The Flowering Tree

Folktales from Karnataka typically have a strong ecological connect. We’ve seen that in the 2022 film Kantara, and we explore the same in this story.

The Flowering Tree. Illustrated by Gowri Suresh, Visual Storyteller at ThisDay

Actor and filmmaker Rishab Shetty’s homage to indigenous culture through the blockbuster movie Kantara created ripples in the fabric of the Indian film industry. Since its release on September 30, 2022, the thriller has been hailed for its stunning cinematography, evocative soundtrack, and gripping storytelling with its vivid depiction of the Tulu traditions—Boota kola, boar hunting, and kampala, to name a few. The film explores the relationship between nature and humans with all the elements of a folktale. In Kantara, the revered mythical being is Panjurli, a young male boar who is feared for his strength by humans and animals alike.

Our folktale of the day is also from Karnataka and explores just the same themes via the same elements—magic, superstition, human folly, and, most importantly, an impossible narrative with mythic archetypes that resonate deeply with all of us, no matter what our beliefs. The difference, however, is our female protagonist who changes the entire perspective and tenor of the story.

"A Flowering Tree" is a short story featured by A.K. Ramanujan in his 1997 book A Flowering Tree and Other Oral Tales from India. AKR worked on collecting and translating folk tales from across India in as many as 20 languages, throwing light on several important aspects of Indian society and culture.

Several versions of this story, a part of Kannada folklore told by women, were collected over a span of twenty years by Ramanujan and his fellow folklorists. It is a woman-centred tale and attempts to establish a sisterhood between women and nature. In fact, this beautiful story and its impact on the listener moved artists world over. In 2006, it was adapted into an opera by Pulitzer Prize–winning composer John Adams. The opera, commissioned for the 250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth, premiered at the New Crowned Hope Festival in Vienna in November 2006 since Adams felt that the opera shares with Mozart’s The Magic Flute the themes of youth, magic, transformation, and the dawning of moral awareness. Girish Karnad, another pillar of Indian cinema and theatre, adapted the story into a film titled Cheluvi (“Beautiful Girl”) in 1992, which won the National Film Award for Best Film on Environment Conservation/Preservation and was featured in International film festivals as well.

Before we actually begin the story, it would only be pertinent to note the synergy this tale brings out between women and ecology. Traditionally, in Kannada, they say that when a woman is beautiful, “one must wash one’s hands to touch her” (kai taku muabeku). Similarly, are we not told by our mothers when we were children not to touch growing plants in the garden, especially with our sharp fingernails, lest they might scratch the growing ends?

Ancient poems in several languages like classical Tamil speak of the sisterhood between a woman and a tree.

Playing with friends

one time we pressed a ripe seed into the white sand and forgot about it till it sprouted

and when we nursed it tenderly pouring sweet milk with melted butter, Mother said, “It qualifies as a sister to you, and it’s much better than you

Karnad called his nayika Cheluvi and John Adams called her Kumudha. Being a lover of opera and Mozart, I would also like to call our heroine Kumudha.

In a certain town, the king had two daughters and a son. The older princess was married. In the same town, there lived an old woman with her two daughters. She did menial jobs in order to feed, clothe, and bring up her children and they lived in abject poverty, going without food on some days. The younger sister Kumudha was a beautiful and kind-hearted girl. One day, she gave her only meal to help a mendicant who had fainted from hunger and, in return, received a boon from him. The mendicant taught her a mantra that would turn her into a champak tree, but he warned her that the flowers would have to be plucked carefully so that the tree is not even slightly damaged. Kumudha smiled and kept this knowledge to herself.

When the girls reached puberty, Kumudha said one day, “Akka, I’ve been thinking of something. It’s hard on Mother to work all day for our sake. I want to help her. I will turn myself into a flowering tree. You can take the flowers and sell them for good money.”

Akka was amazed and asked her how she could do that. But Kumudha told her not to worry and gave her instructions. “You first sweep and wash the entire house. Then take a bath, go to the well, and bring two pitchers full of water, without touching them with your fingernails. Then you pour the water from this pitcher all over my body. I’ll turn into a flowering tree. Then you pluck as many flowers as you want, but do it without breaking a sprout or tearing a leaf. When you’re done, pour the water from the other pitcher over me, and I’ll become a person again.”

