Uncanny Magazine Issue 39 Read online

And they’re not done yet, not by a long shot.

  The vulture sits right next to Barbareek, sharing the tree stump. “What are you waiting for?” asks Barbareek in the hoarse whisper which is all he can manage. “Eyeballs are a delicacy among your lot, aren’t they?”

  The vulture clicks its beak, but makes no move to sample him. Perhaps, like Bhishma, it is waiting for the end of the war.

  On the eighteenth day, Bhima defeats Duryodhan in mace combat. He cheats, hitting Duryodhan below the waist, which is not allowed. But the rules have been broken enough times by both sides that this is not particularly shocking to anyone.

  Krishna blows his conch, signalling the end of the war. Duryodhan lies in agony, a few breaths away from death. Only three warriors are left in the Kaurava camp out of the millions that fought. The Pandavas have won.

  Now, thinks Barbareek with a weary sort of peace. Now the vulture will attack him.

  But it doesn’t. It rubs its beak against his cheek in an overfamiliar way.

  “Get lost,” says Barbareek, but he doesn’t mean it, not really.

  That night, the three remaining Kaurava warriors sneak into the Pandava camp and slaughter everyone while they’re sleeping. The Pandavas themselves have gone to Hastinapur, but their sons are still at the camp. All of them are murdered, their heads chopped off and presented to the dying Duryodhan as a macabre offering. Here is our revenge, sir. Are you proud of us?

  Barbareek’s eyes burn as they witness this crime.

  How much, Krishna? How much more?

  The sun rises over a grisly scene. The vulture does not move, its presence no longer a source of dread, but of comfort.

  The Pandavas mourn their sons. Funeral pyres dot the battlefield. Bhishma breathes his last, satisfied that the throne of Hastinapur is safe. Yudhishthira will be crowned king, Bhimasen and Arjun will protect the borders.

  That evening, Krishna climbs the hill for what, Barbareek knows, will be the last time. As he approaches, the vulture flaps its ungainly wings and takes off into the air.

  “Wait! Come back!” cries Barbareek.

  But the vulture is gone.

  Krishna stands in front of him, waiting. There is no smile on his face today. Is this, too, a mask?

  Barbareek squashes the questions and grievances rising up within him, determined not to be the one to speak first. The silence stretches between them, acquiring a competitive quality.

  At last, Barbareek can’t take it anymore. “Great-Aunt Gandhari cursed you,” he blurts out.

  Krishna nods. “I know. She has every right to be angry with me.”

  “But what she said—it won’t come to pass, will it?”

  Krishna’s lips twitch. “To the one that is born, death is certain. This is the most fundamental truth of life. Yet, humans tend to forget it.”

  “It’s difficult to live, knowing you will die,” mutters Barbareek.

  “On the contrary,” says Krishna. “It’s impossible to live if there’s no end in sight.”

  “What was the vulture?” asks Barbareek, changing tack.

  “A metaphor,” says Krishna.

  A familiar irritation wells up in Barbareek. “For what?”

  “Surely you can figure that out yourself, child. You witnessed it for eighteen days.”

  Silence returns to the hilltop. Barbareek replays the ghastly scenes of the last few days and wishes he could forget them.

  “What will you do now?” asks Krishna. “Go back home?”

  Barbareek gives him a disbelieving glare. “How am I supposed to go anywhere like this?”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Krishna snaps his fingers.

  Barbareek’s body materializes before him, strong and healthy as ever. It is clad in loose warrior clothing, with a bow in one hand and a quiver on its back. The bow was a gift from Agni, the god of fire. The three arrows were a boon from Lord Shiva. Much use they have been to him.

  “Ready?” says Krishna.

  Barbareek’s head floats up from the tree stump, drifts to his body, and settles on his neck.

  It’s the oddest sensation, having a body again. He flexes his hands, wiggles his toes, and stretches his neck with a wary delight.

  “Everything working fine?” asks Krishna.

  “I think so.” Barbareek takes a few experimental steps, slinging the bow on his back.

  “Your mother will be happy to see you,” Krishna offers. “So will the Pandavas. They have lost all their sons. You are one of the few to survive from the next generation. If you go to Hastinapur, they will welcome you with open arms.”

