The Mythographer

The tiger in Korean folk tales

2007-03-01T16:59:01Z

Of all the spirits and goblins that haunted Korean stories, no imaginary creature was more fearsome than the very real Siberian tiger. The tigers in those mountains were easily three times the weight of a strong man, with a pelt thick against sword and spear, paws like maces and teeth like knives, capable of killing a man in a single bite. Try to run, and a tiger will be on your back in two bounds. Climb, swim, jump? Never, a tiger can get up a tree or cross a river far faster than you can.

The Koreans have long identified the tiger as their symbol—some even claim that their peninsula has the shape of a tiger crouching to strike. The origin story of the capital of Pyongyang says that once a bear and a tiger prayed each day by a sandalwood tree to become human. The Prince of Heaven came to them bearing several cloves of garlic and a sheaf of mugwort, saying that if they could stay in a cave for one hundred days, eating only the plants he gave them, they could be transformed. The bear endured the trial, becoming a beautiful woman, and eventually the mother of Korea’s first king, but the tiger failed, saying he could not bear the confinement. Not even the promised blessings of a god could cage the spirit of the great tiger.

Pray, hide, lock your door, pen your animals. Quell your fear with stories of greedy beasts, sometimes a little foolish and passionate, bound by their taste for blood to the world of men.

The Filial Tiger
In Masan, there once lived a fierce tiger that would attack and kill any woman he found in the woods wearing a blue skirt. This tiger was once a good, filial man, Hong Do-ryong, who sacrificed his humanity to save his mother from death.

Hong dearly loved his mother, and when she fell deathly ill, he bought every medicine he could afford, and summoned doctors from miles around to cure her. Nothing worked, and he soon found himself in financial ruin. In desperation, he turned to prayer, and secluded himself in the mountains. Precious days passed in meditation and purification rituals. Finally, a spirit appeared to him, and said: "Prepare medicine from the bodies of one hundred dogs, and your mother will be cured."

This was more than Hong could bear. He had spent all his money on medicine and doctors—how was he to buy even one dog? He wept, saying, "If I was a tiger, I could catch and kill one hundred dogs. If only I was a tiger!" Days passed in misery and prayer, when the same spirit appeared before him with a spell scroll that would allow him to transform into a tiger at will.

Every night while his family slept, Hong chanted the spell and shed his skin. He hunted the village for dogs, dragging their bodies back to his doorstep. He would then read the scroll and change back to human form. In the morning, his wife would find the dead dogs, and cook them into medicine for his mother. In this way, his mother grew healthier day by day.

Hong’s wife, however, suspected something was amiss when her husband was absent every night, and stayed awake on the hundredth night to find out what he was up to. She watched him take out the spell, read it, turn into a tiger, and run from the house. In her fright and revulsion, she took the scroll from its hiding place and burned it.

Hong dragged the hundredth dog home, and looked in vain for the spell to change him back into a man. The horror of the situation was too much—the last dog would cure his mother completely, but he was stuck as a tiger, never to be with her again. Roaring in his grief and fury, he hunted down his panicked wife and killed her. So fell this pious man.

Ever after, he was reminded of his wife, and roamed the outskirts of his village, looking for women who wore blue skirts like the one she wore on that hundredth day. Women who valued their lives entered the mountain forests in white, lest they too come across the tiger, whose eyes forever dripped human tears.

The Curse of the Only Son
Once there was a boy who was an only son. For the last nine generations, his ancestors had only ever had single sons, for the boys were cursed with ho-sig—the doom of being eaten by a tiger. This fate had always occurred on the same hour, date, and age of every male member of that cursed family. When the village fortune teller confirmed that he too was to meet the same fate, and that the date was merely months away, the boy saw no use in staying around to wait for death to find him. Leaving his home and crying parents behind, he wandered around until he came to Seoul, where he found another fortune teller’s stall. The boy counted the coins he had left: 100 yang. He set aside half of them, and gave 50 to the fortuneteller, hoping to hear a different fate than the one he knew he had in store. Sadly, this fortuneteller also saw the same dark vision—death from the jaws of a tiger. Then, the fortuneteller thought further.

"There is a way to escape your fate," he said. "You must go to Minister Gim’s house here in Seoul. If you are in his daughter’s chamber at the exact time of your foreordained death, you will be able to cheat destiny."

The boy easily found the Minister’s stately home in town, but getting past the guards posted at the 12 gates of the residence was a different matter. Try as he might, there was no easy way to slip into the house undetected. However, he was able to find a cottage nearby, where the aunt of the Minister’s daughter lived. He told her his story, and she agreed to let him board there while he tried to devise a safe way to enter the Minister’s home.

Soon, they hit upon a plan. On the night before his fated death, the girl’s aunt made a sumptuous meal for all the guards, and filled their cups with wine as soon as they were empty. While the guards dozed at their posts, the boy and the old woman slipped into the house and into the inner chambers. The daughter was away at dinner, so the aunt quickly hid the boy behind a screen, then waited for the girl to come back. As the daughter returned, her aunt said, "Dear niece, I had made these treats for you, but as you’ve just come back from dinner, I’ll just set them here behind the screen." The aunt then left, taking a route that would ensure that she would not be seen by the servants or family.

Soon, the girl decided to see what kind of sweets her aunt had made for her. She pulled back the screen, and cried out in shock to see a boy sitting there. Thinking he was a ghost, she began to recite The Book of Changes (Zu-Yŏg), to no effect—he simply sat before her dejectedly. She confronted him then: "Are you a human or a spirit? What are you doing here?" He told her his story, and she felt sorry for his plight. She hid him in the closet, in hopes that they could together thwart his destiny.

Hours passed, and the daughter of Minister Yi came to visit. The two girls chatted for a while, then Minister Gim’s daughter asked, "What would you do if someone came to your home who needed your help more than anything?" "That’s simple," said Miss Yi, "I’d do everything in my power to help them." With that, Miss Gim led Miss Yi to the closet and revealed the boy hidden there. The girls agreed to save him from death, and decided to keep watch over him through the night.

At midnight, they heard a grunt, and the sound of rough breath under the door. A heavy thump, as of a great paw, sounded on the door.
"I beg you, girls, let me in so that I can kill that boy," growled an inhuman voice. "Shame on you, you violent beast," scolded the two girls. "Not only is it an unforgivable sin to devour a man, but nobody is allowed in this house uninvited! We’re not letting you in."

"Please," begged the tiger, wedging a paw under the door, "I have to eat him! I have eaten ninety-nine only sons, and he is the hundredth. If I eat him, then I can finally become a man!" The girls stoutly refused, blocked the door, and recited again from the Zu-Yŏg. The tiger growled angrily, and stalked around, trying to find a way inside the room. Eventually, first light came, and the tiger left.

The brave girls then went to the closet and found the boy half-dead from fright. They gave him rice gruel and let him recover his senses. When he was quite himself again, he proved to be bright and articulate, and the girls encouraged him to try his luck at the Imperial Civil Service exam that was to take place the next day. The girls found out the subject of the exam, and together the three composed a verse that he could use in the exam.

As it happened, the Ministers Gim and Yi were also the proctors for the test. The boy’s verse was good enough for him to pass the test with flying colors, and the examiners found him to be of fine character as well. They offered him their daughters in marriage, and he gladly accepted the hands of those brave, clever girls. Together the three went back to his hometown and settled down, the family curse lifted for good.

The Tiger Priest
A traveler named Osŏng Buwŏn-Gun once got very lost in the open hills, and found himself hopelessly turned around, with night fast approaching. As the light failed, a path suddenly opened to him, and he followed it to a gated manor hidden deep in a valley. He proceeded through its gates, and found no one at any of the guard posts. At the twelfth gate, he entered the main courtyard. Inside, a lovely girl sat weeping.

"My lady," he said, "I am lost in these mountains, and found my way to your home. May I ask why you are crying?"

The girl passed the whitest of hands over her eyes and said, "Please, if you wish to live, you must flee this place. Staying here would surely mean your death."

Osŏng refused to leave, and insisted on knowing her trouble. She eventually told him the whole story.

"Once, I lived here in comfort with my father and brothers, but one day, a priest from a mountain temple came and demanded my hand in marriage. When my father and brothers refused him, his rage was terrible. He slaughtered my family, and he returns tonight for me. If you stay, he’ll kill you, too."

Osŏng vowed to save her, and hid with his sword drawn in the hall closet, waiting for the priest to come back for the girl. The evil priest entered the room at midnight, and the girl pretended as if nothing had happened. Smiling, she plied the priest with her strongest wine, and the priest drank heavily. Soon, he was snoring on the floor. Osŏng leaped out from his hiding place, swiftly put out the priest’s eyes, and was on the verge of cutting the evil man’s throat, when the priest surged up with an enraged roar. The priest thrashed and swung his arms, crazed with pain and blindness, but Osŏng kept him at sword’s point. It was only after he was wounded several times that the priest staggered and fell… and as the body cooled, it changed. The priest was not a man at all, but an enormous golden tiger.

The girl was relieved and grateful to Osŏng, so much so that she invited him to dine with her and stay until the morning. But Osŏng was terrified by what had happened, and wanted nothing further to do with the place. She followed him to the last gate to say goodbye, and, when he had finally gone, she hung herself from the crossbeam of the gate, no longer able to endure her loneliness and misfortune.

Years later, Osŏng Buwŏn-Gun became a general at the head of all the armies. War broke out across the land, and he led his men against a force of two hundred thousand strong. He found himself in a fierce battle, where victory seemed to hang in the balance. In the heat of combat, a yellow silk handkerchief descended from heaven and wound itself around his sword—he could not move it, no matter how hard he tried. His enemies descended upon him, and he fell unconscious on the battlefield. In his pain-hazed visions, he saw the girl from the cursed house, weeping bitterly as she turned into the swatch of yellow silk. Even though it was a dream, he realized what he had done.

"Forgive, me, my lady. I have wronged you."

Upon recovering his senses, he made his way as fast as he could to the house in the valley, and found her body at the last gate. Though years had past, she swung from the beam, her sweet, bright eyes still open, her body unmarred by decay. He cut her down from the gate and took her gently in his arms, holding her until her eyes closed. With the greatest of respect, he buried the girl next to her father and brothers.

With this sad task behind him, he led his men into the last battle. The enemy general was on the point of defeating Osŏng, when once again, the yellow silk scarf flew forth, this time hindering the blade of the enemy general. Osŏng was easily able to defeat his opponent and win the day.

The yellow silk scarf never appeared after that day, but Osŏng stayed faithful to the memory of the girl, and mourned every year at her grave.

Pictures:
Korea in the shape of a tiger
Korean nobleman’s house
Mountain spirit, with tiger

Exorcism: I am not familiar with the use of the I Ching as a tool of exorcism and would love to be pointed in the direction of more references.

As mighty a hold as the tiger has in legend, their physical presence is no longer felt—tigers have not been seen in Southern Korea since 1922. Some may remain in North Korea, high in the mountains.

Great line from the Smithsonian

2006-02-08T03:59:42Z

There's an article in the February 2006 Smithsonian magazine about a cargo cult in Vanuatu, one of the last of its kind. (if you're not familiar with cargo cult religions, go here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cargo_cult) The people on Vanuatu believe that John Frum will return one day, bringing manufactured goods, medicine, machines.

My favorite passage, where the author asks Chief Isaac, a leader of the cult, about his faith:
"John promised you much cargo more than 60 years ago, and none has come," I (ed: the author) point out. "So why do you keep faith with him? Why do you still believe in him?"

Chief Isaac shoots me an amused look. "You Christians have been waiting 2,000 years for Jesus to return to earth," he says, "and you haven't given up hope."

Theoi

2005-11-08T01:15:09Z

Found this neat website, Theoi Project. It was linked from, of all places, Manolo's Shoe Blog. It's a compendium of gods, spirits, and monsters from Greek Mythology.

Why are the Fae so stupid?

2004-06-24T05:07:11Z

Why can they be tricked into thinking you're someone else if you wear your coat inside out?
Why can't they help but count all the kernels in a handful of grain you throw in front of them?
In short, why does this alien race, our legendary neighbors for millenia, seem to be

The Fae are capable of controlling the crops and the weather, able to sneak babies out of cradles and snatch strong knights away from the hunt, never to be seen again, even able to curse those who offend them into sickness and death. They are as cruel and untameable as nature itself, for they are themselves elements of nature. Thus, man must use his own ingenuity to aviod being brought to harm by them, much as he uses his own ingenuity to control the forces of nature. The Fae have a lot of taboos, and one of them seems to be an abhorrence of things being out of place, backward, or unaccounted for, that is, out of the natural order of things. Here are a couple of stories where this dislike of theirs enables a human to win over them.

Dinner from an Eggshell
A couple had twin babies they loved dearly. But one day, the woman had to attend to an errand at a neighbor's house, far away from her home. She hated to leave her babies alone in the empty cottage, as she knew the fair folk were on the prowl nearby. She hurried to help her neighbor, and returned as soon as she could to her home, but on her way back, two of the blue-kirtled ones crossed her path in broad daylight. She raced back to her babies, and breathed a sigh of relief to find them asleep in their cradle, undisturbed.

It didn't take long for the couple to find out that all was not right with the babies-- months passed, and neither of the twins grew an inch. The husband claimed, "they're not ours, not mine, anyway," and the wife retorted, "Whose else are they, then!" They fought so bitterly all summer long about their afflicted children, that they became known among the neighbors for it. This troubled the wife so that she went in harvest-time to the local wise man to see if he had the answer.

After hearing the poor woman's story, the wise man told her this: "When you cook dinner tomorrow for the harvesters, take a chicken egg and clean it out, make as if you're boiling porridge in it, and take it to the door as if you're serving it to the men. Watch your children at this time-- if they speak of things beyond the ken of babies, throw them in the lake. If they do nothing, leave them be."

She ran home and did exactly as she was told. As she lifted the steaming eggshell from the coals and took it to the door, one baby said to the other,
Acorn before oak I've seen
The egg before the hen
Yet never have I seen an egg
Boil dinner for grown men!

Quick as a wink, the wife seized the changelings and tossed them into the lake. The fair folk rescued their own and returned the real babies, to their parents' infinite relief.

