This is a fairly typical folktale, although I tried to make it interesting. I was inspired by some of the tales we read where characters try to trick the main character into doing something dangerous, only to have that danger come back and get them. Specifically, the story where the daughter brings back a light from Baba Yaga to burn her stepmother/sisters was an inspiration.
Ivan the Fool lived in a small village, in a small kingdom, in a land somewhere. His life was simple: he worked, he slept, and he prayed. For many years Ivan had a poor harvest, and his neighbors laughed: “Ivan can’t even work a plow right!”, “Ivan can’t even plant the seeds right!”, “Ivan can’t even cut the grain right!”. And Ivan was sad, but he knew that if he prayed hard enough, his lot would change.
And one year, it did. While Ivan’s grain grew high into the sky, his neighbors’ crops withered, and now they no longer laughed, but looked at him with envy: “What did Ivan do to my crops?”, “He must’ve used magic to ruin me!”, “He never was right by me.”. And so Ivan’s neighbors began to scheme on how to take Ivan’s harvest for themselves, and finally hit upon a plan: There lived a Baba Yaga in the forest nearby who would eat any who came to her door, and Ivan was too stupid to know the danger.
“Ivan,” the neighbors said, “won’t you get us some wine from the old lady by the forest? We want to celebrate your great harvest, and throw a festival.” “Of course, good neighbors!” said Ivan the Fool, “I’ll soon return.” And he set out immediately. “What an idiot!” his neighbors laughed, and they began baking and cooking all sorts of extravagant foods with his harvest: soon all had been used.
Ivan wandered the forest, until he came upon a small hut, with no door he could see. “Come hut, turn for me, Ivan!” he shouted, but the hut did nothing. “Abra cadabra, hocus pocus, turn round now!” he shouted, but again, the hut did nothing. Then he spotted a window, and quickly began to squeeze through.
Inside was a Baba Yaga, her body contorted and stretched throughout the hut. Ivan very nearly shouted in fright, but calmed himself and spoke firmly, “hello grandmother, might you have some wine?” She awoke with surprise, and glared at him. “Why did you not enter through the door? Can you not see this is my home? I would have words with you at the door, and perhaps invite you in for supper.” But Ivan was steadfast: “I’m sorry grandmother, but a bottle of wine for my fellow neighbors is all I need. They sent me here to get it for a festival we will have for my bountiful harvest!” She pondered this, and finally smiled, giving him a bottle of wine for his neighbors. “Your neighbors should not have sent you to bother me so.”
And so Ivan left with the wine, and returned to the village to find the festival already underway, and his crop entirely gone. “Where is my harvest?” he cried frantically. “Relax, dear Ivan,” one of his neighbors said, having already drunk his fair share of vodka, “didn’t you want a festival?” And then Ivan knew the truth of the matter, and presented his neighbors with the bottle he had brought. “Might I share in your crops, brothers? For so many years you prospered, and now with my help you prosper still.” “No, Ivan, you fool! You can’t even work a plow.” “Or plant seeds!” “Or cut grain!” they laughed back. And then they began to pass around the wine he had brought, and eat the harvest he had reaped, and they proposed a toast, and didn’t think to include Ivan. And as they drank, they began to change, until there was nobody left but Ivan, standing among a sea of pigs. Try as he might, Ivan couldn’t find a way to turn them back, or even get them to go inside. And winter came, and they froze, and Ivan had plenty of food to spare from all his neighbors’ fields.
Commentary:
I tried to follow Proppian formula, although the test with Baba Yaga – not coming in the door – is a bit obscure. But I thought I preserved typical folktale form pretty well.
dabo5011 