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.

Between the years 1526 and 1857, the Mughals were the ones who defined the subcontinent, gave it shape, and instilled a character that at present still churns around us and is visible to our senses. You can still see the vestiges of the Empire through its monuments in all its once-glory (the Taj Mahal as one of them, of all the wonders), you can still hear their folklores and tales in history (their ways of administrating themselves and all the Namas the rulers had commissioned for themselves); you can still taste their rich flavors (from Niharis and Biryanis to using nuts and dried fruits), and you can also touch their walls, their artifacts, their scrolls and other remnants of their past that still levy itself into the present and the future. But what about the sense of smell? Can you smell the Mughal Empire? Can you access your olfactory regions and catch a whiff of their rich cultures, histories, and values? Is the subcontinent still laced with the scent of the Mughals and their traditions? If one puts their noses right in the right places, they might chance upon a version of Mughal history which can only be accessed through the olfactory nature of being. This smell in the nose marks a different substitute for how we witness history in the present — marking it as more of a history of the Mughal scents of India. 

In accessing these Mughal scents, this article travels through the use of smell as a sensory regime explores the Empire’s marks on the subcontinent, and reaches the Mughal Gardens itself. In the time of the Mughal reign, they were built by several rulers who all descended from Babur, where the style in which they were constructed often denoted a strive for pleasure and symbolized the sensory nature of their reign’s power and glory itself. For the Mughals, the gardens represented an earthly paradise where nature combined perfectly with human beings – creating a serene utopic balance.

The Scented Fingerprints of Mughal Rulers:

Bagh, baug, bageecha, or bagicha — the Mughals built many of them surrounding important buildings including their ruling places. Largely influenced by the concept of vatikas present in abundant myths of ancient India, which also means wooded ‘pleasure’ gardens, the gardens were filled with aromas of various kinds of flowers and herbs. This included in large quantities flowers like roses (gulab), the Indian lotus (kamal), jasmine (chameli/motia), lilies (Suraj Mukhi), marigold (genda), and herbs like mint (pudina), basil (tulsi), fenugreek (methi), rosemary, saffron (Kesari) among many others. They all contributed to the sensory richness of the Mughal Empire which came to depict status and power, all in the pleasure of churning a pastime. Indeed, it was an imperial pastime as tending to the gardens itself was extremely challenging if not very time-consuming where even though Jahangir as a ruler was known for his love of flowers, he did not build a garden of his own as such but still helped lay out the beautiful Shalimar Garden which still surrounds the northeast part of Dal Lake in Srinagar.

It was Babur who started this escapade of the scent-driven tradition of gardens, and who built gardens in areas like Lahore and Dholpur including the largest recorded garden, Gol Bagh which was filled with greenery up until the time of India’s Independence. It is noted that Babur, who began the Empire in its foundation, borrowed this very idea of a pleasure garden from the Timurid gardens in Central Asia which were an Islamic type of gardens in medieval times. Succeeding him and Humayun, Akbar built several of them too, in places like Delhi and Agra where the latter became his capital of residence and rule itself. 

Shah Jahan, the one behind the beauty of the Taj Mahal, had a distinct fascination with greenery and flowers. So much so, that besides the Taj Mahal which serves as a visual pleasure for the power of love — he also built the night garden (of many gardens) surrounding it called Mahtab Bagh. Filled with flowers that bloomed at night like jasmine, it sits across the Yamuna River at Agra. The pale flowers of the Bagh combined with the structural white beauty of the Taj become a large visual and olfactory delight to the visitors and tourists, even at night as it glows under the moonlight. The Mughal Emperors also chose these locations for their gardens carefully. The idea was to contribute to the expansive natural beauty — mountain slopes, high open green spots, and a natural water system that gushed out into the garden were the top priorities.

The Olfactory Legacy of Charbagh : 

These gardens served not only as a sensory ride of the smell but also helped symbolize the glory and power of the Empire. The gardens were laid out in the style of the Charbagh which was an Islamic style influenced by the Persian Gardens including the Timurid. Charbagh essentially meant a rectilinear layout with wall enclosures that were well-equipped with flowers and herbs. Between these boxes of layouts, a well-established water system flowed with features like pools, fountains, and canals, all inside the gardens’ walls. The gardens were also perfectly aligned, with a highly disciplined geometrical sense that added to its allurement. Administratively, they all enclosed significant places for the Empire denoting prestige and grandeur for the rulers and kings. From imperial palaces to public buildings, sacred structures to private buildings, they all were enclosed between the Mughal Gardens.

Moreover, the water system was an incredible fleet for the time that the Empire was in power: where it featured a highly developed irrigation channel that helped maintain the balance of nature and natural elements. This system also went on to hugely contribute to the Indian economy even in present times, where large gardens and green lands are equipped with the same water routes and channels, paying allegiance to the Mughals themselves. These water routes, which were inspired by the Persian and Timurid Gardens, worked as the central and connecting attributes for the gardens. The hydraulic system worked efficiently due to the structural integrity and beauty of Charbagh, which when divided into four quadrants comprised of water channels and pathways maintaining the greens, the flowers, and the herbs. The fountains, namely the Salsabil and Uyun, enclosed in these quadrants also represented the ‘life cycle’ for the Mughals as it symbolized time pouring into rains and onto the greens themselves. It is said that Shalimar Bagh alone had 450 fountains that poured the same rains but in a floral effect — the Mughals did love floral and artistic shenanigans when it came to their gardens. 

