{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_37002/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_37002","id":"gutenberg_37002","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37002","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Legends -- India","Tales -- India"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                            TALES OF THE SUN\n\n                                   Or\n\n                      Folklore of Southern India.\n\n\n\n                              Collected by\n\n                         MRS. HOWARD KINGSCOTE\n\n                                  and\n\n                         PANDIT NATESA SASTRI.\n\n\n\n                                London:\n                  W. H. Allen & Co. 13 Waterloo Place,\n                            and at Calcutta.\n\n                                 1890.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn offering these few Indian tales to the public, I cannot refrain from\nadding a few words at the beginning to express to Pandit Natesa Sastri\nmy gratitude for the great assistance he has given me in collecting\nthem, assistance without which they would never have seen the light in\nthe shape of a complete volume. When I began writing down these tales,\nmy only means of collecting them was through my native servants, who\nused to get them from the old women in the bazaars; but the fables\nthey brought me were as full of corruptions and foreign adaptions as\nthe miscellaneous ingredients that find their way into a dish of their\nown curry and rice, and had it not been for Mr. Sastri's timely aid, my\nsmall work would have gone forth to the world laden with inaccuracies.\n\nMr. Sastri not only corrected the errors of my own tales, but allowed\nme to add to them many that he had himself collected, and that had\nalready been published, either in small volumes or in numbers of\nThe Indian Antiquary. For this reason I have left several notes which\nMr. Cowper Temple, Mr. Clowston, and others had added to the tales that\nhad already been printed, as they were too valuable to dispense with,\nand may be of service to students of folklore. In conclusion, I would\ncrave the indulgence of my readers with regard to the style in which\nthe tales are written, which has been left as nearly as possible in the\nform of a literal translation, in order to lend the Stories a \"couleur\nlocale,\" which is characteristic of the country they spring from.\n\n\nG. K.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n    Chapter                                                    Page\n\n    I.      The Three Deaf Men                                    1\n    II.     Why Brahmans cannot eat in the Dark                   5\n    III.    The Soothsayer's Son                                 11\n    IV.     Ranavirasing                                         36\n    V.      Charity alone Conquers                               65\n    VI.     Mr. Won't Give and Mr. Won't Leave                   86\n    VII.    Mr. Mighty-of-his-Mouth                              93\n    VIII.   The Mother-in-Law became an Ass                     102\n    IX.     The Story of Appayya                                107\n    X.      The Brahmin Girl that Married a Tiger               119\n    XI.     The Good Husband and the Bad Wife                   131\n    XII.    The Good Wife and the Bad Husband                   135\n    XIII.   The Lost Camel                                      140\n            The Three Calamities                                143\n            The Honest but Rash Hunter                          155\n            The Brahman's Wife and the Mungoose                 162\n            The Faithless Wife and the Ungrateful Blind Man     165\n            The Wonderful Mango Fruit                           171\n            The Poisoned Food                                   179\n            Eating up the Protector                             184\n    XIV.    The Monkey with the Tom-Tom                         187\n    XV.     Pride goeth before a Fall                           190\n    XVI.    Good will grow out of Good                          194\n    XVII.   Light makes Prosperity                              202\n    XVIII.  Chandralekha and the Eight Robbers                  210\n    XIX.    The Conquest of Fate                                230\n    XX.     The Brahman Priest who became an Amildar            248\n    XXI.    The Gardener's Cunning Wife                         257\n    XXII.   Keep it for the Beggar                              262\n    XXIII.  Good Luck to the Lucky One                          267\n    XXIV.   Retaliation                                         274\n    XXV.    The Beggar and the Five Muffins                     280\n    XXVI.   The Brahmarakshas and the Hair                      285\n            Notes                                               290\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nIt has often struck all lovers of Folklore and National Legends with\nwonder, that so many countries should have reproduced in different\nimagery and language the same tales. Persia, Arabia, and India give\nus the same fables as Italy, France, Norway, and Iceland, except\nfor slight variations principally arising from difference of custom,\ndistance of time, idiom and nationality.\n\nAble writers have explained this to us by a theory worthy of\nconsideration, and admirable in its origin, but nevertheless wholly\ntheir own. They would have us believe that a certain group of\ntales belonged to a certain nation, and that through emigration and\nimmigration, through wars and dispersions, these same tales have been\ncarried backwards and forwards and dragged from country to country\nborrowing the language and peculiarities of the lands they passed\nthrough, just as the seed of some rare plant is borne on the breeze\nand bears fruit coarse or more refined according to the soil in which\nit at last takes root.\n\nIn Germany we have Goedeck, Koehler, Sichecht, and a host of others who\ntell us that these tales are Oriental, and that all fable originates\nin the East, others again that they are transmitted to us by the\nsame channel as the Aryan languages from Aryan tradition. I cannot\nsee why one nation or one country alone should have the intelligence\nof producing fables which as a rule are next to religion in their\nteaching and intentions. If proverbs are the wisdom of nations, what\nare fables and legends but developed proverbs. What is the meaning of\nfable? It means an intent to convey moral instruction in a narrative\nin which the characters are represented by birds, beasts, or fishes;\nand often plants.\n\nPractically a parable is the same thing, and folklore and fairy-tales\nare the attempts of intelligent people to inculcate in their children\nor other ignorant people the great truths of religion or wisdom, by\nmeans of word-pictures that would bring these truths within the easy\ngrasp of undeveloped minds, it is the old repeated tale? The Struggle\nbetween Right and Wrong. \"Faust and Marguerite.\" The Wicked Punished,\nThe Virtuous Rewarded.\n\nDisguise them as you will, there are certain tendons which run\nthrough the world from age to age; cords which no human hand has yet\nsevered--which no decree of God's has changed--these are love and\ndeath, hate and vengeance, virtue and vice, right and wrong, suffering\nand joy; and as long as there is a world, as long as children are\nborn, parents will invent fables with which to bring these facts\nbefore their offsprings' eyes in an intelligible manner.\n\nIn the fables of the East, and especially of India, there is one\npeculiarity, namely, that craft and cunning are more generally\nrewarded than virtue, and stupidity condemned. This is the national\ncharacteristic. The tales of Southern India are as varied as any\nothers, either Eastern or European. Magic and supernatural phenomena\nplay a great part, but are usually assisted by the powers of the\ngods. This is again a national Hindoo characteristic. The Hindoo\nwould shrink from any undertaking that is not under the patronage of\nthe gods; yet here is a very noticeable feature, namely, that the\ndivinities are treated as entirely secondary in power, interwoven\nonly into a man's daily affairs as a sort of backbone or support in\ntime of need, but to be despised and trampled upon at other times with\nimpunity. This is a natural feature in a nation which has a deity to\nrepresent every vice and sin, and lends a certain character to the\ntales of Southern India different to the folklore of other countries.\n\nProbably further research will lay bare many still hidden treasures\nof Hindoo folklore; but this small collection of tales will doubtless\nsuffice to throw light on Indian tradition, and to bring forward the\nnatural peculiarities of the Hindoos as well as the assimilation of\nthe folklore of different nations, an assimilation which I maintain\nresults from the teaching propensities of each country and not from\nappropriation.\n\n\n    Georgiana Kingscote.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFOLKLORE IN SOUTHERN INDIA.\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE STORY OF THE THREE DEAF MEN.\n\n\nWhen any awkward blunder occurs from a person acting under a mistaken\nnotion, there is a common proverb in Tamil to the effect that the\nmatter ended like the story of the three deaf men--(Muchchevidan\nkadaiyay mudindadu). The following is the story told to explain\nthe allusion:--\n\nIn a remote village there lived a husband and wife. Both of them\nwere quite deaf. They had made this household arrangement, namely,\nto cook cabbage with tamarind and soup without tamarind one day, and\ncabbage without tamarind and soup with tamarind on the other. Thus\non every alternate day the same dishes were repeated. One day, when\ntaking his meal, the husband found the tamarind cabbage so very tasty\nthat he wanted to have it also next day, and gave instructions to\nthat effect. The deaf wife did not understand the order. According to\nthe established rule she cooked cabbage without tamarind next day. The\nhusband, when he sat down to his meal, found his order disregarded and,\nbeing enraged thereat, threw the cabbage against the wall, and went\nout in a rage. The wife ate her fill, and prepared tamarind cabbage\nfor her husband.\n\nThe husband went out, and sat down in a place where three roads\ncrossed, to calm down his anger. At that time a shepherd happened to\npass that way. He had lately lost a good cow and calf of his, and had\nbeen seeking them for some days. When he saw the deaf man sitting by\nthe way, he took him for a soothsayer, and asked him to find out by\nhis knowledge of Josyam [1] where the cow was likely to be found. The\nherdsman, too, was very deaf; and the man, without hearing what he\nwas saying, abused him, and wished to be left undisturbed. In abusing\nhim the husband stretched out his hand, pointing to the shepherd's\nface. This pointing the shepherd understood to indicate the direction\nwhere the lost cow and calf would be found. Thus thinking the poor\nshepherd went on in that direction, promising to present the soothsayer\nwith the calf if he found it there with the cow. To his joy, and\nby mere chance, he found them. His delight knew no bounds. \"That is\na capital soothsayer. Surely I must present him with the calf.\" So\nthought he to himself, and returned with them to the deaf man, and,\npointing to the calf, requested him to accept it.\n\nNow it unfortunately happened that the calf's tail was broken and\ncrooked. The man thought the herdsman was blaming him unreasonably for\nhaving broken the calf's tail, while he knew nothing about it, and so,\nby a waive of his hand, denied the charge. This the shepherd mistook\nfor a refusal of the calf, and a demand for the cow. The shepherd said,\n\"How very greedy you are! I promised you only the calf, and not the\ncow.\" The husband said, \"Never; I know nothing of either your cow\nor calf. I never broke the calf's tail. Some other must have done\nit.\" Thus they quarrelled, without understanding each other, for a\nlong time, when a third party happened to pass by. Understanding the\ncause of the dispute, and, desiring to profit by their stupidity, he\ninterfered, and said in a loud voice, and yet so as not to be heard\nby the deaf husband, \"Well, shepherd, you had better go away with\nthe cow. These soothsayers are always greedy. Leave the calf with\nme, and I shall make him accept it.\" The shepherd, much pleased to\nhave secured the cow, walked home, leaving the calf with the third\nperson. When the shepherd had gone, the passenger said to the deaf\nman, \"You see how very unlawful it is for the shepherd to charge you\nwith an offence which you never committed. It is always the case with\nshepherds. They are the biggest fools in the world! But never mind, so\nlong as you have a friend in me. I shall somehow explain to him your\ninnocence, and restore the calf to him.\" The husband, much pleased,\nran home to escape from the consequences of supposed guilt. At the\nexpense of the stupidity and deafness of both, the third traveller\nwalked home with the calf.\n\nThe husband, on his return, sat down to his dinner, and his wife served\nhim the tamarind cabbage. He happened to put his finger to the place\nwhere the cabbage without tamarind had previously been served on the\nleaf. On applying it to his mouth, he found it so very sweet that he\ndemanded that dish again. The wife replied to him that she had already\nemptied the pan. \"Then at least bring me the cabbage that is sticking\nto the saucepan,\" said the husband; and the wife did accordingly.\n\nHere ends the story. The latter portion is also said to be the\nexplanation of a proverb that is prevalent in Tamil,--\"Sevuru kiraiyai\nvalichchu podudi sunaiketta muli,\" meaning, \"O thou feelingless\ndeaf woman, give me at least the cabbage that is sticking to the\nsaucepan.\" This proverb is applied to stubborn wives, who will\nhave their own way, and do not obey their husbands submissively in\nunrefined society.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nWHY BRAHMANS CANNOT EAT IN THE DARK.\n\n\nAmong Hindus, especially among Brahmans of the Madras Presidency--and I\nnow see from personal observation that it is the same in the Bombay\nPresidency also--there is a custom, while taking their meals,\nof leaving their food uneaten when it so happens that from any\ncause the light is blown out. Of course this could occur only in the\nnight-time. Such mishaps now-a-days take place only in poor families,\nsitting down to supper with a single light. Hence the following story,\ntold as the origin of this custom, is beginning to be forgotten. It\nruns as follows:--\n\nIn a certain village there lived a Brahman who had an only\ndaughter. She was deeply read in Sanskrit, and was of the most\ncharming beauty. He procured a husband for her as deeply read as\nherself. The betrothal had already taken place; the muhurta or\nauspicious time for her marriage was fixed at the tenth ghatika [2]\nof that night. On that very evening the son-in-law went to a tank\nto perform his Sandhya vandana or evening prayers. It swarmed with\ncrocodiles. People never went near it. The son-in-law, being quite\nnew to the village, entered the tank without knowing anything of\nthe danger. Unfortunately, there was none near to warn him. He had\nset his foot in the water when a crocodile caught him by the leg,\nand began to drag him into the water. That very night was fixed for\nhis nuptials, and a crocodile was taking him to feast on his flesh. He\nwas extremely horrified at his position, and said humbly to his enemy,\n\"My friend crocodile! Listen to my words first, and then decide for\nyourself. A wife, the only daughter of an old Brahman, is waiting for\nme to-night. If you eat me now, you take me away without my seeing\nher, my father-in-law, and other relatives. Their hearts may break\nat the news of my death on the very day of the wedding. They may all\ncurse you. If, on the contrary, you leave me now, I shall go home,\nspeak to my wife and others about the sad calamity that has come over\nme, and after embracing and taking leave of her will come to you\nfor your supper at the fifteenth ghatika. Till then leave me.\" The\ncruel crocodile, though very fond of human flesh, and himself dying\nof hunger, spared him for a few ghatikas at his humble request. After\nextracting several oaths from him that he would return in accordance\nto his promise, the crocodile went into the water.\n\nThe son-in-law also went home. All his joy vanished; how could he be\nhappy after his promise to the crocodile. Still, to give no uneasiness\nto the aged parents of his wife, he underwent all the ceremonies of\nthe marriage. Only five more ghatikas remained for him to live in the\nworld, as he thought. He, in a few words, explained everything to his\nwife, and asked her permission to leave her. She showed no sign of\nsorrow, preached to him about the iron hand of fate, and that he must\nundergo what was written on his forehead. She most willingly gave him\npermission to go, and he returned to the tank even a ghatika earlier,\nand called the crocodile, who came and seized him.\n\nAt this moment a certain light glittered before the eyes of the\ncrocodile and vanished. It was a woman that did it. The wife, after\nconsoling her husband, and preaching to him about the supremacy of\nfate, had accompanied him unobserved with a lighted lamp concealed\nin a vessel. Just when the crocodile applied its teeth to the leg of\nher husband, she took the lamp out, flashed it before the crocodile's\neyes, and quenched it. Nor was it without its intended effect. The\ncrocodile left the husband to himself, and said, \"You had better go\nnow; I will never touch you after seeing a lamp extinguished when\nI began my meal to-day.\" The husband was astonished at the device\nof his wife, and still more at the faithful observance of a rule in\nan unreasonable beast. From that day it was fixed that men, who are\nstill more reasonable, should never eat when the lamp is blown out.\n\nAnother story is told. In a remote village there lived a poor woman,\nwho laboured from morning till night in different houses, and returned\nto her hut with two measures of rice. That quantity would serve\nfor ten ordinary persons. Being extremely poor, she used to keep no\nlamp, but cook her rice in the dark, only guided by the light of the\nfire. When she sat down for her meal even the light of the fire faded;\nso she had to eat in the dark. Though she used the full two measures of\nrice that she brought away every day, her hunger was never satisfied;\nshe was always in extreme want.\n\nNow it so happened that she had a younger sister, who was somewhat\nricher than herself. The younger came to see her elder sister. The\nformer never used to be without a light, and so asked her sister to\nbuy some oil that night and light a lamp. The elder was compelled by\nnecessity to do so; for that, she devoted a portion of her two measures\nof rice, and returned home with great uneasiness and perplexity of mind\nas to how less than two measures would furnish their supper that night,\nwhile full two measures were found insufficient on former occasions\nfor herself alone. The lamp was set for the first time in her house,\nand she cooked the remaining rice. The younger sister was astonished\nto see her using so much for two. The elder, thinking within herself\nthat the younger would soon see her mistake, cooked everything. Two\nleaves were spread, and they sat down to their supper. [3] Not even a\nfourth part of the rice in the pot was consumed, but already they were\nsatisfied. The younger sister laughed at the foolishness of her elder,\nwho now said, \"I do not know what magic you have in you. Every day I\ncook two measures of rice, and fast the whole night, without finding\nthem sufficient for myself. Now a fourth of less than two measures\nhas satiated both. Please explain the cause.\" The younger sister,\nwho was very intelligent herself, wanted to find out the cause, and\nasked next day if she might serve the meals without the lamp. Instead\nof eating she stretched out her hand and caught hold of a lock of\nhair. She asked the other at once to light the lamp, which, being\ndone, they found a devil sitting by their side. On being questioned\nhow he came there, he said that he was in the habit of going to every\none who ate without a lamp, and swallowing his meals fast without\nleaving him a morsel. The elder sister perceived her mistake, and used\na lamp from that day. The demon ceased to come. She had abundance\nfor herself and something to spare. So when the lamp is blown out,\ndevils are said to come and eat out of our leaves. Hence the custom\nof rising whenever such mishaps occur.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE SOOTHSAYER'S SON.\n\n                        Janmaprabhriti daridryam dashavarshani bandhanam\n                        Samudratire marenam kinchit bhogam bhavishyati.\n\n\nThus a Soothsayer when on his death-bed wrote the horoscope of his\nsecond son, and bequeathed it to him as his only property, leaving\nthe whole of his estate to his eldest son. The second son pondered\nover the horoscope, and fell into the following reflections:--\n\n\"Alas, am I born to this only in the world? The sayings of my father\nnever failed. I have seen them prove true to the last word while\nhe was living; and how has he fixed my horoscope! Janma parabhriti\ndaridryam! From my birth poverty! Nor is that my only fate. Dasa\nvarshani bandhanam: for ten years, imprisonment--a fate harder\nthan poverty; and what comes next? Samudratire maranam: death on the\nsea-shore; which means that I must die away from home, far from friends\nand relatives on a sea-coast. The misery has reached its extreme height\nhere. Now comes the funniest part of the horoscope, Kinchit bhogam\nbhavishyati--that I am to have some happiness afterwards! What this\nhappiness is, is an enigma to me: To die first, to be happy for some\ntime after! What happiness? Is it the happiness of this world? So it\nmust be. For however clever one may be, he cannot foretell what may\ntake place in the other world. Therefore it must be the happiness\nof this world; and how can that be possible after my death? It is\nimpossible. I think my father has only meant this as a consoling\nconclusion to the series of calamities that he has prophesied. Three\nportions of his prophecy must prove true; the fourth and last is a\nmere comforting statement to bear patiently the calamities enumerated,\nand never to prove true. Therefore let me go to Banaras, bathe in\nthe holy Ganga, wash away my sins, and prepare myself for my end. Let\nme avoid sea-coasts, lest death meet me there in accordance with my\nfather's words. Come imprisonment: I am prepared for it for ten years.\"\n\nThus thought he, and after all the funeral obsequies of his father were\nover, took leave of his elder brother, and started for Banaras. [4]\nHe went by the middle of the Dakhan, [5] avoiding both the coasts,\nand went on journeying and journeying for weeks and months, till at\nlast he reached the Vindhya mountains. While passing that desert he had\nto journey for a couple of days through a sandy plain, with no signs\nof life or vegetation. The little store of provision with which he\nwas provided for a couple of days, at last was exhausted. The chombu,\n[6] which he carried always full, replenishing it with the sweet water\nfrom the flowing rivulet or plenteous tank, he had exhausted in the\nheat of the desert. There was not a morsel in his hand to eat; nor\na drop of water to drink. Turn his eyes wherever he might he found a\nvast desert, out of which he saw no means of escape. Still he thought\nwithin himself, \"Surely my father's prophecy never proved untrue. I\nmust survive this calamity to find my death on some sea-coast.\" So\nthought he, and this thought gave him strength of mind to walk fast\nand try to find a drop of water somewhere to slake his dry throat. At\nlast he succeeded, or rather thought that he succeeded. Heaven threw\nin his way a ruined well. He thought that he could collect some water\nif he let down his chombu with the string that he always carried\nnoosed to the neck of it. Accordingly he let it down; it went some\nway and stopped, and the following words came from the well, \"Oh,\nrelieve me! I am the king of tigers, dying here of hunger. For the\nlast three days I have had nothing. Fortune has sent you here. If you\nassist me now you will find a sure help in me throughout your life. Do\nnot think that I am a beast of prey. When you have become my deliverer\nI can never touch you. Pray, kindly lift me up.\" Gangadhara, for that\nwas the name of the Soothsayer's second son, found himself in a very\nperplexing position. \"Shall I take him out or not? If I take him out\nhe may make me the first morsel of his hungry mouth. No; that he will\nnot do. For my father's prophecy never came untrue. I must die on a\nsea-coast and not by a tiger.\" Thus thinking, he asked the tiger king\nto hold tight to the vessel, which he accordingly did, and he lifted\nhim up slowly. The tiger reached the top of the well and felt himself\non safe ground. True to his word he did no harm to Gangadhara. On\nthe other hand, he walked round his patron three times, and standing\nbefore him, humbly spoke the following words:--\"My life-giver, my\nbenefactor! I shall never forget this day, when I regained my life\nthrough your kind hands. In return for this kind assistance I pledge\nmy oath to stand by you in all calamities. Whenever you are in any\ndifficulty just think of me. I am there with you ready to oblige\nyou by all the means that I can. To tell you briefly how I came in\nhere:--Three days ago I was roaming in yonder forest, when I saw a\ngoldsmith passing through it. I chased him. He, finding it impossible\nto escape my claws, jumped into this well, and is living to this\nmoment in the very bottom of it. I also jumped in, but found myself\nin the first storey; [7] he is on the last and fourth storey. In the\nsecond storey lives a serpent half-famished with hunger. In the third\nstorey lies a rat, similarly half-famished, and when you again begin\nto draw water these may request you first to release them. In the same\nway the goldsmith also may request. I tell you, as your bosom friend,\nnever assist that wretched man, though he is your relation as a human\nbeing. Goldsmiths are never to be trusted. You can place more faith\nin me, a tiger, though I feast sometimes upon men, in a serpent whose\nsting makes your blood cold the very next moment, or in a rat, which\ndoes a thousand pieces of mischief in your house. But never trust a\ngoldsmith. Do not release him; and if you do, you shall surely repent\nof it one day or other.