How to weigh an elephant
By Geeta Dharmarajan
© Copyright Katha, TAMASHA! 1991
The King of Assam had a pet elephant. A roly-poly elephant. A chubby-happy elephant.
One day, the King said out loud, “I wonder how much my elephant weighs?”
The next day the King declared, “Find out how much my elephant weighs and win a GRAND prize.”
The King’s ministers tried.
The King’s pandits tried.
The vegetable sellers tried.
The rope makers tried.
The jewellers tried.
At last, a little girl had an idea. She took the elephant to the river. They got into a boat.
The boat sank and sank. When it sank no more, the girl made a mark on the boat.
Then she filled up the boat with stones. When the water came up to the mark, she said, “Stop!”
“Now weigh the stones,” she said. And that is how they found out the weight of the elephant.
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I am Najar-Am-Radh
By Geeta Dharmarajan
© Copyright Katha, TAMASHA! 1993
Did you know that trees are the greatest storytellers?
Once there were many like me. But then a sad and strange thing happened. My tree friends lost all their stories. Soon, I was the only storyteller left.
Big Wind, the clouds and Rain brought me news of exciting new happenings across the seas. I tell these stories. They say my stories can stop the fiercest wind in its tracks. Halt a storm like magic. Make cows yield more milk. I don’t know. I just like to make up stories.
One day as I sat telling a story, I saw a strange face in the crowd. Big eyes. Long, black, snake-like hair. A hungry mouth.
It was the wicked Wizard of Tantrapuri! He was the one who had stolen the stories from all my friends.
And now he was trying to steal mine. As I told my stories, I could see the words twist and twirl and move towards him. Gently, he plucked the words from the air. Once all the words of my story were in his hand, he muttered LABAKA-DOBAKA-PULIYA-CHOOM! And all my words jumped into a tiny tamarind seed, which he quickly popped into his bag.
How could I save my stories?! Luckily for me my friend Big Wind had a plan. He moved gently through the people who had come to listen to my story, whispering his plan into their ears.
Then I started telling my best story – the one about the magician’s mirror. But there was a man in it, just like the Wizard of Tantrapuri. Big eyes. Long, black, snake-like hair. A hungry mouth. In fact, it was the Wizard of Tantrapuri!
The wizard loved my story! Greedily, he began to pluck my words from the air, each and every letter, muttering, “LABAKA-DOBAKA-PULIYA-CHOOM!”
His magic swirled around my story. I felt it being dragged away from me. I grinned. You see, he didn’t know that he was in the story too. When my words jumped into a tamarind seed, he was in it too. Before he knew what was happening, he was trapped inside the tamarind seed!
“Save me!” cried the wicked Wizard of Tantrapuri. “Please save me!”
I felt sorry for him. But what could I do? Then I had an idea. “With so many stories inside you, you will make the best story tree in the world,” I said. The tamarind seed jumped. “I’d like that!” it squeaked.
Now, if you come to our village, you will find the tamarind tree near the bus stop. Many people come to listen to its stories. And believe it or not, the Tamarind Story Tree is my best friend now!
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NO PART OF THESE STORIES, IMAGES OR TEXTS, MAY BE REPRODUCED OR USED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS WITHOUT PRIOR WRITTEN PERMISSION OF KATHA, EXCEPT AS SPECIFIED UNDER THE KATHA CHITRAKALA CONTEST.
Unnikatha
By Mukundan
Translated from the Malayalam by K M Sherrif & Neerada Suresh
Retold by Gita Jayaraj
© Copyright Katha, TAMASHA! 1999
“Unni,” said his grandmother, “tell me a story.” Unni quickly put away his books. He came and cuddled up close to his grandmother. “Muthashi,” he said softly, “listen, this is a little story about a glass tree. Look!...”
As Unni pointed to the blank wall in front of her, Muthashi saw a strange sight. She saw a man who looked like a king being carried in a palanquin.
Unni began his story.
Once upon a time, there was a Chief. He was called Kuruman Panikkan. One day Kuruman Panikkan went to pray to the stone idol under the huge old Champaka tree. As he was praying, a stranger came and stood before him.
“I am Melkorran,” said the stranger. “I come from the west.”
“What do you want?” asked Kuruman Panikkan.
“Your tree is old. It will die one day,” said Melkorran, pointing to the Champaka tree, which was laden with sweet-smelling white flowers. “I can make you a beautiful new tree that will never grow old or ever shed its leaves.”
“Really?” asked Kuruman Panikkan, fascinated by the idea of a tree that would never die. “All right,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “then make me such a tree.”
Melkorran brought his axe. Soon, the old Champaka tree which had stood there for so many years came crashing down.
Nests with eggs and little chicks tumbled down. Father and mother birds rose squawking into the air.
Melkorran began work on his tree. He brought many, many pieces of coloured glass. Gently, with great care, he shaped the roots and the trunk. The branches came next. For the leaves and flowers he used green and white glass. Every vein and stem he carved with love.
One and a half years went by. The tree glittered and shone in the sun. The colours of sunrise and sunset filtered through the glass leaves. People came from far and near to see this fantastic tree. Panikkan too was very happy.
But the glass tree was only beautiful. Its flowers had no smell. Although its branches held glittering glass nests, no birds rested there. No child climbed its branches.
Can a glass tree ever be a real tree, Unni wondered as his story came to an end.
As the pictures faded from the wall, Unni turned to his Muthashi. But she was fast asleep.
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NO PART OF THESE STORIES, IMAGES OR TEXTS, MAY BE REPRODUCED OR USED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS WITHOUT PRIOR WRITTEN PERMISSION OF KATHA, EXCEPT AS SPECIFIED UNDER THE KATHA CHITRAKALA CONTEST. |
