Indian Fairy Tales
by
Collected by Joseph Jacobs
Part 2 out of 4
then perhaps I shall be able to give a judgment."
So they returned to the cage, by which the tiger was waiting for the
Brahman, and sharpening his teeth and claws.
"You've been away a long time!" growled the savage beast, "but now let
us begin our dinner."
"_Our_ dinner!" thought the wretched Brahman, as his knees knocked
together with fright; "what a remarkably delicate way of putting it!"
"Give me five minutes, my lord!" he pleaded, "in order that I may
explain matters to the jackal here, who is somewhat slow in his wits."
The tiger consented, and the Brahman began the whole story over again,
not missing a single detail, and spinning as long a yarn as possible.
"Oh, my poor brain! oh, my poor brain!" cried the jackal, wringing its
paws. "Let me see! how did it all begin? You were in the cage, and the
tiger came walking by--"
"Pooh!" interrupted the tiger, "what a fool you are! _I_ was in
the cage."
"Of course!" cried the jackal, pretending to tremble with fright; "yes!
I was in the cage--no I wasn't--dear! dear! where are my wits? Let me
see--the tiger was in the Brahman, and the cage came walking by--no,
that's not it, either! Well, don't mind me, but begin your dinner, for
I shall never understand!"
"Yes, you shall!" returned the tiger, in a rage at the jackal's
stupidity; "I'll _make_ you understand! Look here--I am the
tiger--"
"Yes, my lord!"
"And that is the Brahman--"
"Yes, my lord!"
"And that is the cage--"
"Yes, my lord!"
"And I was in the cage--do you understand?"
"Yes--no--Please, my lord--"
"Well?" cried the tiger impatiently.
"Please, my lord!--how did you get in?"
"How!--why in the usual way, of course!"
"Oh, dear me!--my head is beginning to whirl again! Please don't be
angry, my lord, but what is the usual way?"
At this the tiger lost patience, and, jumping into the cage, cried,
"This way! Now do you understand how it was?"
"Perfectly!" grinned the jackal, as he dexterously shut the door, "and
if you will permit me to say so, I think matters will remain as they
were!"
THE SOOTHSAYER'S SON
A soothsayer when on his deathbed wrote out the horoscope of his second
son, whose name was Gangazara, and bequeathed it to him as his only
property, leaving the whole of his estate to his eldest son. The second
son thought over the horoscope, and said to himself:
"Alas! am I born to this only in the world? The sayings of my father
never failed. I have seen them prove true to the last word while he was
living; and how has he fixed my horoscope! 'FROM MY BIRTH POVERTY!' Nor
is that my only fate. 'FOR TEN YEARS, IMPRISONMENT'--a fate harder than
poverty; and what comes next? 'DEATH ON THE SEA-SHORE'; which means
that I must die away from home, far from friends and relatives on a
sea-coast. Now comes the most curious part of the horoscope, that I am
to 'HAVE SOME HAPPINESS AFTERWARDS!' What this happiness is, is an
enigma to me."
Thus thought he, and after all the funeral obsequies of his father were
over, took leave of his elder brother, and started for Benares. He went
by the middle of the Deccan, avoiding both the coasts, and went on
journeying and journeying for weeks and months, till at last he reached
the Vindhya mountains. While passing that desert he had to journey for
a couple of days through a sandy plain, with no signs of life or
vegetation. The little store of provision with which he was provided
for a couple of days, at last was exhausted. The chombu, which he
carried always full, filling it with the sweet water from the flowing
rivulet or plenteous tank, he had exhausted in the heat of the desert.
There was not a morsel in his hand to eat; nor a drop of water to
drink. Turn his eyes wherever he might he found a vast desert, out of
which he saw no means of escape. Still he thought within himself,
"Surely my father's prophecy never proved untrue. I must survive this
calamity to find my death on some sea-coast." So thought he, and this
thought gave him strength of mind to walk fast and try to find a drop
of water somewhere to slake his dry throat.
At last he succeeded; heaven threw in his way a ruined well. He thought
he could collect some water if he let down his chombu with the string
that he always carried noosed to the neck of it. Accordingly he let it
down; it went some way and stopped, and the following words came from
the well: "Oh, relieve me! I am the king of tigers, dying here of
hunger. For the last three days I have had nothing. Fortune has sent
you here. If you assist me now you will find a sure help in me
throughout your life. Do not think that I am a beast of prey. When you
have become my deliverer I will never touch you. Pray, kindly lift me
up." Gangazara thought: "Shall I take him out or not? If I take him out
he may make me the first morsel of his hungry mouth. No; that he will
not do. For my father's prophecy never came untrue. I must die on a sea
coast, and not by a tiger." Thus thinking, he asked the tiger-king to
hold tight to the vessel, which he accordingly did, and he lifted him
up slowly. The tiger reached the top of the well and felt himself on
safe ground. True to his word, he did no harm to Gangazara. On the
other hand, he walked round his patron three times, and standing before
him, humbly spoke the following words: "My life-giver, my benefactor!
I shall never forget this day, when I regained my life through your
kind hands. In return for this kind assistance I pledge my oath to
stand by you in all calamities. Whenever you are in any difficulty
just think of me. I am there with you ready to oblige you by all the
means that I can. To tell you briefly how I came in here: Three days
ago I was roaming in yonder forest, when I saw a goldsmith passing
through it. I chased him. He, finding it impossible to escape my claws,
jumped into this well, and is living to this moment in the very bottom
of it. I also jumped in, but found myself on the first ledge of the
well; he is on the last and fourth ledge. In the second lives a serpent
half-famished with hunger. On the third lies a rat, also half-famished,
and when you again begin to draw water these may request you first to
release them. In the same way the goldsmith also may ask you. I beg
you, as your bosom friend, never assist that wretched man, though he is
your relation as a human being. Goldsmiths are never to be trusted. You
can place more faith in me, a tiger, though I feast sometimes upon men,
in a serpent, whose sting makes your blood cold the very next moment,
or in a rat, which does a thousand pieces of mischief in your house.
But never trust a goldsmith. Do not release him; and if you do, you
shall surely repent of it one day or other." Thus advising, the hungry
tiger went away without waiting for an answer.
Gangazara thought several times of the eloquent way in which the tiger
spoke, and admired his fluency of speech. But still his thirst was not
quenched. So he let down his vessel again, which was now caught hold of
by the serpent, who addressed him thus: "Oh, my protector! Lift me up.
I am the king of serpents, and the son of Adisesha, who is now pining
away in agony for my disappearance. Release me now. I shall ever remain
your servant, remember your assistance, and help you throughout life in
all possible ways. Oblige me: I am dying." Gangazara, calling again to
mind the "DEATH ON THE SEA-SHORE" of the prophecy lifted him up. He,
like the tiger-king, walked round him thrice, and prostrating himself
before him spoke thus: "Oh, my life-giver, my father, for so I must
call you, as you have given me another birth. I was three days ago
basking myself in the morning sun, when I saw a rat running before me.
I chased him. He fell into this well. I followed him, but instead of
falling on the third storey where he is now lying, I fell into the
second. I am going away now to see my father. Whenever you are in any
difficulty just think of me. I will be there by your side to assist you
by all possible means." So saying, the Nagaraja glided away in zigzag
movements, and was out of sight in a moment.
The poor son of the Soothsayer, who was now almost dying of thirst, let
down his vessel for a third time. The rat caught hold of it, and
without discussing he lifted up the poor animal at once. But it would
not go away without showing its gratitude: "Oh, life of my life! My
benefactor! I am the king of rats. Whenever you are in any calamity
just think of me. I will come to you, and assist you. My keen ears
overheard all that the tiger-king told you about the goldsmith, who is
in the fourth storey. It is nothing but a sad truth that goldsmiths
ought never to be trusted. Therefore, never assist him as you have done
to us all. And if you do, you will suffer for it. I am hungry; let me
go for the present." Thus taking leave of his benefactor, the rat, too,
ran away.
Gangazara for a while thought upon the repeated advice given by the
three animals about releasing the goldsmith: "What wrong would there be
in my assisting him? Why should I not release him also?" So thinking to
himself, Gangazara let down the vessel again. The goldsmith caught hold
of it, and demanded help. The Soothsayer's son had no time to lose; he
was himself dying of thirst.
Therefore he lifted the goldsmith up, who now began his story. "Stop
for a while," said Gangazara, and after quenching his thirst by letting
down his vessel for the fifth time, still fearing that some one might
remain in the well and demand his assistance, he listened to the
goldsmith, who began as follows: "My dear friend, my protector, what a
deal of nonsense these brutes have been talking to you about me; I am
glad you have not followed their advice. I am just now dying of hunger.
Permit me to go away. My name is Manikkasari. I live in the East main
street of Ujjaini, which is twenty kas to the south of this place, and
so lies on your way when you return from Benares. Do not forget to come
to me and receive my kind remembrances of your assistance, on your way
back to your country." So saying, the goldsmith took his leave, and
Gangazara also pursued his way north after the above adventures.
He reached Benares, and lived there for more than ten years, and quite
forgot the tiger, serpent, rat, and goldsmith. After ten years of
religious life, thoughts of home and of his brother rushed into his
mind. "I have secured enough merit now by my religious observances. Let
me return home." Thus thought Gangazara within himself, and very soon
he was on his way back to his country. Remembering the prophecy of his
father he returned by the same way by which he went to Benares ten
years before. While thus retracing his steps he reached the ruined well
where he had released the three brute kings and the gold smith. At once
the old recollections rushed into his mind, and he thought of the tiger
to test his fidelity. Only a moment passed, and the tiger-king came
running before him carrying a large crown in his mouth, the glitter of
the diamonds of which for a time outshone even the bright rays of the
sun. He dropped the crown at his life-giver's feet, and, putting aside
all his pride, humbled himself like a pet cat to the strokes of his
protector, and began in the following words: "My life-giver! How is it
that you have forgotten me, your poor servant, for such a long time? I
am glad to find that I still occupy a corner in your mind. I can never
forget the day when I owed my life to your lotus hands. I have several
jewels with me of little value. This crown, being the best of all, I
have brought here as a single ornament of great value, which you can
carry with you and dispose of in your own country." Gangazara looked at
the crown, examined it over and over, counted and recounted the gems,
and thought within himself that he would become the richest of men by
separating the diamonds and gold, and selling them in his own country.
