Janosik - Story of Legendary Slovak Outlaw

A massive range of Carpathian Mountains stretches across Central and Eastern Europe. The highest range, Tatra, with rocky peaks makes a natural border between Slovakia and Poland. Once, it was a home to a legendary Slovak outlaw by the name of Janosik. He was the Robin Hood of Eastern Europe.

A long time ago, at the foothills of Tatra Mountains, in a small village of wooden huts surrounded by green pastures lived a boy by the name of Janosik. He was a boy of great strength. Chopping logs and jumping over mountaineer’s axe made his muscles strong.

Since he was a little boy, he enjoyed stories of the mountain outlaws. One day, he confined his dream to his father, “When I grow up, I’d like to join the famous chieftain of the outlaws, who everybody is talking about.”

“Just remember, be one of those who helps the poor people,” responded the father.

After many summers, it came time for Janosik to leave the village and search for the famous outlaws. He jumped over streams, climbed the rocky walls and wriggled through the thick forests. Such was a path of the mountain outlaws.

He felt free and strong without any fear of the night and its wild animals. One such night, he had a dream of three fairies. Each one gifted him something. The first one said, “This suit of clothes will protect you from any harm.” The second added, “This wide leather belt will give you strength to jump like no other.” The last one finished, “This mountaineer’s long-handled hatchet will make you a leader, no one will defeat you as long as you hold this hatchet.”

In the morning, when Janosik wiped sleep from his eyes, he saw the three gifts from the fairies. He put his new outfit on with the wild belt puffing his chest out, grabbed the mountaineer’s hatchet and continued his adventure.

After a few days of wandering, high in the mountains, he came across a campfire of the outlaws. While approaching them, he moved slowly, but with confidence. All eyes were on Janosik, when he spoke, “I came to join you.”

“You’re too young,” replied one of the outlaws.

“Better go back home before I’ll teach you a lesson,” added another outlaw.

The outlaws burst out laughing. Janosik calmly responded, “I will fight with the chieftain himself, if he is not afraid of me.”

The chieftain hearing this, mumbled under his nose, “I’ll teach you a lesson.”

The chieftain struggled to reach the young man with his blows. Janosik quickly gained the advantage and with his powerful outfit and hatchet won the fight.  

Feeling old and incompetent, the chieftain understood that it was time for him to step down and give a lead to a young and stronger man than him.

Janosik, the new leader, asked the old chieftain to stay and advise him in guiding the group. The young leader was smart and just. He gained respect of his people quickly. Remembering the words of his father, he led his people to assist the poor. The highlanders loved Janosik and his people for their good deeds. In return, they helped in warning the group, when a danger was awaiting them.

One summer, in the favorite mountain village of Janosik, where his lovely Margie lived, there was a wedding to which Janosik and his people were invited to. The wedding of the village chief’s daughter was big and loud. There was dancing and celebrating until the morning hours. The skirts whirled higher and higher in the air with faster and faster beats of the music.

In the morning hours, when everybody was too tired to dance anymore, they laid down on piles of straw. During this time, an old treacherous woman sneaked out of the village and informed the soldiers of whereabouts of Janosik and his men.

The soldiers marched quickly into the village capturing the young man and the rest of the outlaws. They were taken to the city, where they were charged. Only the rich merchants were allowed to witness against Janosik.

One merchant dressed richly with a high hat and rugby on his finger pointed, “He led all my sheep out of pen into the mountains.”

A chubby merchant, with buttons on his belly about to explode, bellowed, “He robbed my whole family while in carriage en route to the city!”

Many other merchants roared their grudges throughout the day, demanding the highest verdict. Not even one poor villager was allowed to testify. At the end, Janosik was sentenced to death.

Janosik with his head high was proud to serve the poor and to fulfill the promise to his father. The highlanders said their goodbyes promising revenge, women and children wailed.

Centuries later, the highlanders still remember Janosik, commemorating him in their paintings, songs and stories.

Note: Janosik was a famous Slovak outlaw, who lived between the 17^th-18^th centuries and grew up in Terchova (NW Slovakia), where his statue stands (below). Another version of Janosik – March post 2014.

Queen Jurata of the Baltic Sea - Polish Folklore

Northern Poland borders with the Baltic Sea. On its water stretches a sand bar peninsula extending from the mainland, half closing the Bay of Gdansk. It is called Hel Peninsula. Before the popular sea side resorts were built there, in the area of Jurata, it was known for something else.

