POSTOMONI, THE OPIUM GIRL
There was a rishi who lived alone by the Ganga. His only companion was a mouse that he had found in his palm-tree hut and had befriended. Every evening, after he returned from his meditation and sat down to relax, the mouse would come and sit at his feet, nibbling away on a piece of guava or tal seed or whatever the rishi gave him. The Brahmin became very fond of the mouse and often talked to him, wishing that the animal could respond and communicate with him. So, one day, cupping water in his palm, the holy man uttered a mantra and bestowed a human voice on the mouse. After that, the rishi was never lonely, because he was able to talk with his rodent companion.
One evening, as the rishi settled down to eat his supper of mango and lotus seeds, and the mouse came and sat at his feet, he gave him some seeds and asked him how he was faring. ‘Not so well anymore,’ the mouse replied. ‘Every day, when you leave, a cat comes into the hut, and I have to look for places to hide. If she ever sees me, I know she’ll pounce on me and eat me. How I wish I were a big cat, so that I could deal with her on equal ground. You’ve been very kind to me. Would you do me another kindness and change me into a cat?’
‘Of course,’ said the rishi, and taking another palmful of mantra water sprinkled it on the mouse, turning him into a large grey cat. The mouse was ecstatic and could hardly wait for the morning when his adversary would come looking for him.
Many days passed, and then one evening, placing a saucer of milk before the mouse-cat, the rishi asked, ‘How goes it, dear friend? I hope you’re enjoying the life of a cat.’
‘It was a wonderful life for a while, but it isn’t any more. I live in constant fear. Every day when you leave, a pack of dogs come and bark and sniff around. I know they smell me, and I tremble at the thought of what’ll happen to me, if I so much as step outside the hut. You’ve been so very generous and kind, giving me a human voice and changing me into a cat, but please could you do me just one more favour and change me into a dog? Then I won’t be afraid to face my foe.’
The rishi did his water and mantra thing again and the cat became a ferocious dog.
For a while, the rishi and dog lived in happy companionship, but then, one day, the dog complained to the rishi that he was tired of being a dog. ‘I’m hungry all the time,’ he said. ‘There’s never enough food for me. I thank you for sharing your food with me, but a bowl of milk and tit-bits of fruits and nuts just don’t satisfy me anymore. I see apes out on the trees, who swing from mango tree to guava to bel to banana. They can eat to their heart’s content. How I wish I were an ape.’
The rishi was a kind-hearted man and he hated to see his friend’s pain, so, once again, he did the necessary with water and mantra, and the dog changed into an ape. Immediately, he swung out of the house and disappeared among the trees. He was happy, because living out in the open gave him a sense of freedom, and having so many fruit-laden trees at his disposal made him feel that he was in food heaven. But soon, summer came. The sun shone down with such intensity that the mouse-ape felt like peeling off his fur. Sitting in the meagre shade of banana leaves, he would see wild boars frolicking in the water on the banks of the Ganga and envy them.
One morning, trying to catch the morning breeze as he climbed up a tree, he saw his rishi friend walking on the bank. ‘Are you going for your morning bath, dear friend?’ the ape called down.
‘Yes,’ the rishi said looking up at the black form of his friend in the dawn sun. ‘And I can hardly wait to get into the water. It’s a hot morning.’
‘You’re telling me,’ the ape said, his voice filled with regret.
‘So, is the fruit feast as satisfying as you imagined?’
‘Oh yes,’ the ape replied. ‘But the heat is unbearable. I see the wild boars who come to the Ganga ghat and cavort in the cool water all day. I wish I could join them.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said the rishi. ‘This summer is hotter than I’ve ever known.’
‘Would you…I mean…is it at all possible that you’ll consider doing one very last favour, dear friend? I think the life of a wild boar is the coolest. Would you do that for a friend? You’ve been more than kind, and I hate to ask you again, but, this last time…’
‘All right,’ the rishi said. ‘Come on down, and I’ll see what I can do.’
The ape climbed down and sat eagerly before the rishi, who then tipped his water jar and, taking a palmful of water, read a mantra that changed the ape into a wild boar.
All through the summer, the mouse-boar splashed in the water and rolled in the wet sand, grateful to his rishi friend for saving him from the scorching heat. Then, when fall came, he joined a sounder and began moving from forest to forest. One day, the king of the land came into the forest, where the wild boars were, and began hunting them. He was sitting on a majestic royal elephant that had a silk embroidered cover on his back and was fitted with a golden howdah. Two of the boars were killed by the king’s arrows that day, and the rest of the sounder scattered, along with the mouse-boar. All day he ran, and in the evening he arrived at his friend’s hut again.
‘I can’t take this,’ he begged his friend. ‘I’ll surely be killed by the king. But, oh, how beautiful was the elephant he rode. So kingly, so majestic, and the only person who ever rides him is the king himself. I have finally realized what I really, really wish to be. I want to be a royal elephant. If you make me an elephant, I’ll never ask you for another thing. I promise.’
With water and mantra, the rishi made the boar a regal elephant.
