Episode 41 – The Witches of Hindustan – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 41 Show Notes

Source: Pakistani/Indian Fairy Tale

This week on MYTH, we’ll travel to the old kingdom of Hindustan for one of the stupidest couple fights ever. You’ll find out that jackals and tigers sound a lot alike, that gemstones come from surprising places, and that the gallows is a bad place to meet women. Then, in Gods and Monsters, we’ll look for bigfoot in the wilds of Pakistan. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 41, “The Witches of Hindustan”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
Once upon a time, on a hot night in Hindustan (an old name for the Indian subcontinent), a king and queen of some nameless kingdom lay awake. The night was unbearably hot; even the faint breeze blowing in through the lattice windows felt like it came straight out of an open oven. Both tossed and turned, hoping to drift off to sleep, but it never happened. Thus it was that both of them were lying there, wide awake, when a howl echoed through the palace from just outside the gates.
The king whistled softly. “Holy shit! LIsten to that tiger roar!” THe queen turned over to look at him. “You think that’s a tiger? How could there be a tiger in the city? It’s obviously just a jackal.” The king sat up and stared at his wife. “I know what a jackal sounds like, and that was no fucking jackal. I tell you, it was a tiger!” The queen didn’t love having the king looming over her as he shouted, so she sat up in bed as well. “And I tell you that you’re dreaming if you think that was anything but a common goddamned jackal!” “It was a tiger, bitch! Don’t fucking contradict me!” “It was a jackal you limp-dicked bastard!” The fight continued like this, getting more and more heated as the sleepless night wore on. I’m guessing that this was a less-than-happy state marriage, and that there was probably a long history of conflict between these two, especially in light of what happened next.
When they finally started to go hoarse from screaming at one another about whether the unseen creature was a tiger or a jackal, the king finally threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “Fine. Let’s bet on it then, if you’re so certain. Call the guards and ask them what it was. If it was a jackal, I’ll abdicate the throne and go away forever, leaving you to rule alone. If it was a tiger, you leave and never come back, and I marry someone younger, prettier, and nicer to me.” The queen, who was equal parts sick of this jackass in general, tired of being mansplained by an ignorant asshat, and certain that of course it had to be a jackal and not some fucking tiger (which weren’t exactly common in their small kingdom, unlike the scavenging jackals), agreed to his terms.
The two monarchs summoned the pair of guards stationed outside the royal chambers to get an impartial opinion. Unbeknownst to them, the opinion of the guards was anything but unbiased. Only someone accustomed to ignoring the help so completely that they ceased to exist when not needed could possibly have thought that the guards hadn’t heard their prolonged shrieking match, but both king and queen were exactly that powerful and privileged. The guards heard the two discussing their bet, and so the two men quietly discussed what they were going to do. They agreed that the queen was definitely right about it being a jackal, but they didn’t believe for a second that the king would actually abdicate and leave the kingdom if they said so. More likely, he’d have them executed for conspiring with the queen or some bullshit like that, so they decided that the smarter move was to side with the king, who was definitely wrong but far more likely to punish them for disagreeing with him than the queen was.
Therefore, when asked what animal the two men had seen roaring below, the guards lied their asses off. “Oh it was definitely a tiger, just as the king said. Your majesty is right, as you of course always are!” The king nodded with a smug smile and, without a word to his wife, ordered that a messenger be sent to summon a palanquin and four bearers to carry the queen on a journey. When they had assembled, and the queen had gotten in and been lifted onto their shoulders, the king gave them their orders. “The queen has decided to go away. Forever. Take her to the middle of the forest and leave her there, alone. Go now.” The queen had been pretty stoic about losing this bet, and all of her power with it, but this was too much. This was an execution with more steps, and that wasn’t what they had agreed to. She wept and begged the king to reconsider, to let her go into exile into a neighboring kingdom, but he was a ruthless beast and found no pity for his now ex-queen.
