Folk Tales for Bold Girls

by Fiona Collins

  Ibanang, Ibanang,

  Go back home.

  Ibanang, Ibanang,

  Bom, bom, bom.

  She laughed and clapped her hands. ‘The forest is full of amazing things,’ she thought. ‘Why have mum and dad never let me come here before?’ She was so excited that she never listened to what the drum said, or paid attention to its warning. She went deeper into the forest.

  She came to a second bend in the path. When she had gone round this bend, she saw a middle-sized drum running towards her. It was beating itself with a middle-sized stick and singing in a middle-sized voice:

  Ibanang, Ibanang,

  Go back home.

  Ibanang, Ibanang,

  Boom, boom, boom.

  She laughed again. ‘This is marvellous! The forest is really magical,’ she thought. ‘I wonder what else I will see?’ She never listened to what the drum said, or paid attention to its warning. She went deeper into the forest.

  She came to a third bend in the path. When she had gone round this bend, she saw a great big drum running towards her. It was beating itself with a great big stick and singing in a great big voice:

  Ibanang, Ibanang,

  Go back home.

  Ibanang, Ibanang,

  BOOOM, BOOOM, BOOOM.

  She laughed once more. ‘I wonder what else I will see?’ She never listened to the drum, or paid attention to its warning. She went even deeper into the forest, until she came to the place where the path ended.

  As she stood there wondering what to do, the branches opened to let her through, and the twigs, like fingers, beckoned to her. So she stepped off the path and began to go into the forest.

  The branches opened in front of her, but they closed behind her so that there was no way back. Now, for the first time, she began to feel a bit afraid. The forest was dark, and it smelled strange. There were worrying little rustling sounds all around her. But ahead of her, it looked a bit lighter, so she went that way. The branches kept opening in front of her, but closing behind her, so that there was no way back.

  She came out on the edge of a clearing. In the middle there was a huge drum. It was made from a whole tree trunk with a slit along the top, where the sound would come out when the sides were beaten with wooden beaters. As Ibanang watched, the slit at the top of the drum formed itself into a mouth.

  The drum spoke to her. It said, ‘Little girl, don’t you know that everyone who comes into the heart of the forest belongs to me?’ Then the wooden lips of the drum began to stretch out towards her. It opened its slit of a mouth wider and wider. It swallowed her!

  Ibanang was lifted up, up, up and dropped down, down, down into the belly of the drum. At first it was too dark to see anything, but as her eyes got used to the dim light, she realised that there were people sitting in the drum. Many people. She turned to an old woman sitting next to her. ‘Who are all these people?’ she asked.

  ‘We are the prisoners of the giant swallowing drum,’ said the old woman. ‘As long as the wooden heart of the drum is beating, we can never be free.’ She pointed upwards.

  Ibanang looked up, and next to the slit in the top of the drum she could see a great wooden heart hanging. It was beating: bu-boom, bu-boom, bu-boom.

  ‘Have you been here long?’ asked Ibanang.

  ‘Some of us have been here for years,’ said the old woman.

  When she heard that, Ibanang began to cry.

  And we must leave her there, for a little while, and go back to the house in the village, where her father was sleeping on a chair in the doorway.

  Ibanang’s mother came home, and that woke up the father. ‘Where’s Ibanang?’ asked the mum.

  ‘She’s playing at the front of the house,’ said the dad.

  ‘No, she isn’t,’ said the mum. ‘I just came in that way. I didn’t see her.’

  They looked round the back of the house. They looked inside the house. They couldn’t find Ibanang anywhere.

  Ibanang’s mother had a bad feeling. She ran through the village until she came to the fields. She called to the children playing there. ‘Have you seen my daughter? Have you seen Ibanang?’

  ‘She did come past,’ the children called back. ‘But she didn’t stop. She went that way.’ They pointed towards the forest.

  Ibanang’s mother ran on, until she came to the edge of the forest. She looked at the two paths leading into the forest, one to the left and one to the right. She looked at the right-hand path. She couldn’t see anything. She looked at the left-hand path. She saw something on the ground. It was a hair tie. She picked it up. She knew it straight away. She had put it in Ibanang’s hair that morning.

