Baba Yaga

[Surya]

Quote

This is the essence of the story, transcript from the first 20 mins. 

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In the old tales of the Slavic world, the forest is not just a collection of trees, it is a character, a living, breathing entity that exists on the border between our world and another. It is a place of deep shadow and even deeper memory where the normal rules of reality begin to fray and where those who are lost or desperate or brave enough to seek it can find things that should not exist. You journey for days, leaving the familiar behind. The path disappears. The sounds of human life fade into an oppressive silence broken only by the snap of a twig underfoot or the whisper of the wind which sometimes sounds like a name. It is here in the heart of the deep woods that you might find her domain. But you do not find her. First you find her house. It is a thing of profound impossibility.

A small crude log cabin perched precariously on a pair of giant scaly chicken legs. It does not sit still. The house can walk, it can run, and sometimes it spins in a frantic, dizzying circle. It has a will of its own, and it is surrounded by a fence made of human bones. Its posts topped with skulls whose eye sockets glow with an eerie internal fire in the darkness.

To approach the house is a ritual in itself. One cannot simply walk up to the door. You must know the secret words, the proper incantation to make it stop its spinning and turn its door towards you. "Hut. Oh hut, turn your back to the forest and your front to me." Only then does the house groan to a halt, its great legs bending, lowering itself to the ground to grant you entry.

And who is the mistress of this impossible home? She is a monster who sharpens her teeth on a stone and eats lost children. And she is a wise woman who offers the magical gifts that can save a kingdom. She is a witch who commands the elements. And she is the guardian of the waters of life and death. She flies through the sky in a giant mortar, using the pestle as a rudder and sweeping away her tracks with a broom made of silver birch.

For centuries, one name has haunted the forests of Eastern Europe: Baba Yaga. But is she a villain, a helper, or a force of nature as neutral and as dangerous as the forest itself? Who or what is she? To find the answer, we must do as the heroes of the old stories did. We must be brave. We must be respectful. And we must knock on her door. To truly understand the enigma of Baba Yaga, we must not look at her alone. We must look at those who were brave or desperate enough to seek her out. And of all the heroes and heroines in the old stories, none is more famous than a young girl known as Vasilisa the Beautiful. Her story begins, as so many do, with a dying mother's last gift. Before she passed away, Vasilisa's mother gave her a small magical doll with a final instruction. "Feed this doll, my child," she said. "And consult it whenever you are in trouble. It will help you." This doll was more than a toy. It was Vasilisa's intuition, the inherited wisdom of her maternal line, given physical form.

After her mother's death, Vasilisa's father remarried a cruel and jealous woman with two daughters of her own. The stepmother and stepsisters were envious of Vasilisa's beauty and gentle spirit. And they tormented her relentlessly. They forced her to do all the work of the household, hoping to wear her down with endless labor and extinguish the light within her.

But every night, Vasilisa would share a small crumb of her food with her doll and tell it her troubles, and the doll would come to life, comforting her and magically performing all of her impossible chores while she slept. It would weed the garden, carry the water, and light the fires. And so, despite her family's cruelty, Vasilisa endured, and her beauty only grew.

Determined to be rid of her once and for all, the stepmother devised a wicked plan; she moved the family to a small, isolated cottage on the very edge of a deep, dark forest. A forest that everyone knew was the domain of Baba Yaga. One autumn evening, the stepmother put out every candle and lamp in the house, plunging them into darkness. "We have no fire," she declared. "One of you must go to our neighbors' house to ask for a light." Of course, their only neighbor was the witch. The stepsisters refused in mock terror, and so the duty fell to Vasilisa. It was a death sentence disguised as a household chore. And so with only her doll in her pocket for comfort, the young Vasilisa was sent out alone into the haunted woods on an impossible errand.

Vasilisa walked all through the night. The forest grew deeper, darker, and more silent. The branches of the ancient trees seemed to reach for her, and strange sounds echoed in the darkness. She was terrified, but she trusted the doll, which she kept in her pocket, and it guided her feet, keeping her on the path.

She walked through the next day, and as another night began to fall, she knew she must be close. The woods here felt different, older, and possessed by a powerful and unsettling presence. The very air seemed to hum with a strange energy. And it was then that she witnessed the first of the great mysteries.

Suddenly, a rider galloped past her. The man himself was dressed all in white. His face was bright and shining, and he rode upon a pure white horse, and as he passed, the deep darkness of the night receded, and the pale gray light of dawn began to filter through the trees. Vasilisa was struck with awe, but she continued on her way. Later, as the sun was high in the sky, a second rider galloped past. This one was dressed all in red, his face was flushed and brilliant, and he rode upon a blood red horse. And as he passed, the sun began to blaze with its full midday glory. Vasilisa now understood that these were no mortal horsemen. She was entering a realm where the fundamental forces of the world took on a physical form. Finally, as evening fell, she reached a clearing, and there she saw Baba Yaga's impossible hut, surrounded by its fence of bones. Just as she arrived, a third and final rider galloped past. He was dressed all in black, his face was dark as a shadow, and he rode upon a jet black horse. He rode straight through Barbayaga's gates and vanished. And as he did, night fell upon the world instantly, a deep and total darkness.

