Mbungi and his Punishment

Mbungi, a selfish husband, deceived his wife to keep all the meat from their hunting trips while denying her food. In retaliation, she cleverly withheld fish she caught. Enraged, Mbungi killed her, but her vengeful spirit pursued him relentlessly. Eventually, her family discovered the truth and executed him, marking the origin of murder in this tale. The story explores greed, justice, and supernatural retribution.

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


► Themes of the story

Good vs. Evil: Mbungi’s selfishness and deceit contrast sharply with his wife’s fairness, highlighting the moral struggle between malevolent and virtuous behaviors.

Revenge and Justice: After Mbungi murders his wife, her spirit seeks retribution, and ultimately, her family enacts justice by executing him, underscoring themes of vengeance and moral reckoning.

Divine Punishment: Mbungi’s relentless torment by his wife’s spirit can be interpreted as a form of divine retribution for his heinous acts.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Bantu peoples


Mbungi one day said to his wife: “Dig up some cassava, prepare it, and cut down some plantain, for we will go hunting and fishing.”

The wife did as she was told, and in a short time everything was ready for the journey. They put their goods into a canoe and paddled away to their hunting and fishing camp. After resting, the man went and dug a hole and set his traps; and the next morning he found an antelope and a bush-pig in the hole. These he took to the camp, cut up, and gave to his wife to cook.

► Continue reading…

By and by when all was cooked she brought the meat to her husband, and as she was taking her portion he said: “Wait, I will ask the forest-folk (or spirits) if you may eat it.”

He went and pretended to ask the forest-folk, and brought back a message that if she ate the meat the traps would lose their luck and catch no more animals. In this way the selfish husband had all the meat for himself and his wife went hungry, [a person considered he had not made a meal if he had no meat or fish to eat with his cassava] Mbungi found many animals in his traps, and the woman, because of the prohibition, did not have her share of them.

One day the woman made some fish-traps and set them, and on her return to the camp the husband wanted to know where she had been, but she refused to tell him. Next day she went to look at her traps and found many fish in them, which she brought to the camp and cooked. Mbungi, however, returned unsuccessful from his traps; but when he saw his wife’s fish he laughed and said: “Bring the fish here for me to eat.”

“Wait,” answered the woman, “I will ask the forest-folk if you may eat the fish.” And she brought back a reply that he was not to eat the fish, for if he did so the fish-traps would lose their luck.

It was now Mbungi’s turn to be hungry. Days and days passed and he caught no more animals; but his wife always had plenty of fish. He became very thin and angry. One day he drew his large knife, and cutting off the head of his wife he buried the head and the trunk together in the ground, and departed for his town.

Mbungi had not gone very far on his way when he heard a voice shouting: “Mbungi, wait for me, we will go together!” He wondered who was calling him, so he hid himself, and in a little time he saw the head of his wife coming along the road calling after him.

He went, and catching the head he cut it into small pieces and buried it again; but before he had gone far he heard it shouting: “Mbungi, wait for me, we will go together!” He cut and buried it again and again, but it was no use, it continued to follow and call after him.

Mbungi reached his town, and his wife’s family asked him: “Where is your wife?” “Oh, she is coming on behind,” he replied. They accused him of killing her, but this he strongly denied. While he was denying the charge of murder the head came right into the town; and when the family saw it they immediately tied up Mbungi and killed him. This was how murder was first introduced into the world.


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

The Monkey and the Turtle

A hungry monkey and a turtle team up to steal banana plants. The monkey selfishly eats the ripe bananas, ignoring the turtle’s hunger. Angered, the turtle tricks the monkey, leading to his demise. The turtle sells the monkey’s meat to other monkeys, who unwittingly eat it. Later, he outsmarts the monkeys, causing their downfall. This story explains why monkeys avoid eating meat.

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


► Themes of the story

Trickster: The turtle uses cunning to outsmart the selfish monkey.

Revenge and Justice: The turtle seeks retribution for the monkey’s greed, leading to the monkey’s demise.

Moral Lessons: The tale teaches the consequences of greed and selfishness.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Philippines peoples


A monkey, looking very sad and dejected, was walking along the bank of the river one day when he met a turtle.

“How are you?” asked the turtle, noticing that he looked sad.

The monkey replied, “Oh, my friend, I am very hungry. The squash of Mr. Farmer were all taken by the other monkeys, and now I am about to die from want of food.”

“Do not be discouraged,” said the turtle; “take a bolo and follow me and we will steal some banana plants.”

► Continue reading…

So they walked along together until they found some nice plants which they dug up, and then they looked for a place to set them. Finally the monkey climbed a tree and planted his in it, but as the turtle could not climb he dug a hole in the ground and set his there.

When their work was finished they went away, planning what they should do with their crop. The monkey said:

“When my tree bears fruit, I shall sell it and have a great deal of money.”

And the turtle said: “When my tree bears fruit, I shall sell it and buy three varas of cloth to wear in place of this cracked shell.”

A few weeks later they went back to the place to see their plants and found that that of the monkey was dead, for its roots had had no soil in the tree, but that of the turtle was tall and bearing fruit.

“I will climb to the top so that we can get the fruit,” said the monkey. And he sprang up the tree, leaving the poor turtle on the ground alone.

“Please give me some to eat,” called the turtle, but the monkey threw him only a green one and ate all the ripe ones himself.

When he had eaten all the good bananas, the monkey stretched his arms around the tree and went to sleep. The turtle, seeing this, was very angry and considered how he might punish the thief. Having decided on a scheme, he gathered some sharp bamboo which he stuck all around under the tree, and then he exclaimed:

“Crocodile is coming! Crocodile is coming!”

The monkey was so startled at the cry that he fell upon the sharp bamboo and was killed.

Then the turtle cut the dead monkey into pieces, put salt on it, and dried it in the sun. The next day, he went to the mountains and sold his meat to other monkeys who gladly gave him squash in return. As he was leaving them he called back:

“Lazy fellows, you are now eating your own body; you are now eating your own body.”

Then the monkeys ran and caught him and carried him to their own home.

“Let us take a hatchet,” said one old monkey, “and cut him into very small pieces.”

But the turtle laughed and said: “That is just what I like, I have been struck with a hatchet many times. Do you not see the black scars on my shell?”

Then one of the other monkeys said: “Let us throw him into the water,”

At this the turtle cried and begged them to spare his life, but they paid no heed to his pleadings and threw him into the water. He sank to the bottom, but very soon came up with a lobster. The monkeys were greatly surprised at this and begged him to tell them how to catch lobsters.

“I tied one end of a string around my waist,” said the turtle. “To the other end of the string I tied a stone so that I would sink.”

The monkeys immediately tied strings around themselves as the turtle said, and when all was ready they plunged into the water never to come up again. And to this day monkeys do not like to eat meat, because they remember the ancient story.


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

The Alan and the Hunters

Two hunters killed a wild pig but lacked fire to singe it. Seeking fire, one man encountered an Alan—a mythical creature—who helped singe the pig and instructed him to feed her baby the liver. Instead, he ate the liver and killed the baby. Enraged, the Alan pursued them but died when they cut her climbing vine. The hunters later looted her treasures and returned home.

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


► Themes of the story

Cunning and Deception: The hunter deceives the Alan by consuming the liver meant for her child and subsequently killing the infant.

Supernatural Beings: The Alan represents a mythical creature integral to the story’s events.

Revenge and Justice: The Alan seeks retribution for her child’s death, though ultimately, she is unsuccessful.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Philippines peoples


Two men once went to hunt wild pig in the mountains, and after some time they speared and killed one, but they had no fire over which to singe it. One man climbed a tree to see if there was a fire near by, and discovering smoke at some distance, he started toward it. When he reached the place, he found that the fire was in the house of an Alan, and he was very much afraid; but creeping up into the house, he found that the Alan and her baby were fast asleep.

He stepped on tip-toe, but nevertheless the Alan was awakened and called out: “Epogow, what do you want?”

► Continue reading…

“I should like to get some fire,” said the man, “for we have killed a wild pig.”

The Alan gave him the fire, and then taking her basket she went with him to the place where the pig was.

After they had singed the animal, the Alan cut it up with her long nails and handed the liver to the man, telling him to take it to her house to feed the baby.

The man started, and on the way he ate the liver. When he reached the Alan’s house he did not know what to do. For some time he looked around, and then seeing a large caldron of hot water on the fire, he threw the baby into it and went back.

“Did the baby eat well?” asked the Alan.

“Very well,” said the man.

Then she put most of the meat into her basket and started home. As soon as she had gone, the man told his companion what he had done, and they were so frightened that they ran to hide.

When the Alan reached home and found the baby dead in the hot water, she was very angry and started back immediately to find the men, who, in the meantime, had climbed a high tree that stood near the water.

The Alan looked down into the water, and seeing the reflection of the men, she reached in her long hand with the fingers that pointed backward, but when she could not touch them, she looked up and saw them in the tall tree.

“How did you get up there?” she cried angrily.

“We climbed up feet first,” called down the men.

The Alan, determined to get them, caught hold of a vine and started up the tree feet first, but before she quite reached them, they cut the vine and she fell to the ground and was killed.

Then the men came down and went to the Alan’s house, where they found a jar full of beads and another of gold, and these they brought with them when they returned home.


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

The Story of Sayen

In a dark forest, the wizened Alan bore a brave son, Sayen, who sought a beautiful wife, Danepan, but was deceived into marrying her servant, Laey. Upon learning the truth, he caused Laey’s death and married Danepan. Known for his valor, Sayen vanquished a deadly spirit, Komow, and allied with the warrior spirit Kaboniyan to conquer towns. Ultimately, his shapeshifting abilities failed him, leading to his capture and death.

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


► Themes of the story

Cunning and Deception: The initial deception by Laey, who poses as Danepan, and Sayen’s subsequent realization and actions highlight themes of deceit and cleverness.

Revenge and Justice: Sayen’s response to the deceit and his actions against the Komow reflect themes of retribution and the pursuit of justice.

Tragic Flaw: Sayen’s eventual downfall due to his overreliance on his shapeshifting abilities illustrates a character flaw leading to his demise.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Philippines peoples


In the depths of a dark forest where people seldom went, lived a wizened old Alan. The skin on her wrinkled face was as tough as a carabao hide, and her long arms with fingers pointing back from the wrist were horrible to look at. Now this frightful creature had a son whose name was Sayen, and he was as handsome as his mother was ugly. He was a brave man, also, and often went far away alone to fight. On these journeys Sayen sometimes met beautiful girls, and though he wanted to marry, he could not decide upon one. Hearing that one Danepan was more beautiful than any other, he determined to go and ask her to be his wife.

► Continue reading…

Now Danepan was very shy, and when she heard that Sayen was coming to her house she hid behind the door and sent her servant, Laey, out to meet him. And so it happened that Sayen, not seeing Danepan, married Laey, thinking that she was her beautiful mistress. He took her away to a house he had built at the edge of the forest, for though he wished to be near his old home, he dared not allow his bride to set eyes on his ugly mother.

For some time they lived happily together here, and then one day when Sayen was making a plow under his house, he heard Laey singing softly to their baby in the room above, and this is what she sang:

“Sayen thinks I am Danepan, but Laey I am. Sayen thinks I am Danepan, but Laey I am.”

