Week Eleven: Storytelling: The Great Escape

“Alright dear, it’s time for bed now.”

“Ah, but mom, I don’t want to go to sleep yet!”

“I’ll make you a deal. You go to bed without arguing and I’ll tell you a bedtime story, okay?”

“Oh, yay! Will you tell the one about the Great Escape?

“Sure, honey. Let’s get you tucked in first.”

“Alright, mama.”

“Now then, this story began a long, long time ago. Once upon a time, in our beautiful Indian homeland, two brothers began to build their families. One brother had one hundred sons, while the other had just five. However, these five sons went on to be exceptionally well trained in various battle techniques, while the one hundred brothers remained average in every way. The five brothers, who came to be known as the Pandavas, were staying in a guest house of their cousins when they discovered an evil plot being hatched against them! The Pandavas’s cousins, Duryodhana and Dushasana, had hired a treacherous man to build a fire trap underneath their guesthouse! The Pandavas were horrified at their cousins’ trickery and jealousy! Their cousins had always been envious of the Pandavas battle skills, but it wasn’t the Pandavas fault! Their father had hired a teacher for them and he had spent many months training them. The Pandavas didn’t feel it was fair to compete among family, either. After all, this can only lead to harsh feelings and one should always value love above pride—especially concerning your family!”

“Mama, what happened next? Did they get away from the fire?”

“Oh, sorry sweetheart. Yes, they did not get caught in the fire. They made a secret tunnel underneath the house so that they could escape when the time was right, with some help of course. Then, Bhima set fire to the house himself, while the man responsible for building the original fire trap was still inside. However, they had to find a way to ensure that their wretched cousins believed the Pandavas to have died in the house fire. In order to achieve this, the Pandavas placed six dead bodies—“

“Eww! That’s gross, mama!”

“Haha, I agree, honey. But it had to be done. There were six—one for each of the Pandavas and one for their wife, Draupadi, who had been staying with them in the guesthouse. The six of them escaped using the tunnel they had planned previously and went into hiding, each of them wishing they knew how to repair the hole is their hearts, left by their cousins’ lack of love. What did we learn from this story?”

“That jealousy is bad and I should be nice to my cousins.”

“Right, that’s a very important lesson, you know. Get some sleep, dear. Good night.”
“Good night, mama. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”

Author's Note: I chose to write this story because I thought it would be interesting to make the life lesson I found in it more clear, which you often see in bedtime stories. I liked the idea of a nurturing mother putting her child to bed with this story. I included the remark about their "Indian homeland" because I think it is important to continue honoring and practicing your culture, even if you move elsewhere, so the idea of the mother being from India and telling traditional Indian Hindu stories to her son was perfect for me. I did not change anything in the story. But I did leave out some unnecessary details, such as names of less important characters, why the Pandavas were staying in the guesthouse, and where they went after escaping. I felt taking out these details made the story more kid-friendly. My main goal was simply to try out the bedtime storytelling style and see if I could make this story a good children's story.

Image Information: DailyMail

Bibliography:Buck, William (1973). Mahabharata

Week Ten: Storytelling Post: Draupadi's Dilemma

     That is it. I am done. I should NOT have to put up with this! I am Draupadi, the queen and wife of all five of the Pandavas. It is enough that I am forced to go by a fake name, serving a queen rather than being one myself. I will not accept this mistreatment any longer. Kichaka, the queen’s brother, has been harassing ever since my arrival here. What’s worse, the queen has done nothing to stop her brother’s advances! I do not know how she holds her head up high; I would feel such shame were my own family to act in such a disgraceful manner. Recently, Kichaka’s advances have increased in frequency and forcefulness. I worry what it will come to, if I don’t do something to scare him off soon. That is why I decided to discuss the matter with one of my husbands, Arjuna. I would have liked to seek out the protection of Bhima, but seeing as I would not have any husbands at all for protection if it were not for Arjuna, I felt it was only polite to ask for his assistance first.

