The Giant of the Flood

Before the Great Flood, Noah allows only creatures that lie down to board the Ark, puzzling over how to include a unicorn. The giant Og offers one in exchange for survival. Despite Noah’s reluctance, Og secures his place by riding the unicorn. Og later serves Noah and shrinks in size, eventually betraying Noah’s descendants but meets his demise when Moses cleverly defeats him.

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

► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: The narrative centers around Noah’s Ark and the Great Flood, events orchestrated by divine will to cleanse the world.

Supernatural Beings: The inclusion of the giant Og and the unicorn introduces elements beyond the natural world, highlighting interactions with mythical creatures.

Sacred Spaces: The Ark serves as a sacred vessel, preserving life during the divine retribution of the flood, symbolizing a place of refuge and holiness.

► From the same Region or People

West Asia
- Jewish Lore

Learn more about Jewish mythology

Just before the world was drowned all the animals gathered in front of the Ark and Father Noah carefully inspected them.

“All ye that lie down shall enter and be saved from the deluge that is about to destroy the world,” he said. “Ye that stand cannot enter.”

Then the various creatures began to march forward into the Ark. Father Noah watched them closely. He seemed troubled.

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“I wonder,” he said to himself, “how I shall obtain a unicorn, and how I shall get it into the Ark.”

“I can bring thee a unicorn, Father Noah,” he heard in a voice of thunder, and turning round he saw the giant, Og. “But thou must agree to save me, too, from the flood.”

“Begone,” cried Noah. “Thou art a demon, not a human being. I can have no dealings with thee.”

“Pity me,” whined the giant. “See how my figure is shrinking. Once I was so tall that I could drink water from the clouds and toast fish at the sun. I fear not that I shall be drowned, but that all the food will be destroyed and that I shall perish of hunger.”

Noah, however, only smiled; but he grew serious again when Og brought a unicorn. It was as big as a mountain, although the giant said it was the smallest he could find. It lay down in front of the Ark and Noah saw by that action that he must save it. For some time he was puzzled what to do, but at last a bright idea struck him. He attached the huge beast to the Ark by a rope fastened to its horn so that it could swim alongside and be fed.

Og seated himself on a mountain near at hand and watched the rain pouring down. Faster and faster it fell in torrents until the rivers overflowed and the waters began to rise rapidly on the land and sweep all things away. Father Noah stood gloomily before the door of the Ark until the water reached his neck. Then it swept him inside. The door closed with a bang, and the Ark rose gallantly on the flood and began to move along. The unicorn swam alongside, and as it passed Og, the giant jumped on to its back.

“See, Father Noah,” he cried, with a huge chuckle, “you will have to save me after all. I will snatch all the food you put through the window for the unicorn.”

Noah saw that it was useless to argue with Og, who might, indeed, sink the Ark with his tremendous strength.

“I will make a bargain with thee,” he shouted from a window. “I will feed thee, but thou must promise to be a servant to my descendants.”

Og was very hungry, so he accepted the conditions and devoured his first breakfast.

The rain continued to fall in great big sheets that shut out the light of day. Inside the Ark, however, all was bright and cheerful, for Noah had collected the most precious of the stones of the earth and had used them for the windows. Their radiance illumined the whole of the three stories in the Ark. Some of the animals were troublesome and Noah got no sleep at all. The lion had a bad attack of fever. In a corner a bird slept the whole of the time. This was the phoenix.

“Wake up,” said Noah, one day. “It is feeding time.”

“Thank you,” returned the bird. “I saw thou wert busy, Father Noah, so I would not trouble thee.”

“Thou art a good bird,” said Noah, much touched, “therefore thou shalt never die.”

One day the rain ceased, the clouds rolled away and the sun shone brilliantly again. How strange the world looked! It was like a vast ocean. Nothing but water could be seen anywhere, and only one or two of the highest mountain tops peeped above the flood. All the world was drowned, and Noah gazed on the desolate scene from one of the windows with tears in his eyes. Og, riding gaily on the unicorn behind the Ark, was quite happy.

“Ha, ha!” he laughed gleefully. “I shall be able to eat and drink just as much as I like now and shall never be troubled by those tiny little creatures, the mortals.”

“Be not so sure,” said Noah. “Those tiny mortals shall be thy masters and shall outlive thee and the whole race of giants and demons.”

The giant did not relish this prospect. He knew that whatever Noah prophesied would come true, and he was so sad that he ate no food for two days and began to grow smaller and thinner. He became more and more unhappy as day by day the water subsided and the mountains began to appear. At last the Ark rested on Mount Ararat, and Og’s long ride came to an end.

“I will soon leave thee, Father Noah,” he said. “I shall wander round the world to see what is left of it.”

“Thou canst not go until I permit thee,” said Noah. “Hast thou forgotten our compact so soon? Thou must be my servant. I have work for thee.”

Giants are not fond of work, and Og, who was the father of all the giants, was particularly lazy. He cared only to eat and sleep, but he knew he was in Noah’s power, and he shed bitter tears when he saw the land appear again.

“Stop,” commanded Noah. “Dost thou wish to drown the world once more with thy big tears?”

So Og sat on a mountain and rocked from side to side, weeping silently to himself. He watched the animals leave the Ark and had to do all the hard work when Noah’s children built houses. Daily he complained that he was shrinking to the size of the mortals, for Noah said there was not too much food.

One day Noah said to him, “Come with me, Og. I am going around the world. I am commanded to plant fruit and flowers to make the earth beautiful. I need thy help.”

For many days they wandered all over the earth, and Og was compelled to carry the heavy bag of seeds. The last thing Noah planted was the grape vine.

“What is this–food, or drink?” asked Og.

“Both,” replied Noah. “It can be eaten, or its juice made into wine,” and as he planted it, he blessed the grape. “Be thou,” he said, “a plant pleasing to the eye, bear fruit that will be food for the hungry and a health-giving drink to the thirsty and sick.”

Og grunted.

“I will offer up sacrifice to this wonderful fruit,” he said. “May I not do so now that our labors are over?”

Noah agreed, and the giant brought a sheep, a lion, a pig and a monkey. First, he slaughtered the sheep, then the lion.

“When a man shall taste but a few drops of the wine,” he said, “he shall be as harmless as a sheep. When he takes a little more he shall be as strong as a lion.”

Then Og began to dance around the plant, and he killed the pig and the monkey. Noah was very much surprised.

“I am giving thy descendants two extra blessings,” said Og, chuckling.

He rolled over and over on the ground in great glee and then said:

“When a man shall drink too much of the juice of the wine, then shall he become a beast like the pig, and if then he still continues to drink, he shall behave foolishly like a monkey.”

And that is why, unto this day, too much wine makes a man silly.

Og himself often drank too much, and many years afterward, when he was a servant to the patriarch Abraham, the latter scolded him until he became so frightened that he dropped a tooth. Abraham made an ivory chair for himself from this tooth. Afterwards Og became King of Bashan, but he forgot his compact with Noah and instead of helping the Israelites to obtain Canaan he opposed them.

“I will kill them all with one blow,” he declared.

Exerting all his enormous strength he uprooted a mountain, and raising it high above his head he prepared to drop it on the camp of the Israelites and crush it.

But a wonderful thing happened. The mountain was full of grasshoppers and ants who had bored millions of tiny holes in it. When King Og raised the great mass it crumbled in his hands and fell over his head and round his neck like a collar. He tried to pull it off, but his teeth became entangled in the mass. As he danced about in rage and pain, Moses, the leader of the Israelites, approached him.

Moses was a tiny man compared with Og. He was only ten ells high, and he carried with him a sword of the same length. With a mighty effort he jumped ten ells into the air, and raising the sword, he managed to strike the giant on the ankle and wound him mortally.

Thus, after many years, did the terrible giant of the flood perish for breaking his word to Father Noah.

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The Punishment of the Inquisitive Man

Motu, a farmer, married a Cloud-woman named Favourite after catching her stealing his bananas. Favourite introduced fire and cooking to the village, transforming their lives. However, she warned Motu never to open a mysterious basket. Succumbing to curiosity, he disobeyed, finding it empty. Feeling betrayed, Favourite and her Cloud-people returned to the sky, leaving Motu alone and diminished in stature.

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

► Themes of the story

Forbidden Knowledge: Motu’s curiosity drives him to uncover what is hidden, despite explicit warnings, leading to his downfall.

Divine Intervention: Favourite, a being from the clouds, brings transformative gifts like fire and cooking to the human realm.

Loss and Renewal: Motu experiences loss when Favourite and her people depart, highlighting the transient nature of his newfound prosperity.

► From the same Region or People

Central Africa
- Boloki Lore

Learn more about Bantu peoples

Motu made a large garden, and planted it with many bananas and plantain. The garden was in a good position, so the fruit ripened quickly and well. Arriving one day at his garden he found the ripe bunches of bananas and plantain had been cut off and carried away.

After that he did not go once to his garden without finding that some of the fruit had been stolen, so at last he made up his mind to watch the place carefully, and hiding himself he lay in ambush for the thief.

