Episode 147 – Fire and Pancakes – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 147 Show Notes

Source: Indian Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’re traveling to East India for a very special birth in a very unusual jungle. You’ll learn that stars and diamonds look a lot alike, that cattails make surprisingly good arrows, and that thieves make good husbands. Then, in Gods and Monsters, how far would you go to win a bet with your wife over a pancake? 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 147, “Fire and Pancakes”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This week’s story comes from A Book of East India Fairy Tales, collected by Hartwell James in 1910. Once upon a time, in the very heart of the dense jungle, there stood a very, very old tree. In fact, this tree was older than any other tree in the forest, and as such it had seen a great many things and developed a surprising amount of wisdom for, you know, a tree. No one really pays attention to the trees, so this tree had learned many secrets. Every spring, it would deck itself out in fresh green leaves and a riot of lovely white blossoms. On this particular year, the tree had outdone itself with its beautiful flowers, especially a special snow-white bud that grew on a lower branch and nearly glowed in the dim forest like a drop of mercury amongst the verdant leaves.
The rose apple tree, being a very curious sort, was captivated by this mysterious bud. “I wonder why that bud is so much larger and prettier than the others.” The fig tree (who was a shameless gossip), was only too happy to answer. “Why, because it holds a secret.” “Really? That’s amazing! But when will we be able to learn the bud’s secret?” There’s absolutely no reason for the fig tree to know this, but apparently it did because something something gossip. “It will be revealed in the middle of the night during a terrible thunderstorm. By the flashing glare of the lightning, you will see the bud open.”
That’s…very specific. I would think the fig tree was talking out of its metaphorical ass (not sure what part of a tree would count as its ass, but that’s not important right now), except that it was right. Sure enough, there soon came to that part of the jungle a truly furious storm. The thunder roared and the lightning crashed with such fury that the poor rose apple tree was far too terrified to watch the ancient tree with its silver bud. The fig tree, never one to miss a juicy bit of gossip, kept careful watch as the grand old tree stretched out its branches to welcome the tempest. At the very height of the storm, lightning flashed and the silver bud opened as the branch it clung to gently lowered it to the ground.
Inside the flower lay a tiny, beautiful baby boy. He had been curled up and sleeping peacefully inside the bud; when it opened, the tiny infant opened his eyes and smiled up at the stormy sky above, his dimples lit by the flashing lightning that split the air. Comforted by nature’s fury, the baby boy curled back up and went to sleep. In the morning, all was fresh and bright and new once more. The infant stirred from his slumber, yawned a tiny yawn, and stretched out his pudgy fingers to play with the flowers dancing overhead.
The fig tree was very taken by the child. “He must be a very wonderful baby. I mean, just look at his little white silk shirt! Why, it’s exactly the same color as the bud he was born from and look – he has a glowing diamond shining on his forehead.” The rose apple tree, no longer cowering now that the storm was over, wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think that’s a diamond, fig. That looks more like a star to me. See how it twinkles and shines!” The two trees discussed the matter, but they couldn’t decide whether the mark was a star or a diamond. It simply shone far too brightly for them to get a good look at it.
By now, the forest fauna was stirring. For reasons that are not explained, the hummingbirds, the parrots, the monkeys, and the jackals all came over to the grand old tree together to look at the baby. Maybe there’s a watering hole beneath the sheltering boughs of the ancient tree? Maybe they all had word of the secret bud from that shameless gossip, fig tree? Who knows. Whatever the reason, they all hung out together and gazed at the magical bud baby.
The hummingbirds were not nearly as impressed as the two trees were. This is probably a translation issue, since hummingbirds are very much not native to any part of India. There are however multiple species of tiny sunbirds that are very similar and probably intended by the author here. “That baby doesn’t seem all that great. He’d be a lot better if he had beautiful wings like mine,” said one. The parrots seemed inclined to agree with this assessment. “Yeah, that would be better. Or if he had brilliant plumage like me.” The jackals weren’t sure about all of this wings and plumage business, but they agreed that the baby could use some improvement. “Feathers are all well and good, but he’d be better off with thick, warm fur like mine,” suggested one of them. The monkeys didn’t say a damned thing. I don’t really know why they’re even in this part of the story.
It was about this time that the little baby started to get hungry and did what babies do – namely, he began to cry. Loudly. The beasts of the forest backed off at the sound, but the fig tree simply dipped one of its branches down towards the child and dripped sweet honey into its mouth. I don’t think that’s really appropriate nutrition for a human child, but the rules are probably different for magic babies born from flowers. This worked and the baby, his hunger sated, smiled and drifted off to sleep again.
