June 22. Story of the Day: The Happy Crow

Here is another Marathi story contributed by Prof. Smita Pawaskar. There is a version by Suniti Namjoshi here based on the story Prof. Pawaskar shared orally, and then a translation of Prof. Pawaskar's written Marathi text (you can see the Marathi text here).

I don't have a folktale type for this, but it is a wonderful series of tests, and the crow never fails!

Ready for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE HAPPY CROW

(crow in India)

Once upon a time a discontented king sent his minions in search of a creature who was genuinely happy. They looked everywhere, and were about to give up, when at last they found a crow who was always cheerful. They brought him before the king.

“Huh,” said the king, “let’s see how long his cheerfulness lasts,” and he threw him into a cauldron of oil. The crow wasn’t bothered. He began to sing:
Tum tum dee.
Let’s fry a pappadum
For you and me.
Tum tee dee.

frying a pappadum

The king then threw him into a saucepan of ghee. This time the crow sang.
Tum tum dee.
Let’s make a laddu
With this ghee.
Tum tee dee.

The king couldn’t believe that the crow was still cheerful. He threw him into a cistern of water. But the crow just sang.
Tum tum dee.
Now I can splash,
Happy as can be.
Tum tee dee.

The king snorted and threw the crow into a deep ditch filled with mud. The crow stayed cheerful and sang once again.
Tum tum dee.
Let’s slide in the mud,
You and me.
Tum tee dee.

In the end the king realised that the crow was always going to make the best of a bad situation. His contentment came from within. He let the bird go and decided to follow the crow’s example.

An Alternative Ending

By now the king was so exasperated with the endlessly cheerful crow that he threw him over a cliff. The crow soared into the sky, circled and flapped and landed beside the king. He sang:
Tum tum dee.
Come fly with me
For company?
Tum tee dee.

The king couldn’t believe what was happening, and then slowly he came to his senses. “You really are a cheerful creature,” he said to the crow. “It’s because you make the best of things.  I’m going to follow your example.” The king sang:
Tum tum dee.
Dance with me,
It’s two for tea.
Tum tee dee.

The crow and the king started dancing together. At first the courtiers didn’t know what to make of this; but it looked like fun, so they joined in. And eventually the entire kingdom became a happier place for everyone.

THE HAPPY CROW

(translated from the written text)

(photo by S. Namjoshi; crow in Pune)

Once upon a time there was a king who had a splendid kingdom and a palace which contained everything the heart could desire; but in spite of that he was unhappy. He just didn’t know how to be happy.

One day he called his Prime Minister and told him to find the happiest being in his entire kingdom and to bring this creature to him.

Well, the Prime Minister and the king’s soldiers searched everywhere for a contented being. But everyone seemed absorbed in their problems and difficulties. Whoever they asked, replied, “No, no, we are certainly not happy.”

The king’s soldiers didn’t know what to do. The king had commanded them to find a happy creature, and the king’s command had to be obeyed.

In their search for a happy creature they reached the outskirts of the town and came across a crow happily sitting on a tree and eating something. Every now and then he would fly about a little and then alight and swing on a branch. He would  make different noises, and sometimes even perch on the back of cow and play tricks on her.

“He’s a truly happy creature!” the king’s soldiers cried and they caught him and brought him before the king.

The king was surprised. “He’s just a crow!” the king exclaimed. “How can he be truly happy?”

The king decided to test him in various ways. To start with the king threw him into a cauldron of oil. The crow began to sing:  “Let’s fry papadum in oil. Let’s fry papadum in oil.”

The king couldn’t understand it. He threw him into a saucepan of ghee. The crow began to sing: “Let’s make laddus out of ghee. Let’s eat laddus made of ghee.”

The king really didn’t know what to do.  The king threw him into a cistern of water. He was sure that the crow would be in trouble now and would cry out. But the crow began to sing again: “Let’s swim happily in the water. Let’s swim happily in the water.”

The king was beside himself. “I’ve done my best to make your life miserable, but you continue happy. Let’s see how you stand the next test!”

And with that he threw him into a deep ditch filled with mud. The crow began to sing: “We’ll slide about in the mud. We’ll slide about in the mud.”

At last the king began to understand that the crow was a truly happy creature, and that his happiness came from within himself. External circumstances did not affect him. Having understood this, the king let the crow go and the crow flew away.