He took leave of the tiger-king, and after his disappearance thought of
the kings of serpents and rats, who came in their turn with their
presents, and after the usual greetings and exchange of words took
their leave. Gangazara was extremely delighted at the faithfulness with
which the brute beasts behaved, and went on his way to the south. While
going along he spoke to himself thus: "These beasts have been very
faithful in their assistance. Much more, therefore, must Manikkasari be
faithful. I do not want anything from him now. If I take this crown
with me as it is, it occupies much space in my bundle. It may also
excite the curiosity of some robbers on the way. I will go now to
Ujjaini on my way. Manikkasari requested me to see him without failure
on my return journey. I shall do so, and request him to have the crown
melted, the diamonds and gold separated. He must do that kindness at
least for me. I shall then roll up these diamonds and gold ball in my
rags, and wend my way homewards." Thus thinking and thinking, he
reached Ujjaini. At once he inquired for the house of his goldsmith
friend, and found him without difficulty. Manikkasari was extremely
delighted to find on his threshold him who ten years before,
notwithstanding the advice repeatedly given him by the sage-looking
tiger, serpent, and rat, had relieved him from the pit of death.
Gangazara at once showed him the crown that he received from the tiger-
king, told him how he got it, and requested his kind assistance to
separate the gold and diamonds. Manikkasari agreed to do so, and
meanwhile asked his friend to rest himself for a while to have his bath
and meals; and Gangazara, who was very observant of his religious
ceremonies, went direct to the river to bathe.
How came the crown in the jaws of the tiger? The king of Ujjaini had a
week before gone with all his hunters on a hunting expedition. All of a
sudden the tiger-king started from the wood, seized the king, and
vanished.
When the king's attendants informed the prince about the death of his
father he wept and wailed, and gave notice that he would give half of
his kingdom to any one who should bring him news about the murderer of
his father. The goldsmith knew full well that it was a tiger that
killed the king, and not any hunter's hands, since he had heard from
Gangazara how he obtained the crown. Still, he resolved to denounce
Gangazara as the king's murderer, so, hiding the crown under his
garments, he flew to the palace. He went before the prince and informed
him that the assassin was caught, and placed the crown before him.
The prince took it into his hands, examined it, and at once gave half
the kingdom to Manikkasari, and then inquired about the murderer. "He
is bathing in the river, and is of such and such appearance," was the
reply. At once four armed soldiers flew to the river, and bound the
poor Brahman hand and foot, while he, sitting in meditation, was
without any knowledge of the fate that hung over him. They brought
Gangazara to the presence of the prince, who turned his face away from
the supposed murderer, and asked his soldiers to throw him into a
dungeon. In a minute, without knowing the cause, the poor Brahman found
himself in the dark dungeon.
It was a dark cellar underground, built with strong stone walls, into
which any criminal guilty of a capital offence was ushered to breathe
his last there without food and drink. Such was the cellar into which
Gangazara was thrust. What were his thoughts when he reached that
place? "It is of no use to accuse either the goldsmith or the prince
now. We are all the children of fate. We must obey her commands. This
is but the first day of my father's prophecy. So far his statement is
true. But how am I going to pass ten years here? Perhaps without
anything to sustain life I may drag on my existence for a day or two.
But how pass ten years? That cannot be, and I must die. Before death
comes let me think of my faithful brute friends."
So pondered Gangazara in the dark cell underground, and at that moment
thought of his three friends. The tiger-king, serpent-king, and rat-
king assembled at once with their armies at a garden near the dungeon,
and for a while did not know what to do. They held their council, and
decided to make an underground passage from the inside of a ruined well
to the dungeon. The rat raja issued an order at once to that effect to
his army. They, with their teeth, bored the ground a long way to the
walls of the prison. After reaching it they found that their teeth
could not work on the hard stones. The bandicoots were then specially
ordered for the business; they, with their hard teeth, made a small
slit in the wall for a rat to pass and re-pass without difficulty. Thus
a passage was effected.
The rat raja entered first to condole with his protector on his
misfortune, and undertook to supply his protector with provisions.
"Whatever sweetmeats or bread are prepared in any house, one and all of
you must try to bring whatever you can to our benefactor. Whatever
clothes you find hanging in a house, cut down, dip the pieces in water,
and bring the wet bits to our benefactor. He will squeeze them and
gather water for drink! and the bread and sweetmeats shall form his
food." Having issued these orders, the king of the rats took leave of
Gangazara. They, in obedience to their king's order, continued to
supply him with provisions and water.
The snake-king said: "I sincerely condole with you in your calamity;
the tiger-king also fully sympathises with you, and wants me to tell
you so, as he cannot drag his huge body here as we have done with our
small ones. The king of the rats has promised to do his best to provide
you with food. We would now do what we can for your release. From this
day we shall issue orders to our armies to oppress all the subjects of
this kingdom. The deaths by snake-bite and tigers shall increase a
hundredfold from this day, and day by day it shall continue to increase
till your release. Whenever you hear people near you, you had better
bawl out so as to be heard by them: 'The wretched prince imprisoned me
on the false charge of having killed his father, while it was a tiger
that killed him. From that day these calamities have broken out in his
dominions. If I were released I would save all by my powers of healing
poisonous wounds and by incantations.' Some one may report this to the
king, and if he knows it, you will obtain your liberty." Thus
comforting his protector in trouble, he advised him to pluck up
courage, and took leave of him. From that day tigers and serpents,
acting under the orders of their kings, united in killing as many
persons and cattle as possible. Every day people were carried away by
tigers or bitten by serpents. Thus passed months and years. Gangazara
sat in the dark cellar, without the sun's light falling upon him, and
feasted upon the breadcrumbs and sweetmeats that the rats so kindly
supplied him with. These delicacies had completely changed his body
into a red, stout, huge, unwieldy mass of flesh. Thus passed full ten
years, as prophesied in the horoscope.
Ten complete years rolled away in close imprisonment. On the last
evening of the tenth year one of the serpents got into the bed-chamber
of the princess and sucked her life. She breathed her last. She was the
only daughter of the king. The king at once sent for all the snake-bite
curers. He promised half his kingdom and his daughter's hand to him who
would restore her to life. Now a servant of the king who had several
times overheard Gangazara's cries, reported the matter to him. The king
at once ordered the cell to be examined. There was the man sitting in
it. How had he managed to live so long in the cell? Some whispered that
he must be a divine being. Thus they discussed, while they brought
Gangazara to the king.
The king no sooner saw Gangazara than he fell on the ground. He was
struck by the majesty and grandeur of his person. His ten years'
imprisonment in the deep cell underground had given a sort of lustre to
his body. His hair had first to be cut before his face could be seen.
The king begged forgiveness for his former fault, and requested him to
revive his daughter.
"Bring me within an hour all the corpses of men and cattle, dying and
dead, that remain unburnt or unburied within the range of your
dominions; I shall revive them all," were the only words that Gangazara
spoke.
Cartloads of corpses of men and cattle began to come in every minute.
Even graves, it is said, were broken open, and corpses buried a day or
two before were taken out and sent for their revival. As soon as all
were ready, Gangazara took a vessel full of water and sprinkled it over
them all, thinking only of his snake-king and tiger-king. All rose up
as if from deep slumber, and went to their respective homes. The
princess, too, was restored to life. The joy of the king knew no
bounds. He cursed the day on which he imprisoned him, blamed himself
for having believed the word of a goldsmith, and offered him the hand
of his daughter and the whole kingdom, instead of half, as he promised.
Gangazara would not accept anything, but asked the king to assemble all
his subjects in a wood near the town. "I shall there call in all the
tigers and serpents, and give them a general order."
When the whole town was assembled, just at the dusk of evening,
Gangazara sat dumb for a moment, and thought upon the Tiger King and
the Serpent King, who came with all their armies. People began to take
to their heels at the sight of tigers. Gangazara assured them of
safety, and stopped them.
The grey light of the evening, the pumpkin colour of Gangazara, the
holy ashes scattered lavishly over his body, the tigers and snakes
humbling themselves at his feet, gave him the true majesty of the god
Gangazara. For who else by a single word could thus command vast armies
of tigers and serpents, said some among the people. "Care not for it;
it may be by magic. That is not a great thing. That he revived
cartloads of corpses shows him to be surely Gangazara," said others.
"Why should you, my children, thus trouble these poor subjects of
Ujjaini? Reply to me, and henceforth desist from your ravages." Thus
said the Soothsayer's son, and the following reply came from the king
of the tigers: "Why should this base king imprison your honour,
believing the mere word of a goldsmith that your honour killed his
father? All the hunters told him that his father was carried away by a
tiger. I was the messenger of death sent to deal the blow on his neck.
I did it, and gave the crown to your honour. The prince makes no
inquiry, and at once imprisons your honour. How can we expect justice
from such a stupid king as that? Unless he adopt a better standard of
justice we will go on with our destruction."
The king heard, cursed the day on which he believed in the word of a
goldsmith, beat his head, tore his hair, wept and wailed for his crime,
asked a thousand pardons, and swore to rule in a just way from that
day. The serpent-king and tiger-king also promised to observe their
oath as long as justice prevailed, and took their leave. The gold-smith
fled for his life. He was caught by the soldiers of the king, and was
pardoned by the generous Gangazara, whose voice now reigned supreme.
All returned to their homes. The king again pressed Gangazara to accept
the hand of his daughter. He agreed to do so, not then, but some time
afterwards. He wished to go and see his elder brother first, and then
to return and marry the princess. The king agreed; and Gangazara left
the city that very day on his way home.
It so happened that unwittingly he took a wrong road, and had to pass
near a sea-coast. His elder brother was also on his way up to Benares
by that very same route. They met and recognised each other, even at a
distance. They flew into each other's arms. Both remained still for a
time almost unconscious with joy. The pleasure of Gangazara was so
great that he died of joy.
The elder brother was a devout worshipper of Ganesa. That was a Friday,
a day very sacred to that god. The elder brother took the corpse to the
nearest Ganesa temple and called upon him. The god came, and asked him
what he wanted. "My poor brother is dead and gone; and this is his
corpse. Kindly keep it in your charge till I finish worshipping you. If
I leave it anywhere else the devils may snatch it away when I am absent
worshipping you; after finishing the rites I shall burn him." Thus said
the elder brother, and, giving the corpse to the god Ganesa, he went to
prepare himself for that deity's ceremonials. Ganesa made over the
corpse to his Ganas, asking them to watch over it carefully. But
instead of that they devoured it.
The elder brother, after finishing the puja, demanded his brother's
corpse of the god. The god called his Ganas, who came to the front
blinking, and fearing the anger of their master. The god was greatly
enraged. The elder brother was very angry. When the corpse was not
forthcoming he cuttingly remarked, "Is this, after all, the return for
my deep belief in you? You are unable even to return my brother's
corpse." Ganesa was much ashamed at the remark. So he, by his divine
power, gave him a living Gangazara instead of the dead corpse. Thus was
the second son of the Soothsayer restored to life.
The brothers had a long talk about each other's adventures. They both
went to Ujjaini, where Gangazara married the princess, and succeeded to
the throne of that kingdom. He reigned for a long time, conferring
several benefits upon his brother. And so the horoscope was fully
fulfilled.