Unfortunately, his crying had caught the attention of the less friendly jungle critters, namely a tigress. “A helpless human child? All alone out here? This is perfect. I can bring my cubs out and let them practice hunting on this easy prey.” And off she went to do just that. Luckily for the baby, the trees were already very fond of the child and decided to protect him. They urged the grasses and the flowers to grow up over the baby in a thick sheltering blanket to hide him. When the tigress returned with her cubs, she couldn’t find the baby – his movements were covered by the rippling grasses and his scent was hidden by the sweet flowers. “Leave the child be, tigress. We will allow no harm to come to him. He is our baby and he is under our protection,” said the flowers and grasses. Annoyed but unwilling to fight the actual literal forest over a single morsel, she left in a huff.
With the literal flower child now saved, the trees turned to the next obvious bit of business. “Okay, so like – what do we name this kid? We can’t just call him ‘baby boy’ forever.” Fortunately, the eldest tree who had given mystical birth to the boy had already thought of this. “His name is Nazim. You must all help me take care of him and teach him all the secrets of the jungle.” The trees and grasses and flowers and all the wild creatures agreed to this demand out of respect to the eldest tree. I’m a little surprised that not a single one asked any questions about it like ‘how’ or ‘why’. Maybe fig’s prophecy made it seem destined in a way that negates any questioning.
Anyway, the baby boy grew up with the entire forest as his parent and protector. The monkeys (who finally have a role in this story) taught the lad how to climb. Dame the great turtle who lived in the river, taught him to swim. The hummingbirds that are probably sunbirds showed Nazim where the sweetest fruits grew and which blossoms hid honey inside. He learned to heal wounds with herbs, to charm the deadliest snakes, and all kinds of other Tarzan shit that most kids never learn. These were the secrets of the wild places, unknown by those who dwelt in houses.
Nazim would awaken early each morning to bathe in the river, hanging his white silk shirt to dry on a tree. Is it the same silk shirt that’s magically growing with him for reasons that are not adequately explained? It absolutely is. I guess silk that comes out of magic buds is also a little bit magic because why the hell not. It needed to be washed as we’ve seen, but it never wore out or needed mending, no matter what wild shenanigans Nazim got up to during the day. Each night, he slept in a hammock made from living flowers twining together beneath the fig tree. As you can probably expect, the perfect baby boy grew up into an equally beautiful young man. He was tall and strong, but also kind and gentle. Sheltered under the protective boughs of the forest, he grew up fearless and daring. All the flora and fauna loved him, even the tigress who had been trying to feed him to her cubs when he was first born.
As he grew older, Nazim realized in time that he wasn’t like the other jungle critters. Confused about this, he went to the ancient tree. “I’ve seen a great many parrots and jackals and monkeys living in the forest, but I’ve never seen anyone else that looks like me. Am I the only one? Are there no other Nazims out there?” The tree’s leaves rustled in the breeze as it considered this question. “Why do you want to know?” Nazim sighed longingly. “It’s lonely being the only Nazim. I would very much like to see others like me.” “Very well, Nazim. If that is what you wish, then climb to my very topmost branch and tell me what you see.”
Nazim did so, scrambling up the weathered trunk like the monkeys who had been his tutors. “Off in the distance, I see a tall hill with a very sharp crest.” “Indeed. Near the top of that needle-shaped hill is a tree covered in pink blossoms. Do you see it? That is the Kidsadita. Go to it, smell the bright pink flowers that grow there, and ask aloud where the Four Brothers are.” It was kind of a strange request, but I gather that Nazim was used to oddities, being himself strange and unusual. Scrambling nimbly back to the earth, Nazim raced through the jungle until he reached the needle-like hill and clambered up its steep slope. Inhaling deeply of the Kidsadita’s flowers, he asked “Where are the Four Brothers?”
And the tree answered, which isn’t at all unusual given that this kid talks to trees all the time. I don’t know why sniffing the flower was necessary though. “The Four Brothers are on the other side of this hill. They are preparing their supper.” Heart leaping, Nazim climbed over the top of the hill and looked down on the other side. Sure enough, he spied four young men who looked quite a lot like himself. They had just killed a deer for dinner and were busily occupied with dressing it.
