Week 12 Storytelling: Mango Tree Travels

“Grandpa, why must we walk to this tree again?” asked Danzell.

“The route that we must take is not quite suitable for an automobile,” responded Bhoj.

“And how many hours will it take us to get there?” implored Kuroff.

“About 7,” said Bhoj.

“Ahh, that’ll take forever!” whined the boys.

“Hush, now you both wanted to go,” added Kirsa. “Hurry and eat your breakfast so that you can head out before dawn.”

They gathered their travel gear and headed west for the mango tree just as the sun breached the horizon. Luckily, the path they were set to travel was lined with mature sandalwoods; they would be spared some of the parching sunlight of a typical Indian summer day.

“Grandpa, my feet already hurt,” exclaimed Danzell half an hour into their trip.

“Oh my, what have I gotten myself in to?” thought Bhoj.

The three made their way through countryside on the tranquil dirt path. A calming breeze at their backs made it easier for the boys to handle the walk.

Just as the three began to hear to the Ganges off in the distance they came across a familiar face.

“Bhoj, what a pleasant surprise!” shouted Rasalu, Bhoj’s longtime comrade.

The two exchanged a hand shake and hug that only true friendship can elicit. The boys hadn’t seen their grandfather smile that big in quite some time.

“Well, who are these two handsome lads?” said Rasalu jovially. “Surely they can’t be kin to someone as ugly as you.”

The boys glanced at one another and broke out in the type of laughter that wrenches your stomach.

“He’s our Grandpa,” said Kuroff.

“Well, where are the three of you headed?” beseeched Rasalu.

“The mango tree,” responded Bhoj.

“That must be close to half a day’s commute from here on foot!” quipped Rasalu.

 “Would you like to take my elephants? I’ll come along, too; I haven’t been to that wonderful tree in years. We would cut travel time in half.”

Bhoj looked at the boys seeking their approval.

“Yeah!” rumbled both boys jumping up and down.

“Very well, let us go and prepare them for travel,” said Rasalu.

The four then set off on the trail towards the mango tree on elephant.

“Wait till we tell Dad what we did at Grandpa’s this summer!” proclaimed Kuroff.

“He’ll be so jealous,” added Danzell.

The boys were now able to enjoy the scenery from a marvelous vantage point as they made their way west. They crossed the Ganges and began on the low incline at the base of mountain range.

“Let us stop and enjoy the scenery,” said Bhoj.

“Of course,” agreed Rasalu.

They continued in this fashion of stopping and enjoying the marvelous views all the way to the peak of the mountain.

“The MANGO tree,” shouted the boys as they breached the zenith.

 

                                                                             Mango Tree

Rasalu commanded the elephants to lower themselves so that the boys could hop off.

They both then darted off to touch the tree and look out over the summit of the mountain.

“Wow, Grandpa was telling the truth,” exclaimed Danzell, “there is an entire valley full of people just on the base of this mountain.”

Rasalu, taken back by the boys’ enthusiasm for the lei tree, asked, “How in the world do you have these boys so excited to explore nature?”

Bhoj responded, “Oh, you know. I still tell my tall tales from time to time.”

 

Author's note: I wrote this story in third person so that I could provide the reader with the perspectives off all characters. I hoped to be able to illustrate an adventure that took place in the Raja Rasalu unit. I didn't make any significant changes to the story. What I did do was expand upon the section of the story from their journey on the way to the mango tree.

 

Bibliography: Swynnerton, Charles. Adventures of the Punjab Hero Raja Rasalu.

 

Week 11 Storytelling: Gopa's Thoughts

                                                                            Journal

 

 

 

5/2/450

Dear diary,

Today the king’s priest came into my home and, upon seeing me, began to jump up and down and rejoice. I thought that he was quite an odd man; however, he informed me that I was going to be prince Siddhartha’s wife. I mean, who ever said that I wanted to be married? I don’t even know the guy. I’m more interested in enjoying my twenties as a free spirit.

-G

5/5/450

Dear diary,

People in the city are making such a big deal about prince Siddhartha! Just today I was informed that all young girls were to travel to the palace on Saturday in order to receive gifts from the guy. Me? Yeah, I’m going to show up late and act like I totally don’t care.

-G

5/7/450

Dear diary,

So, I did just as I said I’d do; I was the last one to show up at the palace. Siddhartha tried giving me a ring. All I could think was that, “He must like it if he wants to put a ring on it.” I didn’t want to take it – after all, I’m not in to pretention. A ring that nice would surely draw all sorts of attention to me.

