Another pleasant day in Pouchland and Pouchu was busy rummaging through Granny’s Pouch.
An old bound book emerged. It was thick and the binding looked old in Pastel pink.
Pouchu held it up triumphantly.
Pouchu: “Granny! What is this?”
Granny looked over her glasses.
Granny: “Ah! That, Pouchu, is a book of stories.”
Pouchu turned it over, examined the cover, then peeped at Granny.
Pouchu: “Stories? For children?”
Granny: “Some of them.”
Pouchu: “Then why are you looking at it?”
Granny smiled.
Granny: “Because some stories don’t stop being children’s stories just because the child grows up.”
Pouchu tilted his head.
Pouchu: “Hmm…”
Granny reached out and took the book from him. She ran her fingers gently over the cover.
Granny: “Look. Amar Chitra Katha has brought together Jataka Tales, Panchatantra and Hitopadesha in this collection.”
Pouchu immediately leaned over her arm.
Pouchu: “Which one did you read, Granny?”
Granny: “Panchatantra.”
Pouchu: “When?”
Granny’s eyes twinkled.
She leaned back in her chair.
Granny: “Andha kaalathula…”
Pouchu’s eyes became enormous.
Pouchu: “Aha!”
He wagged a finger at her.
Pouchu: “Granny has started!”
Granny: “Started what?”
Pouchu put on his deepest grandmotherly voice.
Pouchu: “‘In our days…’”
Granny burst out laughing.
Granny: “Very well! In those days, my first Amar Chitra Katha was Panchatantra.”
Pouchu settled down beside her.
Pouchu: “What was your favourite?”
Granny paused.
She looked at the book, then away into the distance, as though searching through a very old cupboard.
Granny: “That is difficult. I remember a deer who pretended to be dead so that he could escape from a hunter.”
Pouchu nearly jumped.
Pouchu: “He pretended to be DEAD?”
Granny: “Yes.”
Granny nodded solemnly.
Pouchu: “Did it work?”
Granny: “It did.”
Pouchu’s face lit up.
Pouchu: “Clever deer!”
Granny: “Very clever.”
She turned a page.
Then stopped.
Granny: “And then there was the Monkey King.”
Pouchu leaned forward.
Pouchu: “The king of the monkeys?”
Granny: “Yes. An old Monkey King. There was a great flood, and I remember there was one difficult passage the monkeys had to cross. Someone had to become a bridge…”
She paused, remembering.
Granny: “…and the Monkey King decided to become that bridge himself.”
Granny stretched out both arms.
Granny: “He made his own body into a bridge so that the monkeys could cross the river safely.”
Pouchu’s smile disappeared.
Pouchu: “His own body?”
Granny: “His own body.”
Pouchu: “What happened to him?”
Granny’s voice became softer.
Granny: “The last monkey crossed. But instead of being grateful…”
She paused.
Granny: “…he kicked the Monkey King.”
Pouchu stared at her.
Pouchu: “He WHAT?”
Granny: “He kicked him. And the old Monkey King fell into the river.”
Pouchu sat very still.
Pouchu: “Did he die?”
Granny nodded slowly.
Granny: “Yes.”
Pouchu looked down at the book.
Pouchu: “That’s not a very happy story.”
Granny gently closed the book halfway.
Granny: “No.”
A little silence passed.
Granny: “But I remembered it.”
Pouchu looked up.
Pouchu: “Why?”
Granny smiled faintly.
Granny: “I don’t know.”
Pouchu narrowed his eyes.
Then he pointed at her.
Pouchu: “Granny, you remember stories from when you were little…”
He looked around dramatically.
Pouchu: “…but you don’t remember where you put your glasses five minutes ago.”
Granny immediately touched the top of her head.
Her glasses were sitting there.
She looked at Pouchu.
Pouchu looked at the glasses.
They stared at each other.
Granny: “Those are two completely different kinds of memory.”
Pouchu dissolved into giggles.
Granny shook her head, smiling.
Granny: “There was another one. The Monkey and the Gardener.”
Pouchu stopped laughing.
Pouchu: “Oh! What happened?”
Granny: “The gardener went away to attend a wedding and left the garden in the care of a monkey.”
Pouchu nodded approvingly.
Pouchu: “Good monkey.”
Granny: “Perhaps.”
Pouchu looked suspicious.
Pouchu: “That ‘perhaps’ sounds dangerous.”
Granny laughed.
Granny: “The monkey’s friends came along and advised him that the best way to water the plants was to water the roots directly.”
Pouchu thought about this.
Pouchu: “That sounds sensible.”
Granny: “It would have been…”
She paused for effect.
Granny: “…if he had understood what they meant.”
Pouchu leaned closer.
Pouchu: “What did he do?”
Granny made a little uprooting motion with her hands.
Granny: “He pulled the plants out of the ground.”
Pouchu’s mouth fell open.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
Pouchu: “HE DID WHAT?”
Granny burst out laughing.
Granny: “He uprooted them so he could water the roots!”
Pouchu collapsed against Granny, laughing.
Pouchu: “He destroyed the whole garden!”
Granny: “Yes.”
Pouchu: “Why would he do that?”
Granny: “He wanted to help.”
Pouchu stopped laughing.
He looked thoughtfully at the book.
Pouchu: “Hmm…”
Granny smiled.
Granny: “That is the funny thing about old stories. Sometimes the monkey is foolish. Sometimes he is clever. Sometimes he is generous. Sometimes he simply doesn’t understand.”
Pouchu counted on his little fingers.
Pouchu: “Clever deer. Brave Monkey King. Silly gardener monkey…”
He looked up.
Pouchu: “And all of them are in the same book?”
Granny: “Quite possibly when separate copies are bound together.”
Pouchu’s eyes widened.
Pouchu: “So these stories teach lessons?”
Granny considered the question.
Granny: “They can.”
Pouchu waited.
Pouchu: “What lessons did you learn?”
Granny looked at him.
Then she looked at the book.
Granny: “I don’t remember learning the lessons.”
Pouchu frowned.
Pouchu: “But you remember the stories.”
Granny: “Exactly.”
She opened the book again.
Granny: “I remember the deer. I remember the Monkey King. I remember the ruined garden.”
Her finger rested on the page.
Granny: “But perhaps when I was a child, I wasn’t thinking about lessons.”
Pouchu’s curiosity returned.
Pouchu: “Then what were you thinking about?”
Granny smiled.
Granny: “I was wondering what would happen next.”
Pouchu sat back.
A slow smile spread across his face.
Pouchu: “That is why stories are stories.”
Granny looked at him.
Granny: “Exactly.”
Pouchu immediately grabbed the book.
Pouchu: “Then which one shall we read first?”
Granny laughed.
Granny: “And there I was, thinking I had finished with Panchatantra for the day!”
Pouchu opened the book.
Pouchu: “Granny…”
Granny: “Yes?”
Pouchu looked up innocently.
Pouchu: “Turn the page.”
Granny shook her head, smiling, and turned the page.
And somewhere inside the Pouch, an old memory smiled.
Want to find the stories that made Granny remember?
Amar Chitra Katha — Jataka, Panchatantra & Hitopadesha Collection