They heard Nazim approach (whether because he wanted them to or because he was so enraptured at seeing other people that he just wasn’t quiet, I don’t know, but I have to imagine a child raised in the jungle his whole life could avoid being noticed if he wanted to). Their shock at seeing a young man all alone in this wild place was quickly overtaken by their awe at his stunning beauty. Dressed all in white, star shining on his forehead, Nazim approached with a look of pure, gentle love on his face that put everyone instantly at ease. “Well hello there. We four are brothers – would you like to be our fifth?” It’s a pretty big leap to go from strangers to siblings in seconds, but Nazim’s rizz was just that powerful.
Since that was exactly what he wanted, he immediately agreed. “I can think of nothing I want more! All the creatures of the jungle have brothers and sisters, but I had none until now. I came here seeking those like myself and I have found you all.” Chimo, the youngest brother, smiled at Nazim. “Excellent! Then there are just two things we’re needing right now, brother whose name I haven’t bothered to ask yet: a fire to cook our meat and a wife for each of us.”
To be clear here, Chimo isn’t just asking Nazim to build a normal ass fire here. At this point in our legendary history, fire was not a thing that humans had access to. He wants Nazim to get them the very first fire so that they don’t have to keep eating their dinners cold and raw. One of the other brothers nodded approvingly at Chimo’s idea. “That’s true, brother, and I know just the place to get some fire. The giant Rikal Gouree has one burning in his hearth. Even better, he has four daughters that he needs to find husbands for (they’re all anxious to be married). You can kill two birds with one stone!”
The Four Brothers knew that Rikal Gouree lived somewhere nearby, but they had never been to his house (which is why they were still single and fireless). To their credit, they’re not being lazy here nor are they asking Nazim to do this all by his lonesome. They have heard stories of this giant, his fiery hearth, and his eligible bachelorette daughters, but they do not know where he lives or how to get there. Being so obviously magical and one with nature, they figured (correctly) that their newest brother might be able to do something about their plight that they themselves had been unable to do.
Nazim considered this request. His new brothers had welcomed him into their family, so the least he could do was help them out here. “That shouldn’t be a problem. If you can bring me a bulrush (a type of reed with a bushy end, also known as a cattail), then I can show you the way to Rikal Gouree’s house.” Excited by the young man’s confidence, Chimo hurried off to find the perfect bulrush for Nazim. He returned soon with a very strong one. The newest brother fitted the reed to his bowstring, aimed, and fired. “Follow the arrow’s path; it will lead you right to the giant’s home. The bulrush has cleared a path for you. At its end, you shall find what you are seeking.”
The Four Brothers immediately raced off in the direction that the bulrush arrow had flown. Chimo, being the fastest of them by a fair margin, arrived at the giant’s home first. I say home, but it’s more accurate to say that it was a grand, immense palace. Chimo was awed by the towering structure, but Nazim had said that they would find what they sought. Summoning all his courage, he darted inside. Rikal Gouree was sleeping by the fire inside of the enormous main room. The couch he lay on was twenty feet long and eight feet high, which should give you an idea of just how massive this giant truly was. The fireplace roaring beyond him was as big as a cavern and glowed red with the inferno that burned entire trees in place of logs within. The ceiling of the palace was so high that Chimo could scarcely make it out in the dancing firelight.
Taking a deep breath (and a scared glance at the sleeping giant), the youngest brother ran as quietly as he could towards the fire. He found a human-sized branch lying beside the fire that had avoided being burned. This he shoved into the blaze until it caught, and then carrying his newfound torch, he raced back towards the door. Chimo should have gone a little slower and more carefully while playing Prometheus. The wind of his flight caused the fire to blaze much, much higher and a spark flew off the torch and landed on the sleeping giant’s hand. Oops.
The pain from the burning spark awoke Rikal Gouree from his slumber. Understandably, he was in something of a grumpy mood. Roaring in pain and confusion, the giant leapt to his feet and spotted the small human racing across his floor with his stolen fire. His brain was still half-asleep, so it took him a moment to put two and two together and get ‘thief’. When he did, he bellowed again, this time in fury, and began to chase the fleeing intruder. Luckily, Chimo was incredibly fleet of foot and was able to outpace the giant. Unluckily, he had to drop the awkward burning branch in order to do so. He returned to his assembled brothers sweaty and shaking but empty handed.
The brothers pressed Chimo for word of what had transpired. “We need to leave Rikal Gouree alone. That was way, way too close. I’d rather eat raw meat the rest of my life than go anywhere near that monster ever again!” That was a bold declaration and it left them all the more curious about what had actually happened. After much insisting, Chimo finally sat down and recounted to them im the whole story of his misadventure with the giant.