-G

5/8/450

Dear diary,

The stinking king of Kapilavastu showed up at our doorstep today asking my dad to permit Siddhartha to marry me. Why am I not able to have any say in this? Luckily, my dad said the prince had been nothing but a sloth thus far in his life and he didn’t know if he could permit my marriage to such a man.

-G

5/15/450

Dear diary,

Great – just because my dad called out the prince for his lethargic nature, there is going to be a city-wide competition to prove that Siddhartha isn’t lazy after all. I think it’s actually somewhat amusing that these boys are all going to compete for my hand in marriage. This afternoon is going to be interesting.

-G

5/16/450

Dear diary,

Well, the first challenger to Siddhartha was an artsy-type. He wanted to compete with the prince in a ‘write-off,’ but Visvamitra stepped in and declared Siddhartha the victor before anyone had even done as much as pick up a pen. Next up was a mathematical match-up. Siddhartha won that one, too. I was actually pretty glad at that because the other competitor was a pocket-protected prim.

-G

5/20/450

Dear diary,

It has been arranged. I’m marrying Siddhartha. I hope that I like this guy. I haven’t even had the chance to sit down and converse.

 I’ll surely be back in the next few days to write about what I think about the prince once I formally meet him.

-G

 

Author’s note: I wrote this story in first person to describe how Gopa may have felt during the process of Siddhartha winning her hand in marriage. The unit itself didn’t include much about Gopa other than her dream. I found that a bit odd, so I wanted to expand upon her character here. This section of the unit focused on what Siddhartha and his father had to do in order for Siddhartha to marry Gopa. I should also mention that Siddhartha is the name of the man who would go on to become ‘Buddha.’ I didn’t change anything as far as plot, but I did include much more of Gopa’s thoughts. Link to the story: http://www.sacred-texts.com/bud/lob/lob09.htm

Bibliography: The Life of Buddha, by Ferdinand Herold. 1922.

 

Storytelling for Week 10: Avian Assessment

Swoosh! Down went Bhimi as he flew straight for earth’s surface. His siblings – Korza and Khamki – had no choice but to do the same.

“Why in the world are we going to land in the middle of India?” asked Khamki. “I mean, after all we are heading southwest, aren’t we?”

“Oh hush,” barked Bhimi.

“I grew tired. We’ve flown over 300 miles today.”

“Yeah, that’s what you get to look forward to with aging,” joked Korza. “You will have to stop and take breaks.”

Khamki gestured as if her back was hurting to poke fun at Bhimi. Both She and Korza got a good laugh out of it, but Bhimi – not so much.

“Look, just because I’m the eldest and most mature of us three doesn’t mean you can disrespect me. Mom and Dad will be quite pleased to see, so let’s just rest a little and make it back to see them in a few days,” said the wise Bhimi.

“Now help me find a place for us to land before it gets too dark.”

“How about we aim for that clearing in the woods where all of those humans are gathered. Maybe there is some sort of a festival going on,” declared Khamki.

The three finches slowed their descent and nestled on a tree branch just a few feet from an eclectic bunch of fowls.

 

 

                                                                        Storytime

“Well hey there,” said an eagle perched right below them. “What brings you to the battle for Hastinapura?”

“The battle for what?” cried Korza.

“Hastinapura” shouted a vulture from a few feet down on the field.

“I’m sorry, but we are just stopping by on our migration west,” explained Bhimi. “We had no intent to participate in a battle.”

The fowls turned to look at the finches and burst out in laughter.

“Oh my! No, we’re not going into any type of battle here,” uttered a sparrow who sat just below them. “This is the battle for the kingdom of Hastinapura.”

The eagle cut in, “We’re nothing but spectators for this event. It promises to deliver plenty of action if you’d like to stay and watch.”

“Why in the world are these two groups going to fight for this – Hastinapura?” enquired Khamki.

So the three of the birds went on explaining the events of the Mahabharata to their new companions.

“What a shame!” cried Bhimi. “This family had everything the world had to offer at their fingertips: knowledge, prosperity, peace, and they elected to pour it down the drain because of their vices.”

“And I thought that we migratory birds had it bad. No – Duryodhana, Shakuni, and Dhritarashtra – these are men who disgust me with their every being.”

