In a time that once was and once wasn't and always has been, there lay a young mother breathing her last breaths. Her face was waxy and pale white, like the dripping candles in an empty church. She was not long for this world, that much was clear. She called to her daughter, little Vasilisa, to come to her sick bed. Up ran Vasilisa no taller than a bristled broom, hair plaited neatly as if woven by loom. She approached with some caution as she felt the farewell that breathed through the bedroom.
Her mother pulled her close and asked of her fear, then told Vasilisa she was right, that the end of her time on this earth was quite near. “But first,” she said, “I have something to give, something I hope might help you to live, a life full of magic and connection and strength. This is my mother’s blessing, my love. Once I am gone, she is what you’ll have left” As she handed over a little doll as a parting gift. She told Vassilia to feed the doll, to offer her nourishment as she nourished herself. And when she was lost, unsure what to do, to ask this little doll a question, or two.
It was not a great deal later, on a clear and frosty morning, that the young mother died. Breathing her last breath, just as the last leaf fell from the old Beech beside the house. For many months the house grieved, Vasilisa and her father poured their tears into each other's laps, hearts aching for what they had lost. But after some time, Vasilisa’s father returned home with the news that the next time he he returned, he would be bringing a wife with him.
And so he did, a new wife, and her two daughters. Oh, how we wish we didn’t know how this story would go, that they didn’t tease or push her into tasks that were their own. That her stepmother didn’t call her names like slug or lazy bones. But they did, and so it was so. Days passed like this, with long lists of tasks for Vasilisa and very little love for her.
Then, one day, her father had to take a trip, a long trip to distant lands, across valleys and oceans. Whilst he was gone Vasilisa’s stepmother and stepsisters saw a moment to strike whilst the iron was hot (not literally of course, they never did the ironing, THAT was Vasilisa's job.) Instead they struck up a plan to send Vasilisa on another task, only this time, a task so perilous she might never return. They doused out every fire in the house so that they were left in darkness and waited for Vasilisa’s return from the well.
A little later, she did, the bottom of her skirt a little wet from sloping water and her shoes a little muddy from the sludgy path but a broad smile across her beautiful, bright face. As she entered the dark house, she halted and shouted “Hello? Is anyone home”. Her stepmother snapped back from the sitting room “of course we are home, where else would we be stupid stupid girl? The fires have all gone out and we have no light to see by, no warmth for our bones and no flame to cook with. You shall have to go deep into the woods and seek out Baba Yaga and return with some coal. My girls are too timid and tender for such a journey, and I am too old and weary.”
Being the amenable girl she was and not wanting to displease, she set off into the woods as darkness began to creep in. She walked for some time through the thicket, with sticks cracking under her feet and the tick of her own quickening heartbeat. She was frightened. She was scared. She didn’t know which way to turn. Then she remembered! The little doll in her pocket, who had not left her side, not since the dreadful day when her own mother died. She patted the doll and it made her feel whole, the tightness that had been building in her chest loosened just so.
At each turn or tree trunk or fork in the road Vasilisa reached into her pocket and consulted the doll. Asking if she should go left or right or straight forward, climb over or under or turn back around. And the little doll answered, in a silent way Vasilisa had found. She had to listen very closely at first, for if she was rushing she might miss the words. So they carried on in such a way, with Vasilisa feeding herself and the doll with some bread she had snuck out of the house.
Suddenly a man in white on a white horse galloped by and it became daylight. Farther on, a man in red sauntered on a red horse, and the sun rose. Little Vasilisa walked on and on and just as she came to the old hovel of Baba Yaga ,a rider dressed in black came trotting on a black horse, and rode right into Baba Yaga’s hut. Swiftly, without warning, it became night. The fence made of skulls and bones surrounding the hut began to blaze. The earth trembled and the trees groaned as the fearsome Baba Yaga came out riding her cauldron-like mortar, bashing the ground with a weighty pestle to make the beast move. Vasilisa was terrified, she desperately wanted to run away, but something seemed to have rooted her to the spot and her legs would not move.