The bearers carried her out of the city and journeyed for three days and nights until they finally came to a dense wood. They walked out into the forest for most of the next day, set the palanquin and the ex-queen down, and walked back the way they had come, leaving the queen alone and abandoned, with no food or supplies. In denial about just how ruthless and cold-hearted her husband was, she convinced herself that he was just punishing her for standing up to him and that, once he’d had a chance to cool down, he would send someone to fetch her. She knew she’d have to pretend to be chastened and keep her head down for a while, but she could live with that. She’d done it before. She waited there, inside the curtained palanquin through the rest of the day and that night, listening hard for the sound of approaching footsteps.
Hours passed, and the light began to fill her small curtained world again with no sign of another soul. Cautiously, she stuck her head out and looked around. Day was just beginning to break in the forest, and the birds and insects were starting to stir amongst the trees. She peered into the shadowy depths of the trees in every direction, but she didn’t see any sign of another soul, nor of any path that would lead her back to the palace. She was lost and alone, and the king had left her to die here. Her spirit, which had always been strong, was finally crushed by the understanding of her complete abandonment by the man who was supposed to have been her partner and the near-certainty of her impending death.
Now, in the way of fairy tales, it just so happened that the spot where the queen had been abandoned lay near a tiny farm in the midst of the forest. A man and his wife lived there, preferring to avoid the bustle and complications of the city for a life of quiet solitude. It had been almost as hot in the forest as it had been in the city, so the farmer had been sleeping on the flat roof to catch as much breeze as he could. The sound of the queen’s weeping woke him (he’d have woken up soon in any event, so it hadn’t taken much), and he listened for a quiet minute to make sure of what he was hearing.
Now sure that some poor woman was lost in the woods, he hurried off the roof and into the house (checking that his wife was asleep in the bed just to be sure), then raced out the door after the mystery woman. In short order, he found the palanquin and the disheveled but still beautiful form of a woman in an expensive robe. “Excuse me, miss? I heard you weeping and thought you might need some help. Who are you and how did you end up all the way out here?”
The queen stifled her sobs, terrified of what this stranger might do to her out here in the forest, alone and with no one to save her. The farmer could sense something of her fear, and made his voice as non-threatening as he could manage. “No need to fear, sad lady. You can talk to me. I’m not gonna hurt you anymore than I would my own daughter. Please, tell me who you are.”
His kind voice and non-threatening manner (along with her utter helplessness and isolation) convinced her to trust him. She told him who she was and how she had ended up here, alone in the middle of the forest. The kindly farmer took pity and led her to his home to meet his wife. They agreed that of course the queen could live with them, and so she did. The fact that she was apparently extremely pregnant (a fact which is weirdly not mentioned at all until now), probably helped convince them, and a few days after moving in with the farmers, the queen gave birth to a son, whom she named Ameer Ali. It was presumed that he was still a prince since she and the king were still married (even if he was probably planning to marry another woman as well).
Years passed with no word from the king, who probably assumed she was dead by now, but she and her son lived on with the isolated couple, helping out with the chores. The prince grew, as children do, and had become a handsome youth, fit and strong from years of labor on the farm. It was a very lonely existence for the young prince, cut off from the entire world by the expanse of trees. Few people ever came to see them, and it often seemed to young Ameer that the world was a long way away. He began to beg his mother to let him journey out into the world and seek his fortune – to have adventures and make his own living. She always counseled him to wait, to be patient, but when he turned 18, she agreed that he was a man grown and he should be free to seek adventure if that was his heart’s desire.
He had been saving money for some time to fund his expedition, and from the few traders who came by now and again, he had managed to obtain a sword, a brass pot for cooking and drinking, a galail for hunting (a type of stone bow or crossbow that could fire steel shot or hard clay bullets with deadly accuracy), and still had a few pieces of silver left over. Once he had gathered up everything he had acquired over the years, he kissed his mother goodbye and set out early one morning to see the world.
He picked a direction more or less at random and set out, tramping many weary miles for many days, leaving his forest behind and eventually coming to a new, different forest. He’d wanted to see the world, and he was enjoying it, but he did miss the quiet shade of the deep woods over the dusty roads between, so he smiled a little as he stepped inside, as though greeting an old friend. He soon came to a thicket, where he spied a fat pigeon sitting on a branch. It would make a fine dinner, so he drew his galail and fired, but missed. The bird took wing as the clay pellet zipped past, but Ameer was quickly distracted by the sound of a great crash from beyond the pigeon, followed by a startled cry and then weeping.