\" Thus advising, the hungry tiger went away\nwithout waiting for an answer.\n\nGangadhara thought several times of the eloquent way in which the tiger\naddressed him, and admired his fluency of speech. His thirst was not\nquenched. So he let down his vessel again, which was now caught hold\nof by the serpent, who addressed him thus:--\"Oh my protector! Lift me\nup. I am the king of serpents, and the son of Adisesha, [8] who is now\npining away in agony for my disappearance. Release me now. I shall ever\nremain your servant, remember your assistance, and help you throughout\nlife in all possible ways. Oblige me: I am dying.\" Gangadhara, calling\nagain to mind the Samudratire maranam--death on the sea-shore--lifted\nhim up. He, like the tiger-king, walked round him thrice, and\nprostrating himself before him spoke thus:--\"Oh, my life-giver, my\nfather, for so I must call you, as you have given me another birth. I\nhave already told you that I am Adisesha's son, and that I am the king\nof serpents. I was three days ago basking myself in the morning sun,\nwhen I saw a rat running before me. I chased him. He fell into this\nwell. I followed him, but instead of falling on the third storey\nwhere he is now lying, I fell into the second. It was on the same\nevening that the goldsmith also fell down into the fourth storey,\nand the tiger whom you released just before me fell down into the\nfirst. What I have to tell you now is--do not relieve the goldsmith,\nthough you may release the rat. As a rule, goldsmiths are never to\nbe trusted. I am going away now to see my father. Whenever you are\nin any difficulty just think of me. I will be there by your side to\nassist you by all possible means. If, notwithstanding my repeated\nadvice, you happen to release the goldsmith, you shall suffer for\nit severely.\" So saying, the Nagaraja (serpent-king) glided away in\nzigzag movements, and was out of sight in a moment.\n\nThe poor son of the Soothsayer who was now almost dying of thirst,\nand was even led to think that the messengers of death were near\nhim, notwithstanding his firm belief in the words of his father\nlet down his vessel for a third time. The rat caught hold of it,\nand without discussing, he lifted up the poor animal at once. But\nit would not go away without showing its gratitude--\"Oh life of my\nlife! My benefactor! I am the king of rats. Whenever you are in any\ncalamity just think of me. I will come to you, and assist you. My\nkeen ears overheard all that the tiger-king and serpent-king told\nyou about the Svarnataskara [9] (gold-smith), who is in the fourth\nstorey. It is nothing but a sad truth that goldsmiths ought never\nto be trusted. Therefore never assist him as you have done to us\nall. And if you do, you shall feel it. I am hungry; let me go for the\npresent.\" Thus taking leave of his benefactor, the rat, too, ran away.\n\nGangadhara for a while thought upon the repeated advice given by the\nthree animals about releasing the goldsmith, \"What wrong would there be\nin my assisting him? Why should I not release him also?\" So thinking\nto himself, Gangadhara let down the vessel again. The goldsmith\ncaught hold of it, and demanded help. The Soothsayer's son had no\ntime to lose; he was himself dying of thirst. Therefore he lifted\nthe goldsmith up, who now began his story:--\"Stop for a while,\"\nsaid Gangadhara, and after quenching his thirst by letting down his\nvessel for the fifth time, still fearing that some one might remain\nin the well and demand his assistance, he listened to the goldsmith,\nwho began as follows:--\"My dear friend, my protector, what a deal of\nnonsense these brutes have been talking to you about me; I am glad you\nhave not followed their advice. I am just now dying of hunger. Permit\nme to go away. My name is Manikkasari. I live in the East main street\nof Ujjaini which is twenty kas [10] to the south of this place, and so\nlies on your way when you return from Banaras. Do not forget to come\nto me and receive my kind remembrances of your assistance, on your\nway back to your country.\" So saying the goldsmith took his leave,\nand Gangadhara also pursued his way north after the above adventures.\n\nHe reached Banaras, and lived there for more than ten years, spending\nhis time in bathing, prayers, and other religious ceremonies. He\nquite forgot the tiger, serpent, rat, and goldsmith. After ten years\nof religious life, thoughts of home and of his brother rushed into his\nmind. \"I have secured enough merit now by my religious observances. Let\nme return home.\" Thus thought Gangadhara within himself, and\nimmediately he was on his way back to his country. Remembering the\nprophecy of his father he returned by the same way by which he went to\nBanaras ten years before. While thus retracing his steps he reached\nthe ruined well where he had released the three brute kings and the\ngoldsmith. At once the old recollections rushed into his mind, and he\nthought of the tiger to test his fidelity. Only a moment passed, and\nthe tiger-king came running before him carrying a large crown in his\nmouth, the glitter of the diamonds of which for a time outshone even\nthe bright rays of the sun. He dropped the crown at his life-giver's\nfeet, and putting aside all his pride, humbled himself like a pet cat\nto the strokes of his protector, and began in the following words:--\"My\nlife-giver! How is it that you have forgotten me, your poor servant,\nfor such a long time? I am glad to find that I still occupy a corner\nin your mind. I can never forget the day when I owed my life to your\nlotus hands. I have several jewels with me of little value. This crown,\nbeing the best of all, I have brought here as a single ornament of\ngreat value, and hence easily portable and useful to you in your own\ncountry.\" Gangadhara looked at the crown, examined it over and over,\ncounted and recounted the gems, and thought within himself that he\nwould become the richest of men by separating the diamonds and gold,\nand selling them in his own country. He took leave of the tiger-king,\nand after his disappearance thought of the kings of serpents and rats,\nwho came in their turns with their presents, and after the usual\nformalities and exchange of words took their leave. Gangadhara was\nextremely delighted at the faithfulness with which the brute beasts\nbehaved themselves, and went on his way to the south. While going along\nhe spoke to himself thus:--\"These beasts have been so very faithful in\ntheir assistance. Much more, therefore, must Manikkasari be faithful. I\ndo not want anything from him now. If I take this crown with me as\nit is, it occupies much space in my bundle. It may also excite the\ncuriosity of some robbers on the way. I will go now to Ujjaini on my\nway, Manikkasari requested me to see him without failure on my return\njourney. I shall do so, and request him to have the crown melted,\nthe diamonds and gold separated. He must do that kindness at least\nfor me. I shall then roll up these diamonds and gold ball in my rags,\nand bend my way homewards.\" Thus thinking and thinking he reached\nUjjaini. At once he enquired for the house of his goldsmith friend,\nand found him without difficulty. Manikkasari was extremely delighted\nto find on his threshold him who ten years before, notwithstanding\nthe advice repeatedly given him by the sage-looking tiger, serpent,\nand rat, had relieved him from the pit of death. Gangadhara at once\nshowed him the crown that he received from the tiger-king, told him\nhow he got it, and requested his kind assistance to separate the\ngold and diamonds. Manikkasari agreed to do so, and meanwhile asked\nhis friend to rest himself for a while to have his bath and meals;\nand Gangadhara, who was very observant of his religious ceremonies,\nwent direct to the river to bathe.\n\nHow came a crown in the jaws of a tiger? It is not a difficult\nquestion to solve. A king must have furnished the table of the tiger\nfor a day or two. Had it not been for that, the tiger could not have\nhad a crown with him. Even so it was. The king of Ujjaini had a week\nbefore gone with all his hunters on a hunting expedition. All of a\nsudden a tiger--as we know now, the very tiger-king himself--started\nfrom the wood, seized the king, and vanished. The hunters returned\nand informed the prince about the sad calamity that had befallen his\nfather. They all saw the tiger carrying away the king. Yet such was\ntheir courage that they could not lift their weapons to bring to the\nprince the corpse at least of his father.\n\nWhen they informed the prince about the death of his father he\nwept and wailed, and gave notice that he would give half of his\nkingdom to any one who should bring him news about the murderer of\nhis father. The prince did not at all believe that his father was\ndevoured by the tiger. His belief was that some hunters, coveting\nthe ornaments on the king's person, had murdered him. Hence he had\nissued the notice. The goldsmith knew full well that it was a tiger\nthat killed the king, and not any hunter's hands, since he had heard\nfrom Gangadhara about how he obtained the crown. Still, ambition\nto get half the kingdom prevailed, and he resolved with himself to\nmake over Gangadhara as the king's murderer. The crown was lying\non the floor where Gangadhara left it with his full confidence in\nManikkasari. Before his protector's return the goldsmith, hiding\nthe crown under his garments, flew to the palace. He went before the\nprince and informed him that the assassin was caught, and placed the\ncrown before him. The prince took it into his hands, examined it,\nand at once gave half the kingdom to Manikkasari, and then enquired\nabout the murderer. \"He is bathing in the river, and is of such and\nsuch appearance,\" was the reply. At once four armed soldiers fly to\nthe river, and bound the poor Brahman hand and foot, he sitting in\nmeditation the while, without any knowledge of the fate that hung\nover him. They brought Gangadhara to the presence of the prince,\nwho turned his face away from the murderer or supposed murderer,\nand asked his soldiers to throw him into the karagriham. [11] In a\nminute, without knowing the cause, the poor Brahman found himself in\nthe dark caves of the karagriham.\n\nIn old times the karagriham answered the purposes of the modern\njail. It was a dark cellar underground, built with strong stone walls,\ninto which any criminal guilty of a capital offence was ushered to\nbreathe his last there without food and drink. Such was the cellar\ninto which Gangadhara was thrust. In a few hours after he left the\ngoldsmith he found himself inside a dark cell stinking with human\nbodies, dying and dead. What were his thoughts when he reached that\nplace? \"It is the goldsmith that has brought me to this wretched\nstate; and, as for the prince: Why should he not enquire as to how I\nobtained the crown? It is of no use to accuse either the goldsmith\nor the prince now. We are all the children of fate. We must obey\nher commands. Dasavarshani Bandhanam. This is but the first day of\nmy father's prophecy. So far his statement is true. But how am I\ngoing to pass ten years here? Perhaps without anything to sustain\nlife I may drag on my existence for a day or two. But how pass ten\nyears? That cannot be, and I must die. Before death comes let me\nthink of my faithful brute friends.\"\n\nSo pondered Gangadhara in the dark cell underground, and at that\nmoment thought of his three friends. The tiger-king, serpent-king,\nand rat-king assembled at once with their armies at a garden near\nthe karagriham, and for a while did not know what to do. A common\ncause--how to reach their protector, who was now in the dark cell\nunderneath--united them all. They held their council, and decided to\nmake an underground passage from the inside of a ruined well to the\nkaragriham. The rat raja issued an order at once to that effect to\nhis army. They, with their nimble teeth, bored the ground a long way\nto the walls of the prison. After reaching it they found that their\nteeth could not work on the hard stones. The bandicoots were then\nspecially ordered for the business; they, with their hard teeth,\nmade a small slit in the wall for a rat to pass and repass without\ndifficulty. Thus a passage was effected.\n\nThe rat raja entered first to condole with his protector on his\nmisfortune. The king of the tigers sent word through the snake-king\nthat he sympathised most sincerely with his sorrow, and that he was\nready to render all help for his deliverance. He suggested a means\nfor his escape also. The serpent raja went in, and gave Gangadhara\nhopes of delivery. The rat-king undertook to supply his protector\nwith provisions. \"Whatever sweetmeats or bread are prepared in any\nhouse, one and all of you must try to bring whatever you can to our\nbenefactor. Whatever clothes you find hanging in a house, cut down, dip\nthe pieces in water, and bring the wet bits to our benefactor. He will\nsqueeze them and gather water for drink! and the bread and sweetmeats\nshall form his food.\" Having issued these orders the king of the rats,\ntook leave of Gangadhara. They, in obedience to their king's order,\ncontinued to supply provisions and water.\n\nThe Nagaraja said:--\"I sincerely condole with you in your calamity;\nthe tiger-king also fully sympathises with you, and wants me to tell\nyou so, as he cannot drag his huge body here as we have done with our\nsmall ones. The king of the rats has promised to do his best to provide\nyou with food. We would now do what we can for your release. From this\nday we shall issue orders to our armies to oppress all the subjects\nof this kingdom. The percentage of death by snake-bite and tigers\nshall increase from this day. And day by day it shall continue to\nincrease till your release. After eating what the rats bring you, you\nhad better take your seat near the entrance of the karagriham. Owing\nto the many sudden deaths that will occur some people that walk over\nthe prison may say, 'How wicked the king has become. Were it not for\nhis wickedness so many dreadful deaths by snake-bites could never\noccur.' Whenever you hear people speaking so, you had better bawl out\nso as to be heard by them, 'The wretched prince imprisoned me on the\nfalse charge of having killed his father, while it was a tiger that\nkilled him. From that day these calamities have broken out in his\ndominions. If I were released I would save all by my powers of healing\npoisonous wounds and by incantations.' Some one may report this to\nthe king, and if he knows it, you will obtain your liberty.\" Thus\ncomforting his protector in trouble, he advised him to pluck up\ncourage, and took leave of him. From that day tigers and serpents,\nacting under the special orders of their kings, united in killing as\nmany persons and cattle as possible. Every day people were carried\naway by tigers or bitten by serpents. This havoc continued. Gangadhara\nwent on roaring as loud he could that he would save those lives, had\nhe only his liberty. Few heard him. The few that did took his words\nfor the voice of a ghost. \"How could he manage to live without food\nand drink for so long a time?\" said the persons walking over his head\nto each other. Thus passed months and years. Gangadhara sat in the\ndark cellar, without the sun's light falling upon him, and feasted\nupon the bread-crumbs and sweetmeats that the rats so kindly supplied\nhim with. These circumstances had completely changed his body. He\nhad become a red, stout, huge, unwieldy lump of flesh. Thus passed\nfull ten years, as prophesied in the horoscope--Dasavarshani Bandhanam.\n\nTen complete years rolled away in close imprisonment. On the last\nevening of the tenth year one of the serpents got into the bed-chamber\nof the princess and sucked her life. She breathed her last. She was the\nonly daughter of the king. He had no other issue--son or daughter. His\nonly hope was in her; and she was snatched away by a cruel and untimely\ndeath. The king at once sent for all the snake-bite curers. He promised\nhalf his kingdom and his daughter's hand to him who would restore her\nto life. Now it was that a servant of the king, who had several times\noverheard Gangadhara's cries, reported the matter to him. The king\nat once ordered the cell to be examined. There was the man sitting in\nit. How has he managed to live so long in the cell? Some whispered that\nhe must be a divine being. Some concluded that he must surely win the\nhand of the princess by restoring her to life. Thus they discussed,\nand the discussions brought Gangadhara to the king.\n\nThe king no sooner saw Gangadhara than he fell on the ground. He\nwas struck by the majesty and grandeur of his person. His ten years'\nimprisonment in the deep cell underground had given a sort of lustre\nto his body, which was not to be met with in ordinary persons. His\nhair had first to be cut before his face could be seen. The king\nbegged forgiveness for his former fault, and requested him to revive\nhis daughter.\n\n\"Bring me in a muhurta [12] all the corpses of men and cattle,\ndying and dead, that remain unburnt or unburied within the range of\nyour dominions; I shall revive them all,\" were the only words that\nGangadhara spoke. After it he closed his lips as if in deep meditation,\nwhich commanded more respect than ever.\n\nCart-loads of corpses of men and cattle began to come in every\nminute. Even graves, it is said, were broken open, and corpses buried a\nday or two before were taken out and sent for the revival. As soon as\nall were ready, Gangadhara took a vessel full of water and sprinkled\nit over them all, thinking only of his Nagaraja and Vyaghraraja. [13]\nAll rose up as if from deep slumber, and went to their respective\nhomes. The princess, too, was restored to life. The joy of the king\nknew no bounds. He cursed the day on which he imprisoned him, blamed\nhimself for having believed the word of a goldsmith, and offered him\nthe hand of his daughter and the whole kingdom, instead of half as he\npromised. Gangadhara would not accept anything. The king requested\nhim to put a stop for ever to these calamities. He agreed to do so,\nand asked the king to assemble all his subjects in a wood near the\ntown. \"I shall there call in all the tigers and serpents and give them\na general order.\" So said Gangadhara, and the king accordingly gave\nthe order. In a couple of ghatikas [14] the wood near Ujjaini was\nfull of people, who assembled to witness the authority of man over\nsuch enemies of human beings as tigers and serpents. \"He is no man;\nbe sure of that. How could he have managed to live for ten years\nwithout food and drink? He is surely a god.\" Thus speculated the mob.\n\nWhen the whole town was assembled, just at the dusk of evening,\nGangadhara sat dumb for a moment, and thought upon the Vyaghraraja\nand Nagaraja, who came running with all their armies. People began\nto take to their heels at the sight of tigers. Gangadhara assured\nthem of safety, and stopped them.\n\nThe grey light of the evening, the pumpkin colour of Gangadhara, the\nholy ashes scattered lavishly over his body, the tigers and snakes\nhumbling themselves at his feet, gave him the true majesty of the god\nGangadhara. [15] For who else by a single word could thus command vast\narmies of tigers and serpents, said some among the people. \"Care not\nfor it; it may be by magic. That is not a great thing. That he revived\ncart-loads of corpses makes him surely Gangadhara,\" said others. The\nscene produced a very great effect upon the minds of the mob.\n\n\"Why should you, my children, thus trouble these poor subjects of\nUjjaini? Reply to me, and henceforth desist from your ravages.\" Thus\nsaid the Soothsayer's son, and the following reply came from the\nking of the tigers; \"Why should this base king imprison your honour,\nbelieving the mere word of a goldsmith that your honour killed his\nfather? All the hunters told him that his father was carried away by\na tiger. I was the messenger of death sent to deal the blow on his\nneck. I did it, and gave the crown to your honour. The prince makes no\nenquiry, and at once imprisons your honour. How can we expect justice\nfrom such a stupid king as that? Unless he adopts a better standard\nof justice we will go on with our destruction.\"\n\nThe king heard, cursed the day on which he believed in the word of\na goldsmith, beat his head, tore his hair, wept and wailed for his\ncrime, asked a thousand pardons, and swore to rule in a just way from\nthat day. The serpent-king and tiger-king also promised to observe\ntheir oath as long as justice prevailed, and took their leave. The\ngoldsmith fled for his life. He was caught by the soldiers of the\nking, and was pardoned by the generous Gangadhara, whose voice now\nreigned supreme. All returned to their homes.\n\nThe king again pressed Gangadhara to accept the hand of his\ndaughter. He agreed to do so, not then, but some time afterwards. He\nwished to go and see his elder brother first, and then to return and\nmarry the princess. The king agreed; and Gangadhara left the city\nthat very day on his way home.\n\nIt so happened that unwittingly he took a wrong road, and had to pass\nnear a sea coast. His elder brother was also on his way up to Banaras\nby that very same route. They met and recognised each other, even at\na distance. They flew into each other's arms. Both remained still for\na time almost unconscious with joy. The emotion of pleasure (ananda)\nwas so great, especially in Gangadhara, that it proved dangerous to\nhis life. In a word, he died of joy.\n\nThe sorrow of the elder brother could better be imagined than\ndescribed. He saw again his lost brother, after having given up,\nas it were, all hopes of meeting him. He had not even asked him his\nadventures. That he should be snatched away by the cruel hand of\ndeath seemed unbearable to him. He wept and wailed, took the corpse\non his lap, sat under a tree, and wetted it with tears. But there\nwas no hope of his dead brother coming to life again.\n\nThe elder brother was a devout worshipper of Ganapati. [16] That was\na Friday, a day very sacred to that god. The elder brother took the\ncorpse to the nearest Ganesa [17] temple and called upon him. The\ngod came, and asked him what he wanted. \"My poor brother is dead and\ngone; and this is his corpse. Kindly keep it in your charge till I\nfinish worshipping you. If I leave it anywhere else the devils may\nsnatch it away when I am absent worshipping you; after finishing\nyour puja [18] I shall burn him.\" Thus said the elder brother, and,\ngiving the corpse to the god Ganesa, he went to prepare himself for\nthat deity's ceremonials. Ganesa made over the corpse to his Ganas,\n[19] asking them to watch over it carefully.\n\nSo a spoiled child receives a fruit from its father, who, when he gives\nit the fruit asks the child to keep it safe. The child thinks within\nitself, \"My father will forgive me if I eat a portion of it.\" So\nsaying it eats a portion, and when it finds it so sweet, it eats\nthe whole, saying, \"Come what will, what can father do, after all,\nif I eat it? Perhaps give me a stroke or two on the back. Perhaps he\nmay forgive me.\" In the same way these Ganas of Ganapati first ate\na portion of the corpse, and when they found it sweet, for we know\nit was crammed up with the sweetmeats of the kind rats, devoured the\nwhole, and began consulting about the best excuse possible to offer\nto their master.\n\nThe elder brother, after finishing the puja, demanded his brother's\ncorpse of the god. The god called his Ganas who came to the front\nblinking, and fearing the anger of their master. The god was greatly\nenraged. The elder brother was very angry. When the corpse was not\nforthcoming he cuttingly remarked, \"Is this, after all, the return\nfor my deep belief in you? You are unable even to return my brother's\ncorpse.\" Ganesa was much ashamed at the remark, and at the uneasiness\nthat he had caused to his worshipper. So he, by his divine power,\ngave him a living Gangadhara instead of the dead corpse. Thus was\nthe second son of the Soothsayer restored to life.\n\nThe brothers had a long talk about each other's adventures. They\nboth went to Ujjaini, where Gangadhara married the princess, and\nsucceeded to the throne of that kingdom. He reigned for a long time,\nconferring several benefits upon his brother. How is the horoscope to\nbe interpreted? A special synod of Soothsayers was held. A thousand\nemendations were suggested. Gangadhara would not accept them. At\nlast one Soothsayer cut the knot by stopping at a different place\nin reading, \"Samudra tire maranam kinchit.\" \"On the sea-shore death\nfor some time. Then \"Bhogam bhavishyati.\" \"There shall be happiness\nfor the person concerned.\" Thus the passage was interpreted. \"Yes;\nmy father's words never went wrong,\" said Gangadhara. The three brute\nkings continued their visits often to the Soothsayer's son, the then\nking of Ujjaini. Even the faithless goldsmith became a frequent visitor\nat the palace, and a receiver of several benefits from royal hands.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nRANAVIRASING.\n\n\nOnce upon a time in the town of Vanjaimanagar, [20] there ruled a\nking, named Sivachar. He was a most just king, and ruled so well that\nno stone thrown up fell down, no crow pecked at the new drawn milk,\nthe lion and the bull drank water from the same pond, and peace and\nprosperity reigned throughout the kingdom. Notwithstanding all these\nblessings, care always sat on his face. The fruit which makes life in\nthis world sweet, the redeemer to him from the horrible Naraka of Put,\n[21] a Putra, [22] he had not. His days and nights he spent in praying\nthat God might bless him with a son. Wherever he saw pipal trees\n(Asvattharajas), [23] he ordered Brahmans to surround them. Whatever\nmedicines the doctors recommended he was ever ready to swallow,\nhowever bitter they might be. \"Eat even dung to get a son,\" says the\nproverb, and accordingly he did every thing to secure that happiness,\nbut all in vain.\n\nSivachar had a minister, named Kharavadana, a most wicked tyrant as\never lived in the world. The thought that the king was without an\nheir, and had no hopes of one, awakened in his mind the ambition\nof securing for his family the throne of Vanjaimanagar. Sivachar\nknew this well. But what could he do. His only care was to send up\nadditional prayers to frustrate the thoughts of Kharavadana, and to\nsecure for himself a good position after death, without undergoing\nthe severe torments of the Put-hell.