The Golden Crown
A young girl, with her donkey laden with grain, went to the mill very late at night. It was midnight by the time she got there, and the miller was fast asleep. That didn't mean the place was quiet, though, for a group of fae had gathered to have a party. Spying the girl, they seized her and dressed her in white with a golden crown-- for a party is a perfect time for a wedding! They ran off to find a suitable "husband" for her, leaving her in the charge of one of their old men. She managed to elude him and haul ass (or donkey, if you prefer) for home. The fae came back with the bridegroom, only to find the bride had given them the slip! They hurried down the road to the village to find her-- but they only thing they found on the path was the donkey. In consternation, they counted:
"One sack, two sacks, three! But where is she?"
They hurried back to the mill to search again, and once they were out of sight, she jumped off from where she'd hidden herself on the donkey's back and fled for home as fast as she could. The fae, meanwhile, turned the mill upside down looking for her, and, finding nothing, went back down the path again. She heard their pounding footsteps close behind, and hid herself among the sacks again.
"One sack, two, three! She's not there!" The fae counted, counted, checked, and recounted, again and again, until the first three cockcrows, when they had to return to their home. She returned home safely with a fine gold crown for her trouble. Her sister, who heard the tale, became jealous and tried her luck with the fae the following night. But they had learned how tricky human girls could be, and didn't let her out of their sight. She was never seen again.

The Clever Servant

2004-05-25T03:39:39Z

This one's in honor of Shrek 2... it's got ogres. They'll suck the jelly from your eyes, you know.

There are many folktales about the clever servant who pulled one over on his master. And why shouldn't there be? Nobody wants to hear the one about the master who made his servants work until they dropped for no pay. That's been status quo since time immemorial.
Notable in the story is a contract that expires when some sort of natural phenomenon occurs, in this case, the first call of the cuckoo, heralding spring (an Armenian version has the exact same element). With no real access to calendars out in the coutryside, this is pretty much how they observed the passing of months.
Other notes:
league = appx. 3 miles.
The Tower of Montpeyroux is referenced in this story-- it's in Auvergne.
Some of these stories contain an element of the supernatural as well... maybe the master is a witch, an ogre, or the Devil himself-- cruelty to others is second nature to them. So when a servant turns the tables on them, it's not only a victory for the servant, it's a

Once there lived a widow with three sons, hard workers all, but still barely able to keep their heads above water. Two of the boys were clever types, always thinking on their feet, but the youngest, who they called Snot-Nose, was singleminded to the point of simplicity. He stood out among his fair, easygoing brothers-- short, with dark hair, and a crackling temper.

One terrible March, circumstances made it even harder for the family to scrape by. A freak storm flooded the river, and their fields were destroyed. Only a tiny bit of their wheat remained in their grain storage. They fought their despair, but what could they possibly do? One April evening, on the day the cuckoo sung his very first song of the year, there came a loud pounding at the door. Standing on their doorstep was a huge, powerful man, broad of girth and red of face, all clad in red leather with silver studs. A wicked knife glinted at his hip. Scowling at the family through a shock of matted black hair, he snapped, "See here-- I want a servant. Your eldest will do. And if he doesn't work out, then your next eldest. And if I have to send him home, then I'll take your youngest, too."

The woman was desperate, but not so desperate as to hand her son over to this rude, rough man.
"Fine," the man growled, "I'll tell you the terms. I'll take him on for thirty crowns a year, and his year's up at the first cuckoo's song. Room and board included. He'll get an egg and all the bread it'll cover, but he'll also have to feed my dog, who'll go with him to the fields. He doesn't stop working till she does. Got it?"
"Yes, I understand," replied her eldest.
"Good," continued the bruiser, "because I keep my word, and I don't want any whining. But be warned, anyone in this arrangement who says they're not happy with it forfeits all his money and a strip of skin three inches wide, from the back of his neck to the base of his spine. That's how we settle affairs in MY neck of the woods."

The deal settled, the eldest boy got on the big man's scarlet-caparisoned horse, and rode off with his new master as the sun went down on the first day of spring. His poor mother wept as he left, lamenting that she sent her son off to live with such a... monster!

How near she was to the truth! This burly lout was actually a powerful ogre, who lived on a huge estate with a vineyard at the end of a path lined with poplar trees. His dear wife was twice the brute he was, as wicked as they came, with a flushed red face and a single big tooth like a chisel sticking down to her chin. The boy was transported by the ogre's horse to a terrible land of nightmares and violence, as existed right around the corner in those days. Oh, if he had only known!

"Get down," the master commanded when they arrived. "You'll start work in the morning. You'll sleep for now, and count that as your dinner, boy." The next day, when the boy was called for breakfast, what did he get? A hardboiled egg, impossible to spread. All he could manage to cover was a crust. His master appeared then and gave the boy his orders. "You'll go out to the big field on the hill and start plowing. Take my dog with you. Feed her when she wants to be fed, and return only when she wants to."

The poor servant had a terrible time out in the field-- what little bread he managed to get at breakfast was swallowed up by his master's dog, a great red hellhound if ever there was one. To make matters worse, he had to work until the moon rose, since the dog only wanted to come home then. He nearly collapsed at his master's door.
"There you are," boomed the ogre. "Same again tomorrow, then? What's the matter, boy? Not up for it?"
"How can I be ready to work," sighed the servant, "if I've not been fed?"
"Ah, then, you're not happy, are you?"
"I'm not happy at all," replied the boy wearily.

No sooner had he said that, than the ogre's knife was out of its sheath and the poor boy was slammed face first down on the kitchen table. "Not happy, are we?" purred the ogre with pleasure, while his horrible wife leaned closer with anticipation. "But there is the matter of that contract... that strip of flesh on your back belongs to me, now, and I'm going to take it!"

And take it the ogre did, as slowly and cruelly as possible. The boy's piteous screams did nothing to stop him from peeling the boy's back, while his horrid wife watched and laughed. When he was done, the ogre slung the boy over his horse's back like a side of meat and dumped him back at his mother's doorstep without a penny in his pocket. Though she cried to see her son so abused, she had to turn the next son over to the ogre.

Off they went to ogreland, where the second son was treated in much the same way as the first. His hardboiled egg went no further than his brother's did, and the remaining crust went into the snapping jaws of his master's red bitch.
One day was enough for him to make the fatal mistake. As soon as the complaint was out of the boy's mouth, the ogre had the poor lad pinned down with the sharp knife poised over his neck. Those two ogres tormented that boy like a cat plays with a mouse before killing it. At the end of that terrible night, the boy was dropped off at his mother's place, penniless and bleeding. His poor mother fainted at the sight.

"That one wasn't good enough, either! Now for the third!" roared the ogre.
And the third was our Snot-Nose, who jumped at the chance to take the ogre up on his offer. Why? Because he was furious! He'd seen his dear brothers and his sweet mother get so maltreated at the hands of this monster that he burned inside. True, there was only room for one thought in that dark head of his, but that thought was revenge.

"Just you wait," Snot-Nose growled. "You want a servant? Well, you've got a fine one in me! I'll make you pay for what you did to my family!" That dumb ogre never paid him a second glance-- if he had, he might have seen what trouble he was taking back home. Our ogre was too proud of the fact that he'd robbed and skinned Snot-Nose's brothers. "And now for the third," he thought. "I'll make that little changeling scream loudest of all!" He made to grab for Snot-Nose's collar, to heave him onto the horse, but Snot-Nose leaped on the horse before his master could touch him. The ogre was too stupid to realize what he was dealing with. Away they went before Snot-Nose's mother awoke from her faint.

Snot-Nose also went to bed without his supper, but he didn't wait for the invitation to breakfast, either. He got out of bed before first light and took an egg from the henfouse. He poked a hole in the top, took a feather, and painted a whole loaf with the egg. The ogres came in as he was enjoying his breakfast. They were furious, but had to hold to the conditions of the agreement: as much bread as he could spread with an egg.

The master gave his orders, a bit more gruffly than usual. Snot-nose rammed the ox-goad through the loaf and set off, the bitch at his heels. No sooner did he arrive at the hillside than he caught the dog by the throat and said, "You're earning your bread today." He hitched her by the collar to the plow, right in front of the oxen, and plowed away, filling the hills with his merry song. The morning passed briskly into noon. He unhitched the animals, and the bitch slunk down the hill for home as fast as she could go, only too happy to be off the plow. Snot-Nose watched her go, ate the rest of his loaf, and led the oxen home.

"You're home early, lad," commented the orge gruffly at Snot-Nose's return.
"I came back when your dog did, just as we agreed, master," replied Snot-Nose. "Are you displeased?"
The ogre flushed hotly at these glib words, spoken by a mere slip of a boy.
"Not at all, boy, I'm satisfied," he growled. But as soon as he could, the ogre went to talk it over with his wife.
"A fresh egg and a whole loaf gone, and back home at noon?! How are we going to handle this one, wife?"
""Get rid of him, of course!" she shot back.
"But the contract lasts until the first cuckoo sings!" retorted the husband.
"Then set him on something impossible to do," said she, "and when he complains he can't do it, toss him out."
The ogre settled down in his grape arbor to think up a cunning plan, but ogres are ogres. One hour of thinking turned into days, turned into a month.

Then one day, looking quite self-satisfied, the ogre gave Snot-Nose his daily task. But Snot-Nose could see right through him. "I know he's cooked up something," he thought. "I'll just barrel through whatever he throws at me, come what may. I'll get even with him for my family!"
"Today's going to be different," thundered the ogre. "You're going to cut me two bundles of wood, one of crooked branches, one of straight, both bigger than you are, in one hour! Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
The ogre went to gloat about his plan to his wife. "He'll never do it. The nearest wood is up on the mountain-- it'll take him two hours just to get there and back." He was so proud of his plan that he treated hiself to a glass of brandy, only to be finishing the last drop when Snot-Nose himself appeared.
"Oh, my boy, you're back far too early. Where are those bundles? You can't have made them in so short a time!"
"Come and see, master. They're just out front."
And so they were. What was no longer out in front, however, was the ogre's fine lane of poplars, and all of his grapevines.
"My grapevines! My fine avenue! GONE! Why, you lousy little--!"
"I was just following orders, sir. If you don't like it..."
"How dare you ask me if I don't like it! I'm bloody..."
The word that would break the ogre's half of the bargain balanced on the tip of his tongue, but unfortunately, Snot-Nose overplayed his hand. The ogre saw the boy's hand on the hilt of his knife and snapped his big mouth shut.
"I'm bloody...surprised that you got it done in time. I just didn't want you to ask me if I liked it or not," spluttered the enraged ogre. "Be off with you."

The ogre watched Snot-Nose leave, his eyes burning holes in the boy's back. He lumbered off to complain to his wife.
"No way that little dwarf is going to get the best of me!" the ogre screamed, slamming his fist on the table. "What am I going to do to get him to slip up?"
"First of all, stop doing things in riddles, you lummox," his wife replied icily. "Enough with this straight bundle-crooked bundle nonsense. Have him make... a big white path from our woods to our door. That's a league long!"

Some time later, the ogre put his wife's plan in action.
"Boy, your job today is to make a white path stretching from our front door to the wood. I want it smooth as silk and white as snow, and I want it by this evening. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!" replied Snot-Nose promptly.
To himself, Snot-Nose muttered, "And what a path I'll make for you, master, and I'll goad you down it every step of the way!" He steeled himself for the task and was off like a shot, going to every farm on the estate, loading the wagon and horse, darting from the mill to the woods and finally to the ogre's broad front door.
Right at the very first glow of sunset, Snot-Nose called out for his master. "Your fine white path is all ready, sir. Come look!"
The ogre came, looked, and nearly had an aneurysm. That pretty, smooth white path was made completely out of flour. HIS flour. The flour from the wheat of his entire estate. The poor people of the surrounding villages were already scooping up as much clean flour as they could. What they didn't get went down the crops of the little sparrows who were even now descending in huge clouds upon the path. The ogre howled for his wife, who at first didn't understand what had happened, then let out a terrible screech.
"Our wheat!" she screamed. "This will cost us thousands! We're ruined!"
"Madam," Snot-Nose interjected smoothly, "I simply did as I was asked. I do hope you're not displeased."
She was ready to bite his head off with that chisel-tooth of hers, but her husband quickly remembered the bargain and slapped a hand over her mouth.
"It's fine," the ogre spat. "Go about your business."

A month went by before they tried their next plan, a real doozy. There stood Snot-Nose before them, a wheat-stalk stuck straight in the corner of his mouth, glaring like a snake. They were the first to blink. The ogre faltered, and began:
"All right, boy, I want you to take the cows out of the barn without opening the door, and no holes knocked in the barn, either. Then, without opening the gate, you're to put them in the pasture. Understood?"
"Yes, I understand," said Snot-Nose. And he did indeed understand, because the most nefarious idea of them all came to him like a bolt of lightning, and he was determined to act on it.
An hour passed, and the ogres stomped out to the pasture to catch him in his failure. But there was Snot-Nose, sitting on a stump, munching on his breakfast.
"Did you do what I told you to?" snarled the ogre.
"Sure did," said Snot-Nose, brushing the crumbs off. "There they are in the pasture, go look."
And so they were, but not in the way ther ogre expected at all. Even an ogre can recoil at a sight so gruesome as an entire field of cut-up cows, soaking the grass with bright red blood. For Snot-Nose, in order to follow his master's orders, stunned the cows with a club, cut them into quarters, shoved them out the barn window, and heaved the quarters over the pasture wall.
The ogres went white, then black with rage. Fearing to say anything that would break the agreement, they howled and bellowed louder than any of the cows ever could.

Now, would Snot-Nose have been so cruel to those poor cows had he been with them for very long? Who can say? But Snot-Nose was at war, and had been since he set foot in ogreland, playing over and over in his head the vision of skinning the backs of both ogres. The old Snot-Nose, who had lazed about watching the butterflies this time last year, was dead.

Which is precisely what the two ogres wished the current Snot-Nose was. They stormed upstairs to bed, the better to plot and plan, skipping dinner, if you can believe it of an ogre! They blamed all their troubles on him, called him every nasty name in the book and even invented a few new ones. He had destroyed their whole estate-- trees and vines turned into kindling, cattle mauled, flour scattered to the four winds.
"I swear, my dear," protested the ogre, "when I saw the little brat he was sitting there with his mouth hanging open! How could I have known he would--"
You should have checked, you idiot," she retorted. "He's smarter than you are, that's for sure. And that's why we need to set him against someone who can take him out. Cousin Babouane, maybe. She's a witch on top of being an ogress, and will eat him as soon as look at him. I'll send a note her way. Have him go up to feed the pigs in her wood."
"Why, you're right, my dear! We do have our pigs, after all! I'll send him tomorrow."
The ogress sent the letter with the red bitch, who was a bit of a witch herself, like her masters and Babouane. They went to bed, confident that Babouane would rid them of Snot-Nose and the contract.