     “Draupadi, my wife, what is it? You know we are not supposed to see one another.”

     “Yes, yes, I know. But, this is important. I need your help.”

     “What is the matter?”

     “Kichaka has been harassing me; I fear what will happen if his advances continue to progress sin         the manner which they have so far. He recently tried to remove my sari as I walked down the               hallway to my room! I don’t know what to do, Arjuna…”

      “Did you discuss this matter with the queen, Kichaka is her brother, after all.”

     “Yes, I tried to anyways. The queen would not even listen to me. She is always so jealous of me,          this seemed to just add to her list of reasons for disliking me.”

     “Well, what will you do?”

     “Ugh! Well I had hoped my loving husband would find a way to protect me!”

     “Oh, well… Uh… You know I do not like to cause unnecessary harm to anyone…”

     “’Unnecessary?’ This is your wife’s honor we are talking about! What will people say if it gets out      that I was exposed to another man?”

     “You are married to five men, already, Draupadi… What difference does it make?”

     “How could you!? Have you no sense of pride in your wife?”



     And with that, the conversation between Arjuna and Draupadi was effectively ended. Having tried to go about things in the more polite manner, Draupadi now felt it was acceptable for her to request the help of Bhima. She would discuss matters with him tonight…

Author’s Note: I wrote this story because I wondered how the story would have been different had it been a different one of the Pandava’s helping Draupadi. However, I had a hard time imagining Arjuna actually handling things effectively, considering his commitment to avoiding cruelty. I knew that Arjuna was the one who won Draupadi’s hand in marriage in the first place, so it was logical from my point of view for her to feel an obligation to ask for his help first, despite her reluctance to do so. I like this story because it could easily be a small detail of the original, without actually changing how everything began or ended. I chose the



Bibliography:

Narayan, R. K. (1978). The Mahabharata.





(Image from Wikimedia)

Week Nine: Storytelling: A Widow, to Be or Not to Be?

My husband has died. Died. He is actually dead... I cannot wrap my mind around this. I cannot accept this. I do not know how to go on. My entire identity is intrinsically tied to his. I am a wife before I am anything else. My life was completely centered around him. He was my rock, my anchor. Now I feel lost. I am drifting aimlessly. What am I, if not the wife of Pandu?

Oh, no. It cannot be. I cannot even bring myself to think the wretched word, let alone say it aloud. Let alone identify with it. I refuse. I will not be pitied in such a way. I will not be that lonely woman. I will not be that sad woman. I will not be the woman without any purpose in life. I cannot stand the thought of it. I must do something about this.

Pandu is dead? I still cannot believe it. I was sure he would live forever, or close to it. I never thought much about what I would do were I to be relieved of my duties as a wife. Now that the opportunities presented itself, I cannot suppress the giddy excitement building up inside me. 

Oh, but this will not do. The poor man had not even went through his funeral rights yet. I shall have to maintain a respectful disposition until it is all over and done with. He was a fair husband, after all. 

At the funeral, I make my decision. My life has been dedicated to Pandu. What worth is there in a life that has lost all meaning? There is none. That is why I have decided to ascend the funeral pyre. I shall die with dignity. I will not be remembered as the pathetic widow.

I am standing in the crowd trying not to fidget. I am anxious to start my new life, even as I watch my old one literally go up in flames before me. What is that? I see someone going up the funeral pyre. They must be mad! It is Madri? Oh, my. I suppose I should have expected this. She always was such a loyal wife to Pandu and a very considerate co-wife, as well. I will miss her.

After the ceremony ended, I began to travel. I went wherever I pleased. I discovered new lands. I swam in the sea. I knew men other than Pandu. I experienced joy and freedom at such levels which I thought only existed in dreams. I hope to remain forevermore a widow.

