Excerpted from The Legend of Himal and Nagrai published by Speaking Tiger, 2019.
Dapaan there was once a scald-headed man who had lost all his hair due to terrible disease. As Kashmiris did and as Kashmiris do, they started calling him khor and soon people forgot his real name and he came to be known only as a khor. The khor was still quite young but his tastes were far beyond his years and his lifestyle larger than life. One day he came across a mulberry tree and climbed all the way up, stopping only at the top. He began to pluck and devour the juicy mulberries. Taking a break from his eating, he looked down and saw an old woman pass by. She was a rantas, but the khor, mistaking her for just another ordinary woman, offered her some of his fruit. He said, ‘Old lady, would you like some mulberries?’ The rantas was delighted that she didn’t have to make much effort. She said, ‘Come my dear. How kind of you! Throw me some.’ He gathered a bunch and threw them down. The rantas cupped her pheran to catch them but fumbled and dropped them all.
‘Oh, now these are dirty. Come down a little and throw me some more.’
He slid down a little and reached out to hand her some berries. ‘Come down further,’ she said and he slid just a little closer. The rantas grabbed him by the arm, brought him down and put him in a sack. Skillfully, she lifted it on her shoulder and, humming to herself, walked home.
On the way, there was a rice farmer who was busy planting his crop. The rantas, who could pass off as an ordinary old woman, left the sack in his care. Seeing an elderly lady, the farmer couldn’t refuse to help. The old woman left to take a walk around and finish some chores. Meanwhile, the khor inside the sack realized that he had been left alone and this was his chance. He called out to the farmer who hesitated but finally approached the sack. Opening this speaking sack, much to his surprise, he saw the khor! He quickly released him and together they stuffed the bag with big clumps of mud and tied it up again.
The rantas returned at leisure, lifted up the sack up on her shoulders and started walking back home. Soon, the edges of the dry mud started poking her in the back. Furious, she said, ‘You little devil, may your face fall off. Are you elbowing me? Let me reach home and I will teach you a lesson.’ The mud continued to poke her from different angles and as soon as she got home, she handed the sack to her daughter. Furious, she told her to release the khor and to pound him into a nice chutney. They owned a large mortar and pestle for just this purpose.
The rantas’s daughter eagerly opened the knots of the sack only to find dirt! The moment she heard this, the rantas figured that this was the farmer’s doing. Through the night she fumed—as if raw oil were being poured on her insides. At dawn the next day she went to the village again and back to the same mulberry tree. The khor was back at it, plucking mulberries and devouring them atop the tree. He saw her again and said, ‘Old lady, would you like some mulberries?’ The rantas was delighted. Once again she said, ‘Come, my dear. How kind of you! Throw me some.’
He gathered a bunch and threw them down. The rantas cupped her pheran to catch them but dropped them all.
‘Oh, now these are dirty. Come down a little and throw me some more.’
The foolish khor once again came down and the rantas, grabbing him by the arm, brought him down and put him in a sack. She lifted it on her shoulder and humming to herself, started for home. This time she passed a shepherd and put the sack on a big stone. Much like the farmer, the shepherd too heard the khor’s call and released him, filling the sack with water and running away. Once again, the rantas lifted the sack on her shoulder and walked towards home.
Somewhere down the road, she noticed the water dripping and soaking her skin. She felt the moisture. ‘Khari , you sleaze, is this your piss on me? May boiling water rain down on you! I won’t leave you alive. Let me reach home and I’ll show you, you devil!’ She reached home and once again gave the sack to her daughter with orders to crush and grind the khor but as soon as she opened the knot she figured the mother had been cheated. Once again, the rantas could not sleep all night. Her insides were on fire. On the third day she set out for the village again, reached the same mulberry tree, saw the khor atop it and tricked him into her sack. This time, however, she took him straight home.
Calmer than before, she called out to her daughter to tell her to take care of the khor in the sack while she took a nap. Now, the minute the rantas girl opened the knot of the sack and saw the khor come out, she fell in love with him. His smooth, bald head was something she had never seen before, and it inspired a pitiful affection in her heart; an urge to protect this strange, wretched human. She said, in words she thought full of fondness, ‘Listen to me, I won’t kill you. But if you want to live long you will have to marry me.’ Seeing an opportunity for survival, the khor quickly said, ‘Yes, my dear. I would most certainly marry you but your mother is sure to kill me!’
Such was the rantas girl’s affection for him that to pacify her newly-found beloved she hatched a plan to keep her mother quiet. While the rantas was asleep the daughter gathered her hair and tied it to a pillar. It is said that the strength of a rantas lies in her hair. With her hair tied to a pillar, she couldn’t wake up!
Meanwhile the besotted rantas girl had now let her guard down. She took the khor around and showed him the house, full of gems and jewels. A few days later a jungle rooster came by and the khor caught it. He took it to the rantas girl and said, ‘I’m very hungry and I just caught this rooster. I hear you make good minced meat. Will you cook it for me? We can then get married and have this as our little feast.’
The rantas girl was happy to do so. She killed the rooster and put it into the large mortar they had. They both took one pestle each and started pounding the meat. One pound after another, both of them were fully concentrating on the pounding and while the rantas girl was looking down at the meat, the clever khor held on to her hair and stuffed her into the mortar. With all his strength he brought down his pestle on her head, while holding on to her hair to immobilize her. In two strikes, life left the rantas girl.
Sighing a deep sigh of relief, the khor, finally free, went around the house and gathered whatever he could find and ran out. On his way home, he stopped at the farmer’s and the shepherd’s to give them some of his share and whatever was left, he took home in what can only be described as a bizarre stroke of luck!
Onaiza Drabu 