It had long lain forgotten, until a young man braved a dragon to enter the castle that housed it. Hacking his way through bats, Boris found the priceless object and put it to the test. “Mirror, Mirror on the wall/ Who’s the fairest one of all?”

The mirror replied promptly, “Of many ladies in the land/ Today the fairest takes your hand.” Boris and Belinda lived happily together, but the latter hadn’t much use for the mirror. She rarely admired her reflection.

Boris often consulted the mirror. When he asked, “Mirror, Mirror, should I wear/ A cap to hide my thinning hair?” the mirror said, “Wait till your hair’s completely gone/ Then keep your cap securely on.” The mirror always spoke in rhyming couplets and expected to be thus addressed. Also, queries had to begin, “Mirror, Mirror - - -”

As centuries rolled by, the mirror was handed down from one descendant of Boris and Belinda to the next, until it came to our country. Colonel Reginald Morton brought the mirror down from London, when he settled in Bangalore with his Indian wife. When Sarita Morton could not quite decide between her customary garments and a western wardrobe, the mirror advised: “While gowns and dresses have their place/ They can’t match your sari’s grace.”

Sunita---the girl at the start of this story---was Colonel Morton’s great-granddaughter. Confronting the mirror, she asked her usual question, “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall? Who’s the fattest of us all?”

The mirror answered, “While you grow sideways by the day/ Plumper far is Cousin Jay.” Sunita frowned. She didn’t consider Jayant a rival. If only the mirror had said, “Growing thinner day by day/ You’re slimmer now than Cousin Ray”! Rekha was as slender as a reed, besides being pretty and polite.

“Give me the mirror,” said Sunita’s mother. “Your father and I are off to a party.” Clutching the pearls at her throat, she said anxiously, “Mirror, Mirror, tell me please/ If anything is wrong with these?”

The mirror said reassuringly, “Not at all, they are just right/ For the crowd you’ll meet tonight.” Sunita’s father rushed in, “Mirror, Mirror, is my tie - - -? Oh, bother! I can’t think of another line.” Sunita’s mother scribbled on a piece of paper, and he read aloud, “Mirror, Mirror, is my tie/ Somewhat heavy on the eye?” How skillfully her mother rhymed! Sunita thought resentfully. “Is there anyone of whom you’re not envious?” Had the mirror said that? Sunita dismissed the notion as absurd. A moment later, it instructed her father, “Far too bright, remove the red/ Choose your light grey one instead.”

Later, Sunita began, “Mirror, Mirror, is my nose - - -?” What rhymed with nose? It was no good, thought Sunita miserably. She would have to accept her comical appearance. “Goes,” said a soft voice. There could be no doubt; it was the mirror. Suddenly, the couplet took shape: “Mirror, Mirror, see my nose/ How long before this pimple goes?”

“A week before it quite departs/ You shouldn’t have gobbled cakes and tarts.” “One has to eat,” snapped Sunita. “I’m tired of being plain,” she burst out, sensing the mirror’s silent sympathy. “I don’t shed weight and my face is covered with spots.”

“Why shouldn’t you undergo a transformation?” Sunita stared at the mirror in shock. It’s conversational tone---indeed, conversation at all---was extraordinary.

“I can never look like Rekha,” said Sunita bitterly. “She’s everything I want to be.”

“Sunita,” said the mirror gently, “I once knew a lovely woman, whose life was ruined by jealousy. Snow White’s stepmother was not always the wicked witch she eventually became.”

“May I have the mirror?” Sunita groaned. Santosh was always butting in when least wanted. Standing on a stool, the little boy said plaintively, “Mirror, Mirror, I’m so small/ Why am I not big and tall?” Before the mirror could speak, Sunita said rudely, “A dwarf you are and shall remain/ Don’t ever come in here again.”

As Santosh ran out sobbing, the mirror said gravely, “Beauty is more than a clear complexion and perfect figure, Sunita. Why not make yourself a beautiful person?”

Sunita went out in search of her brother. “I have a message for you from the mirror,” she said. “Small now ’cause you’re only eight/ You’ll shoot up at a rapid rate.” Sunita returned to the mirror. “I feel a lot better. Do you think there’s hope for me? Oh!” she added, laughing. “I forgot the rhyme requirement. If I skip my snack each noon/ Will my pimple vanish soon?”

The mirror said warmly, “Take a closer peek at me/ Your nose, my dear, is pimple-free!”