Adapted from Circle Round: Raising Children in Goddess Traditions by Starhawk, Diane Baker and Anne Hill
Circle round, and I'll tell you the tale of a girl who lived long ago, in a small village in Russia. In this village lived a merchant and his lovely wife, and their only child, Vasalisa. Vasalisa was as beautiful as she was kind and generous, and she was loved very much by her mother. Vasalisa's mother always dressed her daughter in the colors sacred to the Goddess: red, white and black. She wore a white apron and a black skirt, but she was especially proud of her pretty red boots.
They may have lived happily ever after, but alas, it was not to be. One day, Vasalisa's mother became very sick, and none of the village healers could save her. As she lay dying, she called to Vasalisa, and asked her to come to her.
"My beautiful daughter," she said, "my greatest grief is that I must leave you like this, before you are grown, without a mother's love and protection. But here is my last gift to you. Take this little doll, who, like you, wears a white apron and a black skirt and has little red boots - the colors of the Goddess. She is my blessing, and she will guide and protect you. Keep her close to you, and keep her secret, and feed her when you can. Now, kiss me for the last time."
And Vasalisa kissed her mother, and then, her mother died. For many months Vasalisa and her father grieved and mourned, but life must go on, even after death, and Vasalisa grew until she was nearly old enough for her First Blood.
Now in those days, it was custom that young girls who were on the verge of womanhood went away from their families, to stay with the wise woman of the forest. And so one day, Vasalisa's father took her out into the woods, and left her at a small cottage with the wise woman.
"You must call me stepmother," the wise woman said, "for I will be like another mother to you."
There were two other young women staying there as well, both a little older than Vasalisa, and the stepmother told her to call them stepsisters, "for they will be like sisters to you. You will work very hard here, but you will learn what you need to know to become a woman. But whether or not you will pass the test… who can say?"
Vasalisa did work hard. The stepmother taught her all the arts practiced by the women of the time; spinning and weaving, healing, gathering of herbs, growing food, as well as teaching her the women's secrets that would help her to know her body and all its mysteries. There was also cooking and cleaning, and of course the usual housework that must be done. Since Vasalisa was the youngest, she often was given the hardest work to do. But she was always cheerful, and did not complain, even though sometimes she was so tired she could barely drag herself up to the little loft where she would sleep. She always remembered, however, to feed her doll and whisper a prayer to her mother's spirit before she fell asleep at night.
Vasalisa enjoyed learning all the women's skills and mysteries, and everyday, she felt new confidence in her growing abilities. There was only one thing that she ever worried about. The stepsisters kept hinting at some terrible, and frightful challenge that she would eventually have to meet.
"To be a woman means more than being able to spin and weave and gather herbs," the eldest stepsister would say, "To be a real woman, you must have your own fire. There's only one place you can get that fire…"
"Where?" Vasalisa would ask nervously, "Please tell me where!"
"I can't tell you - you would be too scared!" and the eldest stepsister would run away, laughing.
"Where is the only place fire can be found?" Vasalisa asked the younger stepsister.
The stepsister would smile a secret, knowing smile and say, "You will find out soon enough. Only a very brave woman has her own fire."
Vasalisa didn't believe that she was very brave. She knew the time was soon coming for her to leave, and as each day passed, she grew more and more afraid, for she knew that her challenge was fast approaching. She never said a word to the stepmother or the stepsisters, because she didn't want them to think of her as a coward. She only confided in her little doll, whom she spoke to faithfully every night as she fed her the crumbs she'd saved from dinner.
"Don't be scared, Vasalisa," said the doll, "When the time comes for you to face your challenge, I will help you."
One night, while Vasalisa and the stepsisters were all sitting and working by the low firelight coming from the hearth, a cold wind howled through the trees. The stepmother came in through the door, and a draft of wind suddenly snuck inside and blew out the candles. She closed the door, and the fire went out also.
"Light and fire!" the stepmother exclaimed, "Fire and light! Who will go and get fire so that we can relight our candles? Who will go out and get fire so that we can light our hearth?"
In those days, matches and lighters were not yet invented, so the only way to light a fire, was to borrow someone else's glowing coal or spend several hours trying to strike a spark from flint and steel.
"My needle gives me enough light to see by," said the oldest stepsister, "I have my own light and my own fire."
"My loom gives enough light for me to see by," said the younger stepsister, "I have my own light and my own fire."
