that of course he had no objection personally, as it would be a great honour for his daughter to marry the king, but, unfortunately, when any of his family had children, they always gave birth to twins, which, as the king knew, was not allowed in the country; the native custom being to kill both the children and throw them into the bush, the mother being driven away and allowed to starve.

► Continue reading…

The king, however, being greatly struck with Adit, the bird’s daughter, insisted on marrying her, so the ‘Nsiat bird had to agree. A large amount of dowry was paid by the king, and a big play and feast was held. One strong slave was told to carry Adit ‘Nsiat during the whole play, and she sat on his shoulders with her legs around his neck; this was done to show what a rich and powerful man the king was. After the marriage, in due course Adit gave birth to twins, as her mother had done before her. The king immediately became very fond of the two babies, but according to the native custom, which was too strong for any one to resist, he had to give them up to be killed. When the ‘Nsiat bird heard this, he went to the king and reminded him that he had warned the king before he married what would happen if he married Adit, and rather than that the twins should be killed, he and the whole of his family would leave the earth and dwell in the air, taking the twins with them. As the king was so fond of Adit and the two children, and did not want them to be killed, he gladly consented, and the ‘Nsiat bird took the whole of his family, as well as Adit and her two children, away, and left the earth to live and make their home in the trees; but as they had formerly lived in the town with all the people, they did not like to go into the forest, so they made their nests in the trees which grew in the town, and that is why you always see the ‘Nsiat birds living and making their nests only in places where human beings are. The black birds are the cocks, and the golden-coloured ones are the hens. It was the beautiful colour of Adit which first attracted the attention of ‘Ndarake and caused him to marry her.

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The King who Married the Cock’s Daughter

King Effiom of Calabar, renowned for marrying beautiful women, fell deeply for Adia Unen, the Cock’s daughter, despite warnings about her birdlike instincts. Enraged by his neglect, his other wives schemed to disgrace her. When Adia’s natural reaction to corn exposed her, the king expelled her. Realizing the plot too late, his grief led to his demise. A law was then passed banning unions with animals or birds.

Source
Folk Stories from Southern Nigeria
by Elphinstone Dayrell
Longmans, Green & Co.
London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, 1910

► Themes of the story

Forbidden Love: King Effiom’s marriage to Adia Unen, the Cock’s daughter, represents a union that defies societal norms, highlighting the complexities and consequences of such relationships.

Transformation: Adia Unen’s dual nature, being both human and possessing birdlike instincts, underscores themes of physical and behavioral transformation.

Cunning and Deception: The king’s other wives, feeling neglected, devise a scheme to expose Adia Unen’s true nature, using deceit to achieve their goal.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Nigerian peoples

King Effiom of Duke Town, Calabar, was very fond of pretty maidens, and whenever he heard of a girl who was unusually good-looking, he always sent for her, and if she took his fancy, he made her one of his wives. This he could afford to do, as he was a rich man, and could pay any dowry which the parents asked, most of his money having been made by buying and selling slaves.

Effiom had two hundred and fifty wives, but he was never content, and wanted to have all the finest women in the land.

► Continue reading…

Some of the king’s friends, who were always on the look-out for pretty girls, told Effiom that the Cock’s daughter was a lovely virgin, and far superior to any of the king’s wives. Directly the king heard this he sent for the Cock, and said he intended to have his daughter as one of his wives. The Cock, being a poor man, could not resist the order of the king, so he brought his daughter, who was very good-looking and pleased the king immensely. When the king had paid the Cock a dowry of six puncheons of palm-oil, the Cock told Effiom that if he married his daughter he must not forget that she had the natural instincts of a hen, and that he should not blame Adia unen (his daughter) if she picked up corn whenever she saw it. The king replied that he did not mind what she ate so long as he possessed her.

The king then took Adia unen as his wife, and liked her so much, that he neglected all his other wives, and lived entirely with Adia unen, as she suited him exactly and pleased him more than any of his other wives. She also amused the king, and played with him and enticed him in so many different ways that he could not live without her, and always had her with him to the exclusion of his former favourites, whom he would not even speak to or notice in any way when he met them. This so enraged the neglected wives that they met together, and although they all hated one another, they agreed so far that they hated the Cock’s daughter more than any one, as now that she had come to the king none of them ever had a chance with him. Formerly the king, although he always had his favourites, used to favour different girls with his attentions when they pleased him particularly. That was very different in their opinion to being excluded from his presence and all his affections being concentrated on one girl, who received all his love and embraces. In consequence of this they were very angry, and determined if possible to disgrace Adia unen. After much discussion, one of the wives, who was the last favourite, and whom the arrival of the Cock’s daughter had displaced, said: “This girl, whom we all hate, is, after all, only a Cock’s daughter, and we can easily disgrace her in the king’s eyes, as I heard her father tell the king that she could not resist corn, no matter how it was thrown about.”

