Growing up, the world of folklore was an integral part of my life, woven into the very fabric of my childhood. Every year, my grandparents would visit us during Diwali, and with them, they would bring stories as bright and enchanting as the festival lights themselves. After the excitement of bursting firecrackers and indulging in sweets, we would gather around them as they shared tales from the Ramayana. My dadi’s voice, filled with reverence and wisdom, would transport us to the mythical world of Rama, Sita, and Hanuman.

Each year, she would bring a new perspective to the stories. One year would be the tale of Hanuman’s undying devotion as he carried the mountain of herbs to save Lakshmana. Another time, she would tell us about Sita’s unwavering strength and resilience in adversity. I remember how she would pause and smile, her eyes twinkling as she recounted the naughty exploits of young Shri Krishna during Janmashtami. “You kids are no less, always up to something!” she’d say, and we would giggle, imagining Krishna stealing butter, much like how we sneaked sweets when no one was looking.

These stories were more than bedtime tales; they were lessons in righteousness, virtue, and staying true to one’s beliefs. They connected us to a distant yet familiar past, teaching us about courage, faith, and resilience—lessons that have stayed with me long after the stories faded into memory.

As I grew older, these narratives took on new forms. In school, we were introduced to the poem “Maharana Pratap ka Ghoda,” a tribute to Chetak, the loyal steed of the great Rajput king. I still remember the vivid descriptions of Chetak galloping on, even with a fatal wound, carrying his master to safety. It wasn’t just a poem; it was a story of unparalleled bravery and loyalty, values that were ingrained in us through these verses. Those lines painted vivid pictures of legendary battles fought on the rugged terrain of Rajasthan, of kings and their loyal companions who became immortal through such stories. It was my first taste of how folklore can shape our understanding of valor and sacrifice.

Festivals like Holi brought yet another layer to this colorful tapestry of stories. Every year, as we prepared for the festival of colors, my dadu would sit us down and recount the story of Prahlad and Holika. He would describe the fierce devotion of young Prahlad, who refused to abandon his faith in Lord Vishnu, even when his father tried to kill him. “Faith and goodness will always triumph over evil,” he would say, as we listened, wide-eyed and mesmerized. Later, as we played with colors, I would think of Prahlad and feel a little braver, a little more assured that good would always prevail, no matter how dark things seemed.

One of the most memorable experiences from my childhood was when my nani took me to see the Ram Leela. I must have been around ten or twelve years old. It was an all-night affair, and we were buzzing with excitement. We spent the day resting, our anticipation building as the sunset. By 9 PM, we were dressed in full-sleeved clothes to ward off the mosquitoes, Odomos smeared on our arms, and floor mats rolled up under our arms. That night, I was captivated as I sat under the starry sky, watching the actors perform on a makeshift stage.

It was the first time I saw a live performance of the Ramayana, and I was enthralled. I still recall the scene where Ravana was abducting Sita. But instead of the Pushpak Viman, the actor playing Ravana rode a bicycle. The audience erupted in laughter, and I remember giggling uncontrollably, even as I felt the moment’s tension. Then came the dramatic entrance of Jatayu, the vulture, who tried to stop Ravana. The actor playing Jatayu flapped his makeshift wings and stumbled, and the audience was in splits. It was a mix of reverence and hilarity that only a small-town Ram Leela could achieve, and it left an indelible mark on my memory.

Years later in 2010, I experienced something similar but in a more rural setting during Navratri. We had gone to our village, and the streets were lined with Jhankis, depicting scenes from the epics. Young boys and girls, no older than fifteen, were dressed as deities, sitting on chariots adorned with flowers and lights. One of them, dressed as Krishna, was busy pretending to eat butter, his face smeared with a white paste. Another, dressed as Hanuman, was enacting the scene where he rips open his chest to reveal the image of Rama and Sita in his heart. It was surreal, watching these kids embodying the gods with such innocence and dedication, while the villagers looked on in awe, whispering prayers under their breath. It was a different kind of magic, a reminder that these stories lived on, not just in books or memories, but in the hearts and imaginations of the people.

Not all stories were about gods and heroes. Sometimes, they delved into the supernatural and the eerie. My grandmother often recounted tales of spirits and possessions, stories that sent shivers down my spine. It was one thing to hear them from the comfort of our home, but witnessing it firsthand at Mehandipur Balaji was a completely different experience. I saw people possessed by spirits, their bodies writhing, and their voices changing during the aarti. It was both terrifying and fascinating, providing a glimpse into a world beyond the tangible, where faith and fear intertwined.