When Sayen heard this he knew that he had been deceived, and he pondered long what he should do.

The next morning he went to the field to plow, for it was near the rice-planting time. Before he left the house he called to his wife:

“When the sun is straight above, you and the baby bring food to me, for I shall be busy in the field.”

Before he began to plow, however, he cut the bamboo supports of the bridge which led to the field, so that when Laey and the baby came with his food, they had no sooner stepped on the bridge than it went down with them and they were drowned. Sayen was again free. He took his spear and his shield and head-ax and went at once to the town of Danepan, and there he began killing the people on all sides.

Terror spread through the town. No one could stop his terrible work of destruction until Danepan came down out of her house, and begged him to spare part of the people that she might have some from whom to borrow fire. Her great beauty amazed him and he ceased killing, and asked her to prepare some betel-nut for him to chew, as he was very tired. She did so, and when he had chewed the nut he spat on the people he had killed and they came to life again. Then he married Danepan and took her to his home.

Now it happened about this time that the people of Magosang were in great trouble. At the end of a successful hunt, while they were dividing the meat among themselves, the Komow, a murderous spirit that looks like a man, would come to them and ask how many they had caught. If they answered, “Two,” then he would say that he had caught two also; and when they went home, they would find two people in the town dead. As often as they went to hunt the Komow did this, and many of the people of Magosang were dead and those living were in great fear. Finally they heard of the brave man, Sayen, and they begged him to help them. Sayen listened to all they told, and then said:

“I will go with you to hunt, and while you are dividing the meat, I will hide behind the trees. When the Komow comes to ask how many deer you have, he will smell me, but you must say that you do not know where I am,”

So the people went to hunt, and when they had killed two deer, they singed them over a fire and began to divide them. Just then the Komow arrived and said:

“How many have you?”

“We have two,” replied the people.

“I have two also,” said the Komow, “but I smell Sayen.”

“We do not know where Sayen is,” answered the people; and just then he sprang out and killed the Komow, and the people were greatly relieved.

Now when Kaboniyan, a great spirit, heard what Sayen had done, he went to him and said:

“Sayen you are a brave man because you have killed the Komow, Tomorrow I will fight with you. You must remain on the low ground by the river, and I will go to the hill above.”

So the following day Sayen went to the low ground by the river. He had not waited long before he heard a great sound like a storm, and he knew that Kaboniyan was coming. He looked up, and there stood the great warrior, poising his spear which was as large as a big tree.

“Are you brave, Sayen?” called he in a voice like thunder as he threw the weapon.

“Yes,” answered Sayen, and he caught the spear.

This surprised Kaboniyan, and he threw his head-ax which was as large as the roof of a house, and Sayen caught that also. Then Kaboniyan saw that this was indeed a brave man, and he went down to Sayen and they fought face to face until both were tired, but neither could overcome the other.

When Kaboniyan saw that in Sayen he had found one as strong and brave even as himself, he proposed that they go together to fight the people of different towns. And they started out at once. Many people were killed by this strong pair, and why they themselves could never be captured was a great mystery. For it was not known that one was the spirit Kaboniyan, and the other the son of an Alan.

If he was surrounded in a river, Sayen would become a fish and hide so that people could not find him. And if he was entrapped in a town, he would become a chicken and go under the house in a chicken-coop. In this way he escaped many times.

Finally one night after he had killed many in one town, the people decided to watch him, and they saw him go to roost with the chickens. The next day they placed a fish trap under the house near the chicken-coop, and that night when Sayen went under the house he was caught in the trap and killed.


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

The Demon Is at last Conquered by the King’s Son

Seven men embark on a journey to seek fortune but encounter a demonic goat that preys on them nightly, reducing their number. The clever grain merchant’s son uncovers the truth, defeating the demon and leaving it behind. The goat, transforming into a deceitful girl, marries a king, wreaking havoc. Ultimately, the king’s son overcomes various perils, including demons and magical trials, to restore his mothers, defeat evil, and reunite the family.

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


► Themes of the story

Hero’s Journey: The king’s son embarks on a perilous adventure, confronting various challenges to defeat evil and restore his family.

Trials and Tribulations: The protagonist faces numerous obstacles, including battling demons and enduring magical trials, testing his courage and determination.

Revenge and Justice: The story culminates in the king’s son seeking justice by defeating the malevolent entities that caused harm, restoring order and reuniting his family.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Hindu people


Told by Múniyá

In a country there were seven men, no two of whom belonged to the same family, or were of the same trade. One was a grain merchant’s son, one a baker’s, and so on; each had a different trade. These seven men determined they would go to seek for service in another country. They said good-bye to their fathers and mothers, and set off.

They travelled every day, and walked through many jungles. At last, a long way from their homes, they came to a wide plain in the midst of a jungle, and on it they saw a goat which seemed to be a very good milch-goat.

► Continue reading…

The seven men said to each other, “If this goat belonged to any one, it would not be left all alone in the jungle. Let us take it with us.” They did so, and no one they met asked them any questions about the goat.

In the evening they arrived at a village where they stayed for the night. They cooked and ate their dinners, and gave the goat grass and grain. At midnight, when they were all asleep, the goat became a great she-demon, with a great mouth, and swallowed one of the seven men. Then she became a goat again, and went back to the place where she had been stabled.

The men got up in the morning, and were very much surprised to find they were only six, not seven. “Where is the seventh gone?” they said. “Well, when he returns we will all go on together.” They sat waiting and waiting for him, till, as it was getting late and he had not come, they all thought they had better start without him. So they continued their journey, taking the goat with them. Before they went they said to the villagers, “If our seventh man comes back to you, send him after us.”

At evening they came to another village, where they stayed for the night. They cooked and ate their dinners, and gave grain and grass to the goat. At midnight, when they were fast asleep, the goat became a demon and swallowed another man, and then took her goat’s shape again.

In this way she ate five men. The two that were left were very sad at finding themselves alone. “We were seven men,” they said, “now we are but two.” The grain merchant’s son was one of the two, and he was very quick and sharp. He determined he would not say anything to his companion, but that he would watch by him that night, and find out, if he could, what had happened to his other friends. To keep himself awake he cut a piece out of his finger, and rubbed a little salt into the wound, so that when his companion went to sleep, he should not be able to sleep because of the pain. At midnight the goat came and turned into a huge demon. She went quickly up to the sleeping man to swallow him; but the merchant’s son rushed at her, beat her, and snatched his companion from her mouth. The demon turned instantly into a goat, and went back to the place where it had been stabled.

The two men next morning set out from the village where they had passed the night. They would have killed the goat had they been able. As they could not do so, they took it with them till they came to a plain in the jungle, where they tied it up to a tree, and left it. Then they continued their journey, and were very sorry they had not known how wicked the goat was before it had swallowed their five companions.

The goat meanwhile turned itself into a most beautiful young girl, dressed in grand clothes and rich jewels, and she sat down in the jungle and began to cry. Just then the king of another country was hunting in this jungle; and when he heard the noise of the crying, he called his servants and told them to go and see who was crying. The servants looked about until they saw the beautiful girl. They asked her a great many questions, but she only cried, and would not answer. The servants returned to the king, and told him it was a most beautiful young girl who was crying; but she would do nothing but cry, and would not speak.

The king left his hunting and went himself to the girl, and asked her why she cried. “My husband married me,” she said, “and was taking me to his home. He went to get some water to drink, and left me here. He has never come back, and I don’t know where he is; perhaps some tiger has killed him, and now I am all alone, and do not know where to go. This is why I cry.” The king was so delighted with her beauty, that he asked her to go with him. He sent his servants for a fine palanquin, and when it came he put the girl into it, and took her to his palace, and there she stayed.

At midnight she turned into a demon, and went to the place where the king’s sheep and goats were kept. She tore open all their stomachs, and ate all their hearts. Then she dipped seven knives in their blood, and laid the knives on the beds of the seven queens.

Next morning the king heard that all his sheep and goats were lying dead; and when his seven wives woke, they saw that their clothes were all bloody, and that bloody knives lay on their beds. They wondered who had done this wicked thing to them.

The next night at twelve o’clock the beautiful girl turned into a demon again, and went to the cow-house. There she tore open the cows and ate their hearts. Then she smeared the queens’ clothes, and laid knives dipped in blood on their beds; but she washed her own hands and clothes, so that no blood should show on them. For a long time the same thing happened every night, till she had eaten all the elephants, horses, camels,–every animal, indeed, belonging to the king. The king wondered very much at his animals all being killed in this way, and he could not understand either why every morning his wives’ clothes were bloody, and bloody knives found on their beds.

When she had eaten all the animals, the demon said to the king, “I am afraid your wives are very wicked women. They must have killed all your cows and sheep, goats, horses, elephants, and camels. I am afraid one day they will eat me up.” “I have been married to them for many years,” answered the king, “and anything like this has never happened before.” “I am very much afraid of them,” said the demon, who all this time looked a most beautiful girl. “I am very much afraid; but if you cut out their eyes, then they cannot kill me.”

The king called his servants and said to them, “Get ready seven palanquins, and carry my seven wives into the jungle. There you must leave them; only first take out their eyes, which you must bring to me.” The servants took the queens to a jungle a long way from the king’s country. There they took out their eyes, and left them, and brought the eyes to the king, who gave them into the demon’s hands. She pounded them to bits with a stone, and threw the bits away.

The seven queens in the jungle did not know which way to go; so they walked straight on, and fell into a dry well which lay just before them. In this well they stayed; and the day when they thought they must die of hunger and thirst was drawing near. But before it came the eldest queen had a little son. She and the five next wives were so hungry, that they agreed to kill the child, and divide it into seven pieces. They each ate a piece, and gave one to the seventh and youngest wife. She said nothing, and hid the piece. These five wives each had a son one after the other, and they killed and divided their children as the eldest wife had done with hers. But the youngest wife hid all the six pieces that were given her, and would eat none. Her son was born last of all. Then the six eldest wives said, “Let us kill and divide your child.” “No,” she said, “I will never kill or divide my boy; I would rather die of hunger. Here are the six pieces you gave me. I would not eat them. Take them and eat them, but you must not touch my son.” God was so pleased with her for not killing her child, that he made the boy grow bigger and bigger every day; and the little queen was very happy.

They all lived in the dry well without any food till the little prince was five years old. By that time he was very quick and clever. One day he said to his mother, “Why have we lived all this while in the well?” His mother and all the other wives told him about the wicked demon who lived in his father’s palace, and how the king believed her to be a beautiful girl and had married her, and of all the evil things that she had done to them, and how she had made the king send them to the jungle and have their eyes cut out and given to her, and how from not being able to see they had fallen into this well, and how they had eaten all his brothers, because they were so very hungry they thought they should die–all but his mother at least, for she would not eat the other wives’ children and would not kill her own little son. “Let me climb out of this well,” said the boy, who determined in his heart that he would kill this wicked demon one day. His mother said, “No, stay here; you are too young to leave the well.”

The boy did not listen to her, but scrambled out. Then he saw they were in a wide plain in the jungle. He ran after a few birds, caught and killed them. Then he roasted the birds and brought them with some water to his seven mothers in the well. When they had eaten them and drunk the water, they were happy and worshipped God. The six mothers who had eaten their children were full of sorrow, and said, “If our six sons were now living, how good it would be for us: how happy we should be.” The young prince went out hunting for little birds every day, and in the evening he cooked those he caught and brought them, with water, to his mothers.

