Bun-Bun and Baba Yaga

Jaya drew let out her breath in a deep sigh of contentment. Her mother shut the book and put it away, despite the familiar plea for ‘just one more story’.

‘No, Jaya. You know the system very well. Only one story on school nights. This was a long one too, I did not know it was so long or I would never have begun it. These Russian fairy tales go on endlessly for thrice three magical tasks.’

Jaya’s mother had a puzzled look on her face, perhaps because the tales were rather gory and violent despite being termed ‘fairy’ tales. Jaya had devoured the whole with rapt attention, however.

Jaya got a firm push on her rounded bottoms to convince her to a reluctant acceptance of the inevitable bedtime.

‘The stairs squeak if I am alone.’

‘The stairs squeak, I mean creak, if I am there too. Besides Bun-bun will take care of you, won’t he?’

‘Huh, I take care of him.’ The scornful retort was thrown over one departing shoulder, it was more acceptance of defeat than argument.

Knowing she could push her mother only so far and no further, Jaya let her stuffed bunny bump up the stairs as it hung from one protesting hand. Finding it aroused no protest from her mother, Jaya nestled the toy to her thin chest in a silent apology for the mis-treatment. She loved that bunny so much the lines between toy and pet were often blurred. It had had extensive repair – sorry, surgery – and was rather the worse for it. Yet, it remained her faithful companion.

So Jaya and Bun-bun went up to bed. She could do the pre-bed ritual all by herself and just needed a tuck in for ‘old time’s sake’. She was a biddable girl at most times, intelligent far beyond her seven years of age, innocent despite exposure to the free dissemination of information of the present age.

Jaya’s mother was busy at the sink, hands buried deep in the soapy water. The warm slippery sensation of the detergent laden water was almost soothing, the clinking of the plates and cups like familiar music that lulled her senses. This mundane task gave her tired brain a respite.

The scream startled her; she spun around scattering a trail of foam and bubbles. Peal after peal of frenzied cries made her pelt up the stairs heedless of her dripping hands. By the time her feet skidded into the bedroom, the cries had subsided to a sobbing fit, a shapeless form was huddled under the blankets.

Bun-bun lay near the bathroom door, next to a pair of crumpled pyjamas; it seemed safe to deduce that the shape under the blanket was Jaya.

Mothers are wise and knowing, no explanations were asked, just two arms opened wide to one eye peering out from the covers. Safe in her mother’s rocking embrace, the sobbing little girl unburdened herself in disjointed sentences.

It certainly seemed as if Bun-bun was rather cowardly and unchivalrous, there had definitely been some strange noises. Baba Yaga was claimed to be behind the whole thing. The same one who had been the villain of the bedtime tale. Bun-bun was never going to be invited to be Jaya’s bed-mate again.

One perspicacious motherly glance saw a rustling chocolate wrapper by the fluttering curtains at the window. A deft move to sweep in up, camouflaged by some pseudo-solemn ‘magical’ incantation, solved that problem. The now quiet child was bidden to test that the room was indeed banished of alien presence.

The discarded pyjamas went on over enthusiastic legs, accompanied by some tickling and giggling.

A good-night kiss sealed the deal. There was no protest to the light going out. Just as her mother turned to go out of the room a small voice begged pardon for the actual culprit.

‘Mommy, could Bun-bun sleep with me again? I think he’s sorry he made such a fuss. No more Russian Fairy Tales for him from tomorrow.’

Exactly my solution. No more Russian Fairy Tales. In fact, no more chocolates too. A pleased mother handed Bun-bun over to his Girl.

Baba Yaga had been vanquished.



Word count :688 words