The next day, the birds all spectated at the battle that began to unfold.

“What a mess these humans are,” said Khamki.

All of the birds nodded in agreement.

“Well, I suppose that we could sit around and be entertained by the bloodshed all night if we pleased. We must surely make way our way west before we lose another day of migration.”

After the finches bade their farewells, they were gone just as swiftly as they landed.

Author's note: I again chose to write in third person with the hope of sharing the opinions of several characters in the story. My intent with this story was to illustrate that even the simplest of creatures realized that what was going on was wrong. I did not make any changes to the Mahabharata.

Bibliography: Narayan, R. K. (1978). The Mahabharata.

 

Week 9 Storytelling: A City of Splendour

“Go and play now, Virta” said Nartha. “Leave the man to do his work.”

She pointed and led him away. She then chuckled at the inquisitive nature of children.

“He doesn’t bother me a bit,” said the architect.

Nartha responded, “Nonsense, you must work without distraction to have this project finished before the grand rajasuya sacrifice.”

The architect later sought out Virta.

“You know I can build just about anything, right?” asked the architect.

“Anything?” implored Virta.

“Yes, is there anything special that you would like for your section of the house? There is a surplus of space,” explained the architect.

“Just last week I built a swimming pool lavish enough to accommodate the Pandavas.”

“My parents wouldn’t permit something grand in my living quarters – after all, I’m a kid!” responded Virta.

“We can keep this between the two of us,” added the architect.

“Well, how would you create something special without my parents knowing?” beseeched Virta.

“Ha! That is the easy part,” scoffed the architect. “I have built all types of secret nooks and crannies for my clients for years.”

“Secret?” grinned Virta.

“Of course! Typically it is at the request of the head of the household in order to get some time away from the Mrs. and enjoy the ‘man cave,’” lauded the architect. “But that is beside the point.”

“Virta?” called Nartha as she made her way through the partially constructed palatial abode.

“Okay, so how about you draw up what you think you’d like?” said the architect as he tore off a piece of his design paper. “Come up with a few ideas and I’ll do my best to work it in to your quarters.”

Nartha made her way out to the patio as the architect hurried off to continue his craft.

“What are you doing out here alone?” inquired Nartha.

“I was just playing by myself, per your suggestion,” quipped Virta.

“Well, go wash up and prepare yourself for dinner. We are expecting to have our neighbors – the Pandavas -- over to dine with us,” explained Nartha.

After dinner, Virta hurried off to draw up some sketches for the architect.

“What should I do? The possibilities are limitless!” thought Virta.

“Ah! I know.”

Virta flipped open a few of his favorite books. These tales described an imaginary escape by the main character into a world so exciting that no kid would ever want to leave.

Virta drew up everything that stuck with him during the fictional excursion – slides, elevators, zip lines, and trampolines – and placed the drawings on his nightstand. Off to bed he went, though the excitement made sleeping quite a challenge.

At sunrise the next morning Nartha came in to Virta’s room. “Rise and shine!” exclaimed Nartha. “We’re traveling to the other side of Indraprastha to visit your aunt.”

“Today?” asked Virta.

“Yes, today. Now get ready,” added Nartha.

“Great, I planned on handing the plans over to the architect myself! How will he ever know exactly what I want,” thought Virta.

Off they went. The trip took a half-days time on chariot. As a result, the family stayed with their kin overnight.

 

 

Epic Abode

 

Upon arrival the next day Virta darted to his section of the house.

“What happened?” he thought to himself. “This looks. . . normal.”

Virta grew upset at the thought of the architect letting him down.

A tear made its way down Virta’s cheek as he leaned against his wall. Upon touching the wall Virta managed to press on an uneven brick.

Bam! Down went Virta as the wall gave way and he sped down a slide. The slide ended on a foam ball pit. After Virta made his way out of the pit, he marveled at all of the features of his hidden playhouse. Everything he requested was carried out to a tee.

 

"He really is a master of design," thought Virta.

 

Author's note:  My tale was in a third person writing style. I wrote this story because I was inspired by the description of the city of Indraprastha. I hoped to be able to provide depth to the events that occurred when the city was being built. Narayan mentioned the city and all of its grandeur, but he did not include much of the building itself.

Bibliography: Narayan, R. K. (1978). The Mahabharata.

Week 7 Storytelling: Jovial Jackal

The 5 o’ clock whistle rang at the Canine Brothers law office. All fifty workers logged out of their computers, grabbed their suitcases, and headed for the door.