"Vasalisa," said the stepmother, "you must go and get fire. The time has come for you to face your challenge."
"Where must I go?" Vasalisa asked, trying not to show the fear that was already growing inside her.
"There is only one place for you to get fire," the stepmother told her, "you must go to the house of the Baba Yaga in the heart of the forest and ask her for fire."
"The Baba Yaga! Is that really the only place to get fire?" Vasalisa cried. She had heard the stories of the Baba Yaga, the people in the village had said that she was a fearsome and ugly ogre with only one eye that saw everything. She had long yellow teeth and ate bad little boys and girls. No one who visited the Baba Yaga ever returned.
Vasalisa was terrified, but she said not a word, went to her loft and grabbed her warmest cloak and her little doll.
"Oh, doll! I am so afraid! I don't think that I am ready to become a woman! I think I shall stay a little girl forever."
"Don't be afraid, Vasalisa," said the doll, "put me in your pocket, and I will help you."
And so Vasalisa did just that. She left the cottage and went out into the dark forest. The wind was still howling fiercely, and soon, Vasalisa realized that she did not know which way to go. So she began to walk in the direction that seemed right to her, and she felt her doll nodding in agreement. It seemed as though Vasalisa walked on and on and on through the dark woods, and each time she came to a fork in the path, she chose a direction and then asked her doll if she made the right choice. Sometimes she was right, and others she was wrong, but always her doll guided her. And Vasalisa walked on through the night.
Just when Vasalisa was getting tired, she heard the sound of hoof beats behind her, and a rider dressed in pure white on a pure white horse dashed past her. Dawn came soon after, and the sky grew lighter. Again, Vasalisa heard the sound of hoof beats behind her, and a rider dressed in red on a blood red horse ran by, and the sun rose up over the horizon. Vasalisa walked on and on, and soon she came to a clearing. In front of her was a high hedge made of human bones. Atop each post was a grinning skull. Hoof beats again rang out behind her, and a rider dressed in black on a midnight black horse rushed by and leaped over the hedge. Night fell, and all the skulls glowed with an eerie red fire.
Strangely enough, Vasalisa was no longer afraid, for she had been scared for so long now, when she thought she was faced with what was truly the most horrifying sight ever imagined, she only felt a strange calmness.
"Well," Vasalisa said to herself, "this must be the house of the Baba Yaga. I will live or I will die, but all that can be done now is to walk the path that lies before me, and trust my doll will help me."
She took a step forward, and suddenly, a sound rang out like all the wailing of all the winds of the world, and the Baba Yaga appeared. She really was a fearsome sight indeed. She rode through the air in a huge mortar, and steered with a pestle, which she used as an oar. Behind her was a broom, which swept away all her tracks. Her clothes were black, and her hair hung down in long, gray locks. Vasalisa looked hard at her face, trying to see the one eye and the long, yellow teeth, but somehow it seemed as though Baba Yaga's face kept changing, so Vasalisa couldn't tell if she was ugly or beautiful, young or old. The Baba Yaga sniffed the air and wrinkled up her nose.
"What is that smell I smell?" she asked, "I smell Russian blood!"
"It is I, Grandmother," Vasalisa said in a trembling voice and stepping forward, "I am Vasalisa, and I have come to ask you to give me fire."
The Baba Yaga examined Vasalisa closely, "I know you," she said, "I know your people. Come into my house, where you will work for me. If you work well, I will give you fire. But if you do not work well, I will eat you!"
Baba Yaga pointed her finger at the gate in the hedge. Vasalisa could see that the latches were made of human finger bones, and the knocker was clenched in a fist.
"Open up wide, gate!" Baba Yaga commanded, and the gate flung wide open. She entered, and Vasalisa followed closely behind.
Inside the hedge was the strangest house Vasalisa had ever seen! It stood on tall chicken legs instead of posts, and the legs danced so that the house spun round and round and round again.
"Be still house!" the Baba Yaga said, emerging from the giant mortar. The house stood firm on its legs and the door opened, allowing Baba Yaga and Vasalisa to enter.
Immediately, Baba Yaga lay down on a low pallet on one side of the large room. Opposite the bed was an open hearth, with a brick oven built into the wall, and in the center of the room was a table with a single chair.
"There is food in the oven," Baba Yaga told Vasalisa, "bring it to me."
