The collection of these legends was commenced with the object of
amusing a favorite young friend of mine. It was continued, as they
appeared in themselves curious illustrations of Indian popular
tradition, and in the hope that something might thus be done to rescue
them from the danger of oral transmission.
Though varied in their imagery, the changes between the different
legends are rung upon very few themes, as if purposely confined to
what was most familiar to the people. The similarity between the
incidents in some of these and in favorite European stories,
particularly modern German ones, is curious; and the leading
characteristics peculiar to all orthodox fairy tales are here
preserved intact. Step-mothers are always cruel, and step-sisters,
their willing instruments; giants and ogres always stupid; youngest
daughters more clever than their elder sisters; and the Jackal (like
his European cousin the Fox) usually overcomes every difficulty, and
proves a bright moral example of the success of wit against brute
force--the triumph of mind over matter.
It is remarkable that in the romances of a country where women are
generally supposed by us to be regarded as mere slaves or intriguers,
their influence (albeit most frequently put to proof behind the
scenes) should be made to appear so great, and, as a rule, exerted
wholly for good; and that, in a land where despotism has such a firm
hold on the hearts of the people, the liberties of the subject should
be so boldly asserted as by the old Milkwoman to the Rajah in "Little
Surya Bai," or the old Malee[1] to the Rajah in "Truth's Triumph;"
and few, probably would have expected to find the Hindoos owning such
a romance as "Brave Seventee Bai;"[2] or to meet with such stories as
"The Valiant Chattee-maker," and "The Blind Man, the Deaf Man and the
Donkey," among a nation which, it has been constantly asserted,
possesses no humor, no sense of the ridiculous, and cannot understand
a joke.
[1] Gardener.
[2] Was this narrative of feminine sagacity invented by some old
woman, who felt aggrieved at the general contempt entertained for
her sex?
In "The Narrator's Narrative" Anna Liberata de Souza's own story is
related, as much as possible, in her own words of expressive but
broken English. She did not, however, tell it in one continuous
narrative: it is the sum of many conversations I had with her during
the eighteen months that she was with us.
The legends themselves are altered as little as possible: half their
charm, however, consisted in the Narrator's eager, flexible voice and
graphic gestures.
I often asked her if there were no stories of elephants having done
wonderful deeds (as from their strength and sagacity one would have
imagined them to possess all the qualifications requisite to heroes of
romance); but, strange to say, she knew of none in which elephants
played any part whatsoever.
As regards the Oriental names, they have generally been written as
Anna pronounced them. It was frequently not possible to give the true
orthography, and the correctly spelt name does not always give a clue
to the popular pronunciation. So with the interpretations and
geography. Where it is possible to identify what is described, an
attempt has been made to do so; but for other explanations Anna's is
the sole authority: she was quite sure that "Seventee Bai" meant the
"Daisy Lady," though no botanist would acknowledge the plant under
that name; and she was satisfied that all gentlemen who have traveled
know where "Agra Brum" is, though she had never been there, and no
such province appears in any ordinary Gazeteer or description of the
city of Akbar.
These few legends, told by one old woman to her grandchildren, can
only be considered as representatives of a class. "That world," to
use her own words, "is gone;" and those who can tell us about it in
this critical and unimaginative age are fast disappearing too before
the onward march of civilization; yet there must be in the country
many a rich gold mine unexplored. Will no one go to the diggings?