More Unfairy Tales

by T F Carthick

  Just in time. For the cruel form of the hunter emerged from the doorway. Soon, he was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wondered what had happened to the girl. Once again, I heard sound of footsteps at the door of the cottage. This time it was the girl. It was good to see her safe and sound. I suddenly remembered I was still hungry. With the pain and fear gone, hunger was returning in all its force. This could not be death. One did not feel hunger in death. What had happened?

  I remembered I had reached the cottage and had been waiting for the girl near the bushes. But I didn’t seem to remember seeing the girl go in. Nor the hunter. When had they gone in? I had absolutely no memory of them going in. Last I remembered was feeling faint with hunger. And then the near-death experience. Nothing in-between. I was clearly alive. And hungry. I could smell something nice inside the house. Was it some kind of trap? What had transpired inside the house?

  But my hunger pangs had returned and were eating me from within. If I did not find something to eat soon, I would die soon. I had to take my chances. So, I decided to enter the cottage and explore. As soon as I entered the cottage, the first thing my eye fell on was the basket lying on the floor. It was the same one the girl had been carrying. I wondered what was inside. A very delicious smell was emanating from it. I could not restrain myself—I jumped at the basket and ripped it apart. Human food spilled out all over the floor. I took a bite. It tasted strange but was definitely edible. I don’t know why humans ruin the heavenly taste of meat by putting all sorts of rubbish in it. Anyway, this was not the time for such philosophical contemplations on the esoteric practices of humankind. I was too hungry, and philosophy does not go too well with an empty stomach. I finished up all there was and was now feeling refreshed. A full stomach and safety! It would be a perfect ending if I were but united with my pack. I promised myself that I would never ever disobey my elders if I was restored to my pack.

  I stepped out of the cottage. By now it had become dark. The full moon was out in the sky. I looked at it and howled with all my heart and soul. My howl was answered by a series of howls. For a moment, I was scared. Was there some hostile pack in the vicinity? The one to which this dangerous wolf within the hut had belonged? I listened more keenly to the howls. No. They were not some unknown pack; I recognized those voices. But how could it be? My pack was really far away. In a different part of the jungle. How could they be here? I howled again only to receive more answering howls. I was now certain. It was indeed my pack. It was not long before the pack made its appearance.

  They crowded around me and started sniffing all over me. I was so glad to see them, and they seemed so glad to see me too. The pack had missed me and had come for me. They had come all this way looking for me. To this part of the jungle where hunters prowled, and game was scarce—all for my sake. My heart swelled with joy. I was back where I belonged. With my pack, that cared about me. I would never stray again. What a perfect ending to my adventure story! As they say, all is well that ends well.

  With all of my worries dissipated, my thoughts turned to that girl. As I said, except under extreme duress we don’t eat humans. So, with me being restored to the pack, I ceased seeing her as prey. Also, I guess I had to feel grateful to her for all that food in the basket. Once again, I was feeling that kinship for her—another little lost creature separated from her pack. Poor child. I really hoped she too would be reunited with her pack and receive a rousing welcome similar to what I was receiving. Humans, after all, pride themselves on being capable of ‘finer emotions’. That is why they have named those finer emotions humanity and the baser emotions bestiality.

  * * *

  I was right. The huntsman was indeed headed towards the edge of the forest. My journey was completely uneventful, though I had to almost run to keep pace with him. Once we were out of the forest, I noticed he did not turn towards our village but in a different direction. Of course. He did not belong to our village. But I knew the way from here and it was safe. I mean safe from beasts of the jungle. Of course, no place is safe from the beasts of civilization. As I headed towards the village, I came upon two men standing by the wayside talking. I was going to pass by them when the following words caught me.

  “Did you hear what happened to the green-eyed little witch?”

  I knew who they were talking about—me. I was curious. I knew it wouldn’t be anything good. But I had better listen. For all I knew, some mischief might be afoot against me. I had to keep my eyes and ears sharp to survive in this civilized jungle.

  “Her mother gave her away to the werewolf in the woods?”

