Mr. Mighty-of-His-Mouth

In two neighbouring villages lived two famous men. Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth worked wonders with words alone. Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands could not use a glib tongue but could bear burdens, cut wood, and do hard labour. They agreed to share Mighty-of-his-mouth’s house for several months and test which kind of might was truly superior. For months they kept company until the nine-night feast of Navaratri.

On the first day Mighty-of-his-hands wanted a goat for Kali. It would shame them, he said, to buy one; they should get it free. Mighty-of-his-mouth knew how, and asked him to wait until evening. A shepherd lived an hour away. That night they stole toward his fold. The shepherd, finished with his flock and hungry for hot rice, had no second person to watch. He planted his crook before the fold, threw his blanket over it, and told the pole, “Watch! Tigers and goblins haunt this wood, and some thief or bhuta, or even a kuta, may come. Guard the sheep carefully.” Then he went home.

Mighty-of-his-mouth laughed inside at the trick. Mighty-of-his-hands mistook the stick for a real watchman and asked what to do. His friend cleared the doubt and led him in.

That same night a bhuta had come to steal a sheep. Hearing the shepherd name a kuta—a thing it had never met—it shuddered, guessed a kuta must be stronger than itself, and, not wishing to be found until it knew more, turned into a sheep among the flock. The two Mighties examined animals, rejecting one after another for defects, until they came to the heavy bhuta-sheep. Finding it very heavy—as a goblin’s soul would make it—they tied its legs to carry home. Hands shook it; the bhuta mistook them for kutas and despaired of its folly in entering the fold. Mighty-of-his-hands bore it on his head with his friend behind. Soon devilish powers worked; pains ran all over the carrier. “I think this is no sheep!” Mighty-of-his-mouth, secretly alarmed yet unwilling to show fear, said, “Put it down; we will tear its belly and each carry half.” Terrified, the bhuta melted from the man’s head. Relieved, the friends went home safe. The bhuta fled to its fellows and told how narrowly it escaped. They laughed at it. “There are no kutas,” they said. “Those were only men. How stupid of you to panic!” “Show us these kutas, and we will crush them in a wink.”

“Agreed,” said the injured bhuta.

Next night it led them near the Mighties’ house and pointed from a distance, refusing to approach. Amazed at its fear, the others resolved to defeat the supposed enemies of their kind. A crowd surrounded the house—some at the front, some in the backyard—while a score jumped the walls into the courtyard. Mighty-of-his-hands, sleeping on the verandah, woke to the noise, saw bhutas, and without a word rolled along the ground to his friend’s room. He tapped softly. “The goblins have invaded the house,” he said. “They will kill us.”

“Don’t be afraid,” said Mighty-of-his-mouth. “Go and sleep in your own place. I will make them run.”

Not understanding but unwilling to argue, the strong man rolled back and pretended sleep while his heart hammered.

Mighty-of-his-mouth woke his wife. “Light a lamp in the hall, spread the leaves, and call me to supper,” he said. “I will ask what is ready, and you must answer, ‘Pepper-water and vegetables.’ Then I will angrily ask what became of the three bhutas our son caught on his way home from school. Tell me that the rogue wanted sweetmeats, and since you had none, he roasted the three goblins and ate them as sweets.” She did as she was told. The conversation carried the roasted-goblin “sweetmeats” to listening ears. The bhutas shuddered—if a son eats three for sweets, what must the father need?—and fled. To the brother they had mocked they confessed the kutas were deadly enemies; that very evening a kuta-son had roasted three goblins for sweets. They resolved to flee to the adjoining forest, and vanished. So for the second time the wit of Mighty-of-his-mouth saved both himself and his friend.

Later the friends visited a nearby village and returned late. Darkness met them halfway; a dense wood of beasts lay ahead. They climbed a tall pipal to wait for morning. That wood was where the bhutas had migrated. At midnight they came with torches to catch jackals for a feast. Mighty-of-his-hands shook so hard he lost his hold and crashed down through rustling leaves. His friend was ready: “I wished to leave these poor beings to their revelry, but you are hungry and must jump to catch some—do not fail to seize the stoutest bhuta!” The goblins knew that voice—the kuta whose son roasted three—and ran crying that bitter enemies had followed even here. So for the third time his wit saved them both.

When daylight returned, Mighty-of-his-hands circled his companion three times and confessed that of the two, only the mouth deserved the name mighty. Brawn alone was empty without clever speech; speech ranked higher; together they would be a golden lotus that also smelled sweet. He had learned enough, he said, and asked leave to go back to his own village. Mighty-of-his-mouth told him to carry no sense of debt, treated him with honour fitting his place, and sent him home.

About this story

“Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth” appears in Tales of the Sun (1890), a book of South Indian folk tales put together by Mrs. Howard Kingscote and Pandit Natesa Sastri. Sastri contributed many of the stories himself, some of which had already been printed in The Indian Antiquary.

Footnotes give the Tamil nicknames: Vayalvallan for Mighty-of-his-mouth and Kaiyalvallan for Mighty-of-his-hands. The source closes with its moral, “in man there is nothing great but mind.” The goblins here are bhutas, and the “kuta” the shepherd invents is a nonsense creature that frightens them only because they have never heard of it. The tale includes theft and threats of killing, although the friends’ frightening boasts are tricks.

Read the original: Kingscote and Natesa Sastri, Tales of the Sun, 1890 (Project Gutenberg #37002)

Reading guidance: Ages 9–12; comic supernatural threats include planned animal theft, a sacrifice and boasts about killing and eating goblins.

A closer reading

The shepherd invents the word ‘kuta’, but the frightened bhuta supplies its power. Not knowing what it means, the goblin imagines something stronger than itself. The same mistake later spreads through the group: companions who first mock its fear accept the next alarming story without checking what actually happened.

Mighty-of-his-mouth makes accidents sound intentional. His companion’s painful burden becomes an apparent plan to butcher a goblin, and the fall from the tree becomes an attack on the feast. The audience can see the gap between fear and performance even when the goblins cannot.

The tale celebrates quick speech, but the friends enter the first danger while trying to steal a shepherd’s animal. Their escape does not make that theft fair. The wife’s performed conversation is also essential to the second rescue, so credit belongs to more than the character whose nickname announces his talent.

Try this with the story

For each of the three escapes, write what really happens and what the goblins believe happens. Underline the words that create the difference. Discuss why the same skill could be helpful in an emergency but harmful when used to steal or manipulate.

Talk about it

• Who first says ‘kuta’, and who gives it a frightening meaning?
• How does the wife help create the second escape?
• What accident becomes an apparent attack in the forest?
• Does escaping danger excuse the attempted theft that starts the trouble?

Related stories

• Mr. Won’t-Give and Mr. Won’t-Leave — two more Tamil tricksters with funny nicknames try to outwit each other
• The Three Deaf Men — a comic Tamil tale where misunderstanding words causes all the trouble
• The Good Husband and the Bad Wife — a South Indian story in which one frightening lie sends a guest running