October 7. Story of the Day: Mango Bird

This story comes from Village Folk-Tales of Ceylon by H. Parker, volume 2: 172.

It is classified as ATU 2041. The Bird Indifferent to Pain.

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THE STORY OF THE MANGO BIRD

(parakeet eating mango)

In a certain country a hen bird is eating the mangoes at a Wild Mango tree, it is said. While a man was chopping the earthen ridges in the field at which is the Wild Mango tree, having seen the Mango Bird the man went up the tree and, having caught the Mango Bird and descended from the tree to the ground, struck the Mango Bird on the root of the tree. Having struck it he asked the Mango Bird, " Mango Bird, was that day good or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree.
And looking if hardness in Mango root there be."

After that, the man having placed the Mango Bird in a gap in the earthen ridge in the rice field, in which there was water, asks the bird, " Mango Bird, was that day good, or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree,
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
And 'mid the lower lands the frolic watery."

After that, as the man was coming home taking the bird, there was a grass field by the path. Having struck the bird [on the ground] in the field, the man asked, " Mango Bird, was that day good, or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree.
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
'Mid the lower lands the frolic watery,
Keeping up old customs on the grassy lea."

After that, the man having taken the bird, as he was going home struck the bird on the road stile, and asked, "Mango Bird, was that day good, or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree,
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
'Mid the lower lands the frolic watery,
Keeping up old customs on the grassy lea,
Finding that the road stile would be crossed by me."

After that, the man having taken the bird, as he was going to go into the house struck it on the door-frame, and asked the bird, " Mango Bird, was that day good, or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree.
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
'Mid the lower lands the frolic watery,
Keeping up old customs on the grassy lea.
Finding that the road stile would be crossed by me,
Learning the defects of the door-frame's carpentry."

After that, the man, having [broken the ligature round the end of a torch, and] lighted the torch, and set the bird upon [the flame, to singe off the feathers], asked, " Mango Bird, was that day good, or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree,
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
'Mid the lower lands the frolic watery,
Keeping up old customs on the grassy lea,
Finding that the road stile would be crossed by me,
Learning the defects of the door-frame's carpentry,
Fracture of the tying of the torch by thee."

After that, the man cut up the bird with the bill-hook, and says, " Mango Bird, was that day good, or is to-dav good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree,
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
'Mid the lower lands the frolic watery,
Keeping up old customs on the grassy lea,
Finding that the road stile would be crossed by me.
Learning the defects of the door-frams's carpantry,
Fracture of the tying of the torch by thee,
Looking the smith's bill-hook's cutting to see."

After that, the man put the bird in the cooking vessel, and having placed it on the hearth [to cook], asked, " Mango Bird, was that day good, or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango tree,
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
'Mid the lower lands the frolic watery,
Keeping up old customs on the grassy lea.
Finding that the road stile would be crossed by me,
Learning the defects of the door-frame's carpentry,
Fracture of the tying of the torch by thee,
Looking the smith's bill-hook's cutting to see,
Looking at the sittings in the potter's pottery."

After that, this man, having apportioned the cooked rice on the plate, and having apportioned the flesh of the bird, while he was eating [it] asked, " Mango Bird, was that day good, or is today good?"

Then the bird says,
"Both that day was good and today is good
Through eating the mangoes of a Mango-tree,
Looking if hardness in Mango root there be,
'Mid the lower lands the frolic watery,
Keeping up old customs on the grassy lea,
Finding that the road stile would be crossed by me,
Learning the defects of the door-frame's carpentry.
Fracture of the tying of the torch by thee,
Looking the smith's bill-hook's cutting to see,
Looking at the sittings in the potter's pottery.
Sir, behold! Be good enough to remain looking out."

Having said [this], the Mango Bird flew out of the man's nose. The man died just as the bird was flying away.


NOTES

North-western Province.