Snot-Nose awoke the following morning, alive with purpose, his mind fixed upon revenge. He knew that after this stunt, he was going to have to prepare for anything. So he decided to take on whatever came his way that day.
"Listen, you," snapped the ogre. "You'll be taking the pigs, all sixty of them, to forage for acorns in Babouane's wood. The dog will take you if you don't know how to get there. You understand?"
"I do, sir."

With that, Snot-Nose and the red bitch set off for the wood. They hadn't gone too far up the slope before they reached a meadow, where a shepherdess stood watching her sheep.
"Where are you going, boy?"
"To Babouane's wood."
"Good Lord, you won't come back from that awful place, she'll eat you!"
"Maybe she will, maybe she won't, if you give me a cheese."
"Yes, of course! Here!"

A little later, he met a goatherd in a pasture.
"Where might you be going this fine day?"
"I'm off to Babouane's wood!"
"Oh, don't go there! She'll kill you as soon as look at you!"
"Maybe not, if you let me pick this puffball mushroom!"
"Oh, feel free, and good luck to you!"
Snot-Nose picked the mushroom, round as a rock and quite brown, and stuck it in his sleeve.

Further on, nearing the wood, Snot-Nose met a hunter with his gun.
"Where are you going today?"
"Off to Babouane's wood!"
"That's a bad idea if I ever heard one. She's got a taste for human flesh, that one."
"Maybe she won't taste mine if you loan me your gun."
"Heck, get rid of that monster, and I'll give the gun to you!"
"What the heck, thanks, mister!"
Winking cheerfuly at the hunter, Snot-Nose hid the gun under his cloak, stuck the cheese to his sleeve, and headed into the ogress' dark wood, driving the herd before him.

Snot-Nose was barely under the shade of the first tree when he spied old Babouane. She looked like his master's wife, but red as blood, and the size of Montpeyroux Tower. Her pigs rooted around in the underbrush, each one of them as big as a house.
"What are you doing in my wood, runt?" she boomed, each word like cannon fire.
"I'm taking them to forage for acorns," he replied.
"That's as may be," she said, folding her two branch-like arms over her immense belly. "If you can beat me, then you can forage your pigs and have mine into the bargain. If I beat you, then you and your pigs will go on my cookstove. Tell me, isn't your name Snot-Nose?" She leaned in closer, blinking her bleary, piggy eyes, broad as a boulder and stronger than a whole team of oxen. But Snot-Nose didn't budge an inch, he just tipped his cap.
"It is, madame."
"And what is that thing on your sleeve?" she asked, indicating the cheese stuck there.
"Oh, well, you know me, my name's Snot-Nose. I just can't seem to help this nose of mine, I can't ever blow it neatly."
"I see... well, when you spit... try it. Spit in front of you," she directed.
Snot-Nose made a show of snorting and ahemming, then swung the gun around and let her have it in the face with a load of buckshot.
"Sweet Jesus, boy, how you can spit!", she said, pawing at her face. "But can you do this?" Feeling around her, she picked up a rock from the grass and squeezed it till it rained down in pieces from her hand.
Snot-Nose acted like he was searching for a rock, got out the puffball, and pulverized it. She let out a whistle that shook all the leaves on the trees when she saw the red dust seep from his fingers. She was truly impressed, and more than a little frightened of this strange boy.
"I have to confess, you're stronger than me. Take the pigs and good luck to you!" she said, already making her retreat into the woods.

Snot-Nose rounded up her massive pigs and went to market, where, with their black spots and massive size, they were the hit of the fair. He sold each one for six louis apiece, and his master's pigs, too. How his pockets jangled! "I figure I won't have to empty his pockets when I skin him," he thought happily.

Back at the estate, the ogres were taking a stroll over what remained of their grounds, when Snot-Nose returned. The very sight of him made them turn white and their hair stand on end.
"What!" roared the ogress. "Cousin Babouane was supposed to have-- you can't be--"
"And where are my pigs, you vandal?!" blustered her husband.
"Why, when I went to the woods, your cousin was kind enough to give me hers," replied Snot-Nose. "I took them to market, and there they sold so well, that I thought, why not sell master's too, what with the great prices I was getting? Are you dissatisfied, sir?"
The ogre was struck completely dumb by this. He and his wife stood like statues. Snot-Nose took his leave then, whistling.

Back in their bedroom, the ogres were in a roaring rage. The swore and threatened, cursed and railed. Then they got to thinking. It was obvious that he could take anything they dished out. The only way they could be rid of him now was when the contract expired, and that meant waiting until spring's first cuckoo song. They feared they were going to starve and die before then.
"But wait, my dear," said the ogre. "I have an idea. Get me some tar and feathers tomorrow."

Next morning, Snot-Nose was getting dressed when he heard a curious sound-- cuckoo! cuckoo!
"Huh, it's only late summer," he thought, picking up his gun and heading out the door. "What kind of a weird cuckoo is that?" Deep in the garden, he found his bird. Well, it was feathered, but as big and fat as one of Babouane's pigs, and crying cuckoo for all it was worth.
Taking aim at the cuckoo's enormous feathered rear, Snot-Nose said, "I'll teach you to mind the seasons more carefully, cuckoo bird!"
Blam! With a howl, the tarred and feathered ogress fell into the thicket, squashing her dog underneath her. In the struggle, her ugly chisel-tooth broke off, too.
"I am undone!' cried the ogre, thundering up to the fray. "He's gone and blown my poor wife's brains out!"
"Ah, so is that where she kept her brains?" replied Snot-Nose, smiling proudly. "Are you unhappy with that shot?"

The ogre exploded then and there. "No, you murderer, you destroyer, I'm not happy at all!"
Snot-Nose jumped on his master like one of Satan's own demons. He wrestled the ogre to the ground, picked his pockets clean, and dragged his former master to the kitchen table by the scruff of his hairy red neck. Tearing off his master's coat and shirt, he screamed, "This is for my mother and brothers!" His little knife was sharp, and more than fit to do the deed. Ever since the day he got there, Snot-Nose had been dreaming of the day when he could turn the tables on his master. But now that the day had finally come, his own humanity betrayed his purpose. As soon as he made the cut in the ogre's flesh and started peeling the skin, he shuddered with revulsion. You had to be completely crazy and cruel to do something like this to someone else and enjoy it. You had to be an ogre. Snot-Nose was no ogre.

He sheathed the knife without finishing the job, and dumped the ogre on his butt in the nettles, alongside his whimpering ogress wife. But ogres are tough. When the coast was clear, the ogre and his wife got on their horse, the only bit of property they had left, and ran to join Babouane in the wildwood. All that Snot-Nose took from his masters was the purseful of gold from the pigs, and his mistress' broken tooth, to make a knife handle with.

His dear mother burst into tears as Snot-Nose came up the path, twirling the ogress' tooth on a thong made from the ogre's skin. She had feared the worst when her youngest and least clever son was taken from her, and now, here he was, safe and sound, and with a bagful of gold louis clinking at his side! The very sight of their little brother's wry grin and the gold coins cured his brothers faster than any medicine. The family was happily reunited, and Snot-Nose told them his story, which I've told to you just as he did. So it's completely true... but still, you and I weren't there, were we?

Adapted from French Folktales, by Henri Pourrat, Pantheon Books.

Our Dear Aunt Flo

2004-04-20T03:09:49Z

I have a question that just occurred to me this weekend, apologies if it's a bit yucky to some.

Is there any old culture on earth that DOESN'T have some sort of taboo associated with menstruation? No "don't sleep with a woman who's menstruating, don't eat food she's made, sit in her vicinity, etc." bans? No more abhorrance than maybe a mild "ick" factor?

Just curious... I was running over in my head some of the bigger elements in western cultures in re: sex, and just thought of that. Is there some tribe out in BFE that doesn't mind it if a woman menstruates?

The herbs of the field

2004-04-13T05:33:44Z

Spring is here, and with it comes the task of planning a garden for the next year. Of all the plants that can go in a garden plot, herbs are a gardener's enduring friend, and have been since time immemorial: most herbs are perennial, not choosy about soil or water quality, and useful in food and medicinal preparations. Our ancestors saw how they livened up a dish or stimulated health, and quite naturally attributed magical powers to these plants-- and after a fashion, they were correct-- medical science is now turning back to the plants themselves for new cures that seem a bit like

St. John's Wort: I have a bit of this growing in my garden right now, under the walnut tree-- Hypericum perforatum. The first part of its scientific name means "above an ikon" in Greek-- they used to place it over ikons to ward off evil spirits in old times. It's a creeping perennial that sprouts little yellow flowers around June 24, or St. John's Day, hence the name. Its yellow flowers have a curious property-- when bruised, they turn red-- thus causing it to be used in preparations to stop bleeding. This strange transformation may have led to folks around Europe considering it to be a magical plant-- in Britain, it was believed that if you stepped on it at dusk, a pooka would run off with you and make you ride it till morning. Idle speculation--- could its past use as a means of keeping evil spirits at bay be related to its current use as an antidepressant?

A Biblical Herbal: There are lots of origin myths about herbs getting their powers/attributes from their involvement in Bible stories. Mary, in particular, blesses all she touches, in keeping with her elemental role as Christianity's earth goddess. (There, I said it. Flick your Bics, dearies.) The following story from France has a lot of delightful origin explanations, but doesn't mention the one herb most associated with the Virgin: rosemary. (whose name has nothing to do with Mary-- its original name was ros marinus, which means "sea dew".) It was said to have gotten its blue flowers when she spread her blue cloak on it during the Holy Family's flight to Egypt.

Mary and Joseph had to flee with the baby Jesus to Egypt, pursued by King Herod's soldiers, a terrible crew behind a merciless captain, their swords stained with the blood of the innocent. In the evening, the Good Lady was exhausted by her travels, but no rest would find her. Herod's men thundered down the plain, lashing their horses into foam and yelling like Hell's own host. The poor woman was in plain sight on the open plain, running for her life, but more so, for the life of her child. Exhaustion overtook her, but God's mercy had her tumble onto a clump of sage.
"Sage, sage," she cried, "save my Jesus!"
With lightning speed, the sage sprouted leaf and branch, growing high and bushy. The soldiers and their horses nosed around it, but didn't see the mother and her child. Just then, a mint plant cried, "Under the sage! Under the sage!" but couldn't be heard over the creak of soldier's armor and jingling of tack. The soldiers moved on, but Mary rebuked the mint, saying, "False mint, you will flower but never have seed. Sage, you shall bear both flower and seed."
Mary and her child hurried on, but the soldiers soon spotted them once again. This time, Mary chose an aspen tree to hide in, but the cowardly tree quaked in terror, leaving mother and child in full sight under its shivering branches. But a hazel nearby quickly thrust its branches forward, shielding them from view. Thus the aspen has ever been frail and shivery, while the hazel teems with health-- sovreign against venemous snakes, and flowering many times a year.
***
The Lady fled ever onward, and Herod's captain and his men still hounded her trail. They were determined that nothing, shrub, hole or tree, would go unchecked. But there would be salvation yet, for a herdsman's croft lay nearby. The poor man had had nothing to eat for days-- in the depths of winter, what is there to do? But a voice in his head, called to him, urging him to go to the valley and sow his wheat.
The Holy Virgin approached as he did so, and complimented him on the wheat he sowed, he in turn, praised her fine baby boy.
"Would you protect my boy?" she asked.
"With all my heart, dear Lady!" he replied.
He cut a great furrow in the earth with his plow, and she laid in it with Jesus at her breast, with the herdsman's cloak covering them both. She then asked him if he lacked for wheat that year.
"Yes, lady! We've gone hungry all this week!" he replied.
"Then get your scythe, for you shall have wheat in plenty."
"But Lady, how? I've only begun to seed the field!"
"When you return, it will be ready for you."
And deep in the ground, the Holy Virgin began to sing a song, urging the wheat to grow and ripen. A green field sprang up all around, ready for harvest. The herdsman once again heard a voice urging him to go to the valley. He obeyed, and as he was reaping, Herod's soldiers came to him.
"Have you seen the Lady pass this way, herdsman?"
"That she did, good captain, while I was sowing the wheat you see here," replied the herdsman.
Snarling, the captain turned his horse for home. "Then she was in this place last year! But I'll catch her yet!" Swearing horrible oaths, the band galloped off to report to Herod. The Holy Virgin got up from the furrow, and Jesus blessed the field. The herdsman and his family were blessed with plenty thereafter. And that wheat, seemingly from the body of Christ himself, became the flour for the bread for God and Man.
(this story from French Tales, by Henri Pourrat)

Epic Battles, Monkey Business

2004-04-07T04:22:02Z

I have another article, which will be about herbs, coming online in a little while, but until then, I thought I take some time out to talk about what's been on my reading list for the last few months. I'm on a definite Chinese kick-- a few chapters into The Three Kingdoms, by Luo Guanzhong. Now, extensive videogaming attention has been paid to this Chinese novel, so a neat place to check out some pictures of the main characters and abbreviated biographies is at kongming.net. The Three Kingdoms can be oversimplified by describing it as China's Arthurian legend. Not Arthurian in terms of plot, to be sure, for it describes the ambitions and fates of a HUGE cast of individuals, but Arthurian in terms of scope and its mark on literature. Tons of bold deeds done by noble knights, keen generals with incredible tactical skill, and many larger-than life characters, plus lots of magic. The one disadvantage to this book is that it has a cast of thousands and a ton of battles. Patience is a necessity with this book. I'm currently reading the version translated by Moss Roberts, which is pretty helpful for someone like me, who isn't terribly familiar with Chinese naming conventions.

But right now, I'm taking a break, and finishing up Journey to the West. If you have to start somewhere with Chinese literature, start here. Written in the 1500s by Wu Cheng'en, this is simultaneously:
the original buddy road film
the original Jackie Chan smackfest
and a wry, affectionate look at Chinese religion, particularly Buddhism, all contained in a lyrical prose style that's fun to read. Where else can you have deep analysis of Taoist ritual, then in a later chapter, three statues of the Taoist gods are heaved into the privy so that Monkey and his buddies can pig out on the food offered to the statues? Even Buddhism, whose scriptures act as the MacGuffin for this book, gets a pie in the face every now and then.

For those who want summaries of these books, plus plenty of neat pictures to look at, China-on-Site has comics on the books I mentioned, plus Peony Pavilion, Water Margins (which the Japanese call Suikoden) and lots more. The illos for Three Kingdoms, in particular, knocked my socks off.