Now the demon, because she was a demon and was therefore wiser than men and women, knew that the seven queens lived in the well, and that the son of the youngest queen was still alive. She determined to kill him; so she pretended her eyes hurt her, and began crying, and making a great to-do. The king asked her, “What is the matter?” “See, king, see my eyes,” she said. “They ache and hurt me so much.” “What medicine will make them well again?” said the king. “If I could only bathe them with a tigress’s milk, they would be well,” she answered.

The king called two of his servants and said to them, “Can either of you get me a tigress’s milk? Here are two thousand rupees for whichever of you brings me the milk.” Then he gave them the rupees, and told them to get it at once.

The servants took the rupees, and said nothing to the king, but they said to each other, “How can we get a tigress’s milk?” And they were very sad. They left the king’s country, and wandered on till they came to the jungle-plain, where lived the young prince and his mothers. There they saw him sitting by a dry well and roasting birds. “Do you live in this jungle?” they said to him. “Yes,” answered the boy. Then the servants talked together. “See,” they said, “this boy lives in the jungle, so he will surely be able to get us the milk. Let us tell him to get it, and give him the two thousand rupees.”

So they came back to the boy, who asked them where they were going. “Our queen is very ill with pain in her eyes, and our king has sent us for some tigress’s milk for her to bathe them with, that they may get well. He has given us two thousand rupees, for whichever of us to keep who gets the milk. But we do not know where or how to get it.”

“Good,” said the boy; “give me the two thousand rupees and I will get it for you. Come here for it in a week’s time.”

The king’s servants were very much pleased at not having to try and get it themselves, so they gave him the rupees and went home. The demon knew quite well when she asked for the milk that none of the king’s servants would dare to go for it, but that his son would be brave enough to go. This is why she asked for it, for she meant the tigers to kill him.

The little prince now took his seven mothers out of the well, and they all went together to his father’s country. There he got a small house for them, and good clothes and food. He got a servant, too, for them, to cook their dinner and take care of them. “Be very tender to them,” he said to the servant, “for they cannot see.” For himself he bought a little horse, and good clothes, and a gun, and a sword. Then he made his mothers many salaams, and told them he was going to get a tigress’s milk. They all cried and begged him not to go.

But he set off and rode for three or four days through the jungles. Then he came to a large jungle which was in a great blaze, and two tiger-cubs were running about in the jungle trying to get out of the fire. He jumped off his horse, and took them in his hands; then he mounted his horse again and rode out of the jungle. He rode on till he came to another which was not on fire. He let the cubs loose in it that they might run away; but they placed themselves in front of his horse, and said, “We will not let you go till you have seen our father and mother.”

Meanwhile the tiger and tigress saw the boy coming with their cubs, and they came running to meet them. Till then they had thought their cubs were burned in the jungle-fire. Now they knew at once this boy had saved them. The cubs said to their father and mother, “We should have died had it not been for this boy. Give him food; and when he has eaten some food, we will drink milk.” The tigers were very happy at having their children safe. They went to a garden and got food and good water for the boy, who ate and drank. Then the little cubs drank their mother’s milk.

The tiger said to the prince, “You are such a little child, how is it your mother let you come alone to this jungle?”

“My mother’s eyes are sore and pain her; and the doctor says that if she bathes them in a tigress’s milk they will get well. So I came to see if I could get a little for her.”

“I will give you some,” said the tigress, and she gave him a little jar full of her milk. The cubs said, “One of us will go with you, and the other will stay with our father and mother.” “No,” said the little prince, “do you both stay with your father and mother. I will not take either of you away. What should I do with you?” “No,” said one of the cubs; “I will go with you. I will do all you tell me. Wherever you bid me stay, there I will stay; and I will eat any food you give me.” “Take him with you,” said the old tiger; “one day you will find him of use.” So the boy took the cub and the milk, and made his salaam to the old tigers and went home. His mothers were delighted at his return, though, as they had no eyes, they could not see him.

He tied up the tiger’s cub and fed him. Then he took a little of the milk, and went to the dry well in the jungle and sat down by it. The king’s servants came when the week had passed, and the boy gave them the milk. The servants took it to the king, who gave it to the demon. She was very angry when she found the tigers had not eaten the boy; but she bathed her eyes with the milk, and said nothing.

At the end of another week she would not eat or drink, and did nothing but cry. “What is the matter?” said the king. “See how my eyes pain me,” she answered. “If I could only get an eagle’s feather to lay on them they would be well. Oh, how they hurt me!”

The king called his servants and gave them four thousand rupees. “Go and get me an eagle’s feather,” he said, “and he who gets it is to take the four thousand rupees.” “Let us go to the jungle well,” they said, “and find the boy who got us the tigress’s milk. We could never get an eagle’s feather, but this child certainly can get one for us.”

So they went to the well where they found the boy. The little prince was very wise, though he was such a little child; and he knew the demon would try to send him on some other errand that she might get rid of him. He was quite willing to go on her errands, for he thought he might thus learn how to kill her. He was not a bit afraid of being killed himself, for he knew that God loved him, and that no one but God could kill him.

He at once asked the king’s servants, “What do you want now?” “Our king has sent us for an eagle’s feather to lay on the queen’s eyes, which pain her again. Here are four thousand rupees for you if you will get it for us.” “Give me the rupees,” said the king’s son. “Come here in two weeks, and I will give you the feather.”

He took the rupees to his mothers, and told them he was going to fetch an eagle’s feather. “Where will you find one?” they said. “I don’t know,” he answered, “but I am going to look for one.” He hired some more servants, and told them to take care of his mothers and the tiger-cub.

He rode straight on for two or three days, and at last came to a very dense jungle, through which he rode for another three or four days. When he got out of it he found himself on a beautiful smooth plain in which was a tank. There, too, was a large fig-tree, and under the tree cool shade, and cool, thick grass. He was very much pleased when he saw the tank and the tree. He got off his horse, bathed in the tank, and sat down under the fig-tree, thinking, “Here I will sleep a little while before I go further.”

While he lay asleep in the grass, a great snake crawled up the tree, at the top of which were two young eagles. They began screaming very loud. Their cries awakened the little prince. He looked about and saw the great snake in the tree. Then he took his gun and fired at it, and the snake fell dead to the ground. He cut it into five pieces, and hid them in the long grass. Then he lay down again and went to sleep.

The baby eagles were alone in the tree, as their father and mother had gone to another country. But now the old birds came home, and found the king’s son sleeping in the grass. “See,” they said, “here is the thief who every year robs us of our children! But now he cannot get away. We will kill him.” However, they thought it better to go and look first at their children, to see if they were safe or not. They flew up to the top of the tree, and when they found their children safe, they wished to give them food. All the time they kept saying, “Eat; then we will kill the thief who steals away our children every year.” The young eagles thought, “Oh, if God would only give us the power to speak, then we would tell our father and mother that this boy is no thief.” Then God gave them the power to speak, and they said to the old eagles, “Listen; if that boy had not been here, we should have died, for he killed a huge snake that was going to swallow us: only go and look, and you will see it dead and cut into pieces.” And the eaglets refused to eat till the boy had been fed.

The big eagles flew down and found the bits of the snake: so they flew away to a beautiful garden, where they got delicious fruits and water. These they brought to the boy, and awoke him and fed him. Then they said to him, “It is indeed good to find our children alive. Hitherto our children have always been eaten by that snake. How are your father and mother? Why did they let you come to this jungle? What have you come here for?” The little prince said, “My mother’s eyes are very sore; but they would be cured if she could have an eagle’s feather to lay on them. So I came to look for one.” Then the mother gave him one of her feathers.

When the boy was going home, the eaglets said they would go with him. “No,” he said, “I will not take you with me.” But the old birds said, “Take one of them, it will help you one day.” The little prince made his salaam to the big eagles, and took one of their young ones, mounted his horse, and rode off. The eaglet flew over his head to shade him from the sun.

When he got home to his seven mothers, he took the feather and went and sat by the dry well. The king’s servants came there to him, and he gave them the feather, and said, “Take it to your king.” This they did, and the king gave it to the demon, who flew into a great rage. She said to herself, “The tigers did not kill him, and now the eagles have not killed him.”

At the end of two weeks she began to cry and would not eat. The king asked her, “What is the matter with you? what has happened to you?” “My eyes pain me so much,” she said. “What will cure them?” said the king. “If I had only some night-growing rice,” she said, “I would boil it, and make rice-water, which I would drink. Then I should get well.” Now this night-growing rice was a wonderful rice that no men, and only one demon, possessed. This was the demon-queen’s brother. He used to put a grain of this rice into his huge cavern of a mouth at night when he went to sleep, and when he woke in the morning this grain would have become a tree. Then the demon used to take the rice-tree out of his mouth.

The demon, who seemed such a lovely girl, now wrote a letter to her brother, in which she said, “The bearer of this letter goes to you for some night-growing rice. You must kill him at once; you must not let him live.” The king gave this letter to his servants, with six thousand rupees. “Take this letter,” he said, “and fetch some of the night-growing rice. Here are six thousand rupees for whichever of you finds it.” The king had no idea that it was not these men who had gone for the tigress’s milk and the eagle’s feather.

The servants said, “Let us go to the well, to the boy who has helped us before. We don’t know where to get this night-growing rice, but that boy is sure to know.”

The boy was sitting by the well, and asked what they wanted. They answered, “See, the king has given us six thousand rupees and a letter, and told us to fetch him some night-growing rice.” “Very good,” said the king’s son. “Come here in three weeks’ time, and I will give you some.” The servants gave him the rupees and returned home.

He took the rupees to his mothers, and told them he was going on a fresh errand, and they were to keep the money. Then he made them salaams, took his letter, and rode off. The eaglet went too, and flew above his head. The tiger’s cub he left at home.

He rode on and on through a very large jungle, and he rode a long, long way: at last in a jungle he saw a fakír, who was living in it. He made him salaams, and the fakír was delighted to see him, “because,” he said, “for many years I have been in this country, and all that time have never seen any man.” The prince sat down by the fakír, and the fakír was very much pleased. He asked the boy who had sent him to the jungle, and why he had come to it. “My mother has sore eyes,” he answered, “and wants some night-growing rice. She has given me a letter to the man who owns it.”

The fakír took and read the letter, and was very sorry. He tore it up and threw it away. Then he wrote another, in which he said, “Your sister is very ill, and her son has come for some night-growing rice for her.” This he gave to the boy, and told him to continue his journey. He also told him that the man who had the rice was a huge demon, and that he lived in the country by the great sea. Then he told him the way.

The boy rode on and on, and after a week’s journeying he came to the demon’s country. There he saw the huge demon sitting on the ground, with his great, big mouth, that was just like a cavern. As soon as the demon saw him he stood up and said, “It is many days since a man came here. Now I will eat this one.” He went towards the prince to seize him, and a great rushing wind came blowing from the demon, as it always did when he was angry. But the boy, who had begun to walk towards him when he stood up, threw the letter to him with all his might, so that it fell on him; at the same time he made many salaams. The demon read the letter, and found his sister was very ill, and this was her son; so he stopped the wind, and came up to the boy, who he thought was his sister’s son. “You have come for the rice for my sister who is ill,” he said to him; “you shall have it.”

