Tales from India

by Bali Rai

  The following morning, Nilesh decided to offer Kishan a pact.

  ‘Look,’ he said, when he found him. ‘I have stolen your conch.’

  ‘Thief!’ Kishan yelled.

  ‘Be quiet!’ Nilesh ordered. ‘If you want it back, you will listen.’

  Kishan lowered his voice.

  ‘Why should I care what you say?’ he asked.

  ‘Because unless you do, I will destroy the conch,’ said Nilesh, smirking at his own guile. ‘Then no one can use it.’

  ‘But the conch is mine,’ Kishan replied. ‘Why should I share it?’

  Nilesh smirked again. ‘It’s just good business,’ he said. ‘Without the conch, you are lost. But if we share it, we can both make money …’

  When Kishan failed to reply, Nilesh continued, ‘I have the conch but can’t use it. You can use it, but don’t have it. Unless we share, it is useless …’

  Never greedy, Kishan considered Nilesh’s deal and eventually agreed. ‘I suppose it makes sense,’ he replied.

  Nilesh gave a sly smile, delighted that his scheme had worked. ‘I promise to return your conch,’ he said. ‘But you must agree to my terms.’

  ‘Explain your offer,’ said Kishan.

  ‘For everything you gain, I must get double,’ said Nilesh. ‘So if you have one chicken, I get two and so on …’

  ‘Double?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nilesh. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  Kishan reluctantly agreed.

  For a year, Kishan stuck to the bargain. Even though Nilesh had cheated him, Kishan was very well off. He began to help the other villagers, and they grew wealthy too. But Nilesh had far, far more than everyone else, and his greed had no limit. Then, one summer, Kishan forgot to ask the conch for fair weather and a great drought destroyed all the crops.

  In serious trouble, Kishan blew into the conch and a well appeared on his land. But when he saw the hardship of his neighbours, Kishan grew guilty, and shared his water with some of them. Nilesh, however, had gained two new wells. Through greed, he began to charge the villagers for water, and so his wealth grew as others suffered.

  Kishan was so enraged by Nilesh’s greed that he sat for days, thinking of a way to stop the avaricious moneylender. Eventually, he came up with a plan. He took the conch and hoisted it to his mouth.

  ‘Oh, mighty Lord Ram,’ he said, ‘you warned me against tricksters but I didn’t heed your words. Now, I wish to make things right. Take my left eye, I beg you …!’

  Instantly, Kishan’s left eye fell into shadow. Across the village, Nilesh was proudly admiring his land and wells. Suddenly, both of his eyes failed and he fell blind.

  ‘Arrggghhhh!!!!’ he cried. ‘What evil is this?’

  In shock and confusion, Nilesh tripped over a brand-new plough. He tumbled into one of his wells and drowned.

  To thank Kishan for saving them from the moneylender, the villagers came to his aid. And despite his blindness, Kishan went on to live a long and prosperous life, happily sharing his fortune with his neighbours.

  The Magic Bowl

  On the day that his grandfather passed away, Suraj was just fourteen years old. Already orphaned, the loss of his grandfather left Suraj all alone in the world. Penniless and hungry, he had nowhere to turn. He spent those first lonely weeks begging for food and work around his village, but soon the villagers chased him away. He fled home in tears, feeling desperate and lost.

  Then two days before Diwali, the festival of lights, Suraj decided to visit the goddess Parvati’s temple and ask for her blessing. The journey was difficult and Suraj had no food or shoes, and only a small pot of water. He arrived tired and hungry, his feet aching. At the temple doors, he collapsed and fell fast asleep. He slept for an hour until a gentle nudge woke him up.

  ‘Do not sleep here,’ said a kind-faced woman. ‘Come inside and eat something. You look terrible, my son.’

  Suraj stood and dusted off his ragged clothing. ‘I can’t enter,’ he said. ‘The goddess will be angry because I am unclean.’

  The woman smiled. Her hair was jet-black, and her caramel eyes and skin shone. ‘Let me worry about Parvati,’ she replied. ‘Now, hurry up!’

  The temple was deserted, despite the piles of saffron rice and sweetmeats that lay around. A huge statue of Parvati stood in the centre, garlanded with marigolds.

  ‘Eat, eat!’ the woman urged, as she poured water from a brass jug.