"I invoke the land of Ireland"

2004-03-18T04:53:47Z

Shining, shining sea;
Fertile, fertile mountain;
Gladed, gladed wood!
Abundant river, abundant in water!
Fish-abounding lake!

So the poet Amergin invoked the land itself to aid him... Ireland's influence on song and story worldwide is overwhelming... but on St. Patrick's Day, which is very much an American holiday these days, folks only want to talk about leprechauns and beer. The following story has

A few words on leprechauns before I begin: They do not have a paranoid fascination with artificially colored marshmallows. They're also called Cluricauns and Luricauns, among other names, depending on which county you're in. Their traditional role is that of the shoemaker to the Fae, and can often be seen hammering on a shoe in some secluded spot, wearing their leather aprons and puffing furiously on clay pipes. They do NOT like to be bothered, least of all by grabby humans after their gold-- fortunately they are the greatest con-men in Faerie.

One fine autumn day, Lady-day, in fact, Tom Fitzpatrick took a stroll through the harvest fields. A brisk tap-tap-tap from a hedge caught his attention-- he tiptoed up to see what kind of bird or beast could be making such an odd sound. To his surprise, no bird or beast was hidden in that hedge, but a little old man, no higher than your knee, seated on a little stool right by a gallon pitcher. Tap-tap-tap he'd go, nailing on the heel of a little leather shoe, then he'd stop and dip a little cup into the pitcher. Tom was quite astonished-- he'd never believed in them before, and now here was one as plain as day! "I'd better catch him," Tom thought. "A fellow who gets one is set for life!"

Tom slipped a little closer, until he was standing right over the little man, and then called out, "God's blessing on your work, neighbor."
The leprechaun replied most politely, and tapped on.
"Strange that you're working on our Lady's day," Tom continued.
"What business is it of yours if I am?" replied the leprechaun.
"Then, maybe you'd be kind enough to tell what's in that pitcher there?" ventured Tom.
"With pleasure I'll tell you," said the leprechaun, "that's fine beer! And with what is it made, do you think?"
"Malt, of course," replied Tom, his eyes firmly pinned on the little man.
"Wrong! It's made with heather tops."
"Who ever heard of such a thing, heather beer!" said Tom, laughing.
"Think what you will, but it's the Danes that taught my ancestors when they were here, and the secret's been handed down since," replied the leprechaun.
"Well, would you give me a taste, then?" asked Tom.
"Now, young man," said the leprechaun, looking stern, "I'll tell you what I think-- it would be better for you to look after your father's land rather than bother folks minding their own business with your silly questions. Only look-- while you've been wasting time the cows have broken loose and are trampling down the grain."

The leprechaun's warning startled Tom so much that he nearly fell for the trick-- seeing that the leprechaun might try another ploy, he grabbed at the little man, tipping over all the good heather beer in his haste. Bringing the leprechaun quite close to his face, Tom threatened him with death if he didn't reveal the location of his gold. The leprechaun was so frightened with Tom's murderous looks that he consented.
"Take me through the fields, and I'll guide you to where it is," the leprechaun sighed.

Gripping the leprechaun tight in his hands, Tom crossed brambles, ditches and hedges, and even a miry bog, until they came to a huge field of ragwort plants. The leprechaun told Tom to dig under a big ragwort, but Tom, having no shovel and no means to haul the gold away, decided to run home and get some tools. So he took one of his bright red garters off and tied it around the plant, so he'd know it from all the other ragworts in the field.
"Swear that you'll not touch the garter," said Tom, gripping the leprechaun tight.
"I swear it," gasped the leprechaun. "Will you have any further use of me?"
"No, you can go, and godspeed," said Tom, setting his captive down.
"And good-bye to you, Tom Fitzpatrick," said the little leprechaun, fixing his rumpled clothes, "and much good may the gold do you when you get it."

Tom turned on his heel and pelted full-force for home, then sprinted just as hard back to the field of ragwort. He staggered in shock when he got there! Every single ragwort plant in the forty acre field had a red garter exactly like Tom's tied around it. Tom trudged home in a fury, cursing the little leprechaun heartily for playing such a trick on him.

The Monks (and Tengu) of Mount Hiei

2003-09-20T21:42:02Z

Not all monks sit with folded hands and pray for enlightenment to come. Some push their bodies to the physical limit to explore the boundaries between the physical and the spiritual. Genshin Fujinami, a monk of the Enryakuji temple on Mt. Hiei, just completed a 40,000 kilometer run in straw sandals to test his endurance and faith. Only 46 monks have successfully completed this run since 1885, and failure to complete it demands suicide. Some may wonder about the harshness of an order that demands this level of dedication to the faith, but Enryakuji has been famous for its warrior monks, sohei ,

Built by Saicho more than 1,200 years ago on Mount Hiei, Enryakuji's purpose was to protect the capital, Kyoto, from the evil spirits of the mountain. Monks had to be ready to fight as well as pray. They built an army there, and as Kyoto's secular law enforcement could not enter the grounds, criminals soon sought sanctuary on the mountaintop, on the pretext of finding enlightenment, furthering the legends that Hiei was a wild, dangerous place. The monks soon gained formidable strength. They fought with the Miidera temple in the late Heian period, and soon extended their military might into secular disputes as well... Should anyone be fool enough to tax the temple or make any demand the monks found unreasonable, the warrior monks would march in force upon Kyoto, bearing the sacred mikoshi with them. "As emperor Shirakawa is alleged to have said, "There are three things that even I cannot control: the waters of the Kamo river, the roll of the dice, and the monks of the mountain."

The evil spirits of the mountain were said to be ever scheming, ever ready to make a meal of the unwary acolyte. The tengu, long-nosed spirits, part crow, part man, were always trying to snag a plump monk to eat. But the following story shows how powerful the monks were, and how deserved their reputation. The Enryakuji complex was a seat of Tendai Buddhism, which espoused Perfect Meditation. You'll see its power against evil here.

A great Chinese tengu, Chirayouju, once went to Japan and met a tengu there. Chirayouju bragged, "Where I come from, the baddest, nastiest warrior monks are helpless around me. I thought I'd cruise out to Japan, and try my hand at defeating the warrior monks here. I hear you've got some pretty tough customers here." The Japanese tengu said, "Yes, they are pretty tough. But I've got all the big, strong monks under my thumb here, so if you want to go up against someone, feel free. One of them's just BEGGING to get taken down a notch, too, so I'll take you right to him."

The Japanese tengu flew with Chirayouju right to the the stone tower on the peak of Mount Hiei, and they landed on the trail below. "They know my face around here," explained the Japanese tengu, "so I'd best make myself scarce. I'll hide downhill, but you should turn yourself into a monk and wait for someone to come along. Take 'em out!"

Chirayouju changed into a venerable old monk, stooped with age, but with such a demented look in his eye that the Japanese tengu knew his friend had something really devilish planned. Soon a litter approached the tower, bearing Yokyou, a high-ranking monk on his way to Kyoto. When the litter passed the tower without incident, the Japanese tengu went to check on his friend. The Chinese tengu was shivering in a ditch with his butt sticking in the air.

"What's up? What's got you so spooked?" asked the Japanese tengu.

"Who the hell was that just now?!" yelped Chirayouju.

"That was Yokyou. He's a famous miracle worker, probably on the way to the capital for a ceremony. I thought you'd show His-Holier-Than-Thou-Highness a thing or two, but you just sat there. What a waste!"

"Yeah, yeah, he was pretty holy, so I could tell he was the one you wanted me to get," said Chirayouju. "That's all very well, but as soon as I went for him, he vanished and a fountain of flame shot from his palanquin. I didn't feel like getting my wings roasted, so I gave it a miss and kind of hid."

"Ha, ha! You come all the way from China," laughed the Japanese tengu, "and you can't even overpower one little monk! You let him go? What a weakling you are! You'd better get the next one that comes along!"

"Yes!" said Chirayouju, dusting himself off. He took his place as an old monk by the tower while the Japanese tengu hunkered down in the bushes to watch.

Down the path came a boisterous procession-- the great Jinzen and his entourage on their way to town, with stout acolytes armed with staves in the lead, clearing the way. When they came across the tengu monk, they walloped him with their staves until he put his hands over his head and ran off the path. He couldn't have reached the prelate's palanquin if he tried-- the acolytes had made short work of him.

The Japanese tengu teased the Chinese tengu unmercifully for that. Chirayouju defended himself, saying, "You don't know what I was up against!! They looked so fierce that I had to flee, and they moved so fast I couldn't get away without getting hit!"

"Well, you'll bring shame to your homeland at this rate!" retorted the Japanese tengu. "Just get the next one that comes along, and no more whiny excuses!"

They resumed their places, and no sooner had they done so, than a huge crowd came their way. First came a monk in a red cloak, then monks carrying the trunk with monastic vestments, and then a palanquin bearing none other than Jie of Yozawa, the abbot of all Enryaukji. Flanking the palanquin on both sides were twenty-four acolytes, marching proudly along. "Will he get caught?" wondered the Japanese tengu from his hiding place, and, as he peeked, he saw that his friend had hidden himself again.

"Someone was lurking around," said one of the acolytes. "Let's search for him!" The boys spread through the brush on either side of the road, swinging their staves fiercely. The Japanese tengu took the hint and slunk off down the hillside into a dark thicket.

"I found someone!" called one of the acolytes. "Grab that old monk! Don't let him get away!" The boys ran after the Chinese tengu, waving their sticks, while the Japanese tengu could do no more than mutter, "Oh, no!" and flatten himself to the ground.

The acolytes easily ran the tengu monk down, and dragged him back to the path by the tower. They then began to pound the tengu with their staves and kick him unmercifully, yelling, "Who are you, old monk?! Tell us, or you'll be sorry!"
"Just a tengu from China," gasped the anguished Chirayouju, rolling himself into a ball, "I thought I'd check the monks of your temple out to see if you were any good, but the first one I saw was Yokyou, who recited the Mantra of Fire and caused a great column of fire to rise up. Then Jinzen, who chanted the Mantra of Fudoo so fiercely that Fudoo's own servants guarded him with iron staves, and finally, the abbot himself, who was deep in Perfect Meditation. He wasn't as scary as the other two, so I guess I got cocky, and that's how you caught me."

At that, the boys found the tengu so weak and pathetic that they let him go, but not before every single one of them gave him a good hard boot in the ass. The Japanese tengu slunk up from the ravine as soon as the coast was clear, and found the tengu monk in a heap on the ground, a mass of bruises. "What happened this time?" he asked Chirayouju. "Did you do anything?"
"Fuck off," snarled the Chinese tengu. "Here I come, clear the hell from China, thinking that someone like you would help me have a little fun in this place, but you were no help at all, setting me up against saints and boddhisatvas! The only ass kicked was mine!" Chirayouju wept miserably.
"There, there, that's all right," consoled the Japanese tengu, "but I thought that someone like you from a big country like China could handle himself against monks from our little island. Sorry you got your butt kicked!" The Japanese tengu then took Chirayouju to a nice hot bath up in the mountains where he could soak his sore rear end before he went home to China.

Two servants from the capital were collecting wood near the bath house when they happened to see smoke rising from the chimney. Fancying a nice soak themselves, they headed for the tub, only to see two funny-looking old monks, one of whom seemed to have a terrible pain in his rear. The monks asked the two servants who they were, but the servants were soon overpowered by a horrible stink rising from the monks in the bath, so disgusting, in fact, that their heads ached and they were forced to run away.

Some time after this incident, the Japanese tengu possesed someone and told this story.

(adapted from Japanese Tales, Royall Tyler, Pantheon Press.)

The Twelve Months: A Fairytale of Greece

2003-09-03T06:40:44Z

Today I had the treat of dealing with one of those special people, who, when you ask them "How are you?" they don't reply with "Fine, thank you," but "Oh, well, it's one thing after the other, what with my insurance and blah, blah, blah..." He's mostly harmless, but it put me in mind about this story of what happens to the perpetual pessimist (hint: it ain't pretty). Stories like this one, with a poor person getting a reward from a spiritual agency for doing them a courtesy, and the greedy neighbor copying them, are very common thoughout the world, but I like this one in particular for detailing Greek country life and the little blessings it holds for those

There once was a widow who had five children, and not a penny to her name. She could only get work once a week, when she made bread for a lady of the town. Even then, the lady only paid her by allowing the poor woman to carry the dough that stuck to her hands back to her children. Once home, the woman would wash her hands with clean water and make a gruel that kept them fed until the next week, when she could return from her work with dough for them again.

The rich woman’s children, for all their fine food, were skinny and hollow-eyed, while the poor woman’s children thrived on their portion. The rich woman spoke about this to her friends, who told her, "The reason why her children are fat and yours skinny is that she takes your children’s luck away on her hands. Make her wash before she leaves."

The rich woman forced the poor widow to wash her hands after she baked the bread. The poor woman returned empty-handed to her hungry children, and wept miserably when she saw their anguished faces. She soon dried her tears, and went out into the night to beg for bread. Someone in the village spared her a crust of bread, and this she soaked in water to share among her five children. She left them as they slept, hardly daring to look back upon her hungry children.

She roved the wilderness alone that night, lost in thought and desperation. She eventually saw a light in the distance, which turned out to be a great tent lit with a candelabra of 12 candles, from which hung an ornamental ball. Inside she found twelve young men, seated in a circle, deeply involved in conversation. Near the entrance to the right sat three youths with shirt collars open, each holding bunches of grass and fruit blossoms. Three more men sat near them, sleeves rolled up and tanned, carrying ears of wheat. Three more men flanked them, with bunches of ripe grapes in their hands. And the last three, to the left of the tent flap, huddled up in furs from head to toe. When they saw the woman, they greeted her politely, and bid her enter the tent. She greeted them in kind, and they asked her to be seated. They asked her how she happened to find them. And she began, a bit timidly, to tell them of her troubles and what led her to their door. When they knew she was hungry, one of the young men in furs went to get her some food, and she saw that he had a bad leg. After she had refreshed herself, they asked her about various matters of the surrounding country side, and she answered gamely.

