The Surf and the Collector

There once was a kind and loving king who took very good care of his people.  He was loved by everyone for his tolerance and compassion for the weak.  One day, a poor peasant from a nearby village came running to his throne in desperate need of help, exclaiming that a tax collector had come to his door threatening to kill him.  “Sire, this man wants to kill me and take my land too!”

“For what reason would anyone want to harm you?” asked the king.  “I have no money to pay my taxes as I am only a poor surf that works in the fields outside of the kingdom.  You do not know me, for I belong to another king, but he is cruel and will not help me so I come to you oh loving king, knowing that you take pity on the weak.”

“Bring me this tax collector and I shall talk to him at once, but I cannot guarantee anything”, the king calmly explained. 

The tax collector came to the throne of the king demanding his prize.  “O king, his blood belongs to me and you have no right to keep me from my prize.  This man did not pay his taxes and shall now be punished for it.”

Money Owed to the King

“If it is tax money that you seek then do not fret, I have more money than you could ever possibly imagine and I shall pay his debt” the king explained.  But the tax collector had no desire for this king’s money, as it is a different type of currency than the one used in their native lands and would do no good there.  “As kind as your offer is, sire. Your money will do no good as it is not of use in our lands, and if I show up to my sire empty handed I will surely be slaughtered as well.”

The king, being the kind-hearted man that he was, took pity on both the lives of the peasant and the tax collector, even though he had not formerly known either before this encounter.  “Well we have quite the predicament then, don’t we,” said the king in a calming voice, “If it is flesh that this poor soul owes you, than it is flesh that you shall receive.  I shall give you my flesh instead, equal in weight to the amount of money that he owes and you may then take this to your king and all will be well.”

And with that, the king selflessly gave up part of himself out of love for two strangers that he did not even know and in this sacrifice, he saved the lives of both men and prevented any further suffering or loss of life.

Author's Note: I originally got the idea for this story from the tale "Shibi and the Hawk" from Shovona Devi's Indian Fables and Folklore.  In the original story, a loving king stumbles upon a wounded pigeon that is fleeing for his life from a hawk that was trying to eat him.  Out of love for the pigeon and the hawk both, he gives the hawk some of his own flesh equal in weight to what the pigeon weighs so that the pigeon may continue to live and the hawk does not die of starvation.  This prompted me with the idea of making a similar story about a king who pays the debt of another man with his own weight in flesh.  I kind of got that idea from a movie I was watching where a thief is caught stealing in a setting taking place in the middle ages, and is forced to pay by cutting out some of his flesh in equal weight to the item he stole.  I blended the two ideas together to make this story.

Bibliography: Indian Fables and Folklore, by Shovona Devi

Storytelling for Week 9: The Loving King

"Alright children, gather around the fire for one last story," Parashurama said to the young children who had been playing around the fire, awaiting their bed time story.

"This week we will learn about what being a great leader really means, as you will all see from this story about a king who values the lives of his people more than his own." 

There once was a small village established along a flowing river, based right off of the water's edge.  This village was ruled by a great leader, who loved his one hundred followers very much and would do anything for them.  The people of the village lived in peace for many years, eating the wonderful fruits of the land and fishing the near-by river, taking advantage of all that it had to offer.  Life was very good indeed for the people of this small village.

“I have but one thing to ask of you all, my children” said the tribal leader to the villagers.  “Make as many fires as you need for warmth and cooking purposes, but never fall asleep while the fire is burning and always make sure you put it out completely before walking away from it”.

His followers respected him very much so of course they held his statement with respect and agreed to oblige.  For the village leader’s birthday a great feast was to be held, noted by a large boar roasting over the fire.  Everyone danced and sang around the fire as the boar slowly cooked over the flaming coals and all one hundred villagers and their leader stuffed themselves with food throughout the course of the night.  Those in charge of cleaning up tended  the fire and made sure it was put out properly as the chief had requested of them and everyone went to bed happy for the night.

What the villagers had failed to notice was that one single ember from the fire had managed to escape from the water that doused the fire pit as a gust of wind had carried it off just before.  This tiny little ember, so insignificant in strength on its own, landed in a patch of very dry, tall grass and began to catch fire after a few hours of coaxing.  This small little fire then grew into a bigger and bigger fire that suddenly began surrounding the village on all sides.  Shear panic began to break out as villagers cried and feared for their lives.  They were trapped and didn’t know what to do; the river was flowing too fast for anyone to safely swim across and all of the other possible exits from the village were engulfed in flames.