  Now she knew where Ibanang was, and what had happened to her. But she didn’t panic or scream or cry. She turned around and went straight back into the middle of the village.

  In the centre of the village, she stopped and called out. ‘My friends, I need your help. My daughter has gone into the forest and she has been captured by the giant swallowing drum. I am going to rescue her. Please help me! I need you to lend me any tools that you have that can chop or cut wood.’

  The people ran to look in their sheds and barns and houses. They brought out axes and saws and chisels and knives. They piled them up in a big heap in front of Ibanang’s mother. She got a rope and tied the tools around her waist or hung them round her neck. She wrapped a lappa (like a cotton shawl) around herself so that all the tools were hidden.

  She went out of the village and across the fields, until she came to the edge of the forest. She looked at the two paths leading into the forest. She took the left-hand one, and followed it deep into the forest. She walked until she came to the place where the path ended. The branches opened to let her through, and the twigs, like fingers, beckoned to her. She stepped off the path and into the forest. The branches opened in front of her, but they closed behind her so that there was no way back.

  She came out on the edge of the clearing. In the middle was the giant swallowing drum. The slit at the top of the drum formed itself into a mouth. The drum said, ‘Hey, big woman, don’t you know that everyone who comes into the heart of the forest belongs to me?’ The lips of the drum stretched out and swallowed her.

  Ibanang’s mother was lifted up, up, up and dropped down, down, down into the belly of the drum. As soon as she was inside the drum, she called out her daughter’s name. Ibanang was so happy to hear her mother’s voice. She ran to her and hugged and hugged her.

  The other prisoners were happy too when the mother unwrapped her lappa and they saw the tools she had brought. Then they climbed up on each other’s shoulders, until the one at the top was close enough to touch the great wooden heart of the drum, where it hung beating: bu-boom, bu-boom, bu-boom.

  The others passed the sharpest axe up to the woman at the top. She chopped at the heart. It gave a great ‘Bu-BOOOM’. She chopped a second time. Again it boomed: ‘Bu-BOOOM’. She chopped a third time. This time the heart was silent.

  Then they all chopped and cut at the heart, until it fell down in tiny pieces like matchsticks. After that, they cut a hole in the side of the drum. The young ones helped the old, and the strong ones helped the weak, and they all climbed out to freedom.

  The prisoners of the giant swallowing drum thanked Ibanang’s mother for saving them. They promised to come to see her, and to bring their families to thank her. Then they all went back to their villages.

  Ibanang and her mother went home to their village. When they told the people what had happened, they went into the forest with axes and saws. They chopped up the giant swallowing drum and brought it home for firewood.

  That night there was a great bonfire and a celebration, because everyone knew that they no longer had to be afraid of going into the forest. The giant swallowing drum was gone forever, thanks to Ibanang’s curiosity and her mother’s bravery.

  A TALE FROM HUNGARY

  There was once a mayor who lived with his daughter in a little village in Hungary. He was so contented th
at he put a sign on his gate:

  Here lives the mayor,

  With his daughter Ildiko,

  He hasn’t any troubles,

  No, no, no.

  Unfortunately, when the king heard about this, he didn’t like it. ‘Why should he have an easy life when I have so many things to trouble me?’ thought the king. So he decided to give the mayor some trouble!

  He sent the mayor an old clay jug with a big hole in it, and ordered him to mend it. ‘And if you don’t mend it, I will have your head chopped off!’

  The mayor could see that if he tried to mend the jug, it would fall to bits. He didn’t know what to do. He was very scared, but his daughter Ildiko told him not to worry. ‘Send the jug back to the king and ask him to turn it inside out, so you can mend it without spoiling the pattern,’ she told her father.

  So that’s what he did. Of course, the king could not turn the jug inside out, so he had to leave the mayor in peace … until he had another nasty idea.