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Motu had not been in hiding very long before he saw a number of Cloud-folk descending, who cut down his bananas, and what they could not eat they tied into bundles to carry away. Motu rushed out, and, chasing them, caught one woman whom he took to his house, and after a short time he married her, and gave her a name which meant Favourite.

Although Favourite had come from the Cloud-land she was very intelligent, and went about her housework and farming just like an ordinary woman of the earth. Up to that time neither Motu nor the people of his village had ever seen a fire. They had always eaten their food raw, and on cold, windy, rainy days had sat shivering in their houses because they did not know anything about fire and warmth.

Favourite, however, told some of the Cloud-folk to bring some fire with them next time they came to visit her, which they did. And then she taught the people how to cook food, and how to sit round a fire on cold days.

Motu was very happy with his wife, and the villagers were very glad to have her among them, and, moreover, Favourite persuaded many of the Cloud-folk to settle in her husband’s village.

One day Favourite received a covered basket, and putting it on a shelf in the house she said to her husband, “We are now living with much friendship together; but while I am away at the farm you must not open that basket, if you do we shall all leave you.”

“All right,” replied the husband, “I will never undo it.”

Motu was now very glad in his heart, for he had plenty of people, a clever wife, and the villagers treated him as a great man. But he had one trouble: Why did his wife warn him every day not to open the basket? What was in that basket? What was she hiding from him? And foolish-like he decided to open it. Waiting therefore until his wife had gone as usual to the farm he opened the basket, and — there was nothing in it, so laughingly he shut it up and put it in its place.

By and by Favourite returned, and, looking at her husband, she asked him: “Why did you open that basket?” And he was speechless at her question.

On the first opportunity, while Motu was away hunting, Favourite gathered her people, and ascended with them to Cloud-land, and never again returned to the earth.

That is how the earth-folk received their fire and a knowledge of cooking; and that is also how Motu through being too inquisitive lost his wife, his people, and his importance as a big man in the village.

How the First Head was Taken

This myth recounts how Kabigat, the Moon, was crafting a copper pot when the Sun’s son stopped to observe her work. Enraged by his presence, she struck him, severing his head. The Sun revived the boy but decreed that her act would forever echo on Earth, establishing the human practice of beheading, symbolizing the Moon’s impulsive violence and its lasting consequences.

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

► Themes of the story

Origin of Things: It explains the inception of headhunting among humans, attributing it to a celestial event.

Divine Intervention: The Sun’s act of reviving his son and decreeing the future behavior of humans illustrates the influence of deities on mortal affairs.

Cosmic Order and Chaos: The tale reflects the balance between celestial beings and earthly practices, showing how discord among deities can lead to chaos in the human world.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Igorot Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

One day the Moon, who was a woman named Kabigat, sat out in the yard making a large copper pot. The copper was still soft and pliable like clay, and the woman squatted on the ground with the heavy pot against her knees while she patted and shaped it.

Now while she was working a son of Chal-chal, the Sun, came by and stopped to watch her mould the form. Against the inside of the jar she pressed a stone, while on the outside with a wooden paddle dripping with water she pounded and slapped until she had worked down the bulges and formed a smooth surface.

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The boy was greatly interested in seeing the jar grow larger, more beautiful, and smoother with each stroke, and he stood still for some time. Suddenly the Moon looked up and saw him watching her. Instantly she struck him with her paddle, cutting off his head.

Now the Sun was not near, but he knew as soon as the Moon had cut off his son’s head. And hurrying to the spot, he put the boy’s head back on, and he was alive again. Then the Sun said to the Moon, “You cut off my son’s head, and because you did this ever after on the earth people will cut off each other’s heads.”

Lumawig on Earth

This tale recounts the adventures of Lumawig, the Great Spirit, who descended to help two sisters gathering beans. Demonstrating divine powers, he filled baskets with a single bean pod, grew livestock instantly, and provided for a wedding feast. Lumawig’s interactions, including outwitting his brother-in-law, showcased his might. Eventually, he returned to the sky, leaving his wife in a mystical journey that led her to a new life with a widower.

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

► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: Lumawig, the Great Spirit, descends from the sky to assist two sisters, demonstrating his divine powers by filling baskets with beans and instantly growing livestock.

Magic and Enchantment: Lumawig’s abilities to perform miraculous feats, such as filling baskets from a single bean pod and causing animals to grow instantly, highlight elements of magic and enchantment.

Sacred Objects: The use of specific items, like the bean pod that fills baskets and the materials for the wedding feast, can be seen as sacred objects imbued with mystical significance through Lumawig’s actions.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Igorot Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

One day when Lumawig, the Great Spirit, looked down from his place in the sky he saw two sisters gathering beans. And he decided to go down to visit them. When he arrived at the place he asked them what they were doing. The younger, whose name was Fukan, answered: “We are gathering beans, but it takes a long time to get enough, for my sister wants to go bathing all the time.” Then Lumawig said to the older sister: “Hand me a single pod of the beans.” And when she had given it to him, he shelled it into the basket and immediately the basket was full. The younger sister laughed at this, and Lumawig said to her: “Give me another pod and another basket.”

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She did so, and when he had shelled the pod, that basket was full also. Then he said to the younger sister: “Go home and get three more baskets.”

She went home, but when she asked for three more baskets her mother said that the beans were few and she could not need so many. Then Fukan told her of the young man who could fill a basket from one pod of beans, and the father, who heard her story, said:

“Go bring the young man here, for I think he must be a god.”

So Fukan took the three baskets back to Lumawig, and when he had filled them as he did the other two, he helped the girls carry them to the house. As they reached their home, he stopped outside to cool himself, but the father called to him and he went up into the house and asked for some water. The father brought him a cocoanut shell full, and before drinking Lumawig looked at it and said:

“If I stay here with you, I shall become very strong.”

The next morning Lumawig asked to see their chickens, and when they opened the chicken-coop out came a hen and many little chicks. “Are these all of your chickens?” asked Lumawig; and the father assured him that they were all. He then bade them bring rice meal that he might feed them, and as the chickens ate they all grew rapidly till they were cocks and hens.

Next Lumawig asked how many pigs they had, and the father replied that they had one with some little ones. Then Lumawig bade them fill a pail with sweet potato leaves and he fed the pigs. And as they ate they also grew to full size.

The father was so pleased with all these things that he offered his elder daughter to Lumawig for a wife. But the Great Spirit said he preferred to marry the younger; so that was arranged. Now when his brother-in-law learned that Lumawig desired a feast at his wedding, he was very angry and said:

“Where would you get food for your wedding feast? There is no rice, nor beef, nor pork, nor chicken,”

But Lumawig only answered, “I shall provide our wedding feast.”

In the morning they all set out for Lanao, for Lumawig did not care to stay any longer in the house with his brother-in-law. As soon as they arrived he sent out for some tree trunks, but the trees that the people brought in were so small that Lumawig himself went to the forest and cut two large pine trees which he hurled to Lanao.

When the people had built a fire of the trees he commanded them to bring ten kettles filled with water. Soon the water was boiling hot and the brother-in-law laughed and said:

“Where is your rice? You have the boiling water, but you do not seem to think of the rice.”

In answer to this Lumawig took a small basket of rice and passed it over five kettles and they were full. Then he called “Yishtjau,” and some deer came running out of the forest. These were not what he wanted, however, so he called again and some pigs came. He told the people that they were each to catch one and for his brother-in-law he selected the largest and best.

They all set out in pursuit of the pigs and the others quickly caught theirs, but though the brother-in-law chased his until he was very tired and hot he could not catch it Lumawig laughed at him and said:

“You chase that pig until he is thin and still you cannot catch it, though all the others have theirs.”

Thereupon he grasped the hind legs of the pig and lifted it. All the people laughed and the brother-in-law said:

“Of course you can catch it, because I chased it until it was tired.”

Lumawig then handed it to him and said, “Here, you carry it.” But no sooner had the brother-in-law put it over his shoulder than it cut loose and ran away.

“Why did you let it go?” asked Lumawig. “Do you care nothing for it, even after I caught it for you? Catch it again and bring it here.”

So the brother-in-law started out again, and he chased it up stream and down, but he could not catch it. Finally Lumawig reached down and picked up the pig and carried it to the place where the others were cooking.

After they had all eaten and drunk and made their offerings to the spirits, Lumawig said:

“Come, let us go to the mountain to consult the omen concerning the northern tribes.”

So they consulted the omen, but it was not favorable, and they were starting home when the brother-in-law asked Lumawig to create some water, as the people were hot and thirsty.

“Why do you not create water, Lumawig?” he repeated as Lumawig paid no attention to him. “You care nothing that the people are thirsty and in need of drink.”

Then they quarreled and were very angry and Lumawig said to the people, “Let us sit down and rest.”

While they rested, Lumawig struck the rock with his spear and water came out. The brother-in-law jumped up to get a drink first, but Lumawig held him back and said he must be the last to drink. So they all drank, and when they had finished, the brother-in-law stepped up, but Lumawig gave him a push which sent him into the rock and water came from his body.