He hurried after the sound, afraid of what he might have accidentally done, and found an ugly old woman standing in a clearing. She was drenched with water, crying with frustration, and holding an earthen pot with a huge hole in it. Ameer realized that his stray bullet must have put a hole in her water pot, ruining it and soaking her. At the same time that he saw her, she saw the prince, galail in hand. “You little bastard! Why must you torture a poor old woman like this? Is this your idea of some stupid prank? How the fuck am I supposed to replace this pot that you broke with your bullshit? The well is a long way off, and even one trip is exhausting, so I can’t just keep going back. What am I going to do?”
Ameer held up a placating hand. “It was an accident, honest! I was trying to shoot a pigeon for my dinner, but I missed. My bullet flew through the trees and hit your pot, but I had no idea you were back here. I’m so sorry, I really am. Here, take this brass pot as an apology. It won’t break as easily as your earthen pot did, so it should serve you a long time. In fact, if you tell me where the well is, I can go and get the water for you myself while you dry off and change. Are we cool?”
The old woman’s scowl vanished at the prince’s kind offer, and she gratefully told him where to find the water. He set out and returned a few minutes later, his pot full to the brim. Without a word, she hobbled off, leaving the prince to follow with the water-filled pot. They soon came to a hut, built in a clearing in the forest, where the old woman presumably lived. As he approached, he saw a figure in the doorway, and his heart skipped a beat. It was the most enchantingly beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on in his life (which, given how isolated he’s been isn’t saying much, but still). At the sight of an approaching stranger, she hurriedly pulled a veil about her and stepped inside the hut.
Ameer desperately wanted to see her again, to speak to her, but he couldn’t think of one good reason to ask for her to come back out. So, being a decent sort of guy, he said goodbye to the old woman with a heavy heart and began to leave. Before he got more than a few steps, the old woman called out to him. “You’ve been very kind, young man, so if you are ever in trouble, come back to this spot and say ‘Fairy of the forest! Fairy of the forest, help me now!’ and I will help you.” What, you thought she was going to offer the young woman’s hand in exchange for a pot? Don’t be ridiculous! The prince thanked her for her offer (and immediately dismissed it, assuming she must have gone a little batty in her old age) and continued on his way, thinking little of her offer and much of the beautiful woman.
He passed through the forest and, in a fairly short time, came to a city. Ameer had found it more difficult than he’d expected to live off the land, and he’d already come to the end of his meager savings. Still, the city offered plenty of opportunity for getting a job, and the young man was no stranger to hard work. He set out for the palace, figuring a place that large and rich probably needed the most hired help. He was able to get an audience with the rajah, but unfortunately, he was told that the king had plenty of servants and no need of a random stranger to join their ranks. The young man begged for a chance to prove himself, and the rajah felt pity for this charismatic young man. “Alright, here’s what I can offer you: I don’t need another servant, but you are young and strong, so maybe I could use you as a bodyguard. I want you to understand, though, that if you agree to this, you’ll be the one sent on the most dangerous missions. I can justify bringing you on if it means keeping one of my people out of harm’s way. Do you still want to work for me?” The rajah had meant to dissuade the young man into seeking employment elsewhere, but Ameer thought that this sounded like just the thing for finding some grand adventure, and so he agreed without hesitation.
He received training from the rajah’s guard and, in a few weeks, he had his first opportunity to prove his mettle. It was a dark, stormy night, where the crash of the thunder competed with the roar of the swollen river below the wall to create the loudest cacophony. Somehow, above it all rose the eerie sound of a woman weeping and wailing. The otherworldly keening echoed through the palace, and the king ordered a servant to go see if the woman needed help. The servant fell to his knees and begged not to be sent out into the wild storm so late at night. Surely, he said, witches and evil spirits must be lurking out in the deadly darkness to snare the unwary. The king, too kindly to send a terrified servant into something like that, looked around to ask someone else, but terror was clearly stamped on the face of everyone in the room. Everyone, that is, except Ameer Ali. “This is clearly my duty, your majesty. You hired me to do the most dangerous jobs, and this seems to be it. I will go.”