HARISAMAN
There was a certain Brahman in a certain village, named Harisarman. He
was poor and foolish and in evil case for want of employment, and he
had very many children, that he might reap the fruit of his misdeeds in
a former life. He wandered about begging with his family, and at last
he reached a certain city, and entered the service of a rich
householder called Sthuladatta. His sons became keepers of
Sthuladatta's cows and other property, and his wife a servant to him,
and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of an
attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage of the
daughter of Sthuladatta, largely attended by many friends of the bride-
groom, and merry-makers. Harisarman hoped that he would be able to fill
himself up to the throat with ghee and flesh and other dainties, and
get the same for his family, in the house of his patron. While he was
anxiously expecting to be fed, no one thought of him.
Then he was distressed at getting nothing to eat, and he said to his
wife at night, "It is owing to my poverty and stupidity that I am
treated with such disrespect here; so I will pretend by means of an
artifice to possess a knowledge of magic, so that I may become an
object of respect to this Sthuladatta; so, when you get an opportunity,
tell him that I possess magical knowledge." He said this to her, and
after turning the matter over in his mind, while people were asleep he
took away from the house of Sthuladatta a horse on which his master's
son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at some distance, and in
the morning the friends of the bridegroom could not find the horse,
though they searched in every direction. Then, while Sthuladatta was
distressed at the evil omen, and searching for the thieves who had
carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman came and said to him,
"My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology and magical sciences;
he can get the horse back for you; why do you not ask him?"
When Sthuladatta heard that, he called Harisarman, who said, "Yesterday
I was forgotten, but to-day, now the horse is stolen, I am called to
mind," and Sthuladatta then propitiated the Brahman with these words--
"I forgot you, forgive me"--and asked him to tell him who had taken
away their horse. Then Harisarman drew all kinds of pretended diagrams,
and said: "The horse has been placed by thieves on the boundary line
south from this place. It is concealed there, and before it is carried
off to a distance, as it will be at close of day, go quickly and bring
it." When they heard that, many men ran and brought the horse quickly,
praising the discernment of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was honoured by
all men as a sage, and dwelt there in happiness, honoured by
Sthuladatta.
Now, as days went on, much treasure, both of gold and jewels, had been
stolen by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not
known, the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his
reputation for knowledge of magic. And he, when summoned, tried to gain
time, and said, "I will tell you to-morrow," and then he was placed in
a chamber by the king, and carefully guarded. And he was sad because he
had pretended to have knowledge. Now in that palace there was a maid
named Jihva (which means Tongue), who, with the assistance of her
brother, had stolen that treasure from the interior of the palace. She,
being alarmed at Harisarman's knowledge, went at night and applied her
ear to the door of that chamber in order to find out what he was about.
And Harisarman, who was alone inside, was at that very moment blaming
his own tongue, that had made a vain assumption of knowledge. He said:
"O Tongue, what is this that you have done through your greediness?
Wicked one, you will soon receive punishment in full." When Jihva heard
this, she thought, in her terror, that she had been discovered by this
wise man, and she managed to get in where he was, and falling at his
feet, she said to the supposed wizard: "Brahman, here I am, that Jihva
whom you have discovered to be the thief of the treasure, and after I
took it I buried it in the earth in a garden behind the palace, under a
pomegranate tree. So spare me, and receive the small quantity of gold
which is in my possession."
When Harisarman heard that, he said to her proudly: "Depart, I know all
this; I know the past, present and future; but I will not denounce you,
being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But
whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me." When he
said this to the maid, she consented, and departed quickly. But
Harisarman reflected in his astonishment: "Fate brings about, as if in
sport, things impossible, for when calamity was so near, who would have
thought chance would have brought us success? While I was blaming my
jihva, the thief Jihva suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes
manifest themselves by means of fear." Thus thinking, he passed the
night happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king,
by some skilful parade of pretended knowledge into the garden, and led
him up to the treasure, which was buried under the pomegranate tree,
and said that the thief had escaped with a part of it. Then the king
was pleased, and gave him the revenue of many villages.
But the minister, named Devajnanin, whispered in the king's ear: "How
can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men, without having
studied the books of magic; you may be certain that this is a specimen
of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a secret
intelligence with thieves. It will be much better to test him by some
new artifice." Then the king of his own accord brought a covered
pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to Harisarman,
"Brahman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher, I will do you
great honour to-day." When the Brahman Harisarman heard that, he
thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind the pet name
of "Froggie" which his father had given him in his childhood in sport,
and, impelled by luck, he called to himself by his pet name, lamenting
his hard fate, and suddenly called out: "This is a fine pitcher for
you, Froggie; it will soon become the swift destroyer of your helpless
self." The people there, when they heard him say that, raised a shout
of applause, because his speech chimed in so well with the object
presented to him, and murmured, "Ah! a great sage, he knows even about
the frog!" Then the king, thinking that this was all due to knowledge
of divination, was highly delighted, and gave Harisarman the revenue of
more villages, with gold, an umbrella, and state carriages of all
kinds. So Harisarman prospered in the world.
THE CHARMED RING
A merchant started his son in life with three hundred rupees, and bade
him go to another country and try his luck in trade. The son took the
money and departed. He had not gone far before he came across some
herdsmen quarrelling over a dog, that some of them wished to kill.
"Please do not kill the dog," pleaded the young and tender-hearted
fellow; "I will give you one hundred rupees for it." Then and there, of
course, the bargain was concluded, and the foolish fellow took the dog,
and continued his journey. He next met with some people fighting about
a cat. Some of them wanted to kill it, but others not. "Oh! please do
not kill it," said he; "I will give you one hundred rupees for it." Of
course they at once gave him the cat and took the money. He went on
till he reached a village, where some folk were quarrelling over a
snake that had just been caught. Some of them wished to kill it, but
others did not. "Please do not kill the snake," said he; "I will give
you one hundred rupees." Of course the people agreed, and were highly
delighted.
What a fool the fellow was! What would he do now that all his money was
gone? What could he do except return to his father? Accordingly he went
home.
"You fool! You scamp!" exclaimed his father when he had heard how his
son had wasted all the money that had been given to him. "Go and live
in the stables and repent of your folly. You shall never again enter my
house."
So the young man went and lived in the stables. His bed was the grass
spread for the cattle, and his companions were the dog, the cat, and
the snake, which he had purchased so dearly. These creatures got very
fond of him, and would follow him about during the day, and sleep by
him at night; the cat used to sleep at his feet, the dog at his head,
and the snake over his body, with its head hanging on one side and its
tail on the other.
One day the snake in course of conversation said to its master, "I am
the son of Raja Indrasha. One day, when I had come out of the ground to
drink the air, some people seized me, and would have slain me had you
not most opportunely arrived to my rescue. I do not know how I shall
ever be able to repay you for your great kindness to me. Would that you
knew my father! How glad he would be to see his son's preserver!"
"Where does he live? I should like to see him, if possible," said the
young man.
"Well said!" continued the snake. "Do you see yonder mountain? At the
bottom of that mountain there is a sacred spring. If you will come with
me and dive into that spring, we shall both reach my father's country.
Oh! how glad he will be to see you! He will wish to reward you, too.
But how can he do that? However, you may be pleased to accept something
at his hand. If he asks you what you would like, you would, perhaps, do
well to reply, 'The ring on your right hand, and the famous pot and
spoon which you possess.' With these in your possession, you would
never need anything, for the ring is such that a man has only to speak
to it, and immediately a beautiful furnished mansion will be provided
for him, while the pot and the spoon will supply him with all manner of
the rarest and most delicious foods."
Attended by his three companions the man walked to the well and
prepared to jump in, according to the snake's directions. "O master!"
exclaimed the cat and dog, when they saw what he was going to do. "What
shall we do? Where shall we go?"
"Wait for me here," he replied. "I am not going far. I shall not be
long away." On saying this, he dived into the water and was lost to
sight.
"Now what shall we do?" said the dog to the cat. "We must remain here,"
replied the cat, "as our master ordered. Do not be anxious about food.
I will go to the people's houses and get plenty of food for both of
us." And so the cat did, and they both lived very comfortably till
their master came again and joined them.
The young man and the snake reached their destination in safety; and
information of their arrival was sent to the Raja. His highness
commanded his son and the stranger to appear before him. But the snake
refused, saying that it could not go to its father till it was released
from this stranger, who had saved it from a most terrible death, and
whose slave it therefore was. Then the Raja went and embraced his son,
and saluting the stranger welcomed him to his dominions. The young man
stayed there a few days, during which he received the Raja's right-hand
ring, and the pot and spoon, in recognition of His Highness's gratitude
to him for having delivered his son. He then returned. On reaching the
top of the spring he found his friends, the dog and the cat, waiting
for him. They told one another all they had experienced since they had
last seen each other, and were all very glad. Afterwards they walked
together to the river side, where it was decided to try the powers of
the charmed ring and pot and spoon.
The merchant's son spoke to the ring, and immediately a beautiful house
and a lovely princess with golden hair appeared. He spoke to the pot
and spoon, also, and the most delicious dishes of food were provided
for them. So he married the princess, and they lived very happily for
several years, until one morning the princess, while arranging her
toilet, put the loose hairs into a hollow bit of reed and threw them
into the river that flowed along under the window. The reed floated on
the water for many miles, and was at last picked up by the prince of
that country, who curiously opened it and saw the golden hair. On
finding it the prince rushed off to the palace, locked himself up in
his room, and would not leave it. He had fallen desperately in love
with the woman whose hair he had picked up, and refused to eat, or
drink, or sleep, or move, till she was brought to him. The king, his
father, was in great distress about the matter, and did not know what
to do. He feared lest his son should die and leave him without an heir.
At last he determined to seek the counsel of his aunt, who was an
ogress. The old woman consented to help him, and bade him not to be
anxious, as she felt certain that she would succeed in getting the
beautiful woman for his son's wife.
She assumed the shape of a bee and went along buzzing, and buzzing, and
buzzing. Her keen sense of smell soon brought her to the beautiful
princess, to whom she appeared as an old hag, holding in one hand a
stick by way of support. She introduced herself to the beautiful
princess and said, "I am your aunt, whom you have never seen before,
because I left the country just after your birth." She also embraced
and kissed the princess by way of adding force to her words. The
beautiful princess was thoroughly deceived. She returned the ogress's
embrace, and invited her to come and stay in the house as long as she
could, and treated her with such honour and attention, that the ogress
thought to herself, "I shall soon accomplish my errand." When she had
been in the house three days, she began to talk of the charmed ring,
and advised her to keep it instead of her husband, because the latter
was constantly out shooting and on other such-like expeditions, and
might lose it. Accordingly the beautiful princess asked her husband for
the ring, and he readily gave it to her.