  He sent the mayor a wheel, and ordered him to take off its skin. ‘And if you don’t skin it, I will have your head chopped off!’

  The mayor knew that a wheel doesn’t have any skin. And he knew the king knew that too. It was clear that the king didn’t want him to succeed.

  But Ildiko had other ideas. ‘Send the wheel back to the king, father,’ she said, ‘and ask him to have it killed, so that you can skin it. No one can skin an animal before it is killed. Tell him that the same must be true for wheels.’

  Of course, the king could not kill the wheel, so he had to leave the mayor in peace … until he had a third nasty idea.

  He invited the mayor to the palace. The mayor was very excited. He thought he was going to get a reward for being clever. Instead, the king asked him, ‘Who solved my riddles?’

  ‘My daughter, Ildiko, your majesty,’ said the mayor. ‘She is very clever.’

  ‘We’ll soon see how clever she is,’ said the king spitefully. ‘Tell her to come to the palace tomorrow. She must not wear clothes, but she must not be naked. She must not walk, but she must not ride. She must bring me a present, but she must not give me a present. If she cannot do exactly what I want, your head will be chopped off!’

  The mayor went home in despair. He was sure that the next day would be his last. But Ildiko laughed. ‘Cheer up, father,’ she said, ‘don’t let our stupid king worry you. I solved his first two riddles. I can solve this one too.’

  The next morning, Ildiko got up early. She went to see the neighbours on one side. They were fisherfolk, and she asked them to lend her a fishing net. She wrapped herself in the net. ‘Good, now I’m not wearing clothes, but I’m not naked either,’ she thought.

  She went to the neighbours on the other side, who were farmers, and asked if she could borrow one of their goats. She tried sitting on its back. It was such a small goat that her feet touched the ground. ‘Good, now I’m not walking, but I’m not riding either,’ she thought.

  She went back to her house and put out some crumbs on the bird table. When a dove came down to eat, she caught it. ‘Don’t be afraid, little one,’ she said to the dove. ‘I won’t hurt you. And I won’t let the king hurt you either. I need to take him a present. But I won’t give you to him, I promise.’

  Dressed in the net, sitting on the goat’s back with her feet on the ground on each side, holding the goat’s reins in one hand and carrying the dove in the other, she arrived at the palace. When she was face to face with the king, she held out the dove to him and opened her hand. The bird flew away.

  ‘Your majesty,’ she said, ‘I brought you a dove as a present, but I haven’t given it to you. I am not wearing clothes, but I am not naked. I am not walking, but I am not riding either. Are you satisfied now?’

  The king was so surprised that he couldn’t say a word.

  ‘Please don’t bother my father and me any more,’ said Ildiko. ‘We have a lot of important things to do.’ And with that, she turned around and went home.

  The king never bothered them again, because he knew that Ildiko was cleverer than he was.

  A TALE FROM RUSSIA

  If you were Russian, I wouldn’t need to tell you anything about the Baba Yaga, because she is as famous in Russia as Cinderella is here. But because you aren’t in Russia, maybe you do need to know a bit about the Baba Yaga.

  The Baba Yaga has beady little eyes, a great big hooked nose that nearly meets her sharp pointed chin, and iron teeth that make a sound like pokers and tongs falling down the chimney, when she gnashes them together. She has a great big barrel chest and a skinny little bottom, long bony legs and great big flat feet.

  She lives in a hut in the middle of the Russian forest. The hut stands on chicken’s legs, so that, whichever way you come towards it, it can turn around and see you coming with its great big window eyes. Around the hut is a fence made of leg bones. The gate is made of arm bones, with a bony hand for a latch. On the top of each fence bone is a skull. At night, when it gets dark, the eye holes in the skulls burn with a fierce red light, so that the Baba Yaga can see everything all around.

  Do you want to know what her favourite food is? Her favourite food is YOU! Because the Baba Yaga is a witch …

  She doesn’t travel on a broomstick. That isn’t how witches do things in Russia. She flies through the air in a big stone bowl, and she uses a wooden paddle to push it along. Behind her she drags a broom made of birch twigs, to sweep away her tracks so that no one can find her. Unless she wants them to.

