Episode 168 – Sleeping Handsome – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 168 Show Notes

Source: Indian Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’re headed to India for a strange, old inversion of the sleeping beauty trope. You’ll learn that dolls can talk, that you shouldn’t trust people who are too flexible, and that you should stay out of magical doors. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a barber will match wits with a demon with the help of his trusty mirror. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 168, “Sleeping Handsome”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
Halloween may be over, but I’m not quite done being spooky yet. This week’s story comes from Folktales from India: A Selection of Oral Tales from Twenty-Two Languages, collected by A. K. Ramanujan in 1991. Once upon a time, there lived a king who had one daughter, but no sons. He loved his daughter dearly and doted on her thoroughly. At some point, a beggar began to come by the palace every day. Each time, he would say the same bizarre thing to the princess: “You’ll get a dead man for a husband. Give me some alms.”
It was certainly the duty of the royalty to take care of their nation’s poor, but this beggar unsettled the princess. Every time he came by, she couldn’t stop wondering why he said such a strange thing to her. Being too polite to comment on it, she would give him the requested alms (demanded is more like it) and head inside without a word. This particular beggar was apparently a bava, a holy man, and he came by daily for twelve straight years, always saying the same thing. “You’ll get a dead man for a husband. Give me some alms.”
One day, the king happened to be on a balcony when the beggar came by for his usual odd visit. He heard his creepy proclamation and hurried down immediately, but the poor beggar was already gone. “Daughter, what did that man say to you?” She shrugged noncommittally. “That bava comes by every day father, and he always says that same strange phrase. ‘You’ll get a dead man for a husband. Give me some alms.’ I never know what to say to that, so I just give him the money. He’s been doing that since I was a little girl.”
This quite understandably disturbed the king. Not only had this creep been weirding out his daughter for over a decade without him knowing, he was worried that the man’s words might be some kind of prophecy. He was a holy man after all, so what if this portent came true? The king wasn’t exactly sure how such a thing would work, but he feared the worst. Thus, he resolved that the two of them should get the fuck out of Dodge. “Daughter, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be in the kingdom right now. Let’s leave together, do some traveling.” He had his servants pack everything up, and then he left with his entire family.
Now, about that time, the prince of the neighboring kingdom fell mysteriously ill and died. It was all very strange and unusual – the more so since his corpse didn’t look like, well, a corpse. The prince looked as though he had simply fallen into a deep sleep and would awaken at any moment. Even stranger, the court astrologers said that he would return to life again in 12 years. Unwilling to give up hope, the king ordered a shrine built outside of the city proper to house his son’s lifeless body instead of burying him. He was laid out in state, fully clothed in his royal attire. The shrine was bricked up and its only door locked to prevent looters. On it was written a message: ‘One day, a chaste woman who has made offerings to the gods for her husband will come here. Only she may enter this place. The door will open beneath her hand, and for no one else.”
It was soon after this tragic event had more or less concluded that the first king arrived with his wife, daughter, and entourage. That’s right – even though she hasn’t been mentioned at all up until now, this story’s mother is actually alive and well. It had been a long journey from their kingdom to this neighboring one, and everyone was famished. They set up camp outside the city proper (I’m assuming it was a matter of royal protocol or something, but the story doesn’t explain). While the servants got busy preparing dinner, the princess decided to take a walk around the lovely countryside. Maybe not the safest thing to do all by yourself in a strange place but I guess that, much like Jasmine in Disney’s Aladdin, she’s so used to her privilege that danger doesn’t occur to her.
As you probably already guessed, the young woman promptly stumbled across the shrine of the dead-but-not-dead prince. It gleamed beautifully in the fading sunlight, all shiny and new with magnificently crafted woodwork. She walked over to it and laid her hand on the door. I don’t know if she read the sign or not since the story doesn’t mention it. I’m leaning towards her not having read it because she seems utterly surprised by this turn of events and unaware of what lay inside.
Since, as I mentioned, she had no real concept of personal danger, the princess saw no reason not to wander inside the mysterious shrine whose door had just sprung open of its own accord. As soon as she crossed the threshold however, the door slammed shut behind her and locked tight once more. It refused to open again, but she spied another nearly identical door farther inside. This too opened at her touch and closed again once she had passed through, twelve doors in all. And yeah, the number keeps coming up a lot since it is considered a lucky number.
