Grandparents' Bag of Stories

by Sudha Murty

  Mahesh was annoyed. ‘Well, then, tell me the name of the God that cured you.’

  ‘A lady called Hema lives across the river. She treats patients with her own medicines and I went to her as a last resort. She gave me five tablets and I recovered fully by the time I had finished the last dose.’

  Mahesh forgot all about his grocery shopping and went home thinking about Hema.

  That night, he couldn’t sleep a wink. She couldn’t be better than him, could she?

  The next morning, he crossed the river and asked a few people for directions to Hema’s house. Many people seemed to have heard of her and pointed him in the right direction. When he reached, he saw that she had a tiny two-room house. Outside, there was a small makeshift hut that had been turned into a clinic. That’s where Hema treated her patients.

  Mahesh refused to wait in line. He went up to Hema and introduced himself, ‘I am Mahesh, a famous doctor from across the river. I met your patient Prashant yesterday. I had tried to cure him a few months ago, but all my medicines failed. He must have come to you after that. Now he looks strong and healthy. What did you give him?’

  ‘Please sit, doctor,’ said Hema and invited him inside.

  ‘No, I don’t have much time. Please tell me quickly and briefly—in one sentence. I will be able to understand. I have a feeling that it may be just luck. There are many times when diseases can cure themselves and the doctor gets the credit for the cure anyway,’ said Mahesh.

  Hema laughed. ‘Maybe,’ she said.

  ‘Tell me what you gave him,’ insisted Mahesh.

  ‘I’ll keep it brief for you then—April showers bring May flowers,’ she replied as she called in her next patient, dismissing Mahesh.

  Mahesh left. May flowers, he thought. It must be easy to understand.

  He went to the market and bought flowers that bloom in May. But there seemed to be no medicinal effect in helping fever or any other typical symptoms.

  He became obsessed with Hema’s words. Finally, he thought about taking someone’s help and approached a literature expert.

  ‘April showers bring May flowers,’ he said to the expert.

  ‘What a lovely phrase,’ said the expert. ‘I don’t get anything else out of it, my friend.’

  Then Mahesh went to a florist, who said, ‘May flowers are very beautiful indeed. All I can tell you is that I sell a lot of these flowers.’

  That didn’t help Mahesh either.

  Next, he went to an artist friend. The artist said, ‘It is soothing and inspirational to paint both April showers and May flowers.’

  That turned out to be a dead end too.

  Frustrated, Mahesh decided to return home. As he made his way back home, he passed two farmers talking about their crops. One of them remarked, ‘The best crop is right after the monsoon. The rain brings the best quality of food. Even if there is continuous irrigation or a source of water nearby, there is nothing like the monsoon showers. The quality of the crop is outstanding with the natural rain. It is a gift from the gods above and I am always grateful!’

  Suddenly, Mahesh realized what Hema meant. The medicinal plants that flower after the April showers have a high medicinal value, and only those flowers are recommended for use while preparing medicines.

  He went across the river right away, to Hema’s house and explained what he had discovered. He asked her, ‘Have I understood your words correctly?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, use only those flowers that bloom after the rain in April. After May, the medicinal value reduces in the flowers but gets transferred and goes deep into the roots. So don’t use flowers after that. Instead, you can use a different part of the plant or tree. This way you are sure to have herbs and medicines throughout the year.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this the first time I came?’

  ‘You said you had time for only one sentence.’ Hema chuckled.

  Mahesh realized the error of his ways. ‘I may be a good doctor, but there are also others as good as me, or even better than me. Knowledge is never limited—it can come from anywhere and I must keep an open mind.’

  He thanked Hema and said, ‘Will you take me as your student and teach me what you know? I will share my limited knowledge with you too.’

  She smiled and nodded. ‘Let’s work together. I’d really like that.’

  Ajji ended the story and said, ‘Aushadhi Jahnavi Toyam Vaidyo Narayano Harihi. This Sanskrit shloka says that when we have medicine, we must consider it sacred—like water from the river Ganga. The lord comes to us in the form of a doctor who gives us medicines, and we must have it with the same faith.’