  Werewolf? Is that what it was that attacked me? But my mother? How could that be? I mean I knew she was not particularly fond of me, but giving me away to a werewolf? And how did she know there would be such a creature?

  “That old hag? Her mother’s aunt, they used to say. Are the rumors true? Is she really a werewolf?”

  Grandmother? A werewolf? And it was she who the hunter had carried away in his sack? My head was spinning.

  “That is what I heard people say. One can never know such things for sure. And I don’t even want to find out. Some things are best left alone. Anyways she sent out that girl into the jungle with some stuff for the old hag. And the little witch has not returned. So, I reckon the big witch had the little one for dinner. Good for us. We are rid of her, and no blood on our hands.”

  “Indeed. But I still can’t believe one can do this to one’s own daughter.”

  Nor could I. How could she? The one person in the village who I thought had at least an inkling of concern for my welfare!

  “Old Jane must have been getting tired of having the little witch around. And the village was giving her a hard time for harboring her. So, I guess she finally decided to rid herself of the trouble.”

  No. This couldn’t be true. My own mother…how could she? But the more I thought of it, it seemed all the more possible. She had never liked me. Father had made her pregnant with me and run off somewhere. She had never been happy to be saddled with me. That was probably why she kept nagging. I had only been deceiving myself—it had not been for my good at all. It was out of sheer hatred. Now my eyes were open—I could see it all clearly. Of late, I remembered she was going sweet with the widower next door. She probably wanted to marry him, and I was all that stood in her way. Now it was all making sense.

  But what was I to do now? I clearly could not return to her. Neither she nor the other villagers would welcome me back. Mother would just make life even harder for me and find some other means of getting rid of me. So where was I to go? What was I to do? I could go to another village, but my red hair and green eyes would again cause trouble. And anyways after all my years in the village, somehow, I don’t think I could ever trust another human again. No. I did not want to be with humans again.

  Then an idea struck me. Grandma’s hut! Yes! I would go back there and live on my own. My earlier misgivings about living there alone began to fade away. After all, no one would disturb me there. Mother would think I was dead, and that werewolf creature was already dead. I would learn to fend for myself soon enough—after all, this grandmother woman had managed to survive there for so many years. I would live happily among the wood, the trees, the birds and beasts. Some beasts were dangerous, yes. But no bird or beast had any prejudice or stabbed when one’s back was turned. Maybe if I make myself a strong axe, like the one the hunter had, I would be safe. Who knew, maybe I would learn some witchcraft or sorcery that would let me become powerful in my own right.

  My decision was made. I felt a sense of lightness I had never ever felt before.

  If the world wanted to make me out to be a witch, I might as well play the part.

  Daughters and Lovers

  Time is flowing like a drunk snail out for a leisurely after-dinner walk. I keep peering out of the tower every few minutes. Still, there seems to be no sign of him. Will he not come, that wicked thief who wants to steal my daughter? I have everything ready for him—can’t
wait to see his face when he finds me here instead of her. That will teach him what happens to those who try to steal from me! But when will he come?

  As I wait, my thoughts drift to another thief from eighteen years back. Phew! How time flows! It seems like it just happened a few days ago.

  At that time, I used to live in a small, wooded area close to a little village. A nice, spacious mansion I had, complete with a garden. That garden was the love of my life back then. I had collected plants and trees from everywhere, planted them myself, and tended them lovingly for years. Those trees and bushes were the sole companions of my solitary existence. It was in this garden of mine that I found this fellow—like a termite on a tree bark. A skinny runt, cowering and skulking amongst the bushes. Initially I had been so furious to discover him there. How dare he set foot on my garden. Didn’t he know what a powerful enchantress I was? But one look at him and my anger evaporated. So pathetic he looked, like a tiny mouse. A hungry mouse that had not eaten for days. How can someone be angry with a creature like that! My anger was replaced by curiosity. I wanted to see what he was up to in my garden. So, I stayed hidden and watched

