The girl was in tears again.  I had watched her over the past two weeks, watching as she navigated my pathways and secrets.  She had accepted the fact that she would be in my lands for at least the next year of her life, and she had resigned herself to her fate.  She was beginning to notice all of her surroundings, to notice me.  She often came to the side of the stream near her home to sit, reflect, and remember.  This particular day, she had run to the side of the stream in a rush, thrown herself down on the bank, and begun to cry.  The tears all fell because of, or perhaps also for, him - the one who had broken her heart.  He left her for another after promising her the world.  All lovers' stories are the same.  She cried herself to sleep, breathing in the fresh scent of the jasmine flowers growing nearby.  I slipped easily into her dream and shared with her the tragic story of the Three-Thousand-Rupee Sari.

The young woman could not understand what was happening.  Her husband had been almost too attentive in the first weeks of their marriage.  Now, he barely even looked in her direction.  She wondered what she had done wrong.  The house was well-kept, and her mother-in-law never had to toil in the gardens.  So why was she suddenly undesirable?

After her husband first strayed, the girl did not know what to do.  Perplexed and worried, she asked her mother-in-law where she should sleep.

"Sleep on the verandah!" the mother-in-law replied.  So, the young wife slept on the verandah in the still night air.  The next morning, she arose and began her chores.  She spent extra time in the gardens, the flowers and fragrances gave peace to her troubled heart.

The next night, the girl again asked her mother-in-law where she should sleep.  This time, she was to sleep in the attic.  This trend continued until the girl had slept in every room of the house. 

Meanwhile, her mother-in-law was exasperated with the girl's questioning.  The questions seemed to be glaring accusations of her shortcomings as a mother.  Underneath the girl's question she heard, "Why has he left my side?  Make him return!"  It was not her fault that her son had strayed!  She had done everything for him as a mother.  Why, then, did he go astray?  Why?

It was in this state-of-mind that the girl found her mother-in-law when she next asked where to sleep.  Upset and frustrated, the woman snapped, "Sleep in the cremation grounds!"

Ever obedient, the girl left to sleep among the dead.  Feeling sorry for herself, she lay down among the fallen ashes.  She had expected to be cherished by her husband and her mother-in-law.  Instead, she was neglected by the former and despised by the latter.  She smiled ruefully.

Just as the girl was falling asleep, a shadowy figure moved in the corner of her eye.  The girl braced herself for an attack.  None came.  A voice sounded instead.

"What is such a lovely girl doing here?" asked the voice.  "Shouldn't you be with your husband, safe in bed?"  The figure stepped into the silver moonlight as it spoke.  The voice belonged to a sadhu, a holy man and beggar.

Relieved that the shadow was another living being, the girl responded, "I have neither home nor attentive husband.  He is with some whore from town.  And my mother-in-law can no longer bear my presence.  So, I sleep here and return only to complete my duties to my family."  Her words were laced with bitterness, and she winced to hear herself pronounce them.  Where had the beautiful, carefree girl she had once been gone?  Frightened at the changes within herself, the girl began to cry.

The sadhu watched the girl, and then held her as she cried.

The next night, the sadhu again came to the girl in the cremation grounds.  She looked up, smiling.  She would not be alone.  Each night following, the sadhu visited her.  In time, the girl began to fall in love.  He was not rich or beautiful, but he was kind.  One night, surprising both her and the sadhu, the girl reached up and caught the sadhu in a passionate, desperate kiss.  The two were now lovers.

One evening, the girl asked the sadhu to buy her a sari.  Eager to please, the sadhu agreed to buy her a three-thousand-rupee sari.

The following morning, the sadhu bought the exquisite sari for his beloved.  By chance, it happened that his beloved's husband was also in the shop purchasing a sari for his harlot.  He, however, spent only ten rupees on his lover.  Shocked to see a beggar buy such an expensive gift, the husband wondered for whom the sari was meant.  "She must be beautiful," he murmured.  His own wife was beautiful, he suddenly remembered.  He wondered what she was doing.  "I will see her tonight."

As the day ended, the girl prepared to leave for the cremation grounds.  However, her plans were thwarted when her husband decided to sleep at home.  Annoyed, the girl resolved to wait until he was asleep and then sneak to her beloved.  The husband lay down in their bed and pretended to fall asleep.  The girl snuck away, unaware that he was following her.

When she met the sadhu, she rejoiced to see her new sari.  She wore it for him and fell into his embrace.  The husband watched in shock.  After their tryst, the young wife realized that she could only wear the sari in the dark cremation grounds.  She burned her beautiful gift and took with her its ashes.

After the girl returned to the house to begin her chores, she was shocked to find her husband in the garden burning her lovely flowers.

"What are you doing?" she cried.  "Why are you burning such innocent things?"

The husband added a lotus blossom to the flames.  He looked up and replied, "These are nothing.  I have seen women burn three-thousand-rupee saris before.  These flowers are nothing."

The girl was silent, her infidelity discovered.  That evening, she did not go to the cremation grounds.  After her husband was asleep, she wrapped her own black hair around her neck and choked away her life.

The girl was found by her mother-in-law.  Her screeches awoke her son.

"You killed her!" cried the mother-in-law.  "She was my daughter, good and obedient!  It is your fault she is gone!"

The girl's funeral pyre was soon ready.  The sadhu investigated the commotion, and upon seeing his beloved resting in the flame, he leaped to join her.  The husband saw his act and felt ashamed that he was living while another dashed into the burning fire.  He hesitated a moment, then also jumped into the rising flames.  The mother-in-law watched quietly.  She lost her daughter-in-law and son to those flames.  Calmly, she followed them into the fire.  Maybe in the next life she would meet them again.


The girl woke up slowly, with more tears in her eyes than when she fell asleep.  She noticed that it was getting dark, and she picked herself up off the ground and gingerly made her way back to her house.  I watched her take a deep breath and look up at the jasmine flowers climbing up one of the trees.  I sent a strong stirring of wind and was pleased to hear her gasp when she was showered with a flurry of pale yellow petals.  It looked as if the tree was weeping.  Next time, my story would have a happier ending.  I knew that she would be ready for The Turtle Prince.



Author's note:  I told this story from a third person point of view, emphasizing the thoughts and actions of the young wife.  This departs from my previous storytelling methods of first person point of view, usually from the point of view of the plant featured.  Because this story is told by the Indian Spirit, I left it in a third person point of view.  This also allowed me to visit other important characters and their thoughts. 
    I wanted to make this a very vivid, personal re-telling, but the word limit restricted me on some of my original ideas.  Instead of following the story directly, I cut out a few segments of the plot.  First, I moved the girl's meeting with the sadhu to the first night, rather than waiting to introduce him later as in the original.  Also, I had to cut out a good deal of description of the flowers and the girls anguish at having them burned.  Though I really did not want to do this, given the nature of my project, I was unable to find a satisfactory way in which to leave in the lengthy discussion of the flowers.  Instead, I moved mention of the gardens and the girl's love of flowers to the beginning of the tale.  By doing this, I hoped to accomplish the same overall effect as the original story.
    This is the first of two tales dealing mainly with love and life.  This tale is tragic, ending in the deaths of four people.  It mirrors the girl's own pain-filled heart.  The next tale has a happy ending, which will coincide with the happiness of the girl after finding a new love.

Bibliography:
"The Three-Thousand-Rupee Sari" from A Flowering Tree and Other Oral Tales from India by  A.K. Ramanujan. University of California Press. 1997.

Image:
"Hibiscus" by Virginia Arlington. Web source: Three Muses.
"Flowers of Fire". Web source: An Art Work a Day.