\n\nAt last fortune favoured Sivachar; for what religious man fails to\nsecure his desire? The king in his sixtieth year had a son. His joy\ncan better be imagined than described. Lacs (Lakhs) of Brahmans\nwere fed in honour of the son-birth festival, Putrotsavam, as it\nis technically called. The state prisons were opened, and all the\nprisoners let loose. Thousands of kine and innumerable acres of\nland were offered to Brahmans, and every kind of charity was duly\npractised. The ten days of the Sutikagrihavasa (confinement) were\nover. On the eleventh day the father saw his much longed-for son's\nface, and read on the lines of it great prosperity, learning, valour,\ngoodness and every excellent quality.\n\nThe cradle-swinging, naming, and other ceremonies were duly performed,\nand the prince grew up under the great care generally shown to a king's\nson. His name the elders fixed as Sundara. [24] The minister whose\nonly wish was to get the throne for his family, was much disappointed\nat the birth of a son to his master. The whole kingdom rejoiced at\nthe event, and the minister was the only man who was sorry. When one\nis disappointed in his high hopes and expectations, he devises plans\nto take away the barrier that lies in his way. Even so, Kharavadana\nsaid to himself, \"Let me see how affairs progress. The old king is\nnear his grave. When he dies, leaving a son in his minority I myself\nmust be his regent for a time. Shall I not then have opportunity\nenough of securing for ever for myself and my family the throne of\nVanjaimanagar?\" So thought he within himself, and was quiet for a time.\n\nSivachar, who was a very shrewd man, on several occasions, read the\nminister's mind, and knew very well how his intentions stood. \"This\ncruel devil may murder my only son. I care not if he usurps the\nthrone. What I fear is, that he may murder him. Na daivam Sankarat\nparam. No other god but Sankara. And he must have his own way. If it\nis so written on the prince's head I cannot avoid it.\" Thus sighed\nSivachar, and this sorrow (soka), made him leaner day by day. Just\nten years after the birth of Sundara, the king fell ill and lay on\nhis deathbed.\n\nSivachar had a servant, named Ranavirasing, whom he had all along\nobserved to be very honest and faithful. That servant the king called\nto his side, and asking all others except Sundara, who was weeping\nby his father's pillow, to leave the room, addressed him thus:--\"My\ndear Ranavirasing! I have only a few ghatikas before me. Listen to my\nwords, and act accordingly. There is one God above us all, who will\npunish or reward us according to our bad or good acts. If by avarice\nor greed of money you ever play false to the trust that I am going to\nrepose in you that God will surely punish you. It is not unknown to\nyou what great difficulties I had in getting this only son, Sundara;\nhow many temples I built, how many Brahmans I fed, how many religious\nausterities I underwent, &c., &c.. God after all gave me a son.\" Here\nhis sorrow prevented him from proceeding further, and he began to cry\naloud, and shed tears. \"Do not weep on my account, father. We cannot\nwipe off what was written on our heads. We must undergo happiness or\nmisery as is thereon written by Brahma, cried the prince. Ranavirasing\nwas melted at the sight. He took the boy on his lap, and with his\nown upper garment wiped his eyes. The old man continued, \"Thus you,\nmy faithful Ranavirasing, know everything. I now wish that I had\nnot performed all that I did to get this son. For when I die at this\nmoment, who is there to take care of him for the next? Kharavadana may\ndevise plan after plan to remove my boy from this world, and secure\nthe kingdom for himself. My only hope is in you. I give him into your\nhands.\" Here the aged father, notwithstanding his illness, rose up a\nlittle from his bed, took hold of his son's hand, and after kissing\nit for the last time, placed it in Ranavirasing's. \"Care not if he\ndoes not get the kingdom. If you only preserve him from the wicked\nhands of the minister whom I have all along seen to be covetous of\nthe throne, you will do a great work for your old master. I make you\nfrom this moment the lord of my palace. From this minute you are\nfather, mother, brother, servant, and everything to my son. Take\ncare that you do not betray your trust.\" Thus ended the king, and\nsent at once for the minister. When he came he spoke to him thus,\n\"Kharavadana! See what I am now. Yesterday I was on the throne. To-day,\nin a few minutes, I must breathe my last. Such is the uncertainty of\nlife. Man's good acts alone follow him to the other world. Take my\nsignet-ring. [Here the king took the ring from off his finger, and gave\nit to the minister.] Yours is the throne for the present, as long as\nthe prince is in his minority. Govern well the kingdom. When the prince\nattains his sixteenth year kindly give him back the throne. Exercise\na paternal care over him. Find a good and intelligent princess for\nhis wife.\" Suddenly, before his speech was quite finished, the king\nfelt the last pangs of death. The sage-looking minister promised\nhim everything.\n\nSivachar breathed his last. After the usual weeping and wailing\nof a Hindu funeral, his corpse was burnt to ashes in a sandalwood\npyre. All his queens--and there were several scores--committed sati\n[25] with the corpse. The ceremonies were all regularly conducted,\nthe minister himself superintended everything.\n\nKharavadana then succeeded to the throne of Vanjaimanagar. Ranavirasing\nbecame the lord of the palace, and true to his promise exercised all\ncare over his trust. He was always at the side of Sundara. That he\nmight not lose the sweetness of boyhood in study and play, Ranavirasing\nbrought to the palace twenty gentlemen's sons of good conduct and\nlearning and made them the prince's fellow-students. A professor\nfor every branch of learning was employed to teach the prince and\nhis companions. Sundara thus received a sound and liberal education,\nonly he was never allowed to go out of the palace. Ranavirasing guarded\nhim very strictly, and he had every reason to do so. For Kharavadana,\nas soon as he became king, had issued a notice that the assassin\nof Sundara should have a reward of a karor [26] mohurs; and already\nevery avaricious hand was in search of his head. Before the issue of\nthis notice, Kharavadana found out a good girl and married her to the\nprince. She lived with her husband in the palace, and Ranavirasing\nstrictly watched her, as she had been chosen by the minister. He would\nnot allow Sundara to speak to her. These strict prohibitions displeased\nthe prince, even with his faithful servant. But the latter could not\nhelp it till he had full confidence in her. He used to advise Sundara\nnot even to take a betel-leaf from her hands. But love is blind. So\nthe prince within himself accused his old guardian; but he could not\nhelp following his orders. Thus passed on a few years.\n\nSundara reached his sixteenth year. Nothing happened about the\ntransference of the kingdom; the prince, almost in imprisonment in\nthe palace, had forgotten everything about the kingdom. Ranavirasing\nwished to wait till, as he thought, the prince had acquired better\ngoverning faculties. Thus some time passed.\n\nFull eight years had elapsed from the death of Sivachar. Sundara was\nalready eighteen, and still he had not received his kingdom. Nothing\nwas neglected in his education. Though Ranavirasing exercised all\npaternal care over him, still it was not to his liking; for he found\nin him a great barrier to the pleasures of youth. The only pleasure\nfor the prince, therefore, was the company of his friends.\n\nOne fine evening on the fourteenth day of the dark half of the month of\nVaisakha of the Vasanta [27] season, the prince was sitting with his\ncompanions in the seventh story of his mansion viewing the town. The\ndusk of evening was just throwing her mantle over the city. People in\ntheir several vocations were at that time ceasing work, and returning\nhome. In the eastern division of the town the prince saw a big mansion,\nand just to break the silence asked his friends what that was. \"That is\nthe Rajasthanik Kacheri, [28] a place you ought to have been sitting\nin for the last two years. The wretched minister, Kharavadana, has\nalready usurped your seat; for, if he had intended to give you back\nthe kingdom he would have done it two years ago when you reached your\nsixteenth year. Let us now console ourselves that God has spared your\nlife till now, notwithstanding all the awards promised to the taker\nof your head. Even the proclamation is dying out of the memory of\nthe people now.\" So said one of his friends and ceased.\n\nThese words fell like arrows in the ear of Sundara and troubled\nhim. Shame that he had been thus treated brought a change of colour\nover his face which all his friends perceived, and they felt sorry for\nhaving touched upon the subject. The prince, perceiving that he had\nplayed a woman's part among his friends, resumed or pretended to resume\nhis former cheerful countenance, and changed the conversation to some\npleasanter topics. They separated very late that night. Before doing\nso, Sundara asked them all to present themselves in the durbar hall\n[29] early next morning. At the same time he also ordered Ranavirasing\nto keep horses ready for himself and his friends for a morning ride\nthrough the town the next day. \"I was only waiting to hear such an\norder from your own mouth, Mai Bab Chakravarti! [30] I was thinking\nfrom your retired disposition that you were not an energetic man. I\nwill have the horses ready.\" Ranavirasing at once issued orders to\nhis servants to keep ready saddled and decked twenty-one horses for\nthe prince and his companions. He also appointed a certain number of\nhis men to ride in front of the party.\n\nThe morning came. The friends assembled, as promised the previous\nevening. The prince and they, after a light breakfast, mounted their\nhorses. The horsemen rode in front and behind. The prince with his\nfriends marched in the middle. Ranavirasing with drawn sword rode\nby his side. The party went through the four main streets of the\ntown. Every one rose up and paid due respect to their old king's\nson. When passing through the street where the minister's mansion was,\nRanavirasing perceived that Kharavadana paid no respect to the royal\nmarch. This seemed a most unbearable insult to Ranavirasing. He bit\nhis lips, gnashed his teeth, and wrung his hands. The prince observed\nall the mental pains of his faithful guardian, and laughed to himself\nat his simplicity. About mid-day the party returned to the palace. The\nfriends dispersed, and Sundara after the ceremonies of the new-moon\nday had a slight dinner, and retired to rest.\n\nThe morning ride was deep in the mind of the prince. Though he laughed\nto himself at the simplicity of Ranavirasing when the latter gnashed\nhis teeth in the morning, the insult had left a stronger and deeper\nimpression in his heart. The day was almost spent. Sundara took a very\nlight supper, and shut himself up in his bed-room before the first\nwatch was quite over. Ranavirasing, as usual, watched outside. The\nprince found his wife sound asleep in her bed, and without disturbing\nher he went up and down the room. A thread-like substance attracted his\nattention in a corner of the bed-chamber. On examination he found it\nto be a thread ladder. He had not even time to think how it came into\nthe bed-chamber. Just then Ranavirasing had retired for a few minutes\nto take his supper. \"The old fool is off now to eat; and Paramesvara\nhas thrown this ladder in my way. Let me now escape.\" Thus thinking,\nSundara came out unobserved by his old guardian, and ascended to the\ntop of the seventh mansion. From that place he cast his ladder towards\na big tree in the East Main street. On pulling it he found that it was\nfirmly fixed. \"Let me get down, and Paramesvara will assist me.\" So\npraying, before the first watch was over, the prince got down from\nhis palace, and was in a few minutes in the East street. The severe\nwatch kept over him by Ranavirasing made it very difficult for him\nto go out when he liked, and now by the grace of God, as he thought,\nhe had escaped that dark new-moon night.\n\n\"Life is dear to every one. What can I do if any of the minister's\nmen find me out now and murder me? Na daivam Sankarat param. No\ngod but Sankara, and he will now help me.\" Thus thinking he walked\nto the nearest pyal, and lingered there till the bustle of the town\nsubsided. Nor was it in vain that he stopped there. He overheard while\nthere the following conversation take place between the master and\nmistress of the house at which he lingered:--\"Console yourself, my\nwife. What shall we do? Fate has so willed it on our heads. May Brahma\n[31] become without a temple for the evil that he has sent us. When the\nold king was living he appreciated my merits, and at every Sankranti\n[32] gave me due dakshina [33] for my knowledge of the Vedas. [34]\nNow there reigns a tyrant over our kingdom. I have been lingering\nhere with the hope that the son of Sivachar would one day come to the\nthrone and relieve our sufferings. Now that such hope is altogether\ngone, I have made up my mind to leave this nasty city, and go to some\ngood place where there reigns a king who can appreciate our yogyata\n(merit).\" Of these words Sundara overheard every syllable, and these\nsupplied the fuel to the fire of shame and anger that was already\nburning in his mind. \"Let me try to win back my kingdom. If I succeed,\nI shall save other lives. If I die, I alone die. May Paramesvara help\nme.\" So saying he walked out of the town, and passed the east gate. The\nnight was as dark as could be, for it was a new moon night. Clouds\nwere gathering in the sky, and there were some symptoms of rain.\n\nThere was a Ganesa temple on the way. As it was already drizzling,\nthe prince went inside till the rain should cease. No sooner had he\nentered it than he saw two men, who by their conversation appeared to\nbe shepherds, coming towards that same temple. They seemed to have\nbeen watching their flocks near an adjacent field, and had come to\nshelter themselves from the rain in the temple. Sundara when he saw\nthem, trembled for his life, and crept in. The shepherds sat down on\nthe verandah, and taking out their bags began to chew betel-nuts. An\nidle lizard began to chirp in a corner. To break the silence, one\nsaid to the other, \"Well, Ramakon, I have heard that you are a great\nsoothsayer and interpreter of bird sounds and lizard speeches. Let me\nknow what these chirps of the lizard that we heard just now mean. Tell\nme.\" Ramakon replied, \"This is news which I would never have revealed\nat any other time. But as no fourth person is likely to be here at this\ntime on a rainy night, let me tell you that the prince of the town is\nnow lingering here in this temple. So the lizard says. Hence I said,\n'no fourth person.' I am glad that no evil hand has yet been tempted,\nthough such a high price has been set upon his head. The very fact\nthat he has lived up to this time unhurt in a tiger's domain augurs\nwell for his future prosperity.\" Ramakon had scarcely finished his\nspeech when the idle lizard again made its chit, chit, and Ramakon\nnow asked his friend, Lakshmanakon, for that was the other's name,\nto interpret those sounds. \"This has rather a sad meaning for the\nprince. The Mantri [35] and Pradhani [36] are coming here in a few\nminutes (nimishas), to consult on a secret topic. So says the lizard,\"\nsaid Lakshmanakon to Ramakon, and at that very moment a light was\nseen at a distance. \"It is the minister's carriage. Let us be off. God\nonly must save the prince.\" So saying, they both ran away.\n\nThe feelings of the prince inside were like that of a man who\nwas being led to the gallows. The bitterest enemy of his life,\nthe minister himself, was coming to that very place where he was\nhiding. \"I foolishly accused my old guardian, Ranavirasing, and now\nI see his good intentions. How I am to be spared from this calamity\nSankara only knows.\" Thus thinking, he hurriedly fled to the inmost\npart of the temple behind the very image, and sat down there, still\nlike a stump, without even breathing freely, lest his breath might\nreveal him. He had ample time there to admire the sound knowledge of\nthe shepherds in interpreting the lizard chirps, their simplicity,\ntheir honesty and truthfulness; for, had they been otherwise, they\nmight at once have caught hold of the prince and made him over to the\ntiger minister. True to the interpretation of the second shepherd, a\ncarriage stopped in front of the Ganesa temple, and there came out of\nit the Mantri and the Pradhani. Excepting themselves and, of course,\nthe carriage driver and, as we know, the prince behind the Ganesa,\nthere were no others there. Kharavadana and his subordinate chose that\nsolitary place at the dead of night to hold secret consultations. The\nMantri spoke first, and one could easily perceive from his words that\nhe was in a fit of anger. \"Why should the prince be thus allowed to\nride free through my streets? Of the innumerable servants who eat our\nsalt was there not one to cut down that impertinent head?\" roared the\nminister. The Pradhani replied, \"My king, my lord, excuse me first\nfor the humble words that I am going to speak before your honour. We\nhave taken up a kingdom to which we have no right. If the prince\nhad demanded the throne two years ago, we ought rightfully to have\nreturned it to him. He never asked, and we did not restore it. He\nnever troubles us with demands, but lives like a poor subject of the\ncrown in his own quarters. Such being the case, why should we kill\nhim? Why should we murder the only son of our old and much-respected\nking Sivachar? What I beg to suggest to your honour is, that we should\nno more trouble ourselves about his poor head.\" The Pradhani, as he\ndiscovered that these words were not to the taste of Kharavadana,\nstopped at once without proceeding further, though he had much to\nsay upon that subject. \"Vile wretch! Dare you preach morals to your\nsuperiors. You shall see the result of this, before the morning dawns,\"\nbawled out the Minister. The Pradhani saw that all his excellent advice\nwas like blowing a horn in a deaf man's ears. He feared for his own\nlife, and so at once begged a thousand pardons, and promised to bring\nthe head of the prince within a week. And as Kharavadana wanted only\nthat, he spared the Pradhani. They then talked on different subjects,\nand prepared to start.\n\nThe prince inside, behind the Ganesavigraha, [37] was now almost\nstifled to death. The short breaths that he inhaled and exhaled\nwere themselves enough to kill him. Add to that the horrible\nwords that fell on his ears. For all that he continued to hide\nhimself. Kharavadana and the Pradhani finished their conversation\nand got into the carriage. Sundara called courage to his assistance,\n\"Sankara has saved me till now; he may so save me throughout.\" So\nthinking to himself, he boldly came out of the temple without making\nthe least noise and sat behind the carriage, and, as it rolled on,\nthought again within himself: \"I will follow these, come what may,\nand find out what more plans they devise against my life.\"\n\nThe carriage drove on to the opposite end of the town. It passed the\nwest gate and entered a big park outside the town. The undaunted prince\nfollowed. In the middle of the park a fine tank was discovered. The\nbanks looked like day, being lighted up profusely. In the midst of the\ntank a small island with a gaudy mansion was seen. Pillars of gold,\nsofas of silver and doors of diamonds made it the very Indraloka [38]\nitself. A broad road with avenues of sweet smelling flowering trees\nconnected the island with the bank. It was at that road that the\ncarriage stopped. The prince, before that was reached, had got down\nand hid himself under the shade of a tree, to see unobserved all that\npassed in the mansion which he had every reason to believe was the\ndestination of the minister. Kharavadana descended from the carriage\nand sent the Pradhani home. What most astonished the prince was the\nabsence of male servants in that garden. At the entrance of the road\ntwenty young females of the most exquisite beauty waited and conducted\nKharavadana through the sweet bower to the mansion. When it was\nreached, the minister sat down on a most richly furnished gold couch,\nand ordered the females there to bring the queen. Ten females arranged\nthemselves on each side of an ivory palanquin, and started, apparently,\nto bring the queen in it. \"These females themselves resemble Rambha,\n[39] Urvasi, [39] &c. A woman who has beauty superior to the heads of\nthese females must, of course, be of the greatest beauty imaginable in\nthis world. Let me see her.\" Thus thinking, the prince Sundara\nanxiously awaited the return of the palanquin. In a few minutes it\ncame. A female of the most charming beauty jumped briskly out of it. The\nminister came running to give his helping hand to her. Horror of\nhorrors, what sees the prince! It was his own wife, the very girl that\nthe minister had married to him a few years before, that got down from\nthe palanquin. \"Are my eyes deceived? Do they perform their functions\naright? Let me look once more.\" So again and again wiping his eyes to\nclear them a little, the prince saw distinctly. It was his very wife\nherself. \"Oh, I most foolishly accused that grey-headed guardian for\na wicked fool, because he would not allow me to be friends with my\nwife. I now see what he saw a long time ago. Perhaps if I had seen\nmore of her I should have thus been brought in here by some secret\nway that these devils seem now to have to the inmost parts of the\npalace. If I had taken anything from her hands I should have died\nthat very day. My poor old man, my Ranavirasing it is, who has saved\nme from all these calamities.\" These thoughts and a thousand more\nwere passing through Sundara's mind when he saw his wife sitting down\non the same couch with the minister. She accused him of the delay in\nmurdering her husband, of his letting all opportunities escape during\nthe morning ride. \"Horrible! Did you, Kharavadana, marry me to such\na faithful wife! Thank God and Ranavirasing that I have not fallen\ninto her snares,\" thought Sundara to himself. The minister offered\na thousand excuses, related to her all that had taken place between\nhimself and the Pradhani, and of what the latter had promised. Then\nthey both retired to bed. At that moment the treacherous owl began\nto hoot, and one of the maid-servants, who happened to be a clever\ninterpreter of owl-hootings revealed, to secure the favour of the\nminister, that the prince was lurking behind a tree in that very\ngarden. Knowing the price set on Sundara's head even female hands\nflew to cut it off. All ran with torches to search the garden.\n\nThese words, of course, fell upon the ears of the prince like\nthunder. Before the people there began their search he began his race,\njumped over a high wall, and flew like a kite. Before the lady-racers\nand the minister had left their sweet road to the tank-bank, Sundara\nfound himself in the north street of the town. The news that the\nprince was out that night spread like a flame from the pleasure-park\noutside throughout the whole town, and before long avaricious persons\nwere searching in the streets for his valuable head. Sundara thought\nit dangerous to pass through the streets, and wished to hide himself\nin a safe place. Fortune conducted him to one. It was a ruined old\nchoultry, where food, during the days of his father, was distributed\nin charity to the beggars of the town, and which was now only resorted\nto by them to sleep, and not to receive rice. The prince entered it,\nand laid himself down in the midst of them, fortunately unobserved. He\ncould hear from where he was the noise of the persons searching\noutside. In the garden the minister searched in vain, and accusing\nthe female for her wrong interpretation as he thought, retired to bed.\n\nOutside the north gate, at a distance of three ghatikas' walk, lived\na robber. He used to start out on a plundering expedition once in\nseven years. In the houses and mansions he used to rob he took only\njewels of various kinds, Gomeda, [40] pushparuga, (topaz) vajra, [41]\nvaidurya, [42] &c.; gold and silver he rejected as being too mean for\nhis dignity. As he was a high-caste robber, he used to take a coolie\nwith him on his way to carry his booty. Of course, that coolie never\nreturned from the cave. He was put to death after his services were\nover, lest he should disclose the secret of the robber.\n\nUnfortunately, that new-moon night happened to be the night of that\ncruel robber's plundering expedition. He came out, and when he saw\npeople in search of the prince, thinking that he was not in his palace,\nhe wanted to plunder it. Wishing for a coolie, he entered the ruined\nchoultry, to pick out one among the beggars there. Passing over the\nothers he came to the prince. He found him stout and strong. \"This\nbeggar will do me good service to-day. I shall break my custom,\nand amply reward this man for his services.\" So thinking to himself,\nthe gentleman robber tapped Sundara with his cane on the back. The\nprince had just closed his eyes. In the short sleep that ensued he\ndreamt that the minister's servants were pursuing him, and that\none had caught him. At that very moment the gentleman-robber's\nstroke fell upon his back, giving a sort of reality to his dream. He\nawoke with horror. \"Tell me who you are,\" asked the unknown person,\n\"A beggar,\" was the reply. \"How does the night appear to you?\" asked\nthe robber. \"As dark as dark can be,\" replied the prince. The robber\napplied a sort of kajjala [43] to the prince's eyes, and asked, \"How\ndoes the night appear now?\" \"As luminous as if a karor of suns were\nin the sky,\" answered Sundara. The robber applied a tilaka [44] to the\nintended coolie's forehead and addressed him thus: \"I am a robber, now\ngoing to plunder the palace, from which the prince is absent. Follow\nme. I shall reward you richly. The kajjala has made the night a day\nto you. The tilaka takes you unobserved wherever you wish to go.