At the center of this mystical shrine, the princess found a dead man laying motionless on a cot. I don’t know if she’s ever seen a dead body before but, even if she has, this corpse looked very unusual. As I mentioned, the prince appeared to simply be sleeping. Despite the time that had passed, he hadn’t bloated or rotted at all. Which was small comfort to the princess, who was very clearly trapped inside this shrine with only a still body for company. Luckily, the prince’s family had left provisions for the prophesied twelve years inside with him: dishes, cups, clothes, grains, spices, and everything else a person could need.
It was only now, considering her confinement, that the princess really thought about what was happening. She also remembered the beggar’s words, the ones that her father had brought her here to escape. “Seems like instead of avoiding fate, I’ve run right into it. His words are coming true in spite of everything.” She considered her silent roommate and wandered over for a better look. She unveiled his face, which was beautiful and dead. As much as it looked like he was sleeping, he wasn’t breathing so he was definitely dead. Super dead. “Well what now? I’ve gotten myself locked in a strange shrine in a strange country with a corpse. If I’m going to be imprisoned here, I might as well try something.”
Her first idea, for reasons I can’t fully explain, was to start massaging his legs. Maybe she just didn’t want him to get bed sores? Maybe she was trying to prevent rigor mortis? No idea. Anywho, she began tending to the body, cleaning and massaging it daily, establishing a routine. She couldn’t leave, what with being a prisoner behind twelve doors, so she made the best of it. She cooked and cleaned and kept herself as occupied as she could, but there wasn’t much to do besides think. Thus, she spent a lot of time thinking about what had happened to her.
Back outside, dinner was ready. Her mother had come looking for the princess to let her know that dinner was ready. There was no sign of her, causing her parents to panic. Which is fair. They began searching the area and soon found the locked shrine. There was still no sign of her, but, at her father’s frantic calling, the princess began yelling back from inside. “Daughter, is that you? Why are you inside that building? You had us worried sick! Time to come back to camp – dinner is ready.” “Um, Dad? You’re not gonna like this, but I’m not sure I can. There are twelve locked doors between us, and I don’t know how to get back out. They all opened at my touch, but they all sprang shut again after I went through, and now the locks won’t budge. I’m stuck in here all alone.” “What’s in there, daughter?” “Um, a body. And some food and stuff, but nothing else. A handsome young man, but very dead.”
Her father held his face in his hands in despair. “It seems the bava’s words are coming true. I tried to protect you from that fate, but it has caught up to you all the same.” He read the sign on the main door now, realizing that his daughter was right. He wasn’t quite willing to give into despair just yet, so he and the servants tried to get in. Everything was sealed, every wall and door. There was no way to get to the trapped princess. “I don’t think we can open the locks. You’ll just have to wait for whatever is supposed to happen. It’s in the hands of fate now. There’s nothing else we can do.” With many sorrowful goodbyes, the royal family left their daughter trapped in the shrine. It seems like you could have tried breaking down the walls, given enough time and resources, but maybe the fear of prophecy was too strong. Or maybe there was more magic in the shrine than it first appeared.
Time passed. The princess fell into a routine of cooking, cleaning, and massaging the dead man’s legs. She took ritual baths, worshipped the gods and held her small versions of the festivals at the proper times, and made offerings for the corpse (who was clearly her future husband). This went on for ten years. What, not twelve? Not yet, anyway. See, at the decade mark, an acrobat’s daughter happened by the shrine (which was still every bit as beautiful and pristine as it had ever been). She was curious about the locked building (I wonder if the sign is still there or not) and began to explore. The door did not open for her, nor was there any way inside that she could find. Exhausting the obvious ways, she took a page from her father and climbed up onto the roof.
Inside, the princess was going more than a bit stir crazy. She’d been alone with her dead husband for a decade and she was positively desperate for the sight of another person. She was unbearably lonely and dying for human interaction. “If only there was some crack in this prison. Even if it was too small for me to get out, maybe someone else could get in. I would give anything for another girl to talk to.” It was then that she noticed a shadow in the window overhead. The young woman hasn’t been living in utter darkness these past ten years because there are indeed skylights. If the princess’ father had done more than just try the doors, he might have found a way in.