The three young men bearing the flowers asked her: "Good Aunt, how do you like the months of the year? How do you like the months of March, April, and May."
"Very much, my dear lads," she said, "for the whole earth is green and brilliant with flowers. Then the birds begin to sing, and farmers know it’s time to make their grain store ready."
The young men with the wheat ears then piped up, "And how about June, July, and August?"
"I can’t complain about them, either, for their great warmth ripens the grain and fruits. The orchard workers pick their fruits, and the farmers reap their grain, and even the poor are happy, as they do not need expensive clothes in this time."
The young men with grapes asked her about September, October, and November. She replied, "The wine harvest is ready then, and folks busy themselves pressing the fruit and filling the great casks. The frost they bring also helps to remind us to get ready for winter’s chill."
Finally the three men in furs asked her how she found December, January and February. Here she smiled, and said, "These three months, though they are cold, are months of rest, for men and the earth. We would be tempted to work the year round for our gain if they were not here, and so we are allowed respite from our labors, while the rain and snow prepares the ground for another year. Each month of the year is good, and serves its purpose, each according to the will of our Lord. It is man who is not praiseworthy."
Eleven of the young men, having heard this, signaled the first young man with the grapes. He left the tent, and returned in a twinkling with a jar in his arms. Smiling, he said, "Here, Auntie, feed your children with this."
She set the jar on her shoulder and thanked the assembled men profusely, wishing them many years. They in turn wished her good luck, and sent her on her way.
She reached home at dawn, and, while her children slept, opened the jar. Inside she found it full to the brim with gold pieces. When the sun was higher in the sky, she made for the baker’s, the cheese shop, and who knows where else, bought provisions for her family, and hurried home. She woke her children, dressed them, made them wash, and set them to their prayers. When they had done all this, they all ate heartily. Later, she bought a measure of wheat, had it ground at the mill, then headed off to the bakers to bake bread. She was heading home with the laden bread board on her shoulder, when who should see her but the rich woman! Full of curiosity, the rich woman asked the poor widow how she had gotten the money to make the bread. Suspecting nothing, the poor woman told her neighbor every detail.
The rich woman then went out to find the young men for herself, greedy for the riches the poor woman had gotten. While her family slept, she slipped out of the house and searched for the tent. She entered the tent, and the young men asked her what brought her there.
"I am a poor woman," she said, "and I need your help."
"And how do you find things in your town?"
"They could be worse, I guess," she snapped.
"And the months of the year," they asked, "how do you find them?"
"Well," she growled, "There isn’t one that doesn’t have something wrong with it. August roasts us till we drop, then all of a sudden September, October and November brings cold snaps that give us colds and coughs. The come the winter months, with their ice and snow, filling the lanes and keeping us cooped up inside our houses-- February’s not even a proper month!" (Here poor February reddened terribly.) "And March, April and May are not quite warm enough, so we have nine months of dismal cold! Can’t even have a proper May Day picnic. But as soon as June, July and August roll around, here it is too hot to do anything at all. It’s obvious that the months of the year (a pox on them all) are a trial to us all."
Silently, they motioned to the second of the young men that carried the grapes. He returned with a jar for her. "Take this jar home, shut yourself into a room by yourself, and open it. Do not open it on the way home."
She nearly sprinted home, arriving before dawn. Locking herself into her room, she wrenched the stopper out of the jar and poured it out on the table. What was inside? Snakes! They twined their spotted bodies around her and filled her body with poison. But the poor woman, with her kind words and her pure spirit, became a lady of quality, and she and her family flourished.

(Adapted from a tale in Best Loved Folk-Tales Of the World, edited by Joanna Cole.)

Outwitting Fate: A Tamil tale from INdia

2003-06-30T07:19:09Z

Fate is incontrovertible, and sometimes Fate does not give a shit if you're naughty or nice. The gods, especially in the case of the following tale, do not know what Fate has in store for them or their creations. Brahma is recognized as the creator god and the god of wisdom in the Hindu pantheon, and is part of the sacred triad of Brahma (the Maker of Creation), Vishnu (the Preserver of Creation) and Shiva (the Destroyer of Creation).
When Karma turns you into a lemon...

Once there was a young Brahman in search of knowledge, who heard of a great sage that lived in the heart of the wild forest, far from civilization and its trammels. The young Brahman forged his way through the dangerous jungle to the hut by the Tungabhadra River that the sage shared with his wife. There he was warmly received by the sage, who made him his disciple. The young man did his best to serve the sage and his wife, and learned as much as he could.
The old sage was still vigorous, and his wife became pregnant with their first child in his old age. When she was eight months along, the sage became desirous of finding the source of the holy river he lived by. Since she could not come along, his wife was left in the care of the disciple and the wife of another sage.

She went into labor at the appropriate time. The sage's wife helped her in the hut, while the disciple anxiously prayed outside the door for a safe delivery and a healthy baby. Brahma himself is present at the birth of every baby, and writes the fate of every child on its forehead. He is present the very second the child leaves the womb and has entered the world, his holy presence invisible to most people. The young disciple, could see things most people could not, thanks to the teachings of his master. So, naturally, he was aghast at seeing a man march right up to the door of the hut where his master's wife was giving birth, and step inside.

"Hold it right there!" the disciple barked. At this Brahma gave a start, having never before been seen or stopped in this task by anyone. More shocking was the scolding the disciple was giving him: "Old Brahman, what on earth do you think you're doing, entering my master's hut like that?! You brushed right past me, and my master's wife is in labor in there, too! You can't just barge in!" Brahma quickly explained who he was and his intent. The baby was about to leave the womb, and he had no time to spare. The young disciple, aghast at his misapprehension, tied his upper cloth around his waist as a sign of respect to the god, then prostrated himself in front of Brahma and begged his forgiveness.

But even after having stated his business, Brahma still couldn't leave! The disciple begged him to tell what the pen would write on the baby's forehead. "My son," said the god, "I do not know what my pen will write on the child's head. As the child comes into the world, I place the pen on its head and it writes the child's fate of its own accord, in keeping with the karma the child's soul had in its previous life. You should not keep me here like this-- I must go now."
"On your way out, then," pressed the disciple, "you must tell me the fate of my master's child."
"Fine," Brahma shot back, hurrying inside. He was back out in a second, and the young disciple asked him what the pen wrote.

"Son," said Brahma, "I'll tell you the child's fortune, but if you tell anyone, your head will explode in a thousand pieces. The baby is a boy, but his lot in life will be miserable. One buffalo and one sack of rice will be all that he shall live on. There is nothing one can do about it."
"But this is the child of a great sage! Can this really be his karma?!" cried the disciple.
"I have nothing to do with it," replied the god. "His deeds from a former life have dictated this, and he must live with the results. But remember, if you tell anyone, your head will explode." Brahma vanished at that, and the young disciple was left tormented by the thought of the hard life awaiting his master's baby boy. Soon after all that had transpired, the sage returned, delighted to find his wife well and a new baby to treasure. The young man soon forgot his painful secret, his spirits buoyed by the teachings of his old master.

Three years went by in peace and contemplation for the disciple, and the old sage once again went on a pilgrimage to the source of the Tungabhadra. Once again his wife was expecting, and once again, she was left in the care of the disciple and the sage's wife. Brahma came once more to the birth, and this time, the young man was ready. He stopped the god at the door and made him promise to reveal what the pen wrote on the head of the second child. Again, Brahma had bad news. "This child is a girl, who when she is grown will be forced to prostitute herself every day to earn a living. The same rule applies as before-- tell anyone what I just told you, and your head will explode." Stunned by these words, the disciple was in agony that the child of a holy man should have to live the life of a common prostitute. He worried over it for days on end, eventually comforting himself with the thought that karma was the only true governing force in men's lives.

The sage soon returned, and the disciple spent two years with him and his family before setting off for a pilgrimage to the Himalayas. He was filled with sorrow and anger that the two children he watched grow had such terrible fates awaiting them, but tried to cope by contemplating the inexorable path of Fate. He wandered the world for twenty years, studying with various sages. He pondered the nature of fate and humanity, and drank in all the knowledge the world had to offer. He then wished to go back to the sage's home on the riverbank, where his journey began.

He learned that the sage had passed away some time ago. In sorrow, he went to the next town to find the sage's children. In the town, he found a miserable hut with a single scrawny buffalo, occupied by a laborer and his family. The disciple recognized the face of his master's son in the pinched, lean features of the poor man. Each day, the family cooked a handful of rice from the single sack they could afford. When that ran out, his wages paid for one more sack. As the iron pen of Brahma had written, so it had come to pass.

The disciple called the laborer by name, saying, "Do you recognize me? I have some advice to give you." The laborer was shocked to hear his name called by a stranger, but as the disciple was middle aged and looked like a respectable scholar, the laborer was inclined to listen. "Good, then do as I say," began the disciple. "First thing tomorrow, sell both your buffalo and sack of rice in the market at any price you can get for them. Buy the makings of a good meal for you and your family, and finish every scrap by tomorrow evening. Keep nothing, not a mouthful. With the rest of the money from the buffalo and rice, feed the poor and give gifts to the town's best Brahmans. Please trust me on this-- you'll never regret you did. I'm your father's disciple and I'm telling you this exclusively for your benefit."

The laborer was skeptical. "You Brahmans are always telling peasants like us to give all our money to Brahmans-- must be nice for you to be the ones getting everything. I've got a family to feed, and I can't do that if I toss it all away tomorrow!" The wife intervened, though, saying, "He looks wise, and your father was his guru. Let's try his advice for one day." The laborer yielded then, and, with some trepidation, sold his buffalo and rice the next day in the market. He got enough money to feed fifty Brahmans, in addition to his own family. For the first time in his life, he had the means to support more than just his own household. His mind in turmoil after this most unusual day, the laborer left his bed that night to take some air outside. He found his father's disciple sleeping on the ground outside. Awakened by the laborer's approach, the disciple asked his master's son what troubled him. "Sir," said the laborer, "soon it will be dawn. When my wife and two children wake, there won't be any food to eat, nor a buffalo for milk." The disciple showed him a little money he had, enough for another buffalo and sack of rice, and urged his master's son to rest and see what awaited him in the morning.

Even with this reassurance, the laborer suffered through the night. When he woke, he went to wash his face in the well, passing the shed where his buffalo used to be. He remembered ruefully that there was no buffalo to take care of this morning. But, looking again at the shed, he found there was one, after all! "Damn poverty," he thought, "it makes you see dream of things you don't have!" In the predawn darkness, he fetched a lamp to check if his dream was real. It was! And sitting beside the buffalo was a full sack of rice! The laborer joyfully ran to tell the disciple. Instead of surprise, the holy man sounded a trifle disgusted as he said, "OF COURSE it worked. Now go out today and do it again, exactly as I told you before. Keep nothing."

The laborer obeyed him to the letter, and every morning, the same thing happened-- a full sack of rice and another buffalo appeared in the shed. When it looked like his master's son's life was starting to settle favorably, the holy man said to the laborer, "I'd heard that my master's son was living a life of sorrow, so I had to do something about it. You're now doing well. Continue to do what I told you, and never reserve anything, be it food or money. If you fail to do so, your luck will end." The laborer promised this gratefully, with all his heart.

"Good," said the holy man. "Now, I've something else to do. Where is your sister? She was only two when last I saw her." The son fought back tears at this. "She is a fallen woman, sir. I don't want to think of her at a happy time like this, she brings me so much shame." The disciple knew full well what the son spoke of. "Just tell me where I can find her," he said. The son reluctantly directed him to the next village, where she was a prostitute. The disciple then took his leave, ardently wishing to help his master's daughter. Arriving in her village, he reached her house before twilight and knocked on her door. The door was opened at once, as none in her profession wait for a second knock. She was shocked to find a holy man on her doorstep.

He introduced himself as the disciple of her father, and she wept with shame, falling to his feet, sorrowing at the thought that she, a common whore, was the child of a great sage. She told him how poverty had brought her to this state. He comforted her, saying, "Daughter, I ache to see you living in such a way. But if you'll listen to me, I can help you live a better life. Shut your door to all who knock, and say that you'll only open it to one who brings you pearls of the best quality. Do it for tonight, and I'll see you in the morning."

Sick of the life she was living, she was eager to follow his suggestion. Her customers thought she had gone crazy, asking for pearls all of a sudden, and she turned away all comers. But as dawn approached, she began to worry. Who in the village could now afford her price?

The prophecy had to come to pass. In the last hours of the night, Brahma himself assumed the form of a young man, carrying a measure of fine pearls with him. He spent the night with her, and a god loved her until dawn.

She told the holy man all that had transpired. He knew then that his plan had worked. "From now on, you are a pure woman. There are few men in the world who can afford your price every night. Whoever gave you these pearls must continue to do so from now on, as your husband and lover. Never let another person touch you. Now, do what I say: sell all the pearls each day at market, and spend the money on feeding yourself and the poor. Keep nothing. Give everything away. If you fail to do this, away goes your husband and your life of poverty will return. Will you do what I ask?"

"Willingly, sir!" she replied. He went to live under a tree near her house to see if this plan would work. It soon did. Finally satisfied with the improved lives of his master's children, the holy man decided to set off on another pilgrimage. Anxious to be going, he woke too early and set off when the moon was still overhead. He hadn't gone too far when he saw a man approach. This handsome figure led a buffalo on a rope, balanced a sack of rice on his head, and had a lustrous string of pearls over his shoulder. The holy man asked this person his business in the forest.

The handsome man threw the sack of rice at this and let out an anguished cry. "Look at me!" he cried, near tears of rage. "My head is nearly rubbed bald from carrying a sack of rice to the laborer's shed every night, not to mention having to lead the buffalo. Then I have to dress up and romance the man's sister with a string of pearls as payment! That iron pen of mine foretold their fates, and now, thanks to your damned cleverness, I have to to supply them with whatever they were fated to have at birth! When will I get to stop?!"
Tears poured down the face of the god, Brahma himself.
"You can stop when you give those two good ordinary lives, free of their original fates!" replied the holy man. Brahma did so, and his troubles ended.

And so, both fate and Brahma himself were outwitted.

This tale is adapted from a source in Folktales From India, by A.K. Ramanujan, Pantheon Books

Fin MacCoul and the Fenians: Black, Brown, and Gray

2003-05-08T05:31:03Z

Fin MacCoul was a legendary Irish warrior who led a company of men called the Fenians. Fin was possessed of a great fighting dog, Bran, who could fight nearly as well as her master. Also, when in great need, Fin could chew his thumb and receive omniscient knowledge, thanks to having touched the salmon of knowledge in his youth. (No, I'm not kidding. Salmon were symbols of wisdom and longevity in ancient Ireland. Makes me wonder what they were using for bait if they thought the fish were so smart.) The following is a story that touches on a few interesting aspects of old Gaelic culture-- the importance for a lord to keep his promises, the importance for a lord to keep his men well-provided, and, most importantly, to

One day Fin and several of his company were hunting south of Ballyshannon. Three men approached the company. Fin said to his men, "Say nothing to them. If they have good manners they'll not say a word to any man in this company until they've spoken to me."