“Everyone stay calm and do as I say” The chief yelled out to his people.  He then quickly began looking for logs or sticks along the river’s edge to make a bridge out of but couldn’t find anything. It seemed there was no hope.  Selflessly, the chief stretched his body out over the river with his arms on one side of the river and feet supporting him up on the other side.  Everyone ran across him to safely cross the other side and all went well until the last villager frantically trampled over his beloved king and in doing so, broke his back.  The chief had sacrificed his life for the love of his people, who did not come to his aid afterwards.  This meant little to the chief as he knew that giving up his life meant losing very little compared to how much he was able to give.  One of the surviving villagers saw this and respected the chief’s final, selfless act so much that he made a temple in his honor so that no one would ever forget this valuable lesson: Lead your people out of love and treat them as if they are your own children.

The monkey bridge 

Author’s note: I based this story off of the story called “The Monkey Bridge” in the book Twenty Jataka Tales.  In the original version, there is a monkey chief who has 80,000 followers and they live in a tree along the side of a river.  The king tells the monkeys to do as they please, just make sure not to drop any of the delicious fruit from the tree into the water or else humans will find it and come searching for their wonderful tree.  All of the monkeys obey this law but one time by accident, a piece of fruit falls into the water and makes its way to a nearby village and the king demands to find the source of this fruit. Once they find the tree they plan to wait until morning and kill all of the monkeys trapped in the tree and then take all of the fruit.  The monkeys hear about this and the monkey king plans to make a bridge across the water for all of the monkeys to escape to the other side.  He tries but to no avail as the cordage needed to make the bridge is just barely too short.  So instead, he uses his body as a bridge and all the monkeys run across and the last one ends up breaking his back.  The human king sees this noble act and decided to honor the monkey king and make a temple for him that teaches people to rule out of love and treat their people as their own children.  I thought this was a great message so I pretty much retold the same story, just in a different context and by changing up all of the details of the original story.  I also added the part at the beginning where the story is introduced by Parashurama in order to fit in with the theme of this portfolio.

Bibliography: Twenty Jataka Tales,Retold by Noor Inayat

Storytelling for Week 11: The Loving Goose

The young children of the village gathered around the fire as Parashurama settled in to tell his story of the night.  Every night, Parashurama tells a story to the younger children so that they may learn a valuable lesson to think about before going to bed.

There was once a very kind and loving man who had a wife and two daughters, which he loved very much.  He spent all of his days laboring out in the fields in front of their modest little cottage, gathering as much rice and grains as he possibly could as a means for providing for them.  

The problem was this type of lifestyle did not provide very much money or food for his family to live on and he wanted so much more for them. So, in hopes of finding a better life for his loved ones, this man set out into the forest late one night and headed towards the city of Lanka, where he had heard many riches await. 

On his way to Lanka, a little fairy of the forest approached from the distance.  This fairy had a bright yellow glow about her as she whizzed through the air, hopping from one tree branch to the other in quick little spurts. 

“What’s this? What an odd little creature!” the man thought to himself.  “Who are you, little one, and why do you seek me?” he politely asked the fairy.

“I am the fairy that watches over this forest and I came to ask why you might be out traveling alone so late at night.  That’s very dangerous you know.”

“I seek riches and a better life for my family, as I have a wife and two young daughters and I do not have very much to provide for them in the rice fields outside our little cottage”, he then explained.

And with that, the fairy magically transformed the man into a goose!  But not just any goose.  She had transformed him into a goose covered in feathers of gold.

“Oh no, what have you done? Now I will never be able to make it to Lanka and obtain more money!” The man began to say in a distraught manner, before noticing his beautiful golden feathers reflected in a puddle on the ground.

He then realized that he could provide a limitless amount of money for his family and they would never have to worry about any of their troubles ever again.  He immediately flew home, excited to show his family their new-found fortune.  Without realizing that he was not able to speak like a human anymore, the beautiful golden goose approached his old door step and waited for his loving wife to greet him.