  He was wandering all over the garden. He seemed to be looking for something. What possibly could he be looking for in my garden? If it was something to eat, there was an apple tree right in front of him. There were even a few of the apples lying on the ground. He just had to bend down and pick one up. As if he had heard my thoughts, he immediately bent down and picked up a couple of apples and started munching noisily. Once he was done, he picked a few more and stuffed them into his pockets. The thief! I mean, those apples meant nothing to me. I would have given them to him had he asked nicely. But theft was something I could not stand for! I was about to come out of my hiding place and confront him when I noticed he had begun his search again. I was curious to discover what he was looking for so intently. So, I decided to stay put for some more time and observe him. After a few minutes, he stopped. Had he found it, whatever it was he was looking for? I looked in the direction his eyes were pointed towards. Immediately a wave of anger passed through me—my precious Rapunzels! Was that what he was after? I did not have long to find out. He had walked up to my darling Rapunzel plants, crouched down next to them and began to try and uproot one of them. How dare he! The audacity of it. My poor little Rapunzel plant! I was ready to forgive the trespassing, and even the theft of my apples, but this—this I could not let him get away with! So, I emerged from my hiding place and caught hold of him by his collar before he could pull out the plant.

  “What do you think you are doing out here, mister?”

  “I…I…nothing. I meant no harm, mistress. I am a pore old man.”

  “I can see that you’re ‘pore’ and ‘old’, but let me decide if you meant any harm or not. Tell me what you were doing in my garden.”

  “I…I…was trying to pluck…a few…Rrrrrapunzels. I am sorry, I will never do it again. Please let me go.”

  Truth be told, no harm had been done yet and I would not have minded letting him go. He looked so scared that I was sure he would never ever dare to come within a mile of my garden again. But I was in a mood for some mirth and decided to have some fun with the little fellow.

  “Whether you will do it again or not remains to be seen. But what about this time? You did try to steal from me and if I had not caught you, you would have taken away my precious Rapunzels. You deserve to be punished for that, don’t you?”

  The man was shivering in fear. I do seem to inspire fear amongst these humans. I am not sure if I like that or not. Most of my kind invoke fear, and often, hatred. Only a few manage to invoke love and respect. Personally, I am not particularly fond of human company. But somehow it seems grand to be loved and respected.

  “I am sorry, mistress. I am a pore man. My wife is pregnant, and she expressed a desire to eat these roots. I did not find them anywhere else till I came upon your garden. I thought it would do no harm if I entered and plucked one or two; anyways there are so many more of them! Now I realize my mistake. Please pardon me and let me go.”

  Ah! Pregnant wife! This got me thinking. Was this my chance to earn love and respect?

  Let me explain a bit. I have this friend Mathilda, you see. Her magic powers are way lesser than mine. I don’t think she is all that much smarter than me either. Yet she is one of the most loved and respected witches in the world. Bards have written stories and minstrels have sung songs of her deeds. Why? Because she had been the Godmother of this motherless girl Cinderella and helped her in times of distress. No wait, not even in ‘times’ of distress. It was just one occasion. She helped her, once, and this gave her the reputation of being a benign fairy Godmother. That one thing changed her from witch to fairy.

  I, on the other hand, had always been reviled as an evil wicked witch. How unfair! If you are young and comely, you are a fairy. If you are old and homely, you are a witch. I mean, Mathilda is not even young or pretty, you know. She is as old and ugly as I am—just that she likes to dress in fancy clothing that humans had learnt to associate with fairies, complete with a luminous wand. But that alone would not have worked for her if she had also not been a Godmother. Yes. That was it. I too wanted to become a Godmother. That was the way I could erase my vile reputation and instead be loved and respected. Now this old fellow’s mention of the pregnant wife gave me an idea. I softened my tone.

  “I understand your situation. But a theft is a theft. And you need to atone for it. Will you?”

  “I will do whatever you say, mistress. Please let me go.”

  “Will you do anything?

  “Yes, mistress. Anything. Please let me go.”

  “Will you name me the Godmother of your child when it is born?”

  I could see the relief on his face. “Yes, mistress. Definitely! You shall be my child’s Godmother. And no other.”