Very shortly after the king’s wives had determined to try and disgrace Adia unen, all the people of the country came to pay homage to the king. This was done three times a year, the people bringing yams, fowls, goats, and new corn as presents, and the king entertained them with a feast of foo-foo, palm-oil chop, and tombo. [Tombo is an intoxicating drink made from the juice which is extracted from the tombo palm, and which ferments very quickly. It is drawn from the tree twice a day–in the morning very early, and again in the afternoon.] A big dance was also held, which was usually kept up for several days and nights. Early in the morning the king’s head wife told her servant to wash one head of corn, and when all the people were present she was to bring it in a calabash and throw it on the ground and then walk away. The corn was to be thrown in front of Adia unen, so that all the people and chiefs could see.

About ten o’clock, when all the chiefs and people had assembled, and the king had taken his seat on his big wooden chair, the servant girl came and threw the corn on the ground as she had been ordered. Directly she had done this Adia unen started towards the corn, picked it up, and began to eat. At this all the people laughed, and the king was very angry and ashamed. The king’s wives and many people said that they thought the king’s finest wife would have learnt better manners than to pick up corn which had been thrown away as refuse. Others said: “What can you expect from a Cock’s daughter? She should not be blamed for obeying her natural instincts.” But the king was so vexed, that he told one of his servants to pack up Adia unen’s things and take them to her father’s house. And this was done, and Aida unen returned to her parents.

That night the king’s third wife, who was a friend of Adia unen’s, talked the whole matter over with the king, and explained to him that it was entirely owing to the jealousy of his head wife that Adia unen had been disgraced. She also told him that the whole thing had been arranged beforehand in order that the king should get rid of Adia unen, of whom all the other wives were jealous. When the king heard this he was very angry, and made up his mind to send the jealous woman back to her parents empty-handed, without her clothes and presents. When she arrived at her father’s house the parents refused to take her in, as she had been given as a wife to the king, and whenever the parents wanted anything, they could always get it at the palace. It was therefore a great loss to them. She was thus turned into the streets, and walked about very miserable, and after a time died, very poor and starving. The king grieved so much at having been compelled to send his favourite wife Adia unen away, that he died the following year. And when the people saw that their king had died of a broken heart, they passed a law that for the future no one should marry any bird or animal.

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The Woman with Two Skins

The story of Eyamba I of Calabar narrates his journey from a powerful but childless king to one who reconciles with his family. Despite political intrigue driven by his jealous wife and aided by a Ju Ju man, the king’s son and daughter, saved by the Water Ju Ju, emerge triumphant. The tale underscores themes of resilience, justice, and reconciliation, culminating in the son’s rightful ascension to the throne.

Source
Folk Stories from Southern Nigeria
by Elphinstone Dayrell
Longmans, Green & Co.
London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, 1910

► Themes of the story

Cunning and Deception: The king’s head wife employs deceit by using a Ju Ju man’s potion to make the king forget Adiaha, aiming to eliminate her as a rival.

Transformation: Adiaha’s nightly shedding of her outer, ugly skin to reveal her true beauty symbolizes physical transformation and hidden identity.

Supernatural Beings: The narrative involves Ju Ju men who possess magical abilities, influencing events through their supernatural interventions.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Nigerian peoples

Eyamba I. of Calabar was a very powerful king. He fought and conquered all the surrounding countries, killing all the old men and women, but the able-bodied men and girls he caught and brought back as slaves, and they worked on the farms until they died.

This king had two hundred wives, but none of them had borne a son to him. His subjects, seeing that he was becoming an old man, begged him to marry one of the spider’s daughters, as they always had plenty of children.