\" So\nsaying, and dragging the coolie or supposed coolie by the hand,\nthe robber went off to the palace. Wherever he found a door locked,\nhe applied a leaf that he carried in his hand to the fastening, and\nbehold, the lock flew back, and the door opened of its own accord. The\nprince was astonished. In a few minutes the robber opened one and all\nof the gates and boxes, and extracted all the precious stones. He tied\nthem up in a bundle, and set it on the prince's head, and asked him to\nfollow. Sundara followed. He assisted in the plunder of his own palace,\nand carried the booty behind the robber, who, praised be his stupidity,\nnever for one moment suspected he was a prince, but admired his coolie\nfor the beauty of his person, thought of saving his life, and also of\nmaking him his son-in-law. For the robber had a beautiful daughter,\nfor whom he had long been searching for a suitable husband. So with\nthis thought he reached the cave, stopped before it, and taking the\nbundle from the prince's head ordered him to go into a large cell,\nthe mouth of which he covered with a big stone, which he lifted up by\npronouncing an incantation over it. The robber went with the bundle\nto his wife, and described to her the beauty of the coolie, and what\na fair match he would be for their daughter. The wife did not like it,\nand asked her husband to do with the coolie as they usually did, i.e.,\nmurder him; and the robber, who never in anything acted against the\nwill of his wife, went in to fetch his weapon.\n\nMeanwhile the robber's daughter, an excellent girl, of the most\ncharming beauty, overhearing all that took place between her parents,\ncame running to the cave where the coolie was confined. She pronounced\na single word over the stone lid of the cave, and it opened, and the\nprince, who had lost all hopes of recovery, now beheld a beautiful girl\ncoming towards him. \"Whoever you may be, my dear coolie, fly for your\nlife for the present. You are my husband. My father has so named you,\nbut as my mother does not like it, he has gone to fetch his weapon to\nmurder you. Excepting we three, none, not even Brahma, can open the\nonce-shut gates. After hearing you once called my husband, I must ever\nregard you so. Now fly, and escape my father's sharp sword. If you are\na man, marry me in kind remembrance of the assistance rendered. If you\nfail to do so you are a beast, and I shall die a virgin.\" So saying she\nconducted out in haste the supposed coolie, who had only time to take a\nhasty embrace, whispering in her ear that he was the prince, and that\nhe would marry her without fail. He now ran for his life. Fearing the\nrobber would come after him he left the way by which he reached the\ncave, and passing through unknown fields reached the south gate of\nthe town. By that time the search for him had almost abated, and the\nprince, praising God for his delivery, reached the south street. The\nnight was almost spent. Before returning to the palace he wished\nto take rest for a few minutes, till he had recovered his breath,\nand so he sat down on the pyal of an old and almost ruined house.\n\nThat happened to be the house of a poor Brahman, who had not even\nsufficient clothes to wear. As the prince sat down in a corner of\nthe pyal the door of the house opened, and the old Brahman came\nout. The old woman, the Brahmani, was standing at the door with a\nvessel containing water for her husband. Subhasastri, for that was\nthe Brahman's name, looked up to the sky for a couple of minutes,\nafter which he heaved a deep sigh, and said, \"Alas, the prince,\nthe only son of our former protector, Sivachar, is not to remain\nfor more than two ghatikas. A kalasarpa (black serpent) will sting\nhim. What shall we do? We are poor. If we could begin Sarpahoma [45]\nnow we could tie the mouth of the snake, sacrifice it in the fire,\nand thus save the prince.\" So saying the poor Brahman cried. Sundara,\nwho overheard everything, jumped down in confusion, and fell at the\nfeet of the Brahman, who asked him who he was. \"I am a herdsman of\nthe palace. Preserve my master's life,\" was the reply. Subhasastri\nwas extremely poor. He had no means to procure a small quantity of\nghi even to begin the homa. [46] He did not know what to do. He begged\nfrom his neighbours, who all laughed at his stupidity, and ridiculed\nhis astrology. The prince in a hopeless state of anguish wrung his\nhands, and in wringing them he felt his ring. Drawing it off his\nfinger he gave it to Subhasastri, and requested him to pawn it. The\nlatter resorted to the nearest bazar, and awakening the bazar-keeper\nprocured from him a little ghi, by pawning the ring. Running home and\nbathing in cold water the Brahman sat down for the homa. The prince,\nfearing the serpent, wished to sit inside the house, but at a distance\nfrom the place of the ceremony. Just at the appointed hour a large\nblack serpent broke through the sky, fell on the head of the prince,\nwhom he was not able to bite, and gave up its life in the fire. \"This\nis no shepherd, but the very prince himself,\" said the Brahmani. [47]\nSundara rose up, and running surrounded them thrice, spoke to them\nthus:--\"You alone are my parents and protectors. This night has\nbeen a most adventurous one with me. There was every possibility of\nmy escaping every other calamity, and so I did. But no other power\nexcept yours could have averted this snake-bite. So my rescue is due\nto you alone. I have no time to lose now. Before daylight I must fly\nunobserved to the palace, and you shall before long see my reward\nfor this.\" So saying, Sundara ran to his palace and entered.\n\nRanavirasing was almost dead. The rumour that the prince was out\nreached him. He was astonished at the way in which Sundara had got\nout. He searched the whole palace. To his astonishment all the rooms\nhad previously been opened and plundered. \"Has the prince been stolen\naway by some vile tricks from the palace,\" thought Ranavirasing,\nand without knowing what to do he was buried in the ocean of sorrow,\nfrom which he gave up all hopes of recovering. What was his joy,\nthen, when he saw the prince enter the palace just at dawn. \"Mai Bab\nChakravarti, where have you been the whole night, throwing away the\nadvice of your poor slave? How many enemies you have in this world,\nyou have yet to know,\" said Ranavirasing. \"I know them all now, only\nlisten to what I say, and do as I bid. I have won the crown without\na blow. Thank the day that gave me you as my protector, for it was\nonly yesterday that I had ample reason to verify your statements. My\nadventures would make your hair stand on end. Thank God I have escaped\nfrom all of them unhurt. If you have a few men ready now, we have won\nthe kingdom.\" So saying, the prince explained to him every detail of\nhis adventure. \"If we catch hold of the minister now, we have done\nall.\" \"I could never for one moment think that you in a single night\ncould have seen and done so much. Now that heaven has shown you the\nway, I shall obey you,\" said Ranavirasing, and Sundara accordingly\nissued the orders. He described the house with the pyal at which he\nhad lingered for a while the previous night, and asked a servant to\nbring the owner of that house to the Rajasthanik office. Ranavirasing\nbrought in the Pradhani, who was extremely delighted at the good\nintention of the prince. He was offered the Mantri's place. Two were\nsent to the shepherds. Twenty were sent to the pleasure-park to have\nthe minister and his sweet paramour brought to the court in chains. The\nfemale servants were also ordered to be brought. The robber and his\ncruel wife were not forgotten. The prince minutely described the\ncave, and asked his servants to catch and imprison the robber by\nsurprising him suddenly, without giving him time to have recourse\nto his vile tricks--lock-breaking kajjala, &c. The palace palanquin\nwas sent for the robber's daughter, whom the prince had firmly made\nup his mind to marry. The palace elephants were decked and sent to\nfetch with all pomp Subhasastri and his wife to the court. Thus,\nwithout a single stroke, Sundara won the kingdom. Ranavirasing was\nthunder-struck by the excellent and bold way in which the prince in\none night went through the series of calamities, and successfully\novercame them all. The Pradhani's delight knew no bounds. He himself\nbroke open the court and every one connected with the previous night's\nadventure was ushered in. The prince bathed, offered up his prayers,\nand attended the council. When Subhasastri came in with his wife the\nprince put them on the simhasana, [48] and himself standing before\nthem, explained to all his previous night's adventures, rewarded\nthe poor Brahman and the shepherds, punished by banishment the\nmaid-servant who, knowing that the prince's head was coveted, revealed\nhis concealment, and ordered his wife, the minister, the robber,\nand the robber's wife to be beheaded. He rewarded without limit his\nprotector, Subhasastri, and married the robber's daughter, being won\nover by her sincerity. The Pradhani, as we have said already, he made\nhis minister, and with his old guardian, the faithful Ranavirasing,\nthe prince reigned for several years in the kingdom of Vanjaimanagar.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\"CHARITY ALONE CONQUERS.\"\n\nDharmame jayam.\n\n\nIn the town of Tevai [49] there lived a king called Suguna. He had\nan excellent minister named Dharmasila. They ruled for a long time in\nprosperity over the kingdom. Both of them had sons. The prince's name\nwas Subuddhi. He was a noble prince, and quite in keeping with his\nname, was always bent upon doing good to the world. The minister's son\nwas named Durbuddhi, a most wicked boy, whose only delight was teasing\nbeasts and birds from his infancy, and which ripened into all sorts\nof wickedness as he grew to boyhood. Notwithstanding the difference\nbetween their temperaments the prince and the minister's son were the\nbest of friends. The motto of the prince was Dharmame jayam--Charity\nalone conquers. That of the minister's son was Adharmame jayam--Absence\nof Charity alone conquers. When rising from their beds, when beginning\ntheir prayers, when sitting down for meals or study, and, in fact,\nbefore beginning to do anything, each repeated his motto. The people\nhad great hopes in Subuddhi, whom they fully expected to see a good\nand benevolent king; but the minister's son all thoroughly hated. Even\nthe minister himself, his father, hated his son for his vile turn of\nmind, which he found impossible to change. His only friend, as we have\nalready said, was the prince, who, notwithstanding all his faults,\nloved him sincerely. Both of them had grown up together from their\nvery cradle, had played in the same dust, had read their lessons\nside by side in the same school under the same teachers. Fortune so\nordained that the prince's mind should take such a bent, while the\nmind of the minister's son turned in a crooked way.\n\nNor was Durbuddhi insensible to the disgust and dislike which every\none manifested towards him. He was well aware of all that was going\non around. Still he would not change.\n\n\"I have no friend in this world excepting yourself, my dear Subuddhi,\"\nexclaimed Durbuddhi one day to his royal friend while they were\nriding together.\n\n\"Fear nothing. I shall ever stand by you as your true friend,\"\nreplied Subuddhi.\n\n\"My very father hates me. Who else would like me then? On the other\nhand, every one likes you. You may soon get yourself married to some\nbeautiful lady, while I must remain a bachelor; for no girl would marry\nme. You may soon rise to the place of a king; but I cannot become your\nminister, as the people do not like me. What can I do?\" So said the\nminister's son, and hung down his head, as if conscious for a time\nof the utter hatred with which the people regarded him.\n\nSubuddhi replied, \"Heed it not, I will make you my minister, give\nyou everything you want, and see you well provided for.\"\n\n\"If so, will you give me your wife one day, at least, if you happen\nto get married before me, and if I remain a bachelor after you,\"\nwere the words which the wretched Durbuddhi shamelessly uttered to\nthe face of his only friend.\n\nThese words were enough in themselves to enrage the prince's mind. But\nhe was of so good a nature that instead of becoming angry, he smiled\nat the stupidity of his companion, and agreed that he would thus give\nhim his wife one day in case he got married first. Thus took place\nan agreement between Subuddhi and Durbuddhi while they were still\nquite young.\n\nSeveral years passed after this agreement, when one day the prince\nwent to hunt in a neighbouring forest. His inseparable companion,\nthe minister's son, and several hunters followed him to the wood. The\nprince and the minister's son both gave chase to a deer. They rode\nso much in advance of the hunters that they lost themselves in a\nthick jungle, where the latter could neither see nor follow them. The\nhunters returned after dark, and informed the king and the minister\nabout the disappearance of their sons. They thought that as their\nsons were grown-up men they need not fear for their safety.\n\nThe two friends chased the deer and found themselves in the midst\nof a thick forest in the evening. Except a slight breakfast in the\nearly morning they had tasted no other food. Hunger was pinching them\nseverely. The hot chase had awakened a severe thirst, to quench which\nthey were not able to find a drop of water. In utter hopelessness of\nlife they resigned themselves to the course of their steeds. The beasts\nseemed very well to understand the wants of their royal riders. They\nwent on trotting, and at last, about midnight, stopped on the banks\nof a large tank.\n\nThe riders, who were almost dead with thirst, opened their closed eyes\nwhen the horses stopped. All of a sudden, and to their great joy,\nthey found themselves on the banks of a large tank. Their joy knew\nno bounds.\n\n\"Surely God takes care of His children. Had it not been for His kind\ncare how could we have come to this tank, when we had given ourselves\nup to the guidance of our horses?\" thought Subuddhi to himself,\nand got down from his horse.\n\nThe minister's son, who had become more exhausted by that time than\nhis companion, also alighted. Subuddhi, true to the nobility of his\nmind, took both the steeds first to water, and, after satisfying their\nthirst and loosening them to graze by the side of a grassy meadow,\nhe went into the water to quench his thirst. The minister's son also\nfollowed. After a short prayer Subuddhi took some handfuls of water,\nand returned to the bank. Durbuddhi also returned. They chose a\nclean spot, and sat down to rest during the remaining part of the\nnight. The prince, when taking his seat, pronounced his usual motto,\n\"Charity alone conquers,\" and the minister's son also repeated his,\n\"Absence of Charity alone conquers.\"\n\nThese words fell like venom into the ears of the prince at that\ntime. He could not control his anger then, notwithstanding his mild\ndisposition. The hardships of the day, their fortunate arrival on a\ntank in the dead of night to have their thirst quenched, were fresh\nin Subuddhi's mind, and the prayers that he was offering to God were\nnot yet over. That the minister's son should never think of all this,\nand go on with his own stupid motto even at that time was intolerable\nto Subuddhi.\n\n\"Vile wretch! detested atheist! have you no shame, to utter your wicked\nmotto even after such calamities? It is not too late even now. Mend\nyour character. Think of the God that saved you just now. Believe in\nHim. Change your motto from this day.\" Thus spoke the angry prince\nto the minister's son.\n\nDurbuddhi, who was naturally of a wicked and quarrelsome temperament,\nflew into a rage at once at the excellent advice of the prince.\n\n\"Stop your mouth. I know as well as you do; you cannot wag your tail\nhere. I can oppose you single-handed in this forest.\"\n\nThus saying, the minister's son sprang like an enraged lion at\nSubuddhi, who, as he never dreamt of any such thing, was completely\noverpowered by the wicked Durbuddhi. The prince was thrown down in the\ntwinkling of an eye, and the minister's son was upon him. He severely\nthrashed his royal master, and, taking hold of a twig that was lying\nclose by, tore out the prince's two eyes, filled up the sockets with\nsand, and ran away with his horse, thinking that he had completely\nkilled him.\n\nSubuddhi was almost dead; his body was bruised all over; his eyes\nwere no more; his physical pain was unbearable.\n\n\"Is there a God over us all?\" thought Subuddhi. The night was\nalmost over. The cool and sweet breeze of the morning gave him some\nstrength. He rose up, and, crawling on the ground, felt his way to\nthe entrance of a temple. He crept in, shut the gates, and fastened\nthe bolt.\n\nIt happened to be a temple of the fierce Kali. She used to go out every\nmorning to gather roots and fruits, and to return at evening. That\nday, when she returned, she found her gates shut against her. She\nthreatened with destruction the usurper of her temple. A voice,\nand we know that it was Subuddhi's, replied from within:\n\n\"I am already dying of the loss of my eyes. So, if in anger you kill\nme, it is so much the better; for what use is there in my living\nblind? If, on the contrary, you pity me, and by your divine power\ngive me my eyes, I shall open the gates.\"\n\nKali was in a very difficult position. She was very hungry, and saw\nno other way of going inside than by giving Subuddhi his eyes.\n\n\"Open the gates; your request is granted,\" said Kali. No sooner were\nthese words uttered than the prince recovered his eyes. His delight\nmay be better imagined than described. He opened the gates and vowed\nbefore Kali that he would from that day continue in that temple as\nher servant and worshipper.\n\nThe wretched Durbuddhi, after his horrible act, rode on composedly,\nfollowing the footsteps of his horse, and reached the forest where\nhe had been hunting the day before in company with the prince. He\nthence returned home all alone. When his father saw him coming back\nhe suspected something wrong to the prince, and asked his son what\nhad become of him.\n\n\"We chased a deer, and he rode so much in advance of me that he\nwas out of sight, and finding all search vain, I returned alone,\"\nwas Durbuddhi's reply.\n\n\"This I would have believed from anyone but yourself. Never plant your\nfeet in these dominions till you bring back the prince again. Run for\nyour life,\" was the order of the minister, and Durbuddhi accordingly\nran off, fearing the anger of his father.\n\nThus the Prince Subuddhi served in the Kali temple; and Durbuddhi,\nfully confident that he had killed his friend, roamed about from\nplace to place, as he saw no possibility of returning to his own\ncountry without the prince.\n\nThus passed several months. The goddess Kali was extremely delighted\nat the sincere devotion of Subuddhi, and, calling him one day to her\nside, said:\n\n\"My son! I am delighted with your great devotion to me. Enough of\nyour menial services here. Better return now to your kingdom. Your\nparents are likely to be much vexed at your loss. Go and console\ntheir minds.\" Thus ended Kali, and Subuddhi replied:\n\n\"Excuse me, my goddess, my mother, I no more regard them as my\nparents. This wood is not a large place if they wished to search\nfor me. As they were so careless about me, I shall also from this\nday disregard them. You are my father and mother. Therefore permit\nme to end my days here in your service.\" So saying, Subuddhi begged\nKali to allow him to stay, and the goddess agreed accordingly, for\nsome time at least.\n\nAfter a few more months, Kali called the prince again to her, and\naddressed him thus:\n\n\"My boy! I have devised another plan. Better not, then, go to your\nparents, as you do not wish to go now. At a short distance from this\nplace, in the Kaveri country, reigns a staunch devotee of mine. His\ndaughter had small-pox, and as he forgot to do proper respect to me,\nI have blinded both her eyes. The king has issued a proclamation that\nhe will give the whole kingdom and his daughter in marriage to him who\nwould cure her of her defect. He has hung up a bell (ghanta) at which\nevery physician who wishes to try the case strikes. The king comes\nrunning as soon as he hears the sound, takes home the doctor and shows\nhim the case. Several persons have tried in vain; for who could repair\na defect inflicted by the displeasure of the gods? Now I mean to send\nyou there. That king is a staunch worshipper of my feet. Though I have\npunished him, still I pity the sad calamity that has come upon his\ndaughter. You had better go there and strike the bell. He will take\nyou and show you the case. For three consecutive days apply my holy\nashes to her eyes. Though fools may deride these ashes, still by them\na true devotee can work wonders. On the fourth day her eyes will be\nperfectly restored. Then you will secure her hand, and, what is more,\nthe country of Kaveri. Reign there, for you are born to reign, being\na prince, and not to spend your time here in this wood. If you do not\ndo so you will commit a sin, and, what is more, incur my displeasure.\"\n\nThus ended Kali, and the prince could not refuse; for he feared the\nanger of the goddess. Agreeing to her words, and with her manifold\nblessings, he started and reached the kingdom of Kaveri.\n\nHe struck the bell. The king came running to welcome the new\ndoctor. All the previous physicians had tried by medicines external\nand internal. The new doctor--Prince Subuddhi--proposed to treat the\ncase by mantras--incantations. The old king, who was very religious,\nfully believed that the new doctor might effect the cure, and, just\nas he expected, on the fourth day his daughter's sight was completely\nrestored. The king's joy knew no bounds. He enquired into the parentage\nof the doctor: and when he came to know that he had princely blood\nin his veins, that he was as honourably descended as himself, his\njoy was greatly increased. He sent up a thousand prayers to the\ngod for giving him a royal son-in-law. As promised in his notice,\nhe would have to give his daughter to anyone, whatever he might be,\nwho effected the cure. The lowest beggar, the lowest caste-man, if\nhe had only succeeded in curing her, would have had as much claim to\nher hand as the prince-physician. So when the person that effected\nthe cure proved to be a prince, the king was extremely delighted,\nand at once made all arrangements for the marriage of his daughter,\nand gave her to Subuddhi: and, himself being very old, he gave the\nkingdom also to the prince at the same time.\n\nThus by the favour of Kali, Subuddhi had a princess for his wife and a\nkingdom to govern. Subuddhi, as we know, was an excellent man. Though\nhe became king now, he consulted his father-in-law in all matters,\nand, in fact, acted only as manager for the old man. Every evening he\nused to consult him for an hour or two before disposing of intricate\ncases. The duty of signing, too, he reserved for the old man. Thus\neven on those days when there were no cases he used to go to his\nfather-in-law to get papers signed. Thus passed on a couple of years\nor so.\n\nOne evening, while sitting in company with his wife in the loftiest\nroom of his palace after the duties of the day, he cast his eyes to\nthe east main street and contemplated the bustle of that part of the\ntown. Carts creaking under the load of merchandise, the flourish\nwith which the goods and wares were exposed for sale, fashionable\ngentlemen in their fanciful evening costumes walking to and fro,\nthe troublesome hawkers that stand by the roadside questioning every\none as to what they would buy, and several other things interested\nhim, and for a time made him somewhat proud even, that he ruled over\nsuch a rich country. But sweetness is not always unaccompanied with\nbitterness. He saw in that same street a man whose face was very\nfamiliar to him, but whom he could not at once make out. A black\nman was sitting on a projecting pyal of a corner of a shop, and was\nmending some torn gunny bags. Subuddhi looked at him carefully.\n\n\"Is it the minister's son, Durbuddhi? No; he is not so black; rather\nwas not when I saw him last,\" thought Subuddhi with himself, and\nexamining his face, he at last exclaimed, \"It is he! It is he! It is my\nfriend and companion.\" \"Who is it?\" exclaimed the princess, and rushed\nat once to his side. She had most carefully watched her husband's face\nfor the past few minutes while he was in deep contemplation. \"It is\nmy friend, the minister's son, by name Durbuddhi. We were companions\nfrom our birth; we played in the same dust, read in the same school,\nand were ever inseparable companions. I do not know what has brought\nhim to the condition in which I see him now,\" said Subuddhi, and\nsent some one to fetch him. Of the wicked and base act of the vile\nDurbuddhi he did not care to inform his gentle wife, who now retired\nto her inner apartments, as decorum did not allow her to be in company\nwith her husband when he was receiving others.\n\nThe persons sent brought in Durbuddhi. Whatever might have been the\ncruelty that he had received from the hands of the minister's son,\nthe prince began to shed tears when he saw his old companion ushered\nin, not in that blooming cheerful red complexion in which he had seen\nhim last, but in a weather-beaten dark skin and dejected colour of\na coolie in which he saw him a few minutes ago.\n\n\"I excuse you all your faults, my dear Durbuddhi. Tell me quickly\nwhat has brought you to this wretched plight,\" asked Subuddhi, and\nwhile asking he began to cry aloud. The minister's son also shed\ntears copiously, and cried or pretended to cry; for be it known that\nhe was a perfect scoundrel, born to no good in the world.\n\n\"My own mischief has brought me to this plight. When I returned to our\ncountry, after putting out your eyes and thinking that I had killed\nyou, my father banished me from our dominions, and ordered me never\nto plant my feet within their limits without bringing you back. As I\nthought I had put an end to your life I never came back to that tank\nin search of you. I engaged myself as a coolie in the streets of this\ntown after trying several other places without success, and I now\nstand before you.\" Thus ended Durbuddhi, and the prince quite forgot\nhis cruelty to him. He ordered his servants to get the minister's\nson bathed, and attired in as rich robes as he himself wore. Then\nhe related to him his own story, without omitting a single point,\nand at once made him his minister.\n\nThe whole story of Durbuddhi, excepting the single point of his\nhaving put out his eyes, the prince related to his wife, father,\nand mother-in-law.\n\nThus was Durbuddhi again restored to his high position, through the\nliberal kindness of Subuddhi. Subuddhi did not stop even at this. He\nbegan to send him with papers and other things to the old king for\nsignature. This went on for some months. All the while Durbuddhi was\nas obedient as might be, and by his vile tricks had completely won\nover the heart of the old king.\n\nOne evening, after the signatures were over, Durbuddhi stopped for\na while as if desirous to speak. \"What do you want?