Akka listened to her carefully and followed her instructions exactly as she was told. At once, Kumudha changed into a great big tree that seemed to stretch from earth to heaven. Akka plucked the flowers carefully, without hurting a stalk, sprout, or leaf. After she had enough to fill a basket or two, she emptied the second pitcher of water over the tree, and Kumudha stood in its place. She shook the water from her hair and stood up. They both gathered the flowers in baskets and brought them home. The flowers had a wonderful fragrance. They wove them into garlands. “Where shall I sell them?” asked Akka. “Sister, why not take all of them to the king’s palace? They will pay well. Mother is always doing such awful jobs for our sake. Let’s pile up some money and surprise her,” said Kumudha.

And so, Akka took the basketful of garlands before the king’s palace and hawked her wares, crying, “Flowers, flowers, who wants flowers?” The younger princess looked out and said, “Mother, mother, the flowers smell wonderful. Buy me some.” “All right, call the flower girl,” said the queen. They both looked at the flowers, and they were lovely. The queen asked, “How much do you want for these?” “We are poor people, give us whatever you wish,”said Akka, thrilled with this response. The royal women gave her a handful of coins and bought all the garlands.

When Akka came home with the money, Kumudha said, “Sister, sister, don’t tell mother how you got the money, she will not believe us. She’ll get angry and beat us. Don’t tell anyone about my secret. Tell everyone, including Mother, that you are getting the flowers from the jungle”. Akka agreed and they sold flowers for five days. Unaware of Kumudha’s magical qualities, their mother was pleased that collecting wildflowers and selling them in the market was fetching such a good price nowadays.

One day, the king’s only son, the handsome prince, saw the flowers. They smelled wonderful. He had never seen such flowers anywhere. “What flowers are these? Where do they grow, on what kind of tree, and who brings them to the palace?” he wondered. He watched the girl who brought the flowers. One day, he followed her home to the old woman’s house, but he couldn’t find a single flowering tree anywhere. He was quite intrigued. On his way home, he tired himself out thinking, “Where on earth do they get such flowers?”

Early the next morning, while it was still dark, the king’s son went and hid himself in the tall tree in front of the old woman’s house. That day too, the girls swept and washed the space under the tree. As usual, Kumudha became the flowering tree, and after her akka had gently plucked all the flowers, the tree transformed into Kumudha again. The prince saw all this happen before his very eyes and was awestruck with Kumudha’s beauty and her mesmerising transformation into a tree. He came straight home and lay on his bed, face down. The king and the queen came to find out what the matter was. He didn’t speak a word. His friend, the minister’s son, came and asked him, “What happened? Did anyone say anything that hurt you? What do you want? You can tell me.”

The prince told him, bit by bit, about the beautiful girl he had seen turning into a flowering tree. “Is that all?” said the minister’s son, and reported it all to the king. The king called the minister and sent for the old woman. She arrived, shaking with fear. She was dressed in old clothes and stood near the door. After much persuasion, she sat down. The king calmed her and softly asked her, “You have two girls at your place. Will you give us one?” The old woman’s fears got worse. “How does the king know about my daughters? Those two witches, I am sure they seduced him, how can one trust girls anyway?” she thought. She found her voice with difficulty and stammered, “All right, master. For a poor woman like me, giving a daughter is not as great a thing.”

The king at once offered her the ceremonial betel leaf and betel nut on a silver platter, as a symbolic offer of betrothal. She was afraid to touch it. But the king forced it on her and sent her home. Back home, she picked up a broom and beat her daughters. She scolded them. “You characterless, immoral girls, where have you been and what did you do? The king is asking after you. Where did you go?” The poor girls didn’t understand what was happening. They stood there crying, “Amma, why are you beating us? Why are you scolding us?” “Who else can I beat? Where did you go? How did the king hear about you?” The old woman raged on. The terrified girls slowly confessed to what they had been doing—told her how Kumudha would turn into a flowering tree, how they would sell the flowers and hoard the money, hoping to surprise their mother.