Vasilisa stood in terror, the only light now coming from the glowing eye sockets of the skulls on the fence. Her doll trembled in her pocket. She had just witnessed the passing of Baba Yaga's faithful servants: her bright day, her red sun, and her dark midnight. The being she had come to see did not just rule a small hut in the woods; she commanded time itself.

Trembling, Vasilisa entered the hut and found herself in a strange and wondrous place. The hut was far larger on the inside than it had appeared from without, but it was also grim and foreboding. The air was thick with the smell of strange herbs and something else, something vaguely human. She saw a great dark stove, a table that set itself, and stranger still, three pairs of disembodied hands that scurried about, acting as invisible servants.

Then the very air began to howl and the trees outside groaned. A great noise filled the forest as Baba Yaga came flying home. She landed in her courtyard, sniffed the air, and shrieked, "I smell a human. Who is there?" Vasilisa, remembering her doll's advice, stepped forward, bowed low, and answered respectfully, but without a tremor in her voice. "It is only I, grandmother. My stepsisters sent me to you to ask for fire." Baba Yaga glared down at the girl with her terrible eyes. "I know your stepmother," she snarled. "Very well. You shall have your fire if you can earn it. You will stay here and work for me. If you do everything I ask, you will get what you came for. If not," she grinned, revealing her sharpened iron teeth, "Then I shall eat you."

The next morning, Baba Yaga gave Vasilisa her first set of impossible tasks. She was to sweep the yard, clean the entire hut, cook the dinner, and most impossibly, she was to take a bushel of wheat, and separate it, grain by single grain, from a pile of dirt and poppy seeds. And she was to have it all done by the time Barbara Yaga returned.

Left alone, Vasilisa looked upon the mountain of grain and her heart filled with despair. The task was truly impossible. She began to weep, but then she remembered her mother's gift. She took out the small wooden doll, set a crumb of bread before it, and told it of her terrible predicament.

The doll's eyes seemed to glow. "Do not weep, little mistress," a tiny voice whispered. "Eat your supper. Say your prayers and go to sleep, for the morning is always wiser than the evening." And so, trusting her intuition, Vasilisa did as she was told. While Vasilisa slept a deep and peaceful sleep, the little doll went to work. It summoned ants and birds and unseen helpers. And all through the night, it sorted the great pile, separating the wheat from the poppy seeds, from the dirt into three neat mounds.

When Baba Yaga returned the next day, she was astonished and enraged to find every task completed perfectly. [Music] Bound by the ancient rules of magic, she could not punish the girl. But she was not yet defeated. She set even more tasks for the next day, each one more impossible than the last. And each night, the doll completed them. Vasilisa never saw how the work was done. She simply trusted her inner voice, rested, and awoke to find that her trials had been overcome.

Finally, Baba Yaga knew she had been bested. A power greater than her own was protecting the girl. "You have done your work," she grumbled. "Take your fire. But first," she allowed Vasilisa to ask some questions. Remembering her doll's advice, Vasilisa wisely asked only about the things she had seen outside the hut. "I saw a white horseman," she said. "Who was he?" "That was my bright day," the witch replied. "And the red horsemen?" "That was my red sun." "And the black horsemen, that was my dark midnight. They are my faithful servants." Baba Yaga then turned her terrible gaze upon the girl. "And why do you not ask about the things you saw inside my hut? The disembodied hands." Vasilisa bowed her head and replied, "Because you yourself have said, grandmother, that it is not good for those who know too much." This answer, showing that Vasilisa respected the boundaries of secret knowledge, pleased the old witch greatly. She had passed the final test, the test of wisdom. With the tests complete, Barbara Yaga's demeanor changed. She was bound by the ancient laws of magic and hospitality. The girl had earned her prize. "You have asked enough," the witch grumbled. "Take the fire you came for, and go." Barbara Yaga walked to her terrible fence, plucked one of the skulls with its furiously burning eyes from a post, mounted it on a stick, and handed it to Vasilisa. "Here is your light," she said. "Take it home. This is what your stepmother sent you for." Vasilisa took the gruesome lantern, bowed one last time, and turned to leave. As she walked away, she heard Barbara Yaga's voice call out behind her. "You have been well served, child. Be well." It was not a warm blessing, but a simple statement of fact from one power recognizing another.

Vasilisa walked back through the forest. But this time, there was no fear in her heart. The path that had seemed so terrifying in the darkness was now brilliantly illuminated by the eerie, otherworldly light of the skull. The ancient gnarled trees seemed to shrink away from its gaze. The darkness itself recoiled.

[Music] She wanted to throw the skull away to be rid of the terrible object, but a quiet voice from the doll in her pocket whispered, "Do not throw it away, little mistress. You have earned it. Carry it home." Vasilisa understood. She was no longer just a frightened girl sent on an errand. She was now a wielder of magic, a carrier of a powerful and dangerous justice taken from the land of the dead itself.

When she finally arrived back at the cottage, her stepmother and stepsisters rushed to meet her. They told her they had been without fire the entire time she was gone, unable to strike a spark. They were relieved to see the light she carried, hoping their cruel plan had succeeded in some other way.