June 19. Story of the Day: Absentminded Mum

This is an original story by Prof. Smita Pawaskar, and you will find two versions here. First, there is a rendering by Suniti Namjoshi based on hearing Prof. Pawaskar tell a quick version of the story orally. Then there is a translation of the version which Prof. Pawaskar later supplied in writing; you can see the Marathi text here (click on images for larger view). It's fun to see how the story evolves!

This is not a folktale, but it does feature the same kind of "barnyard animal" series that you find in folktales. There are animals you will find in European and American barnyards (like in The Barnyard Song), along with a distinctively south Asian water buffalo.

Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

ABSENTMINDED MUM
by Smita Pawaskar
(as told to Suniti Namjoshi)

A farmer’s wife, who was cleaning the attic with her child beside her, suddenly remembered she had left a pot of boiling water in the kitchen downstairs and went to turn it off. Then she noticed the kitchen was dirty and started to clean it. After a while she realized that her child wasn’t with her. She was frantic. She had quite forgotten she had left her in the attic. She thought the child must have wandered outside.

The anxious mum ran up to the nanny goat, “Nanny goat, nanny goat, have you seen my little girl?”

(pxhere)

‘Of course not,” replied the nanny goat. “I’ve been busy nursing my kids. I have twins, you know.”

The mum turned to the speckled hen.  “Speckled hen, speckled hen, have you seen my little girl?”

‘Of course not,” replied the mother hen. “I have a dozen chicks of my own to look after.”

The mother then asked the brown mare,   “Brown mare, brown mare, have you seen my little girl?”

“Sorry,” replied the brown mare. “My own little foal is still young and I have to keep an eye on him.”

A mother goose was swimming in the pond.  “Mother goose, mother goose,” the mum called, “have you seen my little girl?”

But the mother goose just shook her head and pointed to her own brood of goslings.

The poor mother was returning to the farmhouse sadly, when she saw her own dear, little girl coming out of the front door. The child had clambered down the stairs and was looking for her mum. The two ran towards each other and hugged and kissed and were as happy as can be because they had found each other.

And the nanny goat and her kids, and the speckled hen and her chicks, and the brown mare and her foal, and the mother goose and her goslings were happy as well.

~ ~ ~

THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD
by Smita Pawaskar
(translated from the Marathi by Suniti Namjoshi)

A mother and her two- or three-year-old boy lived in a small village.  Her husband used to go to work in the fields early in the mornings. She used to be busy with the housework all day long. And the child used to be busy playing!

One day the mother said to her boy, “Come let’s go and tidy up the room at the top of the house. I’ll get busy. You bring your toys.  Our food is in the cooker and will be ready by the time we finish.”

They went upstairs. After a while the mother remembered the food in the cooker. “Come, Raju,” she said to her son, “let’s go downstairs.” And with that she hurried downstairs and got busy in the kitchen. She was sure that Raju would have followed her downstairs. Once she’d finished all her kitchen chores, she called out to Raju; but Raju didn’t answer.

She decided that Raju must have wandered into the farmyard, so she went out to look for him. She said to the cat, “O pussy cat, have you seen my little Raju?”

The cat replied, “Of course not. How could I have? I was busy giving milk to my little kitten.”

A little further on the mother found a gentle cow in the cowshed. “O gentle cow, have you seen my little Raju?” she asked.

“How could I have had the time? I was busy licking my little calf,” the cow replied

The mother then came to the stables, and she said to the brown mare, “O brown mare have you seen my little boy?”

“No, oh no,” replied the mare. “I was busy running about with my little foal. How could I have?”

Just then she came across a dog with her puppy.  “O mistress dog, have you seen my little boy?” she asked. “I’ve been looking for him for so long now.”

“How could I have?” came the reply.  “My little puppy and I were busy with a bone. I was teaching him how to gnaw.”

(water buffalo)

And when the poor mother asked a water buffalo whether she had seen her little boy, the buffalo replied, “I was taking my little calf for a dip in the water.”

As for the nanny goat, she said she was teaching her little kid to pull down leaves to eat.

The poor mother sat down in despair on her doorstep, and just then Raju appeared stretching sleepily.

“Where have you been?” she said to him. “I’ve been looking for you for ever so long.”

“Oh Mum,” Raju said. “I fell asleep while playing. And that’s why I didn’t hear your cries.”

Then Raju’s mother held him close and gave him a big kiss.

The Cat who Ate the Kheer

This wonderful story is contributed from the Marathi by Prof. Smita Pawaskar. You can read about the delicious pudding called kheer at Wikipedia.

This would be classified as ATU 15, Stealing the Partner's Butter.

