A Guide to Mythology

by Helen A. Clarke

In the following Hindoo story of “Punchkin” you will see the expression of the primitive notion that the life of a person may be bound up in some external object. Invention runs riot in the attempts to make this object as inaccessible as possible. There is the Norse story of the “Giant who had no Heart in his Body,” who finally tells the lovely princess he keeps in bondage that “Far, far away in a lake lies an island; on that island stands a church; in that church is a well; in that well swims a duck; in that duck there is an egg; and in that egg there lies my heart, you darling.” The hero, of course, goes and finds the giant’s heart, and so kills him, and rescues the princess. There is also the story of the little Hindoo princess, called Sodawa Bai, whose soul was in the beautiful golden necklace she was born with around her neck, and who died when another princess who hated her finally took it off.

PUNCHKIN

(A Hindoo Story)

Once upon a time there was a Rajah who had seven beautiful daughters. They were all good girls; but the youngest, named Balna, was more clever than the rest. The Rajah’s wife died when they were quite little children, so these seven poor princesses were left with no mother to take care of them.

The Rajah’s daughters took it by turns to cook their father’s dinner every day, whilst he was absent deliberating with his ministers on the affairs of the nation.

About this time the Purdan died, leaving a widow and one daughter; and every day, when the seven princesses were preparing their father’s dinner, the Purdan’s widow and daughter would come and beg for a little fire from the hearth. Then Balna used to say to her sisters, “Send that woman away; send her away. Let her get the fire at her own house. What does she want with ours? If we allow her to come here we shall suffer for it some day.” But the other sisters would answer, “Be quiet, Balna; why must you always be quarrelling with this poor woman? Let her take some fire if she likes.” Then the Purdan’s widow used to go to the hearth and take a few sticks from it; and, whilst no one was looking, she would quickly throw some mud into the midst of the dishes which were being prepared for the Rajah’s dinner.

Now the Rajah was very fond of his daughters. Ever since their mother’s death they had cooked his dinner with their own hands, in order to avoid the danger of his being poisoned by his enemies. So, when he found the mud mixed up with his dinner, he thought it must arise from their carelessness, as it appeared improbable that any one should have put mud there on purpose; but being very kind, he did not like to reprove them for it, although this spoiling of the curry was repeated many successive days.

At last, one day, he determined to hide and watch his daughters cooking and see how it all happened; so he went into the next room, and watched them through a hole in the wall.

There he saw his seven daughters carefully washing the rice and preparing the curry, and as each dish was completed they put it by the fire ready to be cooked. Next he noticed the Purdan’s widow come to the door, and beg for a few sticks from the fire to cook her dinner with. Balna turned to her, angrily, and said, “Why don’t you keep fuel in your own house and not come here every day and take ours? Sisters, don’t give this woman any more; let her buy it for herself.”

Then the eldest sister answered, “Balna, let the poor woman take the wood and the fire; she does us no harm.” But Balna replied, “If you let her come here so often, maybe she will do us some harm, and make us sorry for it, some day.”