► Continue reading…

But when the king saw the spider’s daughter he did not like her, as she was ugly, and the people said it was because her mother had had so many children at the same time. However, in order to please his people he married the ugly girl, and placed her among his other wives, but they all complained because she was so ugly, and said she could not live with them. The king, therefore, built her a separate house for herself, where she was given food and drink the same as the other wives. Every one jeered at her on account of her ugliness; but she was not really ugly, but beautiful, as she was born with two skins, and at her birth her mother was made to promise that she should never remove the ugly skin until a certain time arrived save only during the night, and that she must put it on again before dawn. Now the king’s head wife knew this, and was very fearful lest the king should find it out and fall in love with the spider’s daughter; so she went to a Ju Ju man and offered him two hundred rods to make a potion that would make the king forget altogether that the spider’s daughter was his wife. This the Ju Ju man finally consented to do, after much haggling over the price, for three hundred and fifty rods; and he made up some “medicine,” which the head wife mixed with the king’s food. For some months this had the effect of making the king forget the spider’s daughter, and he used to pass quite close to her without recognising her in any way. When four months had elapsed and the king had not once sent for Adiaha (for that was the name of the spider’s daughter), she began to get tired, and went back to her parents. Her father, the spider, then took her to another Ju Ju man, who, by making spells and casting lots, very soon discovered that it was the king’s head wife who had made the Ju Ju and had enchanted the king so that he would not look at Adiaha. He therefore told the spider that Adiaha should give the king some medicine which he would prepare, which would make the king remember her. He prepared the medicine, for which the spider had to pay a large sum of money; and that very day Adiaha made a small dish of food, into which she had placed the medicine, and presented it to the king. Directly he had eaten the dish his eyes were opened and he recognised his wife, and told her to come to him that very evening. So in the afternoon, being very joyful, she went down to the river and washed, and when she returned she put on her best cloth and went to the king’s palace.

Directly it was dark and all the lights were out she pulled off her ugly skin, and the king saw how beautiful she was, and was very pleased with her; but when the cock crowed Adiaha pulled on her ugly skin again, and went back to her own house.

This she did for four nights running, always taking the ugly skin off in the dark, and leaving before daylight in the morning. In course of time, to the great surprise of all the people, and particularly of the king’s two hundred wives, she gave birth to a son; but what surprised them most of all was that only one son was born, whereas her mother had always had a great many children at a time, generally about fifty.

The king’s head wife became more jealous than ever when Adiaha had a son; so she went again to the Ju Ju man, and by giving him a large present induced him to give her some medicine which would make the king sick and forget his son. And the medicine would then make the king go to the Ju Ju man, who would tell him that it was his son who had made him sick, as he wanted to reign instead of his father. The Ju Ju man would also tell the king that if he wanted to recover he must throw his son away into the water.

And the king, when he had taken the medicine, went to the Ju Ju man, who told him everything as had been arranged with the head wife. But at first the king did not want to destroy his son. Then his chief subjects begged him to throw his son away, and said that perhaps in a year’s time he might get another son. So the king at last agreed, and threw his son into the river, at which the mother grieved and cried bitterly.

Then the head wife went again to the Ju Ju man and got more medicine, which made the king forget Adiaha for three years, during which time she was in mourning for her son. She then returned to her father, and he got some more medicine from his Ju Ju man, which Adiaha gave to the king. And the king knew her and called her to him again, and she lived with him as before. Now the Ju Ju who had helped Adiaha’s father, the spider, was a Water Ju Ju, and he was ready when the king threw his son into the water, and saved his life and took him home and kept him alive. And the boy grew up very strong.

After a time Adiaha gave birth to a daughter, and her the jealous wife also persuaded the king to throw away. It took a longer time to persuade him, but at last he agreed, and threw his daughter into the water too, and forgot Adiaha again. But the Water Ju Ju was ready again, and when he had saved the little girl, he thought the time had arrived to punish the action of the jealous wife; so he went about amongst the head young men and persuaded them to hold a wrestling match in the market-place every week. This was done, and the Water Ju Ju told the king’s son, who had become very strong, and was very like to his father in appearance, that he should go and wrestle, and that no one would be able to stand up before him. It was then arranged that there should be a grand wrestling match, to which all the strongest men in the country were invited, and the king promised to attend with his head wife.

