by Bali Rai
It blazed through the night, causing the villagers to abandon their village, and burned its way across the vast forest. And when morning came, the fire was still raging and had reached the lakeside. The crane, soaring above the flames and smoke that morning, spotted the danger at once and realized it had to warn the others.
It flapped its powerful wings and swooped round in a loop, heading to the far side of the lake. But the bushes and trees round its home were already ablaze, and it was too late to help.
The monkeys tried to hide in the trees but it was no use …
The tigers ran into the bush, but the flames followed even faster, and the tigers ran out of breath long before the fire …
The crocodile crawled back to the lake, but the water had long since dried up, and now it had nowhere left to hide from the thick smoke …
And the peacock, with its fine plumage, was trapped. Unable to fly, all it could do was strut around as the flames came closer.
The crane was desperate to save them all, even though they had been so cruel. But it could do nothing, as fire and thick smoke ruined the landscape. And then, in a stroke of great fortune, it spied its only friend. The toad was hopping this way and that, dodging the flames, crying out for help. The crane swept down, and as it came close, it opened its beak and grabbed hold of the toad. Together they soared up into the sky, leaving the devastation behind.
‘Oh, wonderful crane!’ the toad exclaimed. ‘You have saved my life! You are a true friend!’
The crane could not speak with the toad in its beak, so it continued to fly away. It knew of a mighty river, running through the middle of an even greater forest, and decided to head there.
‘You see?’ the toad said as they flew. ‘I told you that one day your powerful wings would turn into a blessing. What good are the peacock’s glorious feathers now?’
And even though it knew the toad was right, and even though the peacock had bullied it, the crane was full of sorrow. It shed a tear for the peacock and all the other animals, and then flew on to their new home.
Punchkin
Many years ago there lived an unhappy rajah with seven beautiful daughters. Although the princesses were kind and lovely, the rajah’s wife had died and he was lonely. He missed his wife terribly, and each day his youngest daughter, Balna, tried to cheer his spirits. But even though Balna was clever and funny and beautiful, the rajah remained full of sorrow, despite her efforts.
The rajah’s subjects loved the princesses. They were kind and fair, and were often found serving the poor and needy. They also took turns to cook for their father, as he dealt with the affairs of his kingdom. When the prime minister, the prudhan, passed away in mysterious circumstances, the rajah grew even busier and rarely saw his daughters.
The late prudhan left a widow and one daughter. One evening, as Balna and her sisters prepared their father’s meal, the widow appeared at the palace kitchen doors with her daughter, begging for a little food and a fire with which to cook it. The princesses welcomed them in. Soon the widow and daughter began to return each evening, and no one said anything about it.
Except for Balna, that is. The youngest princess had heard rumours about the widow and grew suspicious. The woman was pretty and charming, but she asked too many questions about the rajah. Why was she so interested in him? Balna, who was quick-witted and bright, began to suspect the widow. One evening she confided in her sisters, but they shook their heads.
‘Don’t be so unkind, Balna,’ they said. ‘She means no harm.’
Balna, however, was certain that the widow was up to no good. ‘Please listen to me,’ she begged. ‘Why doesn’t she cook in her own kitchen? She was hungry and we gave her food, but she has her own house. If we don’t send her away, we will regret it some day.’
Her sisters ignored her pleas, and the widow’s daily visits to the palace kitchens continued.
Then, one evening, the rajah, tired after a long day, sat down for his dinner. As soon as he ate, however, he grew shocked. There, in his curry, was a lump of mud. He pushed the plates away but refused to blame his daughters. Since his wife’s death, they had prepared his food with great love. A little mistake was easy to forgive. But when his curry continued to be spoiled day after day, he realized something was wrong. His food was being ruined on purpose.
The rajah decided to investigate. He asked his guards to drill a spyhole between a storeroom and the kitchen. Then, having hidden in the store, he watched as his beloved daughters cooked. He saw them wash his rice with great care, before cooking it perfectly. The same was true of his curry. Not once did they ruin the food.