The Sinhalese query and rhyme (online at Hathi)

There is a variant in the Sierra Leone district, given in Cunnie Rabbit, Mr. Spider, and the Other Beef (Cronise and Ward), p. 160. A devil who lived near a town had forbidden traps to be set in the "bush" [forest and bushes] there. A stranger set a trap, and caught a pigeon. The pigeon then told him to carry it to his house. When he had done this, it told him to kill it; then to pluck off its feathers; then to clean it; to put the pot on the fire; to cut it up; to cook it immediately; to put in salt; to put in pepper; to taste the food; and lastly it told him to eat it up. He complied with all the instructions. In the evening he went to the "bush" again. When he opened his mouth to speak, the bird flew out, the man died, and his body was carried off by the devil.

In a Soninka story of Senegambia in Contes Soudanais (C. Monteil), p. 145, there are incidents of the same type. A hunter met with a female gazelle, which recommended him to look for a larger animal. He fired at it, but it did not fall. Then he killed it with a charmed bullet, saying, "Eh! Who is the stronger?" The animal replied, "Oh, oh! It is not finished!" It made the same remark when he cut its throat, when he skinned it, and also when he carried it home and learnt that his wife and son had died of colic. The man said no more words, bat cat it op and placed it in a pot on the fire, on which it repeated the words. After cooking it for some hours he found the meat as hard as at first, and it murmured. "It is not finished." Neighbours seeing him cooking all day inquired what was in the pot. A voice came from it, "An antelope that won't be cooked. It is not finished." At last the man threw a magical powder into the pot. and the meat then became cooked, and he ate it without any ill result.

August 19. Story of the Day: The Talking Thrush

This story comes from The Talking Thrush and Other Tales from India by William Crooke and W. H. D. Rouse, with illustrations by W. H. Robinson.

There is a nice series-of-professions in the first part of the story, something like in the story of Uncle Rat's Cap. The classification is based on the second part of the story: ATU 2041: Bird Indifferent to Pain (like in The Devil Turns Pigeon).

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THE TALKING THRUSH

(thrush)

A certain man had a garden, and in his garden he sowed cotton seeds. By-and-by the cotton seeds grew up into a cotton bush, with big brown pods upon it. These pods burst open when they are ripe; and you can see the fluffy white cotton bulging all white out of the pods. 

There was a Thrush in this garden, and the Thrush thought within herself how nice and soft the cotton looked. She plucked out some of it to line her nest with; and never before was her sleep so soft as it was on that bed of cotton.

Now this Thrush had a clever head; so she thought something more might be done with cotton besides lining a nest. In her flights abroad she used often to pass by the door of a Cotton-carder. The Cotton-carder had a thing like a bow, made of a piece of wood, and a thong of leather tying the ends together into a curve. He used to take the cotton, and pile it in a heap; then he took the carding-bow, and twang-twang-twanged it among the heap of cotton, so that the fibres or threads of it became disentangled. Then he rolled it up into oblong balls, and sold it to other people, who made it into thread.

The Thrush often watched the Cotton-carder at work. Every day after dinner, she went to the cotton tree, and plucked out a fluff of cotton in her beak and hid it away. She went on doing this till at last she had quite a little heap of cotton all of her own. At least, it was not really her own, because she stole it; but then you cannot get policemen to take up a Thrush for stealing, and as men catch Thrushes and put them in a cage all for nothing, it is only fair the birds should have their turn.

When the heap of cotton was big enough, our Thrush flew to the house of the Cotton-carder, and sat down in front of him.

"Good day, Man," said the Thrush.

"Good day, Birdie," said the Cotton-carder. The Thrush was not a bit afraid, because she knew he was a kind man, who never caught little birds to put them in a cage. He liked better to hear them singing free in the woods.

"Man," said the Thrush, "I have a heap of beautiful cotton, and I'll tell you what. You shall have half of it, if you will card the rest and make it up into balls for me."

"That I will," said the man; "where is it?"

"If you will come with me," said the Thrush, "I'll show you."

So the Thrush flew in front, and the man followed after, and they came to the place where the hoard of cotton was hidden away. The man took the cotton home, and carded it, and made it into balls. Half of the cotton he took for his trouble, and the rest he gave back to the Thrush. He was so honest that he did not cheat even a bird, although he could easily have done so. For birds cannot count: and if you find a nest full of eggs, and take one or two, the mother-bird will never miss them; but if you take all, the bird is unhappy.