  Damu and the children nodded solemnly, agreeing with her.

  That evening, there was a heavy downpour of rain. Later, the children ran outside to see what had happened to the mangoes in the trees inside the compound.

  Damu was right—the small mangoes along with mango flowers lay on the ground like a yellow carpet. And the tree seemed to be smiling at them—green and fresh.

  The Case of the Mystery Pot

  One morning, Ajji was making pulao, which was almost everyone’s favourite.

  After some time, Ajji came out of the kitchen and said, ‘I am going with Kamlu to check on the cows. We will also feed them while we are there. Kids, I have finished cooking, but don’t open the pressure cooker just yet. Let it settle and cool on its own. We will have lunch as soon as I am back.’

  The children nodded as they were busy completing their homework.

  Ajji left and a few minutes passed.

  ‘Why is vegetable rice called pulao?’ asked Raghu suddenly, a tad thoughtful.

  ‘Pulao originated from Uzbekistan,’ answered Ajja. ‘Originally, leftover vegetables along with rice and some masala were cooked over slow fire in an earthen pot. This was usually done for soldiers as the food was nutritious and minimal oil was needed. They also used a sort of plate made of wheat flour to cover the pot. Later the recipe was modified and today, pulao is cooked all over India with different ingredients. Tell me, have any of you read about any other food that has become internationally famous?’

  ‘Minestrone soup,’ said Raghu. ‘One day, I went out with Dad and Mom to an Italian restaurant. They ordered minestrone soup, which I found difficult to pronounce at first. After I came home and googled it, I found out that leftover rice was cooked with some herbal vegetables and made into a soup. Farmers could drink this in the mornings and go to work since it was light and nutritious. From there to now, it is known the world over with each country customizing it their way and making it their own.’

  ‘Very good, Raghu.’ Ajja beamed.

  That’s when Ajja noticed that Aditi and Meenu were missing. Ajja stood up slowly and carefully so as not to disturb the other three children. He was going to go look for the two girls.

  Meanwhile, Aditi and Meenu were feeling ravenous and couldn’t resist following the aroma of the pulao, which led them to the kitchen.

  Aditi whispered, ‘Ajji has instructed us not to open the lid!’

  ‘Don’t be scared, Aditi. We will only open it a little.’

  When Meenu opened the lid, there was a loud boom. They tried to run out of the kitchen in such a hurry that they both slipped. Ajja heard the noise and rushed in to find Meenu and Aditi on the floor and the cooker whistling away. He understood what had happened. He found the nozzle of the pressure cooker and put it back on the cooker.

  Then he reached out both hands and pulled up Meenu and Aditi.

  ‘We just wanted to open it a little, Ajja,’ whimpered Aditi. ‘We are fine. Nothing has happened to us.’

  Ajja smiled. ‘Curiosity kills the cat. Let me tell you something.’

  A long, long time ago, there lived a wise king. One day, he went hunting all alone. And when he was on his way back, it began raining. So the king found a dry spot in the veranda of a nearby hut, which belonged to a poor old woodcutter and his wife.

  As the king waited outside, he heard the couple spea
king to each other. The wife said, ‘The hut is so old that it is falling apart and we have no food to eat. We are shivering too. There is no point trying to find work. Who will give us a job? Think of our king—he gets clean and warm clothes and good food every day. I wish we had that.’

  ‘Don’t worry. At least we are together,’ said the woodcutter, trying to console his wife. ‘We will do the best we can.’

  The king couldn’t resist himself any more and knocked on the door. When the couple opened the door, he said, ‘I heard your conversation. I will ensure that you get warm clothes and good food. But will you accompany me back to the palace?’

  The couple was pleasantly surprised. ‘Yes, of course,’ said the wife.

  ‘There is one condition,’ said the king. ‘You must obey me. The day you don’t do so, you will be back here.’

