The Ogress Queen: A Folk Tale from Kashmir

A young prince who grew up in a well, abandoned by his royal father, comes back to save the king who is being bewitched by an ogress! Check out this folk tale from Kashmir to know what happens next.

The Ogress Queen. Illustrated by Gowri Suresh, Visual Storyteller at ThisDay

Be it the age-old folktale of Snow White and the seven dwarfs or the more recent (and definitely more dark) tale, Ruskin Bond’s Sussana’s Seven Husbands, the number seven, besides the number three, seems to be very popular in folklore. A close second are the numbers nine and five, but the popularity of number seven is indeed baffling!

The number seven has widely been regarded as a good omen or a lucky charm. Some fairy tales combine the numbers three and seven. In the case of Snow White, her evil stepmother attempts to murder her three times. However, because Snow White is protected by seven dwarves, the stepmother is constantly thwarted.

In the Jewish tradition, the number seven is very powerful, as in the days of creation, and God resting on the seventh day. Similarly, the seventh year was held to be sacred. In Christianity, Jesus talks about forgiveness, not seven times but seventy times seven; Islam talks of seven heavens. Chinese mythology also rates seven as a lucky number.

In fact, according to one study, seven is the highest number of objects a brain can recognise without counting. It is also the first number the vast majority of people think of immediately when asked to think of a number between one and ten.

All in all, seven is a fascinating, unique number and the folktale for this week also carries this significant number in its plot. But what makes it even more fascinating is that it is set in Kashmir. With the magnificent and lofty Himalayas as its crowning glory, Kashmir is resplendent with its mesmerising scenic vistas, pristine lakes dotted with quaint houseboats, and the fiery Kashmiri cuisine. The captivating charm and beauty that this place exudes remains etched in every traveller's mind. It is no wonder that upon reaching breath taking Kashmir, Amir Khusrao exclaimed, “Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast, hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast,” which can be translated as, “If there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.” How, then, would you react to today’s story, I wonder?

It was a difficult task choosing a folktale to match the wonderment and awe that Kashmir inspires, because a lot of folktales, irrespective of the place of origin, tend to have the darkest of human emotions. A lot of them interestingly featured the number seven. Some had seven daughters, some had beautiful seven birds, some talked of seven dishes… but most of them were in sharp contrast to the serene beauty of the place.

And what's more, we must also acknowledge the compilation this story features in, especially for the fact that if it was not for this compiler and folklorist, these stories truly would have got lost. As history would have it, most chroniclers of history and tradition are outsiders, be it travellers or conquerors. Their efforts to record their observations and study the place were earnest attempts to understand the culture, the people, their language. It was the British reverend James Hinton Knowles who gave us this story, together with 40 more fables and about 100 odd folk tales that were collected by him during his stay in the valley as a missionary in 1887.

The Son of Seven Mothers or Seven Queens, the Seven-legged Beast, or, going with the more straightforward title Reverend Knowles has given it, The Ogress Queen is a tale that has travelled way beyond the boundaries or Kashmir and has taken on character and details from the places it has travelled to, and hence there are several Indian and foreign variants of this story.

But, for now, let’s focus on a picturesque kingdom in Kashmir with a handsome and brave raja who had seven wives. Unfortunately, they were all childless. When he married the first, he thought that she would certainly bear him a son. He hoped the same of the second, the third, and the others; but no son was born to gladden his days and to sit on the throne after him. This was a terrible, overwhelming grief to him. One day, he was walking in a neighbouring wood, and bemoaning his lot, when he saw a most beautiful fairy.

"Where are you going?" she asked. "I am very very miserable," he replied. "Although I have seven wives, I have no son to call my own and to make my heir. I came to this wood today, hoping to meet some holy man, who would intercede for me." "And do you expect to find such a person in this lonely place?" she asked, laughing. "Only I live here. But I can help you. What will you give me if I grant you the desire of your heart?" “Give me a son and you shall have half of my country." "I will take none of your gold or your country. Marry me, and you shall have a son and heir." The king readily agreed, took the fairy to his palace, and very quickly made her his eighth wife.