Looking up, the young woman spotted the acrobat’s daughter (who was clearly something of an acrobat herself) looking down through the skylight. “You have no idea how good it is to see another person. Listen, if you have any family, stay out of this shrine. Once you get in, you can’t get out.” The young acrobat shook her head sadly. “My parents are dead, and I don’t have anybody else.” “Oh. Sorry to hear that. If you’re cool with being stuck, you can come down here with me and we can be friends. There’s plenty of food and stuff, just no way out.” It was a small window, so maybe the king wouldn’t have been able to get in and the princess wouldn’t have been able to get out, but I still think an industrious person could have widened it. Regardless, the acrobat was slight of frame and flexible, so with the princess’ help, she was able to twist and contort her way into the shrine.
The two of them became fast friends, which is good since it would have been hell on earth if it had turned out that their personalities didn’t mesh. They both enjoyed having a companion for the first time in a long time, and so the next two years flew by. One day like any other, the princess was taking a bath when she heard a fluttering of wings overhead. An omen-bird (I don’t know what species this bird actually is) landed on a branch outside the shrine window. Puffing up its feathers, it spoke. “The twelve years are coming to an end. If someone were to pluck the leaves from this tree, grind them up, squeeze the liquid into a silver cup, and feed that juice to the dead prince, he would return to life as prophesied.”
The princess hadn’t been sure exactly what was supposed to happen at the end of the allotted twelve years, so this plot device omen-bird was like super helpful. She quickly gathered as many of the tree’s leaves as she could reach and followed the bird’s directions. Luckily, a silver cup was indeed amongst the goods left in the shrine by the prince’s family. She was about to pour it into the dead man’s lips when it occurred to her that she hadn’t finished her bath. She really should finish up properly and then offer a proper prayer to Lord Shiva (the Hindu god of destruction and transformation). Setting the cup gently on the cot, she climbed back into the bath and completed her ritual washing. Once that was complete, she dried herself off and knelt down to pray to Shiva. Based on some details later in the story, I gather that there is a separate room for worship inside this sealed shrine.
The acrobat was curious about this. I don’t know if she was somehow oblivious to the omen-bird’s words or if only the princess, as the destined woman, could hear him. Maybe there are multiple extra rooms and the acrobat was in one far enough way not to be able to overhear. Either way, she didn’t know what was up with this weird cup of leaf juice. “What’s this for, princess? It smells like leaves.” The princess told her about the bird’s message and explained that she had completed all but the last step, but wanted to prepare herself spiritually before meeting her new husband. The acrobat looked between the kneeling princess, the beautiful prince corpse, and the silver cup several times. Deciding that this was her chance for a better life, she seized the opportunity and the cup, draining the juice between the dead man’s lips.
As soon as the liquid trickled down his throat, the young prince sat up with a yawn and a huge stretch as though he had simply been asleep. Dazed, he called out “Shiva! Shiva!” Shaking his head to gather his wits, he looked around and saw the young acrobat standing over him with a silver chalice. “Who are you?” She grinned. “I’m your wife.” The prince saw no reason to question this (maybe he was somehow mystically aware of the prophecy or maybe he was just a hopeless romantic). They joined themselves as husband and wife right then and there (and for once, I don’t think I mean in a sexual way but in an honest-to-gods matrimony way). The princess, who had served her dead prince diligently for twelve years, knelt in prayer to Shiva completely oblivious about this betrayal. I guess she and the acrobat weren’t such good friends after all.
When she finally emerged from her worship, she saw the empty cup and the very much alive prince whispering in the ear of a giggling acrobat; she knew immediately what had occurred. She turned back to the tiny temple (and possibly a statue of Shiva) to bemoan her fate. “Seriously? I did penance for twelve years for the crime of walking through a doorway, and this is how it all turns out? Fate clearly has it out for me, and happiness was never my destiny.” For reasons I don’t fully understand, her response to this situation was to decide to become the couple’s servant. Maybe she figured it was Shiva’s wish? Maybe truly cared about her acrobat frenemy and didn’t want to confuse their newly budding marriage with another eligible princess. Regardless, she set herself to work, tidying up and making food while the newlywed couple sat back and enjoyed themselves.