The ogress waited another day before she asked to see the precious
thing. Doubting nothing, the beautiful princess complied, when the
ogress seized the ring, and reassuming the form of a bee flew away with
it to the palace, where the prince was lying nearly on the point of
death. "Rise up. Be glad. Mourn no more," she said to him. "The woman
for whom you yearn will appear at your summons. See, here is the charm,
whereby you may bring her before you." The prince was almost mad with
joy when he heard these words, and was so desirous of seeing the
beautiful princess, that he immediately spoke to the ring, and the
house with its fair occupant descended in the midst of the palace
garden. He at once entered the building, and telling the beautiful
princess of his intense love, entreated her to be his wife. Seeing no
escape from the difficulty, she consented on the condition that he
would wait one month for her.
Meanwhile the merchant's son had returned from hunting and was terribly
distressed not to find his house and wife. There was the place only,
just as he knew it before he had tried the charmed ring which Raja
Indrasha had given him. He sat down and determined to put an end to
himself. Presently the cat and dog came up. They had gone away and
hidden themselves, when they saw the house and everything disappear. "O
master!" they said, "stay your hand. Your trial is great, but it can be
remedied. Give us one month, and we will go and try to recover your
wife and house."
"Go," said he, "and may the great God aid your efforts. Bring back my
wife, and I shall live."
So the cat and dog started off at a run, and did not stop till they
reached the place whither their mistress and the house had been taken.
"We may have some difficulty here," said the cat. "Look, the king has
taken our master's wife and house for himself. You stay here. I will go
to the house and try to see her." So the dog sat down, and the cat
climbed up to the window of the room, wherein the beautiful princess
was sitting, and entered. The princess recognised the cat, and informed
it of all that had happened to her since she had left them.
"But is there no way of escape from the hands of these people?" she
asked.
"Yes," replied the cat, "if you can tell me where the charmed ring is."
"The ring is in the stomach of the ogress," she said.
"All right," said the cat, "I will recover it. If we once get it,
everything is ours." Then the cat descended the wall of the house, and
went and laid down by a rat's hole and pretended she was dead. Now at
that time a great wedding chanced to be going on among the rat
community of that place, and all the rats of the neighbourhood were
assembled in that one particular mine by which the cat had lain down.
The eldest son of the king of the rats was about to be married. The cat
got to know of this, and at once conceived the idea of seizing the
bridegroom and making him render the necessary help. Consequently, when
the procession poured forth from the hole squealing and jumping in
honour of the occasion, it immediately spotted the bridegroom and
pounced down on him. "Oh! let me go, let me go," cried the terrified
rat. "Oh! let him go," squealed all the company. "It is his wedding
day."
"No, no," replied the cat. "Not unless you do some thing for me.
Listen. The ogress, who lives in that house with the prince and his
wife, has swallowed a ring, which I very much want. If you will procure
it for me, I will allow the rat to depart unharmed. If you do not, then
your prince dies under my feet."
"Very well, we agree," said they all. "Nay, if we do not get the ring
for you, devour us all."
This was rather a bold offer. However, they accomplished the thing. At
midnight, when the ogress was sound asleep, one of the rats went to her
bedside, climbed up on her face, and inserted its tail into her throat;
whereupon the ogress coughed violently, and the ring came out and
rolled on to the floor. The rat immediately seized the precious thing
and ran off with it to its king, who was very glad, and went at once to
the cat and released its son.
As soon as the cat received the ring, she started back with the dog to
go and tell their master the good tidings. All seemed safe now. They
had only to give the ring to him, and he would speak to it, and the
house and beautiful princess would again be with them, and everything
would go on as happily as before. "How glad master will be!" they
thought, and ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Now, on the
way they had to cross a stream. The dog swam, and the cat sat on its
back. Now the dog was jealous of the cat, so he asked for the ring, and
threatened to throw the cat into the water if it did not give it up;
whereupon the cat gave up the ring. Sorry moment, for the dog at once
dropped it, and a fish swallowed it.
"Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" said the dog.
"What is done is done," replied the cat. "We must try to recover it,
and if we do not succeed we had better drown ourselves in this stream.
I have a plan. You go and kill a small lamb, and bring it here to me."
"All right," said the dog, and at once ran off. He soon came back with
a dead lamb, and gave it to the cat. The cat got inside the lamb and
lay down, telling the dog to go away a little distance and keep quiet.
Not long after this a nadhar, a bird whose look can break the bones of
a fish, came and hovered over the lamb, and eventually pounced down on
it to carry it away. On this the cat came out and jumped on to the
bird, and threatened to kill it if it did not recover the lost ring.
This was most readily promised by the nadhar, who immediately flew off
to the king of the fishes, and ordered it to make inquiries and to
restore the ring. The king of the fishes did so, and the ring was found
and carried back to the cat.
"Come along now; I have got the ring," said the cat to the dog.
"No, I will not," said the dog, "unless you let me have the ring. I can
carry it as well as you. Let me have it or I will kill you." So the cat
was obliged to give up the ring. The careless dog very soon dropped it
again. This time it was picked up and carried off by a kite.
"See, see, there it goes--away to that big tree," the cat exclaimed.
"Oh! oh! what have I done?" cried the dog.
"You foolish thing, I knew it would be so," said the cat. "But stop
your barking, or you will frighten away the bird to some place where we
shall not be able to trace it."
The cat waited till it was quite dark, and then climbed the tree,
killed the kite, and recovered the ring. "Come along," it said to the
dog when it reached the ground. "We must make haste now. We have been
delayed. Our master will die from grief and suspense. Come on."
The dog, now thoroughly ashamed of itself, begged the cat's pardon for
all the trouble it had given. It was afraid to ask for the ring the
third time, so they both reached their sorrowing master in safety and
gave him the precious charm. In a moment his sorrow was turned into
joy. He spoke to the ring, and his beautiful wife and house reappeared,
and he and everybody were as happy as ever they could be.
THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE
The future Buddha was once born in a minister's family, when Brahma-
datta was reigning in Benares; and when he grew up, he became the
king's adviser in things temporal and spiritual.
Now this king was very talkative; while he was speaking, others had no
opportunity for a word. And the future Buddha, wanting to cure this
talkativeness of his, was constantly seeking for some means of doing
so.
At that time there was living, in a pond in the Himalaya mountains, a
tortoise. Two young hamsas, or wild ducks, who came to feed there, made
friends with him. And one day, when they had become very intimate with
him, they said to the tortoise:
"Friend tortoise! the place where we live, at the Golden Cave on Mount
Beautiful in the Himalaya country, is a delightful spot. Will you come
there with us?"
"But how can I get there?"
"We can take you, if you can only hold your tongue, and will say
nothing to anybody."
"Oh! that I can do. Take me with you."
"That's right," said they. And making the tortoise bite hold of a
stick, they themselves took the two ends in their teeth, and flew up
into the air.
Seeing him thus carried by the hamsas, some villagers called out, "Two
wild ducks are carrying a tortoise along on a stick!" Whereupon the
tortoise wanted to say, "If my friends choose to carry me, what is that
to you, you wretched slaves!" So just as the swift flight of the wild
ducks had brought him over the king's palace in the city of Benares, he
let go of the stick he was biting, and falling in the open courtyard,
split in two! And there arose a universal cry, "A tortoise has fallen
in the open courtyard, and has split in two!"
The king, taking the future Buddha, went to the place, surrounded by
his courtiers; and looking at the tortoise, he asked the Bodisat,
"Teacher! how comes he to be fallen here?"
The future Buddha thought to himself, "Long expecting, wishing to
admonish the king, have I sought for some means of doing so. This
tortoise must have made friends with the wild ducks; and they must have
made him bite hold of the stick, and have flown up into the air to take
him to the hills. But he, being unable to hold his tongue when he hears
any one else talk, must have wanted to say something, and let go the
stick; and so must have fallen down from the sky, and thus lost his
life." And saying, "Truly, O king! those who are called chatter-boxes--
people whose words have no end--come to grief like this," he uttered
these Verses:
"Verily the tortoise killed himself
Whilst uttering his voice;
Though he was holding tight the stick,
By a word himself he slew.
"Behold him then, O excellent by strength!
And speak wise words, not out of season.
You see how, by his talking overmuch,
The tortoise fell into this wretched plight!"
The king saw that he was himself referred to, and said, "O Teacher! are
you speaking of us?"
And the Bodisat spake openly, and said, "O great king! be it thou, or
be it any other, whoever talks beyond measure meets with some mishap
like this."
And the king henceforth refrained himself, and became a man of few
words.
A LAC OF RUPEES FOR A BIT OF ADVICE
A poor blind Brahman and his wife were dependent on their son for
their subsistence. Every day the young fellow used to go out and get
what he could by begging. This continued for some time, till at last he
became quite tired of such a wretched life, and determined to go and
try his luck in another country. He informed his wife of his intention,
and ordered her to manage somehow or other for the old people during
the few months that he would be absent. He begged her to be
industrious, lest his parents should be angry and curse him.
One morning he started with some food in a bundle, and walked on day
after day, till he reached the chief city of the neighbouring country.
Here he went and sat down by a merchant's shop and asked alms. The
merchant inquired whence he had come, why he had come, and what was his
caste; to which he replied that he was a Brahman, and was wandering
hither and thither begging a livelihood for himself and wife and
parents. Moved with pity for the man, the merchant advised him to visit
the kind and generous king of that country, and offered to accompany
him to the court. Now at that time it happened that the king was
seeking for a Brahman to look after a golden temple which he had just
had built. His Majesty was very glad, therefore, when he saw the
Brahman and heard that he was good and honest. He at once deputed him
to the charge of this temple, and ordered fifty kharwars of rice and
one hundred rupees to be paid to him every year as wages.
Two months after this, the Brahman's wife, not having heard any news of
her husband, left the house and went in quest of him. By a happy fate
she arrived at the very place that he had reached, where she heard that
every morning at the golden temple a golden rupee was given in the
king's name to any beggar who chose to go for it. Accordingly, on the
following morning she went to the place and met her husband.
"Why have you come here?" he asked. "Why have you left my parents? Care
you not whether they curse me and I die? Go back immediately, and await
my return."
"No, no," said the woman. "I cannot go back to starve and see your old
father and mother die. There is not a grain of rice left in the house."
"O Bhagawant!" exclaimed the Brahman. "Here, take this," he continued,
scribbling a few lines on some paper, and then handing it to her, "and
give it to the king. You will see that he will give you a lac of rupees
for it." Thus saying he dismissed her, and the woman left.
On this scrap of paper were written three pieces of advice--First, If a
person is travelling and reaches any strange place at night, let him be
careful where he puts up, and not close his eyes in sleep, lest he
close them in death. Secondly, If a man has a married sister, and
visits her in great pomp, she will receive him for the sake of what she
can obtain from him; but if he comes to her in poverty, she will frown
on him and disown him. Thirdly, If a man has to do any work, he must do
it himself, and do it with might and without fear.