“Ah, what a WONDERFUL day it is,” thought Mr. Jackal as he strolled down the tree-lined sidewalk.

Mr. Jackal's Street

 

“Looking great, Mrs. Equine”

“Good day, Mr. Hare.”

Mr. Jackal said all of this as he made his way home. He strolled up along his fence and gave a great grin to his children as they played in the yard.

“Honey!” cried Jackal’s wife.

“Why the commotion, dear?” said Mr. Jackal.

“That tiger! He is at it once again!” exclaimed Mrs. Jackal.

“I saw it all from the window!”

“And what was it that you saw, honey?” beckoned Mr. Jackal.

“Well, you see, there was a mighty nice Brahman fellow making his way down the sidewalk when he came across the tiger pleading for help,” said Mrs. Jackal.

“Wasn’t he [the tiger] in there because of a failed attempt at murder? That’s the word down at the office,” said Mr. Jackal.

“Yes!” cried out Mrs. Jackal.

“What I’m trying to get at is that the tiger managed to coax Brahman tourist into opening the cage!”

“The poor man didn’t have any idea of who that tiger really is.”

“Now you need to hurry out there or that tiger is going to eat that poor Brahman!”

Mr. Jackal, well-equipped to handle situations like this because of his law background, hurried onto the scene.

“Tell me what is wrong, dear Brahman,” said the jackal calmly.

The Brahman, trembling in terror, proceeded, “The tiger lamented and pleaded for anyone to help him out of the cage he was locked in.”

“Uh huh, I see. Go on,” said the jackal.

“He [the tiger] claimed that he was locked in by accident. I thought he looked to be a man of good character,” declared the Brahman. “And as soon as I opened the door he pounced on me and roared that he was going to eat me.”

“Well why don’t we go and hear the tiger’s side of the story?” responded the jackal.

“My good sir, Mr. Tiger, how are you today?” asked the jackal.

“Mighty fine!” said the tiger. “And even better after I devour this Brahman for supper.”

“About that,” said the jackal, “why don’t you explain just what happened?”

“So I was locked in this here cage,” responded the tiger.

The jackal, looking puzzled, said “What do you mean locked in?”

“You know, confined within the bars,” beckoned the tiger as he approached his former prison.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” said the jackal. “I can be slow to grasp situations at times.”

“Ah! Perhaps a visual would help me to better understand your story,” exclaimed the jackal.

“Fine you idiot,” shouted the tiger as he jumped in the cage.

“I was trapped. Like this. In the cage.”

The jackal, having set up the tiger just right, pounced on the door and saw it slam shut.

“Now have a fine day, my Brahman,” commented the jackal, “and see to it that you don’t fall for the ploys of these thugs.”

 

Author’s note: I told this story in third person to elaborate on the character of the jackal. In the Indian Fairytale  In the Indian Fairy Tales the jackal is simply brought in out of nowhere; I thought it would be nice to have known more about him. The original story line had that the Brahman helped the tiger who was trapped in the cage and pleading for his life. Upon being freed, the tiger threatened to eat the Brahman. Next, the jackal came about and tricked the tiger into being locked back up. I didn't change the overall storyline much; what I did manage to do was to create a story for the jackal and slightly readjust the conversation that led to the tiger's self-imprisonment.

Bibliography: Indian Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs (1912).

Week 6 Storytelling: Lei Tree

The boys walked one on each side of their grandfather as they made their way down the cognac dirt trail thru the forest. Their dogs wandered about closely, sniffing through the grass and trees that lined the path back home.

“What a spectacle that sunset is,” said Ralla as he marveled at the pastel on the horizon as the sun was busy on its way illuminating the western sky.

“Grandpa, it’s just the sky. Why do you find it to be something special?” remarked Kuroff.

The grandfather had no response – not that it had any effect on the kids, anyway.

“What do you think about trees, Danzell?” asked Ralla.

Danzell laughed. “Eh, they are good for climbing, I suppose.”

“What if I told you that many of the seemingly mundane facets of life are actually sometimes the most intriguing?” said Ralla.

“Have either of you heard of the lei tree?”

                                                                         Tree of Lei

“The lei tree? No,” said Kuroff.