  Suraj ate greedily, and soon he was feeling much better. As he drank from his cup, the woman whispered gently, ‘Now, why did you come to see me?’ Suraj rubbed his eyes in disbelief. The kind woman was the goddess Parvati. As he watched in astonishment, her old rags turned into fine silks and a crown of gold appeared on her head. He fell to her feet at once.

  ‘Mighty Parvati!’ he wept. ‘Please forgive me. If I had known it was you, I –’

  ‘Stop crying,’ Parvati replied. ‘You are very welcome here. Please tell me your troubles, son.’

  Suraj kept his head bowed as he explained his story. When he was finished, he looked up and saw Parvati in tears.

  ‘How wretched your life has been,’ the goddess said. ‘Here, take this magic bowl and you will never starve again.’

  Suraj took the simple wooden vessel and stood.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I am very grateful to you.’

  ‘May you stay blessed, poor Suraj,’ Parvati replied.

  Suraj departed after the festival and returned to his village. There, although still poor, he was no longer hungry. The bowl provided every meal Suraj asked for, and he was contented. However, he also grew guilty. Although he had plenty, many of his fellow villagers were starving. So one evening, Suraj asked for a mighty feast to feed them all. The people were very grateful but they soon told others of Suraj’s special bowl. The gossip spread across the kingdom, and Suraj became very popular.

  Before long, news of the magic bowl reached the rajah. He grew curious and summoned his advisors.

  ‘Find out where this boy lives,’ he demanded. ‘I want to visit him.’

  Two days later, the rajah rode to Suraj’s village with two of his guards. When he found Suraj’s hut, he was shocked to see so many people waiting. Inside, he found the boy feeding many more villagers.

  ‘Your Majesty!’ said Suraj, before giving a bow.

  ‘This bowl must have great magic,’ the rajah replied. ‘I want you to bring it to the palace. I am throwing a great feast and you will help me.’

  ‘But what about these hungry people?’ Suraj asked.

  ‘Feed them for now,’ the rajah replied. ‘In seven days’ time, you will bring the bowl to me!’

  And with that, the rajah mounted his horse and rode back to the palace. His chief advisor asked him about Suraj’s gift, and the rajah explained what he had seen.

  ‘Then we must take the bowl,’ the chief advisor replied.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because no subject should have more power than the rajah,’ the advisor said. ‘Such treasure should not belong to a snivelling wretch who lives in a hut. It should be yours!’

  The rajah’s advisors sent out invitations across the land. A great feast was being prepared, and the richest people in the kingdom were invited. When the day came, Suraj trudged to the palace with his bowl. He was taken before the rajah, who asked how the bowl worked.

  ‘You just ask for food,’ said Suraj. ‘It never fails.’

  The rajah grinned and thought of the most delicious things he could imagine.

  ‘Coconut pancakes and honey,’ he began. ‘Roasted lamb and spicy chicken, saffron rice and garlic naan! Pomegranates and mangoes, and juicy pineapples!’

  Everything the rajah asked for appeared in an instant.

  ‘Excellent!’ said the rajah, before adding more to his feast.

  Soon every table was overflowing with food and the rajah was ecstatic. His guests would be astonished and show him great respect.

  The feast lasted for two days and was a huge succe
ss. The guests ate and drank until they were bursting, and then they ate some more. As they stuffed their faces, Suraj watched in sadness. Parvati’s precious gift was being misused. And when the rajah decided to keep the magic bowl, Suraj was not surprised.

  ‘But without it, I will starve,’ he protested. ‘As will many others …’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said the rajah. ‘You’ll be fine!’

  Suraj shook his head in sorrow and went home.

  For a whole year, Suraj survived on scraps, and by begging when he could. He grew bony and sick, and his life was full of misery. When Diwali was close, he went back to Parvati’s temple, more desperate than ever. He arrived on the night before the festival to find the temple deserted. He wept in despair and offered prayer after prayer, but it was no use. Exhausted and starving, he collapsed and passed out.

  Just as the first time, the goddess herself awoke him with a gentle nudge.

  ‘Poor Suraj,’ she said. ‘What has happened to you?’

  ‘Please, mighty Parvati,’ he replied. ‘I made a mistake and the bowl has been taken from me.’