But as Vasilisa stepped into the cottage, the skull's burning eyes fixed upon the three wicked women. They stared, transfixed into its empty sockets. The light it gave off seemed to intensify to hunt them. They tried to run, to hide in the shadows of the room, but there was nowhere to hide. The light followed them, its gaze filled with an eerie intelligence and an ancient burning judgment.

The skull's gaze burned into them, tracking their every move. It scorched them with a magical fire. And by morning, all that was left of the cruel stepmother and her two wicked daughters was a small pile of fine black ash. This was not an act of murder committed by Vasilisa. It was an act of justice delivered by the uncanny power she had brought back from the very edge of the other world. Having survived her ordeal and seen justice done, Vasilisa buried the skull in the garden so it could harm no other. She left the cursed cottage behind forever and went on to live a long and prosperous life. Her trial by fire was over. She had faced the great and terrible mother of the woods and had emerged not as a victim, but as a wise and powerful woman in her own right.

And so ends the most famous telling of the story of Vasilisa the Beautiful as it was collected in the 19th century by the great Russian folklorist Alexander Aphanasv. It is a powerful tale of quiet endurance, feminine intuition and the righteous fiery justice of the other world. But it is crucial to remember that these old stories are not like modern novels, fixed and unchanging. They are like a great river flowing through generations with countless streams and tributaries branching off from the main channel. The story of Vasilisa is no different.

In other versions across the land, the heroine is a starkly different figure. She is sometimes called Vasilisa the Brave, a strong, independent, and quite unmaidenly character who is an expert shot with a rifle. In other versions, her path to royalty is won not by the terrifying justice of the skull, but through her own miraculous skill as a weaver, whose fine cloth is so beautiful it captures the attention of the Tsar.

What remains constant across all these versions, however, is the core of the initiation. A young woman's perilous journey into the domain of the great and terrible witch. A journey from which she always emerges with a newfound power and a deeper wisdom. It is this central, unchangeable trial that reveals the true ancient purpose of the tale.

We begin our investigation with the most bizarre and memorable image from the legend. The impossible house that stands on two giant chicken legs. We have seen it as a source of terror for the lost traveler. But to truly understand Baba Yaga, we must deconstruct the very place she calls home. It is an image of profound strangeness.

It blends the domestic with the monstrous, the mundane with the magical. In the stories, the hut is not just a building. It is a living, sentient being. It can run through the forest at great speed, or it can stand in one place, spinning around and around in a dizzying circle. It is the first sign that a hero has left the ordinary world behind and entered a place where the laws of nature no longer apply.

 

Later on, he breaks down symbology, archetypes and the like: I absolutley loved it, cant reccomend his channel enough

Hope we might be able to get a convo out of this, we shall see.

 

Edited yesterday at 10:26 AM by Surya

[Taomeow]

https://www.thedaobums.com/topic/50906-paintings-you-like/?do=findComment&comment=933835

[Surya]

3 hours ago, Taomeow said:

https://www.thedaobums.com/topic/50906-paintings-you-like/?do=findComment&comment=933835

My new Home Screen wallpaper. Perhaps I’ll get one for the wall as well. Fascinating. Did you listen beyond the first 20?

[Taomeow]

 

26 minutes ago, Surya said:

My new Home Screen wallpaper. Perhaps I’ll get one for the wall as well. 

 

That's brave of you.  

 

27 minutes ago, Surya said:

 Fascinating. Did you listen beyond the first 20?

 

I didn't listen, I grew up with those tales.  As kindergarten aged kids we often called an unfriendly old woman "Baba Yaga," or teased each other using its childish diminutive -- "Babka Yozhka."   As an adult I did read some speculations about the origins of those myths.  All characters therein are archetypal, and you can find their counterparts and close and distant "relatives" in folk tales of many peoples.  

[Surya]

8 minutes ago, Taomeow said:

 

 

That's brave of you.  

 

 

I didn't listen, I grew up with those tales.  As kindergarten aged kids we often called an unfriendly old woman "Baba Yaga," or teased each other using its childish diminutive -- "Babka Yozhka."   As an adult I did read some speculations about the origins of those myths.  All characters therein are archetypal, and you can find their counterparts and close and distant "relatives" in folk tales of many peoples.  

That it is archetypal, no doubt, the creators skill as a presenter and soul, this is the first time this kind of… archetypal stories truly just clicked right a way. 
 

and brave? For having this on the wall:

 

https://www.thedaobums.com/topic/50906-paintings-you-like/?do=findComment&comment=933835

?

nah, beside being beautydull enough by it self, it also shows personality and I’m sure it could lead to some fascinating convos with people who share my passion for storries with meaning and the otherworldly, which are quite a few.

Edited yesterday at 06:14 PM by Surya

[Surya]

@Taomeow

 

from the transcript: 

 

 "Hut. Oh hut, turn your back to the forest and your front to me." Only then does the house groan to a halt, its great legs bending, lowering itself to the ground to grant you entry.»

 

What do you «think turn your back to the back to the Forrest and face me» signifies?

Edited 30 minutes ago by Surya
Clarity