The demon had a splendid house full of beautiful things, and a great many servants. He took the little prince home with him, and told his servants to get water ready and gave the child a bath. They were also to cook a good dinner for him. Then the demon showed the boy all his gardens, and all his beautiful things, and took him through all the rooms of his house. One room he did not show to the prince. He told him he was never to go into it, though he might go everywhere else that he liked. In this room lived the demon’s daughter, who was very beautiful, just like a fairy. She was ten years old. Every day before her father went out, he used to make the girl lie on her bed, and cover her with a sheet, and he placed a thick stick at her head, and another at her feet; then she died till he came home in the evening and changed the sticks, putting the one at her head at her feet, and the one at her feet at her head. This brought her to life again.

The next day, when the demon had gone out, the boy went to this room, and opened the door, for he wanted to see what was in it. He went in, and saw the beautiful girl lying on the bed. “How lovely she is!” he said; “but she is dead.” Then he saw the sticks, and, to amuse himself, he put the one at her head at her feet, and the one at her feet at her head, just as the demon did every evening. The girl at once came to life, and opened her eyes and got up. “Who is this?” she said to herself, when she saw the king’s son. “This is not my father.” She asked him, “Who are you? Why do you come here? If my father sees you he will eat you.” “No, he won’t,” said the prince, “for I am your aunt’s son, and your father himself brought me to his house. But why is it that you are dead all day, and alive all night?” The girl had told him that her father brought her to life every evening, and made her dead every morning. “Such is my father’s pleasure,” she answered.

So they talked together all day, and he said to her, “Suppose one day your father made you dead as usual, and that he was killed before he had brought you to life, what would you do? You would always be dead then.” “Listen,” she said; “no one can kill my father.” “Why not?” said the boy. “Listen,” she answered; “on the other side of the sea there is a great tree, in that tree is a nest, in the nest is a mainá. If any one kills that mainá, then only will my father die. And if, when the mainá is killed, its blood falls to the ground, a hundred demons would be born from the blood. This is why my father cannot be killed.”

At evening, before the demon came home, the prince made the girl dead. Then he went softly into another room.

The fakír had said to the boy, when they were in the jungle together, “If ever you are in trouble, come to me and I will help you. It will take you now one week to ride to the demon’s country; but if ever you need me, you shall be able to come to me here in this jungle, and to return to the demon’s house in one day.” The fakír was such a holy man that everything he said should happen did happen. So now the prince determined he would go to the fakír and ask him what he should do to kill this mainá. In the morning, therefore, as soon as the demon had gone out, he set off for the fakír’s jungle, and, thanks to the holy man’s power, he got there very quickly. He told him everything, and the fakír made a paper boat which he gave him. “This boat will take you over the sea,” he said to the prince. “This paper boat!” said the boy. “How can a paper boat go over the sea? It will get soaked and sink.” “No, it will not,” said the fakír. “Launch it on the sea, and get into it. The boat will of itself carry you to the tree where the mainá’s nest is.”

The prince took the boat, and went back to the demon’s house. He got there before the demon came home, so that he did not know the boy had been to the fakír. When the demon returned that evening, the king’s son said, “To-morrow I will go home, as my mother is very ill. Will you give me the rice?” “Good,” said the demon, “you shall have it to-morrow.” Next morning he gave the rice, and went off to the jungle.

Then the boy took his paper boat down to the sea, launched it, and got into it; and of itself the boat went straight over the sea to the opposite shore. The eaglet flew above his head; but he left his horse on land. When he got to the other side, he saw the great tree, with the nest and the mainá. He climbed the tree, and took down the nest, and the demon, who was far away, knew it at once, and said to himself, “Some one has come to catch and kill me.” He set out at once for the tree. The prince saw him coming, so he wrapped the mainá up in his handkerchief, that no blood should fall to the ground. Then he broke off one of its legs, and one of the demon’s legs fell off. Still the demon came on. Then he broke off the other leg, but the demon walked on his hands. The boy saw him coming nearer and nearer, so he wrung the bird’s head off, and the demon fell dead.

The prince jumped into his paper boat, and of itself the boat went straight back to the other shore, to the demon’s country. Then he went up to the demon’s house, and made his daughter alive.

She was frightened, and said to him, “Oh, take care. If my father comes back, and finds us together, he will eat us both.” “He will not come back,” said the prince. “I have killed him.”

Then he dressed her in boy’s clothes, that no one might know she was a girl, and he found a horse, and had it made ready for her. Her father had collected a quantity of rupees. Some of these the prince gave to the servants as a present, and said to them, “Stay here and be happy; do not be afraid, for there is no demon now to come and eat you.”

Then he took the rice and mounted his horse, and made the girl mount also, and went off to the fakír. The paper boat he left, as he did not want it any more. He and the demon’s daughter made the fakír many salaams, and they stayed with him for a day before they rode to the prince’s country. Here they went to his seven mothers, who were very, very glad to see them, and thanked God that their son had come back safe.

He took a little of the rice, and went and sat by the well till the king’s two servants came. Then he gave them the rice for their king, and the king gave it to the demon. She said nothing while the king was with her; but when she was alone she cried, for she knew the boy must have killed her brother, as he had brought her the rice.

She waited a week, and then she began to cry again, and would not eat. The king was very sorry, and thought, “What can I do to make her well and happy?” Then he said, “What will cure your eyes?” “See, king,” she answered, “if I could only bathe my eyes with water from the Glittering Well, they would not pain me any more.” This well was in the fairies’ country, and was guarded by the demon’s sister, whose name was Jangkatar. She lived in the well; and when any one came to draw water from it, she used to drag him down and eat him.

The king called his servants, gave them eight thousand rupees, and said, “Go and fetch me water from the Glittering Well.” The servants went at once to the dry well in the jungle. There they found the prince, who asked them what they wanted. “Here are eight thousand rupees,” they said; “and the king has ordered us to bring him water from the Glittering Well.” “Come in three weeks, and I will give it to you,” said the king’s son. He took to his mothers the eight thousand rupees which the servants had given him, and said to them, “Take care of these rupees, for I am going away for a little while.” Then he got his horse ready and mounted it, and made many salaams to his mothers. The tiger-cub said to him, “Take me with you this time. Last time you only took the eagle. Now we will both go with you.”

So he rode off; and the eaglet flew above his head and the young tiger ran by his side. It took him a week to get to the fairies’ country, and then he came to a beautiful smooth plain, in which was a garden, but no house. In the middle of this garden was the Glittering Well. It was a deep well, and the water sprang up out of it like a fountain, and then fell back into the well, and the water shone and sparkled as if it were gold, and silver, and diamonds. This is why it was called the Glittering Well.

The prince dipped his jar in the well, and Jangkatar put up her hand and caught him. She dragged him into the water and swallowed him whole. Then the young eagle flew down into the well, seized Jangkatar in his talons, and took her out and threw her on the ground. The tiger-cub rushed at her instantly, tore her open, and pulled the king’s son out of her. But he was half dead. The cub and the eaglet lay down on him to warm him, and when they had warmed him, he was better.

“We have saved you,” they said to him. “But for us you would have died.” The young prince thanked them and caressed them. “It is quite true,” he said; “without you I should have died.” Then he filled his jar with water, and mounted his horse and rode home. He made salaams to his seven mothers, with whom all this time the demon’s daughter had stayed. He bathed his mothers’ eyes with the water from the Glittering Well, and then they saw perfectly once more.

He took a little of the water, and went to wait for the king’s servants by the dry jungle well, and he was very happy thinking that now his mothers could see. He gave the water to the king’s servants, who took it to the king, and the king gave it to his demon-wife, and she was very sad and angry, for she knew the boy must have killed her sister, the guardian of the Glittering Well.

When a whole month had passed, and he had not been sent on any more errands, the king’s son said to himself, “Good; now nothing more is going to happen to me. I am not to be sent anywhere else.” So he bought a fine horse and grand clothes, and rode to the king’s court-house. He went in, and seated himself at the king’s right hand; but he made no salaam to the king, and spoke to no one. This he did every day for three days. Everybody was wondering who this boy was, and why he never made any salaam to the king.

On the fourth day, as he sat at the king’s right hand, the king asked him, “Whose child are you? Where do you come from? Where are you going?” The young prince answered, “See, king, I am a merchant’s son; my ship has been wrecked, and I want to find service with some one.” “What can you do?” asked the king. “I don’t know any trade,” said his son; “but I can tell you a story.” “What wages do you want?” said the king. “One thousand rupees a day,” answered the boy. “I shall only stay a short time in your country.” “Good,” said the king; “I will give you one thousand rupees a day, and a servant to wait on you besides. So come every day to my court-house, and tell me your story.”

The prince told the king his own story. He began from where the king found the beautiful demon-girl crying in the jungle, and ended it where his demon-wife cried and cried for her sister Jangkatar. It took him three weeks to tell the story; and when he had finished it, the king knew that he himself was the king in the story, and that this boy was his own son. “How can I find my seven queens again?” he said. “If you will kill this wicked demon-woman they will come back to you,” said his son. The king was very sad, and thought, “My seven wives and my boy must have suffered very much.” Then he loved his son, and was very happy that he had found him. He ordered his servants to dig a deep pit in the jungle, so deep that should his demon-wife take her demon form when put into it, only her head would be above it. He thought that if her body were buried in the ground she would not be able to do them much harm while they were shooting her. Then he, and his son, and his servants took their guns and bows and arrows, and took the demon with them to the deep pit. She went quite quietly, though she knew they were going to kill her. Since Jangkatar’s death she had been very quiet and sad. And now she thought, “That boy will most certainly kill me as he has killed my sister and brother. He is stronger than I am. I have no one else to send him to; and if I had, he could not be killed. What is the use of my trying to save myself?” So she went along quite quietly, looking like a beautiful girl. She let them put her into the pit, and shoot her to death with their guns and bows and arrows. Then they filled the pit up with earth.

The king went to his seven wives, and begged them to forgive him. He brought them, his son, and the demon’s daughter home to his palace. Later the king married his son to the demon’s daughter, and every one was glad.

But the king grieved that his six other sons were dead.


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

The Cat and the Dog

A dog and a cat argue over caste and seek a jackal’s judgment. The jackal declares the dog superior, angering the cat. In the jungle, they encounter a tiger with a thorn in his paw. A man removes it, but the tiger breaks his promise not to harm him. The jackal tricks the tiger into a bag, and with help, the tiger is killed, resolving the conflict.

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


► Themes of the story

Cunning and Deception: The jackal’s judgment and the subsequent events involve cleverness and trickery, especially in dealing with the tiger.

Good vs. Evil: The narrative contrasts the benevolent actions of the man who removes the thorn from the tiger’s paw with the tiger’s malevolent betrayal.

Revenge and Justice: The jackal orchestrates a plan to punish the tiger for breaking his promise, leading to the tiger’s demise and the restoration of order.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Hindu people


Told by Dunkní at Simla, July 26th, 1876

Now all cats are aunts to the tigers, and the cat in this story was the aunt of the tiger in this story. She was his mother’s sister. When the tiger’s mother was dying, she called the cat to her, and taking her paw she said, “When I am dead you must take care of my child.” The cat answered, “Very well,” and then the tiger’s mother died. The tiger said to the cat, “Aunt, I am very hungry. Go and fetch some fire. When I go to ask men for fire they are afraid of me, and run away from me, and won’t give me any. But you are such a little creature that men are not afraid of you, and so they will give you fire, and then you must bring it to me.” So the cat said, “Very good,” and off she started, and went into a house where some men were eating their dinner: they had thrown away the bones, and the cat began to eat them.

