SUDHA MURTY GRANDMA BAGS OF STORIES

Episode 6

Peerambhi will not be troubled

at all.’

Ajji saw the questioning look on the children’s faces and explained, ‘This is

Rehmat. A long time back when your Ajja was a schoolteacher, he was your

Ajja’s student. He lives a little far away now. He has a mango grove there,

and a large house. All his children live abroad. In his house there’s a large

library of books and what can be called a mini zoo with goats, cows,

peacocks, pigeons and parrots. He wants to have you all over for the night.

I’m sure you’ll have a good time, but do you want to go?’

‘He also tells very beautiful stories,’ added Ajja.

Rehmat grinned and said, ‘Masterji, don’t exaggerate. I started reading

children’s storybooks only after my grandchildren were born. Then I

remembered the stories you used to tell us in school and passed off some of them as my own.’ He turned to the children and said, ‘So what do you think,

kids, will you come with me? I will show you a different part of the village.’

Everyone was thinking, when Raghu spoke up, ‘Can we bring our friends

with us?’

‘Oh, you mean Vishnu Kaka’s grandchildren? Of course they can come.

The more the merrier. Peerambhi will love having so many children in the

house.’

Raghu ran to Sharan’s house to give the news.

Rehmat Chacha, as everyone called him, had brought a jeep and soon all

seven had packed a change and their toothbrushes and piled into it. Rehmat

Chacha’s house was far, about thirty kilometres away, and on the way they

had to go through a forest. The road cutting through the forest was narrow and

winding. Tall trees stood on both sides. It was a dark, scary place. Suma

looked around nervously and said, ‘Will anyone ever cut down these trees and

widen the road?’

Rehamt Chacha shook his head. ‘Oh no, the villagers will never allow it.

We love our trees and try to see as few are cut down as possible. Trees must

never be cut unnecessarily. Do you want to listen to a story about a kingdom

that cut down all its trees?’

Of course the children did, so Rehmat Chacha began his story.

Once there was a beautiful verdant green island. It had forests filled with huge

trees, waterfalls gushing with clear blue water and mountains where there was

a quarry of a unique kind of stone. This stone was valued for its attractive

white colour. It was also easy to turn into sculptures.

The island had been ruled for years by a king who was now old. He looked

after his people well and loved the natural beauty of his land above all. His

closest friend was a sculptor called Amar. Amar too loved the land more than

anything else. He had a school where students from far and wide came to

learn the art of creating sculptures out of stone. But Amar had one odd

condition for the students who studied in his school. He insisted they bring

their own supply of stone! Only for their final sculpture were they allowed to

use a piece of stone from the island’s quarry. Many grumbled at this rule.

After all, dragging tons of stone to an island in the middle of a sea was

difficult, but Amar was adamant.

Once his king asked him the reason for this condition, and this is what wise

old Amar had to say: ‘This stone and indeed everything on this remarkable

land of ours is a gift which we need to preserve. Unless we use it wisely how

will we be able to save this quarry for our children? If we start using the

stones and woods from trees without a thought they will soon finish and then

we will be left with an empty, barren land. This is why I insist that students

learning the craft of sculpting bring their own material, and only when they

make their final piece of art can they use this unique stone from our land.’

The king applauded this thought in his mind and let Amar run his school

the way he wanted. But then a day came when the king, now very old, died,

and his son took over the throne. Rajdip, the new king, wanted to do

everything differently from his father. He started changing many laws. One

day he remembered the art school and went to visit it. There he saw the

students working on their sculptures. But his ministers whispered to him the

complaints that other students, who had not wanted to bring their own

material, had made about Amar’s rule.

Rajdip realized that if he lifted the rule then many more people would come

to study in the school. Their fees would add to the prosperity of the island and

in addition they would create lovely works of art that could be used to

beautify the towns. He ordered Amar to step down as the teacher and brought

someone else to run the school.

Soon the island was full of students chipping away on the stone. Their

demands increased the mining at the quarry. They created large sculptures

which now needed to get transported back to the town. Trees were cut down

to make carts and to clear roads. Without trees to provide wood for their boats

the fishermen of the island could not go out to sea. They started fishing near

the land and got into fights frequently with one another. New houses were not

strong as both wood and stone were scarce. It was difficult for farmers to

make good ploughs and so farming suffered. All the mining created so much

of pollution that plants started dying out, diseases spread, and the tinkling

waterfalls fell silent as water became scarce. The climate changed, it became

hotter and drier. Soon there were famines and the once beautiful green island

was reduced to a wasteland of weeds and scrub.