“You must stay there,” said Lumawig, “because you have troubled me a great deal.” And they went home, leaving him in the rock.

Some time after this Lumawig decided to go back to the sky to live, but before he went he took care that his wife should have a home. He made a coffin of wood and placed her in it with a dog at her feet and a cock at her head. And as he set it floating on the water, he told it not to stop until it reached Tinglayen. Then, if the foot end struck first, the dog should bark; and if the head end was the first to strike, the cock should crow. So it floated away, and on and on, until it came to Tinglayen.

Now a widower was sharpening his ax on the bank of the river, and when he saw the coffin stop, he went to fish it out of the water. On shore he started to open it, but Fugan cried out, “Do not drive a wedge, for I am here,” So the widower opened it carefully and took Fugan up to the town, and then as he had no wife of his own, he married her.

How the Tinguian Learned to Plant

The Tinguian people, once reliant on forest foods and unaware of farming or healing, were taught by Kaboniyan, a servant of Kadaklan, the Great Spirit. Kaboniyan guided Dayapan, a sick woman, to plant rice and sugarcane and perform the Sayung ceremony, which healed her and introduced agriculture. However, an accidental sign foretold that while some would be cured through the ritual, others might still perish.

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 narrative explains the introduction of rice and sugarcane cultivation to the Tinguian, detailing how these essential agricultural practices began.

Divine Intervention: Kaboniyan, a servant of the Great Spirit Kadaklan, directly intervenes by teaching Dayapan how to plant crops and perform healing ceremonies, showcasing the gods’ influence in human affairs.

Ritual and Initiation: The introduction of the Sayung ceremony represents the establishment of rituals that mark transitions, in this case, from illness to health and from foraging to agriculture.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

In the very old times the Tinguian did not know how to plant and harvest as they now do. For food they had only the things that grew in the forests and fish from the streams. Neither did they know how to cure people who became ill or were injured by evil spirits, and many died who might otherwise have lived.

Then Kadaklan, the Great Spirit who lives in the sky, saw that the people often were hungry and sick, and he sent one of his servants, Kaboniyan, to the earth to teach them many things. And it happened this way:

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Dayapan, a woman who lived in Caalang, had been sick for seven years. One day when she went to the spring to bathe, there entered her body a spirit who had rice and sugar-cane with him, and he said to her:

“Dayapan, take these to your home and plant them in the ground, and after a while they will grow large enough to reap. Then when they are ripe, build a granary to put the rice in until you shall need it, and a sugar-press to crush the cane. And when these are finished, make the ceremony Sayung, and you will be well.”

Dayapan was filled with wonder at these strange things, but she took the rice and the sugar-cane and went home as she was commanded. While she was trying to plant them in the ground the Spirit again entered her body and showed her just what to do. Since then the Tinguian have planted crops every year, and because they do as Kaboniyan taught the woman they have plenty to eat.

When Dayapan had reaped the first rice and cane, she began to make the ceremony Sayung, and the Spirit came again and directed her. And when it was finished and she was cured, he told her to take a dog and a cock and go to bathe in the river as a sign that the ceremony was finished. So she went to the river and tied the dog and the cock near the water, but while she was bathing the dog ate the cock.

Dayapan wept bitterly at this and waited a long time for Kaboniyan, and when at last he came, he said:

“If the dog had not killed the cock, no person would die when you make this ceremony; but this is a sign, and now some will die and some will get well.”

Dayapan called all the people together, and told them the things that the spirit had taught her; and they could see that she had been made well. After that, when people became ill they called Dayapan to treat them. And it was as the Spirit had said; some died and others were made well.

The Story of the Tikgi

Ligi, while inspecting his rice fields, encounters magical tikgi birds offering to harvest his crop. Skeptical at first, he agrees, and the birds use magic to rapidly harvest and store the rice. Revealing their true form, one bird becomes a beautiful maiden—Ligi’s lost love, taken by a spirit. Reunited with her family, she marries Ligi, culminating in a joyous three-month celebration.

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

► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: The tikgi’s assistance in harvesting Ligi’s rice can be seen as a form of divine or supernatural intervention in human affairs.

Quest: Ligi’s journey to discover the true identity of the tikgi reflects a quest for knowledge and understanding.

Love and Betrayal: The reunion of Ligi with his lost love, who had been taken by a spirit, introduces elements of love and the challenges it faces.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

“Tikgi, tikgi, tikgi, we will come to work for you. Let us cut your rice.” Ligi had gone to the field to look at his growing rice, but when he heard this sound he looked up and was surprised to see some birds circling above and calling to him. “Why, you cannot cut rice,” said Ligi. “You are birds and know only how to fly.” But the birds insisted that they knew how to cut rice; so finally he told them to come again when the grain was ripe, and they flew away. No sooner had the birds gone than Ligi was filled with a great desire to see them again. As he went home he wished over and over that his rice were ready to cut.

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As soon as Ligi left the field the tikgi birds began using magic so that the rice grew rapidly, and five days later when he returned he found the birds there ready to cut the ripened grain. Ligi showed them where to begin cutting, and then he left them.

When he was out of sight, the tikgi said to the rice cutters:

“Rice cutters, you cut the rice alone.” And to the bands which were lying nearby they said: “Bands, you tie into bundles the rice which the cutters cut”

And the rice cutters and the bands worked alone, doing as they were told.

When Ligi went again to the field in the afternoon, the tikgi said:

“Come, Ligi, and see what we have done, for we want to go home now.”

Ligi was amazed, for he saw five hundred bundles of rice cut. And he said:

“Oh, Tikgi, take all the rice you wish in payment, for I am very grateful to you.”

Then the tikgi each took one head of rice, saying it was all they could carry, and they flew away.

The next morning when Ligi reached the field, he found the birds already there and he said:

“Now, Tikgi, cut the rice as fast as you can, for when it is finished I will make a ceremony for the spirits, and you must come.”

“Yes,” replied the tikgi, “and now we shall begin the work, but you do not need to stay here.”

So Ligi went home and built a rice granary to hold his grain, and when he returned to the field the rice was all cut. Then the tikgi said: “We have cut all your rice, Ligi, so give us our pay, and when you go home the rice will all be in your granary.”

Ligi wondered at this, and when he reached home and saw that his granary was full of rice, he doubted if the tikgi could be real birds.

Not long after this Ligi invited all his relatives from the different towns to help him make the ceremony for the spirits. As soon as the people arrived, the tikgi came also; and they flew over the people’s heads and made them drink basi until they were drunk. Then they said to Ligi:

“We are going home now; it is not good for us to stay here, for we cannot sit among the people.”

When they started home Ligi followed them until they came to the bana-asi tree, and here he saw them take off their feathers and put them in the rice granary. Then suddenly they became one beautiful maiden.

“Are you not the tikgi who came to cut my rice?” asked Ligi. “You look to me like a beautiful maiden.”

“Yes,” she replied; “I became tikgi and cut rice for you, for otherwise you would not have found me.” Ligi took her back to his house where the people were making the ceremony, and as soon as they saw her they began chewing the magic betel-nuts to find who she might be.

The quid of Ebang and her husband and that of the tikgi went together, so they knew that she was their daughter who had disappeared from their house one day long ago while they were in the fields. In answer to their many questions, she told them that she had been in the bana-asi tree, where Kaboniyan had carried her, until the day that she changed herself into the tikgi birds and went to the field of Ligi. Ligi was very fond of the beautiful girl and he asked her parents if he might marry her. They were very willing and decided on a price he should pay. After the wedding all the people remained at his house, feasting and dancing for three months.

Aponibolinayen and the Sun

Aponibolinayen, while gathering greens, is carried to the sky by a magical vine and encounters Ini-init, the Sun. After a series of mystical events and a hidden romance, they marry. Aponibolinayen returns to earth with a magical child and conceals her husband’s identity. Ultimately, Ini-init is revealed as a transformed stone, reuniting families and celebrating unity through grand ceremonies and joy.

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

► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: A magical vine transports Aponibolinayen to the sky, initiating her encounter with the divine.

Love and Betrayal: Aponibolinayen and Ini-init develop a hidden romantic relationship, leading to marriage and the birth of a magical child.

Sacred Objects: The story references enchanted items, like the vine that ascends to the sky and the golden betel-nut trees surrounding the celestial spring.

► From the same Region or People

Southeast Asia
- Philippines
  - Tinguian Lore

Learn more about Philippines peoples

One day Aponibolinayen and her sister-in-law went out to gather greens. They walked to the woods to the place where the siksiklat grew, for the tender leaves of this vine are very good to eat. Suddenly while searching about in the underbrush, Aponibolinayen cried out with joy, for she had found the vine, and she started to pick the leaves. Pull as hard as she would, however, the leaves did not come loose, and all at once the vine wound itself around her body and began carrying her upward. Far up through the air she went until she reached the sky, and there the vine set her down under a tree.