Sure enough, the three men presented themselves to Fin directly. He asked them their names and their business, and they replied, "Our names are Dubh, Dun, and Glasan (Black, Brown and Gray). We seek Fin MacCoul, chief of the Fenians, for we wish to serve him." Fin was so pleased with this offer and the looks of the three men, he took them home and proclaimed them his sons. He then told them, "Whoever visits me must keep night watch for me, and as you came in a group of three, you three must cast lots to see who gets first watch. Each of you will watch a third of the the night." Fin had a log brought and cut into thirds, which he gave to each of the men. He then said, "At the start of the watch, light your piece of wood, As long as the log burns, you will watch."

Dubh got the first watch. He lit the log and went around the castle, accompanied by Fin's dog, Bran. He roamed the perimeter of the castle, going further and further until he saw a light in the darkness. Following it, he chanced upon a big house. He went inside, and found a huge company of strange looking men, all passing around a single goblet. The chief of the men, seated upon a dais, bragged, "This is the cup of Fin MacCoul, stolen a hundred years ago from his very castle. Drink from it, and whatever you wish for, you'll sup. No matter how many men drink from it, they'll always get what they want, and the cup will be ever full." Dubh found a spot near the door, took a sip when it was his turn, and then ran out the door as fast as his legs would carry him, straight to Fin's castle. When he reached the castle courtyard, his log burned out.

The scond lot was Dun's turn. He lit his log, and he too began to wander, eventually happening upon the house his brouther Dubh has visiting. A quite different scene met him inside the house, however. The men were fighting savagely amongst themselves. The chief of the men, from a safe place in the beams of the house, called down to the crowd, "If you'll just stop fighting, I'll show you an even greater gift." He drew a little knife and a bone from his belt, and said, "Look, here is the legendary knife of division, the knife stolen from Fin MacCoul a hundred years ago-- cut on a bone with this knife and you'll have the richest, tastiest meat to be had, and no end to it, too." The chieftan passed the knife and bone to the man nearest him, and as he cut, off the bare bone came slices of fresh meat. The knife and bone made the rounds of the company, and when it landed in Dun's hands, he too ran as fast as he could for home. When he reached the fountain in Fin's courtyard, his log burned out.

Now it was Glasan's turn. He took the same course his brothers had, winding up in the same great house, but to a much grislier sight than his brother had seen. The house was full of freshly killed corpses. Looking around, Glasan said to himself, "Something strange and terrible has happened here. If I hide amongst the corpses, I should be able to find out what happened." He lay down amongst the bodies and pulled some of them over himself. Soon a terrible giant hag came into the house. She had only one arm, one leg, and one upper tooth, which was as long as her leg and served her for a crutch.

She hobbled among the corpses, taking two bites from all the fat corpses, and throwing the lean ones aside-- she soon ate her fill of meat and blood from the bodies and dropped down on the floor to sleep next to Glasan. She snored so violently that Glasan thought she would pull the roof down on his head every time she inhaled, and blow it right off every time she exhaled. He stood up, stared at the horrible vast bulk of her, then hacked at her with his sword. As soon as he did, three young giants leaped from the wound.

Glasan killed the first giant, Bran the second, but the third escaped into the night. Glasan then hurried back to the castle, and as soon as he was safe inside the walls his torch burned out.

The next morning, the Fenians arose and asked the three brothers about their watches. "Tell me," said Fin, "if you saw anything new or interesting during your watch." "Yes," answered Dubh, "for I have the drinking cup you lost a hundred years ago." He recounted the tale of his watch, and Fin praised him for what he had done.

"I too have something to show," said Dun, pulling the belt out of his knife. He then told Fin of the fighting men and the magical knife of division he stole back. Fin was greatly pleased at this, and praised Dun as well. "Now we shall eat well, thanks to the knife and the cup," he said.

Fin then turned to Glasan. "What did you see on your watch?" he asked. Glasan replied that he saw nothing but dead bodies in the house his brothers had been to, then a great and terrible hag entered. He killed her, and two of the three young giants who sprang from her body.

Fin looked worried. "I think you should have left her alone," he said. "I fear that that last giant will bring trouble on us all."

For a score of years the Fenians only hunted in sport. They ate like kings from the done and knife, and drank the finest draughts from the magic goblet. Dubh, Dun and Glasan left after this time, and one day, as the Fenians were hunting in the mountains, they saw a huge redhaired man (Fear Ruadh) approach. Fin instructed his men not to talk to him, and waited for his approach. The redhaired man addressed Fin alone, saying that he wished to be in Fin's service.

"Yes, I'll hire you," said Fin, "but what wages do you ask?"
"Only that I serve you for twenty-one years," said the redhead, "and that if I should die, you shall bury me on Light Island."
Fin accepted the wages, and the redhead served him for twenty years. But at the end of the twenty-first year, the redhead sickened, became an old man, and died. When the redhead was dead, none of the Fenians would lift a finger to bury him, but Fin said that he wouldn't break his word for anyone and set off for Light Island.

Fin went to look for an old white horse that he had put out to pasture. When he found the horse, it had actually become younger in looks rather than older since he had put him out. He took the horse and loaded a coffin with the redheaded man inside on its back. Fin set the horse on its way and he and twelve of his men set off for Light Island.

When they arrived at the temple on Light Island, the white horse and coffin were nowhere to be seen, but the temple was open, so they went inside. Each man had a seat in the temple. They rested for a time, but when Fin made to get up, he found he was stuck to the seat, and the seat to the ground, so there was no way to get up.

"Some treachery is here," Fin cried.

Just then, the redheaded man appeared, returned to his former youth and health. Looking at the helpless warriors, he cried, "Now I can be avenged for my mother and brothers!" One of the men whispered to Fin, "Chew your thumb and find a way out for us!"

Fin chewed his thumb, and soon knew what he should do. He let out a great whistle, which was head by Diarmuid O'Duivne and Donogh Kamcosa. The redheaded giant killed three of the men before Donogh and Diarmuid could arrive, but they killed him before he could harm anyone else. They freed Fin and the other Fenians, and returned to their castle south of Ballyshannon.

Baba Yaga

2003-04-17T05:50:15Z

Russians do indeed have their celebrities in fairy tales. Koschei the Deathless comes to mind-- an undead sorcerer who travels in a great whirlwind, who is immortal unless you can find and destroy his life. But most likely to be known to Westerners is the great and terrible Baba Yaga, she who is practically the physical embodiment of Mother Russia's colder, crueler nature. Lean, tough, bony, veined of snout with spindly legs, she flew the skies in a giant mortar, steering it with a pestle and sweeping away the traces of her flight with a broom. She lived in a hut that stood on two great chicken's legs-- sometimes when it took her fancy, she'd have her house stride through the deep forests. Woe to anyone who crossed her path!
Baba Yaga has her good points, as you'll find in the following story. She's tough, but she's fair, and as long as you show her respect, she'll do you a good turn. Maybe. Just watch your back! This story is interesting for a lot of reasons-- on the surface it's your standard magical helper story, but there are a lot of Old Russian pagan elements, if you look-- the triple horseman motif, and, of course, Baba Yaga's revulsion for all things holy. Dolls having a protective influence over their owners is also a strong motif in Russian stories.

Vasilisa the Beautiful and Baba Yaga
Once there was a merchant, who lived happily with his wife and their beautiful daughter, Vasilisa. When Vasilisa was eight, her mother became fatally ill. On her deathbed, Vasilisa's mother presented her with a little doll.

"My dear Vasilisa," the mother said, "listen to my last words. I give you this doll with my blessings.... keep it with you at all times, but never, ever show it to anyone. If you should ever have any kind of trouble or care, feed the doll and ask it for help." She kissed Vasilisa once and breathed her last.
After an appropirate mourning period, Vasilisa's father felt it was time to remarry. He chose a widowed woman with two daughters close to Vasilisa's age, thinking that such a woman would be a good mother to his child. He chose wrong, unfortunately, as the woman and her daughters were terribly jealous of Vasilisa's good looks, and did everything in their power to spoil them. Soon Vasilisa was a slave in her own home, doing the heaviest and dirtiest of chores, and constantly made to stay out in the sun and rough wind to toughen her skin, while the stepsisters sat idly indoors, growing paler and uglier by the day. Vasilisa, on the other hand, grew even prettier.

How did she do so? With the help of the doll, of course. She put the best morsels of her food in her handkerchief, and when her family was asleep she would lock her bedroom door and feed her doll and tell it of her troubles. The next day, the doll would do all of Vasilisa's chores, and even showed her a plant that would keep her skin soft. Vasilisa had some comfort thanks to the blessings of her mother and the little doll.

But as time passed and Vasilisa grew up, things didn't get any easier for her. Young men came to call, and all of them passed up the two ugly stepsisters in favor of the beautiful Vasilisa. Spitefully, the stepmother would send them away, saying that she wanted the elder daughters to marry first. But every day brought fresh anger from her stepmother, and rude words and hard blows besides.

One day the merchant went off for a business trip, and the stepmother moved the three girls into a house on the edge of a forest. In that forest lived Baba Yaga, a witch-- any trespassers who dared to wander near her hut were summarily eaten. And as soon as they arrived, the stepmother seized upon any excuse to send Vasilisa out into the forest for one reason or another. Only with the help of her little doll did Vasilisa escape the notice of the terrible witch.

But one night in late autumn, the stepmother assigned them all tasks to do-- one girl had to make lace, the other to knit, and Vasilia had to spin. The stepmother then extinguished all the lights in the house except the one candle in the girls' workroom. Then, as the candle began to smoke and gutter, one of the stepsisters, pretending to trim the wick, put out the candle.
"What can we do?" said the stepsisters. "One of us must run to Baba Yaga's for a light!"
"I won't," said the girl making lace, "since I can see the moonlight reflecting from my pins."
"Not me," added the girl knitting stockings. "My knitting needles reflect enough light for me to see."
Naturally, the task fell to Vasilisa. Placing food before her doll, Vasilisa said, "My sisters are sending me to Baba Yaga for a light-- what will I do? She'll eat me alive!"
Her little eyes glowing like lamps, the doll said, "Don't be scared. Go and get the light, but keep me in your pocket at all times, and no harm will come to you." Vasilisa put the doll in her pocket, made the sign of the cross, and entered the dark forest.

No sooner had she done so than a great horseman, clothed in white, riding a white horse with white tack, galloped past her. Suddenly the forest was suffused with the light of dawn. She went deeper into the forest, and a horseman all in red, with a red horse, shot past her. The sun crept up over the trees.
Vasilisa walked for a day, a night, and then another day, and found Baba Yaga's hut on the third night. It was a hideous thing, made of human bones, with more bones serving as a fence, and skulls with glaring eye sockets were set upon the posts. Human legs formed the gateposts, and human hands the bolts, and the lock was a mouth with razor-sharp fangs. Just then a black horseman on a black horse rode past, and shot through the gates. He vanished as if Moist Mother Earth opened up and swallowed him. As darkness fell in the forest, the eyes of the skulls began to glow with an eerie fire, and the glade was as bright as day. Vasilisa shook with fear, but there was nowhere she could run to.

A great whirlwind blasted through the trees, and from the darkness of the woods roared the Baba Yaga in her great stone mortar, pushing along with a giant pestle and sweeping away the tracks with her broom. She swept up to the gates and yelled, "Ugh! What an awful smell of Russian! Who's here!"
"It is I, Vasilisa," said the terrified girl, bowing deeply to the witch. "My stepsisters have sent me to ask you for a light."

"All right," said Baba Yaga, "I know your sisters. But before I do something for you, you must do something for me. Live with me and keep my house, and if you refuse, I'll eat you!" She turned to the fence and cried, "Ho, strong bolts, unlock! Open up, wide gates!" They opened of their own accord to admit the witch and the girl, then shut themselves again. Once inside, Baba Yaga flung herself in her chair and told Vasilisa to bring her food from the stove. Vasilisa got a light from one of the skulls and served mountains of food to Baba Yaga, enough for ten men, and rivers of beer, mead, kvas and wine. For herself, Vasilisa got scraps. Then Baba Yaga got ready for bed, saying, "Tomorrow I'm going out. Clean the yard, cook dinner, sweep the floor, and do the laundry. Then go to the barn and separate the chaff from a bushel of wheat. And if you shirk any of the tasks I've put before you, you're as good as eaten!" She fell asleep and began to snore thunderously.

Giving all the scraps to her doll, Vasilisa began to cry.
"Oh, doll, eat this food and listen to my trouble! Baba Yaga has given me chores that are impossible to complete in one day, and she threatened to eat me if I fail!"
"Don't be frightened," replied the doll, "but eat your food, say your prayers, and go to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening."

The next day, Vasilisa rose before dawn, but Baba Yaga was up before her and was loking out the window. The terrible glow from the skulls' eyes was fading. The white horseman dashed through the gate, and light dawned over the dark forest. Baba Yaga's mortar, pestle and broom suddenly appeared before her. The red horseman hurtled through the gate, and Baba Yaga got into her strange vessel and shoved off, sweeping away her tracks as she went.

Vasilisa was all alone in the hut. She found it full to the ceiling with an incredible amount of wealth-- and an incredible amount of dirt as well. Where to begin? Frightened for her life, Vasilisa closed her eyes-- was it only for a second? For as she opened them, there was her dear little doll, picking the last bits of chaff from the wheat.
"Oh, doll, you have saved me!" cried Vasilisa happily.
"Just dinner remains," replied the doll, "cook it with God's help, and then rest."

Vasilisa set the table when night fell. The black horseman galloped past the gate, and Baba Yaga's mortar blasted through the trees as the skulls began to glow.
"Have you done all your work?" Baba Yaga asked.
"Please take a look," said Vasilisa, and the old witch snuffed around, looking for something to complain about. Furious that there wasn't anything undone, the witch cried, "My devoted servants and dear friends, grind my wheat!" Three pairs of disembodied hands bore the bushel of wheat away.
Baba Yaga devoured enough food for an army, then gave Vasilisa the same tasks as before, with an additional one:
"Some malicious person flung dirt on the poppy seeds in the grain bin. Pick every last grain of dirt off the seeds!"

