The Hunter Maiden

by Ethel Johnston Phelps

  “How can we save her?” cried the younger sister. Mulha thought a few moments. Then she said, “After we return, I will run out of the hut. As soon as the Inzimu chases me, you must rescue our sister. Both of you run into the brush behind the hut and hide.”

  The girls returned with the water and stood quietly near the door. Suddenly Mulha called out in a taunting voice, “You will never catch me, Inzimu!” And she ran out of the hut.

  In a rage, the Inzimu started after her. But he tripped over the pail of water the younger sister thrust out, and Mulha had a good start. Fleet as a deer, she dodged the bushes and trees until she reached the river. There she plunged in and swam easily to the other side—for she knew the Inzimu was powerless to follow her over water.

  The Inzimu returned to find the small hut empty, and after shouting angry threats of revenge, he departed. But the younger sisters did not creep out of their hiding place until they heard their parents’ return.

  After Mulha’s parents heard the story of the Inzimu who had hidden in the storage pot, they became very alarmed.

  “We must leave this hut,” declared the father. “Our children are not safe here. The Inzimu will surely return another day. We will go down the valley to my brother’s house.”

  Quickly the family packed up their possessions and left.

  “The Inzimu will try to take revenge on Mulha. It was she who tricked him,” said the mother. “We must send her away.”

  To be sure Mulha would be safe, her parents decided to send her to stay with an older married sister living in a distant kraal. Since this was less than a day’s walk, Mulha assured her parents she could follow the track to the kraal alone.

  Dressed in her best garment, a gaily striped black cloth knotted about her waist, and wearing her brightest ornaments, Mulha set out with a light step. She promised to be very careful and to remember her mother’s warning to eat nothing along the way.

  It was midsummer, however, and the afternoon was hot. Soon Mulha became very thirsty. When she saw a manumbela tree covered with ripe berries, she could not resist them. Hitching up her skirt, she climbed the tree, and she ate the juicy berries.

  As soon as she returned to the ground, the tree trunk opened. Out came a huge woman, an Imbula, with an ugly animal snout and a hairy red pelt covering her body.

  “You are not safe traveling alone,” said the Imbula, making her voice as sweet as honey. “You will be robbed of all your pretty things. I will go with you to protect you, but first we must exchange clothes so that you will be safe.”

  Mulha protested in vain, but the Imbula promised to return everything to Mulha when they approached the kraal. Then she pulled off Mulha’s skirt, and in no time at all, she had forced the exchange of clothing.

  To her horror, Mulha found that the red, hairy pelt of the Imbula clung to her tightly, as if it were her own skin. The Imbula, wearing Mulha’s skirt and ornaments, now looked exactly like Mulha, while Mulha had become an ugly monster!

  Not knowing what else to do, Mulha followed the Imbula along the trail. When they approached the kraal, Mulha cried, “Now give me back my clothes!”

  Not only did the Imbula refuse, but she walked in through the gate of the kraal with great assurance and asked for her married sister. The sister welcomed the false Mulha warmly.

  “What shall we do with this strange creature with you?” asked the married sister, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  “Put her away in an old hut; she can eat with the dogs,” said the Imbula. “It’s all she’s fit for.”

  So Mulha, whom her parents had thought the prettiest maiden in Swaziland, was sent to a wretched hut to live with a poor old woman. The Imbula, seemingly a pretty maiden, was made much of by the people in the village. The false Mulha had just one problem: all Imbulas have tails, as Inzimus do, and this she could not get rid of. She had managed to wind hers around and around her waist, where it was hidden by her clothing. Each day she feared it would be discovered, but for a time all went well for the Imbula.

  Meanwhile, the real Mulha lived as an outcast in the hut of the old woman. But she did not waste time crying over the cruel revenge taken by the Inzimu and the Imbula. She quickly discovered that the ugly, hairy pelt she wore gave her some magic power; she could obtain choice food simply by commanding it. So, with the old woman sworn to secrecy, the two ate well and lived quietly together in comfort.

