{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_36171/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_36171","id":"gutenberg_36171","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36171","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Tales -- Burma"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Barbara Tozier, Matthew Wheaton, Bill Tozier\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  TOLD ON THE PAGODA\n\n  _TALES OF BURMAH_\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n  TOLD ON THE PAGODA\n\n  _TALES OF BURMAH_\n\n\n  By Mimosa\n\n\n  ILLUSTRATED\n\n\n  _LONDON_\n  T. FISHER UNWIN\n  1895\n\n\n\n  _All rights reserved._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                            PAGE\n  THE WOMAN, THE MAN AND THE N\u0100T               9\n  A FABLE                                     23\n  THE STOLEN TREASURE                         39\n  THE VIGIL OF MAH MAY                        63\n  THE PETITION TO THE KING                    85\n  THE PRIEST'S PETITION                       99\n  THE COMMAND OF THE KING                    117\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  1. A BURMESE VILLAGE GIRL                               _Frontispiece_\n  2. PART OF THE PALACE OF THE KING, MANDALAY             _Facing p. 39_\n  3. THE QUEEN'S MONASTERY                                _Facing p. 63_\n  4. THE KING'S PALACE                                    _Facing p. 85_\n  5. THE SHWAY DAGONE PAGODA                              _Facing p. 99_\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOMAN, THE MAN AND THE N\u0100T.\n\n\nIn every large tree there lives a N\u0101t, and it is a custom very\nstrictly adhered to that before any tree can be touched the permission\nof the spirit must be asked and obtained.\n\nNow a woodman cut down a tree one day without giving the N\u0101t who\nresided in it the slightest warning, a proceeding which infuriated the\nspirit exceedingly, and he determined to be revenged; so, taking upon\nhimself without delay the exact form and likeness of the woodman, he\ngathered up a bundle of sticks and went in advance of him to his home,\nin the brief warm gloom that precedes the fall of night. When he\nreached the hut, that was as bare as a hermit's cell, thatched with\ndunni leaves, and situated in one of the deepest recesses of the dense\nsylvan growth, he placed the wood outside and went within. An oil lamp\nstood on the wooden ledge of the entrance and threw a faint light on all\naround. The wife of the woodcutter was busy boiling the evening rice, a\nbaby slept in its box-like cradle slung from a beam in the roof; a\nlittle boy of five or six sat cutting plaintain leaves.\n\nThe N\u0101t greeted the woman; she answered him cheerily. Then he\nsquatted down on a piece of matting.\n\nThe rice being ready, the wife put it out on the plaintain leaves,\ngiving one to her supposed husband, one to the boy, and keeping the\nother for herself. They ate together, and when they had finished drank\nsome water from the chatty standing near. Then they sat and smoked, and\ntalked together of the many little trifling events which went to make up\ntheir world. The woman cleared away the remains of their meal, and took\nout some betel chews and commenced to roll them, while the child slept\nbehind the purdah. About half an hour passed away thus, when lo! on the\nstillness broke the voice of the woodman calling to his wife that he was\ncoming, saying that he had been delayed.\n\nThe woman heard in bewildered astonishment, then turned to the N\u0101t,\nwho apparently had not heeded the call, and asked him if she dreamt.\n\nThen rising, she peered out into the gloom, just faintly relieved by the\nrays of a young moon, and beheld the form of a woodcutter coming between\nthe trees, identically the same in figure and face as her husband who\nwas there beside her. The new-comer called her by her name again,\nbidding her prepare something for him to eat, as he was tired and\nhungry.\n\nHe threw the wood down that he carried, and entered, but staggered back\non seeing his counterpart squatting, quite at home, on the ground. The\nwoman looked from one to the other, and knew not what to do or think.\n\nThere was silence for a few moments. Then he who had come last asked,\nwhen he had sufficiently recovered himself to speak--\n\n\"Who is this man who bears so strange a likeness to me?\"\n\n\"I am the husband of this woman,\" answered the N\u0101t calmly, not even\nremoving his green-leaf cigar from between his lips.\n\n\"That cannot be,\" exclaimed the other indignantly, \"because I am he.\"\n\nThe N\u0101t shook his head, and went on smoking.\n\nThe woodcutter, mad with anger and astonishment, turned excitedly to his\nwife, and cried--\n\n\"Do you not know me, I, your husband, who left you only this morning? Do\nyou not know me, or do you forget so soon, that you accept a stranger in\nmy place?\"\n\nThe woman looked from one to the other, and examined each carefully, and\nwas more puzzled than ever.\n\n\"Oh, wife, do you not know me, do you not know me?\" moaned the woodman\nin a grief-stricken voice.\n\nThe woman wrung her hands as she answered--\n\n\"I don't know if you are my husband; you are both so much alike that I\ncannot tell.\" Then she broke down and wept.\n\nAnd the N\u0101t hearing, smiled where he sat in the shadows.\n\nAfter awhile the woman dried her tears, smoothed back her heavy masses\nof black hair, and asked what was to be done.\n\nThey neither of them answered. Then she said, \"Let us go and seek Manoo,\nand abide by what he says.\"\n\nManoo was a very learned judge, who had been appointed, while still\nquite young, Chief Justice of the King's Court, and was renowned for the\nwise and prudent judgments that he invariably pronounced.\n\nThe N\u0101t objected to the proposition. Secretly he feared that Manoo\nmight perhaps guess his identity; but the woodman assented eagerly to\nhis wife's idea, and between them they overcame the other's dislike,\nand the three started without delay, going through the forest between\nthe silvered line of palm-trees; the fire-flies danced before them, and\nthe bats flitted by like ghosts in the warm darkness. All that night and\npart of the next they travelled, until they reached the Court of Manoo,\nwhich was a large white building, supported by chunamed pillars, and\nwith many carved doors.\n\nThe judge himself, magnificently arrayed, sat upon a raised couch, that\nwas covered with scarlet satin, richly embroidered, and with a heavy\nfringe of gold and jewels edging it.\n\nThe woman, the N\u0101t, and the woodman, leaving their shoes at the\ngates, entered, and, seating themselves at a respectful distance on\nseparate pieces of matting, told their tale.\n\nThe judge listened in silence to the end; then he asked the woman if\nher husband had any particular mark on him by which she could\ndistinguish him.\n\nHer face lightened as she answered that he had a black mark on his back\nand a red scar on his knee. Then Manoo had both men examined carefully,\nbut found that each had the same marks in the same places.\n\nThe woman became more hopelessly bewildered than ever, and knew not what\nto make of the extraordinary circumstance; while the judge found himself\nin a position of considerable difficulty.\n\nHe saw that he would have to consider the matter carefully for some\ntime; so he bade them go, and return on the following day at the same\nhour.\n\nThen he went home to his house, which was a gift from his royal master,\nand was situated on a rocky promontory, with the sea rolling up almost\nto the entrance. Seating himself alone in his study--the windows of\nwhich looked out over the water to where a rich sunset glowed westward,\nedging the waves with freckled lustre, and throwing purple, amber, and\nazure lights over the white-crested waves--he became absorbed in deep\nthought, as a result of which he came to a solution of the matter. On\nthe next day, therefore, when his three strange applicants presented\nthemselves before him, he had a wooden wheel brought into the room and\nplaced in the middle of the floor, saying at the same time--\n\n\"The man who shall go through the hole in that wheel will be a wonderful\nman, and will be recognised as the real husband of this woman.\"\n\nOn hearing which the woodman protested, saying that it was impossible\nfor any human being to go through so small a space, that it was only\nlarge enough to admit of an arm; and he grumbled greatly, saying that\nthe test was very unfair.\n\nBut Manoo bade him be patient and silent yet awhile. Then he turned to\nthe N\u0101t, and asked him what he thought. The N\u0101t, who was laughing\ninwardly, at once replied that he could perform the task that the\nwoodcutter deemed impossible. The judge smiled a little complacently as\nhe bade him do it.\n\nThe N\u0101t immediately went to and fro through the hole with the\ngreatest ease, the woman looking on in speechless amaze.\n\nThen said Manoo--\n\n\"I suspected yesterday that you were no mortal, but a visitor from the\nN\u0101t country, and now I am, of course, convinced of it.\"\n\nThe N\u0101t hung his head, and the judge proceeded, saying--\n\n\"Why have you come from your own world, taking upon yourself this form\nand shape, thereby causing so much pain and unhappiness to two innocent\npeople?\"\n\nThe N\u0101t, seeing that he could no longer carry on his course of\ndeception, answered--\n\n\"In the season of the sun, and in that of the rain, for a greater time\nthan I can count, I have lived in a tree in the forest, where this\nwoodman comes every day. I troubled no one, and I was content till two\ndays ago, when he felled my home to the ground with neither warning\ngiven to or permission asked of me. When other woodcutters have come,\nthey have and do always crave permission of the N\u0101t residing in the\ntree to take from it even one branch. Therefore you must see that I\nhave had just cause to be angry.\"\n\nManoo then said that the woodman had certainly been wrong in the way he\nhad acted. Then, turning to the woman, he directed her and her husband\nto hang up a dried cocoa-nut on the best side of their hut for the\nN\u0101t to make his home in--an order which they promised to speedily\nobey.\n\nThe N\u0101t said that he was satisfied with that arrangement.\n\nThen the three, thanking the judge, withdrew and went homewards.\n\nFrom that time forth all Burmese people hung, and still hang, dried\ncocoa-nut in their houses for the spirits to dwell in.\n\n\n\n\nA FABLE.\n\n\nTwo dogs walked in the jungle together. The day was intensely hot, the\nrays of the sun, hardly tempered with any shade, fell through the\ntowering bamboos and palm-trees down on their tired heads.