The king, who hadn’t actually planned to send Ameer into danger in spite of his blustering, nodded in thanks for his offer. The night outside the lamps of the castle was an inky, solid black, and the wind howled around him, driving sheets of cold rain into his face. Ameer leaned into the teeth of the storm and made his way down to the ford below the palace walls. The screams had seemed to be coming from the other side of the river so, against his better judgment, Ameer waded carefully out into the rushing water of the swollen river.
He fought his way across step by step, nearly losing his footing more than once as sudden shifts in the current unbalanced him, or when skeletal branches from shattered tree limbs were driven downstream like a massive spear. Through sheer grit, he emerged safely on the other side, drenched and panting. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and he could just make out the form of a gallows standing close by the riverbank. The pale, swollen corpse of some poor executed wretch twisted and spun in the wild winds; the wailing came from beneath its grotesque form.
The sound of utter despair broke Ameer’s heart. He wasn’t worried about ghosts or witches, and he felt a keen sympathy for whoever was braving the storm to mourn the dead, so he headed up to the gallows, where he found a woman crouched at the base of the platform. “What’s the matter, miss?”
Now, I said that Ameer wasn’t afraid of witches; as it turns out, that was very stupid of him. The other servants had been right to worry that the sound they were hearing seemed inhuman. The woman crouched there in the heart of the gale was not, in fact, a woman, but a horrid witch from Witchland (which probably borders Giantland in the country of Super-Obvious Names for Monster Countries). She was more ogress than human, and the awful inhabitants of that dread land were fond of human flesh. This evil witch was hungry and hoping to snare her a nice tasty hunk of man-meat (and not in the fun sexy way), which is why she had come out tonight to moan and wail, hoping that some poor sod would take pity on her and try to help. She forced back a grin as Ameer proved himself exactly the kind of brave, tender idiot she’d been hoping for.
“Oh, kind sir! My poor son was hanged and left to rot on the gallows. I want only to take him down and give him a proper burial, for I know he was innocent of the charges that killed him, but I am too frail to do so alone. Would you please help a poor old woman?” Ameer was kind, but not a total doofus. He could plainly hear the eagerness in her voice through the feigned sorrow, and it immediately put him on edge. He knew she was lying to him, though he wasn’t sure why. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor. “I’d be happy to, but I didn’t bring a ladder with me, and I don’t see one here. The gallows is very high, so I don’t know if that’s even possible.”
“Oh, that’s easy enough to fix. If you just stoop down and let me climb up onto your shoulders, I’ll be able to reach the rope around his throat and untie him. As big and strong as you are, it won’t be any trouble.” Ameer could hear the greed and wickedness lacing her words, and was now certain that she intended to try something nasty, but he kept up the facade. “That might work. I guess we can give it a try.”
He drew his sword, claiming that he needed something to lean on to stand up again once she was on his shoulders, and squatted down so that the old woman could clamber onto his back. With surprising agility, she did so, then slipped a thin noose around his neck. He felt it draw tight, then the old witch leapt from his shoulders to sit on the crossbeam of the gallows, cackling. “Your mine now, you stupid sack of shit! You’re going to make a delicious fucking stew!” If Ameer had been caught by surprise, the old witch would have drawn the rope around the gallows and hanged him, but his sword was already in his hand. Even as she gloated, he brought the blade up in a sweeping arc, severing the rope and cutting deep into the foot dangling just above his head. She squealed in agony and rage, then vanished into the darkness, not liking her odds against an armed, ready opponent.
Once he was certain she was really gone, he dropped down into the mud to rest against the solid form of the gallows, rubbing his neck. He’d been quick, but he’d still probably have a nasty bruise in the morning. He put one hand into the mud to steady himself to stand and head back inside the castle, but paused as he felt something solid beneath his hand. He drew it out of the muck and let the rain wash it clear, revealing an anklet. It must have fallen off the witch’s foot when he attacked her. Who knew – it might be valuable. He slipped it into his pocket and went back inside.