\" said the old\nking. \"Nothing but your favour,\" was the only reply, after which he\nretired. Thus he went on for some days and weeks. Every day he stopped\nfor a few minutes after the state business was over, and when the\nold king asked the reason for it went on giving evasive answers. At\nlast one evening the old king was extremely provoked. The cunning\nDurbuddhi had purposely intended this.\n\n\"What a big fool are you to stop every day as if wishing to speak\nand never to utter a word,\" broke out the old king.\n\n\"I beg pardon of your honour; I was thinking all the while whether I\nshould let out my secret or not. At last, I have come to the conclusion\nthat I will keep it to myself,\" replied the diabolical Durbuddhi.\n\n\"No, you shall let it out,\" roared the old king, whose curiosity\nwas more roused than abated by the words, purposely obscure, of\nthe minister's son. Durbuddhi, after simulating much reluctance at\ndisclosing the supposed secret, loudly began his harangue:\n\n\"My lord, ever since I came here I have been making enquiries about\nthe nobility of your family, about the sacrifices that you and your\nancestors have performed, about the purifications that you and your\nelders have undergone, and about a thousand other particulars, each\nof which is enough to secure you and your descendants the place of\nAchyuta (Achyutapada) himself. These delighted me for a time--I say\nfor a time--for listen, please, to what follows. When I compared with\nthe pure fame of your famous family, that of your son-in-law, my heart\nbegan to pain me. Indeed the pain which began at that moment has not\nyet ceased. Know, then, that your son-in-law is not a prince. No doubt\nhe has royal blood in his veins, which makes him look like a king. How\ncame he to be so skilful in medicine. Just enquire the cause. To be no\nmore in the dark, the king of my country--over which my father is the\nminister--set out one day on savar. While passing a barber's street he\nsaw a beautiful damsel of that caste. Bewitched by her beauty the king\nwanted to include her in his harem, notwithstanding her low position\nin society. The child of that woman, is your son-in-law. He being the\nson of a barber-mother acquired thus easily the art of medicine. That\na king was his father makes him look like a prince. If he had been of\npure birth why should he leave his kingdom, and come here to effect\nthe cure of your daughter? Except this prince, or supposed prince,\nall those that came here were mere doctors by caste.\" Thus ended the\nvile Durbuddhi, and taking in his hand the papers, vanished out of\nthe room quickly, like a serpent that had stung.\n\nThe sweet words in which the minister's son clothed his arguments,\nthe rising passion at the thought that he had been falsely imposed\nupon by a barber's son, the shame--or rather supposed shame--that he\nthought had come over his family, and a thousand other feelings clouded\nfor a time the clear reason of the old king. He saw no other way of\nputting an end to the shame than by the murder of his dear daughter and\nson-in-law first, and of his own self and queen afterwards. At once he\nsent for the executioner, who came in. He gave him his signet-ring,\nand commanded him to break open the bed-room of his son-in-law that\nmidnight, and murder him with his wife while asleep. The hukums, or\norders given with signet-rings, can never be disobeyed. The executioner\nhumbled himself to the ground, as a sign of his accepting the order,\nand retired to sharpen his knife for his terrible duty.\n\nNeither Subuddhi nor his affectionate wife had any reason to suspect\nthis terrible mandate. The old queen and the treacherous Durbuddhi\nhad equally no reason to know anything about it. The old man, after\nissuing the hukum, shut himself up in his closet, and began to weep\nand wail as if he had lost his daughter from that moment. Durbuddhi,\nafter kindling the fire, as says the Tamil proverb, by means of his\ntreachery, came back with the papers to the prince. A thought occurred\nin his mind that Subuddhi's fate was drawing near. He wanted to carry\nout the agreement between himself and the prince about the latter's\nwife. The excellent Subuddhi, who always observed oaths most strictly,\nwas confused for a time. He did not know what to do. To stick to the\noath and surrender his wife to another; or to break it and preserve\nthe chastity of his own wife. At last, repeating in his own mind,\n\"Charity alone conquers,\" and also thinking that Heaven would somehow\ndevise to preserve his wife, he went to her, explained to her how\nthe matter stood, and ordered her to go to the minister's son. She\nhesitatingly consented; for, as a good wife, she could not disobey\nher husband's commands. Subuddhi then told Durbuddhi that he might\nhave his wife as his own.\n\nThe princess went to her mother, crying that her husband had turned\nout mad. \"Or else who would promise to give his wife to another. What\ndoes he mean by that?\"\n\n\"My daughter! fear nothing, perhaps, in his boyhood, he made this rash\npromise without thinking. The promise once made now pains him. Unable\nto break it, and leaving it to yourself to preserve your chastity,\nhe has so ordered you. And he would, nay must, excuse you, if you\nby some means or other save yourself, and apparently make good\nyour husband's promise also. A thought just comes to me how to do\nthat. There is your foster-sister, exactly resembling you. I shall\nsend her in your place.\" So consoling her daughter, the old queen at\nonce made all the requisite arrangements. And, of course, Subuddhi\nhad no reason then to know anything about them.\n\nIn the middle of the night his door is forced open, and a ruffian\nwith a drawn sword, blazing like lightning, rushes in, and murders\nthe pair. Thus in that very night in which Durbuddhi had reached the\ntopmost point of his vice, he was cut down by the supreme hand of\nGod. For, it is said, that when crime increases, God himself cannot\ntolerate it.\n\nThe morning dawned. Subuddhi rose from his couch, and after his morning\nprayers was sitting in the council hall. The princess and her mother\nrose from their beds, and were attending to their business. A servant\njust at that time came running to the old queen, and said:\n\n\"Our king is weeping in his room that his daughter is now no more. I\nthink that there is something wrong with his majesty's brains\nto-day. Come and console him.\"\n\nThe queen, who knew nothing of what had happened, ran to her husband's\nroom, quite astonished at the change. The husband reported everything\nto her--the sage-looking minister's son, the barber's son-in-law,\nand everything, and then concluded that their daughter and son-in-law\nwere no more.\n\n\"What! compose yourself. Our son-in-law is sitting in his durbar. Our\ndaughter is just adorning herself in her dressing-room. Were you\ndreaming? Are you in your right senses?\" said the queen.\n\nThe king ordered the executioner to bring the heads, which, on\nexamination, proved to be those of the minister's son and of the\nfoster-sister. The queen told everything of the one-day-wife-giving\nengagement, and her own arrangements about it. The old king could not\nunderstand what all this meant. He drew out his sword and ran to the\ndurbar like a maddened lion, and stood armed before his son-in-law.\n\n\"Relate to me your true origin, and everything respecting\nyourself. Speak the truth. How came you to learn medicine? If you are a\nprince why should you leave your own dominions and come down here? What\nabout this wicked agreement of giving your wife to another? Who is\nthis minister's son?\"\n\nSubuddhi, without omitting a single point, related everything that\nhad taken place, even to the putting out of his eyes. The old man\nthrew down his sword, took his son-in-law in his arms almost, for so\ngreat was his joy at the excellent way which fate had prepared for\nhis escape, and said:\n\n\"My son, my life, my eye. True it is, true it is. Dharma alone\nconquers, and you that hold that motto have conquered everything. The\nvile wretch whom, notwithstanding the series of rogueries that\nhe practised upon you, you protected, has at last found out that\nhis Adharmam never conquers. But he never found it out. It was his\nAdharmam that cut him off on the very night of his supposed complete\nconquest by it.\"\n\nLetters were sent at once to Tevai, inviting Suguna and Dharmasila\nto the happy rejoicings at the prince and princess's delivery, and\na re-marriage was celebrated with all pomp, in honour of their lucky\nescape. Dharmasila, as he disliked his son, never shed a single tear\nfor his loss. Subuddhi lived for a long time, giving much consolation\nto his own and his wife's parents. Through the blessings of Kali they\nhad several intelligent sons.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nVIDAMUNDAN KODAMUNDAN.\n\nMR. WON'T-GIVE AND MR. WON'T-LEAVE.\n\n\nIn a certain town there lived a clever old Brahman, named\nWon't-Give. [50] He used to go out daily and to beg in all the houses\nround, under the pretence that he had to feed several Brahmans in\nhis own house. Good people, that believed in his words, used to give\nhim much rice and curry stuffs, with which he would come home, and\nexplain to his wife how he had deceived such and such a gentleman\nby the imposition of feeding in charity many persons at home. But\nif any hungry Brahman, who had heard of his empty boast of feeding\nBrahmans at home, came to him, he was sent away with some excuse or\nother. In this way Mr. Won't-Give brought home a basketful of rice and\nother necessaries every day, of which he only used a small portion for\nhimself and his wife, and converted the remainder into money. And thus,\nby imposition and tricks, he managed to live well for several years.\n\nIn an adjoining village there lived another very clever Brahman, named\nWon't-Leave. [51] Whenever he found any man reluctant and unwilling\nto give him anything that he begged of him, he would persist in\nbothering him until he had wrung from him a dole. This Mr. Won't-Leave,\nhearing of the charity of Mr. Won't-Give, and his benevolent feeding\nof Brahmans, came to see him one day, and requested him to give him\na meal. Mr. Won't-Give told him that for that day ten Brahmans had\nalready been settled, and that if he came the next day he would have\nhis meal without fail. Mr. Won't-Leave agreed to this, and left him\nfor that day. Mr. Won't-Give had, of course, told him the very lie\nhe was accustomed to tell all that occasionally begged meals of him.\n\nNow Mr. Won't-Leave was not so stupid as to be thus imposed upon. He\nstood before Mr. Won't-Give's door precisely at the appointed ghatika\n(hour) the next day, and reminded the master of the house of his\npromise. Mr. Won't-Give had never before been taken at his word,\nand determined to send away the impertinent guest by some stronger\nexcuse than the first, and so he spoke to him thus:--\n\n\"Sir, I am very sorry to say that my wife fell ill last night of a\nstrong fever, from which she has not yet recovered. Owing to this\nunforeseen accident I have had to postpone my charitable feedings\n(samaradhana) till her recovery, so do not trouble me, please, for\nsome days more.\"\n\nMr. Won't-Leave heard these words with an expression of sincere,\nor rather, seemingly sincere, sorrow in his face, and replied:--\n\n\"Respected sir, I am very sorry for the illness of the mistress of the\nhouse, but to give up charitable feeding of Brahmans on that account\nis a great sin. For the last ten years I have been studying the art\nof cooking, and can now cook for even several hundreds of Brahmans; so\nI can assist you now in preparing the necessaries for the samaradhana.\"\n\nMr. Won't-Give could not refuse such a request, but he deceitfully\ndetermined in his mind to get Mr. Won't-Leave to cook for him, and\nthen to drive him away without giving him his rice. And so he said:--\n\n\"Yes, that is a very good idea. I am much obliged to you for your\nkind suggestion. Come in; let us cook together.\"\n\nSo saying, the master of the house took Mr. Won't-Leave inside and\nthey both went into the kitchen, while the mistress of the house,\nat the command of her husband, pretended to be ill.\n\nNow Mr. Won't-Give was a good liver, and prepared, with the assistance\nof Mr. Won't-Leave, several good dishes. And then the difficulty was\nto drive the fellow out, for the long-maintained rule of never feeding\na single Brahman must not be broken that day. So, when the cooking\nwas all over, the master of the house gave to Mr. Won't-Leave a kasu\n(copper coin), and asked him to bring some leaves from the bazar\n(for plates), and he accordingly went. Mr. Won't-Give, meanwhile,\ncame to his wife, and instructed her thus:--\n\n\"My dearest wife, I have spared you the trouble of cooking\nto-day. Would that we could get such stupid fools as this every day\nto cook for us! I have now sent him out to fetch us some leaves,\nand it won't look well if we shut our doors against him or drive him\naway; so we must make him go away of his own accord. A thought has\njust come into my mind as to how we can do it. As soon as he comes\nyou shall commence to quarrel with me. I shall then come to you\nand beat you, or, rather, the ground near you, with both my hands,\nand you must continue your abuse and cries. The guest will find this\nvery disgusting, and will leave us of his own accord.\"\n\nMr. Won't-Give had just finished when he saw Mr. Won't-Leave returning\nwith the leaves. The wife, as pre-arranged, abused her husband right\nand left for his great imprudence and over-liberality in feeding the\nBrahmans. Said she:\n\n\"How are we to get on in the world if you thus empty the house of\neverything we have in feeding big-bellied Brahmans? Must you be\nso particular as to invite them, even when I am sick?\" These, and\na thousand similar expressions, were now launched at the husband's\nhead. He pretended not to hear it for a time, but at last, apparently\novercome by anger, he went in and with his hands gave successive\nblows on the floor. At every blow on the floor the wife cried out\nthat she was being murdered, and that those who had mercy in their\nhearts should come to her rescue.\n\nMr. Won't-Leave, from the court-yard of the house, listened to what\nwas taking place inside, but not wishing to interfere in a quarrel\nbetween husband and wife, left matters to take their own course,\nand got into the loft, where he hid himself, fearing that he would\nbe summoned as a witness to the quarrel.\n\nAfter a time Mr. Won't-Give came out of the room where he had been\nbeating the floor, and to his joy he could not find the guest. He\ncautiously looked round him and saw no signs of Mr. Won't-Leave. Of\ncourse, having had no reason to think that his guest would be sitting\nin the loft, he did not look up there; and even if he had done so,\nhe would not have found him, for he had hidden himself out of sight.\n\nMr. Won't-Give now carefully bolted the door, and his wife came out\nand changed her dirty cloth for a clean one. Said her husband to her:\n\n\"At last we have succeeded in driving him out; come, you too must be\nhungry; let us have our dinner together.\"\n\nTwo leaves were spread on the ground, and all the dishes were equally\ndivided into them. Meanwhile Mr. Won't-Leave was watching all that took\nplace below him and, being himself very hungry, was slyly watching\nfor an opportunity to jump down. Mr. Won't-Give, gloating over his\ntrickery, said to his wife:\n\n\"Well, my love, did I not beat you without hurting you?\" to which\nshe replied:\n\n\"Did I not continue to cry without shedding tears?\" when suddenly\nthere fell on their ears:\n\n\"And did I not come to have my dinner without going away?\" and down\njumped Mr. Won't-Leave, from the loft, and took his seat in front of\nthe leaf spread by Mr. Won't-Give for his wife. And Mr. Won't-Give,\nthough disappointed, was highly pleased at the cleverness of his guest.\n\nThis story is cited as the authority for three proverbs that have\ncome into use in Tamil.\n\n\n        \"Novamal aditten.\"\n        \"Oyamal aluden.\"\n        \"Pokamal vanden.\"\n\n\nwhich represent the exchanges of politeness between the husband,\nthe wife, and the guest, quoted in the foregoing paragraphs.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nVAYALVALLAN KAIYAVALLA.\n\nMR. MIGHTY-OF-HIS-MOUTH AND MR. MIGHTY-OF-HIS-HANDS.\n\n\nIn two adjoining villages there lived two famous men. The one\nwas called Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth [52]--one that could accomplish\nwonders with words alone. The other was called Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands\n[53]--one who could make no use of that glib instrument the tongue, but\nwas able to bear burdens, cut wood, and perform other physical labour.\n\nIt so happened that they agreed to live together in the house of\nthe Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth, to try and see which of them was the\nsuperior. They accordingly kept company for several months, till the\ngreat feast of the nine nights (navaratri) came on. On the first day\nof the feast Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands wanted to sacrifice a goat to\nthe goddess Kali. So he said to Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth,\n\n\"My dear friend, we both are mighty in our way, and so it would be\nshameful for us to buy the goat, that we want to sacrifice, with\nmoney. We should manage to get it without payment.\"\n\n\"Yes, we must do so, and I know how,\" replied Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth,\nand he asked his friend to wait till that evening.\n\nNow there lived a shepherd at one ghatika's (hour's) distance from\ntheir house, and the two friends resolved to go to his fold that\nnight and steal away one of his goats. Accordingly, when it was dark,\nthey approached his fold. The shepherd had just finished his duties\nto the mute members of his flock, and wanted to go home and have\nhis rice hot. But he had no second person to watch the flock, and he\nmust not lose his supper. So he planted his crook before the fold,\nand throwing his blanket (kambali) over it, thus addressed it:\n\n\"My son, I am very hungry, and so must go for my rice. Till I return\ndo you watch the flock. This wood is rich in tigers and goblins\n(bhutas). Some mischievous thief or bhuta--or kuta [54] may come\nto steal away the sheep. Watch over them carefully.\" So saying the\nshepherd went away.\n\nThe friends had heard what the shepherd said. Of course,\nMr. Mighty-of-his-mouth laughed within himself at this device of the\nshepherd to impress upon would-be robbers that he had left some one\nthere to watch his sheep, while really he had only planted a pole\nand thrown a blanket over it. Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands, however, did\nnot see the trick, and mistaking the stick to be an actual watchman\nsitting at his duty before the fold, spoke thus to his friend:\n\n\"Now what are we to do? There is a watchman sitting in front of the\nfold.\" Thereon, Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth cleared away his doubts by\nsaying that it was no watchman, but a mere stick, and entered the\nfold with his friend.\n\nIt had also so happened that on that very night a bhuta (goblin) had\ncome into the fold to steal away a sheep. It shuddered with fear on\nhearing the shepherd mention the kuta, for having never heard of the\nexistence of kutas, it mistook this imaginary being to be something\nsuperior in strength to itself. So thinking that a kuta might come\nto the fold, and not wishing to expose itself till it knew well what\nkutas were, the bhuta transformed itself into a sheep and laid itself\ndown among the flock. By this time the two Mighties had entered the\nfold and begun an examination of the sheep. They went on rejecting\none animal after another for some defect or other, till at last they\ncame to the sheep which was none other than the bhuta. They tested it,\nand when they found it very heavy--as, of course, it would be with\nthe soul of the bhuta in it--they began to tie up its legs to carry\nit home. When hands began to shake it the bhuta mistook the Mighties\nfor the kutas, and said to itself:--\n\n\"Alas! the kutas have come to take me away. What am I to do? What\na fool I was to come into the fold!\" So thought the bhuta as\nMr. Mighty-of-his-hands was carrying it away on his head, with his\nfriend following him behind. But the bhuta soon began to work its\ndevilish powers to extricate itself, and Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands\nbegan to feel pains all over his body and said to his friend:\n\n\"My dear Mighty, I feel pains all over me. I think what we have brought\nis no sheep!\" Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth was inwardly alarmed at the words\nof his friend, but did not like to show that he was afraid. So he said:\n\n\"Then put down the sheep, and let us tear open its belly, so that we\nshall each have only one-half of it to carry.\"\n\nThis frightened the bhuta, and he melted away on the head of\nMr. Mighty-of-his-hands, who, relieved of his devilish burden, was\nglad to return home safe with his friend.\n\nThe bhuta, too, went to its abode and there told its fellow-goblins\nhow it had involved itself in a great trouble and how narrowly it\nhad escaped. They all laughed at its stupidity and said, \"What a\ngreat fool you are! They were not kutas. In fact there are no kutas\nin the world. They were men, and it was most stupid of you to have\ngot yourself into their hands. Are you not ashamed to make such a fuss\nabout your escape?\" The injured bhuta retorted that they would not have\nmade such remarks had they seen the kutas. \"Then show us these kutas,\nas you choose to call them,\" said they, \"and we will crush them in\nthe twinkling of an eye.\" \"Agreed,\" said the injured bhuta, and the\nnext night it took them to the house of the Mighties, and said from\na distance: \"There is their house. I cannot approach it. Do whatever\nyou like.\" The other bhutas were amazed at the fear of their timid\nbrother, and resolved among themselves to put an end to the enemies\nof even one member of their caste. So they went in a great crowd\nto the house of the Mighties. Some stood outside the house, to see\nthat none of the inmates escaped, and some watched in the back-yard,\nwhile a score of them jumped over the walls and entered the court-yard.\n\nMr. Mighty-of-his-hands was sleeping in the verandah, adjoining the\ncourtyard, and when he heard the noise of people jumping about,\nhe opened his eyes, and to his terror saw some bhutas in the\ncourt. Without opening his mouth he quietly rolled himself along\nthe ground, and went to the room where Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth was\nsleeping with his wife and children. Tapping gently at the door he\nawoke his friend and said:\n\n\"What shall we do now? The bhutas have invaded our house, and will\nsoon kill us.\"\n\nMr. Mighty-of-his-mouth told him quietly not to be afraid, but to go\nand sleep in his original place, and that he himself would make the\nbhutas run away. Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands did not understand what his\nfriend meant, but not wishing to argue rolled his way back to his\noriginal place and pretended to sleep, though his heart was beating\nterribly with fright. Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth now awoke his wife,\nand instructed her thus:\n\n\"My dearest wife, the foolish bhutas have invaded our house, but\nif you act according to my advice we are safe, and the goblins will\ndepart harmlessly. What I want you to do is, to go to the hall and\nlight a lamp, spread leaves on the floor, and then pretend to awake\nme for my supper. I shall get up and enquire what you have ready to\ngive me to eat. You will then reply that you have only pepper water\nand vegetables. With an angry face I shall say, 'What have you done\nwith the three bhutas that our son caught hold of on his way back\nfrom school?' Your reply must be, 'The rogue wanted some sweetmeats\non coming home. Unfortunately I had none in the house, so he roasted\nthe three bhutas and gobbled them up.'\"\n\nThus instructing his wife Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth pretended to go to\nsleep. The wife accordingly spread the leaves and called her husband\nfor his supper. During the conversation that followed, the fact that\nthe son had roasted three goblins for sweetmeats was conveyed to the\nbhutas. They shuddered at the son's extraordinary ability, and thought,\n\n\"What must the father do for his meals when a son roasts three bhutas\nfor sweetmeats?\"\n\nSo they at once took to their heels. Then going to the brother they\nhad jeered at, they said to him that indeed the kutas were their\ngreatest enemies, and that none of their lives were safe while they\nremained where they were, as on that very evening the son of a kuta\nhad roasted three of them for sweetmeats. They therefore all resolved\nto fly away to the adjoining forest, and disappeared accordingly. Thus\nMr. Mighty-of-his-mouth saved himself and his friend on two occasions\nfrom the bhutas.\n\nThe friends after this went out one day to an adjoining village and\nwere returning home rather late in the evening. Darkness fell on them\nbefore half the way was traversed, and there lay before them a dense\nwood infested by beasts of prey: so they resolved to spend the night in\na high tree and go home next morning, and accordingly got up into a big\npipal. Now this was the very wood into which the bhutas had migrated,\nand at midnight they all came down with torches to catch jackals\nand other animals to feast upon. The fear of Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands\nmay be more imagined than described. The dreaded bhutas were at the\nfoot of the very tree in which he had taken up his abode for the\nnight! His hands trembled. His body shook. He lost his hold, and down\nhe came with a horrible rustling of leaves. His friend, however, was,\nas usual, ready with a device, and bawled out:\n\n\"I wished to leave these poor beings to their own revelry. But you\nare hungry and must needs jump down to catch some of them. Do not\nfail to lay your hands on the stoutest bhuta.\"\n\nThe goblins heard the voice which was already very familiar to their\nears, for was it not the kuta whose son had roasted up three bhutas\nfor sweetmeats that spoke? So they ran away at once, crying out:\n\n\"Alas, what misery! Our bitter enemies have followed us even to\nthis wood!\"\n\nThus the wit of Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth saved himself and his friend\nfor the third time.