Note on the magic string

Note: this text is extracted from Book XII, chapter 71

We have already (Vol. III, p. 191) come across this form of animal metamorphosis, where several references are given. It will be remembered that in that case Sukhaśayā, the witch, teaches the spells to her friend Bandhudattā in order that she can turn her lover into a monkey at will without her husband suspecting the intrigue. There are, however, two spells which have to be recited—one in order to turn the man into the monkey, and another to change him back again to his former condition. Furthermore, we see (Vol. III, p. 192) that the cord or string itself possessed protective powers, for after the lover in his monkey form has been nearly killed by a troop of real monkeys, he says: “At last, by the virtue of the string on my neck... I managed to recover my strength....”

In the very next story (p. 194) we saw that Bhavaśarman was turned into an ox merely by a magical string being placed round his neck. We hear nothing of the necessity for the recitation of spells or of the virtue of the string itself. The same applies to the story in our present text (p. 40).

Thus we notice that in no case is there any mention of a talisman or amulet, but merely a string or cord which possesses magical properties. That the mere string suffices in Indian fiction should not surprise us, as it enters into such important Hindu ceremonies as upanayana, the rite of initiation at which the Brāhman is invested with the sacred thread (yajñopavīta). (For details see Stevenson, Rites of the Twice-Born, pp. 27-45.) There is also the maṅgalasūtram, or lucky thread fastened round the neck at marriages in Southern India (see Padfield, The Hindu at Home, Madras, 1896, pp. 126 et seq., 239). Closely analogous to this is the rite of the tying of the tāli, to which we have already had numerous references in the Ocean (see e.g. Vol. I, pp. 255-264; Vol. II, pp. 17, 18). Then there is the rākhi, which is a cord tied by a woman or by Brähmans on the wrists of men at the Salono or Rakṣābandhan feast, held on the full moon of the month Śrāvaṇa (July-August). The use of cords and strings to obviate sterility and for medicinal curative purposes is found not only in many parts of India, but all over the world. See, for instance, W. Crooke, “Charms and Amulets (Indian),” Hastings’ Ency. Rel. Eth., vol. iii, p. 444; ditto, Religion and Folklore of Northern India, new edition (1926), pp. 304-306; J. G. Frazer, Golden Bough, vol. iii (Taboo and the Perils of the Soul), pp. 32 et seq., 43, 51. The colour of the string or cord is often of importance as well as the material of which it is made. (See the following articles by Theodor Zachariae, “Zum altindischen Hochzeitsritual,” Wiener Zeitschrift f. d. Kunde d. Morgenlandes, vol. xvii, pp. 135 et seq., 211 et seq.; “Verwandlung durch Umbinden eines Fadens,” op. cit., vol. xix, pp. 240-243. The last article is also to be found in his Kleine Schriften, pp. 228-230.)

The uses of the noose or necklace of string in magical connections are, therefore, numerous and the practice widespread. Yet in nearly every case we can discern a distinct connection with the magic circle—a line of endless continuity, a barrier past which nothing can escape and into which nothing can enter.

Thus, in our present text the modus operandi of the magic string is clear. It possesses the power of holding a person in a certain prescribed state or condition until it is removed. The person when released from the enthralling properties of the string immediately returns to his former condition. A few analogues to our present text will show the different forms in which the “magic string” motif is found. In the Uttama-charitra-kathānaka (a Jain tale—the only copy in the British Museum is in Sanskrit, from the Gujarati), Anaṅgasenā, the courtesan, is madly in love with Prince Uttama-charitra. Unable to obtain him any other way, she manages to tie a magic thread round his leg. He is immediately turned into a parrot, and thus can be kept in close confinement, only being released to quench the fire of her passion.

