The north wind moaned softly in the birches as dusk stole over the chilly autumn evening. A tramp trudged up the path to the rambling house on the outskirts of the village. As fallen red-gold leaves crackled underfoot, a squirrel shot up an oak tree in alarm.

The man paused to peer into the kitchen window aglow with light. He then knocked on the rear door, which was flung open by a large woman in a huge apron. She looked at the man in the patched coat holding the battered hat in his hands.

“Sorry,” she said tersely. “We don’t have any left-overs.”

“Madame,” replied the tramp quietly. “I do not want any food, only a place by the fire to warm myself for a short while.”

“Well,” said the woman more gently, noting his courtesy and air of genteel poverty. “I suppose you could come in. But only for a bit, mind you. And don’t you try wheedling any food out of me ’cause there aint any for the likes of you. The master is having guests to dinner and even I have to wait for my supper till they’re done!”

Waving a plump arm at a low stool by the fire, she said, “Sit yourself down over there.”

The tramp settled down to warm his frozen hands before the blazing fire, while the woman pottered around the kitchen. She finally heaved herself into a wooden chair, which creaked loudly in protest.

“It will be two hours, maybe three, before the master finishes,” she muttered to herself.

“Madame,” broke in the tramp. “Perhaps I could make you some stone soup?”

“Eh?” the cook started, for she had forgotten that he was there. She looked at him bemused.

“What did you say? Stone soup? Never heard of it in all my life!”

From the recesses of his threadbare coat, the tramp took out a grey streaked white pebble the size of a hen’s egg. The grey flecks turned silver as they caught the firelight. By some strange reflection the expression on the tramp’s face too, seemed transformed.

“Soup from that rock there?” chuckled the cook. “Though I must say I’d appreciate hot soup on this cold evening.”

She paused, considering.

“Well, now… I suppose you’ll be needing a pot with some water to begin with.”

She struggled out of the chair, which promptly fell over. The tramp quickly got to his feet and righted it.

“Of course, madame,” he nodded with a smile.

The man placed the proferred pot on the fire and put the pebble into it. He turned to the cook.

“Madame,” he asked, “would you have any vegetable waste that you’re planning to throw away – carrot peel, onion and turnip tops, cabbage leaves, spinach stems…?”

“Here’s a whole pailful,” she replied, waddling over.

The tramp picked out an assortment of vegetable bits and tossed them into the water, which was now boiling merrily.

“A little salt please, madame,” he requested, and in it went. The tramp adjusted the firewood so that the contents of the pot simmered. He then looked enquiringly at the cook.

“Madame, may I ask what delicious fare you have prepared for your master?”

There seemed to be an imminent danger of an explosion as the woman swelled with pride.

“Hrrmph! Roast leg of lamb, chicken and ham pie, turned potatoes, baby carrots, fruit tart…” she rattled off, her face red with pleasure.

“Have the chicken bones and ham rind been discarded?” asked the tramp.

“Oh no! Not yet. I have them right here,” exclaimed the cook.

So in went the rind and the bones, along with a generous dash of pepper and a few bay leaves. The pot bubbled away, filling the room with a mouthwatering aroma.

At last the tramp ladled out the steaming amber liquid into two large bowls.

“Well madame, here we are,” said he, handing one to the cook with a small bow. “Stone soup.”

There was silence in the kitchen for a good while except for the fire crackling in the hearth and the sounds of two people thoroughly enjoying hot soup on a cold night.

Replete, the cook finally gave a sigh of contentment.

“I have had soups in my day, but never one so satisfying and delicious.”

She shook her head in disbelief.

The tramp only smiled as he gently polished the strange silver-flecked stone that he had retrieved from the pot.

NB: The European folk tale I have recounted above is still fresh in my mind though I first read it more than three decades ago as a child of seven. I hope you find in it the same joy and inspiration as I do. We have many lessons to learn from the story, the more important ones being how to take the initiative, create opportunities, innovate with whatever is available instead of hankering after what is not, and how to get around people.

© Sosha Srinivasan