In recent years, folklore has gained renewed popularity in popular culture. Movies like “Stree” and its sequel “Stree 2” have brought these narratives to the big screen. Inspired by the legend of Nale Ba from Karnataka, the films tell the story of a spirit who would knock on doors at night, abducting anyone who opened them. To ward her off, people wrote “O Stree, kal aana” on their doors, asking her to come back the next day. It’s a chilling tale, one that perfectly blends horror and humor, much like the stories we grew up hearing. Watching these movies brought back memories of those nights spent listening to my grandmother’s stories, the thrill of the unknown mixed with the comfort of the familiar.

Indian folklore reflects the country’s diverse cultural landscape, providing insights into the values, beliefs, and everyday life of its people over thousands of years. These stories, legends, myths, and traditions form a rich and varied tapestry, deeply intertwined with India’s religious, social, and cultural fabric. Passed down orally for centuries, they have endured the test of time, evolving with each retelling while preserving their fundamental essence. They are not merely tales, but a way of life, a means to connect with our history, and a way to uphold our customs.

I want to pass down these stories to my children and grandchildren one day. Stories teach moral lessons and values, bridging the past and present. I want my children to feel the same excitement and wonder I felt and understand that they are part of something much larger.

“It is through these stories that we remember who we are, where we come from, and what we stand for. They connect us to our roots, to our grandparents, and to the countless generations that came before us. They are a reminder that no matter how modern or disconnected we become, the magic of folklore will always be there, whispering to us through the voices of our elders, waiting to be rediscovered, retold, and relived.”

Author’s note:

Saumya Sachan

She is a budding writer. Homesickness fuels her creativity, and when she is not immersed in the tech world, she finds joy in dancing and devouring books. She considers writing as her sanctuary, a means of reconnecting with the warmth of home, offering escape and catharsis in a world of words.

India is home to myriads of castes and tribes, with their distinct religion, languages, customs, rituals, and traditions, making India a diverse treasure trove of different cultures. Each of these groups has its folklore and legends which add a unique tint to India’s rich cultural tapestry.

Folklore is a collective term that refers to the traditions and cultural expressions of a particular community or group of people, passed down over several generations. It can be categorized into three main aspects – verbal folklore (songs, ballads, proverbs, rhyme), customary folklore (rituals and customs practiced by a specific group), and material culture (folk art, architecture, traditional handicrafts, artifacts). Legends differ from folklore in the sense that the former are semi-historical. Legends are based on historical facts (with the addition of a few fictional details) and revolve around the narrative of a popular figure, event, or place. Both legends and folktales play a significant role in preserving the social and cultural values of a bygone era and often teach moral lessons to the present and future generations.

Folktales like the Panchatantra, Hitopadesha stories, or Jataka tales have been popular in the subcontinent since ancient times. Even before these stories were written down, they were transmitted orally, mostly by bards, who traveled from one village to another, narrating these tales. Apart from national folk heroes, such as Lord Krishna, local folklores often revolve around the cult of a local or folk (or tribal) deity. In Bengal, one of how much folklore and local legends manifested themselves was in the form of Mangalkavyas (“poems of benediction”). The Manasamangal and Sitalamangal are two examples of Mangalkavyas dedicated to the folk goddesses – Manasa devi and Sitala devi respectively.

The Story of Manasa Devi

Among the non-Aryan female deities who found acceptance in the Brahmanical Hindu pantheon, the Goddess of Snakes – Manasa Devi is arguably the most powerful and revered. Despite being the daughter of Lord Shiva, she was not readily accepted as a goddess since her birth was unintentional. She also did not share a cordial relationship with her stepmother Goddess Bhagavati or Parvati, and therefore, decided to reside on earth. Her legend begins with the narrative of an affluent merchant named Chand Sadagar. She tried to influence him to worship her but being an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva, he refused to accept the goddess’s authority.

In a fit of rage, the goddess sunk his merchant ships at sea. His seven sons also died of snake bite, however, he remained firm in his decision to not accept her suzerainty. Behula, the wife of Lakshindar, Chand’s youngest son, was adamant about bringing her husband back to life. She set out on a tumultuous journey with her husband’s dead body and underwent severe hardships. Behula’s sincere devotion succeeded in pleasing the goddess, who also agreed to bring Lakhindar back to life on the condition that Chand Sadagar would worship her. Eventually, he had to give in but turned his face away from the goddess’s image and offered her a flower with his left hand. The goddess restored Chand’s fortunes and thereafter, the cult of Goddess Manasa came to be established in the society.

