Indian folklore: Fake It 'Til You Make It

Jason Weiser (0:00)

This week, on Myths and Legends, there are three stories from India about how, if you do something wrong, you should just come clean. Unless you truly hate your husband's friends, or you just gave away your life savings to a con man, or if you think you might just not get caught. The creature this week is that nice dog who's just looking out for you on the road, mainly because he wants to eat you, yes, but there are fringe benefits, like nothing else out there are being able to eat you.

This is Myths and Legends, Episode 445, Fake It Till You Make It.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins. Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen. Today, as I mentioned, there are three stories from India, likely from South India and the modern day state of Tamil Nadu. These stories come from a collection compiled by Tamil scholar Natesha Shastri, translated to English by Georgiana Kingscoat, and published in Victorian era England. On the first story, we have Ishwara, a man who has been tasked with delivering cakes from his wife to his wife.

Ishwara was getting tired. He had been walking most of the day, and he still had most of a day's walk to go. But the current day was waning and, with it, his will to keep going. Coming up to a wide spot in the creek, he figured that was a good enough place to stop for the night. He could take a cool dip, eat some cakes and sleep under the stars, which was what he did. I've never eaten cake in a bath, but it sounds amazing. Ishwara studied the cakes. There were the ones wrapped up for him and the ones prepared for his wife. Prepared for his wife? By his wife. It was weird that wife one made cakes for wife two, now that Ishwara had some time to reflect on it. He always thought she hated wife two, though Ishwara supposed he only had circumstantial evidence to support that assertion.

He and wife one had been together for years, unable to conceive. It wasn't that he wanted to marry a beautiful young woman as a second wife, but society places certain expectations and demands on him, and his burden to bear was marrying the second beautiful woman and vigorously trying to have a child with her. It worked, too, because she was six months pregnant and had gone to be with her mother in the final months of her pregnancy. In the time since his second marriage, his first wife had been sullen, but after doing a Netflix murder documentary binge and taking notes, which seemed weird to Ishwara, but everyone needs a hobby, she got into baking. She never seemed to even try her creations and wouldn't let Ishwara eat them, either, instead leaving them out for birds and squirrels and then watching intently to see how they liked them. Anyway, it was her idea for Ishwara to go visit wife number two, and she even baked a bunch of cakes special for her, which Ishwara was not allowed to touch at all. His were wrapped up and while he was tempted, he didn't want to snap that first olive branch that wife one was extending. After his bath, Ishwara walked to the shed by the roadside, built a fire, and unfurled his bedroll. Sleep took him almost as soon as he laid down.

Up, up, up, the guys carry, and the princess's bed cried out as they marched down the road. Guys, please. The bandit leader pointed to the sleeping Brahmin, Ishwara, snoring in the shed.

They nodded. Oh, sorry. Up, up, up. Actually, this is a good place to stop for the night. We're far enough out. The bandit leader whispered, and they set the princess's bed down. Everyone must have been exhausted because the princess, too, did not wake up with the commotion of either having her bed carried out of the palace, past the dozen or so guards that the bandits had pre-slain for a problem-free exit, but also after being carried for a few miles on the road by said bandits. The nearby king had been looking for a match for his daughter, and the local bandit leader had thrown his name in for consideration. Honestly, it was not as outlandish as it seemed. The bandit was strong, handsome, a principled man who had even been born into wealth and a family where he could be considered for the princess's hand and hadn't been a bandit, he would have been earnestly considered for the princess's hand. As it was, he was laughed out of the palace. This was a bad idea on the king's part. Instead of waking up with a horse's head in his bed, the king would wake up with several heads strewn about his palace and no princess nor bed in her room, because he had stormed the castle and kidnapped her. The bandit leader didn't need the extra contingent of bandits that brought his number up to 100, but she could never be too prepared. When one of his guys, doing a little unofficial banditry that demonstrated initiative and ambition, found the serendipitous 100 cakes in a metal container next to the sleeping Brahmin, he knew that it was a perfect celebration for a perfect night.