Hiron Kanya

Original Story By Shri Jaladhar Sen

There was a little girl named Hiron. She was as beautiful as Lakshmi, and just as virtuous. But alas! The poor girl’s life was full of sorrow. When Hiron was two years old, her mother died. Her father remarried. After some time, Hiron had a younger sister, whom her father named Kiran.

But Kiran did not resemble Hiron in appearance. Her complexion was dark, her nose was broad, her forehead high, her eyes small like tiny beads, and she had very little hair on her head. Hiron, on the other hand, had a complexion like the champa flower, with a cascade of curly black hair flowing down her back like waves of water.

The two sisters would often play by the roadside. Passers-by would look at Hiron and say, “Ah! Whose daughter is she? She looks like a fairy descended from the heavens.” They would take Hiron in their arms, caress her, and give her toys and dolls. But no one so much as glanced at Kiran. Burning with jealousy, Kiran would stand aside, fuming like a snake. Seeing her sister’s scowling face, Hiron would run to her, sharing her toys and food. Kiran, in anger, would throw them all away onto the roadside. With tearful eyes, Hiron would silently watch her sister’s antics, too afraid to utter a word.

At home, Kiran would complain about everything to their mother. Their mother—being Hiron’s stepmother—would scold Hiron harshly. After all, her own daughter was plain-looking, and no one paid her any attention. All her pent-up resentment she took out on Hiron.

Hiron was a good girl. She would only cry silently, never daring to say even this much: “Oh dear, if people on the road shower affection on me, how is that my fault? I never told them not to show any love to my younger sister, nor to give her toys. Is it my doing that she happens to be plain-looking?”

Time passed in this way—until one day, Hiron’s father also died. Her father, at least, had shown her some affection behind her stepmother’s back. It was out of fear of her husband that the stepmother, though she scolded and nagged Hiron, had never dared to raise a hand against her. Now that her father was gone, her stepmother’s temper no longer stopped at words; it burst forth in slaps and blows. Hiron’s suffering knew no bounds.

She had to do all the household chores—cooking, washing dishes, sweeping the floors—everything fell upon her. She was just a little girl, but what of that! Her stepmother claimed she was unwell; the heat of the kitchen fire gave her headaches, she had rheumatism in her waist, and sweeping or washing dishes was beyond her strength. And as for Kiran—she was still “a child” and could only play, not work. So all the work had to be done by Hiron.

Yet she never once complained, doing everything with a smile. But her heart ached most in the evenings, when the other girls would walk down the road, chatting and laughing, with water pots on their hips, heading to the pond to fetch water. At those moments, she remembered the old days. When her father had been alive, she didn’t have to be buried under so much work; she too would go to the pond in the evening with her pot to fetch water.

She would join Usha, Nisha, Kamala, and Sarala from the other side of the village, floating earthen pots in the water and swimming alongside them. In the dark pond water, little ripples would bloom like laughter. Floating on the water, she would forget in an instant all the pain and suffering her stepmother caused her. From the thicket near the mango tree on the far bank, birds would start singing; flocks of bats would fly overhead; the breeze would carry the sweet scent of wildflowers—ah, it was like some golden dream from a golden land!

Now, where were those playmates? Where was the joy of those games? Where was the soft liquid melody of the little ripples? Now, it was as if the four walls of this house had locked her in like a prison. Her heart felt suffocated, her eyes filled with tears. There was nowhere she could run to find even a moment’s relief—she had no time to spare.

And so, three or four years passed like this. As she grew older, Hiron’s beauty blossomed even more. The months rolled by—monsoon went, autumn passed, late autumn turned into winter. A harsh winter! The fog covered everything day and night; the sun could not be seen. From time to time, fierce storms of the northern wind swept through. In that wind, who could walk outside? It felt as if countless arrows were being shot, piercing straight into one’s bones.

In the midst of such a cruel winter, one day Kiran made a demand: “I want champa flowers—I will worship Lord Shiva with champa flowers, and then I will get a prince as my husband.”

Their mother then called Hiron and said, “Come here, listen. The ascetic from the other side told Kiran that if she worshipped Shiva with champa flowers, she would get a prince as her groom! Now go—get champa flowers from wherever you can. Take that basket with you.”

In this biting cold, Hiron did not even have a single warm garment. Yet she had never once opened her mouth to complain. Hearing the talk about champa flowers, Hiron said, “Mother, where will I find champa flowers in this winter? Champa doesn’t bloom in winter.”

Her mother scowled and said, “I don’t know about that. Bring them from wherever you can, otherwise you won’t get any food. You eat and grow into a big, lazy girl, and when told to do some work, you start making excuses!”