“This tree blessed an entire valley of villages with the most fertile farming soil, the ripest fruits and an abundance of shade. It actually produced all kinds of fruit; each with its own unique succulence. Its branches served as arms open wide for any tender heart or weary traveler. Its sap provided the secret ingredient for teas of elixir,” claimed Ralla.

“What good was this tree for children like us, Grandpa?” Asked Danzell.

“Well, it was known for its ability to all with wisdom,” claimed Ralla.

Danzell and Kuroff cried, “Is that it?”

Right around this time the grandfather and his grandchildren reached their estate. Ralla’s wife and the boys’ grandmother, Kirsa, had prepared the boys a snack. The three took their treat and made way towards the backyard. Then, four of them and their dogs sat around the base of a shade tree.

“I was just now telling Danzell and Kuroff about the lei tree. In particular, I was mentioning that it was a fountain of wisdom for adolescents,” said Ralla.

“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Kirsa.

“This tree yielded many a tactical genius in battle, sages and medicine men.”

“These men were able to discern the correct path to take in order to carry out their highest ambitions.”

“Even the great Rama was known to frequent the tree in times of uncertainty.”

The boys squealed, “Rama!”

“The warrior Rama? The brave and noble prince of fair Ayodhya?” asked Kuroff.

“Yes, that Rama,” exclaimed Ralla.

“Well, can we visit this tree of lei that you speak of?” beseeched Danzell.

“If your mother permits,” responded Ralla.

“We’ll ask her when she comes by to pick you boys up in the morning.”

The boys, looking as desolate as could be, obliged and continued to eat their snack. Luckily, the boys were taxed by the walk to the Ganges and fell asleep with no problem. Danzell and Kuroff awoke the following morning to the smell of fresh eggs and toast.

The two hopped up as soon as they heard their mother, Sarep, speaking to their grandmother.

“Mom! Mom! Can we go with Grandpa to see the lei tree?” asked the kids.

“The lei tree? That will be quite the walk. Are you sure you want to trek such a distance?” said Sarep.

“Yes!” shouted the children as they jumped up and down.

“Well, go outside and find your grandfather boys,” said Kirsa.

 

 

Author’s note: I elected to write this story in third person to continue to add to my storybook. I found the story about the lei tree in the Khasi Folktale section of readings. I did change the original story by omitting the idea that the tree grew large and began to be destructive. Also, the actual story didn’t mention anything about the tree bearing fruit or providing people with wisdom. After reading the story of the lei tree and how stunning it was, I automatically thought that it would be a great fit for my storybook. Link to story: http://mythfolklore.blogspot.com/2014/07/khasithe-legend-of-iei-tree.html

Bibliography: Folktales of the Khasis by K.U. Rafy (1920).

Week 5 Storytelling: Help Needed

 

A Freed Forest

 

“Why I thought you would never ask,” exclaimed Ralla with a glaring smile on his face. “You see, deception can be quite a powerful tool. And when used only for the greater good of humanity it is permissible.”

“You mean that you tricked someone into carrying out a work for you, Grandpa?” asked Kuroff.

“Well, you see, [we] hermits were for some time ravaged by the Rakshasa. They we were a sinister breed who, for joy, terrorized the people of the Dandaka forest. Ever since the Rakshasa occupied our grounds, all things tied to mother earth – game, foliage and the like-- died, migrated away or was eaten.”

“Grandpa, what does a Rakshasa look like?” questioned Danzell.

“They are a hideous people. They have wings for flight, claws for battle and fangs for preying on just about whomever they please,” responded Ralla.

“Now, like I was saying, the Rakshasa were a menace to our existence. We hermits had no way of combatting them and their malicious attacks,” said Ralla. “We in Dandaka had heard of a great warrior who hailed from great Aydohya – Rama was his name.”

“What did Rama look like, Grandpa?” asked Kuroff.

Ralla grinned. He said, “As broad as two mature ox. Hair as dark as the fur of a black bear. As tall as the three of us stacked one atop the other.”

“Whoa!” shouted Kuroff.

“As I was saying, we knew that Rama had previously defeated several Rakshasa with only his bow. We also knew that a warrior of his greatness wouldn’t waste his time venturing into Dandaka unless he had to,” exclaimed Ralla. “So when we heard that he was in the vicinity, we devised an attempt to bring him to our modest Dandaka.”

“We knew that Agastya, being a demon-slayer himself, would likely know the great Rama personally. You see, men [Rama and Agastya] of such character demand respect from all men they encounter. As such, we sent Agastya out for a day in order to repay a former favor. We quickly sent a hermit over to Agastya’s abode to pose as Agastya himself.”