Rajdip’s wishes of lining his capital city and palace with giant sculptures

was fulfilled. Each student in the art school made a beautiful huge statue and

gifted it to him. Soon these statues filled up the entire kingdom. Where once

there were deep forests and blue rivers and streams, the island was a barren land now. The forests were gone. The rivers had turned into dirty trickles of

water. The climate had become hot and dusty as the rains no longer came on

time. People started leaving the island. The houses, schools and palaces

slowly fell silent as they were abandoned. With time, everyone forgot about

this island. Many, many years later when explorers landed here, they found

hundreds of statues strewn all over a bare island: a land destroyed by the

king’s greed.

How everyone enjoyed the story. The rest of the journey was spent in each

one acting out a part from the story, with Rehmat Chacha taking on the role of

the wise old king. Cheerful and at the same time very hungry, they soon

reached their new friend’s house.

It was a huge rambling place. Peerambhi was waiting for them at the

doorstep. She told Usman to make a sherbet of mango, and Shurukumbha (a

kind of kheer) for lunch. There was also paratha, biriyani, and all kinds of

mouth-watering dishes which Usman was more than happy to prepare. After

lunch they roamed around the house, examined the books in the library and

the many awards Rehmat Chacha had received for his innovative skills in

agriculture.

The Kingdom of Fools

‘Rehmat Chacha, you must be very intelligent. You know so much about

farming, fishing, stories and so many other things,’ Meenu remarked that

night as they sat outside, watching the fireflies twinkling all around them.

But Rehmat Chacha did not agree. ‘No, not really. There is plenty I still

don’t know. In fact, one can never stop learning. Knowledge is the only thing

it’s good to be greedy about.’

It was a beautiful, clear night. The moon and stars shone in the black,

unpolluted sky. Peerambhi was feeling very happy. Her own grandchildren

lived so far away, and came to visit her only once in two or three years. After

so long the house was filled with laughter and young voices. She was too frail

to do much, and was enjoying sitting among them and talking to them.

Soon they started yawning and rubbing their eyes. But no one was going to

bed till Rehmat Chacha told another story!

There once lived a king who was very intelligent. He looked down upon

anyone he thought was dull. He was also very proud about the fact that in his

kingdom there were no stupid people.

Some distance away from the capital city lived an old teacher. He had

taught the young prince, who was a sweet-natured boy once but had turned

into a proud, rude king. Many people told him about the king’s boastful

nature, and the teacher decided to teach his old pupil a lesson he would never

forget. He called his three best and brightest students, Harish, Mahesh and Umesh, and said, ‘We need to bring that proud king down a peg or two. I

want the three of you to teach him a lesson and make him realize the

foolishness of his pride.’

The three students set off for the capital. Harish walked to the city market.

There he met a man selling betel leaves.

‘How much for these leaves?’ he asked.

‘Ten rupees for two hundred leaves,’ the shopkeeper replied.

‘Here are ten rupees. Give me only twenty-five leaves. My servant will

come and collect the balance one hundred and seventy-five leaves.’

The betel-leaf seller agreed and gave Harish twenty-five leaves.

Harish now strolled into another shop where beautiful shawls were being

sold.

‘How much for this?’ he asked, fingering the best shawl in the shop.

‘Two hundred rupees,’ answered the shopkeeper.

‘Here are twenty-five rupees. You can collect the remaining hundred and

seventy-five rupees from the paan shop there,’ Harish said, handing the

shopkeeper a note.

‘Please give the person who brings this note the remaining one hundred and

seventy-five,’ the note read. The shawl shop owner sent his servant with the

note to the paan shop to verify if indeed this was true. The other shopkeeper

glanced at the note and said, ‘Yes, it’s true. I have to give him one hundred

and seventy-five more. Come back in half an hour—I will count and keep

them ready.’

The servant returned and whispered to his master: indeed, the betel-leaf

seller was going to give them the remaining one hundred and seventy-five.

Harish walked out with the shawl. After half an hour, when the servant went

to collect the money, he found the shopkeeper busy counting out leaves.

‘Hundred seventy-three, hundred seventy-four, hundred seventy-five . . .

There you go, here are the rest of the leaves.’

The servant was amazed at being handed a sheaf of paan leaves instead of

money. He called his master and the two shopkeepers started arguing loudly.

Slowly they realized that someone had made fools of them. They rushed to

complain to the king.

The king was surprised to hear how a stranger had tricked the clever

shopkeepers of his kingdom. He decided to keep a lookout for this man.