Suddenly, as she opened the door and noticed such a sight she thought to herself , “All of our prayers have been answered!  This golden goose’s feathers will provide us with all of the money we need and give us a delicious meal to eat tonight as well!  My husband will be so pleased.”

That was the end of the poor goose who only wanted more for his family.

"So you see, little ones, both the husband and the wife were wrong in their ways and for that, they were both punished."

"But I don't understand wise Parashurama?  I get why the wife was wrong but what ever did the husband do to deserve such an end?"

"Ah, you see, my children, both husband and wife wanted too much and were greedy in their ways.  The husband desired too much for his family and the wife was gluttonous, taking all that the goose had to offer and leaving behind nothing.  And this is why you should always be content with what you have and never desire more."

The Golden Goose

Twenty Jataka Tales

Author's Note: The idea for this story originally came from the old story "The Golden Feathers" in the book, Twenty Jataka Tales.  In the original version there is a man with a wife and two daughters that wants to make more money so he can buy jewels and other material objects for his family to have, so he sets out to the forest in hopes of finding something for them.  On the way he meets a fairy that turns him into a golden goose so that his family may sell his feathers and obtain riches that way.  In this original version, when he returns home, at first the wife takes one feather at a time and sells it and lives off of that money for a little while and then when it runs out, they sell another one.  After some time, though, the wife gets greedy and takes all the feathers at once and then they turn to normal goose feathers again and lose all of their value.  I didn't like this and was going to make my version happier, but then decided that it's more interesting with a dark ending and this way, a more valuable lesson can be taught to the reader.  I edited the end of the story to make the moral more clear to the reader, and I began the story this time with an explanation that Parashurama is telling this tale to young children in a small village.  This was done because not only does it make the story more interesting, but also fits in better to the theme of my portfolio as it is supposed to be related to Parashurama and his wise lessons he has to offer.

Bibliography: Twenty Jataka Tales, Retold by Noor Inayat

Storytelling for Week 7: The Awakening of the Dead

Today is a very special day in the tiny little town of Druryville, Connecticut.  This is an odd little town that seems like nothing special at first glance, but its residents hold a very special secret.  Druryville was founded in the times of the witch hunts, and held as a special haven for witches escaping persecution.

As a way of saying thanks to the nice inhabitants of this little town who were gracious enough to take them in, the witches placed a special enchantment on the town that allows one very special night per year.  Every year on October 20th in Druryville, the dead arise from their graves to go join their loved ones at the showing of the moon's first light. Grandparents, old friends, former rivals, all gathered together in harmony for a single night of joy and reunion.

Everyone went about their daily business during the daylight hours; children were at school, adults at work, nothing seemed out of the ordinary to any onlooker.  But as the late afternoon came, everyone walked to the small creek that flowed near the edge of town.  This little creek is where the dead arose from every October 20th, acting as a portal to connect them to the living. As evening drew closer, adults began setting up tables on which they placed foods fit for the finest of feasts.  Large roasted pigs and turkeys and freshly caught fish and lobster adorned every table, along with fruits and desserts and lots of champagne.

All the while children played and set off fireworks anxiously waiting for night to come.  This night was very cloudy so the moon's light did not show for a long while but finally after many hours of patiently waiting, the clouds broke and the moon's bright light touched ground on the little town of Druryville.  Suddenly, old souls began to rise out of the water and rushed towards their loved ones.  Even Parashurama, one of the most ancient souls that used to live on the outskirts of town in its early days showed up.  It was a joyous occasion and everyone feasted and reminisced about old times.  Those who had passed shared with their loved ones the wonders of Heaven and talked at length about the peace they had attained since passing.  Many gathered around Parashurama to listen to the wise advice he had to offer on how to lead a proper life, and all were delighted to hear what he had to say.

Widows rejoined their fallen husbands and longed to be able to go back to Heaven with them.  "It is not your time yet, my love" they would always say in response to their loving wives.  And so the night went on and families were reunited once again, but like all good things, this night had to come to an end.  And with that, another magical October 20th had passed in Druryville and the deceased once again returned to the creek to be transported back to Heaven.