A very long time ago, before the Baltic area was covered with water, there once stood a dense forest with conifer trees. Those beautiful trees produced from its resin the most magnificent gemstone called amber. After the water covered the Baltic area, creating the Baltic Sea, the amber got hidden at the bottom of the seafloor. With time, the waves would push the amber out of its seafloor to the ashore. Once discovered, many merchants had travelled the Amber Road to reach the northern Bay of Gdansk for this special product. This is a fact, but there is also a legend.

Once upon a time, in the deep waters of Baltic Sea stood the most spectacular castle made of amber. Its walls and floors of golden brown color glistened in the blue waters. Here and there the glistening walls displayed a mosaic of fossilized beetle, dragonfly or butterfly; trapped thousands of years ago in the resin of the trees.

A garden of the greenest seagrass surrounded the castle. Among many animals, the fish, seals, mussels, jellyfish and snails lived in the waters of Baltic ruled by the Queen Jurata. She was of great beauty with long golden-red hair, blue eyes, dressed in turquoise gowns decorated with pearls. But above all she was a smart and just Queen, solving all disagreements among the animals. Thus known as fair, she was loved by them all.

One day, the tiniest snail heard from a big fish that a young fisherman was throwing fishnets into the water. The Queen upon hearing this said, “This cannot be. I will not let even one fish to be trapped!” Her furry sent the waves crashing hard against the shore. The fishnets tore against the rocks releasing trapped fish. “I said not even one fish!” echoed Jurata’s voice.

The Queen called for her fairies, “The next time a fishnet is thrown into the water, we will meet our fisherman and enchant him with our voices. We will trap him into our underworld from which he will never throw another fishnet.”

It wasn’t long, when the fisherman threw the nets the following day. The Queen and the fairies rushed above the waters. With their bodies floating on the waves, they sang with the most enchanting voices.

The fisherman checking his nets, raised his head and saw the most beautiful mermaids. As he smiled towards them, something has occurred, something which Jurata was not expecting. She had a change of heart. Her anger melted. She couldn’t take her eyes off the fisherman. “Oh, no,” gasped one of the fairies seeing what was happening.

The Queen lowered her hand, quieting down the fairies. She faced the young man and said, “You broke the peace of the underworld. So I came to punish you, but I no longer can carry my own demand.”

“Don’t worry. I will stop throwing the nets and will wait for you here every night,” responded the fisherman.

“So will I,” promised Jurata.

And they did. Jurata would meet the young man at the shore each night. Sitting on a boat for long hours, each night they watched the sunset and listened to the sea waves brushing against the sand.

Their happiness didn’t last long. Jurata’s father, the god of thunder, was very unhappy with her being with a human being. After one night, soon after Jurata left the boat and closed the door of her castle. Her father, Perkun, sent a thunder of thunders. The beautiful amber castle broke into thousands of pieces, covering the Queen with a pile of amber, never to be seen again. At the same time, the thunder sent the boat crashing hard against the rocks and the young man descending down to the bottom of the Baltic Sea, never to be seen again.

As a result, every time a storm ravages the Baltic waters, the thundering waves throw the pieces of amber on the seashore until today.


Note: Another version of the Queen of the Baltic – April post 2014.

Sea Gypsies & Their Legend of Laboon - Moken Folktale

On the continent of Asia, at its middle southern point lays the country of Thailand. Right off its lush rainforest coast spread the islands of Surin in the Andaman Sea. Moken people known as the sea gypsies roam the Andaman Sea among the Surin islands. When tsunami season comes, they live at the edge of the rainforest by the sea, watching out for Laboon.

In the azure colors of the Andaman Sea the Moken children make their first steps, not in walking, but rather in swimming. They swim before they can walk. They spend so much time in the water, as a result they can see twice as sharp underwater and can hold their breath twice as long as other children.

The Moken children don’t know the meaning of time, therefore they don’t know their age. They don’t know the meaning of the word ‘want.’ As they travel from place to place by the sea, they don’t want things to hold them back. Material goods have little meaning for nomadic people.

The turquoise shades of Andaman Sea with the white frothing waves crashing against the green rainforest compose the playground for the Moken children with the colorful coral reefs filling the background. Their games are about sharpening their skills needed for survival. The children compete who can swim fastest, dive deepest, throw farthest, and find the most sea cucumbers and shellfish on a single breath.