He reported back to the rajah, pulling out the anklet as evidence as he finished his tale. Everyone, including the king, was amazed at the incredible wealth in gold and jewels bound in the small anklet. Ameer himself was surprised. It hadn’t looked nearly so expensive in the darkness and driving rain. The king was effusive with his praise for Ameer Ali, both for ridding the kingdom of a witch and for bringing him such a beautiful piece of art. He rewarded the man handsomely for his bravery and gave the anklet to his daughter, a haughty and spoiled princess who thought herself entitled to all of the things she had done jack shit to earn.
This being a fairy tale, and she being a princess, she naturally owned two magic birds that could talk as well as any human being: one was a parrot and the other a starling. The princess loved her pets and always insisted on feeding them herself. The next morning, she rose and went to feed them, anklet flashing gloriously in the morning sun. “Hey, Tote! How do you think the princess looks in her new jewels?” asked the starling.
The parrot, who was feeling pissy this morning since the princess had been too distracted by admiring her new bauble in the mirror to give him his bath, shook himself. “Rauck! She looks like a fucking cleaning lady’s daughter wearing only one shoe! Why wear that ugly thing on just one leg? If you’re going to mangle fashion, might as well put something gaudy on both ugly legs, right?” The parrot was being an asshole and the princess had very thin skin, so she immediately burst into tears and raced out of the room to find her father.
“Daddy! Daddy, it’s awful! I can’t wear just one of these trinkets on my leg – I look stupid. If I don’t have a second one to go with it, I’ll just die of shame! Fix it, daddy!” The rajah, who was obviously wrapped around her little finger (which is how she got so spoiled to begin with) promised to take care of it. He immediately sent for Ameer Ali. The king might be a kindly man, but his daughter was absolutely in control, and it could make him a total dick. “Ameer, you did well in finding such a beautiful treasure for my daughter, but she says that she can’t possibly be happy unless she has a matched set. Go and find a second just like it within a month, or you will be hanged. Off you go!”
Ameer felt his stomach twist into knots. That stupid anklet was worth a king’s ransom! There was no way he could replace it on his own. Maybe he could get one off the awful witch, but even if she did happen to have a second priceless treasure on her, he had no idea how to find her again. Still, he had a month to figure something out. He left the palace immediately and began to ask around the city for the merchants with the finest jewels. He spoke to every jeweler, merchant, and shady back-alley salesman he could find, but no one had anything to compare to the witch’s anklet. Three weeks passed with unseemly haste, and Ameer was out of options. No one had what he needed, and he was going to be hanged for it. He sat down against a wall and wept in frustration. He was well and truly fucked.
His head shot up and hope returned to his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t completely fucked. That forest fairy owed him a favor, and now was the time to go cash in. This definitely counted as trouble. It was probably a waste of effort, as she was probably just a crazy old woman, but he didn’t have any better options, so fuck it. There was no time to lose, so he set out immediately for her forest cottage. He found his way back to where she had told him to summon her and shouted at the apparently empty cottage, feeling slightly foolish. “Fairy of the forest! Fairy of the forest, help me now!” There in the doorway appeared the beautiful woman he had seen so briefly before, whom he had never forgotten in all of his wanderings since. “What’s the matter, good sir?” Her voice was soft and lovely as the finest music, and he was struck dumb at the beauty of it. She had to repeat her question before he could respond. He told her the whole story, and she told him to wait and went into the cottage.
She came back out a moment later with two wands and a pot of boiling water (which she’d apparently just had sitting around). She planted the two wands in the ground six feet apart, then set the pot of boiling water on the ground. “Alright, here’s what’s going to happen, Ameer Ali: I’m going to lie down between the two wands; you are going to draw your sword and cut off my foot. As soon as it is severed from my leg, grab it and hold it over the cauldron. Every drop of my blood that falls in the water will become a precious jewel as fine as anything on the princess’ anklet. After that, you switch the two wands so that the one at my feet is at my head and vice versa. Place the severed foot against the blood stump of my leg and it will heal up good as new. Any questions?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a question – are you out of your goddamned mind? I’d rather be hanged twenty fucking times in a row than harm an innocent woman, especially one as beautiful as you. There’s gotta be another way.” They argued for a long time before the young woman finally convinced Ameer that this was the only way she could help him. Against his better judgment, Ameer drew his sword and stood over her as she lay down between the wands. He took a deep, steadying breath (noticing that she didn’t need to do the same even though she was the one about to get mutilated), and brought his sword down in a swift arc, hard enough to sever the foot in one quick blow.