Sure that she would never all the tasks done in time, Vasilisa fed her doll.
"Pray to God and go to sleep," replied the doll. "Everything will be taken care of, you'll see."

The next day went like the first. And when Baba Yaga saw that everything was done as she had ordered, she called for her servants to press the oil from the poppy seeds. When the witch finally sat down to eat, Vasilisa stood quietly.
"Why are you just standing around?" ased Baba Yaga. "You act like you're dumb as a post."
"I was too scared to speak," replied Vasilisa, "but if I may, I'd like to ask a question."
"Go ahead," replied the witch, "but remember: not every question has a good answer. You'll soon grow old if you learn too much."
"I just want to ask you about what I've seen, grandmother," said Vasilisa. "When I was walking to your home a white horseman passed me. Who is he?"
"My bright day," replied Baba Yaga.
"And then another horseman passed me, all in red, with a red saddle and bridle."
"That would be my red sun," answered Baba Yaga.
"And the black horseman who passed me at the gate, grandmother?"
"He's my dark night. All three are my devoted servants." answered Baba Yaga.
Vasilisa thought about the three pairs of hands, and kept silent.
"Do you want to ask about something else?" said Baba Yaga.
"Yes, I do," said Vasilisa, "but I remember what you yourself told me about asking too many questions-- the more I learn, the older I become."
"It's good that you asked me about the things outside my hut, and not about the things in it. I keep my affairs to myself, and I delight in eating nosy people. Now it's your turn to answer my questions. How do you do all the chores I give you?"
"The blessings of my mother help me," replied Vasilisa.
"BLESSINGS?! BLESSINGS!! Get out of my sight, blessed daughter," screamed Baba Yaga, "I'll have no blessed people in my home!" Baba Yaga shoved the frightened girl out the door and through the gate, then snatched a skull off the fence and stuck it on a post. "Take it-- it's the light your stepsisters sent you for."

Vasilisa sprinted for home without a backward glance. The skull shone at night and went out during the day. By night of the second day, she neared her home. She thought that they would have gotten a light by now, and considered throwing the skull away. A deep, hollow voice echoed from the skull, saying, "Don't throw me away-- take me to your stepmother." As she approached the house, she noticed that not a single light could be seen in the house, so she kept the skull. She was greeted politely by her stepmother and stepsisters. "Not a single light or flame could we kindle since you left, Vasilisa. When our neighbors brought lights in, they all went out. Maybe yours will last."

When they brought the skull in, it fixed its horrible gaze on the stepmother and the stepsisters. They could not escape from its terrible glare, and they burned to ash by sunrise. Only Vasilisa escaped unharmed.

Vasilisa buried the skull in the moist earth, then went into town. She begged for lodging at a widowed woman's house until her father's return. The old woman consented, and she and Vasilisa lived quitely together. One day, Vasilisa asked the old woman to buy her some flax for spinning. The old woman bought her the best flax she could find, and Vasilisa began to spin. Finer than her own hair was Vasilisa's thread, and spun in no time at all! Soon there was plenty of thread for weaving, but no comb existed for thread so fine, and noone around could make one.

Vasilisa turned to her doll again. "Bring me a weaver's comb, a horse's mane, and a shuttle, and see what I can do!" During the night, the doll made a loom for her, and Vasilisa set to work. By winter the linen was woven, in spring it was bleached. It was finer than anyone had ever seen, capable of being passed through the eye of a needle. Vasilisa asked the old woman to sell the shirrts and keep the money, but the woman replied, "Work like this must be taken to the palace-- no one but the tsar can wear cloth so fine."

The old woman took the cloth to the palace. She got an audience with the tsar, and gifted him with the precious cloth. Amazed at its quality, the tsar rewarded the old woman lavishly. He then had the cloth cut into shirts, but he could find no seamstress good enough to sew such delicate fabric. He summoned the old woman back to the palace, and said, "Since you can weave this remarkable fabric, surely you're skilled enough to sew it!"
"Your Majesty,' the old woman replied, "I didn't weave this cloth-- a young girl I've given shelter to has."
"In that case, let her sew them!" commanded the tsar.

The old woman went home with the fabric and told Vasilisa what had happened.
"I suspected that my work wasn't finished," replied Vasilisa. She shut her door and went to work, and a dozen shirts were ready to go back to the palace before long. The old woman took them back to the palace, and Vasilisa washed and dressed herself in her finest. She then sat by the window to see what would happen.

She didn't have long to wait. A servant from the palace appeared in the courtyard, saying, "The tsar wants to reward the clever seamstress who made his shirts with his own hands." She presented herself before the tsar, and he was overcome with her breathtaking beauty. He took her by her fair hands and declared that he would have no other for his wife.

Soon Vasilisa's father was back from his trip, and joined in her good fortune. Vasliisa also brought the old woman to the palace and cared for her, but dearest of all to her was the doll. She kept it by her side always, until the day she died.

Still a delay, but...

2003-04-15T04:39:39Z

SUPA SAIYAN NERDY RESEARCH POWA-UP! YAAAAAAAAAARGHAGHRAAAAAGH!

Integration of historical Japanese maps with modern geospatial goodness. Two great tastes that taste great together.
http://www.davidrumsey.com/japan/gis.html

Still powering up for the next myth... YYAAAAARRRGHRAAAAGAAAAAAAARGH!

Updates after 4/13

2003-04-08T00:17:01Z

Hey, folks-- I'll be posting a new set of stories on 4/16. Thanks for your patience!

Stay tuned for the wickedest witch of them all... The Baba Yaga!

Taoist Monks

2003-03-27T07:51:55Z

So the subject of Taoist monks vs. Tao-using-but-not-monks yin-yang wizards came up. Whoosh, into the library I went.

And so I found a new book that just hit the shelves-- it's about the Boxer Rebellion and sounds pretty interesting.

Anyway, on to the monks. Their reputation for magic, particularly the magic of illusion, is what I'll focus on in these

White Lotus Magic
This is a story of a man from Shansi province, who belonged to the White Lotus Society. They were often on the wrong side of the law and frequently arrested by the royal court. It's believed he was a followed of Hsu Hung-ju, and that they worked what the court called "black magic to delude the common folk." This magician eventually gained several disciples through his fame.

One day the magician set off from the house after setting up a basin covered by another basin in his room. He then told a student to watch the basins but absolutely NEVER touch them. Curiosity naturally got the better of the student, who lifted the top basin and found the second one filled with water and a little boat, complete with rigging. He poked the boat with his finger, and it tipped over. He picked it up immediately and put the top basin back.
The master returned quickly. "Why didn't you leave the basins alone?!" he thundered. The student claimed that he hadn't done a thing, but the master shot back, "My boat just sank-- I can tell you're lying!"

A while later, the master lit a large candle in his room. He charged his student with guarding the candle through the night and making sure that it didn't go out. The student did his best, but got so sleepy that he eventually dropped off in spite of himself. In that brief space, the candle went out. He hurried to light it, but the master came back soon in a white-hot fury. "I didn't let it go out-- I wasn't asleep--" the student cried, but the master retorted, "Thanks to you, I had to walk ten leagues in the dark!"

After that, the master found out that his concubine was secretly in love with one of his students. So one day, he had that student feed the pigs, then as soon as the student went into the sty, the master changed him into another pig. The master then sent for the butcher and had the pig killed and the meat sold within the hour with noone the wiser.

The student's father searched in vain for his missing son, only to come up empty handed. Then another disciple found out about the murder and told the victim's family. When the victim's father reported it to the magistrate, it was determined that the master's magic was so great that no less than a thousand men were needed to prevent the master's escape. They descended upon his home, 1,000 strong, and easily captured him and his family. They then headed out to the capital.

En route to the captial, they came across a giant in the T'aihang Mountains. He blocked the road and leered down at them, tall as a tree, with bulging eyes as big as pots, a great vat-like mouth and enormous teeth. The soldiers were terrified, but the magician declared that his wife would be able to defeat the creature. They freed her, and she charged the giant with a spear. The giant picked her up and swallowed her whole. The soldiers were frantic. The magician then suggested that his son give it a try. He met the same fate. The terrified soldiers were desperate at this point.
Raging, the magician cried, "The giant has eaten my family-- I can't stand it-- I'll kill him myself!"
They freed him, and he set upon the giant with a fury. They fought liker demons, but in the end the result was the same-- the giant swallowed the master whole. With perfect calm and ease, the giant then plodded heavily away.
--P'u Sung-Ling

The Magic Pear Tree
A farmer came to market one day to sell his pears. He was very successful-- people flocked to buy the sweet and juicy fruit. But then a poor Taoist priest, all rags and tatters, begged the farmer for a pear. The farmer tried to make him leave, but the priest wouldn't budge, even when the farmer began to yell and swear.

"Sir, your wagon is loaded to the top with pears," observed the priest, "and I request only one. That's hardly anything-- why must you lose your temper?" Kinder hearts in the market tried to get the farmer to give the priest a pear just to get rid of him, but the farmer wouldn't hear of it. Finally a market guard came to see what the fuss was about and paid the farmer for a pear.

The Taoist priest bowed again and again to the guard, clasping his hands over his head in thanks. He then addressed the crowd, "Those of us who have left the material world behind are at a loss to understand greed. Now, let me share with you good people some excellent pears."

Someone called out, "Now that you have your pear, why don't YOU eat it?"

"I just needed a seed to plant, said the priest mildly, and with that he ate the pear with relish. He then took a little spade out of his pack and dug a hole in the market street. He planted the seed and covered it well, then called for some hot water. A wag in the crowd, sensing a prank in the offing, got some from a shop. All eyes were on the priest as he poured the steaming water over the little mound.

Instanly a pale green shoot popped up from the earth. It smoothly sprouted leaves, then twigs, then branches, growing to a small tree in mere seconds. Then clouds of fragrant blossoms burst open on the slender branches, followed by big, sweet pears.
The priest graciously picked the pears and handed one to everyone in the crowd. He then took his spade and chopped the tree down. He shouldered the tree and walked calmly away.

During this performance, the farmer had been watching with his mouth hanging open. When the priest finally left, the farmer looked around to notice that his wagon was empty. It occurred to him that the priest could have been handing out his pears straight from the wagon. Then he found a handle of the wagon chopped right off. He found it propped up on a wall nearby. He realized, to his utter consternation, that the pear tree he had seen the priest chop down was nothing more than his own wagon handle.... but the priest had vanished, and the crowd erupted into gales of laughter.

Onmyodo

2003-03-18T05:44:48Z

Yin-yang wizardry was, in actual practice, far less interesting than the tossing of explosive wards one sees in anime and manga. In actual fact, diviners were mostly called upon to use their skills to interpret signs and portents. But one, Abe no Seimei, was celebrated in Heian-era Japanese stories for his skill at averting curses. In a hotly jealous imperial court, keeping curses at bay from courtiers was a profitable skill.
Plus, Seimei was one baaaad mutha.

Seimei was visiting a high priest, when a young monk in the hierarch's company let slip the rumor that Seimei kept shikijin. He then asked if Seimei could kill someone outright with his shikijin.
"Well, it would take a lot of work," began Seimei. "I guess I could kill a little creature easily, but it would be pointless. I'd commit a sin, since I can't bring things back from the dead."
The young monk then spied some frogs hopping into a nearby pond. "Kill that for us," he pressed.
"Cruel, aren't you," observed Seimei wryly, but he took the challenge. He picked a blade of grass, mumbled a few words, and tossed the blade at the frog. It smashed the frog as if he'd thrown a heavy stone. Not a monk was present whose face wasn't ashen with fright.

Once an old monk came out to visit Seimei's house on Tsuchimikado Avenue in Kyoto-- he came in the company of two ten year old boys. Seimei asked the monk where he was from and what he wanted, and the monk replied that he was from Harima province, and that he wished to learn onmyodo from a reputed master of the art. Seimei got the idea that the old man was merely testing him, and he decided to rise to the challenge. He guessed that the two boys in attendance on the monk were probably shikijin, and he prayed that they vanish immediately, hiding the gestures of his spell under his sleeves. He then told the monk that he'd be happy to teach him onmyodo, on some more auspicious calendar day.
The monk thanked him with a bow and made to depart. He didn't make it as far as the gate before he started looking around as if he'd lost something. The monk then tottered back to Seimei.
"My two attendants have disappeared," the monk said, "and I'd very much appreciate it if you returned them."
"Why would I take your attendants?" asked Seimei.
The monk, realizing he was caught, apologized immediately. Seimei relented. "I was a little concerned, what with you taking two shikijin to test me-- I advise you to test some other onmyoji, not me." He uttered a spell and the two boys came running back to their master.
"I admit I was trying to test you," said the monk, "but while it's easy to summon shikijin, I definitely don't have the power to make somone else's shikijin disappear. Please let me be your student."
Seimei took him on as his disciple that day.

When the Regent Fujiwara no Michinaga built Houjouji, he started to go to that temple daily, with his favorite white dog in tow. One day, the carriage was about to enter the gate when the dog shot ahead and blocked the way. Michinaga got out of the carriage and attempted to pass through, but the dog caught his robes in its teeth, growling as it held him back. It was obvious that something was the matter, so Michinaga sat down on the carriage and had Seimei called for.
Once there, Seimei began his divination ritual and determined that someone with a grudge against Michinaga had buried a cursed object under the path. "If you'd walked over it, Your Excellency, you'd have suffered some grave misfortune. Your dog was able to sense it and saved you."
When Michinaga demanded to be shown the cursed item, Seimei performed another ritual and pointed out its exact location. Digging in the path, they found two unglazed cups, bound rim to rim with yellow paper twine tied in a cross knot. It was empty save for the character "one" written on the bottom of each cup in cinnabar.
"This looks like the sort of magic only I'm capable of," said Seimei. "Or it might be my former student Douma. We'll just see about that."
Taking a sheet of paper, he folded it into a bird shape, cast a spell over it, and threw it into the air. It changed into a white heron and soared off to the south. Seimei ordered two servants to follow it, and they raced off down the path.
The bird came down near the house of an old monk. He was arrested and brought before Michinaga. The monk confessed that he had been asked by Lord Akimitsu, the Minister of the Left, to curse Michinaga. Michinaga was inclined to shove the old monk off to the most remote point of exile possible, but relented and shipped him back to Harima province with a stiff warning. When Akimitsu died, his spirit became a vengeful ghost still bent on ruining Michinaga, which earned him the nickname "the Ghoul of the Left". And the dog? Michinaga's affection for it was greater than ever before.

The above synopsized from Tyler's Japanese Tales.