\n\nThey had come far; the way was very rough, the undergrowth very tangled\nand dense. There seemed to be no end to it. Their vision in front was\nobscured by the extraordinary wealth of orchids and green foliage that\nwas gracefully but thickly festooned from branch to branch.\n\nSnakes glided away in the deep grass. Monkeys, squirrels, and birds of\nall kinds contended for the undisputed possession of the different\ntrees.\n\n\"I am very tired; I don't think I can go much farther,\" said the lady\ndog, who was small and delicate, to her companion.\n\n\"So also am I,\" was the answer.\n\n\"It was foolish ever to have come,\" grumbled the first.\n\n\"It was your fault,\" snapped the second.\n\n\"I did not say it wasn't, did I?\" retorted the other, who, female-like,\nhad the last word.\n\nThen they went on in silence for awhile. They both felt cross and\nhungry; and when you are hungry and a dog bananas are not very\nsatisfying, and they were the only things near.\n\nPresently they came to where a small stream flowed; the water was quite\nwarm, but they drank it and were grateful.\n\nThen they rested, going on again just when the last rays of the sun\nstill showed above the dusky palm tops.\n\nThey hoped to reach a village before nightfall; but they were doomed to\nbe disappointed. There was not a sign of any habitation near when the\ndarkness began to close around. The stars twinkled brightly in a clear\nviolet sky of wondrous brilliancy. Close beside them was a tiger's\nden--empty. They crept in and sank down, too weary to go further.\n\nThere were signs of its having been recently occupied, but they did not\nheed them; and gnawed ravenously at some half-eaten bones that were\nstrewed about.\n\nThen they curled themselves up in one corner and slept. After a few\nhours the lady dog woke up and looked about her. Through the opening she\nsaw the moonlight falling on the country outside; everything was\nstrangely still, save for the distant cry of the jackal, and the healthy\nsnoring of her spouse, who reposed in the corner. She felt alarmed, she\ncould not exactly have told why, and awakened her companion, who\ngrumbled not a little at being thus rudely roused from his slumbers.\n\n\"Supposing,\" began his companion, not heeding his displeasure, \"that the\ntiger was to return.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the listener, sharply jumping up in extreme alarm at the\nbare suggestion.\n\n\"Don't make that unearthly noise,\" said the lady, calmly. \"I only said\n_supposing_, and I was going to ask you what we should do in such a\ncase.\"\n\n\"Do! why, what could we do?--nothing, of course,\" was the somewhat\ncontemptuous reply.\n\nJust then an ominous crackling of the branches outside made them prick\ntheir ears. Creeping close to the opening, they looked out and saw in\nthe distance a large tiger coming towards them, a white light, clear\nalmost as the dawn, fell about him, showing his big head and striped\nback. The watchers trembled exceedingly, and their teeth rattled.\n\n\"There is no time to be lost,\" exclaimed the lady in a hoarse whisper.\n\"We must trust to his never having seen any like us before, and we must\ntry and frighten him.\"\n\n\"Humbug and nonsense! Fancy our frightening a tiger,\" said the gentleman\ndog with infinite scorn.\n\n\"Never mind, we'll try; you sit at the door while I remain in here. When\nI roar--well, you'll see the effect.\"\n\nThe dog very unwillingly took up his position at the entrance to the\nlair, and waited. In a second almost the great beast came slouching\nalong; his gleaming eyes glanced hither and thither, and there was blood\nupon his mouth. Seeing the dog, he came to an abrupt pause, and stared,\nthen came a little nearer, but very cautiously.\n\nJust then there came a cry from within, accompanied by the words, \"I am\nhungry, very hungry, and so are the little ones, they crave more tiger's\nflesh; be quick and bring it.\"\n\nThe tiger, hearing, waited for no more, but turned and fled into the\nnight. He knew not what he had seen, but the words that he had heard had\nturned him cold with fear.\n\nHe flew on away into the wood, not heeding where he went. Then, just as\nthe first rose flush of dawn overspread the sky, he sank down exhausted,\nwith a cold perspiration all over him. He fell into a troubled, weary\ndoze, from whence he was awakened by a banana dexterously aimed, hitting\nhim in the eye. Looking up he saw a brown monkey swinging itself on the\nbranch of a tree opposite, and regarding him with all that gleeful\nself-satisfaction which a monkey is alone capable of.\n\n\"Well, my friend,\" it cried, mockingly, \"what has put you out? You look\nstrangely pale and upset this morning.\"\n\n\"I have had sufficient cause,\" answered the tiger, rising and shaking\nhimself; \"for when I went home last night I found it filled by the most\npeculiar-looking animals that I have ever seen, who shouted for my\nflesh.\"\n\nThe listener cocked its ugly little head on one side as it munched\nbananas, and asked, \"What were they like?\"\n\n\"Don't ask me,\" exclaimed the tiger. \"I was too frightened to see\nanything save that they were white.\"\n\nThe monkey flung itself up higher among the boughs and laughed loudly\nand long.\n\n\"If you don't stop that hideous noise I'll kill you,\" called out the\ntiger very angrily, regardless of the fact that he could not get within\nmiles of his tormentor.\n\n\"Ha, ha! my friend,\" shouted the monkey, \"the things that you were\nfrightened of were two poor lean dogs, that went by here yesterday. What\na great coward you are!\"\n\n\"Coward or no coward, they would have killed me and eaten me.\"\n\n\"Eaten you! Oh, you great silly goose! With all your travels you don't\nknow any more than that dogs can't kill you. You can kill dogs.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you,\" protested the tiger stolidly.\n\n\"Don't then,\" said the monkey, laconically, as he turned a somersault.\n\nThere was silence for a while. The tiger sat down dejectedly while the\nmonkey watched him through the leaves and chuckled maliciously,\ncontinuing to eat noiselessly as he watched.\n\nHaving once had sufficient himself, he was not indisposed to be a little\ngenerous, so, taking some berries in one brown paw, he climbed down\nnearer the ground, and tendered them to his melancholy friend as an\noverture, saying as he did so--\n\n\"Eat and forget for awhile.\"\n\n\"I can never forget the loss of my dear home,\" was the melancholy reply.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" retorted the other one, who was practical, not sentimental,\nand who had a hundred homes all equally comfortable in the forest.\n\n\"It's no nonsense,\" said the tiger, shaking his head.\n\n\"Well,\" exclaimed the monkey, after a few seconds, \"if you really are\nafraid to go back, which is ridiculous, I will come with you, for I fear\nno dogs.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't trust you,\" replied the tiger, ungraciously. \"You have\nplayed me a scurvy trick or two before now.\"\n\nThe monkey became indignant, saying, \"It is just like your mean,\nsuspicious nature to speak so to a friend who, out of pure good nature,\nis willing to do you a turn. What motive can I have save generosity?--no\ngood can accrue to me personally.\"\n\nThe tiger grunted an unwilling assent, and began to think seriously of\naccepting the offer.\n\n\"Well,\" he said at last, \"if you will consent to be tied to my tail, and\nto go in first to the den, my back being to you, and face the dog, I am\nwilling.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" answered the monkey, who was an interfering little creature,\nand was longing to have his finger in the pie.\n\nSo they went, the monkey tied to his friend's tail, chattering all the\nway.\n\n\"Now,\" said the tiger, who was sullen and afraid as they came in sight\nof his lair, \"if you don't behave fairly to me I will murder you, that's\nall.\"\n\n\"Never fear; I won't give you the opportunity of carrying out your\namiable intention, because I shall act only as your true friend,\"\nreplied the monkey.\n\nThen he pushed aside the thick-growing foliage and entered into the\ncave, the tiger keeping as far away as possible, his hind-legs inside\nand the rest of him out. The dogs were lying down, but roused\nthemselves on seeing their visitor.\n\n\"Well, monkey,\" shouted one, \"so you have come at last, but that,\"\nlooking behind him, \"is a very lean tiger that you have brought. Why do\nyou do so when you know that we like them so sleek and fat, and----\" but\nthe monkey heard no more. He was gone--jerked violently away by the\ntiger, who, suspecting his fidelity all along, was convinced of his\nperfidy by the words of the dog's greeting.\n\nAway, away he sped, without turning back, over hill and dale, bump,\nbump, bang, bang, went the poor monkey's body, while he vainly protested\nhis innocence in breathless, terrified shrieks. At last death came and\nended his pain.\n\nThe two dogs sat and watched them till their eyes grew tired.\n\nThey laughed greatly as one said to the other, \"See what happened to the\nmonkey for interfering in other people's business.\"\n\n[Illustration: PART OF THE PALACE OF THE KING, MANDALAY.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE STOLEN TREASURE.\n\n\nIn a lonely part of a large forest there dwelt four wise men of India\nwho owned a treasure consisting of gold, silver, and great jewels: like\nall property it was a source of great anxiety to its owners, for they\nalways feared that it would be stolen from them. With that idea they\nconstantly watched it, counted it, and changed its hiding-place; burying\nit sometimes under trees, or in a ruined well that stood not far\ndistant; at other times with them in the house.\n\nFor many long years they had kept it safely thus, so safely indeed that\ngradually they grew a little less zealous in their guardianship: the\nconfidence born of long and unmolested peace made them somewhat\ncareless; and so in some inexplicable manner news of its existence\nfloated to the ears of a young man who dwelt in the town not so many\nmiles away, and he at once made up his mind that he would become\npossessed of it. Being wise he only took counsel of himself, and bided\nhis time with much patience.\n\nHe made the acquaintance of the four recluses, and watched their\nmovements and studied their habits with much diligence. He was a\nhandsome, high-spirited youth, with manners that were frank and\nengaging, and the old men liked to see him and talk to him, soon growing\nto look forward to his visits.\n\nMonths passed, and he went to see them often. They conversed\nunreservedly before him and trusted him as one of themselves.\n\nAs time passed and no opportunity of taking the treasure offered itself,\nhe began to be impatient, and was indeed almost reduced to despair when\nhe learnt, to his inexpressible pleasure, that they intended going on a\nday's pilgrimage in the near future.