Meanwhile, back in the palace, Rikal Gouree had lost the fleeing Chimo but recovered the burning brand. He stomped back towards the fireplace and tossed the branch in, but it didn’t make him feel much better. Annoyed, he wandered into the room where his wife and his daughters were and threw himself into his favorite chair. “I’m in a foul mood now. My nap was ruined and my hand got burned in the process.” Everyone ignored this outburst. His oldest daughter drifted over to her father as soon as he was settled in his usual place. “Do you have husbands for us yet?” Rikal Gouree groaned and rubbed the space between his eyebrows. Without fail, one of his four daughters asked some variation on this question each and every day. He’d been polite about it at first, but the constant failure and the constant nagging about that failure was wearing on him. The sulky old giant would now reply “Of course I don’t! Who the fuck can get good husbands for four daughters all at once?” It seems like they could have been married off one at a time and made things simpler, but maybe the sisters refused that. Maybe it was a jealousy thing. Maybe it was some integral part of giant culture. The story doesn’t explain.
“Okay, geez. No need to be such a sourpuss, Daddy. I asked because I saw that cute boy go running away from the house. Who was he? Was he here to ask for one of our hands in marriage?” Their father let out a long-suffering sigh. “No, he was not a suitor, he was a thief. He snuck into the house while I was asleep and tried to make off with some of my fire.”
His wife fixed him with a look that said volumes. “You really should have handled that situation differently. There was no reason to send him running away in terror, dear. He could have been a husband to one of the girls at least and, as you know, giant’s daughters do not easily find suitable matches.” She picked up the bulrush that Nazim had fired to show the way here. “See this arrow? It flew into our room this morning, and I have to imagine that more men will come seeking it. You really fucked this one up, husband, and we shall all probably suffer for it.” We’ve seen stories where giants are great violent brutes and their wives live in terror of their rage, but Rikal Gouree was not such a giant. His wife had no fear at all of him and proceeded to give him such a furious tongue lashing at his thoughtless behavior that he was only too happy to escape back to his bed to return to his nap.
He fell asleep again soon enough but was awoken again some time later. This time though, his waking was much sweeter and gentler. Beautiful music was wafting through the room on the breeze though the giant had no idea where it was coming from. Sitting up and peering around, he finally decided that it must be coming from a tall tree outside his window. It was some of the most incredible music he had ever heard and it seemed to beckon him to come outside and listen more closely. Entranced, Rikal Gouree did just that.
Looking up towards the source, he saw the most beautiful young man he had ever seen sitting in a high branch. He was strumming on a lute, the light from the star in his forehead flashing almost in time to the melody. Rikal Gouree was utterly focused on the music, but he idly noted that he was not the only audience for this impromptu concert. Dogs, cats, and other furry critters were all sitting together peacefully to listen. The branches around the musician were covered in songbirds who were all, for once, silent so as to not clash with the young man’s playing.
As Rikal Gouree listened, the music went from slow and soothing to upbeat and merry. It was infectious, and the giant soon found himself lifting up his skirts and dancing. His wife saw him through the window and shook her head in exasperation. Coming out of the house to see just what foolishness he had gotten himself into, his wife took in the scene. “What a silly old man you are, husband!” But now that she was outside, she too was caught in the spell of the music. Soon enough, she too had lifted up her skirts and was dancing with merry abandon, holding up her sari in one hand like a young girl while her bangles and anklets tinkled a merry percussion.
When the young man finally drew his playing to a close, the two giants applauded approvingly, holding each other and laughing affectionately. Rikal Gouree waved up at the young man. “Come down from that tree stranger so we can thank you properly! We haven’t had that much fun in ages. Whatever you want in return, it’s yours.” Nazim (because of course it was Nazim) smiled broadly. “I know just the thing. My four brothers would love nothing more than to marry your four daughters. And if I could get a firebrand from your hearth for me, then I think we’d all be square. Do we have a deal?”
The giant couple was thrilled to finally have four brides for four brothers (it’s no seven brides for seven brothers, but still pretty impressive) and so agreed readily. One of the daughters came out of the house bearing the bulrush arrow that Nazim had fired, and her mother laughed. “I knew it was a true omen, but luckily I was wrong about it being an ill one.” Taking as much fine clothing and sparkling jewelry as they could carry on their heads, the four giant daughters followed Nazim out to the needle-shaped hill where the Kidsadita grew. There, beneath its fragrant pink boughs, the four couples were married.