Baba Yaga was a loathsome creature by all standards, as gnarled and twisted as a hawthorn, with a chin turning up and a long nose curling down to meet in the middle. She had teeth so sharp and pointy she might have been barbed wire, ready to tear and snare at human skin that dared to cross her boundary. Even more strange than Baba Yaga, was Baba Yaga’s house. The dome of a hut jiggled and wiggled and danced about on giant, mustard yellow chicken legs. The bolts on the doors and shutters were made from human fingers and nails and the front door had a snout and teeth as sharp and pointy as the Baba Yaga herself. Vasilisa felt inward to the little doll in her pocket and asked if this was the place, and if she should stay, and if she should stay, what might she say. She felt the little doll’s presence flood through her bones just as Baba Yaga descended and started to shriek “What do you want little girl? Explain yourself! Speak!”
“Grandmother, I have come all this way to ask for some fire to take home without delay. My house is cold and dark and we will surely perish without a spark from your hearth.”
Baba Yaga looked her up and down with a quick, cool glance and knew in an instant the matter at heart. She knew the stepmother of old, and understood her tricks, she said “well you better come in then, but let me tell you this - if you don’t serve me well, I’ll serve you up with chips!” As she turned with a cackle, Vasilisa felt her whole body shudder with the fear of what might become her. But she took a deep breath and tried a tentative step, to see if her legs would betray her. They didn’t. She took another breath and followed the old woman toward the hut.
As they got closer to the door, a silver birch by the threshold began to whip and tear at Vasilisa with its spindled branches. Baba Yaga snapped “leave her be birch tree, the girls here to serve me”. And so it did. Crossing over into the house, an old mongrel started snapping at her heels. Baba Yaga said in her scratchy voice “Leave her alone, old dog, she is here to do my work”. And so it did. Entering the kitchen, a black cat with crystal eyes started to claw and scratch at her skirts. Baba Yaga said with a finality “Enough is enough, as I said, the girl is her for me.” Turning to Vasilisa she said “But pay attention, little one, for after all is said and done, if you try to flee without express permission to leave, my birch will whip you, my dog will bite you and my cat will scratch you. You will not get far before I find you and gobble you whole.”
“As it happens, I am hungry now. There is stew on the fire, bread in the larder and tea in the samovar. Serve me up a feast and I shall eat and eat.” And so she did. Plate after plate, cup after cup, she ate and ate and ate until there was nothing left but a crust of bread, a teacup of stew, and a thimble of tea left for Vasilisa. Carefully, Vasilisa shared what was left with the little doll who had helped her so much.
Now they had all been fed, Baba Yaga looked at the girl shrewdly and said “whilst you are here you will cook, you will clean, you will sort this from that, is that clear?” Vasilisa nodded her ascent. The witch laughed and said “Good, now I shall sleep. By tomorrow evening, once you have finished cleaning the house and washing my clothes and preparing the food, I would like you to sort through these.” She clapped and two HUGE sacks of corn appeared. “You must separate the golden kernels from the rotting ones, one by one, until you're done.” She yawned widely, showing her pointy teeth, reminding Vasilisa what would happen if she didn’t succeed. She disappeared up the stairs and started snoring the roof off in minutes.
Vasilisa was despondent. How would she EVER achieve her tasks before the next evening? She was already bone tired. She slumped down to the floor. As she did, she felt a lump in the pocket of her dress and remembered her little doll. Taking her out again, she whispered in the doll's ear the mammoth task ahead of her. She felt the little dolls reply “Don't be afraid, Vasilisa, clear away your dinner and go to bed. Mornings are wiser than evenings."
So she did.
The next day, she awoke with her heart beating fast, afraid of what might become of her. As she sidled downstairs, she saw the Baba Yaga fly out the door on a gust of wind on her pestle and mortar. Then she saw to her greater surprise that the doll had completed all the tasks. All that was left to do was prepare the evening meal, which Vasilisa took her time doing. Crushing the spices and picking herbs from the little garden outside.