Not far away from the Carder lived a Spinner. This man used to put a ball of cotton on a stick, and then he pulled out a bit of the cotton without breaking it, and tied it to another little stick with a weight on it. Then he twisted the weight, and set it a-spinning; and as it span, he held the cotton ball in one hand, and pulled out the cotton with the other, working it between finger and thumb to keep it fine. Thus the spindle went on spinning, and the cotton went on twisting, until it was twisted into thread. That is why the man was called a Spinner. It looks very easy to do, when you can do it; but it is really very hard to do well.

To this Spinner the Thrush came, and after bidding him good day, said she, "Mr. Spinner, I have some balls of cotton all ready to spin into thread. Will you spin one half of them into thread for me, if I give you the other half?"

"That I will," said Mr. Spinner; and away they went to find the cotton balls, Thrush first and Spinner following.

In a very few days the Spinner had spun all the cotton into the finest thread. Then he took a pair of scales, and weighed it into two equal parts (he was an honest man, too): half he kept for himself, and the other half he gave to the Thrush.

The next thing this clever Thrush did was to fly to the house of a Weaver. The Weaver used to buy thread, and fasten a number of threads to a wooden frame, called a loom, which was made of two upright posts, with another bar fastened across the top. The threads were hung to the cross-bar, and a little stone was tied to the bottom of each, to keep it steady. Then the Weaver wound some more thread around a long stick called a shuttle; and the shuttle he pushed in front of one thread and behind the next, until it had gone right across the whole of the threads, in and out. Then he pushed it back in the same way, and after a bit, the upright threads and the cross-threads were woven together and made a piece of cloth.

The Thrush flew down to the Weaver, and they made the same bargain as before. The Weaver wove all the thread into pieces of cloth, and half he kept for himself, but the other half he returned to the Thrush.

So now the Thrush had some beautiful cloth, and I dare say you wonder what she wanted it for. As you have not been inquisitive, I will tell you: she wanted clothes to dress herself. The Thrush had noticed that men and women walking about wore clothes, and being an ambitious Thrush, and eager to rise in the world, she felt it would not be proper to go about without any clothes on. 

So she now went to a Tailor, and said to him, "Good Mr. Tailor, I have some pieces of very fine cloth, and I should be much obliged if you would make a part of it into clothes for me. You shall have one half of the cloth for your trouble."

The Tailor was very glad of this job, as times were slack. So he took the cloth, and at once set to work. Half of it he made into a beautiful dress for the Thrush, with a skirt and jacket, and sleeves in the latest fashion; and as there was a little cloth left over, and he was an honest Tailor, he made her also a pretty little hat to put on her head.

Then the Thrush was indeed delighted, and felt there was little more to desire in the world. She put on her skirt, and her jacket with fashionable sleeves, and the little hat, and looked at her image in a river, and was mightily pleased with herself. Now she became so vain that nothing would do, but she must show herself to the King.

So she flew and flew, and away she flew, until she came to the King's palace. Into the King's palace she flew, and into the great hall where the King sat and the Queen and all the courtiers. There was a peg high up on the wall, and the Thrush perched on this peg, and began to sing.

"Oh, look there!" cried the Queen, who was the first to see this wonderful sight—"see, a Thrush in a jacket and skirt and a pretty hat!"

Everybody looked at the Thrush singing on her peg, and clapped their hands.

"Come here, Birdie," said the King, "and show the Queen your pretty clothes."

The Thrush felt highly flattered, and flew down upon the table, and took off her jacket to show the Queen. Then she flew back to her peg, and watched to see what would happen.

The Queen turned over the jacket in her hand, and laughed. Then she folded it up, and put it in her pocket.

"Give me my jacket!" twittered the Thrush. "I shall catch cold, and besides, it is not proper for a lady to be seen without a jacket."

Then they all laughed, and the King said, "Come here, Mistress Thrush, and you shall have your jacket."

Down flew the Thrush upon the table again; but the King caught her, and held her fast.

"Let me go!" squeaked the Thrush, struggling to get free.

But the King would not let her go. I am afraid that although he was a King, he was not so honest as the Carder or the Spinner, and cared less for his word than the Weaver and the Tailor.

"Greedy King," said the Thrush, "to covet my little jacket!"

"I covet more than your jacket," said the King; "I covet you, and I am going to chop you up into little bits."