  Barbareek sighs. The bow feels heavy on his back, the quiver doubly so. “I can’t.”

  Krishna waits, a picture of patience.

  “I think I must leave,” says Barbareek. “Leave…everything.”

  Krishna nods. “If you must, then you must. There’s a nice forest five miles west of here, although you’re a bit young to retire.”

  Barbareek hesitates. “My mother…”

  “I’ll talk to her,” says Krishna.

  “Then I guess this is goodbye,” says Barbareek, a lump in his throat. “Will I see you again?”

  Krishna’s smile could melt a glacier. “Once.” He does not have to say when.

  Barbareek bows and strides downhill, resisting the urge to look behind. When he reaches the bottom, though, he cannot help himself; he turns around.

  The sun is setting behind the hill, casting golden rays on the hilltop. There is no sign of Krishna or the tree stump where Barbareek spent the longest eighteen days in the history of mankind.

  Far overhead, a vulture soars, its wings black against the dusky sky.

  © 2021 Rati Mehrotra

  Born and raised in India, Rati Mehrotra now lives and writes in Toronto, Canada. She is the author of the Asiana duology: Markswoman and Mahimata. Her YA fantasy novel Night of the Raven, Dawn of the Dove is forthcoming from Wednesday Books in Summer 2022. Her short fiction has been shortlisted for The Sunburst Award and has appeared in multiple venues including The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Lightspeed Magazine, Apex Magazine, Podcastle, Cast of Wonders, and AE – The Canadian Science Fiction Review.

  Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather

  by Sarah Pinsker

  About “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather” (5 contributors, 5 notes, 7 comments)

  →“Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather” (Roud 423, Child 313) is a traditional English folk ballad. Like many traditional songs, the lyrics are unattributed. Child transcribed twenty verses, and a twenty-first got added later (and is included here for some unknown reason—I keep writing to the Lyricsplainer mods to get someone to delete it or include it as a separate entry, but nobody responds, and all they’ve done is put brackets around it. Sometimes I hate this site.) Most modern recordings pick and choose verses and include far fewer than the full twenty. There are several variant titles, and the characters’ names shift through the various broadsides and folk and rock versions.– BonnieLass67 (11 upvotes)

  →The song has also been passed down as “Fair Ellen,” “Ellen and William,” and “Sweet William’s Heart.” There’s a distant cousin in the ballad “Robin Hood and the Waking Wood,” which changes William to Robin Hood and gives him a revenge arc; that one has always struck me as a derivative corruption, though it wasn’t the first to steal someone else’s narrative and give it to Robin Hood. –BonnieLass67 (7 upvotes)

  →It was documented in John and Alan Lomax’s 1934 book American Ballads and Folk Songs as “While Oaken Sisters Watched,” with a number of changes and Americanizations. In modern times, the ballad (or its variants) has been recorded or played live by artists as varied as Joan Baez, the Grateful Dead, the Kingston Trio, Windhollow Faire, Dolly Parton, Jack White, and Metallica. The verses each chose, and the order they chose to sing them, change the meaning of the song. –BonnieLass67 (6 upvotes)

  >Have you heard the abomination that was on Idol? Some finalist butchered it as “Where Broken Hearts Do Gather.” –Holy
Greil

  >If we don’t speak of that I can pretend it doesn’t exist. –BonnieLass67

  →This song, included among the famous ballads documented by Francis James Child, is an allegorical tale of a tryst between two lovers and its aftermath. –Dynamum (2 upvotes, 1 downvote)

  >That’s awfully reductive, and I’m not sure what allegory you’re seeing. There’s a murder and a hanging and something monstrous in the woods. Sets it apart from the average lovers’ tryst. –BarrowBoy

  >Fine. I just thought somebody should summarize it here a little, since “about the song” means more than just how many verses it has. Most people come here to discuss how to interpret a song, not where to find it in the Child Ballads’ table of contents. –Dynamum