THE CAT WHO ATE THE KHEER

(kheer ingredients)

A sparrow, a monkey and a cat used to live together in a small hovel. They scrounged for food and were happy enough.

One day the cat said to the other two, “Let’s make some kheer. Monkey, you go get some jaggery. Sparrow, you bring the rice, even if you have to make fifty trips. And I’ll get the milk.”

The others thought this was an excellent idea. The monkey brought a lump of jaggery. The sparrow brought the rice even though it took her fifty trips.  The cat stole a cup of milk and the monkey brought some water in a large earthenware pot from a pond nearby.

Then the cat heated everything in a saucepan. As the kheer cooked, it smelled delicious. When it was nearly ready, the cat told the others to go and have a dip in the pond. The kheer would be ready when they got back.

As soon as they were gone, the cat gobbled up all the kheer. She couldn’t resist it. Then she put the lid back on the saucepan, covered herself with a blanket and pretended to be sick.

“What’s wrong?” the others asked when they returned.

“I don’t feel very well,” moaned the cat.

“Sorry,” said the others. “Where is the kheer?”

“In the saucepan,” replied the cat.

When they looked in the saucepan, they found that all the kheer was gone.

“What happened to the kheer?” they asked the cat.

“Someone must have stolen it,” groaned the cat, “while you were gone.”

“We were only gone a minute,” Monkey protested. He began to suspect that the cat had gobbled up the kheer and was only pretending to be sick.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he told the other two. “We’ll take this earthen vessel, and float it on the pond upside down. Then we’ll each take a turn at balancing on top.  Anyone who has eaten the kheer is bound to be heavy, and that will make the pot sink.”

The cat had to agree to the test.

The monkey went first. The pot floated, the monkey sat on it and then jumped off.

The sparrow stood on it next and flew off with no trouble at all.

It was the cat’s turn. She was afraid she would be caught. She did her best to balance on the pot; but she trembled and quaked so much that the pot overturned and sank and so did the cat.

And that was the end of the poor, greedy, kheer-eating cat.


Here is a video of the story told in Marathi:

June 15. Story of the Day: Uncle Rat's Cap

Provided from the Marathi by Shrimati Jayashreedevi Shirole, via Suniti Namjoshi (more of her contributions). As you can see from the video at the bottom of this post, the story is alive and well in India. In the video title the king is mockingly called "Raja Bhikari," "The King Who Begs" (bhiksha are the alms you might give to a beggar) -- you'll see why at the end of the story, and after reading the English version, you'll be able to follow along with the video in the Marathi language.

I do not have a folktale type classification number for this, although there are other stories that include a series-of-professions. The ambitious rat in this story might remind you of the rat in the Punjabi story, The Rat's Wedding.

Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

UNCLE RAT'S CAP

(screenshot from the Raja Bhikari video)

One day Uncle Rat found a piece of cloth. He took it to the dhobi [washerman] and said, “Please wash it for me.”

“Won’t,” said the dhobi. “Shan’t,” said the dhobi. “I have better things to do than washing your rag.”

“Well,” said the Rat.
“I’ll go to the police and tell on you. 
They’ll send four men who‘ll beat you blue. 
And then you’ll wish you had washed my rag.”

So the dhobi washed Uncle Rat’s rag.

Then the Rat took his rag to the dyer and said, “Please dye it for me.”

“Won’t,” said the dyer. “Can’t,” said the dyer.

And Uncle Rat said,
“I’ll go to the police and tell on you. 
They’ll send four men who’ll beat you blue. 
And then you’ll wish you had dyed my rag.”

So the dyer dyed Uncle Rat’s rag.

Uncle Rat went to the tailor next, and said, “Please make a cap for me.”

“Shan’t,” said the tailor, to which Uncle Rat replied,
“I’ll go to the police and tell on you. 
They’ll send four men who’ll beat you blue. 
And then you’ll wish you had made my cap.”

The tailor made Uncle Rat’s cap.

The Rat now wanted a tassel for it, so he went to the tassel maker and asked him to make a tassel for it.

“No,” said the tassel maker.

Uncle Rat said,
“I’ll go to the police and tell on you. 
They’ll send four men who’ll beat you blue. 
And you’ll wish you had fixed a tassel on my cap.”

So the tassel maker made a tassel for Uncle Rat’s cap.

Uncle Rat now had a splendid cap. He put it on, and sat in a doorway watching the King go by.

The King happened to see the cap. He told his courtiers to fetch it for him.