It worked, and her foot came free from her body. He expected her to scream, but instead, she fell completely still and lifeless. He nearly fainted when he couldn’t see her chest rising and falling with breath, certain he had killed her, but he steadied his nerve and seized the bleeding foot. He would follow her instructions to the letter and hope she had been right. Sure enough, as each drop of crimson blood hit the roiling water, it changed to a huge, glittering jewel worth a small fortune. He felt hope bloom in his chest again. Once he was sure he had enough gems to make the anklet and pay for the craftsmanship to make it, he switched the two rods and knelt to place the severed foot against the raw, ragged wound at the bottom of her leg.
As she had promised, the foot joined seamlessly back with the leg and her eyes fluttered open. Without a word, she sprang to her feet, drew her veil around herself, and rushed inside. She would not come back to the door or speak to him from the darkness within. He waited a long time to see if she would answer him, but he eventually realized that she was sending him a clear message, and he needed to respect her wishes. He thanked her for her help, uncertain if she was even listening, then gathered up the jewels. There were more than he’d realized: he had enough to make three anklets equal in every way to the first.
He hurried back to the palace, arriving back on the last day of the month. He didn’t have time to have another piece made, so he presented the jewels to the king instead and hoped it was enough to save his neck. The king was shocked to see Ameer return at all, let alone bearing a fortune in huge jewels. He embraced him warmly and thanked him for his great service, assuring him that he could find an artisan to make his daughter’s jewelry, which he did that very day.
The next day, the vain princess was strutting around her room with an anklet on both legs, admiring herself in the mirror. “Hey, Tote! How do you think the princess looks now in those fine jewels?” asked the starling. It turns out that the parrot just isn’t a morning person, er bird, whatever. Seriously, the story explains that the parrot is actually always cross in the mornings and is never in a good mood until after lunch, and the story was just making excuses for the bird before. Weird, right? “Ugh! She’s got all of her beauty on the ass-end of her body now. I mean, it does distract from her face, I guess, but if she had a few of those gaudy things around her neck and wrists, she wouldn’t look like complete shit, but as it is now, she looks even more like some ugly-ass cleaning lady’s daughter than ever. Fuck me, nobody’s gonna want a piece of that ass.”
The princess, who put way too much stock in the opinion of one cranky fucking bird, rushed from her bedroom wailing in misery. She stormed dramatically around the palace, succeeding in actually making herself sick with her theatrical hysterics, then threw herself at her father’s feet and declared that she would literally die if she didn’t get a pair of bracelets and a necklace to complete the set. For real this time, though.
Again the rajah sent for Ameer and threatened him with a cruel, completely unearned death unless he could somehow get more jewels to make a necklace and pair of bracelets (even though he had definitely brought back enough jewels last time to make at least one or the other, but royalty isn’t known for being reasonable). Again, Ameer spent most of the month trying to find some new place to get the jewels he needed, traveling to nearby cities he hadn’t had time to visit before, and again he couldn’t find anything close to what he needed. Desperate, he set out for the forest, hoping that the fairy would be charitable and help him out, even though she’d only technically promised to help him out the once. What other choice did he have?
The beautiful maiden appeared in the doorway at his desperate plea for help, and he explained to her what had happened, apologizing for bothering her again. “I just, I don’t have anywhere else I can turn!” She agreed to help and brought out the boiling water and wands again. It was the same setup, except that this time, he would have to cut off both of her hands and her head. Every drop of blood drained out of Ameer’s face at these words, and she reminded him that she had been perfectly fine before and would be this time as well. He dreaded having to behead the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, however temporary it might be, but he let himself be convinced. His only other choice was execution.