Despite her apparent intentions to be a good and humble servant, you can’t really take the royalty out of the princess. It didn’t take long for the prince to notice some inconsistencies in the stations of his wife (who said she was a princess but acted like a commoner) and her handmaid (who said she was a commoner but carried herself like a princess). Their manners, their accents, their diction: everything gave off massive red flags to the prince. Something was very clearly amiss. To give himself time to sort it all out in his head, the prince decided to go on a hunting trip. “I’m gonna go do a little hunting out in the jungle. I’ll probably head into the city for a bit after that to get some things. Is there anything that you want me to bring back?”
So it seems like the doors are open now and they can come and go as they please, so I’m not sure why they’re still living all alone in the shrine. I would think his family would want to know that he was still alive (and the princess’ for that matter, though I doubt that she’s shared that story with him since she’s faking being a servant). The acrobat had been longing for the kinds of humble street food that she’d grown up on, which were very much not the supplies left by a royal family. She asked for all sorts of fresh vegetables, herbs, and naan (a fluffy flatbread). The prince kept up a good poker face, but inwardly he was disgusted. Why would his royal wife want peasant food? She should be asking for saris and silk blouses, not awful dry bread! I mean, naan is awesome so the prince is objectively wrong here, but he’s right that the acrobat is not living by the prejudices and social norms of high society. The story actually says that this is specifically Romani food (although that’s not the name they use of course), who do in fact trace their origins back to northern India around 1000 years ago.
Feeling more suspicious than ever, he repeated his offer to the supposed servant girl. It wouldn’t have been proper for him to address her directly apparently, so he had his wife relay it to her. “Oh, I don’t want anything much, princess. Just tell the master that what I’d really like is a talking doll.” Now the prince was utterly confused. Sure, his wife’s request had been out of character for someone supposedly raised in a palace, but it was equally odd for a grown woman to only want a talking doll. Turning this thorny puzzle over and over in his mind, the prince headed out on his excursion.
It was a very good hunt, fruitful and relaxing. His mind felt clearer and his body refreshed as he trekked into the city. He returned home soon with the foul-smelling greens and the awful flatbread that he’d bought from some wandering Romani (which he hadn’t been thrilled about because anti-Romani prejudice is very, very old). To his wife’s servant, he gave a talking doll that he had apparently been able to easily acquire in the city. This is well before the advent of electronics, so I have no idea how a talking doll is such a mundane thing to obtain. Maybe magic is just really common in this folklore world. I mean, we do have a mystical death and reincarnation, prophecy, and self-closing doors, so a talking doll isn’t exactly beyond the pale.
The acrobat was thrilled to finally have some good fucking food and set about making some of the dishes from her own childhood. It put some healthy color into her cheeks after years of eating royal food, which wasn’t nearly as hearty. It also made her feel a little more at home (pretending to be someone she wasn’t all the time was exhausting, so this little taste of home invigorated her). The servant princess meanwhile demurely accepted her doll, set it aside, and got back to work with the daily chores.
That night, once the prince and the faux princess had eaten dinner and gone to sleep, the real princess had time to sit in her small cot with her new doll, which suddenly came to life. This did not startle the princess at all who, to be fair, had asked for a talking doll after all. Maybe this was exactly what she had expected. “Tell me a story,” asked the doll. “A story? I don’t know how many stories I can remember. I’ve been trapped in this shrine for so long.” She chuckled. “I suppose my own life has become a pretty wild story at this point.” The doll considered her with its blank face. “Then tell me your story.”
And so she did. She told the doll the story that you have just heard, right up until this point. The doll was a very polite and attentive listener, nodding at all the right moments, and occasionally interjecting with a gasp or an ‘oh’ or a ‘and then what’. The acrobat was a deep sleeper but the prince, having slumbered like the dead for over a decade, was now easily awoken. The sound of the princess’ story to her talking doll awoke him, and he listened in rapt attention as the tale unfolded. He was especially interested in the part where the princess talked about waking him up. “After the omen-bird gave me the instructions to wake the prince, I did everything exactly as I was told. I put it all in a silver cup, but I thought it best to finish my ritual bath and pray to Shiva before actually waking him. It seemed like the appropriate and proper thing to do. Of course, when I came back from my prayers, that so-called friend of mine had stolen the silver cup and awoken the prince, claiming to be a princess and his rightful bride. What was I supposed to do? Now she’s the princess and I’m just their humble servant, and that’s all I’ll ever be from now on.”