They went on to have happy marriages and happy lives. Only Nazim had no wife, which suited him fine. He had no interest in marrying – he’s giving me aroace king vibes right about now. Being wiser than his four brothers, all of the couples agreed that the flower child should be their king. A crown was made from the jewels brought by the giant daughters, but none of them shone as brightly as the star set into his forehead. King Nazim ruled wisely and well for many years.
I’m not entirely sure what to take away from this story. It has the feel of a Prometheus myth, explaining how mankind first got fire; it might also be providing some kind of lineage for a particular line of rulers, descended from Nazim the star-browed, but I can’t find anything else that seems relevant relating to that name, so who knows. Of course, unless he had also figured out how to have children through the flower method, someone else would have to take up the mantle of leadership after Nazim’s eventual death. That’s a problem for another day because 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 conundrum is the problem of the five pancakes.
This story comes from Tales of the Sun or Folklore of Southern India, collected by Mrs. Howard Kingscote (one of the pen names for Adelina Gerogiana Isabel Kingscote) and Pandit Natesa Sastri in 1890. Long ago, in a small village, there lived a poor beggar and his wife. Being unable to find any actual work at that time, the man would go out every morning with a clean bowl in his hands; each night, he would return with enough rice in that bowl for the day’s meal. It was just barely enough to keep the couple fed, and so they clung to survival on the raggedy edge of poverty.
One day, a poor Madhva Brahmin (a member of a Hindu community who follow Sadh Vaishnavism and Dvaita philosophy, mostly in the northern states of India) invited the pair to a feast. It was apparently well known at the time that Madhvas had a particular fondness for tosai – a savory pancake made from fermented rice batter – and always have them in plenty at their festivities. The writers translated this as muffins, which doesn’t seem at all accurate. I’ll stick with calling them tosai.
During this feast, the beggar and his wife had their very first tosai. And then their second. And third. In fact, they stuffed themselves silly on the delicious dish having developed quite a fondness of their own. Afterwards, both of them would sometimes sit and sigh wistfully as they ate their meager bowl of rice in the evening, and each knew that the other was dreaming of those delectable pancakes. The woman decided that it couldn’t be that hard to make and so she began to set aside just a little of their rice each day. When she had collected enough, she went to their more affluent neighbor and begged her for just a little of the black pulse (or black lentils) that were essential for making tosai properly. Their neighbor was a charitable sort and so the woman was able to get the needed ingredient and cook herself a batch of tosai.
Her mouth watering, she mixed the rice and the pulse with salt, green chiles, coriander seed, and curds and set it on the fire to cook. The smell was heavenly as she watched the five pancakes she had been able to make begin to brown. She was just scooping the fifth tosai off the fire when her husband returned with his usual bowl of rice. Her husband had been the one out gathering everything they needed all day, sweating and shmoozing to get the alms they depended on, so she set all five tosai in front of him despite her own grumbling tummy. To his credit, the man immediately put two in front of her and two in front of himself, eager to share and share alike. Unfortunately, five tosai cannot be evenly divided between two people. So what were they to do with the extra pancake?
Now, you’re probably wondering about now why they couldn’t just split the last one and each have two and half. It’s a good question and the story’s answer isn’t super satisfying but at least it actually has one for once. Apparently, the beggar just wasn’t a very clever guy and the idea of dividing the odd tosai just literally didn’t occur to him. Partly, that was supposedly because the golden brown tosai was just too perfect to tear into pieces (even though, you know, that what’s going to happen when you start fucking eating it). Whatever, just accept that they can’t or won’t divide it. Given that, it left them with quite the conundrum – who should eat the fifth tosai?
The husband, who couldn’t come up with the obvious answer, instead came up with this gem of an idea: the quiet game. They would each lie down on a veranda on opposite sides of the kitchen with their eyes closed. The first one to open an eye and speak got only two pancakes; the other would get three. This feels like a competition off a bad reality show, but it was the best idea they had so the wife agreed to it. Placing the five tosai in a pan, the wife covered that with another pan to keep the bugs away and keep them warm. Setting it down in the center of the kitchen and bolting the front door, she went to the west verandah and her husband lay down on the east one.
And they both lay there, eyes closed but definitely wide awake, for hours. Neither could risk falling asleep since what if they said something in their sleep? What if they missed their spouse speaking first and losing? Both were ravenous for that fifth tosai and so neither was willing to lose this game. Hours stretched into days. By the end of the third day, the town had begun to notice that the local beggar had simply vanished. He hadn’t come around to receive the daily dole, hadn’t been seen by a single person in town in fact. Everyone began talking about the mystery, wondering each to the other what had happened to him and his wife.