This legend is more than a tale of Chand Sadagar’s pride and the vengeance of the fierce goddess – it can be termed as a sociological drama that effectively depicts the clash for supremacy between Brahmanical Hinduism and the local, non-Aryan cults that were going on in the contemporary era. Chand Sadagar represents the upper-class Hindu patriarch who worshipped Lord Shiva, a Vedic god, and his patriarchal arrogance is reflected in his rejection of the admittance of a tribal deity in mainstream Hinduism dominated by the Brahmans (priests). However, the goddess’s ultimate acceptance in Sanskritised Hinduism portrays the popularity of her cult. The goddess’s selection of Chand Sadagar as her first worshipper is also symbolic of the growing power and prosperity of the merchant class; if an influential and opulent merchant worshipped a folk deity it would be easier for her to be accepted by the common masses who would emulate the upper-class figure (perhaps to gain social mobility). The tension in the relationship between Goddess Bhagavati and Goddess Manasa also portrays the societal conditions of that age and the bitterness in the relationship between a stepmother and her step-children.

The Legend of Sitala Devi

Another popular (but minor) Mangalkavya is the Sitalamangal which revolves around the legend of the folk deity Sitala – the goddess of smallpox, who also bestows fortune and looks after the welfare of children. Her origin traces its roots back to Vajrayana Buddhism but she later became a deity of Hinduism. The Savara caste of South Bengal initially worshiped Goddess Sitala but her cult gradually expanded and came to be popularised in both villages and cities.

As the goddess was born from cooled ashes, she is cool by nature and constantly seeks coolness. If she gets heated she also heats others and destroys their children or attacks them with the dreaded pox. One of the legends of the goddess narrates a story of how a farmer’s son and a king’s son were suffering from pox but the farmer being a devotee of Goddess Sitala, maintained cleanliness in his house and served cold food to his son, who was cured quickly. Meanwhile, the king’s son was served hot and spicy food every day and as a result, his condition got worse. On hearing of the recovery of the farmer’s son, the king wondered why the goddess had been so unfair to his family. One night the goddess appeared in his dream and advised him not to eat any cooked and spicy food and offer cold food to her and his son. He had this dream on the seventh of Chaitra’s Krishna paksha (dark half) and ordered everyone to worship Goddess Sitala on the eighth day with cold food offerings. The prince’s condition also improved and he was completely cured after a while.

This story highlights the cultural practices and religious beliefs of the society at the time of its composition. Goddess Sitala has been portrayed as both a protector and punisher, which again is symbolic of the ambivalence of nature which can either create or destroy. Through this legend, the practice of eating cold food during the hot season has been taught among the common people to prevent the chances of getting attacked by pox. This narrative also reflects how the worship of local deities was a deeply intertwined practice in the daily lives of the community, and that the spread of epidemic diseases was associated with divine will. However, the people not only sought blessings from deities for health, prosperity, and protection from diseases but also followed a scientific method of taking care of the patients, which would allow them to heal faster.

Therefore, it is evident that Mangalkavyas not only narrates the stories of the process of integration of tribal or folk deities into Sankritised Brahmanical Hinduism but also mirrors the social conditions of the age they were composed in.

Reference

https://www.momentslog.com/culture/indian-folklore-myths-tales-and-regional-legends#the-orighttps://people.howstuffworks.com/what-is-folklore.htm.

https://rupkatha.com/the-sitala-saga/.

https://www.indianetzone.com/manasa_hindu_goddess_snakes.

https://storyarcadia.com/the-significance-of-legends-preserving-cultural-heritage-and-moral-lessons/.

Author’s note:

Deepasree Dey

She is a dedicated postgraduate student specializing in History (Hons.) at Presidency University, Kolkata. From a young age, she has been captivated by the fascinating narratives of India’s history. She is particularly interested in exploring the diverse cultural traditions of India, including the rich tapestry of folklore and legends found in various communities. Through her role at India Lost and Found (ILF), Deepasree aspires to contribute to the preservation of India’s cultural heritage while uncovering and sharing the many untold stories that enrich the nation’s identity.