\n\nThe sun began to rise, and Mr. Mighty-of-his-hands thrice walked\nround Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth and said:\n\n\"My dear friend, truly you only of us two are mighty. Mere physical\nstrength is of no use without skill in words. The latter is far\nsuperior to the former, and if a man possess both, he is, as it were,\na golden lotus having a sweet scent. It is enough for me now to have\narrived at this moral! With your kind permission I shall return to\nmy village.\" Mr. Mighty-of-his-mouth asked his friend not to consider\nhimself under any obligation, and, after honouring him as became his\nposition he let him return to his village.\n\nThe moral of this short story is that in man there is nothing great\nbut mind.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nTHE MOTHER-IN-LAW BECAME AN ASS.\n\n\nLittle by little the mother-in-law became an ass--vara vara mami\nkaludai pol anal, is a proverb among the Tamils, applied to those\nwho day by day go downwards in their progress in study, position,\nor life, and based on the following story:--\n\nIn a certain village their lived a Brahman with his wife, mother,\nand mother-in-law. He was a very good man, and equally kind to all\nof them. His mother complained of nothing at his hands, but his wife\nwas a very bad-tempered woman, and always troubled her mother-in-law\nby keeping her engaged in this work or that throughout the day, and\ngiving her very little food in the evening. Owing to this the poor\nBrahman's mother was almost dying of misery. On the other hand, her\nown mother received very kind treatment, of course, at her daughter's\nhands, but the husband was so completely ruled by his wife, that he\nhad no strength of mind to oppose her ill-treatment of his mother.\n\nOne evening, just before sunset, the wife abused her mother-in-law with\nsuch fury, that the latter had to fly away to escape a thrashing. Full\nof misery she ran out of the village, but the sun had begun to set,\nand the darkness of night was fast overtaking her. So finding a ruined\ntemple she entered it to pass the night there. It happened to be\nthe abode of the village Kali (goddess), who used to come out every\nnight at midnight to inspect her village. That night she perceived a\nwoman--the mother of the poor Brahman--lurking within her prakaras\n(boundaries), and being a most benevolent Kali, called out to her,\nand asked her what made her so miserable that she should leave her\nhome on such a dark night. The Brahmani told her story in a few\nwords, and while she was speaking the cunning goddess was using her\nsupernatural powers to see whether all she said was true or not, and\nfinding it to be the truth, she thus replied in very soothing tones:--\n\n\"I pity your misery, mother, because your daughter-in-law troubles\nand vexes you thus when you have become old, and have no strength\nin your body. Now take this mango,\" and taking a ripe one from out\nher waist-band, she gave it to the old Brahmani with a smiling\nface--\"eat it, and you will soon become a young woman like your\nown daughter-in-law, and then she shall no longer trouble you.\" Thus\nconsoling the afflicted old woman, the kind-hearted Kali went away. The\nBrahmani lingered for the remainder of the night in the temple, and\nbeing a fond mother she did not like to eat the whole of the mango\nwithout giving a portion of it to her son.\n\nMeanwhile, when her son returned home in the evening he found his\nmother absent, but his wife explained the matter to him, so as to throw\nthe blame on the old woman, as she always did. As it was dark he had no\nchance of going out to search for her, so he waited for the daylight,\nand as soon as he saw the dawn, started to look for his mother. He\nhad not walked far when to his joy he found her in the temple of Kali.\n\n\"How did you pass the cold night, my dearest mother?\" said he. \"What\ndid you have for dinner? Wretch that I am to have got myself married\nto a cur. Forget all her faults, and return home.\"\n\nHis mother shed tears of joy and sorrow, and related her previous\nnight's adventure, upon which he said:--\n\n\"Delay not even one nimisha (minute), but eat this fruit at once. I\ndo not want any of it. Only if you become young and strong enough to\nstand that nasty cur's troubles, well and good.\"\n\nSo the mother ate up the divine fruit, and the son took her upon his\nshoulders and brought her home, on reaching which he placed her on the\nground, when to his joy she was no longer an old woman, but a young\ngirl of sixteen, and stronger than his own wife. The troublesome\nwife was now totally put down, and was powerless against so strong\na mother-in-law.\n\nShe did not at all like the change, and having to give up her habits\nof bullying, and so she argued to herself thus:--\n\n\"This jade of a mother-in-law became young through the fruit of the\nKali, why should not my mother also do the same, if I instruct her\nand send her to the same temple.\"\n\nSo she instructed her mother as to the story she ought to give to\nthe goddess and sent her there. Her old mother, agreeably to her\ndaughter's injunctions, went to the temple, and on meeting with the\ngoddess at midnight, gave a false story that she was being greatly\nill-treated by her daughter-in-law, though, in truth, she had nothing\nof the kind to complain of. The goddess perceived the lie through her\ndivine powers, but pretending to pity her, gave her also a fruit. Her\ndaughter had instructed her not to eat it till next morning, and till\nshe saw her son-in-law.\n\nAs soon as morning approached, the poor hen-pecked Brahman was ordered\nby his wife to go to the temple and fetch his mother-in-law, as he\nhad some time back fetched away his mother. He accordingly went, and\ninvited her to come home. She wanted him to eat part of the fruit, as\nshe had been instructed, but he refused, and so she swallowed it all,\nfully expecting to become young again on reaching home. Meanwhile her\nson-in-law took her on his shoulders and returned home, expecting,\nas his former experience had taught him, to see his mother-in-law\nalso turn into a young woman. Anxiety to see how the change came on\nover-came him, and half way he turned his head, and found such part\nof the burden on his shoulders as he could see, to be like parts of an\nass, but he took this to be a mere preliminary stage towards youthful\nwomanhood! Again he turned, and again he saw the same thing several\ntimes, and the more he looked the more his burden became like an ass,\ntill at last when he reached home, his burden jumped down braying\nlike an ass and ran away.\n\nThus the Kali, perceiving the evil intentions of the wife, disappointed\nher by turning her mother into an ass, but no one knew of it till\nshe actually jumped down from the shoulders of her son-in-law.\n\nThis story is always cited as the explanation of the proverb\nquoted above--vara vara mami kaludai pol anal--little by little\nthe mother-in-law became an ass, to which is also commonly added ur\nvarumbodu ulaiyida talaippattal--and as she approached the village,\nshe began to bray.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nThe Story of Appayya. [55]\n\n                                                 Apupena hatah chorah\n                                                 Hata khadgona kesari\n                                                 Turamgena hatam sainyam\n                                                 Vidhirbhagyanu sarini\n\n\nIn a remote village there lived a poor Brahman and his wife. Though\nseveral years of their wedded life had passed, they unfortunately had\nno children, and so, being very eager for a child, and having no hope\nof one by his first wife, the poor Brahman made up his mind to marry\na second. His wife would not permit it for some time, but finding\nher husband resolved, she gave way, thinking within herself that she\nwould manage somehow to do away with the second wife. As soon as he\nhad got her consent the Brahman arranged for his second marriage and\nwedded a beautiful Brahman girl. She went to live with him in the same\nhouse with the first wife, who, thinking that she would be making the\nworld suspicious if she did anything suddenly, waited for some time.\n\nIsvara himself seemed to favour the new marriage, and the second wife,\na year after her wedding, becoming pregnant, went in the sixth month of\nher pregnancy to her mother's house for her confinement. Her husband\nbore his separation from her patiently for a fortnight, but after\nthis the desire to see her again began to prey upon his mind, and\nhe was always asking his first wife when he ought to go to her. She\nseemed to sympathise fully with his trouble, and said:--\n\n\"My dearest husband, your health is daily being injured, and I am glad\nthat your love for her has not made it worse than it is. To-morrow\nyou must start on a visit to her. It is said that we should not go\nempty-handed to children, a king, or a pregnant woman; so I shall\ngive you one hundred apupa cakes, packed up separately in a vessel,\nwhich you must give to her. You are very fond of apupas and I fear\nthat you will eat some of them on the way; but you had better not do\nso. And I will give you some cakes packed in a cloth separately for\nyou to eat on your journey.\"\n\nSo the first wife spent the whole night in preparing the apupa cakes,\nand mixed poison in the sugar and rice-flour of those she made for\nher co-wife and rival; but as she entertained no enmity against her\nhusband the apupas cakes for him were properly prepared. By the time\nthe morning dawned she had packed up the hundred apupas in a brass\nvessel which could be easily carried on a man's head.\n\nAfter a light breakfast--for a heavy one is always bad before a\njourney on foot--the Brahman placed the brass vessel on his head,\nand holding in his hand the kerchief containing the food for himself\non the way, started for the village of his second wife, which happened\nto be at a distance of two days' journey. He walked in hot haste till\nevening approached, and when the darkness of night overtook him the\nrapidity of his walk had exhausted him, and he felt very hungry. He\nespied a wayside shed and a tank near his path, and entered the water\nto perform his evening ablution to the god of the day, who was fast\ngoing down below the horizon. As soon as this was over he untied his\nkerchief, and did full justice to its contents by swallowing every cake\nwhole. He then drank some water, and being quite overcome by fatigue,\nfell into a deep slumber in the shed, with his brass vessel and its\nsweet, or rather poisonous, contents under his head.\n\nClose by the spot where the Brahman slept there reigned a famous\nking who had a very beautiful daughter. Several persons demanded her\nhand in marriage, among whom was a robber chieftain who wanted her\nfor his only son. Though the king liked the boy for his beauty, the\nthought that he was only a robber for all that prevented him from\nmaking up his mind to give his daughter in marriage to him. The\nrobber chief, however, was determined to have his own way, and\naccordingly despatched one hundred of his band to fetch away the\nprincess in the night without her knowledge while she was sleeping,\nto his palace in the woods. In obedience to their chieftain's order\nthe robbers, on the night the Brahman happened to sleep in the shed,\nentered the king's palace and stole away the princess, together with\nthe bed on which she was sleeping. On reaching the shed the hundred\nrobbers found themselves very thirsty--for being awake at midnight\nalways brings on thirst. So they placed the cot on the ground and\nwere entering the water to quench their thirst; just then they\nsmelt the apupa cakes, which, for all that they contained poison,\nhad a very sweet savour. The robbers searched about the shed, and\nfound the Brahman sleeping on one side and the brass vessel lying at\na distance from him, for he had pushed it from underneath his head\nwhen he had stretched himself in his sleep; they opened the vessel,\nand to their joy found in it exactly one hundred apupa cakes.\n\n\"We have one here for each of us, and that is something better than\nmere water. Let us each eat before we go into it,\" said the leader\nof the gang, and at once each man swallowed greedily what he had in\nhis hand, and immediately all fell down dead. Lucky it was that no\none knew of the old Brahmani's trick. Had the robbers had any reason\nto suspect it they would never have eaten the cakes; had the Brahman\nknown it he would never have brought them with him for his dear second\nwife. Lucky was it for the poor old Brahman and his second wife,\nand lucky was it for the sleeping princess, that these cakes went,\nafter all, into the stomachs of the villainous robbers!\n\nAfter sleeping his fill the Brahman, who had been dreaming of his\nsecond wife all night, awoke in haste to pursue the remainder of his\njourney to her house. He could not find his brass vessel, but near the\nplace where he had left it he found several men of the woods, whom\nhe knew very well by their appearance to be robbers, as he thought,\nsleeping. Angered at the loss of his vessel he took up a sword from\none of the dead robbers and cut off all their heads, thinking all\nthe while that he was killing one hundred living robbers, who were\nsleeping after having eaten all his cakes. Presently the princess's\ncot fell under his gaze, and he approached it and found on it a most\nbeautiful lady fast asleep. Being an intelligent man he perceived that\nthe persons whose heads he had cut off must have been some thieves,\nor other wicked men, who had carried her off. He was not long in doubt,\nfor not far off he saw an army marching up rapidly with a king at its\nhead, who was saying, \"Down with the robber who has stolen away my\ndaughter.\" The Brahman at once inferred that this must be the father\nof the sleeping princess, and suddenly waking her up from her sleep\nspoke thus to her:--\n\n\"Behold before you the hundred robbers that brought you here a few\nhours ago from your palace. I fought one and all of them single-handed,\nand have killed them all.\"\n\nThe princess was highly pleased at what she heard, for she knew of\nall the tricks the robbers had previously played to carry her off. So\nshe fell reverently at the Brahman's feet and said:--\n\n\"Friend, never till now have I heard of a warrior who, single-handed,\nfought one hundred robbers. Your valour is unparalleled. I will be\nyour wife, if only in remembrance of your having saved me from falling\ninto the hands of these ruffians.\"\n\nHer father and his army was now near the shed, for he had all along\nwatched the conduct of the robber chieftain, and as soon as the\nmaid-servants of the palace informed him of the disappearance of the\nprincess and her bed, he marched straight with his soldiers for the\nwoods. His joy, when he saw his daughter safe, knew no bounds, and\nhe flew into his daughter's arms, while she pointed to the Brahman\nas her preserver. The king now put a thousand questions to our hero,\nwho, being well versed in matters of fighting, gave sound replies, and\nso came successfully out of his first adventure. The king, astonished\nat his valour, took him to his palace, and rewarded him with the hand\nof the princess. And the robber chieftain, fearing the new son-in-law,\nwho, single-handed, had killed a hundred of his robbers, never troubled\nhimself about the princess. Thus the Brahman's first adventure ended\nin making him son-in-law to a king!\n\nNow there lived a lioness in a wood near the princess's country,\nwho had a great taste for human flesh, and so, once a week, the king\nused to send a man into the wood to serve as her prey. All the people\nnow collected together before the king, and said:--\n\n\"Most honoured king, while you have a son-in-law who killed one hundred\nrobbers with his sword, why should you continue to send a man into\nthe wood every week. We request you to send your son-in-law next week\nto the wood and have the lioness killed.\"\n\nThis seemed most reasonable to the king, who called for his son-in-law,\nand sent him, armed to the teeth, into the wood.\n\nNow our Brahman could not refuse to go, for fear of losing the fame\nof his former exploit, and, hoping that fortune would favour him, he\nasked his father-in-law to have him hoisted up into a big banyan tree\nwith all kinds of weapons, and this was done. The appointed time for\nthe lioness to eat her prey approached, and as she saw no one coming\nfor her, and as sometimes those that had to come used to linger for\na short time in the tree in which the Brahman had taken refuge, she\nwent up to it to see that no such trick has been played upon her this\ntime. This made the Brahman tremble so violently that he dropped the\nsword he held in his hand. At that very moment the lioness happened\nto yawn, and the sword dropped right into her jaws and killed her. As\nsoon as the Brahman saw the course which events had taken, he came\ndown from the tree, and invented a thousand stories of how he had\ngiven battle to the terrible lioness and overcome her. This exploit\nfully established his valour, and feasts and rejoicings in honour of\nit followed, and the whole country round blessed the son-in-law of\ntheir king.\n\nNear this kingdom there also reigned a powerful emperor, who levied\ntribute from all the surrounding countries. To this emperor the\nfather-in-law of our most valorous Brahman, who, at one stroke,\nhad killed one hundred robbers, and, at another, a fierce lioness,\nhad also to pay a certain amount of tribute; but, trusting to the\npower of his son-in-law, he stopped the tribute to the emperor, who,\nby the way, was named Appayya Raja, and who, as soon as the tribute\nwas stopped, invaded his dominions, and his father-in-law besought\nthe Brahman for assistance.\n\nAgain the poor Brahman could not refuse, for, if he did, all his\nformer fame would have been lost; so he determined to undertake\nthis adventure also, and to trust to fortune rather than give up the\nattempt. He asked for the best horse and the sharpest sword, and set\nout to fight the enemy, who had already encamped on the other side\nof the river, which flowed at a short distance to the east of the town.\n\nNow the king had a very unruly horse, which had never been broken in,\nand this he gave his son-in-law; and, supplying him with a sharp sword,\nasked him to start. The Brahman then asked the king's servants to\ntie him up with cotton strings tight on to the saddle, and set out\non the expedition.\n\nThe horse, having never till then felt a man on its back, began to\ngallop most furiously, and flew onwards so fast that all who saw it\nthought the rider must lose his life, and he too was almost dead\nwith fear. He tried his best to curb his steed, but the more he\npulled the faster it galloped, till giving up all hopes of life he\nlet it take its course. It jumped into the water and swam across to\nthe other side of the river, wetting the cotton cords by which the\nBrahman was tied down to the saddle, making them swell and giving\nhim the most excruciating pain. He bore it, however, with all the\npatience imaginable. Presently the horse reached the other side\nof the river, where there was a big palmyra tree, which a recent\nflood had left almost uprooted and ready to fall at the slightest\ntouch. The Brahman, unable to stop the course of the horse, held\nfast on to the tree, hoping thus to check its wild career. But\nunfortunately for him the tree gave way, and the steed galloped on\nso furiously that he did not know which was the safer--to leave the\ntree or to hold on to it. Meanwhile the wet cotton cords hurt him so\nthat he, in the hopelessness of despair, bawled out appa! ayya! [56]\nOn went his steed, and still he held on to the palmyra tree. Though\nnow fighting for his own life, the people that were watching him\nfrom a great distance thought him to be flying to the battlefield,\narmed with a palmyra tree! The cry of lamentation, appa ayya, which he\nuttered, his enemy mistook for a challenge, because, as we know, his\nname happened to be Appayya. Horror-struck at the sight of a warrior\narmed with a huge tree, his enemy turned and fled. Yatha raja tatha\nprajah--\"As is the king so are the subjects,\"--and accordingly his\nfollowers also fled. The Brahman warrior (!) seeing the fortunate\ncourse events had again taken pursued the enemy, or rather let his\ncourser have its own furious way. Thus the enemy and his vast army\nmelted away in the twinkling of an eye, and the horse, too, when it\nbecame exhausted, returned towards the palace.\n\nThe old king had been watching from the loftiest rooms of his palace\nall that had passed on the other side of the river, and believing his\nson-in-law had, by his own prowess, driven out the enemy, approached\nhim with all pomp. Eager hands quickly cut the knots by which the\nvictorious (!) Brahman had been held tight in his saddle, and his old\nfather-in-law with tears of joy embraced him on his victory, saying\nthat the whole kingdom was indebted to him. A splendid triumphal\nmarch was conducted, in which the eyes of the whole town were directed\ntowards our victorious hero.\n\nThus, on three different occasions, and in three different adventures,\nfortune favoured the poor Brahman and brought him fame. He then sent\nfor his two former wives and took them into his palace. His second\nwife, who was pregnant when he first started with the apupa cakes to\nsee her, had given birth to a male child, who was, when she came back\nto him, more than a year old. The first wife confessed to her husband\nher sin of having given him poisoned cakes, and craved his pardon;\nand it was only now that he came to know that the hundred robbers he\nkilled in his first adventure were all really dead men, and that they\nmust have died from the effects of the poison in the cakes, and, since\nher treachery had given him a new start in life, he forgave her. She,\ntoo, gave up her enmity to the partners of her husband's bed, and\nall the four lived in peace and plenty for many a long day afterwards.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nTHE BRAHMIN GIRL THAT MARRIED A TIGER.\n\n\nIn a certain village there lived an old Brahmin who had three sons and\na daughter. The girl being the youngest was brought up most tenderly\nand became spoilt, and so whenever she saw a beautiful boy she would\nsay to her parents that she must be wedded to him. Her parents were,\ntherefore, much put about to devise excuses for taking her away from\nher youthful lovers. Thus passed on some years, till the girl was\nvery nearly grown up, and then the parents, fearing that they would\nbe driven out of their caste if they failed to dispose of her hand\nin marriage before she came to the years of maturity, began to be\neager about finding a bridegroom for her.\n\nNow near their village there lived a fierce tiger, that had attained to\ngreat proficiency in the art of magic, and had the power of assuming\ndifferent forms. Having a great taste for Brahmin's food, the tiger\nused now and then to frequent temples and other places of public\nrefreshment in the shape of an old famished Brahmin in order to share\nthe food prepared for the Brahmins. The tiger also wanted, if possible,\na Brahmin wife to take to the woods, and there to make her cook his\nmeals after her fashion. One day, when he was partaking of his meals\nin Brahmin shape at a satra [57], he heard the talk about the Brahmin\ngirl who was always falling in love with every beautiful Brahmin boy.\n\nSaid he to himself, \"Praised be the face that I saw first this\nmorning. I shall assume the shape of a Brahmin boy, and appear as\nbeautiful can be, and win the heart of the girl.\"\n\nNext morning he accordingly became in the form of a great Sastrin\n(proficient in the Ramayana) and took his seat near the ghat of the\nsacred river of the village. Scattering holy ashes profusely over\nhis body he opened the Ramayana and began to read.\n\n\"The voice of the new Sastrin is most enchanting. Let us go and hear\nhim,\" said some women among themselves, and sat down before him to\nhear him expound the great book. The girl for whom the tiger had\nassumed this shape came in due time to bathe at the river, and as\nsoon as she saw the new Sastrin fell in love with him, and bothered\nher old mother to speak to her father about him, so as not to lose\nher new lover. The old woman too was delighted at the bridegroom\nwhom fortune had thrown in her way, and ran home to her husband,\nwho, when he came and saw the Sastrin, raised up his hands in praise\nof the great god Mahesvara. The Sastrin was now invited to take his\nmeals with them, and as he had come with the express intention of\nmarrying the daughter, he, of course, agreed.\n\nA grand dinner followed in honour of the Sastrin, and his host began\nto question him as to his parentage, &c., to which the cunning\ntiger replied that he was born in a village beyond the adjacent\nwood. The Brahmin had no time to wait for further enquiries, and as\nthe boy was very fair he married his daughter to him the very next\nday. Feasts followed for a month, during which time the bridegroom\ngave every satisfaction to his new relatives, who supposed him to be\nhuman all the while. He also did full justice to the Brahmin dishes,\nand swallowed everything that was placed before him.\n\nAfter the first month was over the tiger-bridegroom bethought him of\nhis accustomed prey, and hankered after his abode in the woods. A\nchange of diet for a day or two is all very well, but to renounce\nhis own proper food for more than a month was hard. So one day he\nsaid to his father-in-law, \"I must go back soon to my old parents,\nfor they will be pining at my absence. But why should we have to\nbear the double expense of my coming all the way here again to take\nmy wife to my village? So if you will kindly let me take the girl\nwith me I shall take her to her future home, and hand her over to\nher mother-in-law, and see that she is well taken care of.\"\n\nThe old Brahmin agreed to this, and replied, \"My dear son-in-law,\nyou are her husband, and she is yours, and we now send her with you,\nthough it is like sending her into the wilderness with her eyes tied\nup. But as we take you to be everything to her, we trust you to treat\nher kindly.\"\n\nThe mother of the bride shed tears at the idea of having to send her\naway, but nevertheless the very next day was fixed for the journey. The\nold woman spent the whole day in preparing cakes and sweetmeats for\nher daughter, and when the time for the journey arrived, she took care\nto place in her bundles and on her head one or two margosa [58] leaves\nto keep off demons. The relatives of the bride requested her husband\nto allow her to rest wherever she found shade, and to eat wherever she\nfound water, and to this he agreed, and so they began their journey.