“How can you do such things, with an elder like me sitting in the house? What’s all this talk about human beings becoming trees? Who’s ever heard of it? Telling lies, too. Show me how you become a tree.” She screamed and beat them some more. Finally, to pacify her, Kumudha had to demonstrate it all: she became a tree and then returned to her normal human self, right before her mother’s eyes. Finally, the dumbstruck old woman calmed down, secretly glad about these developments.

The wedding took place with pomp and show. After the nuptial ceremony, the families left the newlywed couple alone in a separate house. But the prince was aloof, and Kumudha was too shy to ask him anything. Two nights passed. Let him talk to me, thought she. Let her begin, thought he. So both the groom and the bride were silent. On the third night, the girl wondered, “He hasn’t uttered a word. Why did he marry me?” She asked him aloud, “Is it for this silence that you married me?” He answered roughly, “I’ll talk to you only if you do what I ask.” She replied, “Why won’t I do as my husband bids me? Tell me what you want.”

He commanded, “You know how to turn into a flowering tree, don’t you? Let me see you do it. We can then sleep on flowers, and cover ourselves with them. That would be lovely.” Kumudha said “My lord, I’m not a demon, I’m not a goddess. I’m an ordinary mortal like everyone else. Can a human being ever become a tree?” she said very humbly. The prince retorted “I don’t like all this lying and cheating. I saw you the other day becoming a beautiful tree. I saw you with my own eyes. If you don’t become a tree for me, for whom will you do that?” he chided her.

The bride wiped a tear from her eyes with the end of her sari, and said, “Don’t be angry with me. If you insist so much, I’ll do as you say. Bring two pitchers of water.” He brought them. She uttered chants over them. Meanwhile, he shut all the doors and windows. She said, “Remember, pluck all the flowers you want, but take care not to break a twig or tear a leaf.” She then instructed him on how and when to pour water, while she sat in the middle of the room. The prince poured one pitcherful of water over her. She turned into a flowering tree. The fragrance of the flowers filled the house. He plucked all the flowers he wanted, and then sprinkled water from the second pitcher all over the tree. It became his bride again. She shook her tresses and stood up, smiling. They spread the flowers, covered themselves with them, enjoying their marital bliss. Every morning, the couple threw out all the withered flowers. The heap of flowers lay there like a hill. The princess, Kumudha’s sister-in-law, saw the heap of withered flowers one day and said to the queen, “Look, Mother, brother and sister-in-law wear and throw away a whole lot of flowers every day. The flowers they’ve thrown away are piled up like a hill. And they haven’t given me even one.” The queen consoled her, “Don’t be upset. We’ll get them to give you some.” But the princess, mad with anger, saw the secret of the flowers with her own eyes by spying on her brother and sister-in-law one night. She was restless after what she saw and wanted those beautiful flowers for herself.

One day, when the prince had gone out, the princess called all her friends and said, “Let’s go to the swings in the orchard. We’ll take my sister-in-law; she’ll turn into a flowering tree. If you all come, I’ll give you flowers that smell wonderful.” She then asked her mother’s permission. The queen said, “Of course go! Who will say no to such things?” The daughter then said, “But I can’t go alone. Send sister-in-law with me.” “Then get your brother’s permission and take her.” The prince came just then and the princess asked him, “Brother, we’re all going to the orchard. Can sister-in-law come with us?” “It’s not my wish that’s important. Everything depends on Mother,” he answered.

She went back to the queen and complained, “Mother, if I ask Brother, he sends me to you. But you don’t really want to send her. So you are giving me excuses. Is your daughter-in-law more important than your daughter?” The queen rebuked her, saying, “Don’t be rude. All right, take your sister-in-law with you. Take care of her and bring her back safely by the evening.” The queen sent her daughter-in-law with the girls reluctantly—not only was her daughter-in-law a new bride who must stay indoors lest she be met with an evil eye, but she also knew how spoilt the princess was. An unruly brat, she was a shrew who nobody had any control on. The queen sighed with resignation and hoped that the princess too one day would become like her new, demure daughter-in-law.