  Parvati’s eyes began to glow with rage. ‘WHO HAS DONE THIS?’ she bellowed, frightening poor Suraj.

  ‘The rajah,’ Suraj sobbed, before explaining what had occurred.

  Parvati listened in silence, and when Suraj was finished, she produced a wooden spoon from her robes.

  ‘This rajah will pay for his heartless gluttony,’ she said.

  ‘How will he pay?’ asked Suraj.

  ‘From this moment the bowl will lose its magic!’ said Parvati. ‘Only you will be able to use it.’

  She held out the spoon.

  ‘Take this to the rajah,’ she explained. ‘Tell him that unless the bowl and spoon are used together, neither will work.’

  ‘But he will just take the spoon too,’ said Suraj.

  ‘Oh, he might try,’ said Parvati. ‘But he will live to regret it! There’s just one more thing to tell you …’

  She whispered her last instructions to him, and then disappeared.

  Suraj did as Parvati asked and soon found himself back before the irritated rajah.

  ‘The bowl is broken!’ the rajah explained. ‘I have very important guests and can’t feed them. Make it work!’

  Suraj held up the spoon.

  ‘You need to use this with it,’ he said.

  ‘The spoon?’ asked a perplexed rajah.

  Suraj nodded. The rajah took the spoon and asked the magic bowl for some food. Without warning, the wooden spoon jumped from the rajah’s hands and started beating him.

  ‘OW!!!!!!’ the rajah wailed. ‘Stop it, stop it!’

  But the spoon continued to thrash him. The rajah’s guards tried to catch it, but were too slow. The chief advisor tried and received a slap on the nose. No one could grab hold of it, and the rajah began to wail.

  ‘Perhaps you should offer a prayer?’ Suraj suggested. ‘I always pray to the goddess Parvati …’

  The rajah yelped again before doing what Suraj had said. Suddenly, a mighty gale roared through the palace and Parvati appeared on the rajah’s throne. Everyone at court stood in shock and fear.

  ‘STOP!’ Parvati roared.

  The spoon instantly fell to the floor and the rajah cried in relief.

  ‘Oh, mighty Parvati,’ said the rajah. ‘I am grateful for your help.’

  ‘BEAT HIM!’ Parvati yelled.

  The spoon shot up and began again.

  ‘No, not again!’ the rajah wailed. ‘Please make it stop!’

  Parvati stood and approached the beaten rajah.

  ‘You will pay a heavy price for cheating Suraj,’ she said. ‘The magic bowl was my blessing to him. You have dishonoured me! And all for greed …’

  ‘No, no!’ the rajah begged. ‘I would never disrespect you, mighty Parvati. Have mercy!’

  Parvati thought for a moment and then took hold of the wooden spoon.

  ‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘Your penance is simple. The bowl and the spoon will go with Suraj. You will also give him a splendid house and ten bags of gold …’

  The rajah fell to his knees. ‘Of course!’ he replied. ‘Anything …’

  ‘That will be all,’ said Parvati.

  She gave Suraj the bowl and the spoon, and made to leave.

  ‘And be warned,’ she added. ‘If you ever harm Suraj again, the spoon will find you, and it will bring more spoons with it.’

  ‘Never!’ said the rajah. ‘The boy is free to go!’

  Parvati turned to Suraj.

  ‘Dear, kind Suraj,’ she said. ‘May you be blessed in this and many more lives. You are a fine young man.’

  Then another gust of wind whistled through the palace, and Parvati was gone.

  Suraj was given his house and money, but he never forgot his past. Each evening, he fed the poor and hungry, and each Diwali, Parvati returned to see him. He found a wife and had many children, and lived peacefully for the rest of his days.

  The Peacock and the Crane

  Ever since they were small, the peacock had teased the crane for being ugly. The peacock, with its blue and green feathers, which it spread into a wonderful fan behind its head, was mean and small-minded, and incredibly vain.

  ‘Haha!’ it would say, whenever it met the crane. ‘Look at you – your feathers don’t even match!’

  And it was true. The crane’s feathers were mismatched shades of brown and cream, and it had a white spot above its beady left eye. Its legs were long and spindly, and its feet too big. Whenever the crane saw its reflection in the nearby lake, it would begin to cry.

