Katomá all day long sat on his tree-stump without meat or drink, but could not descend, and he thought: “I must die of hunger.” But near by there was a thick forest, and there a knight lived who was blind but very strong. This knight used to scent the animals which ran by, run after them and catch them, not minding whether it were a rabbit, or fox, or a bear. He could roast them for lunch. And he could run so fast, faster than any animal that leaps. One day a fox came by, and the knight heard him and ran after him. The fox ran up to the tree on which Katomá sat, and turned round there. In his haste the blind man struck the tree so hard with his forehead that it fell out with its roots. Katomá tumbled down and asked: “Who are you?”
“I am the blind knight, and for three years I have lived in the wood, feeding myself on the animals I can catch and bake on my fire; otherwise I should have died of hunger.”
“Were you blind from birth?”
“No; Ánna the Fair put my eyes out.”
“Brother!” said Katomá, “she also cut off my legs, both of them.”
So the two knights decided they would live together and aid each other.
The blind man said to Katomá, “Sit on my back and show me the way: I will serve you with my feet and you me with your eyes.” The blind man lifted Katomá up, and the legless man cried out, “Left; right; straight on!” So for a long while they lived in the wood and used to catch rabbits, foxes and bears for their food.
One day Katomá said: “Why should we live alone here? I am told that there is in the town a rich merchant and his daughter. She, they say, is indescribably kind towards the poor men and cripples, and gives them alms with her own hands. Brother, we must carry her off. She shall live with us as the mistress of the house.”
So the blind man took a barrow, put the legless knight into it, and ran him into the town, up to the merchant’s house. When the daughter looked out of the window she instantly rushed out in order to give them alms. She came to Katomá and said, “Take this as God’s blessing!”
He accepted her gift and laid hold of her hand, dragged her into the barrow, and cried out to the blind man, who ran away so fast, faster than any horses could overtake him. It was all in vain for the merchant to try to overtake the two knights. The knights brought the merchant’s daughter to their izbá61 in the wood and said: “Stay with us as our sister, and become the mistress of the house. We poor folk have no one to cook our food or to do the washing. God will not desert you therefor.”
So the merchant’s daughter remained with them, and the two knights honoured and loved her as though she were their own sister. Sometimes they went a-hunting, and then the sister remained alone in the house looking after the domestic service, cooking the food and doing the washing. But one day Bába Yagá with the bony legs came into the hut and sucked the blood out of the fair maiden’s breast. And whenever the two knights went away on the chase, Bába Yagá came back, so that very soon the merchant’s fair daughter became thin and feeble. But the blind man did not notice: only Katomá noticed that something had gone wrong, so he told his companion, and both asked their sister what was the cause.
Bába Yagá had forbidden her to tell them anything about it; she was therefore much too frightened for a long time to tell them what was her trouble. But at last they persuaded her, and she told them: “Every time when you go out on the chase an ancient hag comes into the hut. She has an evil face and long grey hairs. She hangs her head down over me and sucks my white breast.”
“Oh,” said the blind man, “that is the Bába Yagá! Wait a little bit. We must deal with her in her own fashion. Tomorrow we must not go hunting: we will try to catch her in the house and to capture her.”
Next morning both of them went out. “Creep under the bench,” said the blind man to Katomá, and sit still. “I will go into the courtyard, and wait under the window. And you, Sister, sit down. If Bába Yagá comes, whilst you are combing her hair weave a part of her hair and hang the knot on to the window. I will then seize her by her grey tresses,” It was said and done. The blind man seized Bába Yagá by her grey tresses, and cried out, “Ho, Katomá! come out and hold the evil hag till I get into the hut.”
Bába Yagá heard it, and she wanted to lift her head and leap away, but she was unable. She tore and grumbled, but it was no good. Katomá crept out from the bank and turned round on her, threw himself on her life a mountain of iron. He strangled her until the heavens appeared to her as small as a sheepskin.
The blind man sprang out of the hut and said: “We must build a big faggot-heap and burn the old hag and scatter her ashes to the four winds.”
Bába