On the day of the match the Water Ju Ju told the king’s son that he need not be in the least afraid, and that his Ju Ju was so powerful, that even the strongest and best wrestlers in the country would not be able to stand up against him for even a few minutes. All the people of the country came to see the great contest, to the winner of which the king had promised to present prizes of cloth and money, and all the strongest men came. When they saw the king’s son, whom nobody knew, they laughed and said, “Who is this small boy? He can have no chance against us.” But when they came to wrestle, they very soon found that they were no match for him. The boy was very strong indeed, beautifully made and good to look upon, and all the people were surprised to see how like he was to the king.

After wrestling for the greater part of the day the king’s son was declared the winner, having thrown every one who had stood up against him; in fact, some of his opponents had been badly hurt, and had their arms or ribs broken owing to the tremendous strength of the boy. After the match was over the king presented him with cloth and money, and invited him to dine with him in the evening. The boy gladly accepted his father’s invitation; and after he had had a good wash in the river, put on his cloth and went up to the palace, where he found the head chiefs of the country and some of the king’s most favoured wives. They then sat down to their meal, and the king had his own son, whom he did not know, sitting next to him. On the other side of the boy sat the jealous wife, who had been the cause of all the trouble. All through the dinner this woman did her best to make friends with the boy, with whom she had fallen violently in love on account of his beautiful appearance, his strength, and his being the best wrestler in the country. The woman thought to herself, “I will have this boy as my husband, as my husband is now an old man and will surely soon die.” The boy, however, who was as wise as he was strong, was quite aware of everything the jealous woman had done, and although he pretended to be very flattered at the advances of the king’s head wife, he did not respond very readily, and went home as soon as he could.

When he returned to the Water Ju Ju’s house he told him everything that had happened, and the Water Ju Ju said–

“As you are now in high favour with the king, you must go to him to-morrow and beg a favour from him. The favour you will ask is that all the country shall be called together, and that a certain case shall be tried, and that when the case is finished, the man or woman who is found to be in the wrong shall be killed by the Egbos before all the people.”

So the following morning the boy went to the king, who readily granted his request, and at once sent all round the country appointing a day for all the people to come in and hear the case tried. Then the boy went back to the Water Ju Ju, who told him to go to his mother and tell her who he was, and that when the day of the trial arrived, she was to take off her ugly skin and appear in all her beauty, for the time had come when she need no longer wear it. This the son did.

When the day of trial arrived, Adiaha sat in a corner of the square, and nobody recognised the beautiful stranger as the spider’s daughter. Her son then sat down next to her, and brought his sister with him. Immediately his mother saw her she said–

“This must be my daughter, whom I have long mourned as dead,” and embraced her most affectionately.

The king and his head wife then arrived and sat on their stones in the middle of the square, all the people saluting them with the usual greetings. The king then addressed the people, and said that he had called them together to hear a strong palaver at the request of the young man who had been the victor of the wrestling, and who had promised that if the case went against him he would offer up his life to the Egbo. The king also said that if, on the other hand, the case was decided in the boy’s favour, then the other party would be killed, even though it were himself or one of his wives; whoever it was would have to take his or her place on the killing-stone and have their heads cut off by the Egbos. To this all the people agreed, and said they would like to hear what the young man had to say. The young man then walked round the square, and bowed to the king and the people, and asked the question, “Am I not worthy to be the son of any chief in the country?” And all the people answered “Yes!”

The boy then brought his sister out into the middle, leading her by the hand. She was a beautiful girl and well made. When every one had looked at her he said, “Is not my sister worthy to be any chief’s daughter?” And the people replied that she was worthy of being any one’s daughter, even the king’s. Then he called his mother Adiaha, and she came out, looking very beautiful with her best cloth and beads on, and all the people cheered, as they had never seen a finer woman. The boy then asked them, “Is this woman worthy of being the king’s wife?” And a shout went up from every one present that she would be a proper wife for the king, and looked as if she would be the mother of plenty of fine healthy sons.

Then the boy pointed out the jealous woman who was sitting next to the king, and told the people his story, how that his mother, who had two skins, was the spider’s daughter; how she had married the king, and how the head wife was jealous and had made a bad Ju Ju for the king, which made him forget his wife; how she had persuaded the king to throw himself and his sister into the river, which, as they all knew, had been done, but the Water Ju Ju had saved both of them, and had brought them up.

Then the boy said: “I leave the king and all of you people to judge my case. If I have done wrong, let me be killed on the stone by the Egbos; if, on the other hand, the woman has done evil, then let the Egbos deal with her as you may decide.”