Author's Note: I choose to do this sorry because I am both fascinated and horrified by the tradition of killing oneself over a significant other. In Indian culture it was sometimes not only accepted but even expected today a wife ascend the funeral pyre of her husband! And in western society, we idolize stories like Romeo and Juliet, a case of a double suicide over "love at first sight." I wanted to do this story because I wanted to try to make both characters more relatable. I wanted rafts to understand that Madri truly couldn't imagine life without her husband, while Kunti felt she had a whole new lease on life. I choose the image below because it is how I pictured Kunti on the beach, after the funeral had passed. It is not actually am image of Kunti, but it is how I pictured her.

Bibliography: Narayan, R.K. (1978). The Mahabharata.

(Image Information)

Queen Sita

“Come away with me; be my queen over all of my wives.”

“Queen?” Sita could not help but show at least a fraction of her interest seeping into her voice.

Ravana heard that little fraction. “Yes, my love. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. You deserve nothing less than to be the queen over all my queens, wife to the Great Lord Ravana. Come away with me.”

“But I cannot leave Rama; what would he do without me?”

“Did Rama consider you when he chose to go away to the forest, even after his brother begged him to return? Did he consider taking his brother’s offer for the sake of his beautiful wife?”

And with these words, Sita was convinced. Flying on a chariot, Sita and Ravana rushed off to Lanka, Ravana’s island. Rama and Lakshmana soon returned to their home, having realized the golden deer was a trap. When they found Sita gone, Rama promptly killed his brother, whom Rama believed had failed to protect his wife. Rama remained secluded in the forest, continuing his exile while mourning Sita—whom he presumed to be dead. However, months passed and eventually word got round that Sita was residing happily in Ravana’s palace, presiding over all the other fair queens. At this news, Rama decided his life was no longer worth living. He could not imagine living the remainder of his life in shame, unfit to be king due to his own wife leaving him so cruelly. Rama performed his funeral rights and killed himself, leaving a note of his wish for his brother, Bharata, to continue to rule in his place.

Sita, who had been at Ravana’s palace for nearly a year now, was lounging among the many wives and concubines of Ravana one day. The sun was shining beautifully, the servants brought her fresh fruit, wine, and any luxury she could possibly desire. She wore only the finest silks, or nothing at all—that silly Rama had always forced her to cover herself and “look decent.” Ravana appreciated Sita’s beauty and did not mind her sharing it with the world. Sita could wear anything she liked. On this day, however, Sita caught wind of some discomforting news. Apparently her previous husband, Rama, had eventually realized he had been abandoned, not widowed, and committed suicide. Though dismayed to hear such news, she was also a bit relieved. She had always worried Rama’s silly pride would one day lead to him storming the palace and forcefully taking back his former wife. He could be such a stubborn man. Now it seemed, Sita could truly live in peace, no more forest-dwelling for her…

Author’s Note: Obviously I changed this story quite a bit. I completely altered the portrayal of Sita’s character and chose to let her go with Ravana willingly. In the original, Sita went along with Ravana forcibly. That was an important point in the story, because the audience only viewed Sita as innocent and loyal due to her unwillingness. It also provides the unbreakable motivation of Rama, who feels obligated to protect his wife, in the original. In my version, Sita is very different. Her perspective on the events and other characters is very harsh and cold. She resents Rama for putting her in the position to either live away from her husband or be confined to the forest—neither of which is an ideal position. She blamed Rama for that and because she held on to that resentment, she felt no remorse when her ex-husband killed himself due to her actions. I wanted to do this in order to illustrate how different the story would have been had Sita changed. Her change in character managed to make Rama look weak—clingy even—because such a high level of love and affection is no longer being returned, changing the perception of his love for Sita from endearing to desperate. I chose the image below because it is a picture of a harem, and one woman in particular happens to be partially nude. This is similar to the end of my story, when Sita is with the other wives and Sita is more exposed than the others. Although it depicts a harem in Arab lands, it still fit my topic quite well. I also really liked the attitude and mood conveyed in this image. It feels relaxed and slightly sensual, which is how I imagined Sita’s final scene to be as well.