There wasn’t much the Rat could do, but he sang as loudly as he could,
“The King is a beggar 
And has run away with my beautiful cap.
The King is a beggar.
The King is a beggar
And has run away with my beautiful cap.”

The King felt silly when he heard this, so he returned the cap.

Uncle Rat put it on and now he sang more loudly than ever,
“The King is a coward 
And given me back my beautiful cap.
The King is a coward.
The King is a coward
And has given me back my beautiful cap.”

In this version, the rat goes to a dhobi, then a tailor, and then a woman who makes him a tassel (there is no dyer in this version). He then goes banging his drum into the presence of King Bhikari and makes fun of him: that drum is definitely a good accompaniment to the little rat's personality!

Balkoba Sangkame: Next time I'll get it right

Another story from the Marathi (India) by Shrimati Jayashreedevi Shirole, via Suniti Namjoshi (more contributions here), with notes also below the story.

This is ATU Tale Type 1696: What should I have done?

You can skip the somewhat scary clown and start the actual story at

BALKOBA SANGKAMÉ

(from the video)

One Sunday Balkoba Sangkame went to visit his aunt. When it was time to go home, his aunt gave him a lump of butter to take with him. Balkoba wrapped it up in a piece of paper and put it under his cap.  By the time he got home, the sun had melted the butter and it was trickling down his face.

His mother was a bit cross, but she explained to him that he should have wrapped up the butter in a banana leaf.

“Sorry,” said Balkoba. “Next time I’ll get it right.”

When Sunday came around, he went to visit his aunt again. This time she gave him a puppy. He wrapped up the puppy in a banana leaf and brought it home. The poor thing had nearly smothered to death.

His mother sighed and explained patiently that he should have tied a string around the puppy’s neck and led it back.

 “Sorry,” said Balkoba. “But next time I will get it right.”

It was Sunday again and he went to visit his aunt.  This time she gave him a jelabi to take back with him. He was determined to be careful. He tied a string around it and dragged it back.

His mother just looked at him sorrowfully and explained that jelabis are to be carried in a paper bag. And so the next time when his aunt gave him some buttermilk…

The tale of Balkoba Sangkame, who had to be told each time how to do things right, but who  managed somehow to get them wrong, is too long for one person to tell and so everyone is invited to help.


NOTES

Bal means child or boy, but when it’s turned into ‘Balkoba’  there’s a slightly sarcastic, though not unkind, tinge to it.  Marathi tends to be imbued with sarcasm and irony. Sangkamé refers to a person who has to be told to do something every single time and who never gets anything right. The word literally means ‘has to be told chores.’


Here is a video in Marathi:

June 11. Story of the Day: Hungry Giant

Here is another story that Suniti Namjoshi has contributed to the project: thank you, Suniti! You can find out more about Suniti Namjoshi's work here, and here are the other stories she has contributed: The Cat Shrine and The Brahmin and his Small Gods.

I am really glad to have a story about a giant; any respectable folklore project needs at least one giant! As you will see, the story is about a chain of unexpected consequences, something like the proverb for want of a nail. With her chain of consequences, the quick-witted mother makes the giant stop and think. Which is hard work for a giant, of course.

Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE HUNGRY GIANT

by Suniti Namjoshi

A giant, who was looking for something to eat, once came across three small children. He was about to snatch one of them, when their mother shrieked and explained to the giant that that particular child was destined for greatness and would bring great glory to the entire nation.  Surely the giant didn’t want everyone to miss out on that? The giant wasn’t sure whether he cared about glory, but as the woman seemed certain that it was something he should care about, he shrugged and said, “Oh, all right, I’ll take this other child.”

The woman shrieked more loudly than ever. “That child,” she told the giant, “will be able to produce a sack of grain where only one grain grew before.”

This was clearly useful to a hungry giant, so he let the child go.

He seized the third child. He was determined to hang on to this one.  “He looks perfectly ordinary,” the giant told the woman, “and won’t be missed much.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “The world won’t miss him. But he will do something that will save your life.”

“He can’t save my life,” the giant roared. “He’s a puny thing.”

“That’s true,” said the woman. “But one day he’ll go fishing and catch the fish that would have been caught by the royal chef and served to the king’s only son − that is if my boy hadn’t caught it first.”

“So what?” The giant shrugged.

“Had the king’s son been served the fish, a fishbone would have got stuck in his throat and he would have choked.”

 “And what’s that to me?” the giant retorted.

“Had the king’s son lived, he would have killed a boar that roams through the forest,” the woman continued.

