Kotharian Lightning

From the folklore of the Slavs

An old man and woman once lived together. The old man was left a widower and married a second time. A little daughter by the first wife survived her. The wicked stepmother did not love her, but beat her, and reflected on what way she could get rid of her altogether. Once the father rode out somewhere, and the stepmother said to the little girl:

“Go to your aunt, my sister, and ask for a needle and thread to sew a shirt for you.”

Now this aunt was Baba Yaga, of the skeleton foot. But the little girl was no fool, so she went first to her own aunt.

“Good morrow, aunt,” said the little girl.

“Good morrow, niece,” replied her aunt. “What have you come about?”

“My stepmother has sent me to her sister to borrow needle and thread to sew a shirt for me.”

And the other instructed her as to how she should act. “There, my niece, a birch will point at your eyes – you must tie it with a ribbon; there the gate will creak and slam to – you must grease its hinges with oil; there the dogs will threaten to rend you – you must throw them bread; there the cat will try to scratch your eyes out – you must give her bacon.”

Away went the little girl, trudged on and on, and at last arrived at her destination. Before her stood a cottage, and in it sat Baba Yaga, of the skeleton foot, and wove.

“Good morrow, auntie,” the little girl said.

“Good morrow, niece,” Baba Yaga replied.

“My stepmother has sent me to ask for a needle and thread to sew a shirt for me.”

“Very well; sit down in the meantime and weave.”

So the little girl sat at the loom, and Baba Yaga went and said to her maid of all work:

“Go and heat up the bath, and give my niece a wash. Mind you wash her well, for I want to make my breakfast off her.”

The little girl sat, neither dead nor alive, all of a tremble with terror, and begged the maid of all work:

“Sister mine, do not light the fire until you have filled the bat, and bring the water in a sieve.”

And she gave her a kerchief.

Baba Yaga said, “Are you weaving, my little niece? Are you weaving, dearie?”

“I am, auntie dear,” the little girl replied.

Baba Yaga went away, and the little girl gave bacon to the cat and enquired:

“Couldn’t I get away from here, somehow or other?”

“Take a comb and towel,” said the cat, “and run away. Baba Yaga will give chase. Lay your ear to the ground, and when you perceive that she is close upon you, throw first the towel. It will transform itself into a broad river. If Baba Yaga succeeds in fording the river, and be about to catch you up, again lay your ear to the ground, and when she is close upon you throw the comb. It will transform itself into a dense, dense forest through which she will never be able to pass.”

The little girl took the towel and comb, and ran off. The dogs wish to rend her – she threw them the bread and they left her; the gate tried to slam to and imprison her – she greased its hinges for it and it let her pass; the birch tired to slash her in the eye – she bound it with the ribbon and it let her go past.

And the cast sat at the loom and wove. It did not weave so much as entangle everything. Baba Yaga came to the window and enquired:

“Are you weaving niece? Are you weaving, beloved?”

“I am weaving, auntie, dear; I am weaving,” replied the cat, gruffly.

Baba Yaga flung into the chamber, perceived that the little girl had escaped, and began to beat and belabour the cat for not having scratched the little girl’s eyes out.

“All these years have I served you,” said the cat, “and you have never given me as much as old bones to eat; and she gave me prime bacon.”

Baba Yaga now turned angrily on the dogs, the gate, the birch, and her maid of all work, and began to abuse and belabour them all in turn.

The dogs said, “All these years we served you, and you never flung us as much as burnt crusts; but she gave us real good bread.”

The door said, “All these years have I served you, and you never even moistened my hinges with a drop of water; and she greased them with excellent oil.”

The bird said, “All these years I have served you, and you never bound me with so much as a thread; and she has given me a beautiful ribbon.”

The servant said, “All the time I have served you, you never gave me so much as an old rag; and she has presented me with a fine towel.”

Baba Yaga, of the skeleton foot, hastily seated herself in her wooden mortar, pushed it along with the pestle, and swept her traces away with a mop, and so post haste in pursuit of the little girl. The little girl placed her ear to the ground and heard that Baba Yaga was in full pursuit and now close upon her. So she proceeded to throw the towel, and it transformed itself into a broad, such a broad river. Baba Yaga reached the river and ground her teeth with rage, turned home again, took her bulls, and hastened to the river. The bulls drank the whole river dry. Baba Yaga again set off in pursuit. The little girl put her ear to the ground, and again perceived that Baba Yaga was closed upon her, and flung the comb. It turned into a forest – such a dense and terrible one. Baba Yaga tried to gnaw through it, but soon gave up the attempt in despair. She could not gnaw it down, and so turned home again.

The old man had just come home again, and asked:

“Where is my little daughter?”

“She has gone to her auntie’s,” said the step-mother.

A minute or two later the little girl herself came running home.

“Where have you been?” enquired her father.

“Oh! Papa,” she said, “My stepmother sent my to auntie’s to beg a needle and thread to sew me a shirt, and auntie – Baba Yaga – wanted to eat me up.”

“How did you escape, daughter?” her father asked.

The little girl recounted her story.

The old man on learning all this was furious with his wife and shot her dead; and he and his daughter lived together, continued to live together, and lived right merrily.

I was once there myself and drank mead with them: it ran all over my beard, but none of it passed my lips.

Source:

Russian and Bulgarian Folk-Lore Stories, A.W. Strickland, 1907