“Grandpa, you committed an immoral act!” shouted Danzel and Kuroff.

“Yes, but only for the greater good – as I’ve already mentioned,” stressed Ralla.

“Luckily, the hermit was quite the impressionist and carried out the plan to perfection. He directed Rama and his entourage to Dandaka to help out us hermits.”

“You see, a warrior of his character was obligated to help out laymen like us.”

“But Grandpa, why couldn’t you just have asked Agastya to help you?” inquired Danzel.

Ralla chuckled. “Only a few men in this world could accomplish the feat Rama did,” said Ralla, “thousands of Rakshasa would engage in battle once they heard who was in their territory.”

“The Rakshasa, seething at the opportunity to fight, showed up before sundown.”

“Rama, noble as he was, ordered his entourage to seek protection. The night sky crackled with thunder as the Rakshasa set out for northern Dandaka.”

“What happened next, what happened next?” squealed the boys. “I bet that Rama destroyed them with a single blow,” cried Kuroff as he demonstrated the fighting moves he’d envisioned.

“As soon as the Rakshasa spotted Rama they bee-lined right towards him,” explained Ralla. “Rama, being the seasoned warrior he was, darted to his side so as to line the Rakshasa up one after the other. He drew his bow back as far as the string allowed and fired an arrow – piercing the hearts of a dozen nearly instantaneously.”

Kuroff and Danzel, thrilled by the story, drew and aimed their imaginary bows and fired them into the sky.

“Rama burned through his arrows in nearly no time; he then drew his seasoned blade and jumped tree limb to tree limb slicing through the Rakshasas as they zipped through the trees like angry hornets,” said Ralla.

“Rama would not be defeated, no. He single-handedly dismantled the Rakshasa army headed by Khara.”

“You were present to witness ALL of this?” asked Danzel.

“Why yes,” proclaimed Ralla.

“Our plan to purge the Rakshasas from Dandaka had worked to perfection it did.”

“Gradually, the beasts of the field and plants of the ground found their way back to graceful Dandaka.”

Kuroff and Danzel imitated the battle with imaginary weapons on the banks of the Ganges.

“Has ANYTHING else happened to you that we should know about?” asked Kuroff.

“Let us first make our way back home and I’ll see what I can do,” remarked Ralla.

Author’s note: I told this story in third person in order to maintain the style for my storybook. The purpose of the storybook is to describe some of the more notable landmarks mentioned in the Ramayana. For this story in particular, I hoped to continue telling stories as the grandfather of the two boys, Danzel and Kuroff. I did change the way in which Rama ended up in the Dandaka forest – my story entailed a hermit posing as Agastya.

Bibliography: Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way. 

 

 

Week 4 Storytelling: The Story Behind the Scar

                                                          Where the Fruit Grow

“Grandpa, grandpa,” cried out Danzl and Kuroff, “what happened to your back?”

“What do you speak of?” responded Ralla.

“Your back! You have that massive scar on your back. How did it get there?” pleaded Danzl and Kuroff.

“Well, you see there once ruled a villain named Ravana. And Ravana enjoyed wreaking havoc on any and everyone. For a few thousand years Ravana was especially violent. Village after village was destroyed because Ravana simply found violence to be – fun.” explained Ralla.

“But the scar, how did you get the scar?” asked Kuroff.

“Oh, yes! The scar. Where were we now?” said Ralla.

“Did you fight the villain yourself?” implored Danzl.

Ralla chuckled. “Oh no! I was simply collecting the fruits that had come to season. It just so happened that I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.” exclaimed Ralla.

Ralla, with a look of bewilderment on his face, said, “So you’re telling us that the FRUITS scarred you?”

“Now let me explain,” remarked Ralla, “I was in the fruit fields that are fed by the Ganges just south of Mount Kailasa. I was harvesting the fruits for the family when I heard a thunder from the mountains. I could not tell what was going on, but the mountains themselves looked very peculiar. Black were the clouds, red were sparks flying and green was an odd aura surrounding two figures on mountainside.”

Ralla and Kuroff, both wide-eyed, were engaged in nothing but the tale.

“It was the tenacious terror – Ravana. On this particular day he had chosen to fight the mountain god Shiva. Shiva was no chump now. Ravana, even with all of his trickery, was up for quite the battle with artist of war like Shiva.” Explained Ralla.