Ascending to Heaven

Author's Note: I loosely based this story off of the part of the Mahabharata where the dead rise from the Ganges and go to meet with their loved ones in the forest.  This sounded like a really awesome idea to me, just thinking about the possibility of being able to be reunited with deceased loved ones for one night and getting to converse for a while and to be reassured that they are okay and at peace.  I was really inspired by that thought and since the version of the Mahabharata that I read this week didn't really go in to any detail at all about this part of the story, I decided I would extrapolate on it.  I also thought this would be a really fun story to do right now since it's October and we are close to Halloween and the Day of the Dead.  This story didn't really fit the typical profile of my other portfolio stories, which also include the theme of involving Parashurama, so to make it fit, I added in Parashurama as one of the dead that came back to visit.  In this story he is described as one of the earliest inhabitants of Druryville and considered as a wise hermit.  Also, the image I chose is kind of unusual and doesn't fit perfectly with my modern version of the story but I loved the way it looked and it includes the transcendence between Heaven and Earth over the Ganges, so in a way it was a great picture to use for the story.  This image is actually the descent of the Ganges from Heaven down to Earth and the man in the middle is Shiva, who is there to soften her landing with his head.

Bibliography: The Indian Heroes, by C.A. Kincaid (1921)

Storytelling for Week 4: The Golden Bow

There once was an archer named Parashurama, and with his magical golden bow he could perform unimaginable feats. This special bow, in all of its glittering splendor, was originally created for the god Shiva, but fell into Parashurama's possession because of a wish owed to him for saving Shiva's life .
"With this bow I am completely unstoppable!" Parashurama thought to himself as he took aim at an apple hanging from a tree off in the distance. And as he loosed one of his magical arrows, it whirled through the air and split off in to three arrows that fell upon the apple like a hailstorm, bringing it hurling to the ground.

Parashurama was filled with excitement.  He could not wait to show off his new bow and compete in the next Contest of the Heroes, a competition in which all of the bravest heroes of India would show off their skills in battle in hopes of winning over the daughter of the king Janaka. There was not a doubt in Parashurama's mind that he would win this contest and marry Janaka's daughter. The only problem was that this competition was many miles away and started in only a few days, so Parashurama needed to make haste and travel quickly to get there in time. With that, he gathered his belongings and his magical golden bow and headed to King Janaka's palace, where the festivities would be held.

The journey to King Janaka's palace was no easy venture. The road ahead entailed rivers and swamps and haunted forests that no man dare enter, but Parashurama had no fears as no Rakshasa could withstand the might of his bow and its magical arrows. When he was almost at the end of the last forest he had to travel through before getting to the kingdom, a horde of a dozen Rakshasas and Rakshasis surrounded him, looking greedily at his bow as if they wanted it for themselves.
"Oh, so it's my bow and arrows that you want then, huh?" Parashurama shouted at them in a mocking way.
"Well here, have some arrows then!" And a hundred arrows were sent zipping in the evil horde's direction.  And with that, a dozen Rakshasas fell instantly and Parashurama carried on as if nothing happened, with King Janaka's palace in sight barely peeking over the hills in the nearby distance.

Parashurama's bow

Wikimedia

After a long and tiring travel filled with fighting, Parashurama finally made it into the palace just in time to compete in the Contest of the Heroes, which was to be held the very next morning. All of this travel and excitement had Parashurama feeling very weary and tired, so with that he headed off towards his designated guest room in the King's palace (he and King Janaka go way back so he always has a place to stay there).

"Hey, excuse me, sir, you can't take that bow into the living quarters area. You gotta check it in at the weapons desk and they'll hold on to it for you." one of the guards explained.

"It's a new rule in place for the palace this weekend, just as an added safety precaution because of all the new faces wondering around these halls," the guard added.

Parashurama was rather understanding of the situation, so without argument he took his bow and checked it in at the weapons counter. Parashurama then went up to his comfy bed and dozed off, hoping to get some well needed rest for a few hours.  Suddenly, just as he was getting comfy and dozed off, he heard a loud snapping sound and felt a heartache that had never been felt before.
"My bow!" he shouted as he jumped out of bed frantically racing towards the downstairs lobby he could sense through its magical powers that his bow had been destroyed. As he raced towards all the commotion he saw a man standing in the middle, holding one half of the bow in his left hand, and the other half of the bow in his right.