From his bed in the next room, the prince listened with mounting anger. The woman he had been treating as his destined wife had been lying to him this whole time and had betrayed the woman she had claimed was a friend. When the story was finished, he rose from the bed, found a strong, thin branch to use as a switch, and whipped the acrobat awake, out of the bed, and out of his home. Which I guess means they live in what used to be the shrine now, which confirms what I guessed before but still seems weird. He ignored the false princess’ confused tears and pleas as he drove her away. “Begone, foul witch! You’re no princess, but a common street acrobat! You’re not my wife but a liar, a cheat, and a thief! Get out of my sight and never come back!” And so she did. The acrobat was never seen in that particular kingdom ever again. She’s certainly not an honest person or a good friend, but I’m not sure she deserved quite that harsh a treatment. As far as I can tell, it’s not like she forced the real princess to become a servant or anything; that was her oddball choice.
Anywho, with the false bride driven off, the prince went inside to speak to the woman who he now knew had been the one to care for him during his temporary death. “I couldn’t help but overhear you telling your story to the doll. I’m sorry I didn’t realize the truth sooner.” And the two of them spent the rest of the night getting to know each other properly, talking about their lives, their hopes, and their dreams. Meanwhile, in the world outside this strange shrine house, the local royal family had been keeping track of the years. Their calendars showed that twelve years had passed which, if the prophecy was true, would mean that their son was alive again. They hurried out to see him, anxious to know the truth. The town around the palace was abuzz with the news – gossip this juicy had spread like wildfire, so everyone knew about the cursed death and the prince’s promised resurrection. Thus almost everyone trailed behind the king and queen as they made for the shrine.
As they neared, the elder royal couple was thrilled to see the locked doors standing open and unlocked. They headed cautiously inside and found the prince and the princess sitting together on the bed talking and laughing like a young couple in love. Overwhelmed with joy, the king and queen threw themselves at their new daughter-in-law’s feet, praising her for her worthiness and sacrifice. “It is by your good deeds in many past lives as well as your fidelity and prayers in this one that our son is returned to us. He looks as fresh and healthy as if he had just woken up from an invigorating nap. This is all thanks to you, our new daughter!”
The young couple was brought to the palace amidst a celebrating mob to be the guests of honor at an impromptu wedding bonanza. The town was awash in nuptial bliss for many days, with everyone invited. This included the bride’s royal parents, who were now quite elderly and once more returned to their own neighboring kingdom. Losing their beloved daughter to such a strange and ominous magic had broken their spirits, but the news that she was free and happy again and, what’s more, married to a handsome young prince revived their spirits. They joyfully made the journey to the next kingdom to embrace their daughter and participate in the wedding festivities. And they all lived happily ever after. Except maybe the acrobat, but she seems like a tough cookie, so I imagine she landed on her feet once the shock of it all wore off.
This is a very strange story with a lot of moving pieces that are never really explained or explored. The magical talking doll just being a totally normal thing to ask for and easily acquire is probably the one that wrinkles my brain the most, but there’s a lot of oddities. But, like in most folktales, the best option is to just not think about it and roll with the weirdness. And so, with the true couple of destiny finally joined in wedded bliss, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s monster is the Brahman demon.
This story also comes from Folktales from India: A Selection of Oral Tales from Twenty-Two Languages, collected by A. K. Ramanujan. Long ago, in the district of Burdwan in modern West Bengal, India, there lived a very lazy barber. He was so damned lazy, in fact, that he raised the question of whether you can even claim a profession if you literally never do the work. I guess he was trained as a barber, so maybe he can call himself one, but he refused to do any work at all. Instead, he spent all of his time primping and preening himself in front of an old hand mirror, styling his hair with a broken comb. He was young enough that I suspect he was still sponging off his parents for money, which is probably why his mother was constantly on his case about his idleness. She screamed and cursed him as a lazy bastard, but it had no effect. He was too absorbed in his own reflection to give a damn what anyone else thought.
