tales of Suchita

A bustling street with houses on both sides. People selling wares, people screaming instructions and gossip over balconies, leaning precariously out, not a care in the world. The riot of noises, colours and smells would make any human not of this street swoon. But not the residents. They thrived in the multitudinous miasma that comprised the Suli street.

A boy could be seen, walking with a stunned expression on his face, even as his mouth hung half open. Clearly this was his first visit to Suli. On further inspection, one could see he was rather young, fourteen maybe, carrying something in his hand as he stopped at every house, asked something and then was turned away amidst laughter.

An old woman, who was still some ways away from the boy, was observing him closely. She had the distinct impression that he had a golden aura around him but she couldn’t be sure if that were true or her mind was just being fanciful.

He knocked on the house opposite to where she sat and she was surprised to see, he didn’t look tired or frustrated at having been rejected and laughed at so many times. When the woman of the house laughed at him and turned him away, he finally turned to the old woman.

“Ma, can you make me some kheer? I have rice,” he said showing a few grains in his palm, “and milk and sugar,” he showed another few grains of sugar and milk contained in a silver bowl.

The old woman laughed but didn’t turn him away. She took the rice, sugar and milk from him, added her own, and put the pot to boil. He asked her if he could rest somewhere while his kheer cooked. So she directed him to the corner where a clean mattress was kept.

The boy went to sleep while the old woman kept a watch over the pot. She was surprised to see the growth in the volume of the kheer. She hadn’t added that much rice or milk to it. Thinking the boy must have done something, she let the pot be and went about her daily business.

The kheer was ready soon but before she could wake the boy up, she found him sitting in the kitchen, eating as it boiled. Smiling indulgently, she said, “Be careful boy. Let it cool a little.”

“It’s so tasty Ma, I couldn’t control myself.”

She asked him if she could share and took a bowl for herself. It was the best kheer she had ever tasted. She looked at the boy again, sure he wasn’t just a boy, but couldn’t detect the golden aura she thought she had seen in the morning.

Once he had had his fill (the kheer in the pot had barely diminished as the two ate), he asked the old woman if he could use the privy.

When several minutes had gone by and the boy hadn’t come out, she started to worry. She knocked on the door, called out his name, tried to hear something, but there was no response. She tried to open the door and to her amazement, it was unlocked. Feeling embarrassed encroaching on the boy’s space, she made enough noise to let him know she was coming inside. Her heart almost gave way when she saw what was left behind.

Several gold coins. Ten at first glance, fifteen when she counted them and thirty once she had calmed down and counted again. She was certain now that her visitor had been a god in disguise.

*

The old woman became rich overnight but it was only her neighbour who knew the truth behind her sudden prosperity. Red with anger, burning with jealousy, Irsha waited for the boy-god to return.

And when he did, Irsha was flummoxed. But recovering quickly, thinking he had come as an answer to her prayers, she dragged the boy into her house to make him his kheer.

But what happened with her was not what she had hoped.

Instead of gold coins, what she got was a burnt kitchen. When she asked him why he had been so unfair to her and so fair to the old woman (who no longer lived in Suli street), he said simply, “What she did was selfless. What you did was out of jealousy. Both of you were paid the price of your actions.”

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I do not take any credit for the above story. It is a story I grew up listening – Chutuk Binai the boy was called. Mom used to tell us this story when she would do a fast and a puja for us kids’ long health. First, I wanted to let my muse have her way with the story. But then ten-year-old Suchita protested. She loved the story, especially because it revolved around kheer – her favourite dessert (still is) – and the end of the story meant she would get to eat the sweet and savoury dishes her mother made only during that particular puja. So I have only translated the story into English, as faithful to mom’s version of the story as I could make it.

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This is 15 of 26 Myths and Legends. To know more, click here.