A short while afterwards, all the other wives of the king became pregnant. However, the king's joy was not for long. The beautiful fairy whom he had married was none other than a dreaded rakshasi, an ogress, who had appeared to His Majesty as a fairy in order to deceive him. Every night, when the rest of the royal household was fast asleep, she arose, and going to the stables and outhouses, ate an elephant, or two or three horses, or some sheep, or a camel, and having satisfied her bloodthirsty appetite, returned to her room, and came forth in the morning as if nothing had happened. At first, the king's servants feared to inform him of these things, but when they found out that animals were being taken every night, they were obliged to go to him. Strict orders were at once given for the protection of the palace buildings, and guards were appointed to every room; but it was all in vain. Day by day the animals disappeared, and nobody could tell how.

One night, while the king was pacing his room, the supposed fairy, his eighth wife, said, "What will you give me if I discover the thief?" “Anything—everything," the king replied. "Very well, by morning, I will show you the cause of these things." His Majesty was soon sound asleep, and the wicked queen left the room. She went to the sheep-pens, took one of the sheep, killed it, and filled an earthen vessel with its blood. Then she returned to the palace, and went to the several rooms of the other wives of the king, and stained their mouths and clothes with the blood that she had brought. Afterwards she went and lay down in the room while the king was still sleeping. As soon as the day dawned, she woke him and said, "I found out that your other wives have taken and eaten the animals. They are not human beings; they are rakshasis. If you wish to preserve your life, you will beware of them. Go and see if I am not speaking the truth." The king did so, and when he saw the blood-stained mouths and garments of his other wives, he was terribly enraged. He ordered that their eyes should be put out, and that they should be thrown into a big dry well which was outside the city.

The very next day, one of them gave birth to a son. For a long time, the queens were happy taking care of this bundle of joy. However, being without food for long made them hungrier and weaker by the hour. The second queen was pregnant as well, and so they decided that they would eat the first queen’s baby and this way the second baby would survive. They ate the first baby that day, his remains cut and divided into seven portions. Days after that, another had a son, and he was likewise eaten, shared by all the seven queens. Soon, the third was confined; the fourth queen, the fifth, and the sixth queen too—each had a son, who was eaten up in his turn. Alas, hunger can make the gentlest soul into a monster.

The seventh wife, whose time had not arrived, did not eat her portions of the other wives' children, but kept them till her own son was born. When he arrived, she begged them not to kill him, and to take the portions which they had given her instead. Thus, this child was spared.

The baby grew and became a strong and beautiful boy. When he was six years old, the seven women thought that they would try to show him a little of the outer world. But how were they to do this? The well was deep and its sides were perpendicular. At last, they thought of standing on each other's heads, and the one who stood on the top took the boy and put him on the bank at the well's mouth. Away the little fellow ran to the palace, entered the king's kitchen, and begged for some food. He got a lot of scraps, of which he ate a little, and carried the rest to the well for his mother and the king's other wives. This continued for some time, when one morning the cook asked him to stay and prepare some dishes for the king, saying that his mother had just died, and he was obliged to go and arrange for the cremation of the body. The boy promised to do his best, and the cook left. That day, the king was especially pleased with his meals. Everything was rightly cooked, nicely flavoured, and well-served. In the evening, the cook returned. The king sent for him, and complimenting him on the exceedingly good food he had prepared that day, ordered him to cook this well in the future. The cook honestly confessed that he had been absent the greater part of the day owing to his mother's death, and that a boy whom he had hired for the occasion had cooked the food. When he heard this, the king was very surprised and commanded the cook to give the boy regular employment in the kitchen.

Thereafter, there was a great difference in the way the king's meals were served. His Majesty was more and more pleased with the boy, and constantly gave him presents. All these presents and all the food that the boy could gather he took daily to the well for his mother and the king's other wives, his six stepmothers. On the way to the well, he had to pass a faqir, a wandering saint, who always blessed him and asked for alms, and the kind-hearted boy never failed to share whatever he had with the faqir.

Years passed, and the boy grew into a handsome and strong youth. It was then that the wicked queen saw him. Struck with his beauty, she asked him who he was. Not knowing the real character of the queen, he told her everything about himself and his mother and the other women. The ogress was enraged to hear that her great plan had been thwarted by this insignificant human, and from that hour, she plotted to take the youth’s life in the most barbaric manner possible. She longed to see him torn apart in a violent end.