► Continue reading…

This house was very near the place where the tiger lived, and on peeping round the corner he saw his aunt eating the bones. “Oh,” said he, “I sent my aunt to fetch fire that I might cook my dinner as I am very hungry, and there she sits eating the bones, and never thinks of me.” So the tiger called out, “Aunt, I sent you to fetch fire, and there you sit eating bones and leave me hungry! If ever you come near me again, I will kill you at once.” So the cat ran away screaming, “I will never go near the tiger again, for he will kill me!” This is why all cats are so afraid of tigers, or of anything like a tiger. And this is why, when the cat in the story saw the tiger, her nephew, fighting with the man, she ran away as hard as she could.

The Story

There were once a dog and a cat. It was a very rainy day, and some men were eating their dinner inside their house. The cat sat inside too, eating her dinner, and the dog sat on the door-step. The cat called out to the dog, “I am a high-caste person, and you are a very low-caste person.” “Oh,” said the dog, “not at all. I am the high-caste person and you are of very low caste. You eat all the men’s dinner up, and snatch the food from their hands just as they are putting it into their mouths. And you scratch them, and they beat you; while I sit away from them, and so they don’t beat me. And if they give me any dinner I’ll eat it; but if they don’t, I won’t.” “Oh,” says the cat, “not a bit of it. I eat nice clean food; but you eat nasty, dirty food, which the men have thrown away.” “No,” said the dog, “I am high caste and you are very low caste, for if I gave you a slap you would tumble down directly.” “No, no!” said the cat. And they went on disputing and began to fight, till the dog said, “Very well, let us go to the wise jackal and ask him which of us is the better.” “Good,” said the cat. So they went to the jackal and asked him. Said the cat, “I am of the higher caste, and the dog is of the lower caste.” “No,” said the jackal, “the dog is of the higher caste.” The cat said, “No,” and the jackal said, “Yes,” and they began to fight. Then the jackal and the dog proposed to go and ask a great big beast who lived in the jungle and was like a tiger. But the cat said, “I cannot go near a tiger or anything like one.” So then they said, “When we come near the beast, you can remain behind, and we will go on and speak to him.” So they ran into the jungle, where there was a tiger who had been lying on the ground with a great thorn sticking in his foot. When his aunt, the cat, saw him, she scampered off, for she was dreadfully frightened.

The thorn had given the tiger great pain; for a long while he could get no one to take it out, so had lain there for days. At last he had seen a man passing by, to whom he called and said, “Take out this thorn, and I promise I won’t eat you.” But the man refused through fear, saying, “No, I won’t, for you will eat me.” Three times the tiger had promised not to eat him; so at last the man took out the thorn. Then the tiger sprang up and said, “Now I will eat you, for I am very hungry.” “Oh, no, no!” said the man. “What a liar you are! You promised not to eat me if I would take the thorn out of your foot, and now that I have done so you say you will eat me.” And they began to fight, and the man said, “If you won’t eat me, I will bring you a cow and a goat.” But the tiger refused, saying, “No, I won’t eat them; I will eat you.”

At this moment the jackal and the dog came up. And the jackal asked, “What is the matter? why are you fighting?” So then the man told him why they were fighting; and the jackal said to the tiger, “I will tell you a good way of eating the man. Go and fetch a big bag.” So the tiger went and fetched the bag, and brought it to the jackal. Then the jackal said, “Get inside the bag, and leave its mouth open and I’ll throw the man in to you.” So the tiger got inside the bag, and the jackal, the dog and the man quickly tied it up as tight as they could. Then they began to beat the tiger with all their might until at last they killed him. Then the man went home, and the jackal went home, and the dog went home.


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

The Pomegranate King

The Pomegranate King mourns his wife’s death and cares for their two children. He remarries, but the new queen mistreats the children and tries to kill them. Through divine intervention, the children are repeatedly saved, eventually becoming fruits on a magical tree. The king discovers the truth, punishes the queen, and reunites with his wife, who returns in bird form before regaining her human shape. They live happily ever after.

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


► Themes of the story

Transformation: The children undergo physical changes, becoming fruits on a magical tree, and the mother transforms from a bird back into her human form, symbolizing change and renewal.

Revenge and Justice: The king discovers the truth about the queen’s malice, leading to her punishment and the restoration of order within the family.

Resurrection: The mother’s return from death, first as a bird and then regaining her human form, signifies a literal resurrection, bringing the family back together.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Hindu people


Told by Dunkní at Simla, 26th July, 1876

There was once a Mahárájá, called the Anárbásá, or Pomegranate King; and a Mahárání called the Gulíanár, or Pomegranate-flower. The Mahárání died leaving two children: a little girl of four or five years old, and a little boy of three. The Mahárájá was very sorry when she died, for he loved her dearly. He was exceedingly fond of his two children, and got for them two servants: a man to cook their dinner, and an ayah to take care of them. He also had them taught to read and write. Soon after his wife’s death the neighbouring Rájá’s daughter’s husband died, and she said if any other Rájá would marry her, she would be quite willing to marry him, and she also said she would like very much to marry the Pomegranate Rájá.

► Continue reading…

So her father went to see the Pomegranate Rájá, and told him that his daughter wished to marry him. “Oh,” said the Pomegranate Rájá, “I do not want to marry again, for if I do, the woman I marry will be sure to be unkind to my two children. She will not take care of them. She will not pet them and comfort them when they are unhappy.” “Oh,” said the other Rájá, “my daughter will be very good to them, I assure you.” “Very well,” said the Mahárájá, “I will marry her.” So they were married.

For two or three months everything went on well, but then the new Rání, who was called the Sunkásí Mahárání, began to beat the poor children, and to scold their servants. One day she gave the boy such a hard blow on his cheek that it swelled. When the Mahárájá came out of his office to get his tiffin, he saw the boy’s swollen face, and, calling the two servants, he said, “Who did this? how did my boy get hurt?” They said, “The Rání gave him such a hard blow on his cheek that it swelled, and she gets very angry with us if we say anything about her ill-treatment of the children, or how she scolds us.” The Mahárájá was exceedingly angry with his wife for this, and said to her, “I never beat my children. Why should you beat them? If you beat them I will send you away.” And he went off to his office in a great rage. The Rání was very angry. So she told the little girl to go with the ayah to the bazar. The ayah and the little girl set off, never suspecting any evil. As soon as they had gone, the Rání took the little boy and told him she would kill him. The boy went down on his knees and begged her to spare his life. But she said, “No; your father is always quarrelling with me, beating me, and scolding me, all through your fault.” The boy begged and prayed again, saying he would never be naughty any more. The Rání shook her head, and taking a large knife she cut off his head. She then cut him up and made him into a curry. She then buried his head, and his nails, and his feet in the ground, and she covered them well with earth, and stamped the ground well down so that no one should notice it had been disturbed. When the Pomegranate Rájá came home to his dinner, she put the curry and some rice on the table before him; but the Rájá, seeing his boy was not there, would not eat. He went and looked everywhere for his son, crying very much, and the little girl cried very much too, for she loved her brother dearly. After they had hunted for him for some time, the little boy appeared. His father embraced him. “Where have you been?” said he. “I cannot eat my dinner without you.” The little boy said, “Oh, I was in the jungle playing with other boys.” They then sat down to dinner, and the curry changed into a kid curry. The Rání was greatly astonished when she saw the boy. She said to herself, “I cut his head off; I cut him into little pieces, and I made him into a curry, and yet he is alive!” She then went into the garden to see if his head, and nails, and feet were in the hole where she had buried them. But they were not there; it was quite empty. She then called a sepoy, and said to him, “If you will take two children into the jungle and kill them, I will give you as much money as you like.” “All right,” said the sepoy. She then brought the children, and told him to take them to the jungle. So he took them away to the jungle, but he had not the heart to kill them, for they were exceedingly beautiful, and he left them in the jungle near their dead mother’s grave. Then he returned to the Rání, saying he had done as she wished, and she gave him as much money as he wanted.

The poor Pomegranate Rájá was very unhappy when he saw his children were not in the palace, and that they could not be found. He asked his Rání where they were, but she said she did not know; they had gone out to play and had never returned. From the day he lost his children the Pomegranate Rájá became melancholy. He did not love the Rání any more; he hated her.

Meanwhile the children lived in a little house built close to their mother’s grave. God had given her life again that she might take care of them. But they did not know she was their mother; they thought she was another woman sent to take care of them. God sent also a man to teach them. Somehow or other the Rání Sunkásí heard they were still alive in the jungle. She did not know how she could kill them. So at last she pretended she was very ill, and she said to the Rájá, “The doctor says that in the jungle there are two children, and he says if you will have them killed, and will bring their livers for me to stand on when I bathe, then I shall get well.” The Rájá sent a second sepoy to kill the children, and this man killed them and brought their livers to the Rání. She stood on them while bathing, and then said she was quite well. She then threw the livers into the garden, and during the night a tree grew up there with two large beautiful flowers on it. Next morning the Rání looked out and said, “I will gather those flowers to-day.” Every day she said she would gather them, and every day she forgot. At last one day she said, “Every day I forget to gather those flowers, but to-day I really will do so,” and she sent her servant to pluck them. So he went out, and, just as he was going to gather them, the flowers flew up just out of his reach. Then the Rání went down, and when she was going to pick them they flew up so high that they could not be seen. Every day she tried to gather them, and every day they went high up, and came back again to the tree as soon as she had gone. Then the flowers disappeared and two large fruits came in their stead. The Rání looked out of her window: “Oh, what delicious fruits! I’ll eat them all myself. I won’t give a bit to anybody, and I’ll eat them by myself quite quietly.” She went down to the garden, but they flew high up into the sky, and then they came down again. So this went on, day after day, until she got so cross she ordered the tree to be cut down. But it was of no use. The tree was cut down, but the fruits flew high up into the sky, and in the night the tree grew up again and the fruits came back again to it. And so this went on for many days. Every day she cut down the tree, and every night it grew up again, but she could never get the fruits. At last she became very angry, and had the tree hewn into tiny bits and all the bits thrown away, but still the tree grew again in the night, and in the morning the fruits were hanging on it. So she went to the Rájá and told him that in the garden was a tree with two fruits, and every time she tried to get them, the fruits went up into the air. She had had the tree cut down ever so many times, and it always grew up again in the night and the fruits returned to it. “Why cannot you leave the tree alone?” said the Rájá. “But I should like to see if what you say is true.” So the Rájá and the Rání went down to the garden, and the Rání tried to get the fruits, but she could not, for they went right up into the air.

