The Gardener’s Cunning Wife

In a certain village a poor gardener and his wife lived on greens from thirty little beds in their backyard. Half the beds he watered each day from the fifth to the fifteenth ghatika. Each evening she cut a basketful; each morning he sold it for a measure or two of rice. Extra evening work brought a few coppers for other needs.

Before the village temple of Kali stood a fine tank with a mango tree on its bank. Fish and mangoes there were dedicated to the goddess and strictly forbidden. Anyone caught taking them was excommunicated. So strict was the rule.

One morning, returning from selling greens, the gardener passed the temple. Mangoes hung thick. His mouth watered. Seeing no one, he plucked one and scrambled down to the tank to wash it. There a charming shoal of fish frolicked without fear. He glanced round, plunged his hand, and caught half a dozen stout fish. He hid mango and fish under the rice in his basket and went home happy not to have been seen. He loved fish especially, showed his wife the haul, and asked her to cook mango and fish together while he watered the garden.

Watering was done by a pikota. He ran up and down the pole while a neighbour’s son lifted water for the beds. Meanwhile his wife cooked the dish. The flavour was so sweet that even while the fish was half done she tasted bit after bit until more than half had gone down her throat. When the few remaining slices were finished cooking, she went to the verandah and beckoned him to come taste. He never noticed—still running the pikota, waving his arms for balance. She mistook the wave for permission to eat her share, went in for a slice, came out, beckoned again, mistook another wave, and so on for a full ghatika until the last slice was gone.

“Alas!” she thought. “He fetched these with such eagerness, and my greed has disappointed him. His anger will know no bounds. I must devise a means to save myself.”

She brought out the empty pan, covered it with another of like size, sat before it, undid her hair into a wild tangle, and began to make a great noise. Her husband took this display to mean that a goddess or demon had entered her. From the pikota her husband saw her and his guilty conscience smote him. He hurried down. She roared, “Why have you injured me today by plundering my mango and fish? How dare you? You shall soon see the results of your impertinence!”

“The goddess has come upon my wife most terribly,” he thought. “Divine power may kill her!” He fell at the feet of the visitation and begged holy Kali to excuse her dog of a servant this once—he would never steal again.

“Run then with the pan of your robbery and dip it deep into my tank. Then shall the fish become alive and the mango take its place on the tree.”

He obeyed at once, dipped the pan, and came home sure his sin was forgiven and the cooked fish and mango restored to life. Thus the cunning wife saved herself from his wrath.

Where this story comes from

This South Indian comic tale was printed in Tales of the Sun (London, 1890). Mrs. Howard Kingscote gathered stories through her servants, and her co-author, Pandit Natesa Sastri, checked them and contributed others. The book was left close to a literal translation to keep its local colour.

The fish and mangoes belong to the goddess Kali, so taking them is a serious offence, and the wife’s trick works because her husband believes the goddess has entered her. A ghatika, the time measure in the first paragraph, is about twenty-four minutes, and a pikota is a pole-and-bucket lift for watering. The episode turns on this husband’s fear and his wife’s performance; it is not evidence that education or caste determines anyone’s judgment.

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

Reading guidance: ages 9–12 with an adult available to discuss theft, fear of a spouse’s anger, and a pretended religious possession.

A closer reading

Two different misunderstandings drive the trick. While watering, the husband waves to keep his balance; his wife treats the movement as permission to eat. Later, he interprets her noise and loosened hair through his own guilty knowledge of the theft. In both cases a character supplies the meaning that suits an existing desire or fear, without checking with the other person.

The empty pan is the strongest part of the deception. Sending it into the tank removes the object that could reveal the missing meal, while the promised miracle makes its emptiness seem reassuring. The wife avoids a confrontation, but neither partner admits what happened. Her fear of his anger deserves attention without making dishonesty a model for a healthy household.

Try this with the story

Make two columns headed ‘What happened’ and ‘What someone thought happened.’ Fill them with the balancing wave, the wife’s performance, and the empty pan. For each, write one question that could have tested the interpretation without threats or accusations.

Talk about it

• Why did the gardener’s wife think she had permission to keep eating the fish?
• Why do you think the trick worked so well on the gardener?
• The gardener stole, and then his wife tricked him. Who do you think behaved worse, and why?

Related stories

• The Good Husband and the Bad Wife — another South Indian wife whose quick lie changes how the day ends
• The Three Deaf Men — a husband, a wife and a lot of confusion over cabbage in another Tamil tale
• Mr. Won’t-Give and Mr. Won’t-Leave — a married couple put on a fake scene to fool a hungry guest