At least, he was until the day his mother, in a fit of anger at being thoroughly ignored yet again, snapped a little. She took up the broom she’d been sweeping with and brought it crashing down over her son’s back. That got his attention, but not in a helpful way. Hurt (more emotionally than physically to be sure) and humiliated, he left home, swearing not to return until he had made his fortune. His mother had his doubts about his ability to carry through on that promise, but she was still glad to see him off his ass and doing literally anything but staring in that damned mirror all day.
We set out in a more or less random direction and began to walk until, after many hours, he came to a forest. He’d had some time to reflect on his own behavior and the brash promise he had made, and was doubting himself a little. It was dark now, and the forest seemed like a good place to sleep for the night. The peace of the wilderness made him consider heading inside to pray to the gods for assistance and guidance. Before he could decide though, he met a brahmarakshasa, a demon who had once been a Brahman, dancing wildly on the forest path. These powerful demons are created when a Brahman, a member of the priestly caste in ancient Hindu tradition, misused their knowledge in life and committed foul deeds, transforming after death. These beings would retain their learning and power, but would be cursed to be a malevolent manifestation in forgotten and isolated places.
The barber was terrified by this sight (quite understandable since brahmarakshasas are pretty much always evil motherfuckers) but he kept his wits about him. He had a bold, crazy idea, but it was the only one he had so he decided to try it. Mustering all his courage, the man began to dance along with the demon, keeping time and matching steps. They danced together this way for a bit before the barber stopped to stare at his impromptu dance partner. “I’m not complaining mind, but what made you start dancing like that? Why are you so wild and happy?” The brahmarakshasa stopped dancing as well, laughing cruelly. “I was waiting for you to ask that question. You’re clearly a fool, so I knew there was no way you knew the reason. I’m dancing because you’re here, which means I get to dine on your succulent flesh tonight to the music of your fading screams. Now why are you dancing, you tasty morsel?”
The barber laughed. “My reason is much better. Our king’s son is very ill. The doctors have come to examine him and have determined that the only cure for his disease is the heart’s blood of 101 brahmarakshasas. The king has promised half his kingdom and one of his many beautiful daughters’ hand in marriage to anyone who can bring him this difficult cure. It’s been a tough quest, but I’ve managed to capture 100 of the required demons. Now I find you, and you make 101. I’ve already seized your soul and put it in my pocket, so I was dancing at having completed this task – soon I will have my promised reward.” And no, you didn’t miss a key story beat here; the barber is lying out his ass right now. There is no sick prince and no kingly reward, but he’s hoping the demon doesn’t know that.
Said demon hadn’t heard any such proclamation, but he was cursed to spend all his time in this desolate forest, so that didn’t necessarily mean much. Besides, the barber didn’t give the brahmarakshasa time to think about it and start poking holes. He pulled the hand mirror out of his pocket, angling it so that the demon could see his own reflection in it in the pale moonlight. The demon panicked, thinking his soul stolen. He trembled and begged the barber to release him from his glassy prison, but the barber refused. “Why would I let you go? You’re my ticket to marriage, wealth, and power.” Terrified of being turned into medicine, the demon offered his captor obscene wealth, enough to ransom seven kings.
The barber was thrilled that his gambit of lying his ass off had worked, but he pretended to reluctantly be persuaded. “Okay, fine I guess that’s a better offer and I can always go find another demon to be number 101. But where is this wealth you promise? And who’s gonna carry it back to my house for me, especially in the middle of the night?” These were both very good questions and reasonable conditions to nail down before agreeing to the demon’s terms. “The treasure is buried under the tree right behind you. I’ll dig it up and show it to you so you know it’s genuine, and then I’ll carry it and you to your house in an instant. We demons have magic powers, you know.”
The barber agreed, and the demon promptly uprooted the tree. Sure enough, there were seven golden jars underneath, each one stuffed full of precious stones. He was dazzled by the sight of all that wealth, more than he had ever dreamed of seeing let alone owning, but he kept up his poker face. Keeping his shit together, he nonchalantly ordered the demon to take him and his new riches home. The demon obeyed, and they all appeared outside the man’s home (which he does somehow have despite absolutely refusing to work). Having completed his end of the bargain, the demon begged to be released.