Wiser heads prevailed, and some of the greybeards decided to just send some of the village watch to check the house. If it was locked from the outside, then maybe they had simply traveled to another village to try their luck there instead. When the village watchmen tried the door however, he was surprised to find that it was indeed locked but from the inside. What in the Agatha Christie? After hearing this news, the whispers and rumors only grew. Something terrible must have happened in that house! “Maybe thieves broke in and, after plundering the house, murdered the two inhabitants to keep them silent about the crime,” suggested someone. “What the fuck is there to steal from the house of the local beggar?” scoffed someone else. The greybeards were again the wiser counsel and decided that there was no sense in idle speculation. They would simply send members of the village watch to climb into the house from the roof.
Grumbling a little at having to take such a difficult way inside, the guard did indeed scale the house and peer inside from the roof. I’m guessing he went in through an upper balcony or skylight or something, but the story doesn’t clarify. Anyway, once inside he was horrified to see the motionless bodies of the husband and wife lying on the two verandas on either side of the kitchen. Neither responded to calls to ask if they were alright (because that would have lost them the game and the tosai). He opened the lock on the door and practically the whole village rushed in to rubberneck at the disaster.
Everyone shook their heads and whispered what a tragedy it all was. The couple had clearly loved each other very much and the only bright spot on this dark day was that they had died together. Neither would have to mourn the other. The couple of course heard all of this happening around them, but neither spoke up to reassure everyone that they were in fact perfectly fine. The two of them were apparently absurdly fierce competitors when pancakes where involved.
The town paid to have two green litters of bamboo and coconut leaves built to carry the seemingly dead couple to their final resting place – the cremation grounds. Dried dung was piled up around the litters and each house in the village provided a bundle of firewood to build the pyre. The beggar and his wife were well liked in the village and so everyone was genuinely upset at their passing. Their funeral and cremation would be a communal affair. In fact, the people loved this couple so much that enough wood was donated to build two pyres: one for the man and one for the woman.
All was arranged and the two pyres were lit. The man’s caught faster and burned slightly hotter. It began to lick at his legs and he realized that maybe, just maybe, an extra tosai (especially one that had been sitting out for many days now) wasn’t worth getting burned alive for. He sat up on the pyre. “You win! I’ll be satisfied with just two pancakes.” The woman let out a whoop of joy and sat up as well. “Hell yeah! Winner winner pancake dinner! That extra tosai is mine; it’ll taste almost as sweet as victory.”
The villagers, having no idea that the couple was playing some very for keeps game, thought the dead had come back to life. I don’t know how no one noticed that they were still warm and breathing during all of this, but this village isn’t known for its close examination of literally anything it appears. They fled the apparent zombie apocalypse, leaving the couple alone on their burning pyres with only one brave man there to watch over them. Maybe he didn’t believe in ghosts or maybe he was just interested in asking them about the afterlife. Either way, he stayed put as the two climbed out of the fires and walked over to stand with him. They answered his questions, eventually convincing him that they were very much alive and that this whole absurd ordeal was over a contested tosai.
This brave soul ran back to the village and told them all what had transpired. It was clearly some hilarious comedy of errors, but what to do about the very much alive couple? They had been carried out of the village to the cremation grounds on litters! Their pyres had been lit! There was no way they could come back and live in their old house in the village now. Whether they were ghosts or not, that sort of thing would surely bring ill fortune and destruction down upon the whole village. The elders discussed it amongst themselves and it was decided to build the couple a small hut in a deserted field just outside the village proper. They were still allowed to come in and visit the village as they always had, so very little actually changed. The one major difference after that was that the couple were known as the tosai beggars. Their story was famous in that village, and everyone used to bring them stacks of pancakes on a regular basis. After all, hadn’t they died, been burned, and returned to life over the desire for a single tosai?
This story is utterly bonkers, and I love it. I don’t think even the wildest sitcom stories I’ve seen have reached this level of absurd coincidence and commitment to the bit to get to the wild ending. It’s proof that people have always been weird and have always loved their food. But if your partner offers to see who can pretend to be dead longer over a pancake, maybe don’t take it quite this far. I mean, it worked out for the tosai beggars, but I don’t think it would end as happily in real life.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth, on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod, and on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. 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.
Next time, we’re headed to Scandinavia for tales from the indigenous Sami people. You’ll discover why you shouldn’t trust strangers in the woods, why you should be careful around wells, and why you should always know where your mantle is. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you should really listen to your older brother when he tells you to lay off the gods. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.