From her severed hands and head poured exquisite bracelets and chains set with rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and pearls, the likes of which the world hadn’t seen. As before, he was able to rejoin them to the apparent corpse, restoring the woman to life without wound or scar. Unbelievably grateful to her for her aid, he again tried to thank her, but she drew her veil around herself and went into the cabin, refusing to speak to him, and so he left her alone to take the fabulous wealth back to the city.
On the last day of the month, Ameer returned with the required objects, astonishing the king (who thought for sure the young man was never coming back this time) and driving the princess nearly mad with rapture at the lovely jewelry no one else had. She figured she was on the cutting edge of fashion now, and with all of this finery, not even her douchebag parrot could find fault with her appearance. In the morning, she dressed in all of the remarkable pieces and flounced around her room, waiting for the bird’s judgment. “Hey, Tote! What do you think of our princess’ appearance now?” The bird did a reasonable approximation of a shrug. “She looks fine, I guess, but what’s the point? A woman’s beauty is wasted without a husband, and nobody seems to want this bitch. Why doesn’t she just marry the guy who keeps finding her all this pretty shit?”
The princess hadn’t really thought about it before (after all, he was just a guard), but the parrot had a point. With his resourcefulness, he’d be able to keep her in the lap of luxury better than any prince she’d be able to find (and he was pretty handsome to boot, so win-win). She ran off to see her father and announced that she wished to marry Ameer Ali. The king smiled indulgently. “You know, you are a very difficult child to please, my dear, and want something new every day. Still, it is probably time for you to find a husband, and if you choose this man, then of course he will marry you.”
The king sent for Ameer and informed him that he intended to marry the young man to his daughter at the end of the month, making him the heir to the throne. Ameer bowed low. “Your highness, I am indeed greatly honored that you would consider me worthy for your daughter’s hand, and as your bodyguard and sworn sword, I will gladly do you any service you ask, save only this one thing. My heart is my own, your highness, and I cannot marry the princess.” The rajah hadn’t bothered to consult Ameer about this. He assumed that naturally any mere peasant would be thrilled to marry a princess, however selfish, spoiled, and bitchy, so upon being rejected, he flew into a rage, surpassed only by the fury of his spurned daughter.
He was immediately seized by his fellow guards (who weren’t thrilled about it, but weren’t about to risk sharing his fate) and thrown into the dungeon, in the smallest, dankest, most miserable cell they had. He was sentenced to remain there in solitude until the king had decided the most inventive way he could imagine for Ameer to be put to death.
The king wasn’t about to let one commoner prick ruin his daughter’s good idea though, and he decided they were going to marry her off to somebody, so he sent out heralds through the neighboring kingdoms. They proclaimed far and wide that on a day in the near future, any person who wished to be considered as a potential bridegroom for the princess should present himself at the palace and make his case.
When the day came and the full court had been assembled, they let in the giant procession of men, young and old, who sought the princess’ hand. The king called for the first of the many, many candidates to come forward and make his case, but a farmer called out that he had a petition to bring before the crown, please, and could he kindly go first? “Fine, fine, make your petition but hurry up. I’ve got a lot of potential sons-in-law to interview. I don’t have time to waste.” The farmer bowed low. “Your majesty, you have lived in this city for many years, administering justice, so you of course know that the tiger (who is the king of beasts) hunts only in the forest while the jackals hunt anywhere they can scrounge up a meal, including inside the city…”
“The fuck you say? Are you insane? It’s not just jackals, asshole – tigers can come into the city too!” The farmer shook his head. “With all due respect, your majesty, you can plainly see that plenty of jackals are gathered here today to try and claim your daughter and your throne: every city has sent them, and they sit here now, licking their chops in anticipation of the meal to come. I urge you, o king, not to mistake (or pretend again to mistake) the howl of a jackal for the roar of a hunting tiger.”
The king had gone red with fury at being contradicted by this fucking piece of shit peasant, but as he had continued, the color had drained from his face. This man was hinting at things he couldn’t possibly know, and it terrified the king. “What…what are you trying to say? Speak plainly, jackass! Where is this supposed tiger, huh?” “In prison. I think it would be better if you cleared the court so we could speak in private, your majesty.” The king was thoroughly spooked now, and commanded the court cleared. The assembled men were very unhappy at being driven out, but go they went.