\n\nHe laid his plans.\n\nWhen the day came he rode to the forest on a pony, and, dismounting,\nfastened it near by as was his custom, and went within. The garden, with\nits moss-overgrown, decayed walls, was quite still save for the song of\nthe birds. The sun fell through the leaves of the trees and made\nbrilliant patches of light on the grass.\n\nThe rooms of the house were dark and cool and empty. There were the\nbroken remains of a meal and various things belonging to the absent\nmasters scattered about. The visitor looked round and about him\ncarefully, peering here and there, then, having quite satisfied himself\nthat only he and the feathered world shared the stillness, he smiled.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome hours later the pilgrims returned home: they had been far and were\nwearied; they rested for awhile, then ate their evening meal and\nprepared to make ready for the night. As was customary with them they\nwent to look at the treasure where they had put it in an upper room, to\nfind to their unspeakable horror and dismay that it was gone. They\nlooked on one another in mute amazement and despair; they beat their\nbreast; there were no words to describe what they felt in that hour when\nthey bewailed its loss in a helpless, hopeless way.\n\nAfter awhile one of them said--\n\n\"He who has come here so many times of late with fair words and fairer\nsmiles, it is he who hath done this thing.\"\n\nThe others agreed that it was only he who could have, for no one else\nhad ever penetrated to their abode or shared their confidence. Too late\nthey bitterly rued having ever received the stranger.\n\nThey sat long that night talking. One said--\n\n\"We have no proof save our own conviction that he whom we met as a\nfriend and a brother has robbed us; therefore what can we do?\"\n\nThe others answered him--\n\n\"We will seek the King, to our requests he has always leant a kind and\nwilling ear.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile homeward through the sultry night rode a horseman with a\nheavy load.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the dawn broke, they who had been robbed set out together to seek\nthe Court of the King.\n\nHis Majesty, who was revered for his goodness, had one daughter who to a\nkeen intellect united great beauty, and was renowned throughout her\nfather's dominions and even in countries beyond the sea.\n\nWhenever the King or his ministers were perplexed as to how to act in\nany particular matter they invariably consulted the Princess, who on\neach and all such occasions had guided them aright; while no chicanery\nor fraud ever passed her undetected.\n\nAll that was brave, lofty, and good she admired, honoured, and followed.\nAll that was mean, low, and dishonest she abhorred.\n\nUnited to a powerful mind were many womanly, gracious, and charitable\nqualities, which made her beloved in humble circles as well as respected\nin high ones.\n\nTherefore when the four petitioners sought the King, it was with the\nidea of humbly pleading for the Princess's assistance.\n\nThe King, who knew them, received them at once on their arrival and\nlistened to all that they had to say, agreeing with them in their\nsuspicions. He asked them, when he had heard their story, if they could\nidentify the property if they were to see it anywhere; to which they\nanswered, \"Yes.\"\n\nThen, bidding them rest and refresh themselves, he went himself to the\napartments of his daughter and told her the tale that he had heard. She\nwas very much interested, and gladly promised to do what she could,\ntelling her father that if the young man could be found and brought to\nthe palace she fancied that she could restore to them their lost goods.\n\nWhereupon the King consulted the four, and a messenger was sent to\nsearch and bring the young fellow with as little delay as possible. The\nenvoy of His Majesty found him whom they desired with but little\ndifficulty, who received the royal summons with much astonishment and\nsome fear. Instinctively he felt that it was with regard to the stolen\njewels that he was sent for, and he trembled not a little as he set out.\n\nWere the theft ever to be discovered he knew full well that his\npunishment would not be a light one. Almost he felt inclined to regret\nthat he had ever embarked on so hazardous a course, but then the memory\nof the shining heaps of gold and silver and the glittering stones, and\nall that they represented, came to him, and he laughed and shook off all\nfeelings of fear; for how, after all, he said to himself, could they\nprove that it was he who was the thief?\n\nWhen he arrived at the palace, therefore, he was quite light-hearted,\nand walked through the lines of servants with a haughty, self-confident\nair.\n\nThey ushered him through many halls and at last into a large and most\nbeautifully decorated apartment situated at the end of a long vista of\nsalons. The four walls had bas-reliefs of graceful figures of women in\ncoloured marble and uncut jewels. The hangings were of ivory satin,\nembroidered with elephants and dragons in dead gold. From the ceiling\nwere suspended magnificent lamps of many finely blended colours. A large\nfountain splashed softly near by; the floor was strewn with tiger\nskins; the air was heavy with strong perfume; while the light from\nwithout stole in subdued and cool through green blinds. But what riveted\nthe visitor's attention beyond all else was a couch of immense\ndimensions stretching across the upper end of the room, reclining on\nwhich amongst many cushions was a woman; overhead was a canopy of\nfringed cloth supported by delicately chased silver poles inlaid with\nturquoises. On a table of mother-of-pearl stood some cheroots and a\nglass globe of water. Several attendants, gorgeously attired, lounged\nnear, and created a breeze with fans made of real roses.\n\nThe lady herself was very handsome, with a clear skin of an almost olive\ncolour, great eyes of a velvety darkness, and a soft, slow, sweet smile;\npearls clasped her throat, diamonds shone on her fingers, while gold\nbracelets glittered on her slender bare ankles. She motioned her\nsomewhat bewildered visitor to seat himself near, and signed to the\nattendants to withdraw.\n\nHe felt terribly nervous in the presence of this royal lady: she watched\nhim in silence for a few moments, fanning herself languidly the while;\nshe was uncertain as to how to open the conversation. He was very\nhandsome, certainly, she thought, as she looked, and with a figure as\nlithe and graceful as that of a panther.\n\nShe raised herself a little and leant forward slightly; he started and\nlooked at her apprehensively.\n\n\"I suppose,\" she began, \"that you are wondering why I sent for you?\"\n\nThe tones of her voice were strangely liquid and clear.\n\nThe young man murmured something indistinctly in response.\n\nShe continued, \"But for some time past, when the King and myself have\ngone abroad, we have seen you often and have desired to know you.\"\n\nThe listener was trembling so with joy, relief, and surprise at hearing\nsuch words, that he could find naught to say in reply.\n\nThen she, perceiving his agitation, spoke to him gently and kindly for a\nfew minutes, in order to give him time to recover his self-possession.\nThen, when he was more composed, she asked him many questions about\nhimself--questions which he gladly answered. Then after a while she bade\nhim go and to return on the morrow.\n\nSo he went from the seductive presence of the Princess with his head in\na whirl, and feeling as if he dwelt no longer on earth but in Nirvana.\n\nOn the morrow he returned, and for many days following, not a question\nwas ever asked. He was ushered always into the same room, where he was\ngreeted most graciously.\n\nOn the occasion of his fourth visit, after the Princess had conversed\nwith him on many subjects, she asked him somewhat suddenly if he was\nbetrothed or married.\n\nAnd when he answered that he was not it seemed to him that she appeared\npleased. Then a long silence fell between them, which he of course did\nnot attempt to break.\n\n\"My friend,\" she said at last, and her manner was somewhat nervous and\nembarrassed, \"I am glad that your affections are not placed elsewhere,\nbecause I myself, strange as it is for a woman to tell a man, desire to\nwed with you. To my father's Court have come many who have sought my\nhand in marriage, but in none have I seen those qualities which I admire\nand esteem----\" she paused.\n\nThe low, thrilling words stole on the listener's ear in sweet, subdued\ncadence. Did he hear aright? He doubted it; he feared that he only\ndreamt.\n\nThen he looked at her where she sat, with her shimmering jewels glancing\na thousand hues, and his heart throbbed and his brain reeled, and he was\nas if drunk with wine.\n\nHe knew not how to answer this beautiful, gracious lady.\n\nHow she must love him, he thought, when she could so stoop from her high\nestate. He dropped on his knees before her. \"Ah,\" he murmured, \"where\ncould I find fitting expressions in which to tell you what I feel? Your\nwords have lifted me to complete Nirvana, I shall never dwell on earth\nagain. Speech is but a poor thing often, therefore I will not say much.\nDeeds are best; it is by them, O Princess, that you shall read my\nheart.\"\n\nShe smiled, and her eyes were softly tender as they met his.\n\n\"There is but one thing,\" she said, after a few moments; \"my father must\nnot be told till after we are married; he would not sanction our union,\nthough he will forgive us afterwards. Therefore you must take me hence,\naway from out the kingdom for some time; then, when my father's just\nanger shall have faded, as it surely will, we will return together.\"\n\nThe young man listened in rapt attention, scarcely crediting even yet\nhis own great fortune.\n\n\"And yet I scarcely see,\" gravely pursued the Princess, after a short\nsilence, \"how it can be managed.\"\n\nShe rose as she spoke and advanced to where a box of ivory, inlaid with\nopals, stood, touched a spring and opened it.\n\n\"See,\" she cried, \"this is all the money I own,\" taking in her hands a\nfew small worthless pieces of silver; \"I have never required money till\nnow, all that I have ever wanted has been always beside me.\"\n\n\"Do not fear if it is only money that you need,\" answered the young man;\n\"for of that I have more than enough.\"\n\n\"Ah! is that so?\" she exclaimed eagerly, turning to him a face of glad\nsurprise.\n\n\"At home,\" he continued, \"I have much of jewels and gold which I got but\na little while back; sufficient to keep us in that luxury which is due\nto your rank, for many a year to come.\"\n\n\"Go and fetch it,\" urged the Princess, \"and return here at nightfall,\nand I will go with thee to another life--a life of happiness such as\nthis world seldom holds.