(Image from Wikimedia)




Bibliography:




Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way.

My Maria

                “Kumbhakarna!”

                “Yes, dear?”

                “Dinner is ready!”

Wonderful! My beautiful wife, Maria, is always cooking up delicious mountains of food for me, which is good because I am a very large fellow. It takes a lot of food to keep this belly from rumbling! I hope she made dessert, too. Last week, she made a rich gulab jamun and I ate myself sick, but it was well worth it. I just cannot control myself around desserts.

"Maria, what have you prepared for me today?"

"Oh my single-minded man, can I at least receive a kiss before you assault the food I've worked so hard on all day?"

"Sorry, honey. My stomach made me forget myself."

I wrapped my arms around Maria, kissing her softly. I pulled back gently and caught sight of the table. Oh my. Maria outdid herself. The table was piled high with scrumptious-looking delicacies. She caught me staring past her at the food and began lightly scolding me. Luckily, she is used to my love of food and knows I love her just as much—maybe even more!

“Alright, dear, you can eat now. I’ve prepared a whole butter chicken, lamb vindaloo, naan paranthas stuffed with vegetables, samosas, a big pot of rasam—“

“Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom, nom, nom”

“Ugh, that man! He isn’t even listening… I guess I won’t tell him about the ladoos.”

My ears perked up, even in my food-induced craze I could listen for the sound of desserts! I’ll just have to sweet talk her into giving the precious ladoos to me, as soon as I finish off this dish…

“Dear, can’t I please have some of the ladoos? I know how hard you worked on it; I want to show my appreciation! By eating and enjoying it, of course!” I said while rubbing my belly happily.

“I’m afraid not, Kumbi. I’ve already thrown it all out.”

“What!? How could you?”

I dropped to the floor in despair and—strangely enough—opened my eyes in my family’s house, back on the island.

                Oh my. That was some dream. I really must get off this island and find me a wife, one who can cook as well as the wives of my dreams. I must’ve dozed off again… What year is it? I suppose I’ll have to venture outside and check. Ugh. I HATE waking up… Sometimes I wish I could sleep forever, but then I’d miss out on all the food! I could try ringing the servants’ bell. *RING, RING, RING*… Hmm, that is strange. The servants know better than to ignore me when I first wake up. I am always rather grumpy, but who could blame me following a dream like that, only to wake up wifeless and hungry? No matter, I will punish the servants later. Right now, I need to track down some food. Hey, what’s that noise? I hear a faint rumbling outside. Was that a battle cry? Oh, goodness. Did I miss something important? I do believe there is a battle going on outside; I hope Ravana hasn’t started trouble again…

 

(Image from Pixabay) 

Author’s Note: I chose to tell this story because I was interested in Kumbhakarna’s character, but he was not elaborated on very much at all in the original version. I completely made up his dream world and I changed the scene in which he initially wakes up during the battle between Rama and Ravana. I liked telling the story using a lot of dialogue as well as inner thoughts of Kumbhakarna because I felt it showed the relationship between him and Maria very well. I was hoping to convey that they cared for each other, in spite of Kumbhakarna’s obsession with food. I think my version of Kumbhakarna is much more relatable and lovable than the original, which was an important goal of my story. I used the Ramayana for my inspiration and VahRehVah.com for the names of the traditional Indian food mentioned in the story. I have personally tried samosas—the Indian food, not the drink!—and they were pretty good, though I hear they are much more impressive when they are homemade, as Kumbhakarna’s were in the dream. The image is something I found by simply searching “traditional Indian food”, so I am unsure what exactly is in the picture. I love the song "My Maria," so I chose to use that inspiration for the name of the wife, which is why she does not have a traditional Indian name.

Bibliography:

Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way

 VahRehVah.com

Sita Self-Immolates

Introduction: This story will be a new, very different version of the end of the Ramayana. It will begin from the moment Rama left the battle with Ravana. It will feature a much stronger female heroine and it will have a very different ending. An important note to keep in mind in my version is that Ravana did not suffer from any curse restricting his ability to touch unwilling women, including Sita.