Then he began to chop her up into bits. As she was being chopped up, the Thrush said, "The King snips and cuts like a Tailor, but he is not so honest!"

When the King had finished chopping her up, he began to wash the pieces. And each piece, as he washed it, called out, "The King scours and scrubs like a washerwoman, but he is not so honest!"

Then the King put the pieces of the Thrush into a frying-pan with oil, and began to fry them. But the pieces went on calling out, "The King is like a cook, frying and sputtering, but he is not so honest!"

When she was fried, the King ate her up. From within the body of the King still the Thrush kept calling out, "I am inside the King! It is just like the inside of any other man, only not so honest!"

The King became like a walking musical-box, and he did not like it at all, but it was his own fault. Wherever he went, everybody heard the Thrush crying out from inside the King, "Just like any other man, only not so honest!" Everybody that heard this began to despise the King.

At last the King could stand it no longer. He sent for his doctor, and said, "Doctor, you must cut this talking bird out of me."

"Your majesty will die, if I do," said the Doctor.

"I shall die if you don't," answered the King, "for I cannot endure being made a fool of."

So there was nothing for it: the Doctor took his knives, and made a hole in the King, and pulled out the Thrush. Strange to say, the pieces of the Thrush had all joined together again, and away she flew; but her beautiful clothes were all gone. 

However, it was a lesson she never forgot; and after that, she slept soft in her nest of cotton, and never again tried to ape her betters. 

As for the King, he died; and a good riddance too. His son became king in his stead; and all life long he remembered his father's miserable death, and kept all his promises to men, and beasts, and birds.

NOTES

Told by Káshi Prasád, village school, Bhingá, district

Bahráich, Oudh.

Man sows cotton-seeds in garden—Phudki bird sees him—Makes her nest of the cotton—Goes to a Behana, and says, "If I bring you cotton, will you card it, and give me half, keeping half yourself?"—He does so—"Now make it into balls" (Piuni)—Does so on the same terms—A Kori spins thread on the same terms—And weaves it into cloth—Similarly a tailor makes it into clothes—She flies to court and sits on a peg—Says the King, "Give me your suit"—She does so, and says, "The King covets my suit"—"Come here, and I will return it"—She comes, and he catches her—"I will cut you in pieces"—"The King will cut me in pieces to-day"—He cuts her up and tells his servant to wash them—"To-day the King is washing and cleaning"—Puts her in a pan of oil—"To-day the King is frying me in oil"—Eats her—"I shall go into the King's stomach"—The Bird puts out its head—Two soldiers attempt to cut it off and mutilate the King so that he dies.

The motif is much the same as in No. 2 of the collection. The pieces of the Thrush speak like the fish in the tale of the "Fisherman and the Jinni" (Burton, "Arabian Nights," Library Edition, I. 59).[198]

August 18. Story of the Day: Devil Turns Pigeon

This is from the West African Folktales collected by Florence M. Cronise and edited by Henry Ward, with illustrations by Gerald Sichel.

You will see from the way the authors frame the story (in the notes below the story) that they felt culturally superior in every way to the people of Sierra Leone. Nevertheless, the work they did to collect and publish the stories stories themselves is invaluable, providing an important record of West African folktales as told in the late 19th century. For what I think is an American 19th-century relative of this story, see the African-American folk rhyme Fishing Simon.

This story is classified as ATU 2041. The Bird Indifferent to Pain.

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THE DEVIL TURNS PIGEON  

One big debble ho'se bin close by one town. Dem debble wey bin deh, dem bad. Dey say, "Make nobody no fo' set trap inside de bush."

So one 'tranger come to de town. All man tell um say, "No fo' set trap inside dah bush (forest),' but he deny; he make 'tronger head, he say he mus' set trap deh.

So he go make trap. Wen he set dis trap inside de bush, soon one pigeon go inside de trap. Dis bird nar debble wey bin turn bird en go inside de trap.

De bird begin cry, he say, "Daddy, come loose me."

So de 'tranger go loose de pigeon, he put um one side.

De pigeon cry agin, he say, "Daddy, kare me go nah ho'se. (De pigeon duh say so)."

So de man take de pigeon, he kare um go nah ho'se.