  ‘Your Majesty, if we get good food, warm clothing and a place to stay, we will never question you,’ said the wife vehemently.

  The woodcutter also nodded in agreement.

  ‘In that case, lock your home and follow me. The rain has stopped and we will leave now,’ instructed the king.

  The wife locked the house and tucked the key away safely. The couple then followed the king. After walking for what seemed like a long time, they reached the palace.

  The king ordered one of his trusted servants to take care of them, ‘This man and his wife are my personal guests. Look after them very well.’

  Saying this, the king left, and the couple was left alone with the servant. The servant took them to a nice room that had warm food on the table and a water heater. There were even silk robes in the bathroom! The couple took a warm bath and pulled on the robes. They were about to sit down to dinner when the king walked in, ‘How do you like your room? Is it warm enough?’ he asked.

  ‘Sir, we could not have dreamt of such a hospitable stay,’ said the old woodcutter. ‘It is beyond our imagination.’

  ‘Of course. You are my subjects. You can eat whatever you want and whatever you wish. But there is a small pot in your room with a lid on it. You must never open it. The day you open it, you will have to go back to your hut,’ said the king firmly.

  ‘Why will we need to open it when you have given us so much comfort?’ said the wife with a grateful smile.

  The king chatted with them for a few more minutes and left.

  At first, the couple was ecstatic at the opportunity to experience the palace and all that it had to offer—the royal gardens, the massive kitchen, sweet fruits and exquisite flowers.

  After a few weeks, the wife glanced at the pot and said out loud, ‘I wonder what is inside.’

  ‘My dear wife, how does it matter as long as we have enough?’

  After a few days, with nothing else to do, the wife said again, ‘I am really curious to know what is inside the pot.’

  Her husband refused to open it, but she didn’t give up. She kept pestering her husband, who said harshly, ‘I have given my word to the king.’

  The wife became unhappier as the days went by. She ate less. She talked less. She thought about the pot all the time.

  Then she began fighting with her husband to open the lid of the pot.

  Meanwhile, the king continued to visit them but noticed that they were no longer happy.

  One day, while talking to the servant, the woodcutter’s wife heard that the king had gone hunting to the forest and was expected to come back only after a week. She went to her husband and said, ‘Dear, come, let’s open the pot just a little bit. We will peep inside and close it quickly. No one will ever know.’

  ‘But we will know. What is the point of all this, dear? Why should we disobey the king? He has been kind to us and we have no reason to betray his trust.’

  The wife was adamant, ‘No, I must know.’

  Finally, the woodcutter gave in and lifted the lid of the pot. Smoke came out all of a sudden and the woodcutter dropped the lid with a loud clatter.

  Within seconds, the servant came inside and knew what had happened. Minutes later, the king had also joined them, much to the couple’s dismay. It seemed that news about him having gone hunting had been false. The king said, ‘You did not obey me. An idle person has nothing to do, which raises their curiosity about matters that are of no concern to them.’ He looked at the wife, ‘You have the key to your hut. I will give you some food and fruits to last you for some time. Go back to your home and try to find work—it will keep you both healthy and happy.’

  This is how curiosity destroyed their comfortable and luxurious life.

  Meenu asked, ‘So we shouldn’t be curious at all and always listen to others?’

  ‘No, I didn’t say that. Curiosity in the right direction leads to innovation and entrepreneurship, but if it is in the wrong direction, it has the potential to hurt other people and you. It also means that you must not intrude on someone’s privacy.’

  Meenu and Aditi looked at each other and felt ashamed.

  The Gold, the Bride and the Dancing Tiger

  One day, Ajja thought that the family should have a picnic in the garden for a change.

  The children decided to assist that day, with Damu and Ajja’s cooking expertise, and they insisted that Ajji and Kamlu Ajji relax and do as they pleased.

  Damu was an expert cook while Ajja was just an ordinary one. The children, who had no knowledge of cooking, decided to make something simple and fun.

  Ajja suggested, ‘I have an electric tandoor that I brought from Punjab during my visit there. We can make roti, dal, raita and rice.’