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Aponibolinayen was so surprised to find herself in the sky that for some time she just sat and looked around, and then, hearing a rooster crow, she arose to see if she could find it. Not far from where she had sat was a beautiful spring surrounded by tall betel-nut trees whose tops were pure gold. Rare beads were the sands of the spring, and the place where the women set their jars when they came to dip water was a large golden plate. As Aponibolinayen stood admiring the beauties of this spring, she beheld a small house nearby, and she was filled with fear lest the owner should find her there. She looked about for some means of escape and finally climbed to the top of a betel-nut tree and hid.

Now the owner of this house was Ini-init, the Sun, but he was never at home in the daylight, for it was his duty to shine in the sky and give light to all the world. At the close of the day when the Big Star took his place in the sky to shine through the night, Ini-init returned to his house, but early the next morning he was always off again.

From her place in the top of the betel-nut tree, Aponibolinayen saw the Sun when he came home at evening time, and again the next morning she saw him leave. When she was sure that he was out of sight she climbed down and entered his dwelling, for she was very hungry. She cooked rice, and into a pot of boiling water she dropped a stick which immediately became fish, so that she had all she wished to eat. When she was no longer hungry, she lay down on the bed to sleep.

Now late in the afternoon Ini-init returned from his work and went to fish in the river near his house, and he caught a big fish. While he sat on the bank cleaning his catch, he happened to look up toward his house and was startled to see that it appeared to be on fire. He hurried home, but when he reached the house he saw that it was not burning at all, and he entered. On his bed he beheld what looked like a flame of fire, but upon going closer he found that it was a beautiful woman fast asleep.

Ini-init stood for some time wondering what he should do, and then he decided to cook some food and invite this lovely creature to eat with him. He put rice over the fire to boil and cut into pieces the fish he had caught. The noise of this awakened Aponibolinayen, and she slipped out of the house and back to the top of the betel-nut tree. The Sun did not see her leave, and when the food was prepared he called her, but the bed was empty and he had to eat alone. That night Ini-init could not sleep well, for all the time he wondered who the beautiful woman could be. The next morning, however, he rose as usual and set forth to shine in the sky, for that was his work.

That day Aponibolinayen stole again to the house of the Sun and cooked food, and when she returned to the betel-nut tree she left rice and fish ready for the Sun when he came home. Late in the afternoon Ini-init went into his home, and when he found pots of hot rice and fish over the fire he was greatly troubled. After he had eaten he walked a long time in the fresh air. “Perhaps it is done by the lovely woman who looks like a flame of fire,” he said. “If she comes again I will try to catch her.”

The next day the Sun shone in the sky as before, and when the afternoon grew late he called to the Big Star to hurry to take his place, for he was impatient to reach home. As he drew near the house he saw that it again looked as if it was on fire. He crept quietly up the ladder, and when he had reached the top he sprang in and shut the door behind him.

Aponibolinayen, who was cooking rice over the fire, was surprised and angry that she had been caught; but the Sun gave her betel-nut which was covered with gold, and they chewed together and told each other their names. Then Aponibolinayen took up the rice and fish, and as they ate they talked together and became acquainted.

After some time Aponibolinayen and the Sun were married, and every morning the Sun went to shine in the sky, and upon his return at night he found his supper ready for him. He began to be troubled, however, to know where the food came from, for though he brought home a fine fish every night, Aponibolinayen always refused to cook it.

One night he watched her prepare their meal, and he saw that, instead of using the nice fish he had brought, she only dropped a stick into the pot of boiling water.

“Why do you try to cook a stick?” asked Ini-init in surprise.

“So that we can have fish to eat,” answered his wife.

“If you cook that stick for a month, it will not be soft,” said Ini-init. “Take this fish that I caught in the net, for it will be good.”

But Aponibolinayen only laughed at him, and when they were ready to eat she took the cover off the pot and there was plenty of nice soft fish. The next night and the next, Aponibolinayen cooked the stick, and Ini-init became greatly troubled for he saw that though the stick always supplied them with fish, it never grew smaller.

Finally he asked Aponibolinayen again why it was that she cooked the stick instead of the fish he brought, and she said:

“Do you not know of the woman on earth who has magical power and can change things?”

“Yes,” answered the Sun, “and now I know that you have great power.”

“Well, then,” said his wife, “do not ask again why I cook the stick.”

And they ate their supper of rice and the fish which the stick made.

One night not long after this Aponibolinayen told her husband that she wanted to go with him the next day when he made light in the sky.

“Oh, no, you cannot,” said the Sun, “for it is very hot up there, and you cannot stand the heat.”

“We will take many blankets and pillows,” said the woman, “and when the heat becomes very great, I will hide under them.”

Again and again Ini-init begged her not to go, but as often she insisted on accompanying him, and early in the morning they set out, carrying with them many blankets and pillows.

First, they went to the East, and as soon as they arrived the Sun began to shine, and Aponibolinayen was with him. They traveled toward the West, but when morning had passed into noontime and they had reached the middle of the sky Aponibolinayen was so hot that she melted and became oil. Then Ini-init put her into a bottle and wrapped her in the blankets and pillows and dropped her down to earth.

Now one of the women of Aponibolinayen’s town was at the spring dipping water when she heard something fall near her. Turning to look, she beheld a bundle of beautiful blankets and pillows which she began to unroll, and inside she found the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Frightened at her discovery, the woman ran as fast as she could to the town, where she called the people together and told them to come at once to the spring. They all hastened to the spot and there they found Aponibolinayen for whom they had been searching everywhere.

“Where have you been?” asked her father; “we have searched all over the world and we could not find you.’

“I have come from Pindayan,” answered Aponibolinayen. “Enemies of our people kept me there till I made my escape while they were asleep at night”

All were filled with joy that the lost one had returned, and they decided that at the next moon they would perform a ceremony for the spirits and invite all the relatives who were mourning for Aponibolinayen.

So they began to prepare for the ceremony, and while they were pounding rice, Aponibolinayen asked her mother to prick her little finger where it itched, and as she did so a beautiful baby boy popped out. The people were very much surprised at this, and they noticed that every time he was bathed the baby grew very fast so that, in a short time, he was able to walk. Then they were anxious to know who was the husband of Aponibolinayen, but she would not tell them, and they decided to invite everyone in the world to the ceremony that they might not overlook him.

They sent for the betel-nuts that were covered with gold, and when they had oiled them they commanded them to go to all the towns and compel the people to come to the ceremony.

“If anyone refuses to come, grow on his knee,” said the people, and the betel-nuts departed to do as they were bidden.

As the guests began to arrive, the people watched carefully for one who might be the husband of Aponibolinayen, but none appeared and they were greatly troubled. Finally they went to the old woman, Alokotan, who was able to talk with the spirits, and begged her to find what town had not been visited by the betel-nuts which had been sent to invite the people. After she had consulted the spirits the old woman said:

“You have invited all the people except Ini-init who lives up above. Now you must send a betel-nut to summon him. It may be that he is the husband of Aponibolinayen, for the siksiklat vine carried her up when she went to gather greens.”

So a betel-nut was called and bidden to summon Ini-init.

The betel-nut went up to the Sun, who was in his house, and said:

“Good morning, Sun. I have come to summon you to a ceremony which the father and mother of Aponibolinayen are making for the spirits. If you do not want to go, I will grow on your head.”

“Grow on my head,” said the Sun. “I do not wish to go.”

So the betel-nut jumped upon his head and grew until it became so tall that the Sun was not able to carry it, and he was in great pain.

“Oh, grow on my pig,” begged the Sun. So the betel-nut jumped upon the pig’s head and grew, but it was so heavy that the pig could not carry it and squealed all the time. At last the Sun saw that he would have to obey the summons, and he said to the betel-nut:

“Get off my pig and I will go.”

So Ini-init came to the ceremony, and as soon as Aponibolinayen and the baby saw him, they were very happy and ran to meet him. Then the people knew that this was the husband of Aponibolinayen, and they waited eagerly for him to come up to them. As he drew near, however, they saw that he did not walk, for he was round; and then they perceived that he was not a man but a large stone. All her relatives were very angry to find that Aponibolinayen had married a stone; and they compelled her to take off her beads and her good clothes, for, they said, she must now dress in old clothes and go again to live with the stone.

So Aponibolinayen put on the rags that they brought her and at once set out with the stone for his home. No sooner had they arrived there, however, than he became a handsome man, and they were very happy.

“In one moon,” said the Sun, “we will make a ceremony for the spirits, and I will pay your father and mother the marriage price for you.”

This pleased Aponibolinayen very much, and they used magic so that they had many neighbors who came to pound rice for them and to build a large spirit house.

Then they sent oiled betel-nuts to summon their relatives to the ceremony. The father of Aponibolinayen did not want to go, but the betel-nut threatened to grow on his knee if he did not. So he commanded all the people in the town to wash their hair and their clothes, and when all was ready they set out.