“Who cares about boars?” the giant growled.

“You do,” the woman told him. “Had the prince not killed the boar, that boar would have gored you as you lay asleep.”

“A boar can’t kill me!” the giant scoffed.

“No, but the boar would have wounded you, and a wandering giant would have attacked instantly and slain you on the spot.”

The giant frowned. “What if I kill the boar?” he asked.

“How many boars can you kill?” replied the woman. “It has to be the boar that the prince was destined to kill.”

“What if I caught the fish?” the giant demanded. Then he went on before she could speak, “Yes, all right, how many fish can I catch?  I’m getting confused. What should I do?”

“You should walk away and think things through,” the woman advised him.

And that’s what he did, so that the woman and her three children lived long happy lives, as did the giant, who was vastly relieved that none of the dreadful things that might have happened ever came true.

Photo by Jan Hammershaug: The 46 feet high troll is guarding the entrance to the fairy tale grotto at Hunderfossen Familypark.

CHAIN: giant kills boy, so boy doesn't catch fish; prince chokes on fish, so he doesn't kill boar; boar wounds giant, so another giant kills him

May 23. Story of the Day: The Brahmin and his Small Gods

For today's story, I offer another contribution from Suniti Namjoshi (see her previous story here: The Cat Shrine). This time, she has taken one of the 19th-century stories and reworked it. You can compare the versions and see what you think! Here is the Mukharji version she started from: The Brahman and His Idols ... and her version is below. She has made so many important little changes, starting with the title itself: not "idols" now, but "small gods." Details matter.

She says:

I was trying to stay as close to the original as possible; but realised that in spite of myself I was altering it in accordance with my own mindset. For example, as a feminist I’ve given  the brahmin’s wife a greater role, and as someone with a Hindu background I’ve tried to make it clear that what is being worshipped is the divinity inherent in creation, not the objects themselves...  Rewriting someone else’s work, as opposed to writing one’s own stories – though I’m not sure there’s a hard and fast difference – is a strangely disturbing experience. Try it!☺

When stories are in the public domain, like all the 19th-century folktales and nursery rhymes you will find at this site, they are just waiting to be told again, made new by storytellers who change the old stories to suit themselves and to share with their own audiences. If you have a story retelling you would like to contribute to this site, let me know! There's contact information in the blog sidebar.

Now if only we knew something more about Mukharji's source(s) and other versions of this story from the farther past. If I learn anything more about that, I will be sure to add those versions to the site.

Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE BRAHMIN AND HIS SMALL GODS

(by Suniti Namjoshi, from Ram Satya Mukharji)

There was once a brahmin who was happy enough worshipping the household gods. He would bring them flowers, light incense and bow his head in reverence. He and his wife led a contented life, until it occurred to him that he ought to find out which of his gods was the most powerful. The question obsessed him. He meditated, he worried, he even took to wandering the streets and asking people. They thought he was mad, which in a way he was.

He went to the forest [as people tend to do in Indian stories] and there he met a woodcutter. The woodcutter told him that the most powerful god was probably the one who could best withstand a blacksmith’s hammer. The brahmin borrowed a hammer and smashed all the gods, except a small Shri Krishna which was made of bronze. He started to worship the bronze god alone and threw the rest into a well.

This was desecration.  His wife tried to bring him to his senses, but it was no use.  As he saw it, he was doing his duty. He brought the god small offerings of fruit and milk and completely ignored everything and everybody. One day he noticed that his offerings were being consumed. The god had accepted them! He was overjoyed and he became more devout than ever.

Then he saw a rat in the little room set aside for the gods, and he realised that it was the rat who’d been eating all the food. He caught the rat, threw Shri Krishna into the well, and began to worship the rat instead. The rat was clearly more powerful than the god had been. What’s more, now the brahmin could actually see his offerings being accepted.

This went on for a while till a cat got the rat. Obviously, the cat was more powerful, and the cat got installed in the rat’s place.  The cat enjoyed being a goddess. She drank huge quantities of milk. She drank so much that the brahmin’s wife got more and more annoyed. And when the cat overturned a pan of milk, the brahmin’s wife threw the kitchen knife at her. The cat died.

The brahmin’s wife worried about this; she needn’t have. Her husband decided instantly that his wife was more powerful than the cat had ever been.  He made her his goddess. She hated it. She had to sit absolutely still. One day when she shifted her knees a little, the Brahmin hit her so hard she was knocked unconscious. He did his best to revive her, but it was evident to him that she wasn’t all that powerful. He must be the most powerful one! He must look within.