That evening the Rájá went alone to the garden to gather the fruits, and the fruits of themselves fell into his hand. He took them into his room, and putting them on a little table close to his bed, he lay down to sleep. As soon as he was in bed a little voice inside one of the fruits said, “Brother;” and a little voice in the other fruit said, “Sister, speak more gently. To-morrow the Rájá will break open the fruits, and if the Rání finds us she will kill us. Three times has God made us alive again, but if we die a fourth time he will bring us to life no more.” The Rájá listened and said, “I will break them open in a little while.” Then he went to sleep, and after a little he woke and said, “A little while longer,” and went to sleep again. Several times he woke up and said, “I will break the fruits open in a little while,” and went to sleep. At last he took a knife and began cutting the fruits open very fast, and the little boy cried, “Gently, gently, father; you hurt us!” So then the Rájá cut more gently, and he stopped to ask, “Are you hurt?” and they said, “No.” And then he cut again and asked, “Are you hurt?” and they said, “No.” And a third time he asked, “Are you hurt?” and they answered, “No.” Then the fruits broke open and his two children jumped out. They rushed into their father’s arms, and he clasped them tight, and they cried softly, that the Rání might not hear.

He shut his room up close, and fed and dressed his children, and then went out of the room, locking the door behind him. He had a little wooden house built that could easily catch fire, and as soon as it was ready he went to the Rání and said, “Will you go into a little house I have made ready for you while your room is getting repaired?” “All right,” said the Rání; so she went into the little house, and that night a man set it on fire, and the Rání and everything in it was burnt up. Then the Pomegranate Rájá took her bones, put them into a tin box, and sent them as a present to her mother. “Oh,” said the mother, “my daughter has married the Pomegranate Mahárájá, and so she sends me some delicious food.” When she opened the box, to her horror she found only bones! Then she wrote to the Mahárájá, “Of what use are bones?” The Mahárájá wrote back, “They are your bones; they belong to you, for they are your daughter’s bones. She ill-treated and killed my children, and so I had her burnt.”

The Pomegranate Rájá and his children lived very happily for some time, and their dead mother, the Gulíanár Rání, having a wish to see her husband and her children, prayed to God to let her go and visit them. God said she could go, but not in her human shape, so he changed her into a beautiful bird, and put a pin in her head, and said, “As soon as the pin is pulled out you will become a woman again.” She flew to the palace where the Mahárájá lived, and there were great trees about the palace. On one of these she perched at night. The doorkeeper was lying near it. She called out, “Doorkeeper! doorkeeper!” and he answered, “What is it? Who is it?” And she asked, “Is the Rájá well?” and the doorkeeper said, “Yes.” “Are the children well?” and he said, “Yes.” “And all the servants, and camels, and horses?” “Yes.” “Are you well?” “Yes.” “Have you had plenty of food?” “Yes.” “What a great donkey your Mahárájá is!” And then she began to cry very much, and pearls fell from her eyes as she cried. Then she began to laugh very much, and great big rubies fell from her beak as she laughed. The next morning the doorkeeper got up and felt about, and said, “What is all this?” meaning the pearls and the rubies, for he did not know what they were. “I will keep them.” So he picked them all up and put them into a corner of his house. Every night the bird came and asked after the Mahárájá and the children and the servants, and left a great many pearls and rubies behind her. At last the doorkeeper had a whole heap of pearls and rubies.

One day a Fakír came and begged, and as the doorkeeper had no pice, or flour, or rice to give, he gave him a handful of pearls and rubies. “Well,” said the Fakír to himself, “I am sure these are pearls and rubies.” So he tied them up in his cloth. Then he went to the Rájá to beg, and the Rájá gave him a handful of rice. “What!” said the Fakír, “the great Mahárájá only gives me a handful of rice when his doorkeeper gives me pearls and rubies!” and he turned to walk away. But the Mahárájá stopped him. “What did you say?” said he, “that my doorkeeper gave you pearls and rubies?” “Yes,” said the Fakír, “your doorkeeper gave me pearls and rubies.” So the Mahárájá went to the doorkeeper’s house, and when he saw all the pearls and rubies that were there, he thought the man had stolen them from his treasury. The Mahárájá had not as many pearls and rubies as his doorkeeper had. Then turning to the doorkeeper he asked him to tell him truly where and how he had got them. “Yes, I will,” said the doorkeeper. “Every night a beautiful bird comes and asks after you, after your children, after all your elephants, horses, and servants; and then it cries, and when it cries pearls drop from its eyes; and then it laughs, and rubies fall from its beak. If you come to-night I dare say you will see it.” “All right,” said the Pomegranate Rájá.

So that night the Mahárájá pulled his bed out under the tree on which the bird always perched. At night the bird came and called out, “Doorkeeper! doorkeeper!” and the doorkeeper answered, “Yes, lord.” And the bird said, “Is your Mahárájá well?” “Yes.” “Are the children well?” “Yes.” “And all his servants, horses, and camels and elephants–are they well?” “Yes.” “Are you well?” “Yes.” “Have you had plenty of food?” “Yes.” “What a fool your Mahárájá is!” And then she cried, and the pearls came tumbling down on the Mahárájá’s eyes, and the Mahárájá opened one eye and saw what a beautiful bird it was. And then it laughed, and rubies fell from its beak on to the Mahárájá. Next morning the Mahárájá said he would give any one who would catch the bird as much money as he wanted. So he called a fisherman, and asked him to bring his net and catch the bird when it came that night. The fisherman said he would for one thousand rupees. That night the fisherman, the Mahárájá, and the doorkeeper, all waited under the tree. Soon the bird came, and asked after the Mahárájá, after his children, and all his servants and elephants, and camels and horses, and then after the doorkeeper, and then it called the Mahárájá a fool. Then it cried, and then it laughed, and just as it laughed the fisherman threw the net over the bird and caught it. Then they shut it up in an iron cage, and the next morning the Mahárájá took it out and stroked it, and said, “What a sweet little bird! what a lovely little bird!” And the Mahárájá felt something like a pin in its head, and he gave a pull, and out came the pin, and then his own dear wife, the Pomegranate-flower Rání, stood before him. The Rájá was exceedingly glad, and so were his two children. And there were great rejoicings, and they lived happily ever after.


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

A Mountain of Gems

An old widow and her son Mirali live in poverty until Mirali seeks work. Hired by a bai, Mirali is tricked into gathering gems atop a mountain and abandoned. Mirali escapes using ingenuity and later tricks the bai into suffering the same fate. He retrieves the gems and returns to his mother, leaving the deceitful bai stranded on the mountain.

Source
Folk Tales from the Soviet Union
Central Asia & Kazakhstan
compiled by R. Babloyan and M. Shumskaya
Raduga Publishers, Moscow, 1986


► Themes of the story

Cunning and Deception: Mirali, after realizing the bai’s betrayal, uses his wit to escape the mountain and later turns the tables on the bai, leading to the bai’s own entrapment.

Trials and Tribulations: Mirali faces significant challenges, including being abandoned on a mountain and devising a plan to return home safely.

Revenge and Justice: After being deceived, Mirali ensures the bai faces the same fate, achieving a sense of justice for the wrong done to him.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Turkmen people


Retold by Mikhail Bulatov
Translated by Irina Zheleznova

In a certain village there once lived an old widow who had one son, Mirali by name. The mother and son were very poor. The old woman combed wool and took in washing, and in this way managed to earn enough to feed herself and her son.

When Mirali grew up, his mother said to him:

“I haven’t the strength to work any more, my son. You must find yourself work of some kind to do and so earn your keep.”

“Very well,” said Mirali, and off he went in search of work. He went here, and he went there, but nowhere could he find anything to do.

► Continue reading…

After a time he came to the house of a certain bai. [a rich, sometimes titled man in old Turkmenia]

“Do you need a workman, bai?” Mirali asked.

“I do,” the bai replied.

And he hired Mirali on the spot.

A day passed, and the bai did not ask his new workman to do anything at all. Another day passed, and the bai gave him no orders of any kind. A third day passed, and the bai seemed not so much as to notice him.

All this seemed very strange to Mirali who began to wonder why the bai had hired him.

So he went to him and asked:

“Shall I be getting any work to do, master?”

“Yes, yes,” the bai replied, “I am going on a journey tomorrow, and you will come with me.”

The following day the bai ordered Mirali to slaughter a bull and to skin it, and, this done, to bring four large sacks and prepare two camels for a journey.

The bull’s hide and the sacks were put on one of the camels, the bai mounted the other, and off they started on their way.

They got to the foot of a distant mountain, and the bai stopped the camels and ordered Mirali to take down the sacks and the bull’s hide. Mirali did so, and the bai then told him to turn the bull’s hide inside out and lie down on it. Mirali could not understand the reason for this, but he dared not disobey and did as his master told him.

The bai rolled up the hide with Mirali inside it into a bundle, strapped it tight and hid himself behind a rock.

By and by two large birds of prey flew up, seized the hide which had a fresh smell of meat about it in their beaks and carried it off with them to the top of a tall mountain.

The birds began to peck and claw at the hide, and, seeing Mirali, were frightened and flew away.

Mirali got to his feet and began looking about him.

The bai saw him from below and shouted:

“What are you standing there for? Throw down to me the coloured stones that are lying at your feet!”

Mirali looked down at the ground and saw that a great number of precious stones, diamonds and rubies and sapphires and emeralds, were strewn all over it. The gems were large and beautiful and they sparkled in the sun.

Mirali began gathering the gems and throwing them down to the bai, who picked them up as fast as they fell and filled two of the sacks with them.

Mirali kept on working until a thought struck him that turned his blood cold.

“How shall I get down from here, master?” he called to the bai.

“Throw down more of the stones,” the bai called back.

“I will tell you how to get down from the mountain afterwards.”

Mirali believed him and went on throwing down the gems.

When the sacks were full, the bai hoisted them on to the camels’ backs.

“Ho there, my son!” called he with a laugh to Mirali. “Now you can see what kind of work I give my workmen to do. See how many of them are up there, on the mountain!”

And with these words the bai rode away.

Mirali was left on the mountain top all alone. He began looking for a way to climb down, but the mountain was very steep, with precipices on all sides, and he could not find one. Men’s bones lay about everywhere. They were the bones of those who, like Mirali, had been the bai’s workmen.

Mirali was terrified.

Suddenly there came a rush of wings overhead, and before he could tum round, a huge eagle had pounced upon him. He was about to tear Mirali to pieces, but Mirali did not lose his presence of mind, and, grasping the eagle’s legs with both hands, held them in a tight grip. The eagle let out a cry, rose up into the air and flew round and round, trying to shake off Mirali. At last, exhausted, he dropped to the ground well below the mountain top, and when Mirali loosed his hold, flew away.

Thus was Mirali saved from a terrible death. He reached the foot of the mountain, and, going to marketplace, began looking for work again. Suddenly he saw the bai, his former master, coming toward him.

“Do you need a workman, bai?” Mirali asked him.

Now, it did not enter the bai’s head that any workman of his, once he had been left on the mountain top, could have remained alive—it had never happened before—and, not recognising Mirali, he hired him and took him home with him.

Soon after, the bai ordered Mirali to slaughter a bull and skin it, and this being done, told him to get ready two camels and bring four sacks.

They made thair way to the foot of the same mountain, and, just as before, the bai told Mirali to lie down on the bull’s hide and wrap himself up in it.

“Show me how it’s done, for it’s not quite clear to me,” said Mirali.

“What is there to understand? Here is the way it’s done,” the bai replied, and he stretched himself out on the hide which had been turned inside out.