“So how did the SCAR come about?” begged the children.

“Ah yes, the scar! You see, the battle between the two was quite turbulent; the ground shook, the water in the Ganges crashed against the banks and rocks exploded from the side of Kailasa.” detailed Ralla.

The children, not knowing their grandfather had ever experienced anything half this exciting, were on the edge of their proverbial seats.

“The fight was back and forth – hours went by as the two exchanged blows. Then, Shiva grabbed Ravana by the neck and thrust him to the ground. Shiva then picked up the entire Himalayan mountain range and pinned Ravana down with it.” said Ralla.

“And when Shiva jabbed the Himalayas down as his sword, boulders tumbled from its side. And, unfortunately, one of those boulders struck me in the back as I ran for cover.” described Ralla.

“Awesome!” exclaimed the kids. “Do you have any more cools stories to tell?” beseeched Kuroff.

Author's note:
The background for this story is that in the Hindu culture, mount Kailasa is a venerated landmark. This is due to the belief that Shiva still resides there. I chose two write this in third person because I wanted readers to understand the emotions on both sides of the conversation. This was my attempt at explaining the events at Mount Kailasa that afford it special attention. I thought it would be more realistic to include traits of the characters like impatience on the part of the children and a tendency to side-track by an elder. My motivation for telling this tale was to be able to incorporate it into my storytelling website. The goal of the storytelling site is to depict why some of the most beautiful natural Indian landmarks are culturally significant. My hope is to be able to tie this in with other stories told by the grandfather that essentially guide the reader through the India. The image that I chose was actually of Mount Kailasa; it included a body of water which I mentioned in the text. I thought this would be a somewhat accurate image that the children listening to the story would have envisioned when listening to their grandfather.

 

 

Bibliography: Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way. 

Week 3 Storytelling

“Search for Sita in every nook and corner.” This was the only fragment of instruction young Kahi heard Rama give as he prepared the monkey armies to traverse the land in search for Sita.

 

 

Kahi, intrigued by the excitement surrounding the search, decided to fill in his two best friends—Leali and Anka -- of what he’d heard from the majestic Rama. “His wife has been abducted,” exclaimed Kahi. Anka, suddenly appearing uneasy, then confessed “A time ago while I was out picking berries heard a woman’s shout come from the sky. Startled, I took cover behind a redwood. As I searched the sky for where the cry could have originated I saw a chariot zip across the horizon. It was traveling south over the great mass of water.” Leali, being the adventurous of the three, jumped with joy and shouted, “We’re going! We’re going to join in on the search!” Anka pleaded, “We’re too young. What if we get lost? What if he run in to violence? We can’t fight adults. We’re only of ten and two full seasonal cycles.” The decision had been made – they were going to search for Sita covertly

Before sunrise they following day they snuck out of their comfortable living quarters in the city center. Making their way into the newly sprung foliage, all three of their faces gleamed with excitement. “Ah, what a great smell,” said Kahi in reference to the pine scent of the forest. Twigs cracked, the moist grounds sunk, rivers rushed, and birds chirped as they made their way south towards the great water. “You said that Sita was carried over the water, right?” Remarked Kahi, sporting an inquisitive expression. Leali, knowing just where this series of inquiries was heading, said “the bushes along the beach where we’re heading bear rare fruits. Fruits which, when eaten, afford the ability to hold ones breath for days.” Kahi and Anka looked at one another in a frightened manner. “I’ve done it before. Don’t worry,” encouraged Leali.

While the youngsters sat on the beach on ate of the fruit, Hanuman and his raucous army showed up. Frightened by the punishment that might be handed down, the three attempted to make a break back into the forest. “Halt or we’ll shoot!” shouted a soldier. “Aren’t you three adolescents the descendants of Karkeez? You live in our village, do you not?” probed another. Kahi, frightened at how upset his elders would be, pleaded, “We can help. There is no way you can cross this body of water as is. Eat of this fruit and you’ll be able to trek thru it.” “What do you mean ‘trek thru it?” probed the soldier. “Well, you see, these allow you to be able to hold your breath for days. Given that amount of time, you can walk right across the bottom and surprise the enemy on the other side,” exclaimed Kahi. After much debate, Hanuman and Rama agreed that this was the best option. “However, you three must go back to the city and watch after your younger siblings. I will not place three adolescents in direct harm,” demanded Rama.