The mouse-elephant thanked the Brahmin and went towards the city with a plan. He remained in the fringe of trees bordering the palace till he saw the king. Then he sauntered out and trumpeted, and let the king’s men catch him without any resistance. When the king came to examine him, his heart pounded with excitement, but he stood majestically, showing off his proud trunk, curving tusks, and well-proportioned limbs. The king declared that he should be trained as a royal mount, and the elephant catchers put him in the royal stables. There, he began to live in style, eating expensive foods, bathing in scented water, and wearing covers of soft fabrics with paisley patterns of red, yellow and blue. From then on, whenever the king desired a ride, he called upon his new elephant, and the mouse-elephant felt like he had achieved his life’s goal.
One day, the queen expressed a desire to bathe in the river, so the king ordered his favourite royal elephant to be readied. The mouse-elephant was not happy at this turn of events, because he could not bear the thought of a woman riding him. When the queen climbed into the howdah fitted on his back, he gave a loud trumpet and raised his front legs in affront. The queen fell down, and the king came running to her. He picked her up, kissed her and checked her for injuries, and then kissed her again and carried her in his arms into the palace.
Oh to be that queen, the elephant thought. Loved and cossetted by the king, living in the lap of luxury. What a life! That evening he broke his ropes and ran out of the royal stable into the forest. Arriving at the palm tree hut of his rishi friend, he banged on the door with his trunk.
When the rishi opened the door, he recognized the elephant. ‘Welcome, my dear friend,’ he said. ‘You look grand, dressed up as the king’s elephant. Have you come to show me your finery?’
‘No…actually…’ and the elephant told the Brahmin all about the queen and how he felt insulted by her but then realized that no one on earth could be happier than the queen. ‘Now, that’s a life worth living,’ he declared. ‘The life of a queen! If you make me a queen, I’ll never ask you for anything else.’
The rishi laughed. ‘I can change you into anything you like, my friend, but even I can’t make you a queen; for that you need a king to marry you. But here’s what I can do. I can change you into a beautiful young woman, and then it’s up to you to secure your own king. What do you say?’
‘Yes,’ said the elephant.
The rishi performed the ritual, and the elephant was transformed into the most enchanting, intoxicatingly beautiful woman in the world. The rishi named her Postomoni, the poppy seed girl. She began living with the rishi in his hut, and she was quite happy to be back home, but every day she waited for the king of her dreams to come and make her his queen.
One day a king did come. He had separated from his hunting party and was lost. The mouse-woman was at the window, looking out, when she saw him in the courtyard, and she knew immediately that this handsome man on a regal horse was her king. Going outside, she coyly asked him who he was, and when she found out that he was, indeed, a king, she invited him into the hut.
‘Who are you?’ the king asked her, hardly able to take his eyes off her loveliness. ‘Are you a rishi’s daughter?’
‘No,’ the young woman replied. ‘I, too, am a princess by birth. The rishi who adopted me told me what happened to me. You see, my father’s kingdom was conquered, and he and my mother had to flee. They hid in the forest, but a tiger ate my father. My mother, who was pregnant with me, died as soon as she gave birth to me. I lay on the ground all by myself, hungry and helpless, but hanging from the tree under which I was born, was a beehive from which honey was dripping, and it fell into my mouth. That’s what kept me alive till the rishi found me. He brought me home, and this is where I’ve been living all my life.’
‘I’m in love with you, O beautiful maiden,’ the king said. ‘And now that I know you are also of royal blood, I want to make you my queen.’ Postomoni readily agreed, and she and the king were married that very day with the rishi’s blessings. After that the two left for the king’s capital.
Back in his palace, the king deposed his first queen and installed his beautiful new bride as the chief queen. The two of them lived happily for a while, and all went well for Postomoni, but then one day, as she stood by a well, she suddenly felt dizzy and fell in and died. The king was heartbroken. He ordered his men to bring out the body of his beloved queen so that she could be cremated with full royal honours. But just then, the rishi appeared. ‘Leave Postomoni in the well,’ he advised the king.
‘How can you say that,’ said the shocked king. ‘She was not only of royal blood but also my queen, and she deserves last rites that are suitable for her status.’
‘She was not of royal blood or your queen. She was a mouse that I changed into a cat, a dog, an ape, a wild boar, an elephant, and finally a beautiful maiden. Let her be. Instal your own queen as chief queen again, and let the mouse remain in the well.’
‘Whoever she was, I loved her,’ the king replied, ‘And I want to memorialize her.’
‘Then have the well filled with soil,’ the rishi instructed. ‘From her flesh and bones a plant will grow out of the well; it’ll be a poppy with beautiful red flowers that will bear her name—Posto. People will use the seeds of that plant to create a powerful opiate. Whoever uses it will have the qualities of all the forms that Postomoni desired in her life. He will be restless like a mouse, sly like a cat, suspicious like a dog, mischievous like a monkey, filthy like a boar, powerful like an elephant, and oblivious like a queen.
And that is the story of opium.
Folktale from Bengal
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