Mirali at once rolled up the hide, with the bai inside it, into a bundle and strapped it tight.

“What have you done to me, my son!” the bai cnied.

The same moment two birds of prey flew up, seized the bull’s hide with the bai in it and flew off with it to the mountain top. Once there, they began to tear at it with their beaks and claws, but, seeing the bai, were frightened and flew away. The bai scrambled to his feet.

“Come bai, do not waste time, throw down the gems to me, just as I did to you,” Mirali called from below.

Only then did the bai recognise him and begin trembling with fear and rage.

“How did you get down the mountain?” he called to Mirali.

“Throw down more of the gems, and when I have enough, I’ll tell you how!” Mirali called back.

The bai began throwing down the gems, and Mirali picked them up as fast as they fell. When the sacks were full, he hoisted them on to the camels’ backs.

“Come bai, look around you,” he called to him. “The bones of your workmen are strewn about everywhere. Why do you not ask them how to get down from the mountain? As for me, I am going home.”

And turning the camels round, Mirali set off for his mother’s house.

The bai rushed about on the mountain top, shouting threats and pleas, but all in vain, for who was there to hear him!


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

The Greedy Kazi

A hardworking poor man saves a thousand tanga after years of toil and entrusts it to a seemingly honest judge, the kazi. The kazi deceitfully denies receiving the money. With a clever woman’s help, the man exposes the kazi’s dishonesty through a ruse involving a fake treasure. The man regains his savings, while the kazi is left humiliated and furious over his failed scheme.

Source
Folk Tales from the Soviet Union
Central Asia & Kazakhstan
compiled by R. Babloyan and M. Shumskaya
Raduga Publishers, Moscow, 1986


► Themes of the story

Revenge and Justice: The man seeks justice for the kazi’s deceit, ultimately regaining his savings and leaving the kazi humiliated.

Trickster: The clever woman acts as a trickster figure, using her wit to outsmart the greedy kazi.

Conflict with Authority: The story depicts a struggle against an authority figure, the kazi, who abuses his position for personal gain.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Tajik people


Retold by Mikhail Bulatov
Translated by Irina Zheleznova

Believe it or not, but once lived a poor man who worked very, very hard yet remained just as poor as ever he was. So he decided to leave his native parts and go to a distant city to earn his living. He said goodbye to his family and set off from home. Whether he was long on the way or not no one knows, but at last he reached the city he was bound for and at once began going from house to house, looking for work. And he did anything that came his way, never refusing any kind of work, however hard, setting about it willingly and always doing everything thoroughly and well.

As for the money he earned, he spent only as much as he needed to buy food for himself and put away the rest in a small bag, saying to himself:

► Continue reading…

“I will work a little more, save up more money and then go back to my family.”

In this way he toiled unsparingly for several years and was able to put aside a whole thousand tanga. And since that, for a poor man, is a large sum of money, he began brooding about it and said to himself:

“What if through some mischance my money is lost?.. To carry it on me is folly, for I may lose it; also, a thief might learn about it and might then kill and rob me. Nor will it do to hide the money at my lodgings, for someone might see me hiding it, and there being many sly and evil people in the world, I will be deprived of it and return home empty-handed.”

So his thoughts ran and he did not know what to do. But at last he decided to give his thousand tanga to the kazi [the judge] for safekeeping.

“Everyone says the kazi is as honest as he is pious,” said he to himself, “so my money will be safe with him. I will take it back from him when I decide to go home.”

And off he went to see the kazi. The kazi greeted him politely and asked what he wanted.

“I should like to leave my money with you for safekeeping, O most honourable kazi,” the man said. “Please keep it for me while I am living and working in this town.”

The kazi took the bag of money and said gravely:

“I shall do as you ask with the greatest pleasure. You could not have found a safer place to keep your money.”

The poor man left, and the kazi counted the money and put it away in a large chest.

Some time passed, and the owner of the money prepared to go back to his family. He came to the kazi and said to him:

“Give me back my money, O most honourable kazi, for tomorrow I leave this town.”

The kazi looked at him.

“What money do you mean?” he asked.

“The thousand tanga that I gave you to keep for me, most honourable kazi.”

“You must be mad!” the kazi shouted. “When did you ever give me any money? One thousand tanga indeed! What an idea! Why, neither you nor any of your kin ever laid eyes on so much as a hundred tanga! Where would you get a whole thousand?”

The poor man tried to remind the kazi when it was he had brought him the money and what had been said between them. But the kazi would not listen to him. He stamped his feet and called for his servants.

“This man is a swindler!” he shouted. ‘Thrash him soundly and turn him out of my house!”

The kazi’s servants fell on the poor man, beat him up and threw him out of the house.

The poor man stumbled off down the street with tears and lamentations.

“All my hard work has been in vain! My money is lost he kept repeating sorrowfully. “The kazi has taken it all!”

Now, a woman who happened to be passing by just then overheard the poor man’s lamentations and said to him reproachfully:

“What has happened, my brother? Why are you, a grownup man, crying like a child?”

Said the poor man sadly:

“O my sister, if only you knew how I have been tricked you would not reproach me! By working beyond my strength for years and never eating my fill I succeeded in putting aside a thousand tanga. Now I have. lost them.”

“Tell me how it happened,” the woman said.

The poor man told her the whole story.

“And people say that the kazi is as honest as he is pious!” he added bitterly.

The woman listened to his story with sympathy.

“Do not be sad, not all is lost,” said she. “Come with me, I will think of something.”

They went to her house, and the woman took a large box that stood there and said to her little son:

“I am going with this man to see the kazi. Follow us at a distance and try not to be seen by anyone. When we reach the kazi’s house, hide yourself and wait till the kazi has handed this man his money. When you see him stretch out his hands to take this box, run into the house and say: “Father has come back with his camels and goods.”

“Very well, I will do as you say,” said the boy.

The woman placed the box on her head, and she and the poor man made their way to the kazi’s house, the woman’s son following them at a distance.

They came there, and the woman said to the poor man:

“I will go in first, and you come in after me.”

She stepped into the house, and the kazi looked at her and at the large box on her head and said:

“What business brings you here, my sister?”

Said the woman:

“Perhaps you have heard of me, O most honourable kazi. I am the wife of Rahim, the rich merchant. My husband has taken his caravan to distant lands, and no one knows when he will return. For many nights now I have been unable to sleep peacefully. Thieves are prowling round our house, and I am sure they plan to rob us. This box contains all the money we have, as well as all our gold and precious stones. t was with difficulty that I carried it here, it is so heavy. I should like to leave it with you for safekeeping. When my husband returns he will come for it himself.”

The kazi lifted the box and his hands shook.

“There must be at least forty or fifty thousand tanga in money in this box, and many precious stones besides, it is so heavy,” thought he. “I have heard this Rahim is a very rich merchant.” And turning to the woman, he said:

“Very well, my sister, I shall keep your treasures for you. They will be safe with me, you may be sure. And you will get everything back, to the last tanga.”

But the woman took the box from the kazi’s hands.

“Will I truly get all of it back?” said she.

“Do not doubt it, my sister!” the kazi exclaimed. “All the people in the town know me for an honest man.”

Just as he said this, the poor man, for so it had been agreed between him and the woman, came into the kazi’s house. The kazi saw him and was overjoyed.

“Heaven itself has brought this man here,” said he to himself. “There could be no better opportunity of proving my honesty to this woman. I shall give back to that beggar his thousand tanga and get a box full of money and jewels instead. It will be worth it, ha-ha!”

And the kazi turned to the woman, saying:

“I repeat to you, my sister, that there is no better place for you to leave your money than my house. Your box will be far safer here than if you keep it in your own house. And you can have it back any time you want.”

The kazi’s servants and all who were present in the house nodded their heads as if to say that the kazi was indeed speaking the truth and that his every word could be trusted.

And the kazi, pretending to have only just noticed the poor man’s presence, exclaimed:

“Why, here is the man who gave me all his savings, one thousand tanga, to keep! He came to me this morning and asked for his money, but I did not recognise him, I mistook him for a thief and refused to give it back. If someone here knows him and will vouch for him I will give it him at once.”

Said the woman:

“O most honourable kazi, I have known this poor man for almost two years. He came to this town from afar and he has been working very hard ever since. He worked for me, too, for a time. Believe me when I tell you that he has more than earned his money, for never was there a more hard-working man.”

“What, you know this man!” the kazi exclaimed. “Then we need not delay. Come up here, my brother, and take your thousand tanga.”

And the kazi reached into his chest, counted out a thousand tanga and gave them to their owner.

“Well, my sister, now you have seen for yourself how safe other people’s money is with me and that I can be trusted to return it to its owner,” said the kazi hurriedly. “Leave your box here and go home in peace.”

And he stretched out his hands for the box.

But before the woman could hand it to him, her son burst into the house.

“Mother! Mother!” he called. “Come home quickly! Father has come back with his camels and goods and is waiting for you.”

“Oh well, now that my husband has returned, I need no longer fear thieves,” said the woman with a smile. “He will be able to look after our treasures without the help of the honourable kazi.”

And with these words the woman took her box, placed it on her head and left the kazi’s house in the company of the poor man.

“One must never despair, my brother,” said she. “Remember that there is no knave alive whose scurvy tricks work every time. Go back to your family and live in peace. You have wandered in alien parts long enough. Spend your hard- earned money and enjoy it.”

And taking leave of one another, they parted.

As for the kazi, now that he was left alone, he flew into a terrible. rage. He tugged at his beard, stamped his feet and was so distressed that he did not know what to do with himself.

“Unhappy man that I am! ” he said over and over again. “What a terrible misfortune! May the merchant Rahim be cursed! Why couldn’t he have arrived an hour later! It would all have been over and done with by then, the box of treasures would have been mine. My riches would have multiplied. My large chest would have been filled to the top. I shall never get over it, never!”

And he wept and cried and could not stop.


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

The Padishah’s Daughter and the Young Slave

A conceited princess rejects all suitors, leading her father, the Padishah, to consult an old sage, who foretells her marriage to a slave. Despite challenges, the slave accomplishes impossible tasks, gaining immense strength and valor. Refusing to marry the princess, he rejects the Padishah’s tyranny, defeating his oppressors. Embracing freedom, the former slave dedicates his life to protecting the weak and fighting for justice.

Source
Folk Tales from the Soviet Union
Central Asia & Kazakhstan
compiled by R. Babloyan and M. Shumskaya
Raduga Publishers, Moscow, 1986


► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The narrative centers on a prophecy foretelling that the Padishah’s proud daughter will marry a slave, highlighting the inescapable nature of destiny.

Conflict with Authority: The young slave challenges the Padishah’s authority, especially when he refuses to marry the princess and later opposes the Padishah’s tyranny, symbolizing a struggle against oppressive power.

Revenge and Justice: The story concludes with the slave defeating his oppressors and dedicating his life to protecting the weak and fighting for justice, emphasizing the restoration of moral order.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Tajik people


Retold by Klavdia Ulug-zadeh
Translated by Olga Shartse

The Padishah had a grownup daughter who was so proud and conceited that she sent away all the match- makers who came to seek her hand in marriage. None of the suitors was good enough for this Princess. And then her father held counsel with his viziers and said to them:

“Is it not time the Princess got married?” – “It is time,” replied the viziers. “Only let us ask her what sort of man she wants for a husband.”