Once prepared, each dish was placed next to the hearth, ready to be eaten. And, as the rajah looked on in astonishment, the prudhan’s widow crept into the kitchen. She edged slowly towards the pots, looking this way and that. Then, taking a stick, she began to flick mud into the carefully cooked dishes.
The angry rajah ordered his guards to seize the widow at once, and bring her before him. He was furious by now, but when the woman arrived, she begged for mercy. She charmed him with her looks and her words, and very quickly the rajah’s anger disappeared. Instead, he began to feel sorry for her. She was just a poor and lonely widow, looking after her only child.
‘But why did you put mud in my curry?’ the rajah asked.
The widow gave a girlish smile. ‘Because I wished to meet Your Majesty,’ the woman told him. ‘I knew you would find out and send for me. The people say that you are handsome, clever and kind. It is true …’
Bewitched and flattered, the rajah grinned. He asked the widow to stay for dinner, and they talked long into the night. The rajah forgot all of his sorrows and felt happy at last. Over time, the couple grew closer, until finally they were married. The new rani moved into the palace with her daughter.
The rani was delighted at her good fortune. Her husband had left her penniless but now she would no longer have to beg for food or worry about money. She made the palace her own, and her daughter became the favourite at court. The seven princesses were banished to the kitchens and became little more than servants. The rani was mean to them, and scolded them every day, but the princesses didn’t complain. Instead they treated their stepmother and her daughter with kindness and love. And, all the while, their father kept quiet.
Yet, the princesses were still a problem. The rani wanted her own daughter to become the rajah’s favourite. Instead of being grateful for their kindness, the rani became even meaner to the princesses. Each day, she gave them nothing but bread to eat, and just a swig of water to drink. The seven princesses soon grew hungry and downhearted, but they were too kind to tell their father. They did not want the rani to get into trouble.
Instead, each morning they visited the tomb of their dead mother, and prayed for some help. One day, whilst they were crying, they heard the ground crack open. A tree began to grow from nothing. One minute it was a twig, and the next it became a beautiful citrus tree, laden with ripe green pomeloes. As the others sat staring in disbelief, Balna eagerly snatched a fruit and tore into it. The bright pink insides were fresh and sweet, and full of juice. Her sisters quickly joined in, but each time they took a fruit, another appeared in its place.
‘It’s Mother,’ Balna told her sisters. ‘She heard our pleas and has given us this tree. We must not tell anyone – it’s our secret.’
Each day afterwards the princesses returned and ate from the tree. They soon grew strong and healthy again, and could not believe their luck. However, the rani quickly noticed the change in them.
‘How can it be?’ she asked her daughter. ‘I only allow them scraps of food yet they never grow hungry or thin.’
‘Perhaps I should investigate,’ her daughter replied.
‘Yes, my girl,’ the rani agreed. ‘You must discover their secret.’
The next morning, as the sun rose steadily in the clear azure sky and a soft breeze whispered through the trees, the rani’s daughter followed the princesses to their moth
er’s grave. Hiding behind another tomb, she watched as they gathered the delicious pomeloes. But she did not take care, and Balna soon spotted her.
‘Sisters!’ she cried. ‘The rani’s daughter is watching us. Quick – we must stop her!’
But Balna’s sisters did not agree.
‘She’s not her mother,’ they told their youngest sibling. ‘She would never be so cruel. Let’s give her some of our fruit.’
They called to the rani’s daughter, and when she approached, she told them not to worry.
‘You’re so kind,’ she said, taking some fruit. ‘I won’t tell a soul, I promise.’
However, as soon as she got home, she told her mother of the magical tree. The cruel rani grew furious, flinging her dishes against a wall. She stormed to her bedchamber and took to her bed. She lay there for two days, until the rajah began to worry. He hurried to find her.
‘My dear wife,’ he said. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘I have a terrible headache,’ replied the rani. ‘I fear that I will die.’
‘What can I do to help?’ the rajah asked, with concern etched across his face.
‘Someone has cursed me with black magic,’ the rani told him. ‘There is only one cure for me, my love.’