  →Dr. Mark Rydell’s 2002 article “A Forensic Analysis of ‘Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather’”, published in Folklore, explored the major differences and commonalities and their implications. In The Rose and the Briar, Wendy Lesser writes about how if a trad song leaves gaps in its story, it’s because the audience was expected to know what information filled those gaps. The audience that knew this song is gone, and took the gap information with them. Rydell attempted to fill in the blanks. –HolyGreil (1 upvote)

  >I’ve found my people! That’s the first time somebody has ever beaten me to mentioning Rydell’s work in a conversation before. I got a state grant this year to make a documentary about him and his work and his disappearance. It’s going to be called Looking for Love in All the Lost Places. I named it after his blog. Have you read his blog? It’s a deeper dive into the stuff in his article. More personal, in the way an academic article isn’t supposed to be. –HenryMartyn

  >No, only the article. Didn’t know he disappeared either. I’ll check it out! –HolyGreil

  >@HenryMartyn it’s been two years since your last post on this tune. I keep hoping to get news about your documentary. –HolyGreil

  Listen to the Kingston Trio: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to Joan Baez: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to Windhollow Faire: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to Steeleye Span: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to the Grateful Dead: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to Metallica: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to Jack White: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to the Decemberists: “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”

  Listen to Cyrus Matheson: “Where Broken Hearts Do Gather” [FLAGGED by BonnieLass67][UNFLAGGED by LyricSplainer ModeratorBot]

  Full Lyrics for “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather” (traditional) (7 contributors, 95 notes, 68 comments, 19 reactions)

  (see disambiguation for other versions)

  (see related songs)

  One1 autumn2,3 as the wind blew cold

  and stripped red leaves4 from branches

  Fair5 Ellen6 ran to meet her love

  Where oaken hearts do gather7,8

  1 Some versions begin “In autumn…” One early broadside notably began with “each autumn.” –BonnieLass67

  2 Like the more famous “Barbara Allen,” this ballad begins by setting the season. In “Barbara Allen,” of course, the season is spring, the season of new love. –HolyGreil

  3 “Barbara Allen’s” “merry month of May/when green buds all were swelling” is also echoed in the 1880 hit “The Fountain in the Park,” also known as “While Strolling in the Park”: “I was strolling in the park one day/in the merry merry month of May/I was taken by surprise by a pair of roguish eyes/in a moment my poor heart was stole away.” I wouldn’t mention that except for the literal heart getting stolen away Temple-of-Doom-style in this song. –Dynamum

  4 trees that have red leaves in autumn include black cherry, flowering dogwood, hornbeam, sourwood, red oak, white oak, winged sumac, sweet gum, and red maple. it’s reasonable to assume this is referring to red or white oak trees given the title. –HangThaDJ

  >White and red oak aren’t native to Britain. –BarrowBoy

  > What if it was originally “rowan hearts” not oaken hearts? Rowan berries could leave a red carpet, plus there’s all that great mythology around rowan trees. –Dynamum

  >A) there’s no record of a rowan version (check me if I’m wrong, @BonnieLass67, you seem to be the version expert) B) rowan leaves turn more yellow than red, C) the line says red leaves, not berries. –BarrowBoy

  5 It’s interesting that the woman in the song is referred to in almost all versions as “fair,” despite her actions. –Rhiannononymous

  > She could just be fair as in blond? –Dynamum

  –BarrowBoy marked this as a stretch–

  6 Alternate versions feature the usual gang of “Maggie,” “Polly,” “Molly,” “Jenny,” and “Peggy,” etc. as seen in countless other songs, and also “Elswyth,” which I haven’t seen in other ballads. I’ve looked to see if there’s a version of the song with willow trees, given the derivation of that name, but haven’t found one. –BonnieLass67