  Almost every day, Mulha went down early to a deserted part of the river to bathe. As soon as she entered the water, the hairy skin floated away, and she became her own self. She swam happily about for a while, but as she left the water, the skin attached itself to her again, and she became the strange creature as before.

  One day the married sister went down to the river to wash some clothes. Catching sight of the strange, hairy woman at the water’s edge, she hid herself and watched. What she saw astonished her. She hurried home at once to consult the chief’s aging sister, who was well known for her wisdom.

  The next time the creature went to bathe, the two women hid near the riverbank. They saw the ugly pelt float away while Mulha swam, and reattach itself when she left the water.

  The two women confronted Mulha, demanding an explanation. She told them she was the real Mulha, and explained how she had been tricked by the Imbula.

  “If you really are Mulha and the other is not, surely you can prove it!” said the married sister. But it was clear she was not certain in her mind that this was her sister, and Mulha was hurt.

  “Why bother with me?” said Mulha. “You took the Imbula in as your sister; now you can keep her! I have everything I want. Only more trouble will come to me if I accuse the Imbula.”

  “The girl is right,” said the chief’s sister. “The Imbula still has power to do her harm. She may take further revenge because Mulha outwitted her brother, the Inzimu. Come away now,” said she to the married sister. “We will consult with my brother, the chief, and devise a plan. For the true Imbula must be discovered and killed if Mulha is to be saved.”

  A few days later a big hole was dug in the middle of the kraal. In it were placed food and a large calabash filled with fresh milk. Each woman in the kraal was commanded to walk all around the hole by herself.

  At last came the turn of the Imbula. She begged to be excused. “I am too shy a maiden to walk about before all the people,” said she in a tiny, sweet voice. This did not help her at all.

  The chief and his sister forced her to begin the walk around the hole. At the sight of the fresh white milk, her Imbula nature could not be controlled. Of its own accord, her tail uncoiled and slithered down into the hole to suck up the milk—for no Inzimu or Imbula can control its tail when milk is on the ground! The chief’s sister had known this when she devised the trap.

  With a shriek of rage at her unmasking, the Imbula seized a nearby child and leaped toward the gate. But the hunters were waiting with spears ready, and she was slain. The moment the Imbula was killed, Mulha regained her own true form.

  After that, Mulha lived peacefully with her sister’s family. Eventually she married the chief’s youngest son. The one hundred cows paid to Mulha’s father as the bride price made it possible for her family to live in great comfort.

  And that was how Mulha outwitted the ogre Inzimu and, with the help of the chief’s sister, escaped the Imbula’s revenge.

  “Mulha” is drawn from Fairy Tales from South Africa (1910), written by E. J. BOURHILL and J. B. DRAKE. Versions of this tale have been compared to the story of “Little Red Riding Hood.”

  Long ago, among the Zuni people in the Southwest, there lived a young maiden. She lived alone with her aged parents in their pueblo. Her two brothers had been killed in warfare, and it was her responsibility to supply the family with food and firewood.

  The little family lived very simply. During the summer, when the girl grew beans, pumpkins, squash, melons, and corn in their garden, they had enough to eat. But when cold weather came, there were only dried beans and c
orn to feed the family.

  The Zuni people did not graze sheep and cattle in those days; therefore to keep hunger at bay through the winter, they had to hunt game. Her brothers’ stone axes and rabbit sticks for hunting hung on the walls unused—for it was the custom that only men could hunt, and her father had grown too old and feeble for hunting.

  One year the cold weather set in early and the first snow had fallen. Now was the time the girl must gather brush and firewood to store on the roof of their house.

  “We have little to eat,” she said to herself, “but at least we will be warm.”

  As she worked, she watched the young men of the tribe go forth with their rabbit sticks and stone axes. Later in the day, she saw them return to the village with strings of rabbits.

  “If I were a boy,” she thought, “I could hunt rabbits, and my parents would have meat to nourish themselves.” She pondered this, saying to herself, “There is no reason why I can’t hunt rabbits. When I was a child, my brothers often took me with them on the hunt.”