\"\n\nHer great eyes glittered as she spoke.\n\nHe read in her words, her looks, and her gestures only the fond\nimpatience of a love long, secret, and denied.\n\nHe prostrated himself, and saying, \"I will return at nightfall,\" left\nher to hurry on his errand.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the early evening, when the darkness had only just fallen, he drove\nin a carriage to the palace; he left it at a little distance from the\ngreat gold entrance, and taking on his person much of his stolen\ntreasure, he was ushered into the Princess's room; the swinging lamps\nwere lit and shed a faint radiance on all around.\n\nShe was by herself, and greeted him in a manner that left nothing to be\ndesired.\n\nWishing to assure her of the existence of that money and those jewels\nthat he had spoken of, and feeling nervously elated, he drew from the\nrecesses of his turban and sash a handful of great stones, that were as\nrivers of light; she gave a woman's delighted cry as she took them in\nher hands.\n\nHe smiled, well pleased, and tendered a great ruby of wondrous size and\nblood-red fire.\n\n\"These are but a few of what I have,\" he said.\n\n\"How rich you must be!\" she exclaimed, \"From whence did all these things\ncome?\"\n\n\"Ah, Princess, what matter whence they came? Sufficient it is that now\nthey are yours.\"\n\nAs he spoke she, unseen by him, touched a gong of curious workmanship\nthat stood near.\n\nThen she held the stones up to the light, praising their beauty and\nworth, and asking many questions.\n\nA short while passed and then a great door at the end of the room opened\nand the King entered, followed by the four fakirs, and advanced to where\nhis daughter sat.\n\nThe young man's heart beat in alarm at the sight of those whom he had\nrobbed. And the Princess's first words did not tend to decrease the\nfeeling.\n\n\"Are these some of the treasures that you have lost?\" she asked, handing\nto the elder of the four the biggest of the diamonds and the rubies. He\ntook them in his hand, then passed them to the others, saying, at the\nsame time--\n\n\"These are ours.\"\n\n\"There stands the thief, then,\" said the Princess, pointing to the now\ncowering shaking figure of the culprit, who looked piteously from one to\nthe other, feeling at the same time very enraged with himself for having\nbeen so easily caught in the trap that had been laid for him. \"It is for\nyou,\" continued the Princess, addressing herself to the four, \"when your\nentire treasure has been restored to you, to name his punishment.\"\n\nThe elder of them answered--\n\n\"We are so rejoiced to regain that which we had feared was lost for\never, Princess, that we are willing that he should go forth unchastised;\nhis conscience, and what it will say to him, will be his punishment.\"\n\n\"That would be too light a sentence; for I doubt much if he has any\nconscience,\" said the lady, as she seated herself.\n\n\"Then, Princess, will you relieve us by sentencing him yourself, as you\nbest will?\" craved the four.\n\n\"No,\" she answered, \"that I cannot do, I might be too harsh--I have\nconvicted him; let His Majesty, who is ever lenient, name his\npunishment.\"\n\nThen they all turned to the King, who said--\n\n\"I command that he be banished from this land for ever, and any property\nthat he has, or is likely to have, be confiscated.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE QUEEN'S MONASTERY.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE VIGIL OF MAH MAY.\n\n\nMah May was a little Burmese girl who kept a small stall filled with\ncheroots in one of the crowded many-coloured streets of Rangoon. There\nshe sat all through the sultry, languorous days smoking and waiting,\nwith philosophical calm, for customers; now and then a great, big,\nwell-fed looking Indian would stop and handle her goods, and, grumbling\nperhaps a little, would eventually buy; or a lean Chinaman, in baggy\nblue trousers, would pause and smile and talk awhile; or some little\nnaked child would come and beg one for nothing; or the black coolies,\ntheir silver belts glittering in the sunlight, would cluster round and\nbargain and quarrel among themselves, perhaps, in the end, throwing her\ngoods back to her with no very complimentary language; or a \"Chetty,\"[1]\nairily attired in scanty white muslin, his shaved head protected by a\nbig cotton umbrella, would come and haggle over the annas as a poor\nBurman would never dream of doing; then, again, a well-to-do woman of\nher own race, dressed in silk, and with gold bracelets on her wrists,\nwould purchase, but they were always, as Mah May used to say with a\nshake of her small head, the meanest of all.\n\n  [1] Indian money-lender.\n\nShe was a bright little girl, though very poor; often hungry, and always\nwretchedly clad.\n\nFor two years past she had squatted behind her tray, in the hot, hard,\ncruel glare, when the sun beat on the flat-roofed white houses\nmercilessly; when even the river, with its forests of ships, seemed to\ncease to flow; when all things were gasping and weary and the gharry\nwallahs slept soundly, and the poor lean ponies tried to flick the flies\noff their backs with their tails; when the Indian shopkeepers stretched\nthemselves on wooden beds just in the shadow of their door-ways and\nsnored away, dreaming of rupees and curry; while only the pariah dogs\nscratched and smelt in the road for something to eat. No one stirred;\nthe drowsy influence of the heat seemed universal. Or on the dull wet\ndays, when the sky was clouded and rain poured down, soaking everything\nthrough and through, and the thin coloured dresses clung pitifully round\ntheir owners' dark forms, and nobody had time to think of buying as\nthey passed on in the warm, damp, oppressive atmosphere. Still Mah May\nsat, no matter what the season, rolling her cheroots, cutting betel\nchews, and crooning some little song to herself. At mid-day she ate some\nrice, and got a draught of water from a pump not far distant. Often some\none was kind, and gave her some fruit or a cake; oftener they were\nunkind, but oftener still they were indifferent.\n\nIt was a hard life--very, and she was only seventeen. Yet was she\ncontent. Nature had been her nurse. The sun and the rain had made her\nwhat she was--a hardy, honest, upright little soul, envying and hating\nno one.\n\nWhen the shadows grew long and the green shutters of the shops closed,\nMah May rolled up her wares and wended her way homewards through the\nnoisy, many-hued crowds to a miserable wooden hut, which stood in dirty\nyellow water, spanned by a rotten plank, and was situated in one of the\npoorest and most squalid quarters of the town--a quarter in which\npoverty, in its most hideous form, stalked. Half-clothed men, women and\nchildren of all ages, dwelt together there, and kept life in them as\nbest they could.\n\nIn the huts there was scarce one piece of furniture, save perhaps a bed\nor a roll of matting or a ragged purdah.\n\nThe scorpions, the white ants, and the great toads held high revel.\nAmidst rows, hard words, evil things, cries of little children, and\ngrowls of half-starved dogs Mah May dwelt, and was happy.\n\nShe did not know of any better life than hers. The day passed in the\nfresh air under the changeless azure of the skies and the night curled\nup in a corner of the hut, with the purple stars looking down through\nsome chink in the roof; and knowing of any other, it is doubtful if she\nwould have cared to exchange.\n\nMah Khine, a black-browed woman whom Mah May had lived with as long as\nshe could remember, was very good and kind to her in her own way; but\nshe had many children tugging at her skirt, and her life was a very hard\none. She was married to an Indian who had nearly all the faults of his\nby no means faultless race; his past had been bad, his present was even\nmore so.\n\nHe counted the cost of anything, done or undone, as small if it only\nbrought in pice; pice sufficient to procure \"toddy,\"[2] the hot,\nhorrible, poisonous stuff kept in the little shop by a Chinaman in one\nof the narrow, tortuous bye-lanes of the native quarter. To him it\nmattered nothing that his children had oftentimes not enough to eat, and\nthat the lines about his wife's patient mouth deepened.\n\n  [2] \"Toddy\" is composed of the juice of palms, and sold in those\n        shops when fermented.\n\nThe passion for drink possessed him, to the exclusion of all other\nfeelings.\n\nStretched on a wooden settle in the crowded, dirty shop that abutted on\nthe still dirtier street, reeking with filth and smells, he passed his\ntime sunk in a semi-conscious stupor.\n\nThe proprietor looked upon Moulla Khan as one of the best customers he\nhad.\n\nFor him was his smile the sweetest, to him was he most accommodating in\nthe matter of money.\n\nOf a day the frequenters of the place were comparatively few, but when\nthe night crept on, Pun Lun lit up his place with many sickly oil\nlamps, whose light showed up the gaudy signboard with its ill-written\n\"Toddy Shop\" on it, surrounded by a curious design in Chinese, and drew\nthe human moths round in dozens to smoke, drink, play, and talk. Indian,\nBurmese, all countries were represented there in that crowded, noisy,\ndirty place. The babel of many tongues broke on the ear afar off.\n\nThe neighbourhood was a notoriously bad one, so that the fighting and\nsickening sound of blows that usually ended these gatherings of\nconvivial spirits excited no comment.\n\nEven the deep groans from those who, wounded, lay helplessly for many\nhours gained no sympathy or succour of any kind.\n\nOften, but in vain, in the hot, sulphurous nights Mah Khine had found\nher way there, and begged of the great coarse brute whom she called\nhusband to return with her, but for a long time past she had ceased to\nplead, realising how useless it was.\n\nAnd yet, strangely, with all his drunkenness and cruelty, the faithful\nsoul refused to desert or even see him as he really was. He had been the\nchosen one of her girlhood, when she, young and pretty, had left her\npeople to wed this stranger out of India.\n\nThey had deemed her disgraced by the union.\n\nThey had been well-to-do people, and would have married her to one of\nher own race.\n\nHer life had held many bitter, unhappy years, but she was proud in her\nway, and from her lips no word or moan had ever passed.\n\nChildren had come and multiplied, and though the wants of such people\nare very few, often they had not the wherewithal to supply them.\n\nBut of late years things had been better, for Mah Khine, who had a keen\neye for business, had made and saved a little unknown to every one\nexcept Mah May.\n\nThe money was kept buried away in a teak-wood box in a corner of their\ndamp, worm-eaten house.\n\nMah Khine's cherished ambition, trader that she was, was to open a\nlittle shop, as many of her class did.