The strange bestiary of the ancient world

A collection of reality-bending animal stories reveals the strong ties that once existed between humans and nature

Sea monsters that gulp down whole whales, talking parrots that play matchmaker to kings and queens, immortal crocodiles that ferry gods and goddesses across earth, sky and water, shape-shifting tigers and tortoises that hold up the earth — the world of myth, fable and folklore is teeming with fantastic beasts and their fabulous deeds.

Mythical beasts and reality-bending animal stories make their way into nearly every collection of ancient tales. There is no end to the possibilities and animal combinations that were explored as storytellers and mythmakers sought to understand other species and their seemingly inexplicable ways.

It was not just the extraordinary (lion-headed birds and fire-breathing dragons) that drew the attention of storytellers, the regular and the ordinary too had them in thrall. The peacock and his rain-dance, the chakor bird (partridge) and its fascination for the moon, the snake and its shedding of the skin — everything lent itself to a myth or a fable.

In her collection (Adbhut: Marvellous Creatures of Indian Myth and Folklore), the author Meena Arora Nayak brings out the human fascination for a world so near and yet so different from their own. The book reveals the strong ties that once existed between humans and nature and also, the remarkable versatility and imaginative capacity of the ancient mind

The stories may appear strange and unbelievable today, but they represent a time (or perhaps an idea of an age) when all of this was well within the realms of possibility. It would have been entirely plausible, therefore, to create a heroic character such as Jatayu — a 60,000-year-old vulture the size of a mountain with feelings and fears that were only too human — within the epic framework of the Ramayana. Or for that matter, to imagine that the crocodile could be mentor and guide to the warrior clan (human and otherwise) and also influence the fates of ordinary human beings. Nothing was too far-out or outlandish.

The Makara, ancestor to all crocodiles and lord of the waters, was propitiated by kings and their armies. His ability to rule over such large swathes of inhospitable territory made him a power to reckon with, one who could swing battles and destroy kingdoms. Thus, he was memorialised in battle formations (both the Arthashastra and the Mahabharata mention this) and invoked in war hymns. At the same time, the Makara is also part of the astrological framework of Rashis and Nakshatras in India. Its symbol is the “ear” that represents the power of listening, which brings wisdom and knowledge.

The ability to build a narrative that assigns human roles to animals may seem routine today, but when first told, the stories marked a remarkable leap of the human mind. The stories reveal a world where the human-animal relationship was intimate and distant at the same time. Living in close proximity and yet leading extremely different lives created a space where the lines between the real and imaginary were routinely blurred. Hence animals, fierce and dangerous on the one hand also possessed very human qualities of wisdom and memory, and experienced the same emotions of regret and helplessness.

The tales are, therefore, as much about the animal kingdom as they are about human beha¬viour. They were layered in contextual references and meaning and the telling was, almost always, a ritualised performance or associated with special occasions.

Unfortunately, many modern-day retellings lose the nuance and complexity. As children’s literature or fantasy, the stories turn into static tales of monsters and dragons or moralistic tales with life lessons wrapped in metaphor. In such retellings and collections, the stories end up revealing barely a part of the knowledge that their ancient storytellers vested in them.

Nayak has been diligent in putting together a diverse collection and also steers clear of the usual ways of looking at these unusual stories. She turns to them as a researcher would, looking for hidden meanings and multiple versions and the compulsions that drove the storytelling. There is a story about this magnificent sea creature called the Timingila (“Timingila That Once Was”). It was so large that it could swallow a whale in a single gulp and even a glimpse of its undulating form in the ocean could freeze the bravest of warriors. The creature rarely showed itself, but it is believed to have made an appearance for Arjuna, the Mahabharata hero, when he was on a mission to procure divine weapons for the great war. Rama and his army of monkeys also encountered it. But for most, the Timingila fish was an invisible enemy that made its presence felt through stormy seas and crashing waves. This is why, Nayak writes, it came to represent the unfathomable for poets and writers who used it to describe indescribable agonies and torture.

The idea of a mythical beast that makes its presence felt through its absence is not unique to Indian myths. There are similar stories about river and sea monsters in nearly every culture. The point is that the world of animal stories is fascinating not just because they are psychedelic, conscious-expanding experiences, but also because they stretch an invisible web of connections across diverse cultures. Could this book have looked into the comparative frame that such stories live within? Yes, definitely. Does it do that? No. And that is a missed opportunity.

Given the otherwise remarkable manner in which the author has treated these old stories, it would have been interesting to place them within a comparative framework. It would have been an invaluable contribution to the field of mythological and folklore studies and also helped readers look at the world through a different lens; one that reveals just how much we have in common — in our fears and anxieties and our relationship with the animal kingdom.