When Baba Yaga returned that evening and could find no fault in anything, she was both impressed and annoyed, and sniffed “You are a very lucky girl.” She then called on her faithful servants to grind the corn and three pairs of hands appeared in midair and began to rasp and crush the corn. The chaff flew in the house like a golden snow. Finally it was done and Baba Yaga sat down to eat. She ate for hours and hours and ordered Vasilisa on the morrow to again clean the house, sweep the yard, and launder her clothes.
“Oh, I almost forgot” She sneered, pointing to a pile of dirt in the garden. “In that pile of dirt are many, millions of poppy seeds. You must sort the seed from the dirt until there is a pile of each. Understood?” Vasilisa nodded her ascent and stood aghast, looking at the giant pile of dirt outside. “How ever, ever, am I going to manage that?” She wondered to herself. The little doll replied from inside her pocket, “Do not fret, do not weep, but eat your dinner and go to sleep.”
So she did. Remembering of course to feed the doll a little as well.
The next morning, all the tasks were completed once again. When Vasilisa had prepared the evening meal, Baba Yaga returned to inspect her ward and wares. She looked long and hard and finally snorted out “Well, lucky for you, you can sort seed from muck.” Calling out to her faithful servants to press oil from the seed, the three pairs of hands appeared again and began their work.
The old woman was deep into her evening meal, stew smeared around her mouth when she looked up and caught Vasilisa staring at her.
“What are you aching after there girl?” she barked.
“I wish only to ask you some questions, Grandmother,” Vasilisa replied. “May I?”
“Go on then” she relented. “But remember, too much knowledge can make a person old too soon.”
Vasilisa asked about the white man on a white horse.
“Aha,” said the Yaga fondly, “that first is my Day.”
“And the red man on the red horse?”
“Ah, that is my Rising Sun.”
“And the black man on the black horse?”
“Ah yes, that is the third and he is my Night.”
“I see,” said Vasilisa.
“Come, come child. Wouldn’t you like to ask more questions?” wheedled the Yaga.
Vasilisa wanted to ask about the mysterious hands that appeared, but felt the little doll bouncing against her belly, warning her against it. She remained quiet for a moment, then replied, “No, Grandmother, as you say, too much knowledge can make a person old too soon.”
“Hmmmph” the old woman replied, finishing her food, wiping her mouth and retiring to her bed.
Vasilisa was a little perturbed. What now? No more tasks or chores? What did this mean? Perhaps if the old woman didn’t need her anymore, she would end up eating her after all! Vasilisa had no interest in becoming a stew, so decided escaping was the best thing to do. She consulted the doll and listened to its advice and then came up with a plan to flee at once. She picked up the scraps left from the old woman's feast, and as she left the kitchen the cat clawed at her feet. Vasilisa tossed down some meat from the stew and the cat curled up and purred “weeell, thank you”. As she got close to the door the dog let out a bark but before he could bite her she threw down some bread, so he waggled his tail and said “thank you” instead. She crossed over the threshold and into the night, feeling the sharp sting of the birch’s branches bite. As quick as a flash, she took the ribbon from her waist, tying it around the tree's trunk in an embrace. The wind whispered through its branches, sounding like grace, it softened in thanks and Vasilisa turned her face toward the darkness, ready to race away from this place.
She had only taken a few strides from the gates when the old witch whooshed out on her pestle and mortar and caught Vasilisa by the thinnest of threads unravelling from her dress.
“And where, exactly, do you think you’re going?” The old witch sneered.
“Home!” Vasilisa cried
“Are you now? And how exactly did you manage to get past the guardians of my gates? The cat, the mongrel and the old silver birch?”
Vasilisa explained how she had given each being what they had needed and this simple act of reciprocity had been enough.
“Yes, yes” The old witch replied. “That's all well and good, but how did you know exactly what each of them needed? And for that matter, how did you manage to complete all the tasks I set out for you?”