When he did so, he understood at last that it was the Divine Power – the Great Force or  Maha Shakti – within him and in all things that ought to be venerated. He learnt to respect himself and the whole of creation. Gradually the small gods returned to their household, and in the course of time both husband and wife achieved liberation.

(Mahashakti)

CHAIN: man worships bronze god - rat - cat - wife - self

May 17. Story of the Day: Suniti Namjoshi's The Cat Shrine

Today's story is something special: Suniti Namjoshi, whom I recently became acquainted with thanks to her ingenious new novel, Aesop the Fox, has contributed a modern chain tale of her own devising. It is the first original story included in this project!

Even better: there is an invitation for readers to add their own chain inside the story. With that invitation, Suniti has anticipated what is my own long-term goal for this project, which is to inspire people to write their own modern chain tales and, if they want, to share them at this site.

And for people who want to find out more about Suniti Namjoshi and her career as a writer and storyteller, I've created an author page here: Suniti Namjoshi. For more of her stories, I highly recommend The Fabulous Feminist: A Suniti Namjoshi Reader.

Thank you so much, Suniti!

And for previous stories-of-the-day at this site, just click here.

THE CAT SHRINE

In a small town in western India there’s a shrine to a saintly cat. It’s said of this cat that she never displayed anger no matter what the provocation, at least not after she had taken her vow. Cats are not worshipped in India. They are in no way regarded as particularly sacred, and there have been no divine incarnations that anyone knows about.  That’s what makes this story so extraordinary, but, as it happened quite recently, it may be easily verified.

One day the cat got so tired of being told to drink up her milk and eat up her biscuits, which she disliked, that she lashed out at her mistress. She hadn’t meant to scratch her, let alone draw blood. But she did draw blood and the scratch got infected. A doctor was summoned and the cat’s mistress was given antibiotics. The poor woman was allergic to them and died. The doctor was held responsible, a case was brought against him and very soon he lost all his patients. He committed suicide. The cat was appalled by what was happening.

The doctor’s wife, who was now destitute, took to begging with her six children trailing behind her. They had no practice and were no good at it; and so one by one they died. The townspeople felt that the least they could do was cremate them all on a makeshift pyre. As this was done hastily, the fire spread throughout the town, and caused havoc.

[Invitation to add to the chain of events here.]

The cat felt awful. Much that shouldn’t have happened had happened and would happen, and much that might have happened would never happen now – and all this because she had scratched her mistress.

She resolved never to be angry again. The rain might fall on her, the sun beat down on her, people might say what they liked to her and dogs bark at her, she would not protest. She wouldn’t even snarl, she would just sit there sphinx-like and look serene.

And that’s what she did. People would come up to her and she would look at them with her beautiful, emerald eyes. Gradually they began to bring flowers and saucers of milk and snacks she could eat if she felt like. The story spread that if she happened to blink while they were sitting at her feet, it meant that their wishes would be granted. A shrine was erected when at last she died.

People visit it regularly, only now they have no way of knowing if their wishes will be granted. They’re working on it. They say to each other, “A good deed or a bad deed can lead to a good thing or a bad thing. There’s just no telling.”  And indeed, that has become something of a motto, if not a moral.

This doesn’t mean that the good townsfolk go about committing bad deeds with abandon. They don’t. They spend most of their time sitting at the Cat Shrine trying to understand what it all means. Then they make up stories.

(This painting, "Carpet Cat" by J. Sharkey Thomas, has a story of its own: "The rug was intended for the floor, but when I draped it above a shelf to analyze it, 'Ludvig', one of my regular models, immediately made himself at home on it, - and insisted on being painted thus." Painting for sale at Nature Artists.)


CHAIN: cat scratches - woman dies - doctor sued - doctor suicide - family begs - family dies - pyre fire

Author: Suniti Namjoshi

You can find out more about Suniti Namjoshi in this Wikipedia article about her life and work, and also in this 2014 article at LiveMint: Suniti Namjoshi | The fantastic fabulist.

Her latest book is a brilliant little novel about Aesop: Aesop the Fox from Spinifex Press. It's just now become available at Amazon via Zubaan Press; hopefully there will be a Kindle version soon. 

Meanwhile, there is this lovely anthology of her stories available for Kindle: The Fabulous Feminist: A Suniti Namjoshi Reader. Highly recommended! (That is the famous legend of the monkey and the crocodile there on the cover.)