     “He did what!?” I practically shouted at the poor attendant sent to inform me of Rama’s immediate return to his kingdom upon vanquishing Ravana. 

     “I’m s-sorry, ma’am,” stuttered the little man, “he was most anxious to reclaim his throne, seeing how the fourteen-year exile is ending soon.” 

     

     "Very well, I’ll make my way there myself," I muttered. “Bring me a chariot then. I’ll depart as soon as you can prepare me this.”

     As I traveled toward Ayodhya, I was a mixture of fury and gratitude. I couldn't believe my dear husband had worked so hard to find and free me, only to leave without so much as glimpsing at me. Luckily, the charioteer explained during the trip that my sweet Rama had been inclined to return to his kingdom due to his brother’s desperate state of mind—Rama worried he might end his own life! Of course, I immediately forgave my husband and spent the remainder of the trip in anxious excitement at the prospect of being reunited with my love. I felt very sure Rama would succeed in calming his brother as well.

     After a time I realized I was not in just any chariot, but rather the vimana of Indra himself! Suffice to say, the trip back was a very quick one indeed. We arrived at the city gates and I proudly exited the chariot. As I strode through the city streets toward the palace, I began to notice an uncomfortable air about the citizens. Darting glances, hushed whispers behind my back: all this greeted the return of the rightful king’s wife? I could not believe their disrespect, but it was of no import to me. "I’ll be with my Rama again soon, and none of these things shall matter any longer," I thought to myself.

     I entered the palace courtyard and nearly fainted with joy at the sight of my beloved husband!Finally, I would be able to move on and forget the wretched feel of the evil Ravana. I rushed toward his glorious embrace, filled to the brim with happiness at being reunited with him. Much to my surprise, however, Rama stepped back at my approach. I was shocked. His face was cold, shut off. I stood stock still, more confused than I had ever been in my life. "How can this be?" I wondered aloud.

     “It is improper for a woman who has been alone with another man to remain in the household of her husband. You may do as you wish, but you cannot stay here.” Rama’s words crushed me. I tried to offer a rebuttal, but only a faint whimper came out. My knees gave out and I sank to the ground. A cry of anguish escaped my lips. A rush of memories assailed me: the first time Ravana approached me, the last time--just before the battle began, and all the many times between. Every single time Ravana raped me  was burned into my memory. I shook my head, trying to clear my haunted thoughts.

     “You think I have forsaken you, my dear husband? Have you no faith in our love, the love that is known through all the heavens and the Earth?”

     “It would be impossible to believe such a beautiful woman had remained pure through such a long tribulation, I’m afraid.”

     “Not only have you held me to such an impossible standard—to avoid rape, being unwillingly touched by a man unwillingly, without an ounce of pleasure or love—but now you refuse to accept your loving, devoted wife even though you worked so hard to free her? I had no say in what was done with my body, husband of mine.”

Rama’s stoic expression made it clear to me that he would not reconsider. I immediately left the palace court. I would not be a victim—not again.

     It took many hours, days, weeks, and months of meditation, counsel, and self-reflection, but eventually I was able to live a happy life. I lived through the trials of Ravana imprisoning me, Rama’s judgment and ultimate rejection of me, and now it was time I live through something new, something good. It was at this point I met Ardhanaranari, who turned out to be the love of my life. Yes, yes, I know. I had said this once before. But Ardhanaranari taught me that love is not about being in eternal servitude; it is about equal love and respect. We take care of one another, and I have continued to enjoy my newly found hobbies. I enjoy reading stories of old, belly dancing, and I even continued my meditation—it’s great for dealing with the inevitable annoyances of living with a lover! Sometimes, I feel as if my new personality has lit my very soul on fire, almost as an offering to the gods...

