Part 1 (1/2)
The Talking Thrush.
by William Crooke and W. H. D. Rouse.
Preface
THE stories contained in this little book are only a small part of a large collection of Indian folk-tales, made by Mr. Crooke in the course of the Ethnological Survey of the North-West Provinces and Oudh. Some were recorded by the collector from the lips of the jungle-folk of Mirzapur; others by his native a.s.sistant, Pandit Ramgharib Chaube.
Besides these, a large number were received from all parts of the Provinces in response to a circular issued by Mr. J. C. Nesfield, the Director of Public Instruction, to all teachers of village schools.
The present selection is confined to the Beast Stories, which are particularly interesting as being mostly indigenous and little affected by so-called Aryan influence. Most of them are new, or have been published only in the _North Indian Notes and Queries_ (referred to as _N.I.N.Q._).
In the re-telling, for which Mr. Rouse is responsible, a number of changes have been made. The text of the book is meant for children, and consequently the first aim has been to make an interesting story. Those who study folk-tales for any scientific purpose will find all such changes marked in the Notes. If the change is considerable, the original doc.u.ment is summarised. It should be added that these doc.u.ments are merely brief Notes in themselves, without literary interest. The Notes also give the source of each tale, and a few obvious parallels, or references to the literature of the subject.
The Talking Thrush
A CERTAIN man had a garden, and in his garden he sowed cotton seeds.
By-and-by the cotton seeds grew up into a cotton bush, with big brown pods upon it. These pods burst open when they are ripe; and you can see the fluffy white cotton bulging all white out of the pods. There was a Thrush in this garden, and the Thrush thought within herself how nice and soft the cotton looked. She plucked out some of it to line her nest with; and never before was her sleep so soft as it was on that bed of cotton.
Now this Thrush had a clever head; so she thought something more might be done with cotton besides lining a nest. In her flights abroad she used often to pa.s.s by the door of a Cotton-carder. The Cotton-carder had a thing like a bow, made of a piece of wood, and a thong of leather tying the ends together into a curve. He used to take the cotton, and pile it in a heap; then he took the carding-bow, and tw.a.n.g-tw.a.n.g-tw.a.n.ged it among the heap of cotton, so that the fibres or threads of it became disentangled. Then he rolled it up into oblong b.a.l.l.s, and sold it to other people, who made it into thread.
The Thrush often watched the Cotton-carder at work. Every day after dinner, she went to the cotton tree, and plucked out a fluff of cotton in her beak and hid it away. She went on doing this till at last she had quite a little heap of cotton all of her own. At least, it was not really her own, because she stole it; but then you cannot get policemen to take up a Thrush for stealing, and as men catch Thrushes and put them in a cage all for nothing, it is only fair the birds should have their turn.
When the heap of cotton was big enough, our Thrush flew to the house of the Cotton-carder, and sat down in front of him.
”Good day, Man,” said the Thrush.
”Good day, Birdie,” said the Cotton-carder. The Thrush was not a bit afraid, because she knew he was a kind man, who never caught little birds to put them in a cage. He liked better to hear them singing free in the woods.
”Man,” said the Thrush, ”I have a heap of beautiful cotton, and I'll tell you what. You shall have half of it, if you will card the rest and make it up into b.a.l.l.s for me.”
”That I will,” said the man; ”where is it?”
”If you will come with me,” said the Thrush, ”I'll show you.”
So the Thrush flew in front, and the man followed after, and they came to the place where the h.o.a.rd of cotton was hidden away. The man took the cotton home, and carded it, and made it into b.a.l.l.s. Half of the cotton he took for his trouble, and the rest he gave back to the Thrush. He was so honest that he did not cheat even a bird, although he could easily have done so. For birds cannot count: and if you find a nest full of eggs, and take one or two, the mother-bird will never miss them; but if you take all, the bird is unhappy.
Not far away from the Carder lived a Spinner. This man used to put a ball of cotton on a stick, and then he pulled out a bit of the cotton without breaking it, and tied it to another little stick with a weight on it. Then he twisted the weight, and set it a-spinning; and as it span, he held the cotton ball in one hand, and pulled out the cotton with the other, working it between finger and thumb to keep it fine.
Thus the spindle went on spinning, and the cotton went on twisting, until it was twisted into thread. That is why the man was called a Spinner. It looks very easy to do, when you can do it; but it is really very hard to do well.
To this Spinner the Thrush came, and after bidding him good day, said she--
”Mr. Spinner, I have some b.a.l.l.s of cotton all ready to spin into thread.
Will you spin one half of them into thread for me, if I give you the other half?”
”That I will,” said Mr. Spinner; and away they went to find the cotton b.a.l.l.s, Thrush first and Spinner following.