The next day, Mahesh walked into the royal carpenter’s shop. It was the

middle of the afternoon and the carpenter was in his shop tinkering with some strange-looking instruments. Mahesh was well dressed, so the carpenter

thought he was rich. Enthusiastically he started showing off his various

creations. He picked up a large wooden lock and said, ‘See this? Will you

believe that with this you can even lock a man? Place the person’s head

between the lock and a pillar and turn the key, and there, the man cannot

escape.’

Mahesh pretended to be sceptical. ‘Go on now. How can a simple wooden

lock do such a thing? I don’t believe you.’ The carpenter got very agitated.

‘But it’s true, sir. I am the king’s carpenter after all. I create many complicated

instruments for the state. Here, let me show you.’ Saying this, he put the lock

around his neck and the nearest pillar and turned the key. ‘Now, see? I cannot

even move my neck! Are you convinced? Now just turn the key the other way

to set me free.’

But Mahesh would not turn the key. He just stood there laughing. Then he

coolly picked up the key and walked out of the shop. The carpenter could

only shout at Mahesh’s retreating back. ‘You villain! Come back! Set me

free!’ But it was in vain. Mahesh had fooled him.

Later that evening the king came to know of this other stranger who had

duped his clever carpenter. He was worried. Who were these men, making the

brightest people of his kingdom look stupid? He decided to go around the city

in disguise to try and catch them.

As he walked near the city gates, he found a man sitting there with a heap

of mangoes, waiting for someone to buy them. The fruit seller had chosen the

loneliest spot, so the king was suspicious.

‘Why are you selling your fruits here?’ he asked.

The fruit seller was actually Umesh. He pretended to look nervously

around and answered in a whisper, ‘Sir, I have heard there are some clever

cheats roaming around the kingdom wanting to cheat us and our clever king. I

have heard one will be walking by this way soon, so I am waiting here hoping

to catch him and deliver him to the king.’

The king was surprised that this person knew all about the clever gang of

cheats.

‘Have you seen him before?’

‘Yes, sir. I know the gang. The person who is coming today is the chief.’

‘What does he look like?’

‘He is tall, hefty and very cruel.’

‘Is there any way I can see him?’ the king asked excitedly.

‘Sir, the best way is to hide. As soon as he comes, I will whistle, and you

can see him.’

But at that spot there was neither a tree nor any rock behind which the king

could hide. Then the fruit seller held out a sack. ‘Hide in this, sir,’ he

suggested. ‘I will keep you next to me, and anyone will think it is a sack of

mangoes.’

The king agreed and hopped into the sack. Quickly Umesh tied it and

walked away, laughing. The king soon realized he had been tricked. But he

was tied in the sack and could do nothing. Many hours later, when his soldiers

came looking for him, he managed to wriggle around in the sack and attract

their attention. How embarrassed he was, to be set free by them! He also

knew now that he and the people of his kingdom were not as clever as he

loved to boast. He realized his mistake.

The king’s old teacher came to the court and explained how his three

students had tricked everyone. Harish, Mahesh and Umesh apologized for

their actions. And the king promised to rule his kingdom with wisdom and

humility.

The Story of Silk

No sooner had the children gotten over their excitement of the visit to Rehmat

Chacha’s house than Ajji sprung another surprise. There was a wedding in the

village! Having attended some village weddings earlier, the children knew

what to expect. Here, it was not like the city where you went at a certain time

printed on the card, gave your present, ate and came back. In the village,

everyone was invited, whether your name was on a card or not. And not only

were you expected to come as early as possible, you were also expected to

pitch in and help the host! So Damu was seen rushing off in the jeep to pick

up guests from the railway station. Rehmat Chacha was in charge of

providing fresh vegetables from his farm. Ajji was herding a group of women

into the kitchen and telling them what to do. Ajja was supervising the

cleanliness and had stocked up on big bottles of phenyl and other cleansers.

And Vishnu Kaka was dressed in his best, most spotless dhoti and kurta and

was looking after the guests.

Ajji told the children to wear their nicest clothes and come to the venue.

Krishna, always careful of the way she looked, wore her pretty blue silk

frock. Ajji noticed and said, ‘Krishna, remember to be careful. There will be a

lot of people and food there. Don’t get your clothes dirty.’

Krishna promised to be careful. Soon Ajji disappeared into the kitchen

which was lined with people chopping and stirring and cooking. Outside,

guests were pouring in and Vishnu Kaka was making sure everyone was

served breakfast. Ajja was seen hurrying about with a bottle of phenyl in his

hand. Rehmat Chacha was taking care of the flower decorations while Peerambhi Chachi was stringing piles of garlands. Children were playing all

over the place, film songs played on the mike and there was a happy chaos

everywhere.