“Why, by my mothers blessing of course” She said, patting the little doll in the front pocket of her dress.
“Hmm, so I see. Well there'll be no more blessings here, that you can guarantee.” She turned her back and walked towards the house, only to pluck a burning skull from her fence and put it on a stick. “Here.” She said, handing her the stick. “Here’s the fire you came for. Now be gone, no more to be said!”
Vasilisa did not need to be told twice, she felt the warmth of the doll’s agreement and off they went into the darkness. Through the thicket, forest and trees, they twisted and turned through the mulch and the leaves. At each junctor, she stopped and she paused, and asked for directions from the little doll. Sometimes brambles caught her and tore at her skirts, but she carried on walking, not letting the snags block her path. The skull kept on burning and leading the way until the dawn began to rise into a new day.
As she reached her old house, the old evil trio, her stepmother and stepsisters, watched in dismay, having been sure that Vasilisa must have died while she was away. They ran out to meet her, with their coal black hearts, saying as hard as they tried their fires wouldn't start.
So Vasilisa entered the house feeling triumphant at the success of her journey and placed the burning skull on the hearth. From there it watched and watched the moves of the three with a burning scrutiny of their meanness and cruelty. And it burned and burned all their hatred away, until it burnt them to ashes and cinders and dust, which Vasilisa scattered over the earth and the mud. She then thanked the skull for freeing her from her foe, and buried it in the garden too. A red rose bush grew where it lay.
Sensing her time here in this house was now done, she packed up the little she had and moved on. She walked and she walked till she came to a town. There, she found lodgings with a kindly old woman.
One day, the old woman gifted Vasilisa some flax. With it Vasilisa spun the most
beautiful golden white thread, so fine it was like a spider's web. Then she carefully weaved the thread into the most exquisite cloth. It was brilliantly white and beautifully soft.
“Here Grandma,” Vasilisa said “With gratitude for taking me in, please take this cloth. Sell it for gold and keep that for yourself.”
The old woman gasped when she saw the cloth, so lovingly and patiently woven.
“Oh no, my child,” She replied. “A masterpiece such as this is only fit for a gift to one such place, the Palace.”
Without hesitation, she slipped on her scarf and set off for the palace with the cloth safely tucked in her basket. When she showed the cloth to the king, his eyes filled with wonder at what she did bring.
“How much for such a piece?” He asked, his eyes reflected the golden glints of the white cloth.
“It is too fine to be sold my lord,” She replied. “Please accept this as my gift.”
He did accept her gift, and showered her with his own presents in return. So enamored with the craft of the cloth, he tried to find a tailor fit to turn it into a shirt. But to his dismay could find none with the intricate skill of the weave on the cloth. So he called for the old woman to return.
“Please, Grandmother, as you wove this cloth, you must know how to work your magic on it once again and make a shirt of it?” He asked.
“Ah I wish I could,” The old woman replied “But this is the work of Vasilisa.”
“Please, Grandmother, then take me to her so I may ask her if she would do me the honour herself.”
Together, they left the castle and made their way to the old woman's humble abode. When she heard a knocking, Vasilisa opened the door upon the king. With the old woman behind him, smiling and nodding.
As their eyes find each other something moves on the wind and the world becomes stiller as the two heart beats meet.
A cough, after silence, brings them back and the man makes his request for a shirt fit for a king. Vasilisa agreed, asking for three days and three nights, to devote to the task and to sew the cloth with new life. She sang as she worked, with deep love in her heart and the king took to his workshop too. He had a ring to create and a commitment to make, so he worked at the task at hand.
When the three days had passed, he returned to the house, with a box hewn from hawthorn and birch. Inside was a ring and he asked if she would sing her soul song beside him for their lives. She agreed and they wed. And around the kingdom it is said, together they sing, sew, create and give birth, in devotion to the land and our great mother earth, bringing back lost souls to their hearth. To feast together, through the ever changing weather, on this beautiful, strange path we call life.