  ‘That sounds yummy, Ajja,’ said Aditi.

  ‘While we set it up, why don’t you go and clean the area where we will have the picnic?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Ajja!’

  Together, the children helped clean the area under the mango tree. Raghu laid out mats, Krishna brought out plates and water, Meenu brought out spoons and ladles and Aditi brought towels and soaps. Anoushka arranged fruits and sweets.

  In the kitchen, Ajja had finished kneading the dough while Damu was in the middle of cooking both dal and a dry vegetable side by side.

  The children saw the tandoor and found the iron rod with a hook quite amusing. They enjoyed the process of cooking rotis in the tandoor. ‘Taking out the rotis from the tandoor is not easy, kids. It takes an expert to know and do this,’ said Ajja, proudly.

  It took some time for the fresh rotis to be made but soon, the group sat down to eat lunch.

  ‘Such good rotis,’ said Krishna. ‘I love rotis!’

  ‘I like dessert,’ said Meenu.

  ‘I like dal,’ said Raghu.

  Everyone managed to eat something that they really, really liked.

  ‘Some people are happy with food, some with clothes and some with animals,’ remarked Damu.

  ‘Do animals dance?’ asked Krishna.

  ‘Sometimes. I have seen dogs dancing,’ he replied.

  Ajja said, ‘I have seen a horse dancing.’

  ‘I have seen a bear dance,’ said Raghu.

  ‘Well, I know of a tiger that dances,’ said Damu.

  ‘Really?’ asked Anoushka. ‘Where? Is he in this village?’

  ‘I am scared,’ said Meenu and looked horrified.

  ‘Nonsense, Damu!’ said Ajja. ‘There is no such thing.’

  ‘There is,’ said Damu. ‘I had heard a story about such a tiger when I was very young.’

  There once lived a pious old man in a village who often helped others. He had three sons.

  One day, he fell ill and knew that he was on his deathbed. He called his sons, Ram, Shyam and Shashi, and said to them, ‘I don’t have too much to leave for you except for three things—a round stone grinder, a big horn of an animal and a drum.’

  He gave the grinder to his oldest son Ram, the empty, hollow horn to his second son Shyam and the drum to his third son Shashi.

  Within a few days, the old man passed away.

  The three brothers took their gifts and departed from
the village. Soon, they came to a crossroads. Each one decided to take a different road. ‘Let us meet back here after a year to see what we did with our gifts and how it was useful to us,’ said Ram.

  Shyam and Shashi agreed and went their own ways.

  Ram walked miles until it was evening. He was exhausted. From a distance, he saw a lamp but did not have the energy to walk all the way there. So he stopped near a banyan tree and decided that it was safe enough for him to sleep on top of the branches, instead of on the ground. He held the grinder with both arms and slept between the branches.

  Hours later, he woke up, startled. He heard voices underneath the branches and realized that two thieves were in a deep discussion about the wealth they had just looted and how they planned to divide it. Ram became afraid and worried about the thieves finding him. In his nervousness, he touched the wooden handle of the grinder and made a full circle with it.

  As there was nothing inside to grind, there was a loud harsh noise.

  KRRRRRRRRRR!

  The thieves looked up, afraid, but in the dark night, they could not see anything. They looked on either side of the tree, but there was nothing there either.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ asked one of the thieves.

  ‘Was that a monster? Perhaps one that lives in the tree? I have heard from many people that banyan trees can have monsters living in them.’

  ‘That is not true.’

  Ram realized they were very afraid of the sound the grinder made, so he turned the wooden handle two more times.

  KRRRRRRRRRR! KRRRRRRRRRR!

  The thieves stood up.

  Ram repeated it again, and again and again. The sound was much louder and harsher than before. The thieves became terrified and ran away leaving their loot under the tree.

  Ram waited for a few hours until it was early morning and came down from the tree. He found that the thieves had left two heavy bags of gold and jewellery. Ram took the bags and walked away.