One day, she feigned sickness, and calling in a hakim, she bribed him to persuade the king that she was very ill, and convince him that nothing except the milk of a tigress would cure her. "My beloved, what is this I hear?" said the king when he went to see his wife in the evening. "The hakim says that you are ill, and that the milk of a tigress is required. But how can we get it? Who is there that will dare to attempt this?" She replied innocently, “The lad who serves here as cook is brave and faithful, and will do anything for you out of gratitude for all that you have done for him. Besides him, I know of no other whom you could send." The king was still besotted by her fairy form and immediately replied without thinking, "I will send him on this mission right away." The lad promised his king to come back with the milk for his queen, and started on his perilous journey the very next day.

On the way, he passed his friend the faqir, who asked him, "Where are you going, young man?" He told him of the king's order, and how desirous he was of pleasing His Majesty, who had been so kind to him. "Don't go," said the faqir. "Who are you to dare to presume to do such a thing?" But the lad was resolute, and valued not his life in the matter. Then said the faqir, "If you will not be dissuaded, follow my advice, and you will succeed and be preserved. When you meet a tigress, aim an arrow at one of her legs. The arrow must not strike her, and the tigress will speak and ask you why you shot her and missed deliberately. Then you must say that you did not intend to kill her, rather you were feigning to kill her because there was another hunter in the forest who was aiming at her too. You must also say that you pitied her cubs, who looked very weak and sickly, as though they required more nourishment." Then, blessing him, the faqir sent him on his journey. Thus encouraged, the lad walked into the jungle, saw a tigress with cubs, and did exactly what the faqir had told him to, adding that the queen was seriously ill, and was in need of tigress' milk. "The queen!" said the tigress. "Do you not know that she is a rakshasi? Keep her at a distance, lest she kill and eat you!"

"I fear no harm," said the confused lad. "Her Majesty entertains no enmity against me.'' The tigress was taken in with his innocence. "Very well. I will certainly give you some of my milk, but beware of the queen. Look here," said the tigress, taking him to an immense block of rock that had separated from the hill, "I will let a drop of my milk fall on this rock." She did so, and the rock split into a million pieces. "You see the power of my milk. Well, if the queen were to drink the whole of what I have just given you, it would not have the slightest effect on her. She is a rakshasi, and cannot be harmed by such things as this. However, if you will not believe me, go and see for yourself."

The lad returned and gave the milk to the king, who took it to his wife. She drank the whole of it, and professed to have been cured. The boy thought of the tigress’s warning and the proof now in front of his eyes. Yet he remained calm and loyal. The king was very pleased with the boy, and promoted him to a higher position among the servants of the palace. But the queen was determined to have him killed, and debated in her mind as to how she could accomplish this without offending the king.

After some days, the queen again pretended to be ill, called the king, and said to him, "I am getting ill again, but do not be anxious about me. My grandfather, who lives in the jungle whence the tigress' milk was brought, has a special medicine that I think would cure me, if you could please send for it. The lad that fetched the milk might go."

Accordingly the lad went. The way led past the faqir, who again said to him, " Don't go, this man is a rakshasa, and will certainly kill you." But the lad was determined as before. "You will go ? Then go, but attend to my advice. When you see the rakshasa call him 'grandfather.' He will ask you to scratch his back, which you must do—and do it very roughly.'' The lad promised, and went. The jungle was big and dense, and he thought that he would never reach the rakshasa's house. At last he saw him, and cried out, "My grandfather, I, your daughter's son, have come to say that my mother is ill, and cannot recover till she takes some medicine, which she says you have, and has sent me for it." " All right," replied the rakshasa, “I will give it to you, but first, come and scratch my back—it's itching terribly." The rakshasa had lied, for his back did not itch. He only wanted to see whether the lad was the true son of a rakshasa or not. When the lad dug his nails into the old rakshasa's flesh, as though he wanted to scratch off some of it, the rakshasa ended up pleased and convinced that this was his grandson indeed and gave him the medicine. On reaching the palace, the lad gave the medicine to the king, who at once took it to his wife and cured her again.

The king was now more than ever pleased with the lad, and gave him large presents, and in other ways favoured him. The wicked queen was now put to her wits' end to know what to do with such a lad. He had escaped from the claws of the tigress and from the clutches of her monstrous grandfather. Finally she decided to send him to her grandmother, a wretched old rakshasi that lived in a house in the woods not far from her grandfather's place. “He will not come back now," said the wicked queen to herself, and so she said to the king, "I have a very valuable comb at home for my long lustrous hair, and I should like to have it brought here, if you will please send the boy for it. Let me know when he starts, and I will give him a letter for my grandmother."