She told him of the pomelo tree growing by his dead wife’s grave.
‘The tree is evil,’ she said. ‘Unless you destroy it, I cannot be saved. You must kill it and make a tea from its roots. If I drink that, I will live.’
The fearful rajah summoned his guards at once, and sent them to destroy the pomelo tree. When they returned, the palace servants made tea from its roots. The rajah hurried to his wife’s room.
‘Drink quickly,’ he insisted. ‘You cannot die!’
Within minutes, the rani made a miraculous recovery. She jumped up from her bed and threw her arms round her husband. ‘Thank you, oh, thank you!’ she cried. ‘You have saved my life!’
The rajah sighed with relief and promised his wife that he would never let her suffer again.
When the princesses found out, they wept bitterly. Balna realized the truth, and wanted to chastise her sisters for trusting their stepsister. Only she was too kind to hurt them with her words. Instead, she sat alone and wondered what they would eat now. As her sisters cried, Balna noticed something strange. Their mother’s tomb was encircled by a narrow channel. Suddenly, it began to fill with a creamy substance.
Astounded, Balna stood and drew near, reaching in to touch the dense liquid. Putting a finger to her lips, she smiled. The thick cream was sweet and spicy, and instantly filled her belly. Then it began to harden, forming into delicious cake.
‘Sisters!’ Balna cried. ‘Come quickly. Mother has saved us once again!’
The princesses crowded round and gasped in awe. Then, quickly, they pulled fat chunks of cake away, scoffing them with glee. It tasted of brown sugar and cinnamon, and cardamoms and coconut.
‘It is amazing!’ Balna’s sisters cried.
‘Yes, it is!’ said Balna. ‘Only, we must keep our secret this time.’
But once again, the cruel rani noticed how healthy the princesses remained, despite the death of their magical tree.
‘Curses!’ she cried. ‘What is saving them now?’
The rani’s daughter was eager to please her mother. She returned to her spying, and soon discovered the princesses’ new secret. The following day, she did not hide. When Balna saw her approaching, she grew angry.
‘Go away!’ cried Balna, trying to shield the cake. ‘You have betrayed us already!’
‘No, no!’ the rani’s daughter replied. ‘I didn’t say anything! A guard saw you eating from the tree and told my mother.’
‘Why should we believe you?’ asked Balna.
‘Because it’s true,’ her stepsister insisted. ‘She doesn’t even know I’m here! If she did, she’d beat me.’
Balna was about to reply when her sisters stopped her.
‘Balna!’ they said. ‘Look how scared she is! She is trembling with fear. We must believe her!’
Ignoring Balna’s suspicions, they revealed the secret of the cake and gave some to the rani’s daughter. And once again, upon leaving them, the rani’s daughter ran home to tell her mother.
The rani was enraged. She summoned her servants and ordered them to tear down the tomb. Then, taking to her bed once more, she sent for the rajah.
‘I am gravely ill, my love,’ she croaked. ‘I am under another spell. I will die within days unless you do as I ask.’
The rajah grew tearful. ‘Tell me what to do!’ he cried. ‘I will not let you die.’
The rani slowly shook her head. ‘Only one thing can save me,’ she said. ‘But you won’t do it, my love.’
‘Anything!’ the rajah cried. ‘I swear on my honour that I will do anything!’
The rani spoke in a whisper, through forced tears. ‘To save my life, you must kill your daughters,’ she said.
The rajah’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
‘Then you must take their blood and smear it on my forehead,’ the rani added.
‘No,’ the rajah whispered. ‘There must be something else …’
‘I’m sorry, my love,’ the rani replied. ‘There is nothing else. If I am to live, your daughters must die …’
The rajah broke down and wept, and cursed the heavens. He had sworn to keep his word, and he could not break that promise. With a heavy heart, he agreed to save the rani.
‘I wish it were different,’ the rani said. ‘I love those girls. I cannot bear this.’