And the Princess told them: “I’ll only marry the strongest and most handsome young man in the world, who alone deserves to be my husband.”

► Continue reading…

The viziers tried to find a man like that in their own city, but no one measured up to the Princess’s demands.

The Padishah himself then set off on a journey to other towns. He rode for a long time and finally came to a wide river. On the bank squatted an old man with a beard that was long and green like sea-weed, he had on a green robe, and had a green staff in his hand. He was writing something with a black pebble on white pebbles which he then threw into the river.

The Padishah rode right up to the old man and asked him what he was writing on those pebbles and why he threw them into the water.

“I foretell people’s future. Whatever I write on a white pebble which I then throw into the river will come to pass.”

“Could you foretell my daughter’s future? Who is destined to become her husband?” asked the Padishah, and told the old man about his proud, conceited daughter who refused to marry anyone but the handsomest and strongest young man in the world.

The old man smiled, wrote something on a white pebble, threw it into the river, and said:

“Your daughter will marry neither a pauper nor a labourer, she’ll marry a slave.”

“Oh no! It cannot be!” cried the Padishah in alarm because he remembered that he did have a slave working in his household, he was a young man and the best worker in town, but a slave he was!

The Padishah hurried back home, and all the way he was thinking how to avert that terrible disaster from his daughter. The moment he returned to his palace, he called his viziers together and told them what fate had in store for the Princess.

“Woe unto us, woe! That wretched slave intends to marry my daughter! What am I to do!”

“Chop off his head,” replied the viziers promptly.

When the poor young slave heard that he was to die, he pleaded and swore that he did not have the slightest desire to marry the Princess.

“What, he has the impudence to refuse the Padishah’s daughter?” cried the sly viziers. ‘Off with his head for such impudence!”

And the Padishah agreed with them.

A very, very old and very, very wise man lived in a small hut not far from the palace. He was so old that he could no longer walk. When he heard about Padishah’s cruel order, he begged his neighbours:

“Please, put me on a white felt rug, pick it up by the four corners, and carry me to the Padishah.”

They did so, and when they brought him to the palace the Padishah asked the wise man:

“What advice have you come to give me, old sage?” asked the Padishah.

“Oh Padishah, you are free to do what you will with your servants,” replied the old man. “Send your young slave to the end of the world, give him any order you can think of, only don’t execute that innocent youth.”

The Padishah ordered the young slave to be brought into his presence.

“Hey you, wretched slave!” he said to the young man. “Go and find for me two precious pearls the size of walnuts with a moonglow inside them. If you find them I’ll grant you your life, and give you your freedom besides. If you don’t find them, I’ll order your head to be chopped off.”

The poor young slave merely dropped his head in agreement, and set off to find those unheard-of pearls, the size of walnuts and with a moonglow inside them.

He wandered about the land for many a day, he suffered cold and hunger, people laughed at him, and he all but collapsed from weariness. And then, one day, he came to the river on the bank of which squatted an old man in a green robe, with a long green beard and a green staff in his hand.

The young man bowed to him and asked:

“Can you tell me where I can find two precious pearls the size of walnuts with a moonglow inside them?”

“You are as trusting as a child, I see,” replied the old man. “I know who sent you and why. Oh well, I’ve got to help you. Stay here on the bank, and wait for me.”

Saying this, the old man in the green robe stepped into the river and vanished from sight. Suddenly the green weeds, floating on the surface of the water, parted and out came the old man. He climbed on to the bank and from the skirt of his robe poured a whole heap of large pearls on to the ground. All of them had a moonglow inside them.

“Take them and return to the Padishah,” said the old man. ‘Only mind you don’t show him all the pearls at once. First give him the two he asked for.”

The young slave thanked the old man from the bottom of his heart and started back for the palace at once.

When the Padishah saw the young slave and the fabulous pearls, he knew that he would have to grant him his life and give him his freedom, which did not suit him at all. And so, being very shrewd and wily, he shouted angrily:

“Aha, I’ve caught you out at last! These two pearls were in my treasure-box and then someone stole them. So now we know who stole them! You’re a thief and a liar, pretending that you got them at the other end of the world!”

“My lord, did you say that you had two such pearls in your treasure-box?” asked the brave young man.

“Yes, two, exactly two such pearls,” replied the Padishah.

At this, the young man undid his bundle and poured out onto the carpet before the Padishah a whole heap of beautiful pearls.

The sight of that wealth so startled the Padishah that he was struck speechless. He did not know what to do next, and so he called his viziers together again and asked their advice.

“Since this slave. managed to find a whole heap of pearls and not just the two I sent him to find, it means that he really intends to marry my daughter. But I don’t want her to marry a slave, and so I’ll have his head chopped off,” the Padishah told them.

The viziers did not know what to advise him and, fearing his anger, they thought it safest to say:

“Oh the greatest of the great! You followed the advice of that oldest and wisest of sages about your young slave, and so he should be sent for this time too.”

Once again the old sage was brought to the palace on a white felt. He heard out the viziers and said:

“A promise must not be broken. The Padishah must keep his word.”

“But he’s my slave, his life is in my hands!” cried the Padishah angrily.

“And your word? You can’t go back on your word,” sald the sage.

“Very well then,” said the Padishah. ‘Let him go to the end of the world, see how the sun and the moon rise, and tell us all about it when he comes back. Only then I shall grant him his life and give him his freedom!”

Poor, poor young slave! Without saying a word, he set off to find the end of the world where the sun and the moon rose.

In the meantime, the Padishah tried his best to find a husband for his conceited daughter.

The young slave wandered for days, weeks, months, climbing over high mountains, all but dying of thirst in the dry deserts, and still plodding on. His sandals were worn out, his clothes torn to shreds, and his staff became as thin as a needle. He walked on in rain and wind, in heat and frost. Hunger drove him to beg for bread. Sometimes, he fell asleep at someone’s gate with no strength to go, and the owners beat him up for a tramp.

At long last he came to a mountain so tall that it reached the sky. He tried to climb it but he could not find a foothold anywhere, for the steep sides were smooth rock. Helplessly, he sat on the ground and gazed in despair at the mountain before him.

Suddenly, a peri in white appeared on the top of the mountain.

“Who are you and what do you seek?” he heard her voice.

“I am the Padishah’s slave,” replied the youth. “Under threat of death the Padishah ordered me to go and see where the sun and moon rise in the sky. And I haven’t even discovered where that place is!”

“Shut your eyes,” the girl told him.

He shut his eyes, and when he opened them in a moment he found himself standing on top of the mountain beside the girl.

“Come, I’ll show you what you want,” the peri told him, and started across a green meadow, covered with beautiful white flowers, and made for some tall trees whose branches drooped to the very ground.

When the youth came nearer to these trees he saw that they were weeping willows growing round a large, still lake. That lake was so lovely that he stood there spellbound, unable to tear his eyes away.

“It’s so wonderful here!” he exclaimed, and went down to the water.

“The sun and the moon bathe in this lake,” the fairy-girl told him. “This lake does magic things. If you bathe in it right after the moon has taken a dip, you’ll become even more handsome than you are now and the Padishah’s daughter will gladly marry you.”

“But I don’t want to marry the Padishah’s daughter!” said the youth. “Would I have come all this way just for that?”

“Then wait until after the sun has had its swim. If you enter the water just after, you’ll feel enormous strength flowing into your body,” the fairy-girl told him, and disappeared.

The youth was very thirsty, but he stood on the shore and did not touch the water. He very much wanted to refresh his weary body in the lovely lake, but he waited patiently for the moon or the sun to bathe in it first.

The day waned, and dusk gathered quickly. Golden sunlight gave way to a silvery mist. And then darkness fell all at once, and the mountain trembled. Something very large and heavy rolled into the water, causing a wave to dash against the shore. In the next moment, a round, shining moon emerged from the lake, soared up, and sailed across the sky. And in the moonlight everything turned silver and began to shine and sparkle.

All night long the youth sat on the shore of the lovely lake, gazing at the beauty that surrounded him.

Little by little the moon lost its sparkle and melted away, the sky turned a pale grey, and suddenly the mountain trembled again, and something very large and heavy rolled into the lake. And in the next moment he saw the radiant, brilliant sun rise from the water higher and higher into the sky, and in the dazzling light it shed down on earth everything glowed with light and warmth.

Thus the brave youth saw how the sun rose. Happily, he threw off his rags, drank his fill of water and bathed in the lake. And instantly he felt his strength increasing tenfold. As he climbed on to the shore he clutched at a branch of a weeping willow, pulling down the whole tree, and as the roots were bared he saw between them a round shield, a sharp sword, a tall helmet and clothes worthy of a knight. And then he saw a beautiful horse with strong, slender legs standing there ready for him to mount.

Quickly, he put on the fine clothes, leapt into the saddle and rode off to look for the peri. He found her where he saw her for the first time, and thanked her for everything.

“But I only helped you to rise to the top of the mountain,” she said. “The rest you did yourself. You yourself found. the place where the sun and the moon rise. And you saw them rise. You bathed in the lake after the sun. You drank the water of life and joy and your strength increased tenfold. Only mind that your strength does not do people harm.”

“I promise I shall be kind to people,” the youth cried.

“But first I’ve got to settle up with my master, the Padishah, and obtain my freedom.”

And he went back to the Padishah whose slave he had been for so many years. On the way back he performed many feats, and his fame ran ahead of him.

In the meantime the Padishah had still been trying to find a husband for his daughter.

When he heard that a strange young knight had come to his city, he ordered him brought into his presence at once.

“Quickly, bring the visitor to my palace!” he ordered his servants. “And tell the young Princess. Maybe she’ll agree to marry him, because we’ve quite run out of suitors.”

The Princess peeped through the curtains at the newcomer, and whispered to her father:

“I’ll marry him. He’s the strongest and most handsome man in the world!”

The Padishah was overjoyed that at long last a worthy suitor had been found. He ordered the finest delicacies and wines to be served, seated the guest in the place of honour, and asked him to relate where he had been in the world and what he had seen.

“I travelled to the place where the sun and the moon rise,” replied the guest. “I saw the moon and the sun bathing in a mountain lake. I, too, bathed in that lake and it gave me the fabulous strength of a powerful knight.”

The Padishah knew then that his grand visitor was, in fact, his slave. But he did not let on that he had recognised him. To himself he was saying: “If he marries my daughter hell go on serving me as my son-in-law. As a warrior he’ll win glory for me and multiply my wealth.”

Now, the visitor said in conclusion of his story:

“Well, I’ve done everything I was ordered to do, and now I want to receive what was promised me. Do you remember your promise, Padishah?”

“Marry my daughter, and I’ll give you your freedom,” the Padishah told him.

But the young slave said:

“Then you don’t rightly know what freedom means if you want to give it to me in addition to your conceited daughter. When I wore the rags of a slave I did not seem a human being to you and your daughter!”

Enraged, the Padishah ordered his servants to seize the impudent slave, but he flung them off easily with his mighty strength and bared his sword… And the Padishah, being a cowardly, spiteful soul, scampered away in terror, like a rabbit from a great lion. The former slave left the Padishah’s palace forever, and as a free man rode off on his horse. He knew what he must do now: a man who was brave, strong and free must protect the weak from the strong, he must fight evil for the triumph of good on earth.


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