The princess and her equally wild and boisterous friends were merrily playing on the swings while Kumudha sat in the shade of a tree, missing her akka and her humble home. Abruptly, the princess stopped all the games, brought everyone down from the swings, and accosted Kumudha. “Sister-in-law, you can become a flowering tree, can’t you? Look, no one here has any flowers for her hair.”

“Who told you such untruths? I am just another human being like you.” The princess taunted her, “Oh, I know all about you. My friends have no flowers to wear. I ask my sister-in-law to become a tree and give us some flowers, and look how coy she acts. You don’t want to become a tree for us. Do you do that only for your lovers?”

“Che, you’re cruel. My coming here was a mistake,” said Kumudha, and she agreed to become a tree. She sent for two pitchers of water, uttered chants over them, instructed the girls on how and when to pour the water, and sat down to meditate. The silly girls didn’t listen carefully. They poured the water on her indifferently, here and there. She turned into a tree, but only half a tree. It was already evening and it began to rain, with thunder and lightning. In their greed to get the flowers, they tore up the sprouts and broke the branches. In a hurry to get home, they poured the second pitcher of water at random and ran away. When the princess changed from a tree to a person again, she had no hands and feet. She had only half a body. She was a wounded carcass. Somehow, in the flurry of rainwater, she started to crawl back home. She managed to go some of the way, but, alas, she got stuck in a gutter, with the palace still a long way off.

The next morning, seven or eight cotton wagons were travelling along the road where the princess was. A driver spotted a half-human thing groaning in the gutter. The first cart driver said, “See what that noise is about.” The second one said, “Hey, let’s get going. It may be the wind, or it may be some ghost, who knows?” But the last cart driver stopped his cart and took a look. There lay a shapeless mass of a body; only the face was discernible as a beautiful woman’s. “Ayyo, some poor woman,” he said in sorrow. He threw his turban cloth over her and carried her to his cart, paying no heed to the distasteful banter of his fellow drivers. Soon, they came to a town. They stopped their carts there and placed this “thing”, this pathetic creature into an old pavilion among the ruins of an ancient palace. Before they drove on, the cart driver said kindly, taking pity on this thing, “Somebody may find you here, as many women come here in the evenings. I am sure they will feed you. You will survive.” Then they drove on.

Meanwhile, when the king’s daughter, the callous and wicked princess came home alone, the queen asked her, “Where’s your sister-in-law? What will your brother say?” The girl answered casually, “Who knows? Didn’t we all find our own way home? Who knows where she went?” The queen panicked and tried to get the facts out of the girl. “Ayyo! You can’t say such things. Your brother will be angry. Tell me what happened.” The girl said whatever came to her head. The queen found out nothing. She had a suspicion that her daughter had done something foolish. After waiting several hours, the prince talked to his mother. “Where is Kumudha? She went to the orchard to play on the swings and never came back.” “Oh God, I thought she was in your bedroom all this time!”

“Oh, something terrible has happened to her,” thought the prince. He went and lay down in grief. Five days passed, then six, and then fifteen days, but there was no news of his wife. They couldn’t find her anywhere. He thought pained and alone, “Did the stupid girls push her into a tank? Did they throw her into a well? My sister never liked her. What did the foolish girls do?” he asked his parents and the servants. What could they say? They, too, were worried and full of fear. In disgust and despair, he changed into an ascetic’s long robes and went out into the world. He just walked and walked, not caring where he went.

Meanwhile, the misshapen and abandoned Kumudha, somehow reached the town where her husband’s elder sister, the older princess, had been married. She positioned herself in front of the palace. Every time the palace servants and maids passed that way to fetch water, they used to see her. They would say to each other, “She glows only like a royal woman can.” Then, one of them, who had a sharp eye, looked at Kumudha closely and ran to her queen. “Amma, Amma, she looks very much like your younger brother’s wife. Look through the seeing-glass and see for yourself.” It is pertinent to note here that women couldn't directly step outside the palace, they had a seeing glass in the door fitted for them to see the world outside the palace.

