The family as a social unit is considered one of the strengths of Indian life. This cautionary folk tale from western Uttar Pradesh, the land of Hastinapur, highlights how life can go terribly wrong if jealousy and mistrust take over. It tells of a young headman of a village somewhere by the river Yamuna who was very pleased with the world because he had a good-natured wife whom he loved very much and a healthy one-year-old son. But one day his wife died of a fever and night after night the young father walked up and down the courtyard with his weeping son on his shoulder. Until the evening he thought of a ruse to calm him. He took out one of his wife’s saris and wrapped it around the child, who was soothed by the remembered scent of his mother on her clothes and went to sleep at last with the sari bunched against his tear-stained face.
The villagers persuaded the headman that he should marry again, as much for his son’s sake as his own. Luckily for all concerned, the second wife proved to be tremendously kindhearted. She disdained being small-minded and took the motherless boy to be her own son from the day she first laid eyes on him. She presented her husband with two proofs of her affection, both sons. But so deep and absolute was her love for her eldest and so perfectly equal their treatment that the two younger sons never knew that he was their step-brother and the villagers forgot all about it as the years went by.
When the father died, the mother made the eldest son the head of the household. The eldest son, though deeply sensitive by nature, also had a strong sense of duty. “A farm is a universe in itself and a mixed farm is the best thing to have,” he explained to his brothers. “We grow staple crops and spice crops. We have a market garden for vegetables, and mango orchards. We have buffaloes, cows and goats and a large chicken run. We even have a herb garden in mother’s charge, where we grow medicinal plants. When we take our products to the market, people must ask for the things from our village. We must get a name for quality, for that is the path to success.”
The eldest son’s efforts bore fruit and the family became the most prosperous in the district. The mother began to think of weddings. But the evil eye of the villagers fell on the family. The less enterprising among them could not bear to see the family’s success. They looked for a way to spoil their happiness and the second-most prosperous villager, their neighbour, remembered that the mother was really a step-mother. A group of villagers got hold of the two younger brothers and told them the facts. “He is your step-brother after all and will certainly cheat you of your share,” they warned maliciously.
The two younger brothers were too shocked to think straight. They found their mother alone and told her all about the villagers’ warning. “How do we stop him from dispossessing us? We’ll have to kill him,” they said in hard, angry voices. They seemed to have lost their love of years for their elder brother within minutes, as a result of one conversation. The mother knew her eldest son well and looked inscrutably at them. “No need to have his blood on your hands. Leave it to me,” she said quietly.
That night she called out wildly, “A snake, a snake!” The eldest brother came pounding into her room. “Where, mother, where?” he cried. “It went into your stomach. Oh, my son, my son!” cried the mother despairingly.
The eldest son caught his breath. “My mother doesn’t trust me,” he thought in grief and went back to his room.
He lost his appetite overnight and grew weaker by the day. Soon, he took to his bed and could tolerate only a bowl of thin gruel. His eyes grew dim with weeping and he turned wearily to the wall, murmuring, “Mother, where are you?”
The villagers, particularly the neighbours, were delighted. They boldly encroached on the brothers’ courtyard and made a wall across the portion they had forcibly taken away. They intruded everywhere else as well and began to encroach on the widow’s fields. The two younger brothers had neither the personality nor the courage to deal with their enemies. One day they saw their neighbours taking a cartload of presents to the patwari, the keeper of the land records, and knew they had gone to bribe him to legalise the encroachment.
“Mother, we made a big mistake,” they said sadly. “If our elder brother were up and about, nobody would have dared lift a finger at us.” The mother said nothing, though it was hard not to look at them scornfully. That night she roused the house again, screaming, “Snake!”
The eldest brother came limping in with great effort. “Where, Mother?” he said haltingly. “I saw it come out of your stomach, son,” said the mother, looking him steadily in the eye.
The eldest brother began to get better the very next day. Soon, he was well enough to leave his room. Seeing the wall in the courtyard, he shouted, “Who built this?” The neighbours came running with spades and apologised as they took it down.
After a few days, the eldest brother was well enough to inspect the fields. Seeing the encroachments, he roared, “Who’s trying to steal our land?”
The guilty parties came up cravenly, begged his pardon and moved back to their boundaries. A messenger was sent galloping to the patwari to stop him from tinkering with the land records.
The younger brothers fell repentantly at the eldest brother’s feet but all he did was pat them absently on their heads in forgiveness while it was their mother who shed tears looking at the two snakes born of her body.