When they reached the town they were greatly surprised to find that the stone had become a man, and they chewed the magic betel-nuts to see who he might be. It was discovered that he was the son of a couple in Aponibolinayen’s own town, and the people all rejoiced that this couple had found the son whom they had thought lost. They named him Aponitolau, and his parents paid the marriage price for his wife–the spirit house nine times full of valuable jars.

After that all danced and made merry for one moon, and when the people departed for their homes Ini-init and his wife went with them to live on the earth.

The Bed

A grain merchant’s pampered son learned no trade, relying on his parents’ wealth. After their death, he carved a magnificent bed from a mango tree. Selling it to a king for 1,000 rupees, he warned the king of its mysterious abilities. The bed revealed dangers, saving the king’s life and fortune. Grateful, the king rewarded the son generously, ensuring his and his wife’s lifelong happiness.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: The mango tree’s response to the son’s request, influenced by divine will, sets the narrative in motion.

Sacred Objects: The bed, crafted from the mango tree, possesses mystical properties that reveal dangers to the king.

Cunning and Deception: The bed’s revelations expose hidden threats, showcasing the theme of uncovering deceit.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Múniyá, February 23rd, 1879

There was a grain merchant’s son, whose father and mother loved him so dearly that they did not let him do anything but play and amuse himself while they worked for him. They never taught him any trade, or anything at all; for they never reflected that they might die, and that then he would have to work for himself. When he was old enough to be married, they found a wife for him, and married him to her. Then they all lived happily together for some years till the father and mother both died. Their son and his wife lived for a while on the pice his father and mother had left him. But the wife grew sadder and sadder every day, for the pice grew fewer and fewer.

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She thought, “What shall we do when they are all gone? My husband knows no trade, and can do no work.” One day when she was looking very sorrowful, her husband asked her, “What is the matter? Why are you so unhappy?” “We have hardly any pice left,” she answered, “and what shall we do when we have eaten the few we have? You know no trade, and can do no work.” “Never mind,” said her husband, “I can do some work.”

So one day when there were hardly any pice left, he took an axe, and said to his wife, “I am going out to-day to work. Give me my dinner to take with me, and I will eat it out of doors.” She gave him some food, wondering what work he had; but she did not ask him.

He went to a jungle, where he stayed all day, and where he ate his dinner. All day long he wandered from tree to tree, saying to each, “May I cut you down?” But not a tree in the jungle gave him any answer: so he cut none down, and went home in the evening. His wife did not ask where he had been, or what he had done, and he said nothing to her.

The next day he again asked her for food to take with him to eat out of doors, “for,” he said, “I am going to work all day.” She did not like to ask him any questions, but gave him the food. And he took his axe, and went out to a jungle which was on a different side to the one he had been to yesterday. In this jungle also he went to every tree, and said to it, “May I cut you down?” No tree answered him; so he ate his dinner and came home.

The next day he went to a third jungle on the third side. There, too, he asked each tree, “May I cut you down?” But none gave him any answer. He came home therefore very sorrowful.

On the fourth day he went to a jungle on the fourth side. All day long he went from tree to tree, asking each, “May I cut you down?” None answered. At last, towards evening, he went and stood under a mango-tree. “May I cut you down?” he said to it. “Yes, cut me down,” answered the tree. God loved the merchant’s son and wished him to grow a great man, so he ordered the mango-tree to let itself be cut down.

Now the grain merchant’s son was happy, for he was quite sure he could make a bed, if he only had some wood; so he hewed down the mango-tree, put it on his head, and carried it home. His wife saw him coming, and said to herself, “He is bringing home a tree! What can he be going to do with a tree?”

Next morning he took the tree into one of the rooms of his house. He told his wife to put food and water to last him for a week in this room, and to make a fire in it. Then he went up to the room, and said to her, “You are not to come in here for a whole week. You are not to come near me till I call you.” Then he went into the room and shut the door. The whole week long his wife wondered what he could be doing all alone in that room. “I cannot see into it,” she said to herself, “and I dare not open the door. I wonder what he is about.”

By the end of the week the grain merchant’s son had carved a most beautiful bed out of the mango-tree. Such a beautiful bed had never been seen. Then he called his wife, and when she came he told her to open the door, and when she opened it he said, “See what a beautiful bed I have made.” “Did you make that bed?” she said. “Oh, what a beautiful bed it is! I never saw such a lovely bed!”

He rested that day, and on the day following he took the bed to the king’s palace, and sat down with it before the palace gate. The king’s servants all came to look at the bed. “What a bed it is!” they said. “Did any one ever see such a bed! It is a beautiful bed. Is it yours?” they asked the merchant’s son. “Is it for sale? Who made it? Did you make it?” But he said, “I will not answer any of your questions. I will not speak to any of you. I will only speak to the king.” So the servants went to the king and said to him, “There is a man at your gate with a most beautiful bed. But he will not speak to any of us, and says he will only speak to you.” “Very good,” said the king; “bring him to me.”

When the grain merchant’s son came before the king with his bed, the king asked him, “Is your bed for sale?” “Yes,” he said. “What a beautiful bed it is!” said the king. “Who made it?” “I did,” he said. “I made it myself.” “How much do you want for it?” said the king. “One thousand rupees,” answered the merchant’s son. “That is a great deal for the bed,” said the king. “I will not take less,” said the merchant’s son. “Good,” said the king, “I will give you the thousand rupees.” So he took the bed, and the merchant’s son said to him, “The first night you pass on it, do not go to sleep. Take care to keep awake, and you will hear and see something.” Then he took the rupees home to his wife, who was frightened when she saw them. “Are those your rupees?” she said. “Where did you find such a quantity of rupees?” “The king gave them to me for my bed,” he said. “I am not a thief; I did not steal them.” Then she was happy.

That night the king lay down on his bed, and at ten o’clock he heard one of the bed’s legs say to the other legs, “Listen, you three. I am going out to see the king’s country. Do you all stand firm while I am away, and take care not to let the king fall.” “Good,” the three legs answered; “go and eat the air, and we will all stand fast, so that the king does not fall while you are away.”

Then the king saw the leg leave the bed, and go out of his room door. The leg went out to a great plain, and there it saw two snakes quarrelling together. One snake said, “I will bite the king.” The other said, “I will bite him.” The first said, “No, you won’t; I will climb on to his bed and bite him.” “That you will never do,” said the second. “You cannot climb on to his bed; but I will get into his shoe, and then when he puts it on to-morrow morning, I will bite his foot.”

The bed-leg came back and told the other legs what it had seen and heard. “If the king will shake his shoe before he puts it on to-morrow morning,” it said, “he will see a snake drop out of it.” The king heard all that was said.

“Now,” said the second bed-leg, “I will go out and eat the air of the king’s country. Do you all stand firm while I am away.” “Go,” the others answered; “we will take care the king does not fall.” The second bed-leg then went out, and went to another plain on which stood a very old palace belonging to the king, and the wind told it the palace was so ruinous that it would fall and kill the king the first time he went into it: the king had never once had it repaired. So it came back and told the three other legs all about the palace and what the wind had said. “If I were the king,” said the second bed-leg, “I would have that palace pulled down. It is quite ready to fall; and the first time the king goes into it, it will fall on him and kill him.” The king lay, and listened to everything. As it happened, he had forgotten all about his old palace, and had not gone near it for a long time.

Then the third bed-leg said, “Now I will go out and see all the fun I can. Stand firm, you three, while I am away.” He went to a jungle-plain on which lived a yogí. Now there was a sarai [that is, a resting-place for travellers, composed of a number of small houses in a walled enclosure] not far off in which lived a woman, the wife of a sepoy, whose husband had gone a year ago to another country, leaving her in the sarai. She was so fond of the yogí, that she used to come and talk to him every night. That very day her husband came back to her, and therefore it was later than usual when she got to the yogí; so he was very vexed with her. “How late you are to-night,” he said. “It is not my fault,” she answered. “My husband came home to-day after having been away a year, and he kept me.” “Which of us do you love best?” asked the yogí; “your husband or me?” “I love you best,” said the woman. “Then,” said the yogí, “go home and cut off your husband’s head, and bring it here for me to see.” The sepoy’s wife went straight to the sarai, cut off her husband’s head, and brought it to the yogí. “What a wicked woman you are to do such a thing at my bidding!” he said. “Go away at once. You are a wicked woman, and I do not want to see you.” She took the head home, set it again on the body and began to cry. All the people in the sarai came to see what was the matter. “Thieves have been here,” she said, “and have killed my husband, and cut off his head,” and then she cried again. The third bed-leg now went back to the palace, and told the others all it had seen and heard. The king lay still and listened.

The fourth bed-leg next went out to see all it could, and it came to a plain on which were seven thieves, who had just been into the king’s palace, and had carried off his daughter on her bed fast asleep; and there she lay still sleeping. They had, too, been into the king’s treasury and had taken all his rupees. The fourth bed-leg came quickly back to the palace, and said to the other three legs, “Now, if the king were wise he would get up instantly and go to the plain. For some thieves are there with his daughter and all his rupees which they have just stolen out of his palace. If he only made haste and went at once, he would get them again.”