The king complied, and the lad started, passing by the faqir's place as usual and telling him where he was going. He also showed him the letter that the queen had given him. "Let me read its contents," said the faqir. And when he had read it he said, “Are you deliberately going to be killed ? This letter is an order for your death. Listen to it. ‘The bearer of this letter is my bitter enemy. I shall not be able to accomplish anything as long as he is alive. Slay him as soon as he reaches you, and let me not hear of him any more.'" The boy trembled as he heard these terrible words, but he would not break his promise to the king, and was resolved to fulfil His Majesty's wishes though it would cost him his life. So the faqir destroyed the queen's letter, and wrote another. "This is my son. When he reaches you, attend to his needs, and show him all kindness." Giving it to the lad, he said, "Call the woman 'grandmother,' and fear nothing."

The lad walked on and on till he reached the rakshasi’s house, where he called the rakshasi “grandmother," as the faqir had advised him, and gave her the letter. On reading it she clasped the lad in her arms and kissed him, and inquired much about her granddaughter and her royal husband.

Every attention was shown to the lad, and every delicious thing that the old rakshasi could think of was provided for him. She also gave him many things, amongst others the following—a jar of soap, which when dropped on the ground became a great and lofty mountain; a jar full of needles, which if let fall became a hill bristling with large needles; a jar full of water, which if poured out became an expanse of water as large as a sea. She also showed him the following things, and explained their meaning—seven fine cocks, a spinning-wheel, a pigeon, a starling, and some medicine. "These seven cocks," she said, "contain the lives of your seven uncles, who are away for a few days. Only as long as the cocks live can your uncles hope to live; no power can hurt them as long as the seven cocks are safe and sound. The spinning-wheel contains my life; if it is broken, I too shall be broken, and must die. Otherwise I shall live on forever. The pigeon contains your grandfather's life, and the starling your mother's; as long as these live, nothing can harm your grandfather or your mother. And the medicine has this quality—it can give sight to the blind."

The lad thanked the old rakshasi for all that she had given him and shown him, and lay down to sleep. In the morning, when the rakshasi went to bathe in the river, he took the seven cocks and the pigeon and killed them, and dashed the spinning-wheel on the ground, so that it was broken to pieces. Immediately the old rakshasa and the rakshasi and their seven sons perished. Then, having secured the starling in a cage, he took it and the precious medicine for restoring the sight and started for the king's palace. He stopped on the way to give the eye-medicine to his mother and the other women, who were still in the well, and their sight immediately returned. They all clambered out of the well, and accompanied the lad to the palace, where he asked them to wait in one of the rooms while he went and prepared the king for their coming. "Your Majesty," he said, "I have many secrets to reveal. I pray you will hear me. Your wife is a rakshasi, and plots against my life, knowing that I am the son of one of the wives who, at her instigation, you deprived of sight and threw into a well. She fears that somehow I shall become heir to the throne, and therefore wishes my speedy death. I have slain her father and mother and seven brothers, and now I will slay her. Her life is in this starling."

Saying this, he suffocated the bird, and the wicked queen immediately died. "Now come with me," said the boy, "and behold, king, your true wives. There were seven sons born to your house, but six of them were slain to satisfy the cravings of hunger. Only I am left alive.'' "Oh! What have I done!" cried the king. "I have been deceived." And he wept bitterly. Henceforth the king's only son governed the country, and by virtue of the charmed jars of soap, needles, and water that the rakshasi had given him, he was able to conquer all the surrounding countries. The old king spent the rest of his days with his seven wives in peace and happiness.

Although this story ends with the happily-ever-after cliché, one cannot ignore the darkness and violence in the story. Folktales are truly unapologetic perhaps because social censor and social media constructs like trolling and cancel culture didn't exist all those years ago. It was okay to pass down the generations that human mothers can eat their own babies when they are dying of hunger without anyone thinking that this was just a folktale sensationalising the listener. Let us not forget what the media couldn't report during the Chinese famine or in the pre-World War times in Russia, where mothers really had no choice for lack of any food for months together and resorted to what we find unthinkable and impossible in this folktale.