\n\nThe boy tiger and his human wife pursued their journey for two or\nthree ghatikas [59] in free and pleasant conversation, when the girl\nhappened to see a fine pond, round which the birds were warbling their\nsweet notes. She requested her husband to follow her to the water's\nedge and to partake of some of the cakes and sweetmeats with her.\n\nBut he replied, \"Be quiet, or I shall show you my original shape.\"\n\nThis made her afraid, so she pursued her journey in silence until she\nsaw another pond, when she asked the same question of her husband,\nwho replied in the same tone.\n\nNow she was very hungry, and not liking her husband's tone, which\nshe found had greatly changed ever since they had entered the woods,\nsaid to him,\n\n\"Show me your original shape.\"\n\nNo sooner were these words uttered than her husband's form changed\nfrom that of a man. Four legs, striped skin, a long tail, and a\ntiger's face came over him suddenly and, horror of horrors! a tiger\nand not a man stood before her! Nor were her fears stilled when the\ntiger in human voice began as follows:--\n\n\"Know henceforth that I, your husband, am a tiger--this very tiger\nthat now speaks to you. If you have any regard for your life you must\nobey all my orders implicitly, for I can speak to you in human voice,\nand understand what you say. In a couple of ghatikas we shall reach\nmy home, of which you will become the mistress. In the front of my\nhouse you will see half-a-dozen tubs, each of which you must fill up\ndaily with some dish or other, cooked in your own way. I shall take\ncare to supply you with all the provisions you want.\" So saying the\ntiger slowly conducted her to his house.\n\nThe misery of the girl may more be imagined than described, for if\nshe were to object she would be put to death. So, weeping all the\nway, she reached her husband's house. Leaving her there he went out\nand returned with several pumpkins and some flesh, of which she soon\nprepared a curry and gave it to her husband. He went out again after\nthis and returned in the evening with several vegetables and some\nmore flesh, and gave her an order:--\n\n\"Every morning I shall go out in search of provisions and prey,\nand bring something with me on my return; you must keep cooked for\nme whatever I leave in the house.\"\n\nSo next morning as soon as the tiger had gone away she cooked\neverything left in the house and filled all the tubs with food. At\nthe tenth ghatika the tiger returned and growled out,\n\n\"I smell a man! I smell a woman in my wood.\" And his wife for very\nfear shut herself up in the house.\n\nAs soon as the tiger had satisfied his appetite he told her to open\nthe door, which she did, and they talked together for a time, after\nwhich the tiger rested awhile, and then went out hunting again. Thus\npassed many a day, till the tiger's Brahmin wife had a son, which\nalso turned out to be only a tiger.\n\nOne day, after the tiger had gone out to the woods, his wife was\ncrying all alone in the house, when a crow happened to peck at some\nrice that was scattered near her, and seeing the girl crying, began\nto shed tears.\n\n\"Can you assist me?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the crow.\n\nSo she brought out a palmyra leaf and wrote on it with an iron nail\nall her sufferings in the wood, and requested her brothers to come\nand relieve her. This palmyra leaf she tied to the neck of the crow,\nwhich, seeming to understand her thoughts, flew to her village and\nsat down before one of her brothers. He untied the leaf and read the\ncontents of the letter and told them to his other brothers. All the\nthree then started for the wood, asking their mother to give them\nsomething to eat on the way. She had not enough rice for the three,\nso she made a big ball of clay and stuck it over with what rice she\nhad, so as to make it look like a ball of rice. This she gave to the\nbrothers to eat on their way, and started them off to the woods.\n\nThey had not proceeded long before they espied an ass. The youngest,\nwho was of a playful disposition, wished to take the ass with him. The\ntwo elder brothers objected to this for a time, but in the end they\nallowed him to have his own way. Further on they saw an ant, which\nthe middle brother took with him. Near the ant there was a big palmyra\ntree lying on the ground, which the eldest took with him to keep off\nthe tiger.\n\nThe sun was now high in the horizon and the three brothers became very\nhungry. So they sat down near a tank and opened the bundle containing\nthe ball of rice. To their utter disappointment they found it to be\nall clay, but being extremely hungry they drank all the water in the\npond and continued their journey. On leaving the tank they found a big\niron tub belonging to the washerman of the adjacent village. This they\ntook also with them in addition to the ass, the ant, and the palmyra\ntree. Following the road described by their sister in her letter sent\nby the crow, they walked on and on till they reached the tiger's house.\n\nThe sister, overjoyed to see her brothers again, ran out at once to\nwelcome them.\n\n\"My dearest brothers, I am so glad to see that you have come here\nto relieve me after all, but the time for the tiger's coming home is\napproaching, so hide yourselves in the loft, and wait till he is gone.\"\n\nSo saying, she helped her brothers to ascend into the loft. By this\ntime the tiger returned, and perceived the presence of human beings\nby the peculiar smell. He asked his wife whether any one had come to\ntheir house. She said, \"No.\" But when the brothers, who with their\ntrophies of the way--the ass, the ant, and so on--were sitting upon\nthe loft, saw the tiger dallying with their sister, they were greatly\nfrightened; so much so that the youngest, through fear, began to quake,\nand they all fell on the floor.\n\n\"What is all this?\" said the terrified tiger to his wife.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said she, \"but your brothers-in-law. They came here a watch\n[60] ago, and as soon as you have finished your meals they want to\nsee you.\"\n\n\"How can my brothers-in-law be such cowards,\" thought the tiger\nto himself.\n\nHe then asked them to speak to him, whereon the youngest brother put\nthe ant which he had in his hand into the ear of the ass, and as soon\nas the latter was bitten, it began to bawl out most horribly.\n\n\"How is it that your brothers have such a hoarse voice?\" said the\ntiger to his wife.\n\nHe next asked them to show him their legs. Taking courage at the\nstupidity of the tiger on the two former occasions, the eldest brother\nnow stretched out the palmyra tree.\n\n\"By my father, I have never seen such a leg,\" said the tiger, and\nasked his brothers-in-law to show their bellies. The second brother\nnow showed the tub, at which the tiger shuddered, and saying, \"such\na harsh voice, so stout a leg, and such a belly, truly I have never\nheard of such persons as these!\" He ran away.\n\nIt was already dark, and the brothers, wishing to take advantage\nof the tiger's terror, prepared to return home with their sister\nat once. They ate up what little food she had, and ordered her to\nstart. Fortunately for her her tiger-child was asleep. So she tore it\ninto two pieces and suspended them over the hearth, and, thus getting\nrid of the child, she ran off with her brothers towards home.\n\nBefore leaving she bolted the front door from inside, and went out\nat the back of the house. As soon as the pieces of the cub, which\nwere hung up over the hearth, began to roast, they dripped, which\nmade the fire hiss and sputter; and when the tiger returned at about\nmidnight, he found the door shut and heard the hissing of the fire,\nwhich he mistook for the noise of cooking muffins. [61]\n\n\"I see,\" said he to himself, \"how very cunning you are; you have\nbolted the door and are cooking muffins for your brothers. Let us\nsee if we can't get your muffins.\"\n\nSo saying he went round to the back door and entered his house, and\nwas greatly perplexed to find his cub torn in two and being roasted,\nhis house deserted by his Brahmin wife, and his property plundered;\nfor his wife, before leaving, had taken with her as much of the\ntiger's property as she could conveniently carry.\n\nThe tiger now discovered all the treachery of his wife, and his heart\ngrieved for the loss of his son, that was now no more. He determined\nto be revenged on his wife, and to bring her back into the wood, and\nthere tear her into many pieces in place of only two. But how to bring\nher back? He assumed his original shape of a young bridegroom, making,\nof course, due allowance for the number of years that had passed since\nhis marriage, and next morning went to his father-in-law's house. His\nbrothers-in-law and his wife saw from a distance the deceitful form\nhe had assumed, and devised means to kill him. Meanwhile the tiger\nBrahmin approached his father-in-law's house, and the old people\nwelcomed him. The younger ones too ran here and there to bring\nprovisions to feed him sumptuously, and the tiger was highly pleased\nat the hospitable way in which he was received.\n\nThere was a ruined well at the back of the house, and the eldest of\nthe brothers placed some thin sticks across its mouth, over which\nhe spread a fine mat. Now it is usual to ask guests to have an oil\nbath before dinner, and so his three brothers-in-law requested the\ntiger to take his seat on the fine mat for his bath. As soon as he\nsat on it, the thin sticks being unable to bear his weight, gave way,\nand down fell the cunning tiger with a heavy crash! The well was at\nonce filled in with stones and other rubbish, and thus the tiger was\neffectually prevented from doing any more mischief.\n\nBut the Brahmin girl, in memory of her having married a tiger, raised\na pillar over the well and planted a tulasi [62] shrub on the top of\nit. Morning and evening, for the rest of her life, she used to smear\nthe pillar with sacred cowdung, and water the tulasi shrub.\n\nThis story is told to explain the Tamil proverb, \"Summa irukkiraya,\nsuruvattai kattattuma,\" which means--\n\n\"Be quiet, or I shall show you my original shape.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nTHE GOOD HUSBAND AND THE BAD WIFE.\n\n\nIn a remote village there lived a Brahmin whose good nature and\ncharitable disposition were proverbial. Equally proverbial also were\nthe ill-nature and uncharitable disposition of the Brahmani--his\nwife. But as Paramesvara (God) had joined them in matrimony, they\nhad to live together as husband and wife, though their temperaments\nwere so incompatible. Every day the Brahmin had a taste of his wife's\nill-temper, and if any other Brahmin was invited to dinner by him,\nhis wife, somehow or other, would manage to drive him away.\n\nOne fine summer morning a rather stupid Brahmin friend of his came\nto visit our hero and was at once invited to dinner. He told his\nwife to have dinner ready earlier than usual, and went off to the\nriver to bathe. His friend not feeling very well that day wanted a\nhot bath at the house, and so did not follow him to the river, but\nremained sitting in the outer verandah. If any other guest had come,\nthe wife would have accused him of greediness to his face and sent\nhim away, but this visitor seemed to be a special friend of her lord,\nso she did not like to say anything; but she devised a plan to make\nhim go away of his own accord.\n\nShe proceeded to smear the ground before her husband's friend with\ncowdung, and placed in the midst of it a long pestle, supporting\none end of it against the wall. She next approached the pestle most\nsolemnly and performed worship (puja) to it. The guest did not in the\nleast understand what she was doing, and respectfully asked her what\nit all meant.\n\n\"This is what is called pestle worship,\" she replied. \"I do it as a\ndaily duty, and this pestle is intended to break the head of some human\nbeing in honour of a goddess, whose feet are most devoutly worshipped\nby my husband. Every day as soon as he returns from his bath in the\nriver, he takes this pestle, which I am ordered to keep ready for him\nbefore his return, and with it breaks the head of any human being\nwhom he has managed to get hold of by inviting him to a meal. This\nis his tribute (dakshina) to the goddess; to-day you are the victim.\"\n\nThe guest was much alarmed.\n\n\"What! break the head of a guest! I at any rate shall not be deceived\nto-day,\" thought he, and prepared to run away.\n\nThe Brahmin's wife appeared to sympathise with his sad plight,\nand said:--\n\n\"Really, I do pity you. But there is one thing you can do now to save\nyourself. If you go out by the front door and walk down the street\nmy husband may follow you, so you had better go out by the back door.\"\n\nTo this plan the guest most thankfully agreed, and hastily ran off\nby the back door.\n\nAlmost immediately our hero returned from his bath, but before he\ncould arrive his wife had cleaned up the place she had prepared for\nthe pestle worship, and when the Brahmin, not finding his friend in\nthe house inquired of her as to what had become of him, she said in\nseeming anger:--\n\n\"The greedy brute! he wanted me to give him this pestle--this very\npestle which I brought forty years ago as a dowry from my mother's\nhouse, and when I refused he ran away by the back-yard in haste.\"\n\nBut her kind-hearted lord observed that he would rather lose the\npestle than his guest, even though it was a part of his wife's dowry,\nand more than forty years old. So he ran off with the pestle in his\nhand after his friend, crying out,\n\n\"Oh Brahmin! Oh Brahmin! Stop please, and take the pestle.\"\n\nBut the story told by the old woman now seemed all the more true to\nthe guest when he saw her husband running after him, and so he said,\n\n\"You and your pestle may go where you please. Never more will you\ncatch me in your house,\" and ran away.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\nTHE GOOD WIFE AND THE BAD HUSBAND. [63]\n\n\nIn a remote village there lived a man and his wife, who was a stupid\nlittle woman and believed everything that was told her. Whenever\npeople wanted anything from her they used to come and flatter her;\nbut this had to be done in the absence of her husband, because he\nwas a very miserly man, and would never part with any of his money,\nfor all he was exceedingly rich. Nevertheless, without his knowledge\ncunning beggars would now and then come to his wife and beg of her, and\nthey used generally to succeed, as she was so amenable to flattery. But\nwhenever her husband found her out he would come down heavily upon her,\nsometimes with words and sometimes with blows. Thus quarrels arose,\ntill at last, for the sake of peace, the wife had to give up her\ncharitable propensities.\n\nNow there lived in the village a rogue of the first water, who had many\na time witnessed what took place in the rich miser's family. Wishing\nto revive his old habit of getting what he wanted from the miser's\nwife he watched his opportunity and one day, when the miser had gone\nout on horseback to inspect his land, he came to his wife in the\nmiddle of the day and fell down at the threshold as if overcome by\nexhaustion. She ran up to him at once and asked him who he was.\n\n\"I am a native of Kailasa,\" said he, \"sent down by an old couple\nliving there, for news of their son and his wife.\"\n\n\"Who are those fortunate dwellers on Siva's mountain?\" said she.\n\nOn this the rogue gave the names of her husband's deceased parents,\nwhich he had taken good care, of course, to learn from the neighbours.\n\n\"Do you really come from them?\" said she. \"Are they doing well\nthere? Dear old people. How glad my husband would be to see you, were\nhe here! Sit down please, and take rest awhile till he returns. How\ndo they live there? Have they enough to eat and to dress themselves?\"\n\nThese and a thousand other questions she put to the rogue, who, for\nhis part, wanted to get away as quick as possible, as he knew full\nwell how he would be treated if the miser should return while he was\nthere, so he said:--\n\n\"Mother, language has no words to describe the miseries they are\nundergoing in the other world. They have not a rag to cover themselves,\nand for the last six days they have eaten nothing, and have lived on\nwater only. It would break your heart to see them.\"\n\nThe rogue's pathetic words fully deceived the good woman, who firmly\nbelieved that he had come down from Kailasa, sent by the old couple\nto her.\n\n\"Why should they suffer so?\" said she, \"when their son has plenty to\neat and to dress himself, and when their daughter-in-law wears all\nsorts of costly ornaments?\"\n\nWith that she went into the house and came out with two boxes\ncontaining all the clothes of herself and her husband, and gave\nthe whole lot to the rogue, with instructions to take them to her\npoor old people in Kailasa. She also gave him her jewel box for her\nmother-in-law.\n\n\"But dress and jewels will not fill their hungry stomachs,\" said he.\n\nRequesting him to wait a little, the silly woman brought out her\nhusband's cash chest and emptied the contents into the rogue's coat,\n[64] who now went off in haste, promising to give everything to the\ngood people in Kailasa. Our good lady in accordance with etiquette,\nconducted him a few hundred yards along the road and sent news of\nherself through him to her relatives, and then returned home. The\nrogue now tied up all his booty in his coat and ran in haste towards\nthe river and crossed over it.\n\nNo sooner had our heroine reached home than her husband returned\nafter his inspection of his lands. Her pleasure at what she had done\nwas so great, that she met him at the door and told him all about the\narrival of the messenger from Kailasa, and how she had sent clothes,\nand jewels, and money through him to her husband's parents. The anger\nof her husband knew no bounds. But he checked himself for a while,\nand asked her which road the messenger from Kailasa had taken, as he\nsaid he wanted to follow him and send some more news to his parents. To\nthis she willingly agreed and pointed out the direction the rogue had\ngone. With rage in his heart at the trick played upon his stupid wife,\nour hero rode on in hot haste, and after a ride of two ghatikas he\ncaught sight of the departing rogue, who, finding escape hopeless,\nclimbed up into a big pipal tree. Our hero soon reached the bottom\nof the tree and shouted to the rogue to come down.\n\n\"No, I cannot, this is the way to Kailasa,\" said the rogue, and\nclimbed up on the top of the tree.\n\nSeeing no chance of the rogue's coming down, and as there was no\nthird person present to whom he could call for help, our hero tied\nhis horse to an adjacent tree and began climbing up the pipal tree\nhimself. The rogue thanked all his gods when he saw this, and waited\ntill his enemy had climbed nearly up to him, and then, throwing down\nhis bundle of booty, leapt quickly from branch to branch till he\nreached the bottom. He then got upon his enemy's horse, and with his\nbundle rode into a dense forest in which no one was likely to find him.\n\nOur hero being much older in years was no match for the rogue. So\nhe slowly came down, and cursing his stupidity in having risked his\nhorse to recover his property, returned home at his leisure. His wife,\nwho was waiting his arrival, welcomed him with a cheerful countenance\nand said:--\n\n\"I thought as much, you have sent away your horse to Kailasa to be\nused by your father.\"\n\nVexed as he was at his wife's words, our hero replied in the\naffirmative to conceal his own stupidity.\n\nThus, some there are in this world, who, though they may not willingly\ngive away anything, pretend to have done so when, by accident, or\nstupidity, they happen to lose it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nTHE LOST CAMEL AND OTHER TALES.\n\n\nFIRST PART.\n\nThere was a city called Alakapuri, famous for all the riches that\nsea and land can yield, and inhabited by people speaking different\nlanguages. In that city reigned a king named Alakesa, who was a\nstorehouse of all excellent qualities. He was so just a king that\nduring his reign the cow and the tiger amicably quenched their thirst\nside by side in the same pond, the cats and the rats sported in one\nand the same spot, and the kite and the parrot laid their eggs in the\nsame nest, as though they were \"birds of a feather.\" [65] The women\nnever deviated from the path of virtue, and regarded their husbands\nas gods. Timely rain refreshed the soil, and all Alakesa's subjects\nlived in plenty and happiness. In short, Alakesa was the body, and\nhis subjects the soul of that body, for he was upright in all things.\n\nNow there was in Alakapuri a rich merchant who lost a camel one day. He\nsearched for it without success in all directions, and at last reached\na road which he was informed led to another city, called Mathurapuri,\nthe king of which was named Mathuresa. He had under him four excellent\nministers, whose names were Bodhaditya, Bodhachandra, Bodhavyapaka,\nand Bodhavibhishana. These four ministers, being, for some reason,\ndispleased with the king, quitted his dominions, and set out for\nanother country. As they journeyed along they observed the track of a\ncamel, and each made a remark on the peculiar condition of the animal,\njudging from the footsteps and other indications on the road. [66]\n\nPresently they met the merchant who was searching for his camel, and,\nentering into conversation with him, one of the travellers inquired if\nthe animal was not lame in one of its legs; another asked if it was not\nblind of the right eye; the third asked if its tail was not unusually\nshort; and the fourth inquired if it was not suffering from colic. They\nwere all answered in the affirmative by the merchant, who was convinced\nthat they must have seen the animal, and eagerly demanded where they\nhad seen it. They replied that they had seen traces of the camel,\nbut not the camel itself, which being inconsistent with the minute\ndescription they had given of it, the merchant accused them of having\nstolen the beast, and immediately applied to king Alakesa for redress.\n\nOn hearing the merchant's story, the king was equally impressed\nwith the belief that the travellers must know what had become of the\ncamel, and sending for them threatened them with his displeasure if\nthey did not confess the truth. How could they know, he demanded,\nthat the camel was lame or blind, or whether the tail was long or\nshort, or that it was suffering from any malady, unless they had it\nin their possession? In reply, they each explained the reasons which\nhad induced them to express their belief in these particulars. The\nfirst traveller said:--\n\n\"I noticed in the footmarks of the animal that one was deficient,\nand I concluded accordingly that it was lame of one of its legs.\"\n\nThe second said:--\"I noticed that the leaves of the trees on the left\nside of the road had been snapped or torn off, whilst those on the\nright side were untouched, whence I concluded that the animal was\nblind of his right eye.\"\n\nThe third said:--\"I saw some drops of blood on the road, which I\nconjectured had flowed from the bites of gnats or flies, and I thence\nconcluded that the camel's tail was shorter than usual, in consequence\nof which he could not brush the insects away.\"\n\nThe fourth said:--\"I observed that while the forefeet of the animal\nwere planted firmly on the ground the hind ones appeared to have\nscarcely touched it, whence I guessed that they were contracted by\npain in the belly of the animal.\"\n\nWhen the king heard their explanation he was much struck by the\nsagacity of the travellers, and giving 500 pagodas to the merchant who\nhad lost the camel; he made the four young men his principal ministers,\nand bestowed on each of them several villages as free gifts.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nTHE THREE CALAMITIES.\n\n\nFrom that time these four young men became the confidential advisers\nof king Alakesa in all important affairs of state, and, as night is\nthe house of sins, they in turn kept a regular watch in the city of\nAlakapuri, each patrolling the streets during three hours of the\nnight. Thus they continued to faithfully serve king Alakesa, till\none night, the First Minister, when his watch was over, proceeded\nas usual, to see whether the royal bedchamber was properly guarded;\nafter which he went to the temple of the goddess Kali, where he heard\nwhat seemed to him the voice of a woman, lamenting and sobbing in\ngreat distress. Concealing himself behind the vad-tree of the temple,\nhe called out:--\n\n\"Who are you, poor woman? and why do you thus weep?\"\n\nAt once the cries ceased, and a voice from the temple inquired:--\n\n\"Who art thou that thus questionest me?\"\n\nThen the minister knew that it was Kali herself who wept; so he threw\nhimself on the ground, and, rising up, exclaimed:--\n\n\"O, my mother!--Kali!--Sambhavi!--Mahamayi! [67] Why should you thus\nweep?\" quoth Kali.\n\n\"What is the use of my revealing it to thee? Canst thou render any\nassistance?\"\n\nThe minister said that, if he had but her favour, there was nothing\nhe could not do. Then the goddess told him that a calamity was about\nto come upon the king, and fearing that such a good monarch was soon\nto disappear from the world, she wept.\n\nThe thought of such a misfortune caused the minister to tremble;\nhe fell down before the goddess, and with tears streaming from his\neyes besought her to save him. Kali was much gratified to observe\nhis devotion to his master, and thus addressed him:--\n\n\"Know, then, that your king will be in danger of three calamities\nto-morrow, any one of which will be sufficient to cause his\ndeath. First of all, early in the morning, there will come to the\npalace several carts containing newly-reaped paddy grains. The king\nwill be delighted at this, and immediately order a measure of the\npaddy to be shelled and cooked for his morning meal. Now, the field\nin which that paddy grew is the abode of serpents, two of which\nwere fighting together one day, when they emitted poison, which has\npermeated those grains. Therefore, the morning meal of your king will\ncontain poison, but only in the first handful will it take effect and\nhe will die. Should he escape, another calamity is in store for him\nat noon. The king of Vijayanagara will send to-morrow some baskets of\nsweetmeats; in the first basket he has concealed arrows. King Alakesa,\nsuspecting no treachery, will order the first basket to be opened in\nhis presence, and will meet his death by that device. And even should\nhe escape this second calamity, a third will put an end to his life\nto-morrow night. A deadly serpent will descend into his bed room,\nby means of the chain of his hanging bed, and bite him. But, should\nhe be saved from this last misfortune, Alakesa will live long and\nprosperously, till he attains the age of a hundred and twenty years.