\n\nA little place filled with miscellaneous articles: pillows, lacquer\nboxes, wooden trays, crockery, pewter pans, some sandals, and perhaps,\nthere was no knowing--that is, if she was lucky--some tameins and silk\npotsos for the men.\n\nThere behind it the proud possessor, she dreamt that she would sit and\nroll the cheroots and have her children by her, keeping an eye on the\nyounger as they played.\n\nThis picture Mah Khine often painted to herself; it was her ideal of\nearthly bliss. She dreamt of it by day and night, but kept it locked up\nin her own heart.\n\nAnything that she could spare from what she made by washing the clothes\nof her richer neighbours she put by so carefully, handling it so fondly,\nstoring it so cautiously: grimy brown pice, little silver pieces, one or\ntwo soiled, crumpled notes, how often she looked at them and counted\nthem and took them in her lean brown hands! She would start out of her\nsleep, fearing some one had stolen her treasure, that represented the\nscraping together of two hard, long years.\n\nThere was some little history attached to every coin.\n\nShe remembered how each one was gained, every circumstance of toil or\nsacrifice through which it was put by.\n\nAnd not a soul knew, not a soul save Mah May and herself; Mah May she\ncould trust. Mah May loved her, and was as honest and true as a little\ndog.\n\nMah Khine never left the box in the house with no one to mind it, for\nfear it should be taken, though for two years gone by it had rested\nsecurely and undisturbed in its hiding-place.\n\nThe knowledge of its existence, and what in the end it was to\naccomplish, leant a courage to her to bear with the blows, the sickness,\nand the abject poverty of her surroundings; it upheld her, it leant a\nbrightness to her eyes, a lightness to her feet when they would have\nbeen otherwise pitifully weary. When she spoke there was oftentimes a\nstrange ring of gladness in her voice; for Hope, that wonderful\nstrengthener, dwelt with her.\n\nSo time went on, and it wanted but three months for the money to be\ncomplete. They had been rarely lucky.\n\nMah May had sold well every day. Mah Khine had had much to do. A great\ncontent abode with her. Even the morose, savage manner of her husband\ntroubled her but little.\n\nThe children flew at his approach, and hid behind the mud hill close by,\nor their mother's ragged skirts, or anywhere they could, and she soothed\nand comforted the little trembling ones as she best could, and on her\nface was a happy smile.\n\n\"At last! at last!\" she thought.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne warm, clear night, when the sky glittered with stars, and a young\nmoon showed against it, Mah Khine made ready to take some silks that she\nhad been washing home. She had promised them, for it was the eve of a\ngreat Buddhist feast. It was a long way for her to go, right across the\ntown, but she did not mind. So she cleared up the remains of their\nevening rice, swept the floor with her straw besom, filled the\nwater-chatty standing in the corner afresh, bade Mah May to watch\ncarefully; and Mah May assured her, as she had often done before, that\nif any one was ever to find out their secret, the money they should\nnever have, save they killed her first. So Mah Khine took up her bundle\nand went forth into the radiance of the night.\n\nMah May looked after her until she was out of sight, and then squatted\ndown, smoking.\n\nThe hours went by; the lights were put out in the huts. Mah May felt\nvery sleepy and tired where she sat, but she was good--she remained\nawake, staring out into space....\n\nA tall, dark figure stood before her. It was Moulla Khan; he had not\nbeen home for two days. His eyes were blood-shot, his turban\ndisarranged. He stood over her, and looked down at her. She trembled a\nlittle; she feared him greatly. She stirred uneasily, but nevertheless\nmet his look without flinching.\n\nHe only uttered one word, and that in a voice which drink had rendered\nhoarse and thick.\n\n\"Money.\" He spoke in Hindustani.\n\n\"I have none,\" she answered him in the same tongue.\n\nHe gave a sort of gurgling laugh.\n\n\"Look you,\" he muttered, \"I know there is money hidden somewhere--pice\nand annas and rupees--and I will have it; I know it, I tell you, I know\nit.\"\n\n\"There is none,\" the girl replied. She had risen; she had her back to\nthe hole in the wall where the money was.\n\n\"Give it to me,\" he cried, in a voice of frantic rage.\n\n\"I do not know who has told you this thing,\" she said, \"but it is not\ntrue.\"\n\nShe felt chilly with fright. She knew that, once his suspicion aroused,\nhe would search till he found. She would be powerless to protect it.\nTears dimmed the fond eyes of the child. She knew, none better, all the\ntoil, privations, and hopes that lay in that poor little box.\n\nYet what could she do? She was so small and her strength so puny. If he\nsearched he would find it; its hiding-place was not so secure as to be\nproof against those cruel fingers.\n\nThough all Mah Khine's future lay there, she gave no sign of fear. She\nkept her ground boldly. He shook her savagely, when she stood. She was\nwondering who could have told him. She watched him with a dull,\nthrobbing brain move unsteadily round the wretched room, groping by the\nlight of the moon; feeling, feeling everywhere along the wall for holes;\nturning over all the things; then, with a muttered word or two, out he\nwent on to the rafters, made of mud, behind, into a little piece of\nground; but there was nothing, nothing anywhere. Her breath came a\nlittle quicker, a little more freely. Perhaps, after all--but, with a\nbound, he was by her side. He nearly wrenched her slender, childish\nwrists off. \"It is there!\" he cried in triumph.\n\nShe set her strong white teeth in his black arm; but with a brutal\ngesture he flung her light weight from him. She fell with a dull, heavy\nthud. He did not heed her for awhile, searching eagerly, thirstily, his\neyes glittering with cruel greed.\n\nAt last he drew it forth triumphantly, the poor little shabby\ntreasure-house, and took the money, letting some drop in his haste,\nhiding it with trembling, feverish hands in his white linen jacket.\n\nThen he put the box back, and turned to Mah May. He looked; she was very\nstill; he crept nearer and nearer, and his cowardly soul shrank within\nhim. The moonbeams had found her out and fell upon her thin, upturned\nface. He peered round, he held his very breath; no one was stirring,\nthere was silence everywhere. His dark, acquiline face was as cunning as\nthat of any fox cub. He paused for a second or two. Then, as if a\nsudden thought struck him, he gathered her up hastily in his arms.\n\nShe was a little heavy, but he was strong.\n\nThe river, that was drifting outward to the ocean, and the moon were the\nonly things that shared the secret of that night with him.\n\nAnd they guard their secrets well.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"If Mah May wanted the money, I would have given it to her, for I loved\nher; she need not have left me,\" Mah Khine said, with a great sorrow and\nsense of desolate despair in her heart, and tears in her honest eyes,\nwhen Moulla Khan told his tale.\n\nShe never learnt different--she never will--unless, indeed, the day\ndawns when the sea shall give up its dead.\n\n[Illustration: THE KING'S PALACE.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PETITION TO THE KING.\n\n\nIn the reign of King Mindoon, who was the father of King Theebaw, a\nservant sent a petition to him in which he set forth that he had been\nhis humble and faithful servitor before his accession to the throne, but\nnow, although seven long years had gone by since then, he had remained\nforgotten and unnoticed. Continuing in this strain for a space, he ended\nwith the following parable:--\n\nIn the Zita country there lived a King who had a son named Padoma, whom\nhe sent to Thakada to be educated, and with him he sent a young\nattendant called Thomana.\n\nFor three years they stayed at Thakada, at the end of which period the\nPrince, having completed his studies, prepared to return home; on their\nway, travelling by easy stages, they paused at a small village situated\nin deep-wooded lands, where a great feast was being held. Hundreds of\npeople had gathered there from all parts. A large tent was erected in\none part, where a banquet was spread, to partake of which they humbly\nbegged the Prince.\n\nAnd he willingly accepted.\n\nOn the ground had been spread matting, on a part of which a gorgeously\nembroidered scarlet cloth with a golden fringe was put for the Prince,\nand a white one, less magnificently worked and with a silver fringe, for\nhis friend and attendant Thomana.\n\nWhen they had seated themselves, the rest of the company did likewise,\nremaining, however, at a distance, and separated by a cord.\n\nNow Thomana was very learned in astrology, having read and thought\ndeeply on that subject, and he knew as soon as he saw the Prince seat\nhimself on the red cloth that he would become King upon that very day.\n\nIt was a brilliant assembly, every one clad in delicate silks of all\nhues, and glittering with jewels. The feast lasted long, it seemed,\nindeed, as if the constant succession of dishes was to be an endless\none. All were in the best of spirits, and laughed and talked greatly.\n\nWhen the Prince had finished his repast, he was shown into an inner\ntent, where a couch of the same royal colour had been placed, and in\nfront was a slightly raised platform of bamboo, draped with violet and\nrose-pink satin, richly worked and lighted with lamps, that shed a\nsubdued radiance round and about the little graceful figures of several\ndancing girls who had been bidden to dance for his royal highness.\n\nTheir dresses were so formed as to represent armour, and on their heads\nwere similar coverings. They performed peculiar, dreamy, kind of\nmovements, amidst a mist of varying hues. The Prince was much\ninterested, and postponed retiring until late.\n\nThomana, having bidden his royal master good-night, felt disinclined for\nsleep, so, strolling into a park-like demesne that was adjacent, he\nseated himself under a large tree, whose branches spread for a\nconsiderable way, and became lost in thought.\n\nIt was a glorious night, with not a sound in the air save the soft whirr\nof some purpled-eyed or golden-winged insect as it floated by in the\ndarkness. As he sat there musing on the events of the evening and the\nfuture of the Prince, two large leaves fell from above into his hand:\none was old and withered, the other was fresh and green. \"Ah,\" he\nmurmured, as he looked at them, \"in the same way as an old and a young\nleaf drops from the tree, so may a man full of years and one who is in\nthe morning of life die at the same time.