“Alright, it’s just us now. Stop speaking in riddles. What are you getting at?” The farmer, who you’ve probably guessed is the old farmer who found the queen so many years ago, told the king about finding her and helping to raise her son, the crown prince. He called in the queen, who had been waiting outside, to come in and confront her former (and I guess still current?) husband. The sight of her filled him with shame and remorse; he wished he could go back and undo sending his first wife away, then marrying the princess’ mother, who had been just as big of a spoiled bitch and a pain in his ass until her death a few years ago.
The king summoned Ameer Ali, who he now realized was his son, to stand before the throne. “My time as king is done, my son. It’s clear that the kingdom would be better off in your hands than in mine, so I abdicate in favor of your rule. Long live the king!” The young man accepted the crown solemnly, then headed once more into the forest to find the good fairy. He called to her, and when she came to see him, he dropped to his knee, professed his love, and asked her to marry him. This time, she did not flee back into the cabin, but agreed to be his wife. The two were soon married, and reigned long, well, and happily.
See, it turned out that the old woman who’s pot Ameer had broken was the young maiden’s fairy godmother, caring for her after the untimely death of both her parents in some unspecified but undoubtedly tragic manner. Once the young woman was happily married, the fairy retired back to fairyland, happy to finally be able to go home. And the old king? He’s learned his lesson about contradicting his wife, who’s much more clever than he gave her credit for back in the day. Besides, any time he looks like he’s thinking about contradicting her or trying to mansplain something, she smiles and asks “Is that a jackal or a tiger then?” and he shuts right the hell up.
This is a fun little story that can’t seem to decide what kind of story it wants to be, but in the best possible way. It starts as a relationship drama, turns into an exile tale, becomes a call to adventure story, and then becomes a weird fetch quest thing before coming back full-circle as a relationship drama again. Everything about it is completely bizarre and usually unexplained, but it doesn’t matter because it’s so much fun. And now that we’ve settled whether it was, in fact, a tiger or a jackal (it was definitely a jackal), it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s monster is the barmanou.
The barmanou is Pakistan’s answer to bigfoot. It’s a bipedal humanoid primate that supposedly lives in the mountains of western Pakistan. It has several local names as well, but barmanou crosses a couple of linguistic lines, including Khowar, Shina, Hindko, and Kashmiri. Although he is a giant ape-man, he’s known to wear animal skins on his back and head (even though everyone knows mixing furs is a fashion no-no). It is also said that his grunts and screams sound a lot like a death metal singer with a cold, so there’s that.
As is often the case with stories of half-human monsters, the barmanou has a reputation for kidnapping humans, especially women, and either trying to make them its mate or just straight-up raping them. Stories of the creature can be found all over Pakistan, with descriptions ranging from mostly ape to mostly-human wild men to living Neanderthal fossils. He’s a cryptid, meaning that, like bigfoot, many people believe that the barmanou is real, with the first expedition to try and find him being carried out from 1987 to 1990 by Jordi Magraner, a Spanish zoologist. Several other expeditions have sought the ape-man since then, many claiming to have first-hand sightings but no real evidence, so you can make up your own mind about whether you believe in a Pakistani sasquatch.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you like what you’ve heard, I’d appreciate a review on iTunes. These reviews really help increase the show’s standing and let more people know it exists. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff, whom you can find on fiverr.com.
Atlanta Comic Con is getting closer and closer, so this is your reminder that I’ll be coming back this year. Come on out for the second installment of Mythology in Popular Culture on Saturday, July 13 at 11:30am. The full schedule of events can be found on the Atlanta Comic Con website and app. If anything changes, I’ll make sure to notify everyone on social media. Come out and learn the fairy tale behind Disney’s Aladdin and find out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that you’ve never had a friend like the Genie.
Next time, we’ll travel to the lost kingdom of Agrabah for the real story of a boy and his genie. You’ll see that you shouldn’t trust a street rat, that you should always bring an egg to a magic fight, and that family causes nothing but trouble. Then, in Gods and Monsters, it’s the giant bird that makes genies and elephants run for cover. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.