One day, as the children played the games in the sea, they noticed the water getting shallower and shallower. The sea was receding farther and farther away from them. The hermit crabs made their way towards the forest. The birds flew to the trees at the higher elevation, leaving the sea level unusually quiet. Even the waves got flat, not making any sound. The wind stopped in its track.

The village chief came running towards the children and from afar pointed towards the land. It was so quiet, the children could clearly hear him from the distance, “Come back to the land! We have to move to the higher elevation before the Laboon comes!”

“Laboon!” the children yelled in terror and started running toward the shore. As they ran, only one image kept appearing in front of them and only one story kept replaying in their minds.

They spent many evenings by the fire filled with stories told by the Moken villagers. The most interesting tales were told by the village chief and his sister. They could entertain for hours. But there was one story in particular that stuck in their minds the most. It was the one of Laboon.

“Laboon is a sea monster. It is sent by the ancestors to remove the bad in the world and make a place for a new beginning. He gulps the water into his mouth, then spits it out with such force it results in many devastations. Then the world gets reborn after the bad is removed.”  

Now, the community of Moken people was already on the move up the mountain. They raced as quickly as they could. The young assisted the elders and the little children climbing the narrow paths through the thick rainforest. As they climbed to higher elevation they saw glimpses of the sea. A moment ago a flat sea, now became ferocious with high waves and quick speed making its way to the shore. They could feel the ground rumbling under their feet; the waves almost reaching them and the speed almost pulling them down. But they hold on to anything that could that was strongly rooted in the ground, hoping for the fierce monster to go away soon.

After the waves calmed down, the Mokens descended down to the shore. The monster wave destroyed all villages in its way. There were some people floating in the water or clinging onto the rocks and screaming for help. The Mokens searched for their longtail boats, but only pieces of wood were floating. They grabbed the larger pieces and swam towards the survivors.

And such is the tail of the sea gypsies and their legend of Laboon, which saved them from tsunami. While a lot of people lost their lives, all Mokens, who escaped to the higher elevation, were saved.

Note: In 2004, off the coast of Sumatra, a 9.0 magnitude earthquake triggered a tsunami that resulted in nearly 300,000 deaths. A community of 184 Moken people survived the tsunami thanks to the passed-down folklore of Laboon or ‘seventh wave.’

Source: The Sea Gypsies. Report by Bob Simon on 60 Minutes.

Golem of Chelm - Jewish Folktale

The city of Chelm, in eastern Poland, prospered during the 16^th century. During that time, Rabbi Elijah Ba’al Shem became a famous leader of Jewish community. He is known for creating the Golem of Chelm, which takes us to the legend.

Chelm, once important center of Jewish learning, was home to Rabbi Elijah during the 16^th century. Rabbi was a man of much wisdom. In his eager hours of prayer, his soul seemed to shift out of his body reaching the heavenly kingdom. Upon his soul’s return on the earthly planes, he healed the sick with his prayers. Thus, after many healing miracles, the people called him a Ba’al Shem, meaning the master who healed with the prayers.

His name spread beyond many boarders, yet it was for a different reason. In the year not exactly known, but known for a scorching summer, the Rabbi spent a lot of hours in his attic. The people assumed he was hiding from the sun.

One day, the Rabbi said to his beadle, “I need you to carry buckets full of clay and water to the attic.” After a short pause, he added, “Why don’t you leave it in front of the attic door. I’ll handle it from there.” The beadle carried a bucket of clay, followed by a bucket of water. He’s done so many rounds until he lost the count and was too tired to carry even an empty bucket any more. When he sat down at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, his curiosity made him peeped through the keyhole, trying to find out what Rabbi was doing. But it was dark. Nothing appeared on the other side. What beadle didn’t know was that Rabbi knowing him well and his curiosity covered the keyhole with a thick parchment of sheepskin.

In the following days, the beadle couldn’t keep his tongue at rest; instead he spread a rumor that the Rabbi was up to something. The people carrying their everyday duties in their dull lives didn’t mind some destruction.

On the third day, the people started gathering in front of Rabbi Elijah house as waiting for something. But nothing happened in the following days, until the seventh day. When the Rabbi opened the door of his house, a big giant appeared behind him. His body seemed to be made of clay and his features were rather sharp, not quite resembling human.