Fragrant Heavens: Mughal Gardens Today

For us mind-boggling, nose-smelling, scent-driven sensory chasers, at present, there are several ways we can catch the whiff of the Empire and relish an olfactory history of the Mughals and Mughal period. In India while there is a handful of them in the north, some surrounding the Humayun’s Tomb in Nizamuddin Delhi, multiple in the Taj Mahal in Agra, and even the famous Ram Bagh in Agra which is also rumored to be the first Charbagh and Shalimar Gardens in Kashmir among most others. Many gardens still can be found in Pakistan and Afghanistan, open to tourists and laid in flowers — all to reveal a whiff of the cultural and traditional history of the Mughals. In a way, history then is among us everywhere at any given moment. The point becomes how to see, hear, taste, touch, and smell it — the latter which as one witnesses in the case of Mughal Gardens is through the smell of its flowers and herbs which all convey the many scents of India itself. 

PS. Here’s a fun fact for the readers who might just be preparing their noses for an olfactory adventure of Mughal history. The Mughal Gardens in Delhi which were consciously renamed the Amrit Udyan and which hold a yearly welcome to people to witness the flowers and herbs in bloom — isn’t necessarily so Mughal as it is very British. Yes! The Mughals had nothing to do with those gardens. It was much later after their time that they were designed by Sir Edward Lutyens, the British architect responsible for constructing and designing much of New Delhi. So, while the Mughals weren’t the ones who put to commissioned the gardens, the British designed them in praise and inspired] them — churning a wheel of history from tradition to the present itself.

References:

Dickie, James (1985). “The Mughal Garden”. In Grabar, Oleg (ed.). Muqarnas: An Annual on Islamic Art and Architecture. Vol. 3. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ISBN 9004076115.

Crowe, Sylvia (2006). The gardens of Mughul India: a history and a guide. Jay Kay Book Shop. ISBN 978-8-187-22109-8.

Lehrman, Jonas Benzion (1980). Earthly paradise: garden and courtyard in Islam. University of California Press. ISBN 0-520-04363-4.

(2010). “Mughal Gardens in Kashmir”. https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/5580/#:~:text=The%20celebrated%20Mughal%20gardens%20of,of%20the%20traditional%20paradise%20gardens. 

Behera, Sonali (2022). “All About Mughal Gardens: History, Key Features, and Types”. In Krishi Jargan. https://krishijagran.com/agripedia/all-about-mughal-gardening-history-key-features-and-types/

Author’s note:

Charvi Bhatnagar

Charvi is a researcher in the humanities and loves connecting dots between stories, people, and their impressions of the world. While a typical day for her includes a lot of books and Word documents, she believes there’s always a gripping story hidden behind plain old facts. One could easily find her obsessing over trivia, solving random logical reasoning quizzes, and experimenting with poetry and the written word.

The description given to something can change its colours and evoke emotions that were never present before.

Indian cinema has taken centre stage in making films about the rich history of the country. Presenting the courage of freedom fighters or exploring the diverse cultural heritage, every filmmaker has a special vision of bringing history to life on the silver screen.

An incomparable gem of Indian cinema, Mughal-e-Azam explores a tale of forbidden love in the Mughal period. The film has garnered immense love from the masses and is one of the most iconic films of all time. The elegant costumes, grand setting and classic dialogues add an eternal charm to the story while providing a glimpse into the lives of people during those times. Mughal-e-Azam even helps the viewers in picturing the social and political atmosphere of medieval times, a great advantage as it builds curiosity in people regarding such topics, encouraging them to learn more about history.

Another remarkable film that employs a historical setting is Lagaan, which takes place in the colonial period and revolves around a group of villagers who challenge the British in a game of cricket. This film beautifully captures the spirit of resistance and patriotism in the face of oppression. In recent years, filmmakers have tried to explore lesser-known stories from Indian history. Films like Kesari and Gold highlight unsung characters and events from different eras.

Indian cinema has also explored momentous events through biopics. Films like Sardar Udham, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag, and The Legend of Bhagat Singh delve into the lives of individuals who made unforgettable contributions to the past. Besides educating the audiences about the journeys of these extraordinary figures, these films also inspire people by showing how historic personalities rose above countless obstacles.

Still, the portrayal of historical themes in Indian cinema is surrounded by controversy. Debates about the essence of historical accuracy arise when filmmakers take artistic liberty to make stories engaging. Some argue that historical films should adhere to facts; others support creative interpretation as it connects history to a bigger audience. At times, however, rewriting and oversimplifying history can create negativity. Padmaavat and Samrat Prithviraj are among the films that have drawn criticism for encouraging stereotypes.

Thus, Indian cinema has played an interesting role in depicting history. With their powerful performances and compelling themes, films allow audiences to relive significant moments from history. Although films fail to represent historical figures accurately, one cannot deny that cinema leaves an impact by entertaining people and helping them remember the past.

About the Writer

Palak is a passionate writer who enjoys reading new books. She pens down her thoughts through creative writing. She hopes to inspire others to embrace a life of authenticity, self-discovery and personal growth.