When Rice And Ragi Argued: Food Stories From Indian Folktales

In one Kannada poem, rice and ragi argue over which grain is superior. In an Assamese folktale, a girl is killed while working at a wooden rice pounder. In another, an elephant apple becomes a princess. And in a North Indian tale, a pot of khichdi becomes the answer to an emperor’s unreasonable logic.Food is a part of Indian folktales in different ways. Sometimes it is the subject; sometimes it is a tool around which the story pivots. Grains become characters, cooking becomes an argument, a fruit becomes a person, and the work behind food becomes part of the narrative. These stories offer a way of looking at food beyond what reaches the plate.

When Rice And Ragi Argue

In 16th-century Karnataka, Kannada saint-poet Kanakadasa wrote Ramadhanya Charitre, a poetic story in which grains argue over which is superior. At its centre are rice and ragi.Rice considers itself superior because it is eaten by the wealthy, royals and elites. Ragi argues that it feeds the poor, working class and labouring masses and gives them strength. Unable to settle the dispute, the grains approach Lord Rama. He orders rice and ragi to be kept in separate rooms for six months. When they are opened, rice has rotted and turned into waste, while ragi remains fresh. Rama declares ragi superior. The argument between the grains carries a social dimension: ragi is associated with ordinary people, while rice represents status. Kanakadasa uses food to challenge caste hierarchies and social discrimination and to honour labour. The connection between ragi and everyday life also appears in women’s agricultural songs, food preparation and farming rituals through which knowledge about the grain was passed between generations.

The Rice Pounder In Tejimola

In Assam, food enters a darker folktale. Tejimola, one of Assam’s best-known folktales, was collected by Lakshminath Bezbaroa in Burhi Aair Xadhu in 1911. Tejimola is mistreated by her stepmother after her father leaves home on a journey. Eventually, the stepmother takes her to a dheki, the traditional wooden foot-operated rice pounder. She forces Tejimola to work at it, crushing her hands under the wooden pestle, then her feet and finally her head, killing her. She buries the girl in the garden. But Tejimola returns in different forms. A lau creeper grows where she is buried. When an old woman tries to pick its gourds, the plant speaks in Tejimola’s voice. The stepmother cuts it down and throws it into a river. A plum tree then grows on the riverbank and speaks in the same voice. It too is destroyed. Finally, Tejimola becomes a lotus. Her returning father reaches for the flower, which tells him what happened. She later transforms into a white dove and finally back into her human form, exposing the stepmother’s crime. The dheki is not the subject of the tale, but it places rice-processing and household labour at the centre of Tejimola’s death. Assamese rice-grinding songs associated with the dheki similarly describe grinding rice, preparing rice flour and cooking it.

When An Elephant Apple Becomes A Princess

Another Assamese folktale takes food into the realm of transformation. In The Ow Princess, a king’s elder queen, after years of praying for a child, gives birth to an Ow—the Assamese elephant apple, or ou tenga, identified as Dillenia indica. The younger queen mocks her, but the elder queen keeps the fruit in a basket. Whenever servants leave rice and water nearby, a young woman emerges from inside the elephant apple. She cleans the house, eats and returns inside. A prince eventually sees her and asks to marry the “Ow fruit”. After the marriage, he waits for her to emerge from the fruit and throws its rind into the fire, destroying her disguise. She is revived and lives as a human princess. The fruit is not simply a food in this story: it is the princess’s home, disguise and identity. Outside the tale, elephant apple is a sour fruit used in Assamese cooking, including fish preparations. The story asks what happens when a region’s landscape becomes part of its mythology.

Should One Cook The Khichdi?

In the North Indian tale of Birbal’s khichdi, cooking becomes the logic of an argument. On a winter day, Akbar challenges the idea that anyone could spend a night standing in a freezing lake. A poor man accepts the challenge for 1,000 gold coins and succeeds. When asked how he endured the cold, he says he kept looking at a lamp burning in the distance. Akbar refuses to reward him, arguing that the lamp had provided warmth. The man turns to Birbal for help. The next day, Akbar finds Birbal beside a fire with a pot hanging almost six feet above it. Birbal says he is cooking khichdi. Akbar laughs, saying the pot is too far from the fire. Birbal’s answer makes the point: if the poor man could be warmed by looking at a distant lamp, the khichdi should be able to cook from a distant fire. Akbar understands and rewards the man.Khichdi is therefore not incidental to the tale. The logic of cooking becomes the logic of the argument. The dish also has a documented history in the material here: rice and pulses appear together in descriptions of Indian food going back centuries, and the Ain-i-Akbari records several varieties of khichdi.

When Rice Beer Becomes A Memory

In parts of Northeast India, rice enters folk songs through something made from it: rice beer. Research on Assam’s Ahom communities documents folk songs centred on locally produced rice beer. Bodo wedding songs describe an abundance of cooked rice, meat and rice beer, including songs about when that abundance disappears. Among communities including the Mishing, Bodo and Naga, rice beer such as apong and jou appears in folk songs, oral histories and community celebrations. In Mishing mythology, rice beer was originally consumed only by immortal gods before mortals obtained the recipe.In wedding and harvest songs, the quality and richness of the brew can represent a fertile union, community harmony and a successful harvest. Songs may also tease brewers, newlyweds or hosts when the drink is too sour or insufficient. Among the Chokri Naga, the libuh, a traditional instrument, was historically made from a bottle gourd used to carry rice beer. 

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