As the Rabbi stepped outside and aside to let the full view of the clay figure, he explained, “This is Golem,” which meant a formless mass. On his forehead was a piece of parchment with one written word ‘emet,’ meaning truth. With this word, the Rabbi put life into Golem. “He is here to help us with our chores. Hopefully, to make our lives easier and safer.” Upon the last word, the Rabbi choked a bit as everyday he thought of his oppressed people spread out throughout the world. Having a safe place to live and practice their religion was on every Jew’s mind.

The people were very pleased with Rabbi Elijah's creation. Quickly, they saw the strength of Golem and his efficiency in performing tasks. Nevertheless, a new problem appeared.

Golem was a man’s creation, not God’s. Therefore, he lacked the gifts of reason and speech. He carried the tasks he was asked to do without any thinking.

One day, the preoccupied Rabbi said to Golem, “There is no water at home. I need you to fetch it from the well.” Golem not able to think, fetched one bucket after another pouring it through the kitchen window onto the floor. When the Rabbi came home from the Synagogue, he found his furniture floating inside the house, resembling ships drifting in the ocean.

Another time, a mother with a child clinging to her leg used her last piece of wood to make food. Upon seeing Golem, she asked, “Can you get me some wood.” Golem stood still not understanding what to do. Frustrated woman pointed to the forest and said, “I need you to go there and chop some wood.” The Golem left.

After a few hours with the first sun rays setting down on the ground, the woman ran to the Rabbi and explained the situation. “Don’t worry, I’ll find Golem.” With those words the Rabbi headed toward the forest.

As soon as he entered the edge of what once was a forest, the Rabbi froze dumbfounded. There was no more forest. All the trees were chopped down. Now, the stakes of cut-down trees created a grove.

The Rabbi brought Golem back home and prayed vigorously for a sign from above as he was not sure what to do with Golem.

Following morning, upon awakening the Rabbi knew what to do. He waited until the evening, when Golem was asleep. Quietly, the Rabbi removed the parchment from Golem’s forehead. As the word ‘emet’ giving life was removed from his forehead, the formed body of clay turned into a shapeless mass. There was no more Golem.

In the following centuries many rabbis tried to create Golem, hoping for a better result. But it was always the same outcome. The mindless body of clay, not being God’s creation, only brought more distress than help.

 

Note: Other Golem versions: Golem of Prague (February post) and Golem of Vilna (April post)

Source: The Jews of Poland in Tale and Legend by Ewa Basiura

Strega Nona - Italian Folktale

At the bottom of the boot, as this is how Italy looks like, lays a region of Calabria. The region is outlined by beautiful rugged coastline surrounded by clear blue waters on one side and by green lush vegetation and mountains on the other side. A long time ago in that region lived a grandma-witch, which takes us to a story.

Once upon a time, in a small town in the Calabria region lived an old lady called Strega Nona, which meant Grandma Witch. People of the town didn’t know what to think of her magic, but when in need everyone knew who to see. Strega Nona cured headaches with oil, made potions for healing ailments and even for girls wanting to find husbands.

But Strega Nona was getting old and needed help with tending her garden, where she planted her herbs for making the magic potions. So one day she walked to the town’s center and posted a note on the board. It read, “If your arms are strong and legs can bend to do gardening, ask for Strega Nona.”

Big Anthony, who always minded his business and never paid attention to what other people said, went to see Strega Nona.

“Anthony, if you can weed the garden, tilt the dirt and pick the vegetables, I will give you a place to sleep and food to fill your belly.” After a short pause, she added, “If you can help me with house choirs as well as animals, I’ll pay you three coins.”

“Si, si,” agreed Anthony.

“But remember never to touch the pasta pot.”

“Si, si,” agreed Anthony.

As the days passed, Strega Nona met with the people needing her help, while Anthony worked outside. One day, when it was almost dinner time, Anthony heard Strega Nona singing. He peaked through the window and saw her singing over the pasta pot. It bubbled and filled with long pasta.

“This pot is truly magical,” said Anthony.

Strega Nona called Anthony in for dinner. While Anthony made his way around from the window to the door, he didn’t see how Strega Nona blew three kisses to the pasta pot.

The next day, whomever Anthony met, he told what he saw the previous day. But nobody believed him. They just laughed. I’ll show you one day, he thought to himself.  

And that day came sooner he would have expected. A couple days later Strega Nona said to Anthony, “I have to go to see my friend in the mountains. Remember to feed the animals and milk the goat. There is some bread and cheese for you to eat, but remember do not touch the pasta pot.”