On reaching her home the Brahmani told her parents of her meeting with
her husband, and what a valuable piece of paper he had given her; but
not liking to go before the king herself, she sent one of her
relations. The king read the paper, and ordering the man to be flogged,
dismissed him. The next morning the Brahmani took the paper, and while
she was going along the road to the darbar reading it, the king's son
met her, and asked what she was reading, whereupon she replied that she
held in her hands a paper containing certain bits of advice, for which
she wanted a lac of rupees. The prince asked her to show it to him, and
when he had read it gave her a parwana for the amount, and rode on. The
poor Brahmani was very thankful. That day she laid in a great store of
provisions, sufficient to last them all for a long time.
In the evening the prince related to his father the meeting with the
woman, and the purchase of the piece of paper. He thought his father
would applaud the act. But it was not so. The king was more angry than
before, and banished his son from the country.
So the prince bade adieu to his mother and relations and friends, and
rode off on his horse, whither he did not know. At nightfall he arrived
at some place, where a man met him, and invited him to lodge at his
house. The prince accepted the invitation, and was treated like a
prince. Matting was spread for him to squat on, and the best provisions
set before him.
"Ah!" thought he, as he lay down to rest, "here is a case for the first
piece of advice that the Brahmani gave me. I will not sleep to-night."
It was well that he thus resolved, for in the middle of the night the
man rose up, and taking a sword in his hand, rushed to the prince with
the intention of killing him. But he rose up and spoke.
"Do not slay me," he said. "What profit would you get from my death? If
you killed me you would be sorry afterwards, like that man who killed
his dog."
"What man? What dog?" he asked.
"I will tell you," said the prince, "if you will give me that sword."
So he gave him the sword, and the prince began his story:
"Once upon a time there lived a wealthy merchant who had a pet dog. He
was suddenly reduced to poverty, and had to part with his dog. He got a
loan of five thousand rupees from a brother merchant, leaving the dog
as a pledge, and with the money began business again. Not long after
this the other merchant's shop was broken into by thieves and
completely sacked. There was hardly ten rupees' worth left in the
place. The faithful dog, however, knew what was going on, and went and
followed the thieves, and saw where they deposited the things, and then
returned.
"In the morning there was great weeping and lamentation in the
merchant's house when it was known what had happened. The merchant
himself nearly went mad. Meanwhile the dog kept on running to the door,
and pulling at his master's shirt and paijamas, as though wishing him
to go outside. At last a friend suggested that, perhaps, the dog knew
something of the whereabouts of the things, and advised the merchant to
follow its leadings. The merchant consented, and went after the dog
right up to the very place where the thieves had hidden the goods. Here
the animal scraped and barked, and showed in various ways that the
things were underneath. So the merchant and his friends dug about the
place, and soon came upon all the stolen property. Nothing was missing.
There was everything just as the thieves had taken them.
"The merchant was very glad. On returning to his house, he at once sent
the dog back to its old master with a letter rolled under the collar,
wherein he had written about the sagacity of the beast, and begged his
friend to forget the loan and to accept another five thousand rupees as
a present. When this merchant saw his dog coming back again, he
thought, 'Alas! my friend is wanting the money. How can I pay him? I
have not had sufficient time to recover myself from my recent losses. I
will slay the dog ere he reaches the threshold, and say that another
must have slain it. Thus there will be an end of my debt.'
"No dog, no loan. Accordingly he ran out and killed the poor dog, when
the letter fell out of its collar. The merchant picked it up and read
it. How great was his grief and disappointment when he knew the facts
of the case!
"Beware," continued the prince, "lest you do that which afterwards you
would give your life not to have done."
By the time the prince had concluded this story it was nearly morning,
and he went away, after rewarding the man.
The prince then visited the country belonging to his brother-in-law. He
disguised himself as a jogi, and sitting down by a tree near the
palace, pretended to be absorbed in worship. News of the man and of his
wonderful piety reached the ears of the king. He felt interested in
him, as his wife was very ill; and he had sought for hakims to cure
her, but in vain. He thought that, perhaps, this holy man could do
something for her. So he sent to him. But the jogi refused to tread the
halls of a king, saying that his dwelling was the open air, and that if
his Majesty wished to see him he must come himself and bring his wife
to the place. Then the king took his wife and brought her to the jogi.
The holy man bade her prostrate herself before him, and when she had
remained in this position for about three hours, he told her to rise
and go, for she was cured.
In the evening there was great consternation in the palace, because the
queen had lost her pearl rosary, and nobody knew anything about it. At
length some one went to the jogi, and found it on the ground by the
place where the queen had prostrated herself. When the king heard this
he was very angry, and ordered the jogi to be executed. This stern
order, however, was not carried out, as the prince bribed the men and
escaped from the country. But he knew that the second bit of advice was
true.
Clad in his own clothes, the prince was walking along one day when he
saw a potter crying and laughing alternately with his wife and
children. "O fool," said he, "what is the matter? If you laugh, why do
you weep? If you weep, why do you laugh?"
"Do not bother me," said the potter. "What does it matter to you?"
"Pardon me," said the prince, "but I should like to know the reason."
"The reason is this, then," said the potter. "The king of this country
has a daughter whom he is obliged to marry every day, because all her
husbands die the first night of their stay with her. Nearly all the
young men of the place have thus perished, and our son will be called
on soon. We laugh at the absurdity of the thing--a potter's son
marrying a princess, and we cry at the terrible consequence of the
marriage. What can we do?"
"Truly a matter for laughing and weeping. But weep no more," said the
prince. "I will exchange places with your son, and will be married to
the princess instead of him. Only give me suitable garments, and
prepare me for the occasion."
So the potter gave him beautiful raiment and ornaments, and the prince
went to the palace. At night he was conducted to the apartment of the
princess. "Dread hour!" thought he; "am I to die like the scores of
young men before me?" He clenched his sword with firm grip, and lay
down on his bed, intending to keep awake all the night and see what
would happen. In the middle of the night he saw two Shahmars come out
from the nostrils of the princess. They stole over towards him,
intending to kill him, like the others who had been before him: but he
was ready for them. He laid hold of his sword, and when the snakes
reached his bed he struck at them and killed them. In the morning the
king came as usual to inquire, and was surprised to hear his daughter
and the prince talking gaily together. "Surely," said he, "this man
must be her husband, as he only can live with her."
"Where do you come from? Who are you?" asked the king, entering the
room.
"O king!" replied the prince, "I am the son of a king who rules over
such-and-such a country."
When he heard this the king was very glad, and bade the prince to abide
in his palace, and appointed him his successor to the throne. The
prince remained at the palace for more than a year, and then asked
permission to visit his own country, which was granted. The king gave
him elephants, horses, jewels, and abundance of money for the expenses
of the way and as presents for his father, and the prince started.
On the way he had to pass through the country belonging to his brother-
in-law, whom we have already mentioned. Report of his arrival reached
the ears of the king, who came with rope-tied hands and haltered neck
to do him homage. He most humbly begged him to stay at his palace, and
to accept what little hospitality could be provided. While the prince
was staying at the palace he saw his sister, who greeted him with
smiles and kisses. On leaving he told her how she and her husband had
treated him at his first visit, and how he had escaped; and then gave
them two elephants, two beautiful horses, fifteen soldiers, and ten
lacs rupees' worth of jewels.
Afterwards he went to his own home, and informed his mother and father
of his arrival. Alas! his parents had both become blind from weeping
about the loss of their son. "Let him come in," said the king, "and put
his hands upon our eyes, and we shall see again." So the prince
entered, and was most affectionately greeted by his old parents; and he
laid his hands on their eyes, and they saw again.
Then the prince told his father all that had happened to him, and how
he had been saved several times by attending to the advice that he had
purchased from the Brahmani. Whereupon the king expressed his sorrow
for having sent him away, and all was joy and peace again.
THE GOLD-GIVING SERPENT
Now in a certain place there lived a Brahman named Haridatta. He was a
farmer, but poor was the return his labour brought him. One day, at the
end of the hot hours, the Brahman, overcome by the heat, lay down under
the shadow of a tree to have a doze. Suddenly he saw a great hooded
snake creeping out of an ant-hill near at hand. So he thought to
himself, "Sure this is the guardian deity of the field, and I have not
ever worshipped it. That's why my farming is in vain. I will at once go
and pay my respects to it."
When he had made up his mind, he got some milk, poured it into a bowl,
and went to the ant-hill, and said aloud: "O Guardian of this Field!
all this while I did not know that you dwelt here. That is why I have
not yet paid my respects to you; pray forgive me." And he laid the milk
down and went to his house. Next morning he came and looked, and he saw
a gold denar in the bowl, and from that time onward every day the same
thing occurred he gave milk to the serpent and found a gold denar.
One day the Brahman had to go to the village, and so he ordered his son
to take the milk to the ant-hill. The son brought the milk, put it
down, and went back home. Next day he went again and found a denar, so
he thought to himself: "This ant-hill is surely full of golden denars;
I'll kill the serpent, and take them all for myself." So next day,
while he was giving the milk to the serpent, the Brahman's son struck
it on the head with a cudgel. But the serpent escaped death by the will
of fate, and in a rage bit the Brahman's son with its sharp fangs, and
he fell down dead at once. His people raised him a funeral pyre not far
from the field and burnt him to ashes.
Two days afterwards his father came back, and when he learnt his son's
fate he grieved and mourned. But after a time, he took the bowl of
milk, went to the ant-hill, and praised the serpent with a loud voice.
After a long, long time the serpent appeared, but only with its head
out of the opening of the ant-hill, and spoke to the Brahman: "'Tis
greed that brings you here, and makes you even forget the loss of your
son. From this time forward friendship between us is impossible. Your
son struck me in youthful ignorance, and I have bitten him to death.
How can I forget the blow with the cudgel? And how can you forget the
pain and grief at the loss of your son?" So speaking, it gave the
Brahman a costly pearl and disappeared. But before it went away it
said: "Come back no more." The Brahman took the pearl, and went back
home, cursing the folly of his son.
THE SON OF SEVEN QUEENS
Once upon a time there lived a King who had seven Queens, but no
children. This was a great grief to him, especially when he remembered
that on his death there would be no heir to inherit the kingdom.
Now it happened one day that a poor old fakir came to the King, and
said, "Your prayers are heard, your desire shall be accomplished, and
one of your seven Queens shall bear a son."
The King's delight at this promise knew no bounds, and he gave orders
for appropriate festivities to be prepared against the coming event
throughout the length and breadth of the land.
Meanwhile the seven Queens lived luxuriously in a splendid palace,
attended by hundreds of female slaves, and fed to their hearts' content
on sweetmeats and confectionery.
Now the King was very fond of hunting, and one day, before he started,
the seven Queens sent him a message saying, "May it please our dearest
lord not to hunt towards the north to-day, for we have dreamt bad
dreams, and fear lest evil should befall you."