A rather curious, and in many ways similar, story appears in a small Burmese collection translated by C. J. Bandow, The Precedents of Princess Thoodamma Tsari, Rangoon, 1881. Story No. XVII, “The Case of the Thoo-Hte’s Son and his Three Wives,” can be summarised as follows. A man is bitten by a snake and dies. In accordance with his instructions he is placed upon a raft and set adrift on the river. The body is found by three sisters many miles downstream. Their father restores the dead man to life, and all the daughters claim him. Finally, they agree to let him depart, but place a thread round his neck which immediately turns him into a small parrot. He flies home, and settles in the king’s garden. He steals the fruit, is captured, and given as a present to the princess. One day she notices the thread round the bird’s neck and removes it in play. The transformation at once takes place, and the couple become enamoured of one another. In time the princess becomes pregnant, and the parrot thinks it about time to make his exit. In doing so, however, the thread catches in the window and the metamorphosis occurs at this most inopportune moment. The man makes good his escape and rushes into a neighbouring house, where the family, liking his looks, pretend he is their son-in-law. Subsequently he marries the daughter. His original wife hears of his return to life. And (as in the Vetāla tales which begin on p. 165 of this volume) the story ends with a question, in this case put to the wise Princess Tsari: “Whose husband should he be—that of his original wife, the princess, or the stranger’s daughter?” Similar to the tale of Prince Uttama-charitra is a Kashmiri story, found in Knowles, Folk-Tales of Kashmir (2nd ed., 1893, p. 71). Here a witch’s daughter falls in love with a prince, and leading him away from the princess throws a cord round his neck, and turns him into a ram, releasing him only at night.

In a Persian collection by Shayk h‘Izzat Ullāh, known as “The Rose of Bakawali” (see Clouston, Eastern Romances, pp. 346 and 545), we find practically the same tale again. Rūh-afzā is madly in love with Bahrām, and in order to have him always with her fastens round his neck a talisman which changes him into a bird. Here, for the first time, we have the string or cord playing but a secondary part. It is now the talisman which is the important thing. As we now begin to get further away from Hindu environment, the sacredness and power of the string would lose its point in effecting transformations, while the magical talisman (the word itself is derived from the Arabic ṭilsam, pi. ṭalāsim), so well known throughout Mohammedan countries, would take its place.

The use of talismans for the purposes of conjurations, etc., was not original with the Arabs. They derived their knowledge almost entirely from Gnostic and Talmudic sources, merely adding invocations from the Qur’ān. When we come to Christian countries we note a further change still, for the cord, string or talisman has become a bridle. It is not surprising that the talisman is rare in Christian collections of folk-tales, for the underlying ideas of all charms and talismans is little less than a negation of the Unity of God. In early Christian times the efforts to crush all superstition and magic were for a time effective, and it is very interesting to read Augustine (De Civ. Dei, viii, 16 - 22) in his attack on Apuleius. It was only in later days that the belief in magic was recognised in Catholic communities, thus proving it had been crushed only temporarily, and was merely awaiting a more propitious moment to reassert itself.

But in the case of transformations in European folk-tales the bridle is the magical article usually employed. After serving an apprenticeship with a magician, the hero learns how to turn himself into any animal he pleases, but in nearly every case becomes a horse or donkey, which is to be taken to market and sold. Great care, however, has to be taken to remember to remove the bridle after the sale is completed, otherwise the man cannot return to his former shape. It is quite natural that a European village community would much more readily appreciate a tale of a magic bridle than a string, or even a talisman worn round the neck. (The bridle, however, does occur in Eastern tales. See, e.g., Nights, Burton, vol. vii, p. 304w¹, and Kirby’s note in Supp., vol. vi, p. 353.)

The best-known “bridle” story is undoubtedly Grimm’s No. 68, “De Gaudeif un sien Meester,” but here, as in so many of its analogues, the tale runs into the “Magical Conflict” motif, already treated in Vol. Ill, pp. 203-205.

For both motifs see Bolte (op. cit.) vol. ii, pp. 60-69).

In conclusion, I would mention those Eastern variants in which no connection with the magic circle is possible, as nothing circular is used for the transformation. I refer to those tales in which a pin is inserted or taken out of the head of the man or animal (see Cosquin, Contes Indiens et l’Occident, p. 58 et seq.). A well-known example will be found in the second story of Miss Stokes’ Indian Fairy Tales, “The Pomegranate King” (see pp. 12-14 of the 1880 edition). Here the dead wife prays to be allowed to see her husband and children. Her prayer is granted, but she can come only as a bird—with a pin in her head. As soon as it is extracted, however, she will at once turn into a woman again. It has also found its way to Sarawak, and occurs in a modern tale by the Ranee of Sarawak, “The Pontianak,” included in her recent book, The Cauldron. Her Highness tells me she founded it entirely on a local legend. The Pontianak is well known throughout the Malayan region as a kind of flying vampire created by the death of a woman in childbirth. Full details will be found in Skeat, Malay Magic, London, 1900, p. 327, and Skeat and Blagden, Pagan Races of the Malay Peninsula, London, 1906, vol. i, pp. 698, 699, and vol. ii, p. 14.—n.m.p.