 

                                                            Preparation for Travel

The monkey army, utilizing the idea presented by Kahi, slipped into the water under the moonlight and capitalized on the element of surprise-- defeating Ravana and his army while they slept.

Author's note:
I wrote this story in third person in order to afford the reader with what these three adolescents hoped to accomplish. It is very much like a younger person to attempt to do something all by themselves. Although the kids didn't quite accomplish their task, they were able to serve their army. This story provided an alternative means by which the monkey army defeated Ravana. The actual epic claimed that the monkey army scoured southern India in search for Sita and only came to the southernmost edge once they encountered Sampathi. My changes to the original story include the method by which the army crossed the ocean as well as how the final battle unfolded. I thought that these changes would serve as a refreshing twist in the tale as no adolescents had been heavily involved aside from Rama. The image that I selected was taken from a Google search. It was an illustration of what I thought the monkey army would look like as they ate the fruit to prepare to cross the ocean. My hope with all of my blog posts is to be able to include an image that readily depicts the significant occurrences within the tale.

 

 

Narayan, R. K. (1972) The Ramayana.

Week 2 Storytelling: Mareecha's journey

“He must be killed at once!” exclaimed Mareecha. “Not a soul on this earth can kill my mother and get away with it.” These were Mareecha’s feelings following Thataka’s death at the hand of Rama in the forest of Sidhasrama. Just before Mareecha was set to pounce, Rama pivoted and released an arrow, catapulting Mareecha into the sea of Madartha with the force of the strike. Unconscious, Mareecha was guided by the current onto the sandy cove. At the break of dawn the next day, Mareecha awoke to the screech of feral baboons. Startled, he jolted up and looked around – there was nothing but water his east and jungle in remaining directions. “I can’t survive in there,” he remarked, “I’ll be eaten by some voracious beast before sundown.” He panicked and called upon the one being that could help him out of his situation – Yatha, overseer of the jungle. “Yatha,” he pleaded, “return me to my village and I promise to live a life of rectitude.” “No.” Replied Yatha. “You must live in the jungle AND carry out good works for those in need.” Mareecha, frayed by the approaching sounds of the jungle creatures, agreed. Abiding by the commands of Yatha, Mareecha lived on the outskirts of the jungle practicing goodwill and spirituality.

Source; Mareecha's cove

Meanwhile, Ravana, insatiable because of the description of Sita, burst into Mareecha’s living accommodation. “Mareecha! My uncle, I am in dire need of your help.” said Ravana. “I know that under your agreement with Yatha you can assist only those in need. And, well, I’m in need.” Ravana pleaded, “The love of my life is being held captive by two mortals. Won’t you aid me in liberating her?” Mareecha, fulfilling his oath to Yatha, obliged. “Present yourself as a fox of the forest and draw her away from her captors and towards me” said Ravana. Mareecha lauded the idea for its feasibility, “What a fantastic idea!”

 Upon arrival near the camp, Mareecha noticed just who her captors were – Rama and his brother. “I can’t; I can’t do this,” he quipped.  Just the look of Rama’s face made Mareecha frightened. “He’ll surely take my life if he catches me and realizes who I really am,” said Mareecha. So he darted for the thick of the forest and Rama chased shortly behind. “I just wanted a life of tranquility,” thought Mareecha as he pondered in what would surely be his last moments. Rama, realizing that this was no ordinary fox, drew a spear and hurled it in the path of Mareecha. It grazed Mareecha in the tail but not such it would do him any harm. “Yatha, please help me out of this!” claimed Mareecha. “I thought this was an innocuous instance of help. Rama tricked me!” Yatha, understanding the nature of what unfolded, granted Mareecha his wish and whisked him back to his hut. “Surely now you know who and who not to help, right?” said Yatha. “Your nephew wanted nothing more than to use you in order to fulfill his lustful desires.” Ravana made away with Sita and arrived back home with a new woman in hand. Because of the wrong he did to a harmless Rama, Mareecha felt compelled to reach out to Rama and offer his services in recapturing Sita.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Source: Narayan, R. K. (1972) The Ramayana.

Authors note: I chose to write this story in a third person style in order to provide more depth to the character Mareecha. It seemed as if he was forced to comply in the actual story and I wanted to provide more details as well as his cognitions moving forward. In my story I altered the animal that is pursued as well as Ravana's character -- I made him more of a deceiver in this retelling.