BY ALPER ÖZKAN (MSN/PhD)
d_ozkan@ug.bilkent.edu.tr
My fellow columnist Berire last week mentioned in passing the prospect of selling one’s soul, and this is of course a topic I am deeply and personally interested in (because…er, because it pops up often in folklore; yes—that is definitely the reason). So if you had any plans to sign over your immortal soul to Asmodeus for a free pass on an exam, take heed! I can offer you a much better dea…er, I mean, these stories seldom end well, so you really have to take care who you sign that infernal pact with. But don’t just take my word for it—let’s look at a couple of examples and see what to do and what not to do when drafting contracts with the supernatural.
Der Freischütz: This is the story of a marksman who sells his soul to get seven bullets, one of which is defective, and ends up shooting his girlfriend-to-be—I want to say that souls were evidently much cheaper back then, but Faust got a stellar bargain for his (especially since it was less of a deal and more of a bet; he believed that his conditions could not be satisfied), so either the Black Huntsman is a real bargain-driver or Mephistopheles is just terrible at his job. I also find it saddening that there was no product feedback back in those days—can you imagine this happening, say, over Amazon?
In any case, do not trade your soul for material goods, but if you do, do not do things like giving the Devil total control over one of your bullets. I still don’t understand how that hunter fellow thought this was a good idea.
Vamana: Hindu mythology has a way of taking the usual tropes in mythology and turning them on their heads. The story of King Mahabali sees an old monarch grow too good for his own good—so benevolent is he that he starts doing a better job helping people than do the gods themselves, which of course doesn’t sit well with the gods in question. The devata decide that Mahabali has grown too proud, and with this convenient excuse, start searching among themselves for someone to stop the unruly king and his earthly paradise… and Vishnu as usual rises to the occasion.
Enter our twist: A tiny man, Vamana, soon arrives at the court of Mahabali and asks for a boon—three steps of land to call his own, which the saintly king is all too happy to grant…but Bali soon comes to regret his decision when his petitioner transforms into a veritable giant, covering the heavens, earth and the underworld with just two of his steps. Asked where the gigantic man ought to step next, the landless king then points to himself, as a last act of sacrifice for his people—but Vamana then reveals himself to be Vishnu in the flesh, and rewards the virtuous Mahabali with a realm of his own, where he is said to still rule to this day.
See, this is how you make these deals: Ask for something broadly worded and inconspicuous, and then abuse your terms to hell and back—literally, if you have to. Even if you can’t become a giant at will, remember that there are alternatives: Mahabali’s predicament is similar to a story about how Hassan-i Sabbah got his fortress Alamut, in which he supposedly paid an extravagant amount of gold to purchase an area equal to the hide of a cow, only to cut the hide into thin strips and cover the entire fortress with it.
The Fell Raven: I’ve told this one before, but I will again because it is hands-down my favorite story. See, a valravn is a either a raven that eats the flesh of a king and becomes a demon of sorts, or a dead man in the shape of a raven who can find no rest unless he drinks blood from the heart of a child. One day, a particular valravn assists a troubled woman in meeting her beloved, with the condition that he will eat their firstborn in return. Years pass, and the couple have a healthy baby boy, and now you’re probably thinking that the woman finds some ingenious trick to stave off the unholy bird and save her child, but no, that doesn’t happen. The valravn returns, devours the boy, assumes his human form and just walks away.
The raven of course has style, but my hat is really off to the woman. Yes, honesty is the best policy, and we must certainly attempt to fulfill our oaths to the best of our ability, but I think most parents would draw the line at the “must feed your child to a demon raven” bit.