The queen looked, and the face on the thing did seem strangely familiar. One of the maids suggested: “Amma, can I bring her to the palace?” The queen dismissed it, saying,“We’ll have to serve her and feed her. Forget it.” So, the next day, again the maids mumbled and moaned, “She’s very lovely. She’ll be like a lamp in the palace. Can’t we bring her here?” “All right, all right, bring her if you wish. But you’ll have to take care of her without neglecting palace work,” ordered the queen. They agreed and brought the Thing to the palace. They bathed her in oils, dressed her well, and sat her down at the palace door. Every day, they applied medicines to her wounds. But they could not make her whole. She had only half a body.

Meanwhile the prince wandered through many lands and at last reached the gates of his sister’s palace. He looked like a crazy person. His beard and whiskers were wild. When the maids were fetching and carrying water, they saw him. They went back to the queen in the palace and said, “Amma, someone is sitting outside the gate, and he looks very much like your brother. Look through the seeing-glass and see for yourself.” Grumbling indifferently, the queen went to the terrace and looked through the seeing-glass. She was surprised. “Yes, he does look remarkably like my brother. What’s happened to him? Has he become a wandering ascetic? Impossible,” she thought.

She sent her maids down to bring him in. They said to him, “The queen wants to see you.” He brushed them aside. “Why would she want to see me?” he growled. “No, sir, she really wants to see you, please come,” they insisted and finally persuaded him to come in. The queen took a good look at him and knew it was really her brother. She ordered the palace servants to heat water for his bath. She served him and nursed him, for she knew he was her brother. She served him new dishes each day, and brought him new styles of clothing. But whatever she did, the prince didn’t speak a word to his elder sister. The queen wondered, “What could be the reason? Could it be some witch’s or demon’s magic?” After some days, she started sending one of her beautiful maids into his bedroom every night. But he didn’t say a word or do a thing.

Finally, the servant maids got together and decided that perhaps something magical and mysterious like the Thing would pique his interest. They picked up the half-bodied Kumudha and left her on his bed. He neither looked up nor said anything. But in the night, the thing pressed and massaged his legs with its stump of an arm. It moaned strangely. He woke up and looked at it. He stared at it for a few moments and then realized that the face on the thing was really that of his lost wife.

Overwhelmed with joy and relief, he asked her what had happened. Kumudha, who had been silent all these months, suddenly broke into words and told him everything that had happened to her. “What shall we do now?” he asked. “Nothing much,” she said. “We can only try. Bring two pitchers of water without touching them with your fingernails, and you know the rest.” She sat down and meditated as he poured the water on her from the first pitcher. She became a tree. But the branches were broken, the leaves torn. He carefully set each one right, bound them up, and gently poured water from the second pitcher all over the tree. Kumudha became whole again.

She stood up, shaking the water off her hair, and fell at her husband’s feet. He embraced her with relief as they rediscovered their love and happiness. The next morning, she told the astonished queen the whole story and touched her elder sister-in-law’s feet in gratitude for sheltering her. The queen wept and embraced her. She kept them in her palace for several weeks and then sent them home to her father’s palace with cartloads of gifts. The king was overjoyed at the return of his son and daughter-in-law. He met them at the city gates and took them home on an elephant howdah in a grand ceremonial procession through the city streets. Back in the palace, they told the king and queen everything that had happened. The outraged king, finally fed up of his younger daughter, had seven barrels of burning lime poured into a great pit and had her thrown into it. Everyone who saw this said to themselves, “After all, every wrong has its punishment.”

The folktale is indeed mystifying when it's not a Panchatantra tale with a moral to be learnt, since it was written by Vishnu Sarma to teach the dimwitted princes under his care about politics and society. The folktale, in its true form, is unforgiving and relentless as it has cruelty, violence, gender discrimination, and misogyny. This version was no different in its base element, but it movingly talks about the metaphoric connections between a tree and a woman—a woman’s biological transformations are symbolised by the transformations in the life of a tree too. In fact, the words for “flowering” and “menstruation” are the same in languages like Sanskrit and Tamil. This tale also highlights how just as Kumudha goes through a series of violations against her will, nature too meets with the same fate at the hands of humans.