“Si, si,” confirmed Anthony.

As soon as Strega Nona was out of view, he rushed inside the house and sang over the pasta pot. And sure enough, it bubbled and filled with steaming pasta.

He ran to the town’s center and shouted, “The magic pot is filling with pasta, grab a bowl with fork and meet me at Strega Nona’s house.”

People laughed, but at the same time ran homes to get their bowls and forks. As they entered the Strega Nona’s house, sure enough they saw the pot beginning to overflow with pasta. Anthony snatched a big spoon and started proudly filling the bowls.

When every belly was full and every face covered with a smile, Anthony sang another song for the pot to stop making pasta. But it didn’t work. The pasta continued to bubble and grow; now coming out of the pot. Anthony seized a cover and slammed it on top. He sat on the covered pot, but the pasta still found its way out. It was overflowing the house, coming out of the windows and door. People ran to the town’s center screaming, “Do something Anthony.”

He frantically sang and sang, but to no avail. The past kept growing and now almost reaching the town’s center. The people frantically ran around not knowing which way to go, into their houses or out of the town. “We’re ruined,” cried the people.

And they certainly would have, had Strega Nona not come back in time. She didn’t have to think twice to know what had happened. She sang the magic song and blew the three kisses. In that instance, the pasta came to a halt.

The people thanked Strega Nona, and then searched with their eyes for Anthony. “Here he is,” shouted one.

“String him up,” yelled another.

“Now, wait,” said Strega Nona. “The punishment must fit the crime.”

She asked the standing nearby lady with a fork in her hand, “Why don’t you hand him the fork.”

Facing Anthony, she said, “You wanted pasta from my pot, you eat it now.”

And he did for a very very long time.

Source: Strega Nona by Tomie dePaola

Tikki Tikki Tembo - Chinese Folktale

In the southern part of Asian continent stretches a vast land of China. In those lands a custom was to give a very long name to the first born son. Hardly any name was given to the younger son. The story will tell more.

In a small village nestled on a high mountain top lived a mother with her two sons. The first born was given a special name according to traditions. He was named Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo, which meant ‘the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world.” The second son was also named according to customs. He was simply called Chang, which meant ‘little or nothing.’

Every morning the mother went down the hill to a little stream, where she washed the clothes. On a small hill not far away from the stream stood an old well. Every morning, the mother warned her sons, “Don’t play around the well or you will fall in.”

One such morning, the boys followed the kite, which took them up and up the small hill. It got tangled at the roof of the well. Chang wanting to reach it fell down the well. The older brother run down the hill to his mother, “Dear mother, Chang has fallen into the well.”

The water rumbled down the stream. “I can’t hear you,” said the mother.

The son repeated a bit louder, “Dear mother, Chang has fallen into the well.”

“Run and get the Old Man with the ladder to help us out.” As mother ran up the hill, the son ran to fetch the Old Man.

The Old man ran as fast as he could. Dropped down his ladder. Went down the well and brought Chang out. As soon as he pumped the water out of him once and pushed the air into him, Chang was as good as ever. This incident kept them away from the well for some months.

During the Eighth Moon Festival celebrated for a good rice harvest, the boys ate lots of rice cakes and played with lots of flying kites. The rice cakes lasted for a few days as well as the kites.

One morning the mother trotted down the hill to the stream as usual, and the boys played with the kites. They followed the kites floating in the air along the stream, around the hill and up the mount. They played around the well until the older brother fell down into it.

Chang rushed down the hill, “Dear mother, Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo has fallen into the well.”

“I can’t hear you,” yelled the mother over the rumbling water.

“Oh mother, Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari…” The boy gasped, then continued quickly, “…bari ruchi-pip peri pembo has fallen into the well.”

“Child you need to speak up,” bellowed the mother.

Poor Chang was out of breath from rushing down the hill and saying such long name. He tilted his body to the side with his hands going down and one leg up. Now his mother moved away from the stream, “What did you say?”

“Dear mother, Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo has fallen into the well,” repeated Chang.

As the mother rushed up the hill, she sent Chang to fetch the Old Man with the ladder.

The Old man ran as fast as he could. Dropped down his ladder. Went down the well and brought Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo out. He pumped the water out of him and pushed the air into him once, twice, three times. But it took Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo some time to recover after this incident. And it was all because of his long name.

And from then on, all children were given short names.

Source: Tikki Tikki Tembo by Arlene Mosel