When the king knew that the wrestler was his son he was very glad, and told the Egbos to take the jealous woman away, and punish her in accordance with their laws. The Egbos decided that the woman was a witch; so they took her into the forest and tied her up to a stake, and gave her two hundred lashes with a whip made from hippopotamus hide, and then burnt her alive, so that she should not make any more trouble, and her ashes were thrown into the river. The king then embraced his wife and daughter, and told all the people that she, Adiaha, was his proper wife, and would be the queen for the future.

When the palaver was over, Adiaha was dressed in fine clothes and beads, and carried back in state to the palace by the king’s servants.

That night the king gave a big feast to all his subjects, and told them how glad he was to get back his beautiful wife whom he had never known properly before, also his son who was stronger than all men, and his fine daughter. The feast continued for a hundred and sixty-six days; and the king made a law that if any woman was found out getting medicine against her husband, she should be killed at once. Then the king built three new compounds, and placed many slaves in them, both men and women. One compound he gave to his wife, another to his son, and the third he gave to his daughter. They all lived together quite happily for some years until the king died, when his son came to the throne and ruled in his stead.

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The Beggar King

King Hagag, proud and defiant, tears a page from the Holy Book that questions the permanence of riches and power. During a hunting trip, a genii disguised as a deer lures him into losing his crown and enduring hardships as a beggar. Humbled by his trials, Hagag learns compassion and wisdom. Restored to the throne by the genii, he becomes a kind and just ruler.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919

► Themes of the story

Transformation: The king undergoes a profound change from a proud ruler to a humble beggar, leading to personal growth.

Divine Intervention: A genii orchestrates events to teach the king a lesson, influencing mortal affairs.

Tragic Flaw: The king’s arrogance and defiance act as his downfall, setting the stage for his eventual redemption.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Jewish mythology

Proud King Hagag sat on his throne in state, and the high priest, standing by his side, read from the Holy Book, as was his daily custom. He read these words: “For riches are not for ever: and doth the crown endure to every generation?”

“Cease!” cried the king. “Who wrote those words?”

“They are the words of the Holy Book,” answered the high priest.

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“Give me the book,” commanded the king.

With trembling hands the high priest placed it before his majesty. King Hagag gazed earnestly at the words that had been read, and he frowned. Raising his hand, he tore the page from the book and threw it to the ground.

“I, Hagag, am king,” he said, “and all such passages that offend me shall be torn out.”

He flung the volume angrily from him while the high priest and all his courtiers looked on in astonishment.

“I have heard enough for today,” he said. “Too long have I delayed my hunting expedition. Let the horses be got ready.”

He descended from the throne, stalked haughtily past the trembling figure of the high priest, and went forth to the hunt. Soon he was riding furiously across an open plain toward a forest where a wild stag had been seen. A trumpet sounded the signal that the deer had been driven from its hiding place, and the king urged his horse forward to be the first in the chase. His majesty’s steed was the swiftest in the land. Quickly it carried him out of sight of his nobles and attendants. But the deer was surprisingly fleet and the king could not catch up with it. Coming to a river, the animal plunged in and swam across. Scrambling up the opposite bank its antlers caught in the branch of a tree, and the king, arriving at the river, gave a cry of joy.

“Now I have thee,” he said. Springing from his horse and divesting himself of his clothing he swam across with naught but a sword.

As he reached the opposite bank, however, the deer freed itself from the tree and plunged into a thicket. The king, with his sword in his hand, followed quickly, but no deer could he see. Instead, he found, lying on the ground beyond the thicket, a beautiful youth clad in a deer-skin. He was panting as if after a long run. The king stood still in surprise and the youth sprang to his feet.

“I am the deer,” he said. “I am a genii and I have lured thee to this spot, proud king, to teach thee a lesson for thy words this morning.”

Before King Hagag could recover from his surprise the youth ran back to the river and swam across. Quickly he dressed himself in the king’s clothes and mounted the horse just as the other hunters came up. They thought the genii was King Hagag and they halted before him.

“Let us return,” said the genii. “The deer has crossed the river and has escaped.”

King Hagag from the thicket on the opposite side watched them ride away and then flung himself on the ground and wept bitterly. There he lay until a wood-cutter found him.

“What do you here?” asked the man.

“I am King Hagag,” returned the monarch.