  Vasilisa was a little girl who lived at the edge of the forest. When her story begins, it is very sad, because her mother was dying.

  Vasilisa sat beside her mother’s bed and her mother said to her, ‘Dear child, soon I will leave you. But here is a doll I have made for you. Keep her always beside you. Keep her hidden. If you need help, give her food and tell her all your troubles. She will help you. She is my blessing to you. She will help you when I cannot.’

  Vasilisa took the little doll from her mother and put it in her pocket. Then she cried bitter tears. Soon after that, her mother died. Vasilisa and her father were left all alone in their house at the edge of the forest.

  After a long time, or maybe a short time, Vasilisa’s father decided to marry again. He thought that his new wife would be like a mother to his little girl, and her two daughters would be like sisters to Vasilisa. But he was wrong.

  The new mother, I’m sorry to say, did not like Vasilisa. She was jealous of her. She thought that Vasilisa was the father’s favourite, that whenever there were presents it was always Vasilisa who got the best present; whenever there were treats, it was always Vasilisa who got the nicest treat …

  She was horrible to Vasilisa and told her daughters to be horrible to their new sister too. They gave Vasilisa all the hard work to do. But her doll helped her. Each night she would save some crumbs from her own food and, when she was alone, she would take her little doll from her pocket, feed it and tell it all her troubles. The doll would say to her, ‘Don’t worry, Vasilisa, I will help you.’

  The doll did help Vasilisa. It was her friend, when there was no one else to be her friend. It did her work. It looked after her.

  One day, Vasilisa’s father had to go travelling. The new mother decided to get rid of Vasilisa once and for all, so that her own daughters would have the best of everything. She called the three girls to her and said, ‘There is work to do and you must work until it is all done.’

  To her older daughter she gave wool and a spindle and said, ‘You must spin and spin until it is done.’ To her younger daughter she gave wool and knitting needles and said, ‘You must knit and knit until it is done.’ To Vasilisa she gave silk thread and a needle and said, ‘You must stitch and stitch until it is done.’

  The girls worked all day, but when darkness fell, they had not finished. So they lit a candle to work by. But the candle was small, and soon it was all burned away.

  The older girl said, ‘I can see to do my spinning by the light of
the moon.’

  The younger girl said, ‘I can see to do my knitting by the light of the moon.’

  Then they both said, ‘But you, Vasilisa, with your teeny tiny needle and teeny tiny stitches, you cannot see to finish your work. You must go to our aunt who lives in the middle of the forest and ask her for a light.’

  Vasilisa started to say, ‘I didn’t know we have an aunt who lives in the middle of the forest …’

  But before she could finish, they opened the door and pushed her out into the cold night, just as their mother had told them to do.

  Vasilisa stood in the darkness. She didn’t have her warm coat, or gloves, or boots. But the door was closed behind her. She put her hand in her pocket and touched the little doll, and, feeling braver because the doll was with her, she set off into the forest.

  She walked all night. When the sky was just beginning to get light, a horseman all dressed in white galloped past her on a white horse. The day began.

  She kept walking. A horseman all dressed in red galloped past her on a red horse. The sun rose.

  She kept walking. What else could she do? She walked all day. As the day ended, a horseman all dressed in black galloped past her on a black horse. Night fell. It was dark in the forest.

  But ahead of her in the darkness, Vasilisa could see a red glow. It was shining from the eye holes of skulls, on a fence of bones, surrounding a little hut which turned round and round on chicken’s legs. It was the Baba Yaga’s house.

  Vasilisa was very afraid. But she squeezed the little doll in her pocket and that made her bold. She lifted up the bony latch on the gate and pushed it open. She went into the Baba Yaga’s yard. As she stood there, wondering whether to knock on the door, there was a rushing sound behind her. She turned around to see a big bowl coming down from the sky, with a paddle pushing it along, as if it were a rowing boat in the sea. In it was the Baba Yaga.