Author’s Note: I had a lot of fun writing this story. If you can’t tell, I’m a feminist and this story for me represents the Sita I had been wishing for throughout the reading of the Ramayana. I still appreciate the epic as it is; it is a wonderful glimpse into the cultural and religious traditions of India. However, my feminist mind couldn't help recreating Sita as a stronger version of herself. I did try to convey her extreme devotion and original personality as much as possible in the recreated version. I also felt obligated to address the issue of rape in the story, as the manner in which this was handled in the original version really bothered me. I strongly believe it is important to address these issues in our media, and not continue to sugarcoat the issues as our society often does. I guess this is my little contribution to that movement. I only used one source other than the Ramayana; that was Wikipedia. I was initially searching for an androgynous traditional Indian name. I ended up finding this name because it is the name of a particular incarnation of Shiva—one which was half male and half female. I chose this particular name—among several choices—because it was the most neutral in meaning, in my opinion. I liked the idea of Sita’s new partner’s sex and gender remaining unknown. I prefer to let my readers make their own choice, if they wish. I pinned a couple things to my Pinterest board, which is here, in regards to androgyny in case anyone is interested! I chose the image below because it makes me think of Sita with a great sage, who I imagine could have been helpful to her after her trials with Ravana and Rama. In reality, the image actually shows Menaka and Visvamitra, but I chose to interpret the picture differently to fit my story. I chose this title because of Sita's final thought in my version, which is also a throwback to the original.

(Image from Wikimedia)

Bibliography:

Narayan, R.K. (1972) The Ramayana

“Ardhanarishvara.” Website: Wikipedia 
"Vimana." Website: Wikipedia

The Descent of the Ganga

Once upon a time, there was a wild, massive river flowing freely throughout the heavens. This river was so massive, it stretched to every corner of the seven levels of the heavens; it was so wild that no one, not even Kali—the goddess of power—could tame it. However, one very lucky—or simply special, some might say—young man set out to bring this mighty river down from the heavens. For you see, the river had mystical powers, and could cleanse the soul of a human. But I’m getting ahead of myself I suppose…

Before all of that, this ‘lucky young man’ had been one of sixty-thousand sons! Amazing, huh? Tragically, he was the only remaining living son, as his brothers had all been killed. Oh, but that’s another story… This young man, by the name of Bhagiratha, wanted to bring down the Ganga in order to set free his brothers’ souls—which had been trapped, unable to ascend to the heavens in their afterlives. Unfortunately, the Ganga felt that she was entirely too valuable for such a menial task. She was irked at this request and felt she must have a proper revenge on the mortal who had such audacity to solicit her help. Therefore, the Ganga decided to destroy Mother Earth upon her descent!

During her long drop downward, the Ganga was so angry that huge, steaming fumes were coming out of her in all directions. In fact, she got so hot that the entirety of the Ganga began to boil and turned into a giant tunnel of steam! Thankfully, steam is not nearly as harmful as water can be. The Ganga continued rushing towards Earth, but the Earth was no longer in danger. The steam reached Earth and dissipated, so quietly that hardly even a mouse would have noticed. But Bhagiratha was watching, and was much dismayed. He thought his brothers would never be saved with the Ganga having completely disappeared. Little did he know, the droplets of steam did not actually disappear, as much as separate from one another. Many of the droplets fell right to the Earth, landing on the soil and in the great oceans. However, exactly 108 droplets were carried off by the strong winds. These droplets landed in various sacred places throughout Mother Earth, but one such droplet is of significance for this story. That was the droplet which landed on the souls of Bhagiratha’s brothers.

Bhagiratha’s brothers were saved! He was overjoyed! Now he knew with certainty that his wonderful brothers would be able to reach the heavens and live on in the afterlife in peace and happiness. No longer hindered by his burning guilt regarding his many fallen brothers, Bhagiratha went on to live a happy, wonderful life. He fell in love, traveled throughout the lands, and raised a beautiful family. Our sacred places of today come from the places on Earth where the Ganga landed. The number 108 is used for meditation training because this is how many droplets landed on the Earth. This number is sacred and represents a tie to our past, to the time of the Ganga’s descent. The end.