The name of the young man who did this deed was Rama, a strange-looking blue-skinned man from a village far away, and he looked so proud of his accomplishment. In snapping this magical bow, Rama thought this would surely be the type of impressive display of strength that would win Sita. Parashurama was left stunned and in horror, as he watched this Rama character from the top of the lobby staircase. Flooded with an overwhelming rage, he began to walk towards Rama with hate in his eyes.

Author's note: I took the part in the story of the Ramayana where Rama goes to King Janaka's palace to win Sita and take her hand in marriage by impressing King Janaka, and turned it into a spin-off story with a slightly different plot. I liked the idea of merging the key elements of the original plot line of the Ramayana with an entirely new plot line of my own, in which that bow belonged to one of many heroes, competing to win over the love of Sita. This story was also unique in that Rama comes off as somewhat of a bad guy, which is kind of fun to write about since he is portrayed as being so perfect and noble in the Ramayana stories. Parashurama's character is also very different in this story because he is actually good friends with the kings and royalty and does not wish any harm on them, whereas in reality, he is their bitter enemy that kills and hates them with a passion. I thought it would be fun to play out the events of the actual story where he breaks the bow, but put a different spin on how it happened and why.  I also added some additional information from a different point of view to give an idea as to how Parashurama fits in. In the Ramayana version of the story, Parashurama's character isn't really explained and there is no back story on why he appears or why the bow once belonged to him.

Bibliography: The Divine Archer, by F.J Gould (1911).

Storytelling for Week 2:Rakshasa Busters

As the night drew in and the moon’s light began to take over the sky, everyone gathered around the fire in the center of the village enclosure.  This was a very special night, as Rama would tell his stories of hunting Rakshasas along with his brother, Lakshmana, alongside the mighty Parasharama fourteen years ago, deep in the jungle outside of Ayodhya.

So, you want to know more about back when I was a Rakshasa Buster then, huh?

Alright, well, it all started many years ago, around the time I was banished from the city because of the boons requested by Kaikeyi.  About the time Sita, Lakshmana, and I crossed over the river on our way out of town, we could tell things were going to start getting interesting out there in the jungle.  We knew this jungle was going to be a dangerous place, no doubt about that. Those unlucky enough to cross paths with a wandering Rakshasa would be killed and eaten on the spot.   That made Sita pretty nervous, as you might imagine.

I decided that first morning after waking up near the river’s edge that if us three were going to have to live out in that jungle for fourteen years in exile, we might as well try to make the environment a little more comfortable to be in.  This meant that Lakshmana and I would have to go hunt for any Rakshasas in the nearby areas in order to keep Sita safe.  We must have ended tens of thousands of Rakshasas after it was all said and done.  It was as if they were trying to make it easy for my brother and me, with our bows and arrows and swords; any Rakshasa we came across was doomed.  One time, after cutting the ears and nose off of one particular rakshasi who tried to attack Sita, her brother released an army of fourteen thousand Rakshasa warriors upon me.  I singlehandedly killed all of them including the brother himself.

Though, out of all the Rakshasas Lakshmana and I hunted down, the most memorable one would have to be Viradha.  He was a massive beast, with long and gangly arms and bearing one single, large eye in the center of his forehead.  By this point, no Rakshasa had ever put up a good fight against my brother and me.  We were able to slay those demons with ease.  However, this Rakshasa, Viradha, was quite unique because as it turns out, he was impervious to the effects of sharp weapons.  And of course, this was unbeknownst to me and Lakshmana at the time, as we pulled our bows and arrows out as usual, preparing to release a dozen arrows on to this ugly beast and eliminate him quicker than the bat of an eye, as we had done so many countless times before. 

The Battle against Viradha

Viradha Image Source

Our arrows did no more than inflict minor flesh wounds, as they bounced off of the Rakshasa’s skin and fell to the ground as if they were useless twigs.  We were stunned by this!  It seemed that we were doomed at this point as the Rakshasa ran toward us when suddenly, Parashurama appeared from behind the bushes! And with his array of magical array of weapons, Parashurama was able to subdue the beast by binding him in a special rope that is enchanted to subdue any Rakshasa.  With that, Viradha was unable to do any further damage and they could safely lift him onto a funeral pyre to be destroyed so that no one else would ever be harmed by this beast. After performing the ritual, we discovered that this Rakshasa was originally a human who had been placed under a terrible spell.  As the funeral pyre smoldered, the man rose up to thank us for freeing him from the spell he had been forced to live under for so long.  His name was Tumburu, and he had been cursed while walking one day out among that very jungle, nearly three hundred years ago. I wanted to thank Parashurama for saving my brother and me from this monster but when I turned his direction he was already gone.  It was, needless to say, this was one of the most interesting experiences I have ever had.