\"\n\nIn the midst of his meditations, which lasted long, he became a\nrahan,[3] and was taken from the garden to the Gandremadana Mountains.\nAt the same time a chariot of pearl, drawn by four pure white horses\nwith trappings of gold, was on its way to the Prince to carry him back,\nas his father had died that day. Following the chariot came four\nministers and a train of Court officials, accompanied by soldiers.\n\n  [3] \"Rahan,\" _i.e._, one possessed of supernatural powers.\n\nThey awakened the sleeping Prince and acquainted him with their news.\nThen, when he was prepared, he stepped into the chariot that was\nwaiting, and was borne with all speed to the palace, where he was\nproclaimed King the following day with the utmost pomp, ceremony, and\nrejoicings.\n\nIn his new life, and amidst his many duties and responsibilities, he\nentirely forgot the existence of his attendant, who had been his\nconstant companion for three years; therefore his absence passed\nunrecorded and unnoticed; for what the King forgets the courtiers must\nnever be unwise enough to remember.\n\nAt the end of thirty years, when the King was getting old, he remembered\nThomana, and wondered greatly where he might be. Whereupon he\nimmediately caused it to be made known throughout his dominions that he\nwould give a lac of rupees to any one who should give him any news of\nhis lost servant.\n\nNow Thomana, owing to his great piety and powers of clairvoyance, became\naware immediately of the fact that his old master had recollected him,\nand desired his presence. Therefore he went at once to the garden where\nhe had been seated before he attained his rahanship so many years\nbefore. Close by the tree, under whose branches he had sat, were four\nshepherd boys, their flocks grazing near, while they themselves talked\ntogether of the big reward that the King had offered for news of his old\nservant.\n\nThomana, coming through the leafy aisles, heard them, and accosted them,\ndeclaring that he was the person whom the King desired. They rose and\nglanced at him doubtingly.\n\n\"Let two of you,\" he said, \"go to the palace and tell His Majesty, that\nI await him here.\" To which they assented.\n\nA short while passed, and then an immense carriage, glittering like gold\nand silver in the sun, and followed by others less imposing, could be\nseen coming rapidly along the white winding road. Pulling up at the\nentrance, the King himself alighted, and came through the gates, that\nwere all brazen and blazoned, straight towards Thomana, his arms\noutstretched to embrace him; but he whom he would have greeted so\ncordially stopped him, saying--\n\n\"I am now a rahan; with men, their feelings, their passions, their brief\ntriumphs, and sorrows, likes and dislikes, I have no affinity.\" Then he\nfolded his arms and stood in silence.\n\nHis face was very cold and still.\n\nThe King, looking at him, saw that he was poorly clad, and bent, and\nthin, and pressed him to return to the Court, where he promised him\nmoney and many wives.\n\nBut the rahan answered--\n\n\"I do not need wealth, nor any of the poor fleeting pleasures that this\nworld can offer. Let your Majesty come with me instead, and visit my\nabode of rest.\"\n\n\"What is it like, this place,\" inquired the King in wonder, \"that it can\nrender its inhabitants indifferent to what we esteem the most desirable\nof all things in this life?\"\n\n\"It is situated far from here,\" replied Thomana, \"and the approach to it\nis a broad, long avenue of gorgeous blossoms, such as you have never\ndreamed of, that bloom for ever, with a perfume that is at once dreamy,\ndrowsy, and infinitely sweet; vast sprays of water spring from the\nmouths of silver dragons; over head the branches of trees interlace,\nshowing but a strip of blue sky through their quivering leaves. For\nhours can you wander amongst these mazes of roses, this wonder of colour\nand beauty. At the end of the grove is situated an immense tree, larger\nthan aught that you have seen and higher than any eye could reach. It is\nsurrounded by columns of marble that glow like jewels. Here the n\u0101ts\nand fairies dwell, with nothing to disturb their seclusion and solitude\nsave the sound of falling waters and the song of birds. While over all\nis cast such a spell as this life does not hold. Ah! beside the\nperfection of that world, how poor and valueless are the things of this!\nThere one talks with the gods and dwells in worlds beyond the sun. There\nis no room for regrets or for desires. There every one is beautiful,\ntherefore we do not covet beauty. There wealth is common to all,\ntherefore we do not desire it. There all are equal, and love and\ngoodness are the aim and end of all things. Come and see for yourself,\"\nhe added.\n\nAnd the King, marvelling greatly at what he had heard, went. And there,\nin the midst of those divine surroundings, with naught to disturb the\nmind from the good, he wandered, awed and silent, but not afraid. In\nthose cool, wide halls of bliss, all memories of grosser things and ways\nfaded into nothingness. He forgot his kingdom, and was by it forgot.\n\n[Illustration: THE SHWAY DAGONE PAGODA.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIEST'S PETITION.\n\n\nIt was the custom for the heir to the throne of the kingdom of Ava to be\nplaced, while young, in a monastery with the priests, to be instructed\nin a manner suitable to the position that he was destined to occupy.\nPrince Min Goung, while a boy, was put under the special care of the\nPhoongyee Shin Ah Tah Thaya--a prudent and learned man, who gave all his\ntime and wisdom to his pupil.\n\nMin Goung was of a proud and wilful nature, and one who would not\nwillingly bend his haughty head to any yoke, however light and silken.\n\nOne day his reverend teacher punished him, for persistent bad writing,\nsomewhat severely--an act which he regretted afterwards, thinking,\nperhaps, that he had been over harsh.\n\nTime passed away. The King died, and the young Prince was crowned. Then\nthe priest began to fear that his former pupil might do him some harm,\nfor he imagined that he had never forgiven him the liberty he had taken\nin chastising him. So he quitted his retreat, and fled to Prome for\nsafety. Disliking his enforced banishment, he determined to write and\ncrave for pardon; and in the course of his long appeal, written on palm\nleaves, was the following story:--\n\n\"There was a king of Bayanathee, learned and merciful, who had a hundred\nsons, each of whom, when old enough, was given into the hands of a\ncarefully selected instructor to be taught those subjects for which he\nhad the greatest taste. When each was grown up and had completed his\neducation, he was appointed a governor of a portion of the royal\ndominions; and so ninety-nine of the Princes had been educated and been\npresented to the King and received their appointments. Prince Thanwara\nwas the youngest of them, and was taken care of by a distinguished\nminister, who began and continued his instruction in a way that was very\nsuitable to the quick natural intelligence of the boy; and when the time\ncame for Thanwara to go to his father, his teacher accompanied him.\n\n\"When they came before the King--who was seated on a throne of silver\nand agate, with golden doors behind him--he asked his son if he had\nlearnt and completed the same course of studies as his elder brothers,\nand the young Prince answered him--\n\n\"'I am sufficiently qualified, sire, to take upon me the same duties and\nresponsibilities as those of my brothers who have gone before.'\n\n\"The King was satisfied with the reply; and then, after a while, the\nPrince and his tutor returned to their home.\n\n\"Talking to the tutor before he slept, Thanwara said--\n\n\"'If the King my father offers me the same position as he has bestowed\non my brothers, will it be well with me to accept it?'\n\n\"The teacher made answer thus--\n\n\"'If a man, O Prince, desires to partake of the Bandaya fruit, which\nonly grows in Nirvana, can he obtain it from its tree from the distance\nof a hundred yujanas (eight hundred miles), or would he rather not stand\nunder the tree and take the fruit with a hooked bamboo? In the same\nway, if you wish to sit on the throne it is best for you not to go from\nhere, but to remain in the shadow of the palace.'\n\n\"The prince listened, and then, when he had heard to the end, he said--\n\n\"'Then, my teacher, when to-morrow I go before my father, and he asks me\nmy desires, what shall I make reply?'\n\n\"'Ask of him to bestow on you the rents of the bazaars and the produce\nor the royal gardens within the city gates.'\n\n\"'Of what benefit would such be to me?'\n\n\"'The greatest benefit, my son. For those who have money have power, of\nwhich truth I will give you an illustration:--\n\n\"'A timid doe in the forest, when it once sees a leopard, will fly, and\nhiding carefully, will not venture to stir out again for many days and\nnights; but on the other hand, retiring as it is by nature, it will, if\na person constantly feed it, so far lose its timidity as to approach him\nand take from his hand. Therefore, my son, if you give presents often to\nthe favourites and the advisers of the King, you will gain their\nconfidence and their liking.'\n\n\"On the following day, when the Prince reached the palace, and his\nfather asked him to name the province that he wished to govern, he\nanswered thus:--\n\n\"'My brothers have all gone from you to distant parts of the world to\nguard over your vast possessions; let me then remain here to be your\nMajesty's attendant, and render you that care and assistance in\nsickness, in health, and in trouble, or any other trial, that affection\ncan alone offer.'\n\n\"The old King was pleased, and granted unhesitatingly what he was\nasked.\n\n\"From that day forth Thanwara received the rents and profits of the\nbazaars and gardens, and took up his residence near the throne, in the\nwhite palace of his father.\n\n\"Gradually his winning manners, his deference to his elders, his many\nthoughtful and beautiful gifts, and, lastly, his own piety and learning,\ngained for him the first place in the hearts of those who were about the\nCourt.\n\n\"So the years fled away, and were counted with the past.\n\n\"But when the tenth year was young, the King's health failed him; he\nfelt that the sands of his life were nearly run. So about him he\ngathered his ministers and advisers. After they had expressed their\nsympathy and regret at finding him ill, they inquired which of all his\nsons he would best like to wear his crown when he was gone.