Vasalisa obeyed and opened the oven door, and she found enough food to feed ten ordinary people; borscht and soup and roast chickens and potatoes and a whole side of beef. She served the food to the Baba Yaga, who ate every bit with great enjoyment and absolutely no table manners whatsoever! Baba Yaga slurped the soup and cracked the bones between her teeth and left nothing for Vasalisa but a single crust of bread and a few picked over bones.
"I'm going out," Baba Yaga announced when she had finished, "I'll be back early in the morning. While I am gone, I want you to clean this house from top to bottom, scrubbing hard so that not a speck of dirt remains. Cook my breakfast, midday meal and dinner, and be sure to cook enough, for I eat as much as ten ordinary people. Oh, yes - behind the house, in my granary, is a pile of corn as big as a barn. Sort the mildewed corn from the good corn, and leave it in two neat piles. If you do not, I will eat you for breakfast!" and with that, the Baba Yaga left the house.
Poor Vasalisa! She was already tired from walking the whole night, and she knew that she would never be able to do all that the Baba Yaga wanted her to do by morning. Why had she ever come? She would surely end up as one of the skulls on Baba Yaga's gate! And she was so hungry! Nevertheless, she saved one corner from her small crust of bread and fed her doll.
"I might as well begin," Vasalisa told herself, "even if I cannot finish."
So she began to clean up the supper dishes, and to scrub the table and the floor, while tears dripped from her eyes.
"Vasalisa, why do you cry?" she heard the soft voice of her doll.
"Oh, doll, I will never be able to finish all this work, and the Baba Yaga will surely eat me for breakfast."
"Do not worry," the doll reassured her, "Didn't I tell you that I would help you? Go, and get some rest. The morning is cleverer than the evening."
So Vasalisa listened to her doll, and lay down on the Baba Yaga's bed. Instantly, she fell asleep, and didn't wake until the hooves of the white rider pounded past the window. The house was clean, the food cooked, and the corn all sorted in two neat piles. While she slept, the doll had done all the work.
The red rider thundered past the house, and the sun rose. With a sound like the wailing of a thousand winds, Baba Yaga appeared, coming through the gate in her mortar and pestle. She climbed out, and came back into the house.
"Breakfast, lunch and dinner! Breakfast, lunch and dinner!" cried the Baba Yaga.
Vasalisa served her all the food the doll had cooked, enough for ten ordinary people, and the Baba Yaga ate it all, leaving Vasalisa only a few spoonfuls of porridge.
"The house looks clean," the Baba Yaga announced, "and the corn?"
"All sorted, Grandmother, every last grain." Vasalisa replied.
"Hmpf, well I guess I will not eat you just yet," the Baba Yaga grumbled. She clapped her hands and three pairs of hands suddenly appeared out of thin air, bringing the good corn in from the granary and ground it into meal. In a very short time, every last grain was ground.
A clatter of hooves was heard outside, and the black rider dashed by. Night fell soon behind.
"I am going out," the Baba Yaga said, "while I am gone, here is what you must do: clean the house again, so that not a speck of dirt remains. Cook my breakfast, lunch and dinner, and be sure to eat enough for ten ordinary people. And in the granary is a pile of poppy seeds as big as three barns together. Sort the seed from the dirt and leave it in two neat piles. If you work well, I will be pleased. But if you do not, I will eat you for breakfast." And then the Baba Yaga left once again.
Poor Vasalisa! She knew that she would never be able to finish all that the Baba Yaga had asked her to do. Soon she would surely become one of the skulls on the hedge. Sighing, she fed her doll and then picked up a broom and began to sweep the floor.
"I might as well begin," she told herself, "even if I can not finish."
"Vasalisa, why are you sighing?" her doll spoke up softly, "Do not worry didn't I tell you that I would help you? Go, and get some rest. Remember, the morning is cleverer than the evening."
So Vasalisa lay down, and in an instant was fast asleep. She woke only when the white rider clattered past the window of the house and dawn came. Again, the doll had done all the work while she slept.
The red rider dashed by, and the sun rose. With a sound like the wailing of a thousand winds, the Baba Yaga rode in through the gate of the hedge in her mortar and climbed out, entering the house.
"Breakfast, lunch and dinner! Breakfast, lunch and dinner!" cried the Baba Yaga, and so Vasalisa fed her all the food that the doll had cooked.
"The house looks clean," Baba Yaga said, "and the poppy seeds?"
"All sorted, Grandmother, every last seed," Vasalisa replied.