Author’s note: This story is told in a way so that the readers feel like they are members of the crowd gathered around, listening to the story being told in person by Rama himself. I chose to do the story in that style because I felt it would be more interesting than a traditional story format and it also fit really well with how I wanted the story to unravel.  My main goals were to make the reader feel like they are in a time after the banishment period Rama had to spend in the jungle has passed, and Rama is reciting the adventures and action he was involved with for all of those years.  I took the basis of the plot from the story of Viradha, in the Ramayana.  It is told in the original version that Rama and Lakshmana fought with the Rakshasa, Viradha, who ended up being a human who was trapped in Rakshasa form as part of a curse placed on him many years previously. I added in the part where Parashurama jumps in at the end of the fight with Viradha to save Rama and his brother because I want the story to have elements of a guru hero in it.  Since Parashurama is a character of great significance throughout many of the Indian Epics, I want him to be the main character of this portfolio series so I want his character to have a big part in every story in the portfolio, even if his part in some of the stories is very short.

Bibliography: The Ramayana, translated by Manmatha Nath Dutt, 1891.                                                                                                          http://ouocblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/pde-ramayana-viradha.html

Week 1 Storytelling: The Viking Crew

Here we go up, up, up,
And here we go down, down, downy;
And here we go backwards and forwards,
And here we go round, round, roundy.

(Traditional Nursery Rhyme)

Three days of nonstop thunderstorms in the northern Atlantic meant a test of endurance for the Viking vessel headed towards Iceland.

Walls of water crashed against the ship’s oak bow, delivering a pounding blow to the crew through its frigid embrace. Everyone knew the months ahead of them would be tough when they first began their voyage, but these last few days had proven to be more difficult than anyone anticipated.  Howling winds and rough seas rocked the vessel violently as it passed over each wave, sending men and cargo alike into the air at points.

“This is the price we must pay for glory” shouted the commander as another wave slapped against the hull.  This voyage had only one objective: recover land and treasure.  The thought of bringing home chests filled with gold and silver was enough motivation to brave through the rough seas for every Viking on board.

Picture of a viking ship 

Wikipedia

 Sometimes when going over the largest waves, the commander would become more vocal with his crew.

Here we go up, up, up

Here we go down, down, down

He would shout to the men on board as their ship went up and over large rolling waves.

Finally, just as the men were beginning to think they might be in over their heads with this journey, the shoreline along Iceland’s coast became visible.  Things were beginning to look up for the weary sailors as an escape from the storms was now within eye sight.  Everyone cheered with excitement, desperately craving an escape from the thunderstorms and rough seas. 

The commander pointed the ship’s direction towards the North East corner of the island as it looked like the water was deep enough to allow the closest possible docking position for the boat.  And just as the vessel reached a point forty meters off shore, the ship hit a large rock not visible from the water’s surface.

The ship never completed its voyage and only one man survived.  He managed to make it to the shore and began searching for gold and silver on his own.  Though he never actually found any, he managed to make it back to his home lands, where he wrote this story to remember the lives of his fellow Vikings.

Author’s Note: This story is based on the Nursery rhyme “Up, up, up” which is quoted in the story.  You can find this nursery rhyme in TheNursery Rhyme Book, edited by Andrew Lang (1897).   This nursery rhyme is intended to be sung while playing with a baby, but I added a different spin to it for the story.  I envisioned those words as describing what might be happening onboard a Viking ship in search of treasure or land.  As the ship crosses the ocean I imagined what it might be like to encounter rough seas and stormy weather, as the ship would appear to be bouncing up and down and people would be jerked forwards and backwards as the ship hit each wave.  I turned this into a story describing what might happen to some of the unsuccessful Viking crews that did not finish their voyage and were forgotten by history.