After the wedding, during lunch time, while eating sweet pancakes of

chiroti with badam milk, someone jostled Krishna and a big puddle of milk

fell on her dress. She was grief-striken. Ajji consoled her. ‘Don’t cry. Silk can

be washed and made to look just like new. That is the wonderful thing about

it.’ Seeing Krishna’s tear-stained face she said, ‘Today when we go home I

will tell you the story of how silk was made for the first time.’ That made

Krishna happy. That night, though Ajji was tired, she still told the children the

story of silk.

Did you know that silk was discovered in China?

A long time ago, in a tiny village in China, there lived a poor girl belonging

to a weaver’s family. One day, the emperor was passing through the village

and saw her working in the fields. He noticed her red cheeks and rosebud-like

mouth, her proud bearing and her rough, work-worn hands, which meant she

worked very hard through the year. He immediately fell in love with her and

though he was much older, decided to marry her.

The girl married the ruler of the land and went to live in his palace as his

beloved queen. But she was unhappy. She had grown up in the wide open

spaces of the countryside, and now she was confined to a palace, magnificent

though it was. She was used to working from dawn to night without a

moment’s rest, but now she had many servants to take care of her needs and

did not know how to fill her time. In the village she had been surrounded by

family and friends who exchanged news and gossip as they worked, but in the

palace it was quiet and no one spoke out of turn. The emperor noticed his new

wife was sad and tried his best to make her happy. He bought her grand

clothes, jewels and artefacts, threw elaborate parties, hired the best musicians

of the land to amuse her. Yet she was sad.

One afternoon, the empress sat under a mulberry bush in her garden, lost in

her thoughts about her village. She slowly sipped hot water from a cup.

Staring up at the blue sky, the girl remembered the birds that flew over her

village. Then, sighing softly to herself, she picked up her cup to take another

sip. But what was this! A cocoon from the mulberry bush had dropped into

the hot water! Her first thought was to throw away the water and the cocoon.

But then she took a closer look, and she saw some threads peeping out from

the cocoon. Where had they come from? She pulled the threads. They were

thin, strong and shiny. She kept pulling and a long line of thread came out.

Now the empress had a great idea. She would take the thread from many

cocoons and weave soft, strong cloth from it!

She called her servants and everyone got to work. They took cocoons out

of the mulberry tree, dropped them in hot water, and removed the thread.

They gathered a fair amount of yarn. Then the queen ordered a special

weaving machine and wove the first piece of cloth using this new thread.

Thus silk, the best and brightest form of cloth, was weaved.

The manufacture of silk spread throughout China. It was the cloth that only

royalty could wear, and was much in demand in lands as far away as Rome.

The route through which silk was traded between China and Europe through

Asia was called the Silk Route.

Now that the Chinese had learnt how to make silk cloth, they did not want

to share this knowledge with anyone in the world. Generations of Chinese

royalty were sworn never to reveal the secret to anyone. When princesses got

married and went away to far-off lands, they were not allowed to tell anyone

in their new home how silk was made.

Many, many years later, when a clever princess was leaving her house on

getting married, as was the custom, her bags were searched carefully to check

that she did not carry anything that would help her make silk. This princess

had been weaving silk from a young age and wanted to continue to do so

wherever she went. She had hidden the cocoons in her long, elaborate hairdo.

No one thought of looking there! When she went to her husband’s house, she

took out these cocoons from her hair and started gathering silk thread! In this

way, legend goes, the knowledge of how to make silk left China.

When Yama Called

One day, Ajji was sitting and stitching a tear in an old sari. The children came

and sat around her. The holidays were finishing and they did not want to be

away from her for even a minute. Meenu and Krishna affectionately put their

arms around Ajji’s neck and said, ‘Ajji, why do you have so many wrinkles

on your hand?’

‘Because I am old,’said Ajji.

‘Why do old people have wrinkles?’ asked Meenu.

Ajji took off her glasses, which she wore only when sewing or reading, and

said, ‘Once upon a time I was also young like you. My skin was smooth and

shiny. My hair was long and black. I had very sharp eyes and an excellent

memory. But as I grew older, everything changed slowly.’

‘We will all grow old like this one day, shan’t we?’ asked Divya.

‘Yes, every living being gets old. It is a part of life. Come, I will tell you a

story about old age.’

Many, many years ago, there lived, in a little town, a man named Arun. He

was a merchant and though not very rich, he lived comfortably enough. He

had a large family of brothers, sisters, wife and children. He looked after them

well, and in whatever way he could, he also helped out the poor people in the

town. He built rest houses for travellers, and in these there were dining halls

where anyone could come and have a good, wholesome meal for very little

money.