  ‘Why am I so ugly?’ it would wail. ‘Oh why, oh why?’

  And, urged on by the mean peacock, the other animals would join in and bully the crane without mercy.

  ‘You look like you’ll topple over!’ the crocodile would snap.

  ‘Your feet!’ the tiger would roar. ‘They’re so big! How can you walk with feet so huge?’

  ‘You’re not even the same colour,’ the monkeys would howl down from their branches. ‘Poor, ugly crane – what use are you?’

  The lonely and unhappy crane would bow its head, drink some water and then flap its wings as hard as it could. Flying high into the sky, it would try to forget the bullying, and enjoy its miserable life. But not even soaring on the warm currents of air soothed its sorrow.

  ‘At least you can fly,’ the toad had once said.

  The toad was the crane’s only friend. It too had been bullied since it was little. It was slimy and black, with warty skin and a bloated neck.

  ‘So what if I can fly?’ the crane had replied. ‘They will still mock me for being ugly.’

  The toad was wiser than the crane, and less bothered about its appearance.

  ‘We are not put on earth to be pretty,’ the toad replied. ‘We are not being judged for our beauty. Toads look like toads and cranes look like cranes. That’s just the way things are. Mother Nature made it so …’

  ‘But why did Mother Nature give the peacock such fine feathers?’ the crane asked.

  The toad flicked out its tongue to catch a passing fly. As it chewed, it thought about how to reply.

  ‘Look, dear crane,’ the toad eventually said. ‘Your feathers are ugly and the peacock’s are beautiful, but so what?’

  ‘It’s not fair!’ the crane replied.

  ‘Forget about fair,’ said the toad. ‘What use are feathers if you can’t use them to fly?’

  ‘Huh?’

  The toad gave a belch before continuing. ‘The peacock’s feathers may be glorious but it cannot fly. You, however, can go anywhere you please. I would love to have your powerful wings. One day, they might prove very useful indeed …’

  ‘Thank you, brother toad,’ said the crane, but it was not convinced. The ability to fly was fine, but it would still be ugly, no matter where it went.

  ‘What an unfortunate life!’ said the crane, hobbling away to jeers from the monkeys.

  That summer, howev
er, the crane would come to understand what the toad had meant. The season was longer than usual and much hotter. Each day the sun blazed down on the lake, making it drier and drier. The land was parched, the bushes and the trees were dry, and the animals began to suffer from their thirst. No one enjoyed that summer, and most had no idea what was just round the corner …

  Across the lake, to the north, was a huge forest, and beyond that lay a small village. Most of the animals had never seen the village, except for the tigers, the monkeys and of course the crane. A boy called Gagan lived in the village, with his widowed mother and his three younger sisters. The drought had affected them too, and one evening, Gagan was ordered to fetch water by his mother.

  ‘Bring as much as you can,’ his mother told him. ‘Your sisters need to drink something.’

  So Gagan set off for the well, which was at the edge of the forest. The other villagers were desperate for water too, but most would not dare approach the well. Tigers had attacked three men as they drew water, and the whole village now lived in fear. Gagan, however, was determined to get water for his family.

  ‘No tiger will attack me,’ he said to himself. ‘I am sure of it.’

  And so he crept closer to the well, holding two wooden pails, and keeping a watchful eye on the trees. If he saw anything move, he would drop the buckets and draw the sharpened knife he’d hidden inside his shirt.

  But soon, he couldn’t even see the trees. Night had drawn in quickly, and the shadows had grown long. Unable to see, he put down his buckets and found a match and candles in his pocket. He lit a candle and peered into the gloom.

  Suddenly he saw something blink in the trees. It was the candle’s flame, reflected in the eye of some creature. Since it was dark, and the other animals would be sleeping, Gagan realized that he was facing at least one tiger. And when the tiger gave a short growl, Gagan forgot his bravado. He panicked and dropped the candle, running for his life.

  But the tiger did not follow him. The candle had fallen into a pile of dry sticks that caught fire instantly. Soon the flames grew fierce and touched the wooden pails that Gagan had left behind. The pails caught fire too, and then an abandoned plough, followed by the bushes and then the trees. As Gagan ran, and the tiger ran, they didn’t realize something very important. The fire was out of control …