  So that evening, as the girl sat by the fire with her parents, she told them she intended to hunt for rabbits the next day.

  “It will not be hard to track rabbits in the new snow,” she said. “The young men who went out this morning all returned with strings of rabbits, but we have nothing to barter for meat. The rabbit sticks and axes of my brothers are on the wall. Why should I not use them? Must we go hungry again this winter?”

  Her mother shook her head. “No, no! You will be too cold. You will lose your way in the mountains.”

  “It would be too dangerous,” said her father. “It is better to live with hunger. Hunting is not women’s work.”

  But at last, seeing that the girl was determined to go, the old father said, “Very well! If we cannot persuade you against it, I will see what I can do to help you.”

  He hobbled into the other room and found some old furred deerskins. These he moistened, softened, and cut into long stockings that he sewed up with sinew and the fiber of the yucca leaf. Then he selected for her a number of rabbit sticks and a fine stone ax.

  Her mother prepared lunch for the next day, little baked cornmeal cakes flavored with peppers and wild onions. These she strung on a yucca fiber, like beads on a string, and placed with the weapons for the hunt.

  The girl rose very early the next morning, for she planned to leave before the young men of the village set out to hunt. She put on a warm, short-skirted dress, pulled on the deerskin stockings, and threw a large mantle over her back. The string of corn cakes was slung over one shoulder, the rabbit sticks thrust into her belt. Carrying the stone ax, she set out for the river valley beyond their pueblo.

  Though the snow lay smooth and unbroken, it was not deep enough to hinder her. Moving along steadily, she came at last to the river valley, where she climbed the cliffs and canyons on the steep, sloping sides. In and around the rocks and bushes, she saw the tracks of many rabbits.

  She followed the tracks eagerly, running from one place to another. At first she had little skill. But remembering all that her brothers had showed her, she at last became skillful enough to add many rabbits to her string.

  Snow had begun to fall, but the girl did not heed this, nor did she notice that it was growing dark.

  “How happy my parents will be to have food! They will grow stronger now,” she said to herself. “Some of the meat we can dry to last many days.”

  The string of rabbits had grown very heavy on her back when she suddenly realized it was almost dark. She looked about her. The snow had wiped out her trail. She had lost her way.

  The girl turned and walked in what she thought was the direction of her village, but in the darkness and the strangeness of the falling white snow, she became confused. She struggled on until she realized that she was completely lost.

  “It is foolish to go on,” she thought. “I’ll take shelter among the rocks for the night and find my way home in daylight.”

  As she moved along the rocky cliffside, she saw a very small opening that led into a cave. Crawling in cautiously, she found the cave empty. On the floor of the cave were the remains of a fire, a bed of still-glowing ashes. Had another hunter rested here and then left? Delighted with her good luck, she dropped her string of rabbits and hurried to gather twigs and piñon wood from outside. She brought in several armloads to build up the fire for the night ahead.

  Sitting down before the crackling fire, she cleaned one of the rabbits and roasted the meat on a spit. With the remaining corn cakes, this made a fine meal. Afterward she lay back on the stone floor of the cave, ready for sleep.

  Then, from the dark stillness out on the mountain, came a long, drawn-out call. Thinking it was someone lost in the snow, the girl went to the mouth of the cave and called, “Here!” in answer.

  The crackling and snapping of twigs told her someone was coming nearer. Then she heard the sound of a loud rattle and saw the outline of a huge figure.

  “Ho!” called a harsh voice. “So you are in there, are you!”

  She stood still for a moment, frozen in dismay and terror. Huge red eyes glared at her, and she knew it was one of the Cannibal Demons, who had haunted the world since ancient times. She ran to the back of the cave, crouching down out of sight.

  The monstrous Demon was at the mouth of the cave, trying to get in, but the opening was too small for his huge body.

  “Let me in!” he roared. “I’m hungry and cold.”

  The girl did not answer.