(Image from Wikimedia)


Author’s note: I chose this story because I was fascinated by the story of the Ganga and I also really enjoy personifying things/animals. It was especially challenging to personify the Ganga’s emotions; doing this with animals in the past was much easier for me! Working with only the inner thoughts of the Ganga and limited outward expression forced me to think outside the box, which is why I thought of the Ganga’s entire being reverberating with her rage—something I myself have felt, but never literally experienced in the way the Ganga of my version did. I chose the picture above because it shows a lot of steam blowing off, but it is actually from a volcano—not a giant mystical river! It looks similar to how I imagined the Ganga would have looked, though. The original story tells of another god coming down and literally holding up the Ganga to prevent her from smashing the Earth to pieces. In my version, the anger of the Ganga is what prevents the Ganga from destroying the Earth. I liked this twist because the story becomes more than just a story; it teaches a lesson: when you allow yourself to be angry, you often thwart your own plans. I think this is an important lesson for everyone to learn and one that I myself struggle with more than any other form of self-control and self-discipline.


Bibliography:

Narayan, R.K. (1972) The Ramayana, Naray.

Week 1 Storytelling: Mistress Mary

MISTRESS MARY, quite contrary,

Mistress Mary was an awful young woman—and I’m only calling her young for fear of repercussion. It’s no wonder she never married, she’s so very difficult to be around. What kind of man or woman would want her for a lover, let alone a spouse? Always aiming for queen, she never pushed past her dreadful role as mistress. No one quite knows how our beloved king tolerated her.  Even so, her position provided her with ample power and status, which explained her nasty habit of spending money on such silly, useless things.

How does your garden grow?

Take her garden for instance! At least a hundred feet long, and just as wide as the king’s castle—the size of it alone was enough to make your head spin. Careful now, the young Prince Henry got lost once and never did find his way out of the garden again. The beauty of the garden though, it truly is enough to dazzle. How does Mistress Mary do it?

With cockle-shells, and silver bells,

Well, surely the cockle-shells and silver bells, all lined up in a row, are not to blame. They seem quite useless, really, though a wonderful ringing can be heard throughout the garden.

And pretty maids all a row.

Maybe then, the pretty maids working up and down the rows, tending the garden are to blame for the beauty. That couldn’t be—it’s well known those so-called maids gossip more than anything else! Not a drop of fresh, fertile soil is brought into the garden in the spring; water too, is rare to find. Honestly, what do those wretched girls do all day in there? It cannot be denied that the rose bushes have the biggest blooms you’ll ever find. I guess we’ll never know then, how Mistress Mary’s garden grows…

(Picture of Mary's Garden)

Author's Note: This story is based on the nursery rhyme "Mistress Mary", which is quoted throughout the story in italics. You can find the original nursery rhyme in The Nursery Rhyme Book, edited by Andrew Lang (1897). I did technically follow the story of the original rhyme; however, I expanded upon it quite a bit and changed the tone of the story. I added a bit of sarcasm and overall negativity, as the story mentions a lost--presumably dead—prince inside the garden and Mary's personality is quite unfriendly. I chose to make Mary an unfriendly character mostly because it fit the first line of the version of the nursery rhyme that I used: "Mistress Mary, quite contrary." No one seems to think much about this line, but it seems very clear to me that Mary was a mistress and not a very happy, warm character. I did not actually change this, but rather expanded upon it to make Mary seem more like a real person. I chose the image above because it reflected what I pictured when writing this story very well. I imagine this being just one section of Mary's vast, beautiful garden. My overall purpose for this story was to make this rhyme more interesting and maybe even remind readers of someone they may have known over the years who had a personality similar to Mary—I think we have all known a perpetually cranky, middle-aged woman at some point!