Unfortunately, the barber had gotten a taste for power and wasn’t quite ready to give it up yet. “Sorry demon, I still have something I need before I let you go. You see that rice paddy out there? I need you to go and reap all of it and bring home the crop toot suite.” The brahmarakshasa, believing his soul to still be in the man’s clutches, thought he had no choice but to obey so out to the field he went.
Apparently forgetting he has magic powers (or maybe his demonic magic doesn’t work on rice for some reason), the brahmarakshasa began reaping the field by hand. As he was hard at work, another brahmarakshasa happened along the empty road and spied his brother doing manual labor. “What the hell are you doing, asshole? You’ll give all of demonkind a bad name if you keep doing honest work like that!” The first demon explained to the second how his soul had been trapped by the young man in the forest, leaving him no way to escape except to do as he was told. The second demon laughed. “Did you forget that you’re a fucking demon, bro? We’re straight up better than humans in every way. You don’t have to do that little dick’s chores – no man can possibly have power over us.” The first demon saw the wisdom in these words, but he was still afraid. What if this other demon was wrong and he got turned into medicine? It just wasn’t worth the risk. The second demon snorted derisively. “Show me where this asshat lives. I’ll take care of it.”
The first demon simply pointed from the middle of the rice paddy. “It’s that way. I don’t dare leave the rice until I’m done harvesting it.” Shaking its head in disbelief, the second demon headed over towards the barber’s house. Meanwhile, said barber was busy celebrating his newfound riches with his wife. That’s right – despite her never being mentioned before, he apparently has a wife that he’s been supporting on no work. I’m surprised she wasn’t on his ass about his laziness too. Anywho, they had decided to throw a party, and the young man had bought a huge fish to cook up. Unfortunately, the kitchen window was broken and a cat slipped in through it, stole the fish, and got caught in the act. The wife wanted to catch and kill the animal for its crime, so chased it across the house. It scrambled back through the broken window and escaped, but it dropped the fish in the process.
Figuring that the cat would soon double back to try and steal the fish again, she hid herself against the wall, knife waiting for anything to come through the broken window. It was just about then that the second demon arrived at the barber’s house. He snuck around to the back on tiptoes, heading over to a broken window he spied. He wanted to get a look at his fellow demon’s captor before committing to anything. Shoving his bushy demon face through the hole, he peered around. The wife struck immediately, thinking the cat had indeed come back for a second robbery attempt. Her wickedly sharp knife made a clean slash through the demon’s long, bulbous nose, lopping it right off. In pain and fear, the second demon fled back to where the first was still toiling away. He didn’t return to see the first demon, ashamed of his injury and unwilling to admit that he too had been bested.
Once all of the rice was reaped, the demon returned with the grain to the barber’s house. The young man, having heard from his wife about the strange figure who had tried to break into their house only to lose a nose, realized that he was playing with fire by keeping a demon trapped with nothing but a mirror and a lie. He showed his captive the back of the mirror, which was not reflective. Relieved not to see his image captured there any longer, he believed himself free. His heart much lighter now, he left the house and the barber behind forever, dancing merrily as he went.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Instagram as MythsYourTeacherHatedPod, on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated, and on Bluesky as MythsPodcast. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Episode 3 of Saturday Morning Roleplay is out now, continuing the wacky adventures of the Recyclors, those transforming, eco-friendly robots. Join them as they launch into battle against the vile Pollutrons in the most unlikely place imaginable. As a reminder, this show is an actual-play tabletop roleplaying podcast using a variety of game systems to tell stories inspired by our favorite cartoons. All episodes are kid friendly, rated TVPG for cartoon violence and rare mild language. Check it out on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.
Next time, we’re headed to Poland, Russia, and other Slavic countries for a unique melange of classic fairytale tropes. You’ll see how useful magic trees are, how dangerous flameless cauldrons are, and how useless boots of incredible speed are. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a shapeshifting monster will creep in through your keyhole to haunt your dreams and ravage your body. And not in the fun way. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.