De pigeon cry, "Daddy, kill me one tem."

Wen de man done kill um, he say, "Daddy, pull de fedder 'pon me."

Wen de man done pull de fedder, de pigeon say, "Clean me."

Wen he done clean um, de pigeon say, "Put pot nah fiah."

Wen he done put de pot, de pigeon say, "Cut, cut me."

Wen de man done cut um, he say, "Put me nah pot, cook me one tem."

Den de man cook um.

Now de pigeon say, "Daddy, put salt,' en he put salt. He say put peppy, en he put peppy.

So de pigeon say, "Tase de salt, ef he go do nah de soup."

Now de pigeon say de soup done. Wen he done cole, de pigeon say, "Pull me, make yo' yeat me."

Well, w'en de man yeat um he lef half.

De pigeon say, "Yeat me all." He yeat all.

Evenin' tem de man go nah bush agin. Jus' he reach nah bush, he open he mout' fo' talk. Jus' he open um de bird fly f'om he mout' go 'way, en hese'f fa' down, he die. W'en de people look fo' um all inside de bush, dey no see um, de debble done kare um go.

So deny no good. Ef pusson tell yo' say, "No do dis t'ing, yo' no mus' make 'tronger head."

NOTES

The dreadful consequences that might be expected to follow upon a headstrong course, Sobah set off with solemn look and awed tone; then shaking his head warningly, he concluded with the proverb: Ef yo' wan' yeat out de debble he yown bowl, make yo' get 'poon wid long handle.  The story echoed a feeling a universal childhood, the undefined dread of some mysterious visitation upon disobedience and kindred sins that finds expression in the goblin stories of all tongues. Konah felt it keenly, being impressed as much by the solmen manner of the recital, as by the matter of the story. The older ones too, being but grown up children, were filled with much of the same vague awe, but years had dulled the keenness of their spiritual sensibilities. After some desultory talk on less serious matters, the men stretched out on the floor of the hut and were soon asleep.

June 21. Story of the Day: Fishing Simon

This song comes from Negro Folk Rhymes by Thomas Talley, the first African-American to publish a book of folk rhymes and songs; you can read more about the remarkable Dr. Talley at Wikipedia.

Based on the West African story about a pigeon who behaves very much like the fish in this story, I've decided this story can be classified as ATU 2041. The Bird Indifferent to Pain. Luckily for the hero of this story, the fish are not as dangerous as the devil-pigeon! You can read that story here: The Devil Turns Pigeon. The indestructible bird also shows up in stories from India like The Mango Bird. I like this fish version the best though!

I enjoyed finding this story even more because a friend of mine's son, named Simon, is a professional fishing guide in east Texas (Lake Livingston); here's his site: Simon Cosper's Get the Net Guide Service. Luckily, he has not met any supernatural fish like the one in this story!

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

FISHING SIMON

Simon tuck his hook an' pole,
An' fished on Sunday we's been told.
Fish dem water death bells ring,
Talk from out'n de water, sing—

"Bait yō' hook, Simon!
Drap yō' line, Simon!
Now ketch me, Simon!
Pull me out, Simon!
Take me home, Simon!
Now clean me, Simon!
Cut me up now, Simon!
Now salt me, Simon!
Now fry me, Simon!
Dish me up now, Simon!
Eat me all, Simon!"

Simon e't till he wus full.
Still dat fish keep his plate full.
Simon want no mō' at all,
Fish say dat he mus' eat all.
Simon's sick, so he throw up!
He give Sunday fishin' up.

(pixabay)

ATU 2041. The Bird Indifferent to Pain

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At this site:
Parker. The Mango Bird
Crooke-Rouse. The Talking Thrush
Cronise. The Devil Turns Pigeon
Talley. Fishing Simon

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Z49.3 [ATU 2041] The bird indifferent to pain. A man catches a mango-bird eating mangoes and strikes it against the roots of a mango tree. The bird cannot be made to say it suffers from the blow. In turn, he puts it in water, strikes it on the ground, a stile, a doorframe, singes its feathers, cuts it up, cooks it, and eats it. The bird always expresses indifference in a cumulative rhyme. At last the bird asks him to look out of the window, whereupon it flies out of his nose and the man dies.