One day, while returning home from work, he happened to pass by one

such rest house. It had a veranda where people stopped and rested. Sitting

there, looking tired and hungry, was a stranger. He was a tall man. His clothes

were travel-stained and showed that he had come from afar. With him was his

horse, looking as tired and hungry as its master.

Seeing them, Arun’s kind heart melted, and he went up to speak to the man.

‘Where have you come from, my brother?’ he asked. ‘Why don’t you step

inside for a hot meal and some rest?’

The man looked up, gave a smile and said, ‘The rest house is very popular.

There is no room for me, and the dining hall is full too. I will wait here for a

while, then be on my way. I’m sure I will find another place to serve me some

food down the road.’

Arun would not hear of this. The thought that someone was going away

without food and rest was too much for him. He insisted on the man coming

back to his house with him. There he invited the traveller to share a meal with

his family. The man was served lovingly and ate his fill.

While he sat eating, the man noticed that Arun was sometimes a bit absent-

minded. It was as if something was on his mind, and he was worried. Once

they had finished eating and had washed up, the traveller rose to leave. He

thanked Arun for his kindness, then said, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, sir, I

could not help but notice that you were a bit worried. I know I am a stranger

to you, but perhaps it would help lighten your burden if you shared your

worries with me.’

But Arun only smiled and shook his head. He did not want to share his

thoughts with the stranger.

Then the man said, ‘Perhaps if I show you who I really am you will confide

in me.’

And in a trice the man changed. He was no longer a tired traveller, but a

god, resplendent in shimmering clothes with a crown on his head. His horse

changed into a buffalo, and the man introduced himself, ‘I am Yama, the lord

of death. Now will you tell me what’s wrong?’

Seeing this Arun nearly fainted. The lord of death had just shared a meal

with him! ‘Wh-what are you doing on earth, my lord?’ he gasped.

Yama smiled and said, ‘Oh, I like coming here once in a while, and seeing

what everyone is doing. So, what’s bothering you?’

Arun replied, ‘You see, I need to grow my business more, but today I was

not feeling very well. If anything happened to me, who would look after my large family?’

Yama nodded seriously. ‘Don’t worry, child,’ he comforted. ‘I have seen

what a hard-working, kind- hearted person you are. You invited me home and

let me have a meal with you, knowing me only to be a tired and weary

traveller. I will do one thing. when it is time for you to leave the earth and

come with me, like all living things have to do one day, I will not come all of

a sudden. I will let you know many days in advance, so you can prepare

yourself and your affairs for the time you have to go away with me.’

Arun bowed to the lord in gratitude when he heard this and Yama vanished.

Years went by. Arun became an old man. His business had grown many

times over, his children and brothers and sisters were all well looked after. He

had few worries left.

One night, he went to bed and had a dream. He saw Yama standing in front

of him. Yama was holding out a hand towards him and saying, ‘Come, it is

time for you to go away with me.’

Arun was terrified. ‘But lord, you had promised you would tell me days in

advance before I would die. How can I come away right now?’

A small smile appeared on Yama’s lips. ‘But child, I did give you a

warning. I made your hair turn white, I made your back stoop with age, I

made your teeth fall out one by one. These were all indications that your time

on earth is coming to an end.’

‘But these things happen to every man and woman! How could these be a

warning only for me!’

Yama nodded, ‘Yes, they do happen to everyone. And when they do, men

and women should start getting ready to meet me. Life has to come to an end,

there is no escape.’

Arun now understood. He looked back on his days and realized that even

without meaning to, he had been preparing for this. His children looked after

his business, all his work was done. There was nothing stopping him from

going away with his old friend Yama.

He climbed on the buffalo behind Yama. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. And off Yama

went away with him.

The Unending Story

Today Ajja, Ajji and Vishnu Kaka were all feeling sad. The children’s

holidays were nearly over, and it was nearing the time when they would go

back to their homes. For three weeks the houses had echoed with their

laughter, games and quarrels. Now all would be quiet once again, till they

returned for the next holiday. The children too were feeling sad, and had

gathered around their grandparents in a tight little group. Raghu the eldest

said, ‘We had more fun this holiday then we’ve ever had. Even more than

when we visited Disneyland. And it was all because of the stories.’

Ajja said, ‘When I was still working as a schoolteacher, I always found it

was so much easier to get my students’ attention when I told the lessons in the

form of stories.’

Anand said, ‘I find it really boring to read history from a book. But if you

tell us the stories from history I’m sure we will remember everything!’

Everyone now turned their bright eyes on Ajji. ‘How can you tell us only

one story even on this last day, Ajji! We want more!’

To be continued........