More stuff to check out:

The Seimei Shrine Look familiar, TB fans?
The Onmoyji movie Soundtrack is probably not by Isaac Hayes, sadly.
Coming Soon! Onmyoji II! More intrigue! More kotos! More hot chicks in 65 pounds of silk robes!

The Middle East's "Wise Fool": Djuha

2003-03-13T06:43:36Z

Djuha's stories have migrated as far as Italy and Spain from the Middle East-- he is known also as Si' Djeha, Nasreddin Hodja, and many more names besides. A stint in a Turkish prison led Cervantes to transform Djuha's off-kilter philosophy and earthy humor into the character of Sancho Panza (this may be the only good thing to ever come out of being in a Turkish prison).

From Iraq:

One year, Djuha's crop of pomegranates was particularly fine, so he picked three lovely ones, deep red and filled to bursting with glittering seeds, and took them to the emir. For his pains, the emir gave Djuha a generous gift. So when Djuha's turnips came forth from the ground, crisp and white as snow, he thought to take some to the emir. But a neighbor sneered at the thought. "Imagine taking peasant fare like turnips to a great prince. They only eat dainty things-- take him some figs instead."
Quite a welcome was waiting for Djuha-- the emir was in a foul temper, and instead of accepting the fruit, he had Djuha ushered out of his sight and pelted with his own fruit. Whenever a fig hit him, Djuha cried, "God bless you and keep you, my neighbor," and "May you be given riches from God, my neighbor!" Perplexed, the emir had Djuha brought back in for an explanation.
"Well, I WAS going to take you some of the biggest, whitest, sweetest turnips you've ever seen," explained Djuha, "but my neighbor stopped me, saying that wasn't a fit gift to bring you. And he deserves to be thanked, let me tell you-- if they'd thrown turnips I'd be dead!"
The emir could not help laughing at this, and sent Djuha home with a bag of money.

This one's from Syria:

Djuha wasn't the best-dressed of men, which served him ill when he was invited to a feast. Taking him for a beggar, the servant turned Djuha away. So Djuha went back home, dressed in his best and came back to the feast, where he was welcomed like a king. Once inside and seated at the table, Djuha set to filling his sleeves with meat and rice, and dipping his cuffs in the sauce. When asked to keep his clothes out of the food, he flatly refused, saying "Eat, clothes, eat! It's obvious that you are more welcome than I am in this house."

And one more for the road:

One day, while relaxing under a great wanut tree, Djuha turned his wayward thoughts to Allah. "Surely He is great and good in all things," Djuha thought, "but I do wonder why He made things the way He did." His eyes lit upon some pumpkins growing nearby, their thin vines coiling along the ground, heavy with huge orange fruit. He then looked up into the huge branches of the walnut.
"For instance," he pondered, "why did He put such big, heavy fruits on the thin pumpkin vine, and tiny nuts in the walnut tree? Shouldn't a walnut's big branches bear giant pumpkins, and the slender pumpkin vine yield walnuts?"
Overcome by such mental activity, he lapsed into slumber. He had not been asleep long when a walnut dropped right on his bald head. He woke with a start.
"Allah is great! Allah is wise!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Allah, if the world were made to my specifications, that would have been a pumpkin! Allah, I shall never question your judgement again!"

Weekly Story: The Two Brothers

2003-03-05T05:13:00Z

Starting this week, I'm putting up one folktale or myth a week on this blog. I love storytelling, and this will be a great opportunity to share some of the stuff I've picked up over the years.

Here's one of the oldest existing folktales in the world: an ancient Egyptian story called

Once there were two brothers, Anpu and Bata. Anpu, the eldest, was married and farmed the land. Bata assisted with all manner of work on the farm, and worked diligently out of love for his brother. Not only did Bata possess great strength with which to do the heavy labor of the fields, but he also had a curious gift-- he could understand the speech of animals. Every day the cows would tell him to drive them where the grass was sweetest. Under such attentive care, the cows grew fat, and the farm thrived as a result.
Anpu told his brother one day, "Harness a team of oxen and take some sacks of seed to the fields-- it's time to sow the barley and wheat." Bata and Anpu spent some days plowing in the fields, but ran out of seed at the last field. Anpu sent Bata back to the house for more. Anpu's wife, who was in charge of the granary, was braiding her hair in the courtyard as he came up.
"Get me some seed from the granary," Bata said. "Quick, now. Anpu is waiting."
"Get it yourself," she purred. "As you can see, I'm a bit preoccupied."
Bata was obliged to get the grain himself, and hefted a great basketful on his back. Anpu's wife smiled langorously as she gazed at his strong back, unbowed by the massive weight, and asked, "How heavy is your burden?"
"Two sacks of barley, three of wheat!" he replied, turning to leave for the field.
"Ah," she said, rising to take his arm, "but you're so strong, so good looking-- please stay! Just a little while. Come insde with me. Anpu won't ever know."
Bata was aghast. "There's no way I would betray the man who's raised me like his own son! You should be like a mother to me! I can't possibly tell him what you asked me to do, but never speak to me that way again!" He stormed off to the fields in a fury.
Torn between anger at Bata for rejecting her and worry that he might tell someone after all, Anpu's wife came up with a scheme. She tore her dress, messed up her hair, and blotched her skin with grease to make it look as if she'd been bruised, then took to her bed.
After the plowing, Bata went to the pasture to herd the cows home, and Anpu went straight home. As soon as he was near he realized something was amiss-- no smell of fire or food met him, no wife to greet him at the door. He rushed inside to find her sobbing on her bed, and asked her what happened.
"Bata came to fetch the seed and saw me fixing my hair," she cried, "and he tried to force himself upon me. I tried to resist him, saying that you were like a father to him and I a mother, but he lost his temper and beat me. He said he'd do worse if I told you the truth-- oh, please, husband, kill him or I shall know no rest!"
When he heard this, Anpu's rage knew no bounds. He hid in the byre with a sharp spear at his side, waiting for Bata to return. Just as they were approaching the farm, the lead cow turned to Bata and said quietly, "Your brother is lying in wait to kill you. Leave now."
He goaded her into the byre, unable to believe that his brother would do such a thing. Then the second cow said it, and, bending down, he saw Anpu's feet under the door. Terrified, Bata ran for his life, with Anpu in hot pursuit. Bata, despairing as his brother gained on him, called to Ra, "Judge between evil and good, please save me!"
Ra created a raging river filled with crocodiles between them. Anpu raged on the other side, and, wroth with his failure to kill his brother, smote his own hand with the spear.
Bata called across, "Oh, brother, Ra is just, but we must be separated. Why do you try to kill me without even letting me tell you my side of the story?"
"You deny that you tried to sleep with my wife?!" wept Anpu, tearing his hair in his fury.
"By Ra, you have the story wrong," cried Bata. "She tried to seduce me, I swear it. You nearly killed me for the sake of a malicious liar... Ah, by my life's blood, I swear that I tell the truth!" So saying, he stabbed himself with a reed dagger. Horrified at this action, Anpu finally believed Bata and was overcome with remorse. Bata collapsed, gravely wounded, but Anpu could not cross the river to help him.
"We must be separated," said Bata once more. "I must go to the Valley of the Cedar to be cured. Think fondly of me, dear brother, and remember: I will hide my heart in the cedar tree-- if that tree is cut down, I will die. You'll know if I'm in danger if a jug of beer ferments in your hand-- hurry to the Valley of the Cedar and find my heart, no matter how long it takes. Place it in a bowl of water, and I will surely revive."
Anpu sadly promised to do as his brother bade him. He came home and killed his wife with the spear meant for Bata and threw her to the dogs.
Bata reached the Valley of the Cedar, which lay in the desert near the sea. There he found rest, and game to hunt, and a home in the shade of the valley's great cedar tree. In its green branches, he hid his heart. Safe in his new home, he longed for someone to share it with.
The gods happened upon Bata's home and pitied his solitude. They ordered ram-headed Khnenmu, he who sculpts man, to create him a wife. In beauty she was perfection itself, but even the gods could not give her a loving spirit. The seven Hathors pronounced her doom as one: "She will die by the knife!"
Even with this fault, the gods were satisfied with her, and gave her to Bata as a wife, saying, "You are avenged-- Anpu has slain his wife. Good Bata, we give you a wife to ease your loneliness."
Twin flames of love and jealousy kindled in Bata's heart-- he told her never to leave the house while he was hunting-- "I fear the sea may take you away from me," he said, "and I would be powerless to stop it."
Acquiescing at first, Bata's wife tired of staying indoors and soon disobeyed her husband, strolling down to take in the shade of the cedar tree. The sea caught sight of her, and swept thunderously into the valley, destroying all in its path to reach her.
"Grab her!" commanded the waters, and the cedar bent to its will, clutching at her hair with its branches. She broke free and ran for safety, but not without leaving a lock of hair in the branch.
Seizing the lock, the sea bore it away gently down the Nile, where it eventually came to rest in the ford where the Pharaoh's clothes were washed. The sweet scent of a woman's perfume spread throughout the waters, and perfumed the clothes of the king. The washers eventually found the lock and brought it to the Pharaoh. The court marveled at the softness of the hair and the unearthly fragrance that clung to it, proclaiming that she who possessed such hair was divine herself. Pharaoh declared that she and no other would be his queen.
Rumors existed of the loveliest woman in the world living in The Valley of the Cedar-- twenty envoys were sent to find her, but only one returned, badly wounded. None survived their meeting with Bata when he discovered what they were after. Certain that the woman in the valley was the woman that he wanted, the Pharaoh sent an army this time, and something more-- a clever old woman whose honeyed words would win where force could not.
The old woman went ahead of the army and gained the confidence of Bata's wife. Once inside the house, the cunning old woman revealed a box of jewelry fit for a queen-- carnelian, malachite, lapis, turquoise, gold and silver-- a royal gift for the woman that Pharaoh desired.
The young wife allowed herself to be persuaded, sick of her solitude and hungry for wealth and power. But she feared Bata's wrath would follow them, so she told the army where Bata had hidden his heart. They chopped down the tree and Bata fell at once. Bata's wife jubilantly made her way to the court, where Pharaoh made her his queen.
Anpu knew as the beer foamed out of his jug that Bata was dying. He sped to the valley, where he found his dear brother lying cold and insensate on the ground. Tearfully, Anpu brought his brother into the house, but he steeled himself and began his search for his brother's heart in the branches of the cedar tree.
Three years passed fruitlessly, and at the beginning of the fourth, as he was beginning to despair of finding it, he found a shrivelled thing, that on further examination, turned out to be his brother's precious heart. Remembering Bata's instructions, Anpu placed it in a bowl of water and waited by his brother's side. The heart absorbed the water, and as it regained its true shape, Bata's eyes opened and he began to move. Anpu gave him the water to drink, and in so doing, Bata swallowed his heart. His vigor renewed, Bata stood, and the brothers embraced joyously.
Bata swore revenge on the wife who had wronged him. "Here's what we'll do," said Bata. "I'll turn myself into a bull, and you'll ride me to the Pharaoh's court. He'll want to buy me immediately-- let him do so, and leave. Then I shall take my revenge."
Bata transformed into a miraculous bull, gleaming gold and flecked with handsome dark spots. Crowds gathered around them as they traveled to Pharaoh's court, where Anpu was given great rewards in exchange for the magnificent animal. Once inside, the bull was decked with flowers and given free run of the palace. In his roaming the grounds he soon found the new queen. He touched her with his horns.
"I live," he said softly.
Surprised, the queen could only whipser, "Who?"
"Bata, your husband," he replied. "I am he whom you had murdered by the soldiers. You did not kill me-- I live."
So saying, he wandered away, leaving the queen pale and shaking.
That night, the queen begged a boon of Pharaoh. "Swear by the gods," she said, smiling sweetly at him, "to give me whatever I want."
"I swear it," he promised, kissing her.
"Then give me the great bull's liver. All he does is roam around the palace-- what is he good for but to eat?" she asked.
Pharaoh was angry at being forced into such a request, but kept his word. The bull was sacrificed at the palace gate to the gods. As the bull thrashed in its death throes, its blood splashed on the gateposts. The liver was offered up to the queen, who ate it happily.
Overnight, two beautiful persea trees grew up in front of the gateposts. Pharaoh was sure that this was a blessing, but none knew that they were seeded by Bata's blood.
Pharaoh and the queen went to make offerings to the trees soon thereafter, and they sat on thrones beneath the shade of evergreen leaves. But over the rumble of drums and trilling of pipes from the temple dancers, the queen heard a familiar voice in the gentle soughing of the branches.
"Treacherous liar, you had the soldiers cut down the cedar, you had them kill the bull, but know that I am Bata and I live!"
Truly afraid, the queen used all her wiles to extract another promise from Pharaoh. She begged him to chop down the trees and make furniture out of them. He was very reluctant to do so, fearing to anger whoever put them there, but she pestered him until he relented. She went with him to see the deed done and make sure Bata was no more, her lips parted in a cruel smile. as the woodsman's axe cut the first stroke, a tiny splinter of wood entered her mouth-- she swallowed it unwittingly, and became pregnant that instant.
A boy was born to Pharaoh and the queen. He grew to be crown prince, a strong, handsome boy, wise beyond his years, kind to all, save his own mother. She did not speak of his resemblance to Bata.
Pharaoh died, his soul uniting once again with the gods, and the prince took the throne. Once the coronation ceremony was complete, the prince called for the queen mother. Standing her before the court, Bata told his life story-- of his escape from Anpu's home, his wife the gods had gifted him, and her cruel treachery.
Bata sentenced her to die, and the court agreed. The queen was taken away to face her fate by the knife as the Hathors had proclaimed. Bata then called for Anpu, and for thirty years the devoted brothers ruled Egypt together.

Some notes: To an Egyptian, one's heart was sacrosanct, the seat of life, emotion, and intellect-- it was treated with special care in the mummification process (brains, by contrast, were yanked out and thrown away). Khenmu, the potter god, is one of the oldest gods in the Egyptian pantheon, and lord of a whole host of things, most having to do with birth and creation. He's associated with the clay of the Nile and is called the Father of Fathers, Mother of Mothers. He's the one who sculpts new people, imbues them with a soul, and places them in the womb to be born. The Seven Hathors were the seven aspects of the goddess Hathor (a sky goddess, primarily, but goddess of a whole hell of a lot more, including dance, love and drunkenness), who pronounced the fate of child upon its birth. Avocadoes belong to the persea family-- the Egyptian version has smaller fruits and leaves.