The king, to allay their anxiety, promised regard for their wishes, and
set out towards the south; but as luck would have it, although he
hunted diligently, he found no game. Nor had he more success to the
east or west, so that, being a keen sportsman, and determined not to go
home empty-handed, he forgot all about his promise, and turned to the
north. Here also he was at first unsuccessful, but just as he had made
up his mind to give up for that day, a white hind with golden horns and
silver hoofs flashed past him into a thicket. So quickly did it pass
that he scarcely saw it; nevertheless a burning desire to capture and
possess the beautiful strange creature filled his breast. He instantly
ordered his attendants to form a ring round the thicket, and so
encircle the hind; then, gradually narrowing the circle, he pressed
forward till he could distinctly see the white hind panting in the
midst. Nearer and nearer he advanced, till, just as he thought to lay
hold of the beautiful strange creature, it gave one mighty bound, leapt
clean over the King's head, and fled towards the mountains. Forgetful
of all else, the King, setting spurs to his horse, followed at full
speed. On, on he galloped, leaving his retinue far behind, keeping the
white hind in view, never drawing bridle, until, finding himself in a
narrow ravine with no outlet, he reined in his steed. Before him stood
a miserable hovel, into which, being tired after his long, unsuccessful
chase, he entered to ask for a drink of water. An old woman, seated in
the hut at a spinning-wheel, answered his request by calling to her
daughter, and immediately from an inner room came a maiden so lovely
and charming, so white-skinned and golden-haired, that the King was
transfixed by astonishment at seeing so beautiful a sight in the
wretched hovel.
She held the vessel of water to the King's lips, and as he drank he
looked into her eyes, and then it became clear to him that the girl was
no other than the white hind with the golden horns and silver feet he
had chased so far.
Her beauty bewitched him, so he fell on his knees, begging her to
return with him as his bride; but she only laughed, saying seven Queens
were quite enough even for a King to manage. However, when he would
take no refusal, but implored her to have pity on him, promising her
everything she could desire, she replied, "Give me the eyes of your
seven Queens, and then perhaps I may believe you mean what you say."
The King was so carried away by the glamour of the white hind's magical
beauty, that he went home at once, had the eyes of his seven Queens
taken out, and, after throwing the poor blind creatures into a noisome
dungeon whence they could not escape, set off once more for the hovel
in the ravine, bearing with him his horrible offering. But the white
hind only laughed cruelly when she saw the fourteen eyes, and threading
them as a necklace, flung it round her mother's neck, saying, "Wear
that, little mother, as a keepsake, whilst I am away in the King's
palace."
Then she went back with the bewitched monarch, as his bride, and he
gave her the seven Queens' rich clothes and jewels to wear, the seven
Queens' palace to live in, and the seven Queens' slaves to wait upon
her; so that she really had everything even a witch could desire.
Now, very soon after the seven wretched hapless Queens had their eyes
torn out, and were cast into prison, a baby was born to the youngest of
the Queens. It was a handsome boy, but the other Queens were very
jealous that the youngest amongst them should be so fortunate. But
though at first they disliked the handsome little boy, he soon proved
so useful to them, that ere long they all looked on him as their son.
Almost as soon as he could walk about he began scraping at the mud wall
of their dungeon, and in an incredibly short space of time had made a
hole big enough for him to crawl through. Through this he disappeared,
returning in an hour or so laden with sweet-meats, which he divided
equally amongst the seven blind Queens.
As he grew older he enlarged the hole, and slipped out two or three
times every day to play with the little nobles in the town. No one knew
who the tiny boy was, but everybody liked him, and he was so full of
funny tricks and antics, so merry and bright, that he was sure to be
rewarded by some girdle-cakes, a handful of parched grain, or some
sweetmeats. All these things he brought home to his seven mothers, as
he loved to call the seven blind Queens, who by his help lived on in
their dungeon when all the world thought they had starved to death ages
before.
At last, when he was quite a big lad, he one day took his bow and
arrow, and went out to seek for game. Coming by chance past the palace
where the white hind lived in wicked splendour and magnificence, he saw
some pigeons fluttering round the white marble turrets, and, taking
good aim, shot one dead. It came tumbling past the very window where
the white Queen was sitting; she rose to see what was the matter, and
looked out. At the first glance of the handsome young lad standing
there bow in hand, she knew by witchcraft that it was the King's son.
She nearly died of envy and spite, determining to destroy the lad
without delay; therefore, sending a servant to bring him to her
presence, she asked him if he would sell her the pigeon he had just
shot.
"No," replied the sturdy lad, "the pigeon is for my seven blind
mothers, who live in the noisome dungeon, and who would die if I did
not bring them food."
"Poor souls!" cried the cunning white witch; "would you not like to
bring them their eyes again? Give me the pigeon, my dear, and I
faithfully promise to show you where to find them."
Hearing this, the lad was delighted beyond measure, and gave up the
pigeon at once. Whereupon the white Queen told him to seek her mother
without delay, and ask for the eyes which she wore as a necklace.
"She will not fail to give them," said the cruel Queen, "if you show
her this token on which I have written what I want done."
So saying, she gave the lad a piece of broken potsherd, with these
words inscribed on it--"Kill the bearer at once, and sprinkle his blood
like water!"
Now, as the son of seven Queens could not read, he took the fatal
message cheerfully, and set off to find the white Queen's mother.
Whilst he was journeying be passed through a town, where every one of
the inhabitants looked so sad, that he could not help asking what was
the matter. They told him it was because the King's only daughter
refused to marry; so when her father died there would be no heir to the
throne. They greatly feared she must be out of her mind, for though
every good-looking young man in the kingdom had been shown to her, she
declared she would only marry one who was the son of seven mothers, and
who ever heard of such a thing? The King, in despair, had ordered every
man who entered the city gates to be led before the Princess; so, much
to the lad's impatience, for he was in an immense hurry to find his
mothers' eyes, he was dragged into the presence-chamber.
No sooner did the Princess catch sight of him than she blushed, and,
turning to the King, said, "Dear father, this is my choice!"
Never were such rejoicings as these few words produced.
The inhabitants nearly went wild with joy, but the son of seven Queens
said he would not marry the Princess unless they first let him recover
his mothers' eyes. When the beautiful bride heard his story, she asked
to see the potsherd, for she was very learned and clever. Seeing the
treacherous words, she said nothing, but taking another similar-shaped
bit of potsherd, she wrote on it these words--"Take care of this lad,
giving him all he desires," and returned it to the son of seven Queens,
who, none the wiser, set off on his quest.
Ere long he arrived at the hovel in the ravine where the white witch's
mother, a hideous old creature, grumbled dreadfully on reading the
message, especially when the lad asked for the necklace of eyes.
Nevertheless she took it off, and gave it him, saying, "There are only
thirteen of 'em now, for I lost one last week."
The lad, however, was only too glad to get any at all, so he hurried
home as fast as he could to his seven mothers, and gave two eyes apiece
to the six elder Queens; but to the youngest he gave one, saying,
"Dearest little mother!--I will be your other eye always!"
After this he set off to marry the Princess, as he had promised, but
when passing by the white Queen's palace he saw some pigeons on the
roof. Drawing his bow, he shot one, and it came fluttering past the
window. The white hind looked out, and lo! there was the King's son
alive and well.
She cried with hatred and disgust, but sending for the lad, asked him
how he had returned so soon, and when she heard how he had brought home
the thirteen eyes, and given them to the seven blind Queens, she could
hardly restrain her rage. Nevertheless she pretended to be charmed with
his success, and told him that if he would give her this pigeon also,
she would reward him with the Jogi's wonderful cow, whose milk flows
all day long, and makes a pond as big as a kingdom. The lad, nothing
loth, gave her the pigeon; whereupon, as before, she bade him go ask
her mother for the cow, and gave him a potsherd whereon was written--
"Kill this lad without fail, and sprinkle his blood like water!"
But on the way the son of seven Queens looked in on the Princess, just
to tell her how he came to be delayed, and she, after reading the
message on the potsherd, gave him another in its stead; so that when
the lad reached the old hag's hut and asked her for the Jogi's cow, she
could not refuse, but told the boy how to find it; and bidding him of
all things not to be afraid of the eighteen thousand demons who kept
watch and ward over the treasure, told him to be off before she became
too angry at her daughter's foolishness in thus giving away so many
good things.
Then the lad did as he had been told bravely. He journeyed on and on
till he came to a milk-white pond, guarded by the eighteen thousand
demons. They were really frightful to behold, but, plucking up courage,
he whistled a tune as he walked through them, looking neither to the
right nor the left. By-and-by he came upon the Jogi's cow, tall, white,
and beautiful, while the Jogi himself, who was king of all the demons,
sat milking her day and night, and the milk streamed from her udder,
filling the milk-white tank.
The Jogi, seeing the lad, called out fiercely, "What do you want here?"
Then the lad answered, according to the old hag's bidding, "I want your
skin, for King Indra is making a new kettle-drum, and says your skin is
nice and tough."
Upon this the Jogi began to shiver and shake (for no Jinn or Jogi dares
disobey King Indra's command), and, falling at the lad's feet, cried,
"If you will spare me I will give you anything I possess, even my
beautiful white cow!"
To this the son of seven Queens, after a little pretended hesitation,
agreed, saying that after all it would not be difficult to find a nice
tough skin like the Jogi's elsewhere; so, driving the wonderful cow
before him, he set off homewards. The seven Queens were delighted to
possess so marvellous an animal, and though they toiled from morning
till night making curds and whey, besides selling milk to the
confectioners, they could not use half the cow gave, and became richer
and richer day by day.
Seeing them so comfortably off, the son of seven Queens started with a
light heart to marry the Princess; but when passing the white hind's
palace he could not resist sending a bolt at some pigeons which were
cooing on the parapet. One fell dead just beneath the window where the
white Queen was sitting. Looking out, she saw the lad hale and hearty
standing before her, and grew whiter than ever with rage and spite.
She sent for him to ask how he had returned so soon, and when she heard
how kindly her mother had received him, she very nearly had a fit;
however, she dissembled her feelings as well as she could, and, smiling
sweetly, said she was glad to have been able to fulfil her promise, and
that if he would give her this third pigeon, she would do yet more for
him than she had done before, by giving him the million-fold rice,
which ripens in one night.
The lad was of course delighted at the very idea, and, giving up the
pigeon, set off on his quest, armed as before with a potsherd, on which
was written, "Do not fail this time. Kill the lad, and sprinkle his
blood like water!"
But when he looked in on his Princess, just to prevent her becoming
anxious about him, she asked to see the potsherd as usual, and
substituted another, on which was written, "Yet again give this lad all
he requires, for his blood shall be as your blood!"
Now when the old hag saw this, and heard how the lad wanted the
million-fold rice which ripens in a single night, she fell into the
most furious rage, but being terribly afraid of her daughter, she
controlled herself, and bade the boy go and find the field guarded by
eighteen millions of demons, warning him on no account to look back
after having plucked the tallest spike of rice, which grew in the
centre.