“Thou art a fool,” said the wood-cutter. “Thou art a lazy good-for-naught to talk so. Come, carry my bundle of sticks and I will give thee food and an old garment.”

In vain the king protested. The wood-cutter only laughed the more, and at last, losing patience, he beat him and drove him away. Tired and hungry, and clad only in the rags which the wood-cutter had given him, King Hagag reached the palace late at night.

“I am King Hagag,” he said to the guards, but roughly they bade him begone, and after spending a wretched night in the streets of the city, his majesty, next morning, was glad to accept some bread and milk offered to him by a poor old woman who took pity on him. He stood at a street corner not knowing what to do. Little children teased him; others took him for a beggar and offered him money. Later in the day he saw the genii ride through the streets on his horse. All the people bowed down before him and cried, “Long live the king!”

“Woe is me,” cried Hagag, in his wretchedness. “I am punished for my sin in scoffing at the words of the Holy Book.”

He saw that it would be useless for him to go to the palace again, and he went into the fields and tried to earn his bread as a laborer. He was not used to work, however, and but for the kindness of the very poorest he would have died of starvation. He wandered miserably from place to place until he fell in with some blind beggars who had been deserted by their guide. Joyfully he accepted their offer to take the guide’s place.

Months rolled by, and one morning the royal heralds went forth and announced that “Good King Hagag” would give a feast a week from that day to all the beggars in the land.

From far and near came beggars in hundreds, to partake of the king’s bounty, and Hagag stood among them, with his blind companions, in the courtyard of the palace waiting for his majesty to appear. He knew the place well, and he hung his head and wept.

“His majesty will speak to each one of you who are his guests today,” cried a herald, and one by one they passed into the palace and stood before the throne. When it came to Hagag’s turn, he trembled so much that he had to be supported by the guards.

The genii on the throne and Hagag looked long at each other.

“Art thou, too, a beggar?” said the genii.

“Nay, gracious majesty,” answered Hagag with bent head. “I have sinned grievously and have been punished. I am but the servant of a troop of blind beggars to whom I act as guide.”

The genii king signed to his courtiers that he desired to be left alone with Hagag. Then he said:

“Hagag, I know thee. I see that thou hast repented. It is well. Now canst thou resume thy rightful place.”

“Gracious majesty,” said Hagag, “I have learned humility and wisdom. The throne is not for me. The blind beggars need me. Let me remain in their service.”

“It cannot be,” said the genii. “I see that thou art truly penitent. Thy lesson is learned and my task is done. I will see that the blind beggars lack not.”

With his own hands he placed the royal robes on Hagag and himself donned those of the beggar. When the courtiers returned they saw no difference. King Hagag sat on the throne again, and nowhere in the whole world was there a monarch who ruled more wisely or showed more kindness and sympathy to all his subjects.

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The Spider Regrets Her Marriage

A Spider, known for rejecting suitors, marries a deceptive Python disguised as a man. Ignoring warnings, she follows him to his distant “town,” only to find it’s a hollow tree where he reveals his true form. Stranded and regretful for refusing genuine suitors, she eventually returns to her father with help, learning the perils of pride and poor judgment in relationships.

Source
Among Congo Cannibals
by John H. Weeks
Seeley, Service & Co.,London, 1913

► Themes of the story

Cunning and Deception: The Python deceives the Spider by disguising himself as a man to win her trust and marry her.

Transformation: The Python’s ability to change his appearance from a snake to a man and back again is central to the plot.

Forbidden Knowledge: The Spider is warned about her suitor’s true nature but chooses to ignore the advice, leading to her predicament.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Bantu peoples

There was a Spider who lived with her parents in their town. She was unmarried, and it was very difficult to find a husband for her as she was so hard to please. One young man asked her father for her in marriage, but he said: “You must ask her yourself.” And when he told her: “I love you. Will you be my wife?” she replied, “No,” in such a way that he went back to his house very angry. Another young man came, and she said: “I refuse all husbands, for I am going to remain as I am.”

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After a time another suitor came, and when the Spider declined him he said: “You refuse all offers of marriage from us; but a person will come who will not be a proper person at all, for he will have changed himself to look like a nice man. You will marry him, and you will have much trouble on going with him, for he will take you to his country, which will be far away, and you will regret that you have refused all of us.”

“Be quiet!” she shouted; “you are angry because I will not marry you, and that is why you threaten me.”