  Then the Demon called out slyly, “Come out here and bring me something to eat.”

  “I have nothing for you. I’ve eaten all my food,” the girl answered.

  “Bring out the rabbits you caught,” he demanded. “I can smell them. I know you have rabbits.”

  The girl threw out a rabbit. The monster seized it in his long, clawlike hand and swallowed the rabbit in one gulp.

  “More!” he demanded.

  The girl threw out another rabbit from her string. Again he tossed it into his huge mouth. With a snap of his long, sharp teeth, it went down in one swallow.

  “Give me all the rabbits!” he shouted.

  Now the girl was angry. “I have no more. Go away!”

  The monster swelled with a terrible rage. “I’m coming in there to eat you and your rabbits!”

  Again he tried to crawl into the cave, but the opening was too small for even his head to get through. Then he stood up. Lifting his great flint ax, he began to shatter the stones at the entrance. Clatter, pound, crash went the ax on the rocks. Gradually the entrance to the cave became a little larger.

  The loud crash of the flint ax on rock traveled clearly through the night air. Far away, on Thunder Mountain, two War Gods heard it. They knew at once that it was the Cannibal Demon’s ax, and they knew he was again causing trouble.

  Picking up their weapons, they flew through the darkness to the cliffside where the Demon hammered away at the cave entrance. They understood the situation at a glance. Each one swung his war club and hit the Demon on the head. The monster fell to the ground, dead.

  “You are safe now, maiden,” they called. “We will sleep out here at the entrance to your cave and protect you until morning.”

  The next day as the sun rose, sparkling the white snow, the girl came out of the cave with her string of rabbits. The two War Gods praised her strength and courage. Then they walked with her down the snow-covered valley to guide her to her village. As they traveled through the fresh new whiteness of the world, the two War Gods taught the maiden much hunting wisdom.

  When they could see the pueblo in the far distance, the girl turned to her two companions, bowing low and breathing on their hands to thank them. When she straightened up, they had disappeared.

  The girl walked into the village, proudly carrying her string of rabbits. All the people stared at her in wonder. Never had they seen a maiden hunter, and the number of rabbits she had caught astonished them. She did not stop, but hurried on to her own h
ome.

  When she entered, her parents cried out in joy to see her unharmed. They feared she had been eaten by a mountain lion.

  “Now we have food to eat,” she cried. “I’ll cook a fine rabbit stew to make you strong. And there will be furs for the bitter cold of winter.”

  “You have done well, daughter . . . and hunter maiden,” her father added, smiling. “From now on you will hunt for our family, and your brothers’ axes will be yours.”

  “The Hunter Maiden” has been adapted from a story in Zuni Folk Tales (1901), edited by FRANK H. CUSHING. The cannibal demon in the story appears often in Zuni folklore as Átahsaia: a giant, a trickster, and a liar.

  Long, long ago, a very evil wizard lived in a splendid castle high in the mountains. Outside the castle were large, beautiful gardens filled with bright flowers and delicious fruits.

  Scattered throughout the gardens were statues of young maidens so perfect that one would think them alive. And it was a sad fact that once, these statues had been living maidens. For whenever the wizard saw a young maiden who took his fancy, he would cleverly seize her and fly away with her to his castle. There the wizard turned the girl into a stone statue to adorn his gardens.

  Whenever he tired of gazing at his collection of statues, he made ready to fly off in search of a new victim. He put on the fine clothes of a nobleman and rubbed his lips with honey to make his voice sweet and beguiling. He sprinkled his cruel face with May morning dew to make it look gentle and kind. Then he wrapped himself in his magic flying cloak. The cloak changed at once into large dark wings, and he flew out over the cliffs and dark pine forests. He circled and dipped, flying lower and lower over the valleys.

  If he saw someone he fancied, he would spread his dark cloak on the ground. If a maiden but stepped onto it—even the edge—he would seize her and carry her off. But the wizard’s power was not absolute. Unless the victim willingly stepped onto the cloak, he had no power to harm her.