  7 the woods, presumably. –HangThaDJ

  8 In his 2002 paper, “A Forensic Analysis of ‘Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather’,” and subsequently in his blog, the University of Pennsylvania professor Dr. Mark Rydell attempted to track down the exact provenance of the ballad. He said that not every ballad can be traced to a specific incident or location, but this one had a couple of markers that made him think it was possible. He pointed out that of the two common British species, English oak tree leaves turn coppery brown, not red, in autumn, and sessile oak leaves turn yellow. While it’s true that the song doesn’t specifically say the red leaves are from oaks, it’s the only tree mentioned specifically, and it’s right in the oldest known name of the song, so presumably it means oak trees when it says oak trees. North American oaks might more specifically meet the red leaf missive, Rydell pointed out. In that case, the song would have had to make its way to British lore from America, when songs moved more commonly in the other direction, or else somebody would have to have brought North American trees to Britain early enough that they’d be mature for this song. (Why mature? Nobody pictures skinny little saplings when they’re talking about oak trees. And there’s a “gnarled and knotted ancient” in a later verse.) In his initial research, Rydell attempted unsuccessfully to locate a village with a bridge and a steep embankment and a stand of imported oak trees somewhere nearby. Later, after consultation with a botanist, Rydell came to understand that American oaks planted in Britain don’t necessarily have the same bright color there that they have in their native country; anthocyanin, the main red pigment, needs bright, crisp autumn days to kick into high gear. It just isn’t the same in overcast, damp climates. He concluded that he would not be able to use tree species alone to trace the ballad, but he still had other clues to pursue. –HenryMartyn

  –BonnieLass67 marked this as cool stuff–

  Sweet William robbed the butcher’s son9,10,11,12

  He turned her heart to fancy

  And bade her meet him ‘neath the13,14 bridge15,16

  Where oaken hearts do gather

  9 This line sets William up as a robber, thus deserving of his fate, and the next line makes you think that Ellen is as fair and innocent as the first stanza implies. –Rhiannononymous

  10 The Kingston Trio’s version changes this to “Sweet William WAS the butcher’s son/ WHO turned her heart to fancy.” –BonnieLass67

  11 Sweet William was supporters’ nickname for Prince William, Duke of Cumberland, known as Butcher Cumberland to his Tory enemies! He died relatively young, with no children. Possible link? –Dynamum

  –BonnieLass67 marked this as a stretch–

  –BarrowBoy marked this as a stretch–

  >There’s absolutely nothing to connect this with Prince William, Duke of Cumberland. You’re barking up the wrong oak tree. –BarrowBoy

  12 Dr. Mark Rydell, in attempting to pinpoint the origin of the song, posited a theor
y that the line should actually read “Sweet William, Robert Butcher’s son.” –HenryMartyn

  > there was a robert butcher born in liverpool who became an australian politician! he had three sons and five daughters, but he was probably born too late to be referenced in this ballad. –HangThaDJ

  > Yeah, Rydell dismissed him. There’s nothing connecting this song’s path with Australia. It didn’t need to be a famous Robert Butcher, just one who was locally famous enough to be worth putting in the song, so Rydell tried looking for any Robert Butcher whose son named William might have died under unusual circumstances. Rydell found what he was looking for: an aging solicitor named Robert Butcher, living in a village called Gall, had written a strangely passionate pro-hanging letter in the 1770s, right around the time that its prohibition became a popular cause, saying “there are circumstances for which, tragically, hanging is the only proportionate response.” Not “crimes” but “circumstances.” Rydell said in his blog that he was going to England to check Gall out for himself. He made one more post from something called an internet café–this was pre-smartphone, so I guess that was the only place he could get online?–anyway, one more short update and then he never posted again. (Did I mention I’m making a documentary about him? I’m planning on visiting Gall this October. I’ve got an appointment lined up with the woman who runs their town historical society too. Hopefully I can get some answers.) –HenryMartyn

  > What a fascinating story! Your documentary should be really interesting. –HolyGreil

  >You should check out Rydell’s blog Looking For Love in All the Lost Places too–it’s like a folksier, less academic version of his research. You can still find it on the wayback machine even though he and his host site are both long gone. –HenryMartyn

  > did this robt butcher have a son who was hanged? what was he hanged for? –HangThaDJ

  >I’ve messaged with the town historian, like I said, Jenny Kirk. She said Butcher’s letter is in their museum. She warned me that it’s just a one-room museum-and-gift-shop, because nothing much ever happened there, but because of that, its publication in London was one of the bigger things that happened to anyone from Gall. He had four sons, one of whom was named William. His William did die by hanging, but there’s no mention anywhere of a crime or a trial. I can see why Rydell thought this was a good lead. –HenryMartyn