“Very well,” said he, “you think I am telling you a lie,” and away he went to his town. Now this was the Python who spoke to the girl.

The Python waited in his town for some time, and then he changed himself into another and nicer form and paid a visit to the Spider, and said to her: “Spider, I have come to many you.”

The Spider asked him: “Do you love me or not?”

He answered her: “I love you,” and they were married.

After a time he said: “Spider, we must return to my town.” And he deceitfully told her that he lived in a fine town, and was very rich. He also promised his father-in-law that he would return in six months—a promise he never intended to keep.

The Spider and her husband started on their journey, and went on and on and on for two months, and the wife became very tired with the long walk.

As they were nearing their town a person said to her: “The one who is travelling with you is not a real person, but a snake that has changed itself to look like a person. Do not believe in him.”

They reached the husband’s town, which she found was simply a tree with a large hole in it. The husband changed back to his snake form, and coiling himself up in the hole he left his wife to do the best she could outside.

The Spider was very angry, and repented having been so stupid as to refuse all the nice young men of her own town to be deceived by this snake from a distance. The poor Spider became very thin and would have died, only someone helped her back to her father.

The custom of making blood-brotherhood was very common on the Upper Congo. The ceremony has already been described in a previous chapter, and therefore it is not necessary to go again into detail. During the performance of the rite the contracting parties who exhibited any doubt of each other’s faithfulness in properly observing the bond would put one another under a prohibition or taboo, and so long as they carefully obeyed the prohibition the blood bond remained in force.

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The Virtue of the Cocoanut

A hunter discovers a peculiar young coconut tree during a hunt and decides to bring it home. When its leaves wilt during the journey, he revives it with the blood of his hunted animals: a bird, a monkey, and a pig. The tree flourishes and becomes a source of tuba (coconut liquor). The hunter links tuba’s effects to the animals: chatter like the bird, silliness like the monkey, and drunken slumber like the pig.

Source
Philippine Folk Tales
compiled and annotated by
Mabel Cook Cole
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1916

► Themes of the story

Origin of Things: The tale explains the origin of tuba, a traditional coconut liquor, and attributes its effects to the animals whose blood nourished the tree.

Transformation: The young coconut tree undergoes a transformation from a wilting plant to a flourishing tree, thanks to the infusion of animal blood.

Conflict with Nature: The hunter’s journey involves interactions with various animals and the natural environment, highlighting the challenges and relationships between humans and nature.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Philippines peoples

One day a man took his blow-gun and his dog and went to the forest to hunt. As he was making his way through the thick woods he chanced upon a young cocoanut tree growing in the ground. It was the first tree of this kind that he had ever seen, and it seemed so peculiar to him that he stopped to look at it.

When he had gone some distance farther, his attention was attracted by a noisy bird in a tree, and he shot it with his blow-gun. By and by he took aim at a large monkey, which mocked him from another treetop, and that, too, fell dead at his feet.

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Then he heard his dog barking furiously in the distant bushes, and hastening to it he found it biting a wild pig. After a hard struggle he killed the pig, and then, feeling satisfied with his success, he took the three animals on his back and returned to the little plant.

“I have decided to take you home with me, little plant,” he said, “for I like you and you may be of some use to me.”

He dug up the plant very carefully and started home, but he had not gone far when he noticed that the leaves had begun to wilt, and he did not know what to do, since he had no water. Finally, in despair, he cut the throat of the bird and sprinkled the blood on the cocoanut. No sooner had he done this than the plant began to revive, and he continued his journey.

Before he had gone far, however, the leaves again began to wilt, and this time he revived it with the blood of the monkey. Then he hastened on, but a third time the leaves wilted, and he was compelled to stop and revive it with the blood of the pig. This was his last animal, so he made all the haste possible to reach home before his plant died. The cocoanut began to wilt again before he reached his house, but when he planted it in the ground, it quickly revived, and grew into a tall tree.

This hunter was the first man to take the liquor called tuba from the cocoanut tree, and he and his friends began to drink it. After they had become very fond of it, the hunter said to his friends:

“The cocoanut tree is like the three animals whose blood gave it life when it would have died. The man who drinks three or four cups of tuba becomes like the noisy bird that I shot with my blow-gun. One who drinks more than three or four cups becomes like the big monkey that acts silly; and one who becomes drunk is like the pig that sleeps even in a mud-hole.”

Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page