So the son of seven Queens set off, and soon came to the field where,
guarded by eighteen millions of demons, the million-fold rice grew. He
walked on bravely, looking neither to the right or left, till he
reached the centre and plucked the tallest ear, but as he turned
homewards a thousand sweet voices rose behind him, crying in tenderest
accents, "Pluck me too! oh, please pluck me too!" He looked back, and
lo! there was nothing left of him but a little heap of ashes!
Now as time passed by and the lad did not return, the old hag grew
uneasy, remembering the message "his blood shall be as your blood"; so
she set off to see what had happened.
Soon she came to the heap of ashes, and knowing by her arts what it
was, she took a little water, and kneading the ashes into a paste,
formed it into the likeness of a man; then, putting a drop of blood
from her little finger into its mouth, she blew on it, and instantly
the son of seven Queens started up as well as ever.
"Don't you disobey orders again!" grumbled the old hag, "or next time
I'll leave you alone. Now be off, before I repent of my kindness!"
So the son of seven Queens returned joyfully to his seven mothers, who,
by the aid of the million-fold rice, soon became the richest people in
the kingdom. Then they celebrated their son's marriage to the clever
Princess with all imaginable pomp; but the bride was so clever, she
would not rest until she had made known her husband to his father, and
punished the wicked white witch. So she made her husband build a palace
exactly like the one in which the seven Queens had lived, and in which
the white witch now dwelt in splendour. Then, when all was prepared,
she bade her husband give a grand feast to the King. Now the King had
heard much of the mysterious son of seven Queens, and his marvellous
wealth, so he gladly accepted the invitation; but what was his
astonishment when on entering the palace he found it was a facsimile of
his own in every particular! And when his host, richly attired, led him
straight to the private hall, where on royal thrones sat the seven
Queens, dressed as he had last seen them, he was speechless with
surprise, until the Princess, coming forward, threw herself at his
feet, and told him the whole story. Then the King awoke from his
enchantment, and his anger rose against the wicked white hind who had
bewitched him so long, until he could not contain himself. So she was
put to death, and her grave ploughed over, and after that the seven
Queens returned to their own splendid palace, and everybody lived
happily.
A LESSON FOR KINGS
Once upon a time, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the future
Buddha returned to life as his son and heir. And when the day came for
choosing a name, they called him Prince Brahma-datta. He grew up in due
course; and when he was sixteen years old, went to Takkasila, and
became accomplished in all arts. And after his father died he ascended
the throne, and ruled the kingdom with righteousness and equity. He
gave judgments without partiality, hatred, ignorance, or fear. Since he
thus reigned with justice, with justice also his ministers administered
the law. Lawsuits being thus decided with justice, there were none who
brought false cases. And as these ceased, the noise and tumult of
litigation ceased in the king's court. Though the judges sat all day in
the court, they had to leave without any one coming for justice. It
came to this, that the Hall of Justice would have to be closed!
Then the future Buddha thought, "It cannot be from my reigning with
righteousness that none come for judgment; the bustle has ceased, and
the Hall of Justice will have to be closed. I must, therefore, now
examine into my own faults; and if I find that anything is wrong in me,
put that away, and practise only virtue."
Thenceforth he sought for some one to tell him his faults, but among
those around him he found no one who would tell him of any fault, but
heard only his own praise.
Then he thought, "It is from fear of me that these men speak only good
things, and not evil things," and he sought among those people who
lived outside the palace. And finding no fault-finder there, he sought
among those who lived outside the city, in the suburbs, at the four
gates. And there too finding no one to find fault, and hearing only his
own praise, he determined to search the country places.
So he made over the kingdom to his ministers, and mounted his chariot;
and taking only his charioteer, left the city in disguise. And
searching the country through, up to the very boundary, he found no
fault-finder, and heard only of his own virtue; and so he turned back
from the outer-most boundary, and returned by the high road towards the
city.
Now at that time the king of Kosala, Mallika by name, was also ruling
his kingdom with righteousness; and when seeking for some fault in
himself, he also found no fault-finder in the palace, but only heard of
his own virtue! So seeking in country places, he too came to that very
spot. And these two came face to face in a low cart-track with
precipitous sides, where there was no space for a chariot to get out of
the way!
Then the charioteer of Mallika the king said to the charioteer of the
king of Benares, "Take thy chariot out of the way!"
But he said, "Take thy chariot out of the way, O charioteer! In this
chariot sitteth the lord over the kingdom of Benares, the great king
Brahma-datta."
Yet the other replied, "In this chariot, O charioteer, sitteth the lord
over the kingdom of Kosala, the great king Mallika. Take thy carriage
out of the way, and make room for the chariot of our king!"
Then the charioteer of the king of Benares thought, "They say then that
he too is a king! What _is_ now to be done?" After some consideration,
he said to himself, "I know a way. I'll find out how old he is, and then
I'll let the chariot of the younger be got out of the way, and so make
room for the elder."
And when he had arrived at that conclusion, he asked that charioteer
what the age of the king of Kosala was. But on inquiry he found that
the ages of both were equal. Then he inquired about the extent of his
kingdom, and about his army, and his wealth, and his renown, and about
the country he lived in, and his caste and tribe and family. And he
found that both were lords of a kingdom three hundred leagues in
extent; and that in respect of army and wealth and renown, and the
countries in which they lived, and their caste and their tribe and
their family, they were just on a par!
Then he thought, "I will make way for the most righteous." And he
asked, "What kind of righteousness has this king of yours?"
Then the chorister of the king of Kosala, proclaiming his king's
wickedness as goodness, uttered the First Stanza:
"The strong he overthrows by strength,
The mild by mildness, does Mallika;
The good he conquers by goodness,
And the wicked by wickedness too.
Such is the nature of _this_ king!
Move out of the way, O charioteer!"
But the charioteer of the king of Benares asked him, "Well, have you
told all the virtues of your king?"
"Yes," said the other.
"If these are his _virtues_, where are then his faults?" replied
he.
The other said, "Well, for the nonce, they shall be faults, if you
like! But pray, then, what is the kind of goodness your king has?"
And then the charioteer of the king of Benares called unto him to
hearken, and uttered the Second Stanza
"Anger he conquers by calmness,
And by goodness the wicked;
The stingy he conquers by gifts,
And by truth the speaker of lies.
Such is the nature of _this_ king!
Move out of the way, O charioteer!"
And when he had thus spoken, both Mallika the king and his charioteer
alighted from their chariot. And they took out the horses, and removed
their chariot, and made way for the king of Benares!
PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL
In a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always went
about together. Once upon a time they had travelled far afield, and
were returning home with a great deal of money which they had obtained
by selling their wares. Now there happened to be a dense forest near
their village, and this they reached early one morning. In it there
lived three notorious robbers, of whose existence the traders had never
heard, and while they were still in the middle of it the robbers stood
before them, with swords and cudgels in their hands, and ordered them
to lay down all they had. The traders had no weapons with them, and so,
though they were many more in number, they had to submit themselves to
the robbers, who took away everything from them, even the very clothes
they wore, and gave to each only a small loin-cloth a span in breadth
and a cubit in length.
The idea that they had conquered ten men and plundered all their
property, now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated
themselves like three monarchs before the men they had plundered, and
ordered them to dance to them before returning home. The merchants now
mourned their fate. They had lost all they had, except their loin-
cloth, and still the robbers were not satisfied, but ordered them to
dance.
There was, among the ten merchants, one who was very clever. He
pondered over the calamity that had come upon him and his friends, the
dance they would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in which
the three robbers had seated themselves on the grass. At the same time
he observed that these last had placed their weapons on the ground, in
the assurance of having thoroughly cowed the traders, who were now
commencing to dance. So he took the lead in the dance, and, as a song
is always sung by the leader on such occasions, to which the rest keep
time with hands and feet, he thus began to sing:
"We are enty men,
They are erith men:
If each erith man, Surround eno men
Eno man remains.
_Tâ, tai, tôm, tadingana._"
The robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was merely
singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader
commenced from a distance, and had sung the song over twice before he
and his companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had
understood his meaning, because they had been trained in trade.
When two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of a
purchaser, they use a riddling sort of language.
"What is the price of this cloth?" one trader will ask another.
"Enty rupees," another will reply, meaning "ten rupees."
Thus, there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant
unless he be acquainted with trade language. By the rules of this
secret language erith means "three," enty means "ten," and eno means
"one." So the leader by his song meant to hint to his fellow-traders
that they were ten men, the robbers only three, that if three pounced
upon each of the robbers, nine of them could hold them down, while the
remaining one bound the robbers' hands and feet.
The three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding
the meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were proudly
seated chewing betel and tobacco. Meanwhile the song was sung a third
time. _Tâ tai tôm_ had left the lips of the singer; and, before
_tadingana_ was out of them, the traders separated into parties of
three, and each party pounced upon a thief. The remaining one--the
leader himself--tore up into long narrow strips a large piece of cloth,
six cubits long, and tied the hands and feet of the robbers. These were
entirely humbled now, and rolled on the ground like three bags of rice!
The ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves
with the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached
their village, they often amused their friends and relatives by
relating their adventure.
RAJA RASALU
Once there lived a great Raja, whose name was Salabhan, and he had a
Queen, by name Lona, who, though she wept and prayed at many a shrine,
had never a child to gladden her eyes. After a long time, however, a
son was promised to her.
Queen Lona returned to the palace, and when the time for the birth of
the promised son drew nigh, she inquired of three Jogis who came
begging to her gate, what the child's fate would be, and the youngest
of them answered and said, "Oh, Queen! the child will be a boy, and he
will live to be a great man. But for twelve years you must not look
upon his face, for if either you or his father see it before the twelve
years are past, you will surely die! This is what you must do; as soon
as the child is born you must send him away to a cellar underneath the
ground, and never let him see the light of day for twelve years. After
they are over, he may come forth, bathe in the river, put on new
clothes, and visit you. His name shall be Raja Rasalu, and he shall be
known far and wide."
So, when a fair young Prince was in due time born into the world, his
parents hid him away in an underground palace, with nurses, and
servants, and everything else a King's son might desire. And with him
they sent a young colt, born the same day, and sword, spear, and
shield, against the day when Raja Rasalu should go forth into the
world.
So there the child lived, playing with his colt, and talking to his
parrot, while the nurses taught him all things needful for a King's son
to know.
Young Rasalu lived on, far from the light of day, for eleven long
years, growing tall and strong, yet contented to remain playing with
his colt, and talking to his parrot; but when the twelfth year began,
the lad's heart leapt up with desire for change, and he loved to listen
to the sounds of life which came to him in his palace-prison from the
outside world.
"I must go and see where the voices come from!" he said; and when his
nurses told him he must not go for one year more, he only laughed
aloud, saying, "Nay! I stay no longer here for any man!"
Then he saddled his Arab horse Bhaunr, put on his shining armour, and
rode forth into the world; but mindful of what his nurses had oft told
him, when he came to the river, he dismounted, and, going into the
water, washed himself and his clothes.