Hiron smiled faintly at her stepmother’s words, but she hid her smile and said again, “Where will I get champa flowers in this cold?”

Her mother replied, “I don’t know where you’ll get them. But if you can bring champa flowers, only then will you be allowed to enter the house—otherwise, go wherever your eyes take you! Sitting around and playing all the time won’t do; a girl in a household must learn to work hard like a cow. I don’t want to hear another word—go, and look for the flowers now.”

Putting down the pot of rice from the stove, Hiron set out in search of the flowers. She thought to herself, Where shall I go? In this winter, how will I find flowers? And if I don’t, I won’t be allowed back into the house. Better to just walk straight ahead and see what fate has in store for me.

Hiron walked straight along the road. An endless path stretched before her. The short winter day was soon ending. There was no sign of people or life anywhere. Darkness spread all around. Yet Hiron kept walking.

After walking far, she saw in the distance, high in the sky, a single star. One star! It seemed to her as though the whole world and the whole sky were holding their breath in silence, watching only her—this lone girl—through that one bright star. Hiron kept walking towards it. The bitter north wind blew from time to time, making her shiver violently, her bones rattling from the cold, yet she did not stop. Fixing her gaze on that star, she walked on.

As she went, she saw the star growing larger—larger still—until finally she saw that it was not a star at all, but a great torch burning atop a mountain!

Hiron’s heart lifted a little. Surely, there must be people there. She kept walking until she reached the foot of the mountain. Hunger gnawed at her belly, thirst burned her chest despite the cold, and it felt as though even the blood in her body had frozen to ice. But she had to go on. She climbed the mountain.

At the top, she saw the whole mountain covered in snow. Yet it was not hard to walk upon it. In one spot on the snow, a great fire blazed in a huge pit, and around it sat six sages. One had a garland around his neck, a crown on his head, and a long white beard. The other five were somewhat younger.

The sages, seeing Hiron, asked, “Who are you, child?”

Panting from exhaustion, Hiron bowed to them and sat down. After catching her breath, she said, “You are holy men—you must know everything.”

The eldest sage rose, lifted Hiron onto his lap, and sat near the fire pit. Stroking her head, he said, “Tell me, my child, why have you come here?”

Hiron said, “My sister wants to worship Lord Shiva with champa flowers. So my stepmother told me to bring some champa flowers. I have come in search of them.”

The eldest sage said, “Where will you find champa flowers in this winter, my child? In winter, all the plants are frozen. Only after two months will the champa bloom.”

Hiron burst into tears. “Then what will happen? If I don’t take the flowers back, they won’t let me enter the house.”

The eldest sage said, “Don’t cry, my child—be still. I will give you the champa flowers. You are a very good girl; I understand everything. You will have the flowers right now.”

Saying this, the eldest sage blew on a conch shell, then moved aside from his seat. In an instant, everything around became bright; the fog disappeared somewhere. The storm stopped, and a southern breeze began to blow. The moon floated in the blue sky, smiling. On the snow-covered trees, tender green leaves sprouted all at once. Flowers of many colours bloomed. Cuckoos began calling from tree to tree, and the air was filled with the fragrance of blossoms.

The eldest sage said, “Look there, my child—before you stands a champa tree, full of blooms. Pick your flowers.”

Hiron gathered the flowers, filled her basket, and returned to bow before the sages. The eldest sage said, “Go now, my child, walk home in this moonlight. I will stand here watching, and only when you reach your home will I sit down. Do you know who I am? My name is Winter.”

Hiron bowed to the sages and went home. When she reached the house, it was dawn. As soon as she called out “Mother—” a cold wind began to blow again. The rising sun was suddenly hidden by fog. The tender green leaves on the trees disappeared once more, and the birdsong stopped. All around became silent again.

Kiran’s mother was astonished to see the champa flowers; but seeing Hiron return made her displeased again. “So, you’re back at night! This girl just sits around stuffing herself and when it’s time for work, she’s nowhere to be found! At mealtimes her arms stretch out ten hands long, but when there’s work, she’s all thumbs!”

Hiron said, “I haven’t sat idle at all. As soon as I finished washing the dishes, I started sweeping.”

The stepmother flared up again. “Answering back again! No limit to your insolence! Now, go—bring two mangoes for Kiran.”

Hiron said, “Where will I get mangoes in the month of Poush (midwinter), Mother?”

Her mother replied, “I don’t know about that. I’ve given the order—get them from wherever you can. And if you can’t bring mangoes, don’t bother coming back into the house. Eating alone won’t do—you have to show some work!”