\n\n\"The dying King raised himself from the low couch on which he was\nreclining, and, propped by many cushions, answered their question in\nthis wise:\n\n\"'A hermit was one day coming from his lonely Himalayan abode through a\nforest. Over his head, as a sunshade, he had an enormous flower, called\nthe kakayu mala, which is found, as you are aware, only in the N\u0101t\nCountry, and its fragrance reached to the distance of one yujana (eight\nmiles). On his way he encountered four fairies, each of whom saw and\ncoveted the blossom. They all in turn asked him for it, but he said, in\nreply to their request, \"I can only give it to the most virtuous and the\nmost excellent of you all.\"\n\n\"'Whereupon each protested, all contending for the honour.\n\n\"'But the hermit, who was discreet and prudent, said, \"How can I, who\nhave no means to judge, decide? To me you all seem worthy of it, equally\ncharming, and deserving in all respects, therefore had I four flowers I\nwould divide them gladly between you; but as there is but one, and that\none incapable of division, we will refer the matter to the King of the\nN\u0101t Country, who has the all-discerning eye.\"\n\n\"'So they went.\n\n\"'They had not to travel far before they came to his green and gracious\nkingdom.\n\n\"'They made straight for the beautiful ivory palace where the King\ndwelt, and were ushered into where he sat on his throne, composed\nentirely of the very flowers.\n\n\"'He inquired what brought them before him.\n\n\"'They told him. Then he thought for a little time, while they waited at\na distance. When he called them to him and said--\n\n\"'\"There is a rahan residing in the Kisokok Mountains to whom I will\npresent a golden pineapple; then the four of you shall go and seek him\nand ask him for it. The person whom he shall give the golden apple to,\nthat person shall be the most worthy in every way to be the recipient of\nthe flower.\"\n\n\"'They thanked him, withdrew, and started for the Kisokok Mountains.\n\n\"'When they arrived there the rahan requested each fairy to take up her\nposition according to the four directions of the earth--north, south,\neast and west--which they did, while each clamoured for the prize.\n\n\"'Then the rahan asked them their names, to which the eldest replied,\n\"Thada\" (\"Charity\"); the second, \"Thati\" (\"Peace\"); the third, \"Hiri\"\n(\"Modesty\"); the fourth, \"Ootoppa\" (\"Virtue\").\n\n\"'When the rahan heard he gave the golden apple into the hands of\nOotoppa, saying, as her name represented, she was the most deserving.\nThen she went to the hermit, who presented her with the beautiful\nflower, and from that moment she was esteemed the most virtuous and most\nexcellent of all women in the N\u0101t Country.\n\n\"'Therefore,' continued the old King, addressing the ministers around\nhim, 'you must be the hermit in this case.'\n\n\"Before that day was over he was dead, and was interred with great\nhonours and many lamentations.\n\n\"Then the advisers, with no delay and no hesitation, elected Prince\nThanwara to succeed his father; but when the news reached the other sons\nin their distant territories they were filled with wrath. The second\nsent to his elder brother a letter, in which he said that the ministers\nof their late father were weak and corrupt, and very wanting in\nforesight in allowing themselves to be persuaded into placing the\nyoungest of all on the throne, thereby disregarding the principle of the\nancient rule of succession; for (continued he) in the Ahrottaya Country\nthere was a King who had three children, two sons and a daughter, born\nof the chief Queen. When the eldest son was sixteen years of age the\nQueen died. The second Queen thereupon became chief, by whom the King\nhad a son, and when that son reached eight years of age the King was\nbitten by a snake, a fact which frightened him greatly. The Queen,\nhowever, who was quick to think and very brave, sucked the poison from\nthe bite. The King, being filled with gratitude, asked her to make any\nrequest that she liked, which he would grant, whereupon she immediately\nbegged that her son might be selected as the heir to the throne, and to\nher inexpressible satisfaction the King gave his consent.\n\n\"A while later his Majesty sent for Narada, a soothsayer, who was asked\nto calculate his term of life. Narada told him that he would live twelve\nmore years. The King then sent for his three children by the dead queen\nand acquainted them with the soothsayer's prophecy, telling them at the\nsame time that they must quit the Court and find a home elsewhere for\ntwelve years.\n\n\"Sorrowing greatly, they obeyed. After nine years the King died of grief\nfor the absence of the children that he had sent from him.\n\n\"The Queen lost no time in scheming to put the crown upon her son's\nhead. But the chief minister opposed her, saying that the eldest boy\nstill lived and could not be put aside.\n\n\"Then he took the crown and all the insignia of royalty, and with many\nattendants and great state travelled to where the eldest son resided,\nand offered the throne to him.\n\n\"The Prince met him with the argument that the King's commands extended\nto twelve years, and that, as only nine had elapsed, his step-brother\nmust reign for three years. Then he gave the minister a pair of\nslippers, worked with wheat, to give to his half-brother, with the\ndirection that they were to be placed on the judgment-seat, declaring,\nas he did so, that if any decision is illegal or contrary to the right,\nthe slippers would of themselves rise and touch each other as a protest.\n\n\"'Wherefore,' continued the brother's epistle, 'as the ministers have\nnot paid you the respect of deferring to you in the matter, we should\nprepare to go to war with Thanwara.' The elder brother, on receiving the\nabove, addressed a letter to his youngest brother, in which he requested\nhim to surrender the crown or to prepare for hostilities.\n\n\"Prince Thanwara sought the advice of his chief minister in his\nperplexity, and he told him that, according to religion, he must not\noppose his elder brother.\n\n\"'Then,' asked Thanwara, 'what am I to do?'\n\n\"The chief minister answered: 'Divide all the property in the kingdom\ninto one hundred shares, and give each equally.'\n\n\"And it was accordingly done, upon which the eldest brother, being quite\ncontent, left the youngest in the possession of the throne, saying that\na hundred kings could not reign in one country, and that, if they tried,\nit would be for the woe of the people.\n\n\"So all the brothers went back to their own in peace and amity.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the King of Ava read the priest's letter, he was so well pleased\nwith the narrative that he sent a messenger to him, and appointed him\nhead of the ecclesiastical body, with a residence near the palace.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMMAND OF THE KING.\n\n\nThere was a King of Amarapoora, who reigned in a time long past.\n\nHe was young and beloved, and fair of form and face, and his people\nlived but to obey his lightest wish. He dwelt in a palace of crystal,\nsurrounded by gardens, of whose beauty no tongue could tell. He had\nmoney and lands and gems, and beautiful wives and unnumbered treasures,\ngathered from all lands.\n\nHe could have whatsoever he willed, and go wheresoever he listed. His\ndays and nights were one long dream of gladness.\n\nNo enemies plagued him; no troubles of any sort visited him; his coffers\nwere well filled, and his ministers were faithful and wise; and yet, in\nspite of all, he was weary of everything, more weary than he could say.\n\nHe drank from a goblet of gold, rimmed with a band of pearls, and his\nclothes were studded with rubies and emeralds; he was flattered and\ncourted and envied as no monarch had ever been envied before, and he was\nmore discontented than the poorest subject in his realms.\n\nAbove and around and about him was all that is most conducive to\nhappiness, but within him were fatigue and desolation.\n\nAll that he had ever wished for had been given unto him; never had the\ngods left unanswered his prayers; other and better men's they turned a\ndeaf ear to, but not so this King's, and now he had nothing more left\nto crave for.\n\nHe had supreme power vested in his hands, but he was indifferent to it;\nhe owned everything that the heart could desire, and those very\npossessions were killing him.\n\nFor the trail of the serpent of satiety lay over his garden of Eden.\n\nNever had his eyes rested on disease or want or poverty, or anything\nthat could distress his mind.\n\nAll gifts and graces had been showered upon him; his sins were buried\nin oblivion, or cited more admiringly than the virtues of others.\n\nWhen he went abroad on his white elephant, with its trappings of scarlet\nand silver, the very air was perfumed with otto of rose, while the\npeople bowed and kissed the dust through which he passed.\n\nAttached to the palace were many hundreds of officials, players,\ndancers, jugglers, and clowns; for the King sought only one thing, and\nthat was--Amusement; of which, in no matter what form it was presented\nto him, he soon tired.\n\nConstantly was the country being searched for some one with a ready wit,\nan inventive tongue, or a nimble foot, to pass the hours for the Lord of\nthe City of Gems.\n\nTellers of marvellous stories, more wonderful than the Arabian Nights,\nhad come, and tried their little best to please.\n\nThere were those who travelled specially to other countries, but to\nreturn and tell him of all that they had seen, and of how inferior all\nlands and rulers were when compared with their own.\n\nDancing women, with the classic limbs and straight black brows of\nEgypt, sought his favour.\n\nEyes that were as loadstars in their brilliancy wooed him with a\nthousand glances.\n\nCircassian women, with sun-flecked tresses, were his willing slaves.\n\nMen of great learning asked nothing better than to gain his ear awhile,\nbut all fatigued him soon.\n\nAnd, like a child, he cried for something new.\n\nThen one day a stranger from India presented himself at the great gates\nof the palace, saying that he brought a game called Chess to teach the\nKing. They who loitered round the entrance bade him scornfully to\n\"begone.\" What would he of the Golden Feet do with red and white figures\nlike that? they contemptuously asked.\n\nBut the Indian protested, craving humbly to be granted an audience.\nThen one, who was more kindly than the rest, led him through the green,\nsilent gardens, with their aisles of gorgeous roses; by spray-splashing\nfountains, fringed with the lotus-flower; up a flight of marble steps on\nto a terrace where peacocks strolled; through carved doors, from which\nstretched an endless vista of halls and rooms filled with numerous\nattendants, who formed a mass of marvellous colour; carpets and rugs of\nvelvet-like softness were strewn about; ivory of wonderful workmanship;\nthings of all precious metals, together with stuffs of delicate hues and\nlovely texture; to a chamber handsomer than any that had gone before,\nwhere at one end, seated on a couch, clad in an odd, rich fashion, and\nshaded by a large umbrella, was the King, his bare feet resting on a\nstool; to his right was a golden spittoon, while to his left stood a\nslave holding a jewelled betel box and some green cigars.