The king got up that minute, and called his servants and some sepoys, and set off to the plain. He shook his shoe before he put it on, and out tumbled the snake (the other had quietly gone into the jungle, and not come to the palace); so he saw that the first bed-leg had spoken the truth.

When he reached the plain he found his daughter and his rupees, and brought them back to his palace. The princess slept all the time, and did not know what had happened to her. The king saw the fourth leg had told the truth. The thieves he could not catch, for they all ran away when they saw him coming with his sepoys.

The king sent men to the old palace to pull it down. They found it was just going to fall, and would have fallen on any one who had entered it, and crushed him. So the second bed-leg had told the truth.

When the king was sitting in his court-house he heard how during the night thieves had gone into the sarai and killed a sepoy there and cut off his head. Then he sent for the sepoy’s wife, and asked her who had killed her husband. “Thieves,” she said. The king was very angry, for he was sure the third bed-leg had told the truth as the other three legs had done. So he ordered the man to be buried; and bade his servants make a great wooden pile on the plain, and take the woman and burn her on it. They were not to leave her as long as she was alive, but to wait till she was dead.

He next sent for the grain merchant’s son, and said to him, “Had it not been for your bed, I should this morning have been bitten by a snake; and, perhaps, killed by my old palace falling on me, as I did not know it was ready to fall, and so might have gone into it. My daughter would certainly have been stolen from me; and a wicked woman been still alive. So now, to-morrow, bring as many carts as you like, and I will give you as a present as many rupees as you can take away on them in half a day.” Early the next morning the merchant’s son brought his cart and took away on them as many rupees as he could in half a day. His wife was delighted when she saw the money, and said, “My husband only worked for one week, and yet he earned all these rupees!” And they lived always happily.

Some of the Doings of Shekh Faríd

Hámánsá Rájá’s son, Gursan, marries Kheláparí Rání, who gains the power to know distant events. Fakír Shekh Faríd, amazed by her abilities, embarks on journeys showcasing his own mystical powers. Along the way, he revives a boy, Mohandás, who later marries Princess Champákálí after defeating demons with the fakír’s help. The couple and Mohandás’s family find happiness, while Shekh Faríd continues his wandering life.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Forbidden Knowledge: Kheláparí Rání possesses the extraordinary ability to know distant events without being informed, a power not commonly accessible to mortals.

Divine Intervention: Gursan Rájá’s prayer for his wife to receive whatever she wishes is granted, suggesting a higher power’s influence in mortal affairs.

Quest: Shekh Faríd embarks on journeys to showcase his mystical abilities and to understand Kheláparí Rání’s powers, encountering various adventures along the way.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Dunkní

Once there was a Rájá called Hámánsá Rájá. He had a son, Gursan Rájá, who married Kheláparí Rání, the daughter of Gulábsá Rájá. After the wedding Gursan Rájá brought her home to his father’s house. One day Gursan Rájá came home from hunting, very very tired and thirsty. It was about twelve or one o’clock in the day. He asked Kheláparí Rání to fetch him some water, and while she went for it he fell asleep. When she came back she found him still sleeping, and because he was so tired he slept all the afternoon and all night, and never woke till the next morning. His wife stood by him all the time holding the water in a brass cup.

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When he woke and found she had stood there all the afternoon and all night he was very sorry, and asked God to forgive him, and to give his wife whatever she wished for, no matter what it might be. So Kheláparí wished that whatever happened in any country, she might know of it at once of herself without any one telling her, no matter how far away the country might be.

One day Kheláparí Rání went to draw water from the tank, and by the tank sat an old man, the fakír Shekh Faríd. He said to the Rání, “Give me a little water to drink.” “I will,” she said, “only drink it quickly, for my father’s house is on fire, and I am going to put it out.” “How far off is your father’s country?” asked Shekh Faríd. “About twenty miles,” answered Kheláparí. “Then how can you know his house is on fire!” said Shekh Faríd; “I have been a fakír for twelve years, and for twelve years neither ate nor drank, and yet I do not know what happens twenty miles away.” “But I know,” she answered. “Leave your water-jar here,” he said, “and go and see if the house really is on fire, and I will not drink till you return to me.”

So off went Kheláparí Rání to her father’s country, and when she got there his house was burning, and she stayed till the fire was put out, and then returned to the tank where she left the fakír. “Is it true,” he asked, “that your father’s house was on fire?” “Quite true,” she answered. The fakír wondered. “How could she know it when the fire was twenty miles off?” he said to himself, and he determined to go to Gulábsá Rájá’s country to see if the Rání had told him the truth.

He went by a roundabout road, as he did not know the way, so it took him three or four days to get there. When he did, he asked some villagers if there had been a fire at their Rájá’s house. “Yes, a few days ago there was,” they answered. So the fakír, still more astonished, decided he would go back to Hámánsá Rájá’s palace and ask Kheláparí Rání how it came to pass that she was wiser than Shekh Faríd.

As he was returning, he met a bullock-cart laden with bags of sugar, and he asked the driver what the bags contained. The driver was put out because his bullocks would not go on quickly, and he was tired with beating and goading them, so he said crossly, “It’s ashes.” “Good,” said Shekh Faríd, “let it be ashes.” When the cartman got to the bazar, and went to make over the sugar to the merchant who had sent him for it, he found all his bags full of ashes, nothing but ashes. He was in a great state of mind, for a good deal of money had been paid for the sugar, and he was a poor man. So he went back to Shekh Faríd and fell down at his feet, saying, “I am a poor, poor man. My sugar is turned to ashes. Do make the ashes sugar again.” “Good,” said the fakír; “go home, and you will find sugar, and next time you are asked what you have in your cart, tell the truth and not lies.” The cartman went home, and when he saw his sugar was sugar once more, and no longer ashes, he was very, very glad.

One of his brother-villagers thought, “How pleasant it would be to become a fakír and do such things myself! I will go to this fakír and learn from him to be a fakír too.” So he went after Shekh Faríd and found him walking along the road, and he followed him. Now Shekh Faríd knew at once what this man wanted, so as they passed a heap of clay bricks, he said, “O God, let it be thy pleasure to give me power to turn these clay bricks into gold.” Instantly they became gold, and Shekh Faríd walked on; but the villager took up two of the bricks and put one under each arm, and then followed the fakír. Suddenly Shekh Faríd turned round, and said to him, “You have two clay bricks under your arms.” The man looked, saw it was true, and threw them away. Then Shekh Faríd said to him, “You steal bricks, and yet wish to be a fakír?” The man was ashamed, and went back to his village.

Shekh Faríd continued his journey and got to Hámánsá Rájá’s country; but when he got there he found Kheláparí had gone to another country for a little while, so he never saw her, nor found out how it was that she knew what happened twenty miles off.

In a jungle in Hámánsá Rájá’s country he met a man, called Fakír-achand, and his wife, who were very poor. They were going to bury their only son, and were crying bitterly. Shekh Faríd asked them, “Would you like your son to be alive again?” “Yes,” they said. “Will you give him to me, and I will bring him to life, and then he shall return to you?” said Shekh Faríd. “Yes,” they answered, and gave him their dead son, and went to their home.

The fakír carried the dead boy, who was called Mohandás, a little further on, and then laid him on the ground, and struck him with a long thin bamboo wand he carried in his hand. The boy stood up. Shekh Faríd asked him, “Would you like to go home to your father and mother, or to stay with me?” “To stay with you,” said Mohandás. (Had he wished to go home, the fakír would have been very angry.) “Then,” said Shekh Faríd, “I will call your mother here.” He did so, and when she came, he said to her, “See, here is your son alive. Will you give him to me for twelve years?” The woman said, “Yes,” and went home. The fakír gave her and her husband a quantity of rupees and built them a beautiful house. Then he and Mohandás set out on their travels, and wandered about the jungles for one whole year, till they came to a country full of large splendid gardens belonging to a very rich Rájá, called Dumkás Rájá.

This Rájá had a beautiful daughter, Champákálí Rání. She had lovely golden hair, golden eyebrows, golden eyelashes, blue eyes, and her skin was transparent. In Dumkás Rájá’s country they had never seen a fakír, so when Shekh Faríd and Mohandás arrived, the Rájá sent to them, and asked Shekh Faríd to come to talk to him. “No,” said the fakír, “I will not go to the Rájá: if the Rájá wants me, he must come to me.”

Dumkás Rájá was very angry when his messengers returned with this answer, and he ordered Shekh Faríd to leave his country immediately; but the fakír said he would not go until he had married his adopted son, Mohandás, to Champákálí Rání. The people all laughed at him for saying this, and declared such a marriage would never take place. However, the fakír and Mohandás walked about and saw the town, and looked at everything, and everybody stared at them. Then they went to live on the border of Dumkás Rájá’s country, and lived there for some time.