It felt to Hiron as though the sky had collapsed upon her head. The poor girl had thought she would finish her chores early today and finally get some sleep. She had been walking without rest for a whole day and night and had not been able to sleep even a moment. Now she had to fetch mangoes again.

She had to obey. So, with a dry face, she set out along the road. As soon as she stepped out, she thought of that sage. Surely, he must be a divine being—let me go to him. He had once saved her with out-of-season flowers; if anyone could give out-of-season fruit, it would be him.

Hiron walked towards the mountain. On the way, the same cold and the same storm raged as before. But this time, the wind and cold did not trouble her in the least. Hiron thought, How strange!

This time, however, she did not have to go far. After walking a short while, her legs grew heavy, and she sat down by the edge of a field to rest. Sleep closed her eyes. She thought, Let me sleep a little now.

Hiron dreamt that she had climbed again to that snow-covered mountain of the previous night! And there, on the peak, sat the six sages. The eldest rose and came forward, took Hiron by the hand, and called her name—“Hiron—”

Her sleep broke. She opened her eyes to find—where was the mountain? Where was the snow? She was lying in the field.

When she opened her eyes, there stood the eldest sage at her bedside. She jumped up in surprise and bowed to him. The sage placed his hand on her head and said, “I know everything, my child—you are going in search of mangoes. Look there, before you—there is a mango tree, heavy with ripe fruit. Take them.”

Hiron looked and saw it was true—there was a mango tree! Where had it come from? Before she fell asleep, she had not seen this tree at all—in this field there had been no tree! She bowed to the sage again. He said, “Here, my child—I will hold down the branches, you pick the mangoes.”

The sage bent a branch for her, and Hiron plucked two mangoes. The sage said, “Take more.”

Hiron replied, “I don’t need any more.” But in her mind, she thought, They will surely ask me to bring another ten or so right now.

The sage said, “Keep one for yourself, my child. I insist—take at least one.”

Hiron plucked one mango for herself. As soon as she took it, she looked around—where was the sage? Where was the tree? There was no one! Cheerfully, she started for home.

Hiron said, “That field far away—there was just one tree there, and these mangoes came from it. Come, I’ll take you there.”

“No, you don’t need to go,” Kiran said, giving Hiron a sharp rebuke, and then told her mother, “You, Mother, pick out a big one for me.”

 Hiron said, “That field far away—there was only one tree there, and these mangoes came from it. Come, I’ll take you there.”

“No, you don’t have to go,” Kiran said, giving Hiron a sharp scolding, then turned to her mother and said, “You, Mother, get a big basket—we’ll fill it with mangoes.”

“You won’t know the way—”

Hiron said again, “I will come with you—.”

Kiran mocked her, “Where did you get the mangoes from? Tell me—I’ll go and cut down the tree and bring it back.”

Hiron said, “That field far away—there was only one tree there, and these mangoes came from it. Come, I’ll take you there.”

“No, you don’t have to go,” Kiran said, scolding her sharply, then told her mother, “You bring a big basket—we’ll fill it with mangoes.”

Hiron replied, “I will come with you—if I am to be queen. You might not know the way—”

Kiran snapped, “No, you’re not going—don’t you dare! Greedy wretch, you’ll cut down the tree, eat everything yourself, and bring me only three mangoes! If you try to come, I’ll smash your head.”

Hiron stayed silent out of fear. Mother and daughter took two baskets and set out along the road.

By then, it was evening. The storm’s fury had grown. The wind whistled like the breath of ghosts, and thunder cracked ominously. Hiron shut the doors and windows of the house and stayed quietly inside.

At some point, she fell asleep without realizing it.

When Hiron awoke, she saw thin threads of bright daylight streaming through cracks in the doors and windows. She got up quickly and went outside, calling, “Mother—” No answer. She called, “Kiran—” But there was no one, no reply.

Puzzled, Hiron wondered, Where could Kiran be? Where is Mother? So late in the day, and still no sign of them? She set out along the path.

A little distance away, she saw that a huge tree had been blown down in the storm—and what was that underneath it?

Hiron ran forward and saw—it was her stepmother and Kiran. They had been rendered senseless  under the fallen tree. Their baskets had been flung aside, their contents spilled. Her chest trembled with fear.

Just then, someone caught Hiron’s hand. She turned and saw it was the eldest sage. The sage said, “Why be afraid, my child! They were envious and wicked, and that’s why they have met this fate. Come with me—the prince of Golappur is seeking a bride and cannot find one. I will marry you to the prince. You are a very good girl—you are to become a queen”