\n\nThe Burmese prostrated himself almost full length, motioning the Indian\nto do likewise, explaining at the same time the object of their\npresence.\n\nHis royal master received them graciously, inquired into the merits of\nthe game, finally declaring that he would be taught it there and then.\n\nFrom that time forth he devoted himself to play with an eagerness\nentirely foreign to his nature. He paused for nothing, never going\nwithout the palace. The days seemed not half long enough. The courtiers\nwere inclined to congratulate themselves on having at last found\nsomething that seemed likely to continue a favourite with the King,\nuntil they saw how high the Indian was rising in his favour, being\nloaded with money and presents, and thereby becoming a cause of bitter\nenvy and jealousy on the part of the Burmese ministers.\n\nNor did his haughty, overbearing manner tend to soften their resentment.\nMany were the plans that they made to cause his downfall, but in vain.\nEvery one of the plots failed, while he whom they conspired against\nseemed to grow but dearer to the Lord of the Rising Sun.\n\nTime passed.\n\nThen one came called Nicomar from a great distance, who brought painted\ncards and dice wherewith to amuse the monarch, the like of which had\nnever been seen before. And the King, like a spoilt baby, was delighted\nwith this new toy, and thrust away the chess from his sight with\ndisdain.\n\nAnd those round about were so glad of the change that they hardly\ngrudged the new-comer the honours that their royal master began to\nspeedily heap upon him.\n\nThe days went by, and His Majesty did nothing but recline on his crimson\nand golden cushions, playing and rattling the dice-box.\n\nThen, after awhile, he took to enlivening the game by hazarding large\nbets with his teacher--bets which generally meant the performance of\nimpossible feats by Nicomar, with many penalties attached to their\nnon-accomplishment.\n\nOften and sorely was Nicomar's subtle mind perplexed to devise means of\ncircumventing his master's wagers, and of distracting his attention to\nother and more entertaining matters. Nicomar lived always in fear of\nlosing his place at the palace. Inwardly, he hated this unreasoning and\nunreasonable monarch, whom nothing pleased for long; outwardly, he was\nthe most docile, obedient, and fawning of servants.\n\nCarefully did he veil his night-like eyes, lest the hatred that shone in\nthem sometimes might be read by those around.\n\nProstrate before the King, he seemingly lived but for his smile.\n\nThe burning days and the sultry nights he devoted to his service; while\nothers slept he sat wakeful, thinking out new forms of amusement, new\nways to distract the King, and enable him to retain that place which to\nhim, hitherto most poor and friendless, was as the sorcerer's golden\napple.\n\nFor Nicomar there was but one god--and that god was wealth.\n\nHe laboured and strove for and endlessly desired it.\n\nA year went by, and still he remained the favourite, and he began to\nfeel a little more secure and at ease....\n\n\"Nicomar,\" cried the King one day, as they sat together in the sunset\nglow, \"I have resolved that you shall put milk where the sea now is. I\nhave tired of water, and I desire instead an ocean of milk.\"\n\nNicomar stared in dismay.\n\n\"That which your Majesty wishes is impossible,\" he made answer.\n\nThe King frowned.\n\n\"Impossible is no word between you and me. That which I command must\nnever be impossible,\" he exclaimed angrily. \"Hitherto you have obeyed my\norders; do so now.\"\n\nThe Indian trembled, but dared not protest.\n\n\"Fill up the sea with milk in fourteen days from now and your reward\nshall be all that even you can desire;--fail to do so and you shall die\nby all the tortures possible within an hour. Do as I say and your place\nshall be the very highest here: your power shall be well-nigh limitless,\nyour name shall be on all lips; men shall crouch at your feet; you shall\nhave a finer palace and greater wealth than any in the land. Save\nmyself, you shall be great and free, while those whom you love shall be\nraised also.\"\n\nNicomar salaamed silently.\n\nThe King continued:\n\n\"You have known what it is to be lowly and despised; you have been\nmocked and reviled at,--what greater or sweeter vengeance then to see\nthose very people bow down before you your slaves? I desire this thing\nso much that any price you like to name I am prepared to give.\"\n\nThe Indian answered never a word.\n\nHe knew of old that once the King commanded it was useless to do aught\nbut comply.\n\nThis reward, great as it was, could never be his, for to earn it was\nbeyond anybody's power.\n\n\"Begone, now,\" continued His Majesty, \"and return in fourteen days' time\nto claim your prize, or----\" and his gesture was more eloquent than\nwords.\n\nNicomar, with sorrowful, halting gait, went from his august presence.\n\nHe sought without delay the quietude of his own rooms. He was well-nigh\ndistracted. From many difficult predicaments he had with consummate tact\nand skill extricated himself, but from this there seemed no escape.\n\nHe beat his breast and tore his hair. He consulted the wise men and the\nstars; looked for this sign and for that; prayed long and fervently, and\npropitiated the gods in many ways, but all to no purpose.\n\nHe took no food or rest; he dared not think of what awaited him in the\nnear future.\n\nSo a week went by, and he was no nearer finding a loophole through which\nto escape.\n\nOn the seventh day he sought the King, and craved humbly to know if he\nhad understood him aright, or had he been but jesting with him.\n\nHe lingered but a short while in doubt.\n\nHis Majesty was deeply incensed at being questioned, and let the full\ntorrent of his displeasure fall upon the head of his luckless servitor.\n\nSwearing many oaths by the sacred hairs of Buddha that his will should\nbe obeyed, he had him thrust ignominiously from his presence.\n\nThen Nicomar went from out the palace and the city far into the lonely\ncountry, seeking he knew not what. For days he wandered wearily through\nthick jungle and silent forest ways, stepping but slowly in the long,\ndank grass.\n\nHe suffered greatly, and suffered without hope.\n\nOn the fifth day he came to where a broad river flowed and sparkled\nbetween high green banks.\n\nSome Burmese, driving bullocks, were resting beside it, while in the\ndistance were a few mud huts.\n\nNicomar, who was footsore and faint, sank down at the foot of a banana\ntree.\n\nHis garments were torn by branches and brambles, his sight was blinded\nby the sun, his mouth parched with thirst.\n\nIdly he watched the Burmese from where he sat.\n\nSoon it became apparent that they desired to cross that glittering\nexpanse of water, but evidently knew not how to accomplish it.\n\nNicomar, tired of thinking of his own miseries, grew unconsciously\ninterested.\n\nThree of them twisted their silk pasohs up about their waists, and tried\nto wade the river; but it was too deep, and they returned, seemingly\nmuch perplexed.\n\nThen they consulted together; whereupon one among them--evidently\nagainst the desire of his companions, as their gestures betokened--took\nthe rope of his bullock between his teeth, and diving into the river,\nwith a good imitation of swimming reached the other side.\n\nHis fellows watched the performance with open-eyed wonder, but could\nnot be induced to follow his example.\n\nNicomar, looking on, thought that the young man must have a mind full of\nresource, and so determined to seek him and consult with him. He could\nnot have told what was exactly the impulse that urged him to this\ncourse, but he rose, and staggering a little because he was faint, made\nhis way to the river bank.\n\nThe young fellow leant a very interested and attentive ear to the\nstrange story that Nicomar told to him. When he had finished he took him\nto his hut and gave him a meal of rice, then bade him go over the tale\nonce more in all its details.\n\nWhereupon he asked at the conclusion--\n\n\"If I, poor and ignorant, satisfy the King that his command can be\nperformed, what will you give unto me?\"\n\nNicomar, trembling with joy and incredulity, promised him one half of\nwhat he had and the hand of his daughter in marriage.\n\nThen the Burman said--\n\n\"To-morrow we will seek the King.\" More he would not say, but sat in the\ndusky gloom of the coming evening, smoking.\n\nNicomar, with the great weight of his troubles somewhat lightened, slept\nheavily.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the morning of the fourteenth day Nicomar prostrated himself before\nhis master.\n\n\"Well,\" asked the King, \"come you to claim your reward?\"\n\nThe Indian bowed his head in grave deferential assent.\n\n\"And so you have obeyed my order?\"\n\n\"I but wait for your Majesty to perform your part first, then I will\nwithout delay do my share.\"\n\nThe King hastened to ask the meaning of such an answer.\n\n\"Your Majesty commanded me,\" replied the Indian, \"to fill up the sea\nwith milk, which I am quite ready to do; but your Majesty did not\ncommand me to take the water from the ocean, and until that is done it\nis impossible to fill it anew. If your Majesty,\" continued Nicomar,\n\"will but dispose of the water----.\" Then he paused timidly, waiting the\nKing's response. He had done as the Burman had instructed him, and he\nfeared the result.\n\nFor a long while there was silence, and those round about trembled with\napprehension, for they guessed not in what wise their master would take\nsuch a reply.\n\nAt last he smiled, for although he had many grave faults, he was not\nunkindly or averse to owning himself baffled.\n\nThen he said--\n\n\"Nicomar, thou art cleverer than I thought.\"\n\nAt which words hearts that had stood still from fear beat once more.\n\n\"The sea exists,\" said his Majesty, after a pause, looking round on his\nCourt, \"as it existed before we were, as it will exist when we have all\npassed away and our names have been forgotten.\"\n\n\n  UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:\n\n\nItalics shown with underscores, _like this_.\n\nSmall caps capitalized LIKE THIS.\n\nThe following misprints have been corrected:\n\n  p. 69 repeated \"in a\" corrected.\n\n  p. 85 comma added after \"who was the father of King Theebaw\"\n\n  p. 100 \"seleced\" changed to \"selected\"\n\n  p. 119 \"him\" appended to last word of \"All gifts and graces had been\n         showered upon;\"\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Told on the Pagoda: Tales of Burmah","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":15016}