One day Shekh Faríd bought Mohandás a beautiful horse and fine clothes such as Rájás wear, and told the boy to ride about the fields and high roads. He also told him not to speak to any one unless they spoke to him. Mohandás promised to do as he was bid. As he was riding along, he met the Princess Champákálí, who was also riding. She asked him who he was. “A Rájá’s son,” he said. “What Rájá?” asked Champákálí. “Never mind what Rájá,” said Mohandás. The princess then went home, and so did Mohandás; but every day after this they met and talked together, and the princess fell very much in love with Mohandás.

At last she said to her father, “I wish to marry a young man who rides about on the border-land every day, and is very handsome.” The Rájá consented, for it was time his daughter was married, and now no Rájá from another country would come to marry her, as the demons who guarded the princess swallowed all her suitors at one gulp, and had already swallowed many Rájás who had come on this errand.

Shekh Faríd said to Mohandás, “Now go up to the palace, and claim the princess for your wife.” “If I do,” said Mohandás, “the demons will swallow me.” “I will not let them swallow you,” said Shekh Faríd. So Mohandás consented and set off for the palace, Shekh Faríd following him. When Mohandás came to the demons, they were going to swallow him; but the fakír, who had his sword in his hand, killed them all, and as he did so, the Rájás and princes who had come as suitors to the Princess Champákálí, and had therefore been swallowed by the demons, all came jumping out of the demons’ stomachs and ran off in all directions as hard as they could, from fear not knowing where they went.

Mohandás was greatly frightened at all this; but Shekh Faríd explained everything to him, so he went on to the palace, and the fakír went too. There Mohandás asked Dumkás Rájá to give him his daughter as his wife, and the Rájá consented. So he was married to Champákálí Rání, and her father gave them a great many elephants, and horses, and camels, and a great deal of money and many jewels. And Mohandás and his wife set off with the fakír to his father Fakír-achand’s house, and they took all the elephants, camels, horses, money and jewels with them. On the way Mohandás told Champákálí Rání that he was not a great Rájá’s son, but the son of poor people. Champákálí’s heart was very sad at this; however, she was not angry, only sorry.

When they reached Hámánsá Rájá’s country, and had come to Fakír-achand’s house, the fakír said to Mohandás’s mother, “See, you lent me one child, and I have brought you back two children. Does this please you?” “Indeed it does please me,” she answered; “I am very happy.”

They built a beautiful palace and all lived in it together. The mother begged Shekh Faríd to stay with them, saying, “Only stay with us; I will give you a bungalow, and you shall have everything you want.” But Shekh Faríd said, “I am a fakír, and so cannot stay with you, as I may never stay in one place, and must, instead, wander from country to country and from jungle to jungle.” So he said good-bye to them and went on his wanderings, and never returned to them.

Mohandás, his wife, and his father and mother, all lived happily together.

How King Burtal Became a Fakír

King Burtal, a ruler saddened by childlessness, undergoes a transformative journey, seeking spiritual enlightenment under Fakír Goraknáth. Through 36 years of trials in jungles, villages, and self-denial, Burtal gains divine favor. He returns to his kingdom with 160 sons, including the radiant Prince Sazádá, who marries a fairy princess. Goraknáth, instrumental in Burtal’s redemption, unites the family, leaving behind prosperity and joy.

Source
Indian Fairy Tales
collected and translated by Maive Stokes
Ellis & White, London, 1880

► Themes of the story

Transformation: King Burtal undergoes a profound change from a monarch to a fakír, embracing a life of spirituality and self-denial.

Quest: The king embarks on a journey seeking spiritual enlightenment and the blessing of children, demonstrating his dedication to achieving his goals.

Divine Intervention: The narrative features the fakír Goraknáth invoking divine power to resurrect the antelope, highlighting the influence of higher powers in mortal affairs.

► From the same Region or People

South Asia
- India
  - Hindu Lore

Learn more about the Hindu people

Told by Dunkní

Once there was a great king called Burtal, and he had a hundred and sixty wives, but he had no children, which made him sad. One day he said to his wives, “I am going to a very distant jungle which is full of antelopes, to hunt them.” “Very well,” they answered, “go.” So he went. In that jungle lived neither tigers nor men, but only antelopes. When King Burtal reached the jungle, some of the antelopes came to him and said, “Pray don’t kill the black antelope, for he is our Rájá, and we have no other antelope like him among us; but try to kill any of the others–the brown or the yellow antelopes–that you choose.”

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Now, the king was not a kind man, and he said, “I will kill your black antelope, and no other.” So he shot him dead. When the other antelopes saw this they began to scream and cry with sorrow. But the dead antelope’s wife said to them, “There is a holy man, a fakír, in the jungle. Let us take the dead body to him and ask him to bring our Rájá to life.” And King Burtal laughed at them and said, “How can any man bring a dead antelope to life?” But the antelopes took the body of their dead Rájá on their backs, and the dead antelope’s wife went at their head; and King Burtal went too; and they carried it to the fakír, who was called Goraknáth, and who was resting in the jungle, and they said to him, “Bring our Rájá to life again, for what can we do without a Rájá? and he has left no son to succeed him.” And the queen antelope said, “I have no other husband. I had only this one husband. Do bring him to life for me.” King Burtal laughed and mocked them, and said to the fakír, “I never heard of any man being able to bring a dead antelope to life. I don’t believe you can do it.” At this Goraknáth got angry, and he knelt down and asked God to bring the antelope to life; and God told him to take a wand and beat the dead antelope with it, and then the antelope would be alive again. So Goraknáth took a wand and beat the dead antelope, and it was alive once more, and then it instantly sprang up into heaven. The antelopes were delighted to see their Rájá alive again, and they said, “We do not mind his going up to heaven, for he will come down again to us.”

King Burtal had stood by all the time, and he said to Goraknáth, “Make me a fakír like yourself,” for he thought it would be fine to do such wonderful things. But Goraknáth would not, and King Burtal stayed in the jungle with Goraknáth for twelve years, and all that time he never ceased begging and praying to be made a fakír, till at last Goraknáth said, “I cannot make you a fakír unless you go home and address your wives as ‘Mamma,’ and ask them to give you money and food.” Now, it is a very shameful thing to call one’s wife ‘Mamma,’ for if a wife is called ‘Mamma’ she has to leave her husband. Then Goraknáth took off the king’s clothes, and dressed him only in a cloth and a tiger’s skin; and the king went to his palace and began begging for rice and food, and he would not take any from the palace servants: he said he must and would see the Ránís, and that they themselves should give him food. The servants told the Ránís about this fakír who said he must and would see them himself, and that they should give him food and rice with their own hands, and one of their ayahs, who had recognized King Burtal, told them the fakír was their husband who had been away twelve years. The Ránís cried out, “Do not talk nonsense. That fakír can never be our husband.” “Go and see for yourselves,” answered the ayah. They went, and the fakír said to them, “Mamma, give me rice.” “Why do you call us ‘Mamma’?” they said. “We have no sons. You are not our son.” But at last they saw he was indeed their husband, and they wrung their hands and wept bitterly, and threw themselves on the ground before him and said, “Why have you called us ‘Mamma’? Why do you ask for bread? We must now leave you.” “Don’t go away,” said the king. “Take my kingdom, my money, my houses, and stay here till I return. I am going to be a fakír.” His wives gave him some rice and some money, and he went back to Goraknáth.

In old days men who intended to become fakírs had to do three tasks set them by one who was already a fakír; so Goraknáth said to the king, “Now you must go to a jungle that I will show you, and stay there for twelve years.” Then King Burtal took the flat pan and the rolling-pin which he used in making his flour cakes, and was quite ready to start for the jungle, but the fakír stopped him. “You must leave your pan and your rolling-pin behind,” he said; “and all these twelve years you must neither eat nor drink, or you can never be a fakír. You must sit quite still on the same spot and never move.” “I shall die if I don’t eat,” said the king; “but I don’t care if I do die, so I will do all you tell me.” Then the fakír took him to a jungle, and made him sit down on the grass, and instantly all the grass round him grew up so tall and thick that King Burtal was quite hidden by it, and no one could see him. Here he lived for twelve years, and never moved, and he ate nothing, and drank nothing, and nobody knew he was there.

At the end of that time Goraknáth came and took him away and said, “Now go home to your wives.” “Why should I go to my wives? I do not wish to see my wives, for they have given me no children,” said King Burtal. But Goraknáth said, “Go and see them.” So King Burtal went; and he begged for rice from them; and they entreated him to stay with them, but he would not. “I will return to the fakír Goraknáth,” he said. “Why should I stay with you? You have never given me a child. What use is all my wealth to me? I have no son to take it when I am dead. I will become a fakír.” And they threw themselves on the ground and wrung their hands, and said, “Oh, why will you leave us?” He answered, “Because it pleases me to do so.” And he called them all “Mamma,” and told them to stay in his palace and take all he possessed for their own use. Then he returned to Goraknáth.

