Stories have always enriched life. Since prehistoric times, legends have been spread for educational purposes, say, that of the honest woodcutter. I’ve heard a story that few people recognize. It’s about the three guests, Wealth, Love and Fame.
Like the three little pigs, this is also a tale with the rule of three. Three sets a suspenseful pattern heralding the climax. The shepherd cried ‘wulf’ three times, Goldilocks found three chairs, Jack got three beans, there were three brothers, three sisters, three attempts at murder and so on.
Three symbolizes choices. There’s the right, the left and the straight path. There are three eyes, the trinity, the three magi, the three wishes, the three disguised angels and lo, at number three the conflict is resolved.
Now, Wealth, Fame and Love, after a long day’s stroll, were aching for rest. They knocked at the nearest house. The woman, who was preparing supper, wiped her hand in a kitchen mop and opened the door. Seeing three strangers in winter clothes she exclaimed, ‘Who are you?’
Why winter clothes? In most stories the sign of riches is in heavy clothes, well protected from rain, snow or even the desert wind. By contrast, exposed skin is a sign of want and suffering. Why a kitchen mop? So as to show her scampering about for daily necessities. If she were coming out from a sauna, there would have been a towel.
The guests were benign-looking fellows who showed no sign of offence at her crass squeal. They rather apologetically said they were tired and hungry. She readjusted her wavelength and invited them in but consternation showed up on their faces. ‘Excuse me’, one of them said, ‘we cannot go in together; you must choose only one of us for tonight.’
She studied them and selected the one who wore a heavy black overcoat over a brocade vest. He was Wealth. The moment he crossed the threshold, the room lit up and the dinner set turned into silver. The door shut quietly behind him.
One day, a year later, there was a knock at the door at an unearthly hour and the woman who was rich now opened the door with a remote control. The moment she saw the three guests she ran up to them and exclaimed, ‘You’ve been so long! I was hoping to rectify my mistake.’ The three guests grinned. Immediately, she invited the clean shaven, thinly clad man with sparkling teeth. He stepped in, stylishly swinging his walking stick and the door shut behind him with a bang. His name was Fame.
I find it hard to describe what went wrong. Wealth gives us comforts but the woman exchanged him for Fame. She must have missed something. If I am not mistaken, Fame must have given her unconditional love, flying kisses from all corners of the world, to say the least. But here’s the climax.
As all climaxes are followed by a recognition, the woman’s confusion in this story too gets resolved by a lesson. She learns it the hard way though. Love, the third guest was the least sophisticated. He had a cropped head, wore a floral gown and carried a flute in his rucksack.
She doubtfully considered all three of them the next year. By now she knew they were magicians who could bless her with something great so she tried her luck with the third guest. He bowed with gratitude and stepped into the room. Behind him the wind blew hard and she looked on as the other two guests sauntered in. The door remained ajar.
Anuradha Bhattacharyya is an Indian author known for her poetry, short stories and novels in English.