The Baba Yaga clapped her hands and the three pairs of hands appeared and ground the poppy seeds into oil.
"You have worked well, indeed," the Baba Yaga told Vasalisa, "I am pleased with you, so pleased that I will let you ask me some questions, because I am sure that you have many. But remember, that too many questions will make you old before your time."
Vasalisa felt the doll stirring in her pocket, and she thought to ask about the riders.
"Who are the riders, the white, the red and the black?"
"The white rider is my dawn, who brings the luck and willingness to begin. The red rider is my rising sun, my day, who brings the arrogance and confidence to try what seems beyond you. The black rider is my night, who carries the wisdom of letting go. For you know that I am the Grandmother of Time. Now do you have any more questions?"
Vasalisa wanted to ask about the three pairs of hands, but she felt the doll jumping around in her pocket, so instead she said, "No, thank you, Grandmother. As you yourself said, too many questions can make a person old before her time."
"You are wise for one so young. Now, I will ask you a question. Look into my face, and tell me how I look to you. Be honest now, am I very ugly?"
Vasalisa felt in her pocket, but the doll remained still. She looked into the Baba Yaga's face, but for all the world, she couldn't have told her what she saw.
"Well, have you no answer?" the Baba Yaga demanded.
If I answer wrong, she will eat me, Vasalisa thought, but I don't know what to say. So I had better tell the truth. Outside, the hooves of the black horse clattered. The black rider went by, and night fell.
"Your face changes, Grandmother," Vasalisa told the Baba Yaga, "I can honestly not say whether you are ugly or beautiful, old or young."
"My one fearsome eye, and my long, yellow teeth - do they not seem horrible to you?"
"All my life, that is how you were described to me, Grandmother, but in truth, that is not what I see."
"Ah, child, come closer. For although you have not asked, I will show you a mystery. You see, once I had a beautiful face. Once all the people loved me, and brought me offerings. They knew me as the Grandmother of Time itself, and when their time on earth came to an end, they sought me out at my house of death as a resting place. Here I helped them sort through their lives, separating what was sweet and what was spoiled. And when they were ready, I ground their souls in my mortar, back to their original elements, and then they were reborn. That is why my house revolves and revolves. Enter the house of Death, and come out through the door of Life. Enter Life through the door of Birth, and round you come through the gate of Death. Only when you know this mystery can you find your own fire."
"Why do the people fear you," Vasalisa asked.
"People have forgotten the mystery," the Baba Yaga replied, "So death became a frightening and ugly thing. They fear my teeth; they fear my eye! And since they no longer feed me with their love and respect, I have become very hungry indeed!"
With those words, she seemed to change, and when Vasalisa looked at her, she saw the fearsome eye and the yellow teeth.
"Tell me," Baba Yaga asked, "You have worked so well, you have shown such wisdom, knowing what to ask and what not to ask. How does one so young become so wise?"
"It is because of my mother's blessing," Vasalisa told her.
"Blessing!" the Baba Yaga cried, "We want no blessings here! Get out of here! Out! Now! Before I change my mind and eat you after all!"
Baba Yaga grabbed Vasalisa by the hand, and dragged her out of the door, shoving a skull with a glowing coal into her hands, and pushed her out the gate.
"Here! Take your fire and go!" Baba Yaga cried, "Now!"
Vasalisa turned to thank the Baba Yaga, but again she felt her doll jumping her pocket, so she turned and fled into the forest. The doll guided her so that she took the right turn at every crossroads. The skull was glowing with such fierce brightness, that Vasalisa was frightened. She almost threw the skull away, but her doll warned her not to do so, and at long last, she returned to the cottage in the forest.
The cottage was dark and shuttered. She opened the door, and found it empty. The stepmother and stepsisters were gone.
"Your time of training is at last over," the doll whispered to Vasalisa, "you are a woman now, with your own fire, and your own hearth, your own knowledge of the mysteries. It is time to return to the village."
Vasalisa nodded. Yes, she would return to the village. She had her own fire now. She would live on her own, or perhaps with one of the lonely widows, she knew who reminded her a little of the Baba Yaga. With her own light, she was able to see while she spun flax into the finest thread, to weave that fine thread into the finest cloth, and to sew that fine cloth into the finest shirts for house new souls. That is just what she would do, until it was time to do something else - fall in love, maybe, or travel to faraway lands, or do any of the many things a woman could do when she carried her own fire.
And that is just what she did.