“Now,” said Goraknáth, “you must learn to be sweeper to all the beasts of the jungle, and you must serve them for twelve years.” So for twelve years King Burtal cleared the grass and kept the jungle clean for all the creatures in it–cows, sheep, goats, tigers, cats, bears. Sometimes he stayed in one part of the jungle, and sometimes in another.

When the twelve years were over he went to Goraknáth, who said to him, “Good; you have learnt to serve the wild beasts; now you must learn to serve men.” Then the fakír took the king to a village, and bade him sweep it and keep it clean for twelve years. Here King Burtal stayed for another twelve years, and all that time he was the village-sweeper and kept the village clean, and he swept all the dust and dirt into a great heap till the heap was as high and as big as a hut.

When the twelve years were over he returned to Goraknáth and stood before him, and as he stood there came a man who was an angel sent by God, and he threw some dirt on King Burtal’s head; but the king never moved nor spoke. “Now,” cried Goraknáth, “I see you are a true fakír: go and cleanse yourself by bathing in the river.”

The river in which he was sent to bathe was the Jamná. In this river lived water-nymphs, and the nymph Gangá was playing in it when her sister Jamná [Yamuná] came to her and said, “Come quickly; our father is dying and wants to see you;” and off Jamná went to her father. Gangá was hurrying after her when King Burtal saw her, and stopped her, and asked her where she was going so fast. “To my father, who is very ill and dying,” said Gangá; “let me go.” “I will not let you go,” said King Burtal. Then Gangá began to run, and said, “You cannot keep me, you cannot catch me; no man can catch me, no man can keep me.” This provoked King Burtal, and he said, “I can catch you, and I can keep you.” “No, no,” she answered; “no one can catch me, no one can hold me.” Then King Burtal got quite vexed, and he ran till he caught her, and then he said, “Now, I will not let you go; I will keep you.” Then he held her in his hands and rubbed her between his palms, and when he opened his hands she had turned into a little round ball. He tried to hide the ball in his hair, but could not, for his hair was too short, and he found he could not hold Gangá, as she was too strong for him; so he thought he would take her to Mahádeo,[Mahadeva, i.e. Siva] who had long thick hair, and make him keep her, for King Burtal was dreadfully frightened and did not dare let the ball go, for fear Gangá, who he knew was very angry, should take her own form and bring a great flood to drown him. So he went quickly to Mahádeo, and gave the ball to him. Mahádeo said, “Why not keep her yourself?” “I cannot,” said King Burtal, “for my hair is too short to tie her into; and I cannot hold her, for she is too strong for me; but your hair is long, and so you can hide her in it.” Then Mahádeo had a round box made of bamboo, and in this box was a hole into which he dropped the ball. And he let down his long hair, and it reached to the ground, and was thick–so thick; he put the box in his hair on the top of his head, and rolled his long hair all round his head and over the box just like a turban.

Jamná finding her sister did not follow her, came up from the bottom of the river to look for her, and she asked whether any one had seen her, and at last some one said, “King Burtal has taken her away.” Jamná set off to King Burtal and said, “Give me my sister Gangá, for our father is dying and wants to see her.” “It is true that I took her away,” said King Burtal, “but I have not got her now; she is with Mahádeo.” So Jamná went to Mahádeo,–“Give me my sister quickly, for our father is dying and wants to see her.” (Now Gangá was in a great passion inside her box.) “I cannot give you Gangá,” said Mahádeo, “for she is so angry that if I let her loose she will flood the country with water.” “No, she will not; indeed, she will not,” said Jamná. “If I give her to you, you will not be able to keep her,” said Mahádeo. “Yes, yes, I shall,” said Jamná. “I do not think you will,” said Mahádeo; “but here is the box in which said is. Hold it tight, and be careful that neither you nor any one else mentions her name on the journey.” Jamná said she would be very careful, and took the box; but she had to pass through a jungle in which were a number of cowherds and holy men, one of whom was called Gangá. Just as Jamná passed by, one of these men called to this man by his name, Gangá, and instantly Gangá burst the box and flooded the country with water. The holy men and the cowherd called to her to have pity on them, and so did Jamná; but Gangá was too angry to listen to them or speak to them, so she drowned all the holy men and the cowherds, and when she got to her father’s house and found he was dead, she was in such a rage that she declared she would send a still greater flood to ruin the country; and so she did.

After this, King Burtal went to Goraknáth and stayed with him some years, till Goraknáth said, “Now go to your own kingdom.” But King Burtal refused, saying, “I wish to stay with you; my wives have never given me a child. I have no son. I do not care to return to my kingdom.” However, Goraknáth would not allow him to stay. “Go to your own kingdom,” he said again; “but first tell me how many wives you have.” “A hundred and sixty,” answered the King. “Here are a hundred and sixty líchí fruits for you,” said the fakír. “Give one to each of your wives to eat, and they will each have a son, and I will go with you.” So King Burtal obeyed, and Goraknáth went with him.

Seventy years had passed since King Burtal had left his kingdom. When he and Goraknáth reached it, they went to an open plain and made a fire and sat down beside it. Everybody who passed them said, “Who are these fakírs?” Some servants of King Burtal’s Ránís passed too, and when they got home they told the Ránís that their husband had returned to his kingdom. But the Ránís said, “What nonsense you talk! King Burtal went away with the fakír Goraknáth.” The servants answered, “We are quite sure that King Burtal is here, for Goraknáth is here, and with him is another man, and we are sure this man is King Burtal.” So all the Ránís went to see for themselves, and when they saw the fakír that was with Goraknáth they knew he was their husband. Then the first Rání, who was very angry with him for having left them, said a spell over him: “God is very angry with you for leaving us, and he will send you a bad illness.” But King Burtal answered, “Do not be angry with me. I am your husband, and have come back to you after an absence of seventy years.” At this the youngest Rání was very glad, and she ordered drums to be beaten and she beat a drum herself, and they sang songs, and all went to the palace together, and Goraknáth with them.

Then Goraknáth said he must now go away, but first he asked King Burtal to show him a grand feat as a proof of his skill. So King Burtal sent to the smith for a great iron chain. Then he lit a big fire. This alarmed the palace servants, who wondered if he were going to burn his palace and his wives. King Burtal next sent for some ghee. “What is he going to do with the ghee?” said the palace servants. Then he drove a nail into the wall, rubbed his hands with the ghee, put the iron chain into the fire and drew it out red-hot; flames came from the iron. Then King Burtal hung it on the nail and pulled and pulled at the chain till he drew it off the nail, and his hands were not in the least burnt. The Ránís and palace servants were greatly astonished and Goraknáth much pleased. “You know how to do your work well,” said he to the king. Then Goraknáth bade him good bye, telling him to look after his kingdom and his wives; but they all said he must not leave them, and they built him a grand house in the compound, and gave him a great many servants to wait on him, and plenty of money; so Goraknáth agreed to live in this house; only, as he was a fakír, he often went away by himself to spend some time in his jungle, always returning to his house in King Burtal’s compound. Meanwhile King Burtal gave each of his wives a líchí to eat, and after a little while each wife had a little son. They were all such beautiful children; but the biggest and handsomest of all was the eldest Rání’s little son. His name was Sazádá, and his father and mother loved him dearly.

When Prince Sazádá was about six or seven years old, the fakír Goraknáth came to King Burtal and said, “Now you must give me your son Sazádá, for I want to take him away with me for some years.” The Rání, his mother, refused to let him go, but at last she had to do so, and then she became mad and very sick for grief.

Goraknáth took the little prince to Indrásan to be taught by the fairies, and on arriving he married him to Jahúr Rání, who was the daughter of the greatest of the fairy queens. Goraknáth made a grand wedding for the little prince, and all the fairies were delighted that he should be the little Jahúr Rání’s husband, for he was such a beautiful child they all fell in love with him the moment they saw him, and they taught him to play on all kinds of instruments, and to sing beautifully, and to read and write, and he grew handsomer and handsomer every day in the fairy kingdom. Goraknáth came often to see him, and the fairies took great care of him.

When Prince Sazádá had grown a fine strong young man, Goraknáth took him and his wife, the Jahúr Rání, and brought them in great state to King Burtal’s kingdom. First he took the young prince and presented him to his father and said, “See, here is your son. Now he can read and write, sing and play on all kinds of instruments, for I have had him taught all these things.” But they, when they saw him, fell on their faces, for they could not look at him on account of his great beauty. He had grown so handsome in Indrásan, and his cheeks were red. “How can this beautiful boy be our son?” they said, and they did not recognize him. “Stand up,” said Goraknáth. “This is your son Sazádá; do not fall down before your son.” So they stood up, and the fakír said, “I have married your son to the fairy princess Jahúr Rání, and I will bring her to you.” So then he brought the little Rání, and when they saw her they fell down again, for they could not look at her beauty. Her hair was like red gold, her eyes were dark, and her eyelashes black. But Goraknáth made them stand up; and when they really understood it was their son and his wife that he had brought them, they took Prince Sazádá into their arms, and kissed him and loved him, and his Rání too. Goraknáth made a grand wedding-feast for them all, and they were all very happy.