  So here I was. I would soon be Godmother of a child. I hoped the child would be a girl. I knew all about girls from Mathilda’s experience; about boys, I knew nothing. They did not want to dress up and go to balls to meet princesses of their dreams. Vicious, nasty things boys were. All they wanted to do was fight, maim and kill. Helping in these kinds of things was hardly the stuff that would gain me a good reputation. But a girl was different—she would be nice and sweet and loving. All I needed to do was wait till she grew up, appear in front of her, and use my magic to help her win the prince of her dreams, and I too would be an esteemed fairy Godmother. Yes, with my more powerful magic, I would be a much better Godmother than Mathilda has ever been. I would give my god-daughter a much better chariot and horses and find her a much better prince. So much better that bards and minstrels would totally forget about Mathilda and start singing only my praises.

  But first I had to humor this fellow here. As much as I hated to do it, I plucked out a couple of more Rapunzels and handed it to him. “And you can take these as a gift to my God-child’s mother.”

  He thanked me profusely and left. I followed after him and found out where he lived—a shabby little hovel at the edge of the marshes. I decided to keep a watch over the family. I was, after all, going to do a thorough job of it. I would be a conscientious Godmother who would keep a constant eye on her God-child from even before she was born. Not like Mathilda, who appeared before her God-daughter only much later. I would be there for mine right from the beginning. I would be taking no chances. I really hoped the child would not turn out to be a son and put paid to all my plans.

  * * *

  I have been waiting for hours now. Still there is no sign of that damned lover of hers. Has he somehow been warned about the danger that awaited him and chosen to take flight? But how could he have known? There is no way any information can travel from my island to the mainland. There are just two of us on the island—Rapunzel and me. I have obviously not sent out any message, and Rapunzel is locked in the cabin.

  Wait. Is she still locked in the cabin? Is there a chance she could have somehow got out of that cabi
n to warn him? No. Even if she has, she does not know to handle a boat. Even if she has miraculously learned how to row a boat, I would have seen her take it and leave. The boat is moored well within the sight of the tower. And not a fly has been near the boat all this while. I am unnecessarily worrying too much. I am sure she is still locked safely in there.

  * * *

  I still remember her as a little baby when I had taken her under my care. Such a beautiful little girl with an angelic smile—I was spellbound by her looks. My God-child! Just how I wanted. I learned that her mother died during the childbirth. Poor little motherless child! Just like Mathilda’s Cinderella! All the child had now was me—her Godmother. I was sure the old idiot would marry again and bring home a cruel stepmother complete with two ugly stepsisters like that father of Cinderella’s. I mean now don’t get me wrong about the ugly part. I would be the last one to be talking about ugliness. But somehow it adds to the dramatic effect. Two beautiful step sisters just do not have the same feel, you know. It is not my fault—it is these damn stories. They always have this nasty habit of making anyone wicked ugly. Do they even realize what a disservice they are doing to the ones not gifted with good looks? If all evil people are ugly, by corollary everyone assumes all ugly people are evil. What a stigma against the poor folks already disadvantaged by their looks!

  Anyways, I suppose we will never know if really Cinderella’s step-sisters were ugly or not, but certainly a mother and two daughters came, took charge of the child, and treated her terribly for years, making her toil day and night as a household help. Now mind you, neither Mathilda nor Cinderella’s father so much as moved a finger to put a stop to that gross injustice all those years. I wonder if they were in a long stupor like that Rip Van Winkle chap. So many hardships the poor girl had to endure through her growing years. And these two had carried on as if nothing was amiss. In fact, her entire childhood was ruined. Did Mathilda even bother to move a straw to help her? No. When did she finally deign to make her appearance? When the girl expressed a desire to attend an idiot Prince’s ball. As if that was more important than a lost childhood! What kind of a Godmother was she? And they all praise her for that! I was going to be a much better Godmother. I was not going to allow any such misfortune to befall this poor child. I had decided to nip all the troubles in their bud—I would take her away from that father of hers and bring her up myself. I would give every imaginable comfort and bring her up like a proper fairy princess.