Then, clean of raiment, fair of face, and brave of heart, he rode on
his way until he reached his father's city. There he sat down to rest
awhile by a well, where the women were drawing water in earthen
pitchers. Now, as they passed him, their full pitchers poised upon
their heads, the gay young Prince flung stones at the earthen vessels,
and broke them all. Then the women, drenched with water, went weeping
and wailing to the palace, complaining to the King that a mighty young
Prince in shining armour, with a parrot on his wrist and a gallant
steed beside him, sat by the well, and broke their pitchers.
Now, as soon as Rajah Salabhan heard this, he guessed at once that it
was Prince Rasalu come forth before the time, and, mindful of the
Jogis' words that he would die if he looked on his son's face before
twelve years were past, he did not dare to send his guards to seize the
offender and bring him to be judged. So he bade the women be comforted,
and take pitchers of iron and brass, giving new ones from his treasury
to those who did not possess any of their own.
But when Prince Rasalu saw the women returning to the well with
pitchers of iron and brass, he laughed to himself, and drew his mighty
bow till the sharp-pointed arrows pierced the metal vessels as though
they had been clay.
Yet still the King did not send for him, so he mounted his steed and
set off in the pride of his youth and strength to the palace. He strode
into the audience hall, where his father sat trembling, and saluted him
will all reverence; but Raja Salabhan, in fear of his life, turned his
back hastily and said never a word in reply.
Then Prince Rasalu called scornfully to him across the hall:
"I came to greet thee, King, and not to harm thee!
What have I done that thou shouldst turn away?
Sceptre and empire have no power to charm me--
I go to seek a worthier prize than they!"
Then he strode away, full of bitterness and anger; but, as he passed
under the palace windows, he heard his mother weeping, and the sound
softened his heart, so that his wrath died down, and a great loneliness
fell upon him, because he was spurned by both father and mother. So he
cried sorrowfully,
"Oh heart crown'd with grief, hast thou nought
But tears for thy son?
Art mother of mine? Give one thought
To my life just begun!"
And Queen Lona answered through her tears:
"Yea! mother am I, though I weep,
So hold this word sure,--
Go, reign king of all men, but keep
Thy heart good and pure!"
So Raja Rasalu was comforted, and began to make ready for fortune. He
took with him his horse Bhaunr and his parrot, both of whom had lived
with him since he was born.
So they made a goodly company, and Queen Lona, when she saw them going,
watched them from her window till she saw nothing but a cloud of dust
on the horizon; then she bowed her head on her hands and wept, saying:
"Oh! son who ne'er gladdened mine eyes,
Let the cloud of thy going arise,
Dim the sunlight and darken the day;
For the mother whose son is away
Is as dust!"
Rasalu had started off to play chaupur with King Sarkap. And as he
journeyed there came a fierce storm of thunder and lightning, so that
he sought shelter, and found none save an old graveyard, where a
headless corpse lay upon the ground. So lonesome was it that even the
corpse seemed company, and Rasalu, sitting down beside it, said:
"There is no one here, nor far nor near,
Save this breathless corpse so cold and grim;
Would God he might come to life again,
'Twould be less lonely to talk to him."
And immediately the headless corpse arose and sat beside Raja Rasalu.
And he, nothing astonished, said to it:
"The storm beats fierce and loud,
The clouds rise thick in the west;
What ails thy grave and shroud,
Oh corpse! that thou canst not rest?"
Then the headless corpse replied:
"On earth I was even as thou,
My turban awry like a king,
My head with the highest, I trow,
Having my fun and my fling,
Fighting my foes like a brave,
Living my life with a swing.
And, now I am dead,
Sins, heavy as lead,
Will give me no rest in my grave!"
So the night passed on, dark and dreary, while Rasalu sat in the
graveyard and talked to the headless corpse. Now when morning broke and
Rasalu said he must continue his journey, the headless corpse asked him
whither he was going, and when he said "to play chaupur with King
Sarkap," the corpse begged him to give up the idea saying, "I am King
Sarkap's brother, and I know his ways. Every day, before breakfast, he
cuts off the heads of two or three men, just to amuse himself. One day
no one else was at hand, so he cut off mine, and he will surely cut off
yours on some pretence or another. However, if you are determined to go
and play chaupur with him, take some of the bones from this graveyard,
and make your dice out of them, and then the enchanted dice with which
my brother plays will lose their virtue. Otherwise he will always win."
So Rasalu took some of the bones lying about, and fashioned them into
dice, and these he put into his pocket. Then, bidding adieu to the
headless corpse, he went on his way to play chaupur with the King.
Now, as Raja Rasalu, tender-hearted and strong, journeyed along to play
chaupur with the King, he came to a burning forest, and a voice rose
from the fire saying, "Oh, traveller! for God's sake save me from the
fire!"
Then the Prince turned towards the burning forest, and, lo! the voice
was the voice of a tiny cricket. Nevertheless, Rasalu, tender-hearted
and strong, snatched it from the fire and set it at liberty. Then the
little creature, full of gratitude, pulled out one of its feelers, and
giving it to its preserver, said, "Keep this, and should you ever be in
trouble, put it into the fire, and instantly I will come to your aid."
The Prince smiled, saying, "What help could _you_ give _me_?"
Nevertheless, he kept the hair and went on his way.
Now, when he reached the city of King Sarkap, seventy maidens,
daughters of the King, came out to meet him,--seventy fair maidens,
merry and careless, full of smiles and laughter; but one, the youngest
of them all, when she saw the gallant young Prince riding on Bhaunr
Iraqi, going gaily to his doom, was filled with pity, and called to him
saying:
"Fair Prince, on the charger so gray,
Turn thee back! turn thee back!
Or lower thy lance for the fray;
Thy head will be forfeit to-day!
Dost love life? then, stranger, I pray,
Turn thee back! turn thee back!"
But he, smiling at the maiden, answered lightly:
"Fair maiden, I come from afar,
Sworn conqueror in love and in war!
King Sarkap my coming will rue,
His head in four pieces I'll hew;
Then forth as a bridegroom I'll ride,
With you, little maid, as my bride!"
Now when Rasalu replied so gallantly, the maiden looked in his face,
and seeing how fair he was, and how brave and strong, she straightway
fell in love with him, and would gladly have followed him through the
world.
But the other sixty-nine maidens, being jealous, laughed scornfully at
her, saying, "Not so fast, oh gallant warrior! If you would marry our
sister you must first do our bidding, for you will be our younger
brother."
"Fair sisters!" quoth Rasalu gaily, "give me my task and I will perform
it."
So the sixty-nine maidens mixed a hundred-weight of millet seed with a
hundredweight of sand, and giving it to Rasalu, bade him separate the
seed from the sand.
Then he bethought him of the cricket, and drawing the feeler from his
pocket, thrust it into the fire. And immediately there was a whirring
noise in the air, and a great flight of crickets alighted beside him,
and amongst them the cricket whose life he had saved.
Then Rasalu said, "Separate the millet seed from the sand."
"Is that all?" quoth the cricket; "had I known how small a job you
wanted me to do, I would not have assembled so many of my brethren."
With that the flight of crickets set to work, and in one night they
separated the seed from the sand.
Now when the sixty-nine fair maidens, daughters of the king saw that
Rasalu had performed his task, they set him another, bidding him swing
them all, one by one, in their swings, until they were tired.
Whereupon he laughed, saying, "There are seventy of you, counting my
little bride yonder, and I am not going to spend my life swinging
girls! Why, by the time I have given each of you a swing, the first
will be wanting another! No! if you want a swing, get in, all seventy
of you, into one swing, and then I'll see what can be done."
So the seventy maidens climbed into one swing, and Raja Rasalu,
standing in his shining armour, fastened the ropes to his mighty bow,
and drew it up to its fullest bent. Then he let go, and like an arrow
the swing shot into the air, with its burden of seventy fair maidens,
merry and careless, full of smiles and laughter.
But as it swung back again, Kasalu, standing there in his shining
armour, drew his sharp sword and severed the ropes. Then the seventy
fair maidens fell to the ground headlong; and some were bruised and
some broken, but the only one who escaped unhurt was the maiden who
loved Rasalu, for she fell out last, on the top of the others, and so
came to no harm.
After this, Rasalu strode on fifteen paces, till he came to the seventy
drums, that every one who came to play chaupur with the King had to
beat in turn; and he beat them so loudly that he broke them all. Then
he came to the seventy gongs, all in a row, and he hammered them so
hard that they cracked to pieces.
Seeing this, the youngest Princess, who was the only one who could run,
fled to her father the King in a great fright, saying:
"A mighty Prince, Sarkap! making havoc, rides along,
He swung us, seventy maidens fair, and threw us out
headlong;
He broke the drums you placed there and the gongs too
in his pride,
Sure, he will kill thee, father mine, and take me for his
bride!"
But King Sarkap replied scornfully:
"Silly maiden, thy words make a lot
Of a very small matter;
For fear of my valour, I wot,
His armour will clatter.
As soon as I've eaten my bread
I'll go forth and cut off his head!"
Notwithstanding these brave and boastful words, he was in reality very
much afraid, having heard of Rasalu's renown. And learning that he was
stopping at the house of an old woman in the city, till the hour for
playing chaupur arrived, Sarkap sent slaves to him with trays of
sweetmeats and fruit, as to an honoured guest. But the food was
poisoned.
Now when the slaves brought the trays to Raja Rasalu, he rose up
haughtily, saying, "Go, tell your master I have nought to do with him
in friendship. I am his sworn enemy, and I eat not of his salt!"
So saying, he threw the sweetmeats to Raja Sarkap's dog, which had
followed the slave, and lo! the dog died.
Then Rasalu was very wroth, and said bitterly, "Go back to Sarkap,
slaves! and tell him that Rasalu deems it no act of bravery to kill
even an enemy by treachery."
Now, when evening came, Raja Rasalu went forth to play chaupur with
King Sarkap, and as he passed some potters' kilns he saw a cat
wandering about restlessly; so he asked what ailed her, that she never
stood still, and she replied, "My kittens are in an unbaked pot in the
kiln yonder. It has just been set alight, and my children will be baked
alive; therefore I cannot rest!"
Her words moved the heart of Raja Rasalu, and, going to the potter, he
asked him to sell the kiln as it was; but the potter replied that he
could not settle a fair price till the pots were burnt, as he could not
tell how many would come out whole. Nevertheless, after some
bargaining, he consented at last to sell the kiln, and Rasalu, having
searched all the pots, restored the kittens to their mother, and she,
in gratitude for his mercy, gave him one of them, saying, "Put it in
your pocket, for it will help you when you are in difficulties." So
Raja Rasalu put the kitten in his pocket, and went to play chaupur with
the King.
Now, before they sat down to play, Raja Sarkap fixed his stakes,--on
the first game, his kingdom; on the second, the wealth of the whole
world; and, on the third, his own head. So, likewise, Raja Rasalu fixed
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