The rajah steadied himself and went off to find his daughters. He discovered them crying at their mother’s ruined grave. As soon as he saw their faces, he realized that he could not harm them. He remembered each as a newborn, and each first step. They were his only treasures. Saddened but determined, he hastily hatched a plan.
‘We never spend time together any more,’ he said to them. ‘Come, let your father take you on an adventure tomorrow.’
‘That would be delightful, Father,’ Balna replied. ‘But are you unwell?’
‘No, no, sweet Balna,’ the rajah replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You’re as white as coconut flesh,’ said Balna. ‘As though you’ve seen a ghost.’
The rajah looked at the ruined grave and shook his head.
‘It is nothing,’ he replied.
They left early the next morning, and rode into the jungle. By a small stream, they found a clearing, where they played games and chatted. At lunch, the rajah’s most trusted servants prepared a fire. The rajah made sweet rice pudding for his daughters, which they ate with delight. As the day grew warmer, the princesses began to fall asleep. Once they slept, the rajah’s servants readied to leave. The rajah gazed lovingly at his children, then whispered to them.
‘My poor, beautiful daughters,’ he said, his heart breaking. ‘It is better that you are left alone than die. Please forgive me …’
On his way back, the rajah shot and killed a deer and captured its blood in a jar. Once home, he spread the blood across the rani’s forehead. Believing that her husband had done as she had asked, the rani instantly improved. The sorrowful rajah lost all strength. Depressed and full of sadness, he retired to his own chambers and locked the doors. And, with the princesses gone, the rani finally settled into a life of luxury with her daughter at her side.
As soon as they awoke, the princesses realized their fate. The jungle was dense, the plants and trees thick, and the shadows they cast very sinister. The princesses grew frightened, all except for Balna, who decided to act. As her sisters shouted for help, she went to the stream. Her father had taught her many things since her childhood. One lesson had involved streams. They always led somewhere.
‘Stop shouting,’ she told her sisters. ‘There is no one to hear you, apart from tigers and bears. We will follow the stream.’
When her sisters looked unsure, Balna sighed. ‘The stream flows to the south,’ she pointed out. ‘It
must emerge somewhere. And along the way, there will be people who use its water. If we follow it, we can find help.’
They set off at once, and followed the flow for hours. The journey was difficult because the undergrowth was dense, and they were covered in scratches from thorny bushes. But soon the stream met a wider river, and there, on the bank, they found a camp. Around it sat seven young men, who saw the princesses as they approached. The youngest man stood to greet them. ‘I am Prince Mohan,’ he said. ‘And these are my brothers. You look lost and tired – please let us help you.’
‘My,’ Balna replied, smiling at Mohan. ‘What good luck! We would be very grateful for your help.’
As Mohan’s brothers gathered round, the princesses introduced themselves. The brothers poured fresh water for their guests and cut up ripe mangoes.
‘We have a deer roasting,’ Mohan said. ‘Please share it with us.’
That evening, the group washed and ate and chatted. Balna took the lead, explaining her situation to Mohan, who was awed by her beauty.
‘We could take you home,’ said Mohan.
Balna shook her head, her heart heavy with sorrow. ‘Our father abandoned us,’ she said.
‘But that’s terrible,’ Mohan replied. ‘Why would he do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Balna. ‘But I do know he loves us. So there must be a very serious reason.’
‘So you are all alone?’ asked Mohan.
‘We are,’ Balna replied. ‘We must find a new life.’
‘Then come with us,’ said Mohan. ‘Our father will welcome you with open arms!’
Balna and her sisters discussed Mohan’s offer, and agreed to go with them. What other choice did they have? As the sun rose, the princes packed up their camp, and they set off. The princes walked, and the princesses took their horses, and along the way they grew to become friends. When, a week later, they reached the princes’ kingdom, they were warmly welcomed.
Soon, the seven princes fell in love with the seven princesses, and they were betrothed. On their wedding day, the entire kingdom came to watch, and there was great joy. Balna gladly married the wise and handsome Mohan, and was at last content. She and her sisters were safe and happy, and they had a new home.