\"\n\nThus spake Kali, in tones of sorrow, for she feared that the king\nwould lose his life by one of these three calamities. The Minister\nprostrated himself on the ground, and said that if the goddess would\ngrant him her favour he was confident he could contrive to avert all\nthe threatened evils from the king. Kali smiled and disappeared;\nand the Minister, taking her kind smile as a token of her favour,\nreturned home and slept soundly.\n\nAs soon as morning dawned, the First Minister arose, and having made\nthe customary ablutions, proceeded to the palace. He took care to\nreveal to no one the important secret communicated to him by the\ngoddess--not even to his three colleagues. The sun was not yet two\nghatikas [68] above the horizon when several carts containing the\nfinest paddy grains, specially selected for the king's use, came\ninto the courtyard of the palace. Alakesa was present, and ordered\na measure of it to be at once shelled and cooked. The coming in of\nthe carts and the king's order so exactly coincided with Kali's words\nthat the Minister began to fear that he was quite unequal to the task\nof averting the fatality; yet the recollection of the smile of the\ngoddess inspired him with fresh resolution, and he at once went to\nthe palace-kitchen and requested the servants to inform him when the\nking was about to go to dinner. After issuing orders for the storing\nof the grain, king Alakesa retired to perform his morning ablutions\nand other religious duties.\n\nMeanwhile a carriage containing the jars of sweetmeats sent by the\nking of Vijayanagara drove up to the palace, and the emissary who\naccompanied the present, told the royal servants that his master\nhad commanded him to deliver it to king Alakesa in person. The\nFirst Minister well understood the meaning of this, and, promising\nto bring the king, went into the palace, caused one of the servants\nto be dressed like Alakesa, and conducted him to the carriage. The\nofficer of the Vijayanagara king placed the first jar before the\nsupposed Alakesa, who at once opened it, when lo! there darted forth\nseveral arrows, one of which pierced his heart, and he fell dead on\nthe spot. [69] In an instant the emissary was seized and bound, and\nthe officers began to lament the death of their good king. But the\nfatal occurrence spread rapidly through the palace, and soon the real\nAlakesa made his appearance on the scene. The officers now beheld\none Alakesa dead and fallen to the ground, pierced by the arrow,\nand another standing there alive and well. The First Minister then\nrelated how, suspecting treachery, he brought out a servant of the\npalace dressed like the king, and how he had been slain in place of his\nroyal master. Alakesa thanked the Minister for having so ingeniously\nsaved his life, and went into the palace. Thus was one of the three\ncalamities to the king averted by the faithful Bodhaditya.\n\nWhen it was the hour for dinner, the king and his courtiers all sat\ndown, with the exception of the First Minister, who remained standing,\nwithout having taken a leaf for his own use. The king, observing this,\nwith a smile pointed out a leaf to him, [70] but Bodhaditya would not\nsit; he wished to be near the king and to abstain from eating on that\noccasion. So the king allowed him to have his own way. The food having\nbeen served on the leaves, the hands of all, including the king, were\nmingling the rice, ghi, and dhal for the first course. Near the king\nstood his faithful Minister Bodhaditya, and, when the king raised the\nfirst handful to his mouth, \"Stop, my master,\" cried he, \"I have long\nhoped for this handful as a present to me from your royal hands. I pray\nyou give it to me, and feast upon the rest of the rice on your leaf.\"\n\nThis was uttered more in a tone of command than of request, and the\nking was highly incensed at what he naturally considered as insolence\non the part of the Minister. For such a request, especially when made\nto a king, is deemed nothing less than an insult, while to refuse it\nis equally offensive. So, whatever thoughts may have passed through\nAlakesa's mind, recollecting how the Minister had that morning saved\nhis life, he gave him the handful of rice, which Bodhaditya received\nwith delight, feeling grateful for the favour of the goddess in being\nthe means of averting this second calamity.\n\nFar different, however, were the sentiments of the king and the\nassembled company. One and all declared Bodhaditya to be an insolent,\nproud fellow; but the king, while secretly blaming himself for having\nallowed him to use so much familiarity, suppressed his anger, in\nconsideration of the important service the Minister had rendered him.\n\nOn the approach of night the heart of the First Minister throbbed\nviolently, for the third calamity predicted by the goddess was yet\nto be encountered. His watch being ended, before retiring to rest,\nhe went to examine the royal bedroom, where he saw the light burning\nbrightly, and the king and queen asleep side by side in the ornamented\nswing cot, which was suspended from the roof by four chains. Presently,\nhe perceived, with horror, a fierce black snake, the smell of which\nis enough to kill a man, slowly gliding down the chain near the head\nof the queen. The Minister noiselessly went forward, and with a single\nstroke of his sharp sword, cut the venomous brute in two. Bodhaditya,\nto avoid disturbing any person at such an hour of the night, threw the\npieces over the canopy of the bed, rejoicing at having thus averted\nthe third and last calamity. But a fresh horror then met his eyes;\na drop of the snake's poison had fallen on the bosom of the queen,\nwhich was exposed in the carelessness of slumber.\n\n\"Alas, sacred goddess,\" he muttered, \"why do you thus raise up new\nobstacles in my efforts to avert the evil which you predicted? I have\ndone what I could to save the king, and in this last attempt I have\nkilled his beloved queen. What shall I do?\"\n\nHaving thus briefly reflected, he wiped off the poison from the queen's\nbosom with the tip of his little finger, and, lest the contact of the\nvenom with his finger should endanger his own life, he cut the tip\nof it off and threw it on the canopy. Just then the queen awoke, and\nperceiving a man hastily leaving the room, she cried: \"Who are you?\"\n\nThe Minister respectfully answered: \"Most venerable mother! I am your\nson, Bodhaditya,\" and at once retired.\n\nUpon this the queen thought within herself: \"Alas! is there such\na thing as a good man in the world? Hitherto I have regarded this\nBodhaditya as my son; but now he has basely taken the opportunity\nof thus disgracing me when my lord and I were sound asleep. I shall\ninform the king of this, and have that wretch's head struck off before\nthe morning.\"\n\nAccordingly she gently awakened the king, and with tears trickling\ndown her beauteous face, she told him what had occurred, and concluded\nwith these words:--\"Till now, my lord, I considered that I was wife to\nyou alone; but this night your First Minister has made me doubt it,\nsince to my question, 'Who are you?' he answered, without any shame,\n'I am Bodhaditya,' and went away.\"\n\nOn hearing of this violation of the sanctity of his bedchamber,\nAlakesa was greatly enraged, and determined to put to death such\nan unprincipled servant, but first to communicate the affair to his\nthree other Ministers.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nSECOND PART.\n\n\nWhen the Second Minister's watch was over, he went to inspect the\nguard at the royal bedchamber, and Alakesa hearing his footsteps\ninquired who was there.\n\n\"Your servant, Bodhachandra, most royal lord,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Enter, Bodhachandra,\" said the king; \"I have somewhat to communicate\nto you.\"\n\nThen Alakesa, almost choking with rage, told him of the gross offence\nof which his colleague the First Minister had been guilty, and demanded\nto know whether any punishment could be too severe. Bodhachandra\nhumbled himself before the king, and thus replied--\n\n\"My lord, such a crime merits a heavy requital. Can one tie up fire\nin one's cloth and think that as it is but a small spark it will\ndo us no harm? How, then, can we excuse even slight deviations from\nthe rules of propriety? Therefore, if Bodhaditya be really guilty,\nhe must be signally punished. But permit me to represent to your\nMajesty the advisability of carefully inquiring into this matter\nbefore proceeding to judgment. We ought to ascertain what reasons he\nhad for such a breach of the harem rules; for should we, carried away\nby anger, act rashly in this affair, we may repent when repentance is\nof no avail. As an example, I shall, with your Majesty's permission\nrelate a story.\" The king having at once given his consent, the Second\nMinister began to relate the\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE HONEST BUT RASH HUNTER AND HIS FAITHFUL DOG.\n\nThere dwelt in a certain forest a hunter named Ugravira, who was lord\nof the woods, and as such, had to pay a fixed sum of money to the king\nof the country. It happened once that the king unexpectedly demanded\nof him one thousand five hundred pons. [71] The hunter sold all his\nproperty and realised only a thousand pons, and was perplexed how\nto procure the rest of the required amount. At length he bethought\nhim of his dog, which was of the best kind, and was beloved by him\nmore than anything else in the whole world. He took his dog to an\nadjacent city, where he pledged him to a merchant named Kubera for\nfive hundred pons, at the same time giving the merchant his bond\nfor the loan. Before going away, the hunter with tears in his eyes,\nthus addressed the intelligent animal:--\n\n\"Mrigasimha, [i.e., lion among beasts] O my faithful friend, do not\nleave thy new master until I have paid him back the money I have\nborrowed of him. Obey and serve him, even as thou hast ever obeyed\nand served me.\"\n\nSome time after this, the merchant Kubera had to leave home and\nproceed with his merchandise to foreign countries: so he called the\nhunter's dog to his side, and bade him watch at his doors and prevent\nthe intrusion of robbers and other evil-disposed persons. The dog\nindicated, both by his eyes and his tail, that he perfectly understood\nhis instructions. Then the merchant, having enjoined his wife to\nfeed the dog three times every day with rice and milk, set out on\nhis travels. The dog kept his watch outside the house, and for a few\ndays the merchant's wife fed him regularly three times a day. But this\nkind treatment was not to continue. She had for her paramour a wicked\nyouth of the Setti caste, who, soon after the departure of Kubera,\nbecame a constant visitor at the merchant's house. The faithful dog\ninstinctively surmised that his new master would not approve of such\nconduct; so one night, when the youth was leaving the house, Mrigasimha\nsprang upon him like an enraged lion, and seizing him by the throat,\nsent the evildoer to the other world. The merchant's wife hearing\nthe scuffle, ran to the spot to save her lover, but found him dead.\n\nThough extremely grieved at the loss of her paramour, she had the\npresence of mind to immediately carry the body to the garden at the\nback of the house, where she concealed it in a great pit, and covered\nit with earth and leaves, vainly thinking that she had thus concealed\nher own shame. All this was not done, however, without being observed\nby the watchful dog; and, henceforward, the merchant's wife hated\nhim with a deadly hatred. She no longer gave him food, and the poor\ncreature was fain to eat such grains of rice as he found adhering to\nthe leaves thrown out of the house after meals, still keeping guard\nat the door.\n\nAfter an absence of two months the merchant returned, and the dog,\nthe moment he saw him, ran up to him and rolled himself on the ground\nat his feet; then seizing the merchant's cloth he dragged him to the\nvery spot in the garden where the youth's body was hidden, and began\nto scratch the ground, at the same time looking into the merchant's\nface and howling dismally, from which Kubera concluded that the dog\nwished him to examine the place. Accordingly he dug up the spot and\ndiscovered the body of the youth, whom, indeed, he had suspected\nof being his wife's paramour. In a great fury he rushed into the\nhouse and commanded his wife, on pain of instant death, to relate the\nparticulars of this affair without concealing anything. The wretched\nwoman, seeing that her sin was discovered, confessed all, upon which\nher husband exclaimed!--\n\n\"Disgrace of womankind! you have not a fraction of the virtue possessed\nby this faithful brute, which you have, out of revenge, allowed to\nstarve. But why should I waste words on thee? Happy am I in having no\nchildren by thee! Depart, and let me see thy face no more.\" So saying,\nhe thrust her out of the house. Then the merchant fed the dog with\nmilk, rice and sugar, after which he said to that lion of beasts\n(Mrigasimha, as he was called)--\n\n\"Thou trusty friend, language fails to express my gratitude to\nthee. The five hundred pons which I lent thy old master the hunter\nare as nothing compared with thy services to me, by which I consider\nthe debt as more than paid. What must be the feelings of the hunter\nwithout thy companionship? I now give thee leave to return to him.\"\n\nThe merchant took the hunter's bond, and tearing it slightly at the\ntop as a token that it was cancelled, he placed it in the dog's mouth\nand sent him back to his former master, and he at once set off towards\nthe forest.\n\nNow by this time the hunter had contrived to save up the five\nhundred pons, and with the money and the interest due thereon, he\nwas going to the merchant to redeem his bond and reclaim his dog. To\nhis great surprise he met Mrigasimha on the way, and as soon as the\ndog perceived him he ran up to him to receive his caresses. But the\nhunter immediately concluded that the poor brute, in his eagerness to\nrejoin him, had run away from the merchant, and determined to put him\nto death. Accordingly he plucked a creeper, and fastening it round the\ndog's neck tied him to a branch of a tree, and the faithful creature,\nwho was expecting nothing but kindness from his old master, was by him\nmost cruelly strangled. The hunter then continued his journey, and,\non reaching the merchant's house, he laid down the money before him.\n\n\"My dear friend,\" said Kubera, \"the important service your dog\nrendered me in killing my wife's paramour, has amply repaid your\ndebt, so I gave him permission to return to you, with your bond in\nhis mouth. Did you not meet him on your way? But why do you look so\nhorrified? What have you done to the dog?\"\n\nThe hunter, to whom everything was now only too clear, threw himself\non the ground, like a huge tree cut at the root, and, after telling\nKubera how he had inconsiderately slain the faithful dog, stabbed\nhimself with his dagger. The merchant grieved at the death both of\nthe dog and the hunter, which would not have occurred had he waited\nuntil Ugravira came to redeem his bond, snatched the weapon out of the\nhunter's breast and also stabbed himself. The news of this tragedy\nsoon reached the forest, and the wife of the hunter, not wishing to\nsurvive her lord, threw herself into a well and was drowned. Lastly,\neven the wife of the merchant, finding that so many fatalities were\ndue to her own misconduct, and that she was despised by the very\nchildren in the streets, put an end to her wretched life.\n\n\"Thus,\" added the Second Minister, \"five lives were lost in consequence\nof the hunter's rashness. Wherefore I would respectfully beseech your\nMajesty to investigate the case of Bodhaditya, and to refrain from\nacting merely under the influence of anger.\"\n\nHaving thus spoken, Bodhachandra obtained leave to retire to his\nown house.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nTHIRD PART.\n\n\nAt the end of the third watch of the night, Bodhavyapaka, the Third\nMinister of king Alakesa, went to see whether the royal bedchamber\nwas properly guarded, and the king, summoning him to his presence,\ntold him of the First Minister's crime, upon which Bodhavyapaka,\nafter making due obeisance, thus spake:--\n\n\"Most noble king, such a grave crime should be severely punished,\nbut it behoves us not to act before having ascertained that he is\nguilty beyond doubt, for evil are the consequences of precipitation,\nin proof of which I know a story which I will relate, with your\nMajesty's leave.\"\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE BRAHMAN'S WIFE AND THE MUNGOOSE.\n\nOn the banks of the Ganges, which also flows by the most holy city\nof Banaras, there is a town named Mithila, where dwelt a very poor\nBrahman called Vidyadhara. He had no children, and to compensate\nfor this want, he and his wife tenderly nourished in their house a\nmungoose--a species of weasel. It was their all in all--their younger\nson, their elder daughter--their elder son, their younger daughter,\nso fondly did they regard that little creature. The god Visvesvara\nand his spouse Visalakshi observed this, and had pity for the unhappy\npair; so by their divine power they blessed them with a son. This\nmost welcome addition to their family did not alienate the affections\nof the Brahman and his wife from the mungoose; on the contrary,\ntheir attachment increased, for they believed that it was because of\ntheir having adopted the pet that a son had been born to them. So the\nchild and the mungoose were brought up together, as twin brothers,\nin the same cradle.\n\nIt happened one day when the Brahman had gone out to beg alms of the\npious and charitable, that his wife went into the garden to cull some\npot-herbs, leaving the child asleep in his cradle, and by his side\nthe mungoose kept guard. An old serpent, which was living in the\nwell in the garden, crept into the house and under the cradle, and\nwas beginning to climb into it to bite the child when the mungoose\nfiercely attacked it and tore it into several pieces, thus saving\nthe life of the Brahman's little son, and the venomous snake, that\ncame to slay, itself lay dead beneath the cradle.\n\nPleased at having performed such an exploit, the mungoose ran into\nthe garden to show the Brahman's wife its blood-smeared mouth, but\nshe rashly mistook the deliverer of her child for his destroyer,\nand with one stroke of the knife in her hand with which she was\ncutting herbs she killed the faithful creature, and then hastened\ninto the house to see her dead son. But there she found the child\nin his cradle alive and well, only crying at the absence of his\nlittle companion, the mungoose, and under the cradle lay the great\nserpent cut to pieces. The real state of affairs was now evident,\nand the Brahman presently returning home, his wife told him of her\nrash act and then put an end to her life. The Brahman, in his turn,\ndisconsolate at the death of the mungoose and his wife, first slew\nhis child and then killed himself.\n\n\n\n\"And thus,\" added the Third Minister, \"by one rash act four creatures\nperished, so true is it that precipitation results in a series of\ncalamities. Do not, then, condemn Bodhaditya before his guilt is\nclearly proved.\" Alakesa, having given Bodhachandra the signal to\nretire, he quitted the presence and went home.\n\nWhen the watch of the Fourth Minister, Bodhavibhishana, was terminated,\nhe visited the private apartments of the king (who had been meanwhile\npondering over the stories he had heard), and was called into\nthe sleeping chamber by Alakesa, and informed of his colleague's\nunpardonable offence. The Minister, after due prostration, thus\naddressed his royal master:--\n\n\"Great king, I can scarcely bring myself to believe that Bodhaditya\ncould ever be guilty of such a crime, and I would respectfully remind\nyour Majesty that it would not be consistent with your world-wide\nreputation for wisdom and justice were you to pronounce judgment in\nthis case without having inquired into all the circumstances. Evil\nand injustice result from hasty decisions and actions, of which a\nstriking illustration is furnished in the\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE FAITHLESS WIFE AND THE UNGRATEFUL BLIND MAN.\n\nIn the town of Mithila there lived a young Brahman who, having\nhad a quarrel with his father-in-law, set out on a pilgrimage to\nBanaras. Going through a forest he met a blind man, whose wife was\nleading him by means of a stick, one end of which she held in her\nhand, and her husband holding the other end was following her. She was\nyoung and fair of face, and the pilgrim made signs to her that she\nshould go with him and leave her blind husband behind. The proposal\nthus signified pleased this wanton woman, so she bade her husband\nsit under a tree for a few minutes while she went and plucked him\na ripe mango. The blind man sat down accordingly, and his wife went\naway with the Brahman. After waiting a long time in expectation of\nhis wife's return, and no person coming near him, (for it was an\nunfrequented place), her infidelity became painfully apparent to him,\nand he bitterly cursed both her and the villain who had enticed her\naway from him. For six days he remained at the foot of the tree,\nin woeful condition, without a morsel of rice or a drop of water,\nand he was well nigh dead, when at length he heard the sound of\nfootsteps near him, and cried faintly for help. A man of the Setti\ncaste and his wife came up to him, and inquired how he happened to be\nin such a plight. The blind man told them how his wife had deserted\nhim, and gone away with a young Brahman whom they had met, leaving\nhim there alone and helpless. His story excited the compassion of the\nSetti and his wife. They gave him to eat of the small quantity of rice\nthey had with them, and, having supplied him with water to quench his\nthirst, the Setti bade his wife lead him with his stick. The woman,\nthough somewhat reluctant to walk thus in company with a man who\nwas not her husband, yet, reflecting that charitable actions ought\nnever to be left undone, complied with her lord's request, and began\nto lead the blind man. After travelling in this manner for a day,\nthe three reached a town, and took up their abode for the night in\nthe house of a friend of the Setti, where the latter and his wife\ngave the blind man a share of their rice before tasting a morsel\nthemselves. At daybreak the next morning they advised him to try to\nprovide for himself in some way in that town, and prepared to resume\ntheir journey. But the blind man, forgetting all the kindness they\nhad shown him, began to raise an alarm, crying out:--\n\n\"Is there no king in this city to protect me and give me my\nrights? Here is a Setti rascal taking away my wife with him! As I am\nblind, she denies that I am her husband, and follows that rogue! But\nwill not the king give me justice?\"\n\nThe people in the street at once reported these words to the king,\nwho caused inquiry to be made into the matter. The fact of the Setti's\nwife having led the blind man, seemed to indicate that the latter,\nand not the Setti, was the woman's husband, and foolishly concluded\nthat both the Setti and his wife were the real criminals. Accordingly\nhe sentenced the Setti to the gallows, because he attempted to entice\naway a married woman, and his wife to be burnt in the kiln, as she\nwished to forsake her husband, and he a blind man. When these sentences\nwere pronounced the blind man was thunder-struck. The thought that\nby a deliberate lie he had caused the death of two innocent persons\nnow stung him to the heart. By this lie he expected that the Setti\nonly should be punished, and that his wife would be made over to him\nas his own wife, but now he found she also was condemned to death.\n\n\"Vile wretch that I am!\" said he; \"I do not know what sins I committed\nin my former life to be thus blind now. My real wife, too, deserted me;\nand I, heaping sins upon sins, have now by a false report sent to death\nan innocent man and his wife, who rescued me from a horrible fate and\ntended to all my wants last night. O, Mahesvara! what punishment you\nhave in reserve for me I know not.\"\n\nThis soliloquy, being overheard by some by-standers, was communicated\nto the king, who bitterly reproaching himself for having acted so\nrashly, at once released the good Setti and his wife, and caused the\nungrateful blind man to be burnt in the kiln.\n\n\"Thus, you see, my lord,\" added the fourth Minister, \"how\nnearly that king had plunged himself into a gulf of crime by his\nrashness. Therefore, my most noble king, I would respectfully and\nhumbly request you to consider well the case of Bodhaditya, and punish\nhim severely if he be found really guilty.\"\n\n\n\nHaving thus spoken, the Fourth Minister obtained leave to depart.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nFOURTH PART.\n\n\nThe night was now over: darkness, the harbourer of vice, fled away;\nthe day dawned. King Alakesa left his bedchamber, bathed and made his\nreligious ablutions, and, after breakfasting, summoned a council of all\nhis father's old ministers and advisers. Alakesa took his seat in the\nmidst of the assembly; anger was clearly visible in his countenance;\nhis eyes had lost their natural expression and had turned very red;\nhis breath was as hot as that of a furnace. He thus addressed them:--\n\n\"Know ye all, the ministers of my father and of myself, that last\nnight, during the first watch, my First Minister, Bodhaditya, while\nI and my queen were asleep in our chamber, came and touched with his\nfinger the bosom of my queen. Consider well the gravity of this crime,\nand express your opinions as to what punishment he merits.\"\n\nThus spake king Alakesa, but all the ministers, not knowing what answer\nto return, hung down their heads in silence. Among those present was\nan aged minister named Manuniti, who called Bodhaditya to his side\nand privately learned the whole story. He then humbly bowed before\nthe king, and thus spake:--\n\n\"Most noble king, men are not always all-wise, and, before replying to\nyour Majesty's question, I beg permission to relate in your presence\nthe story of a king in whose reign a certain benevolent action was\nrepaid with disgrace and ignominy:--\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE WONDERFUL MANGO FRUIT.\n\nOn the banks of the Kaveri there was a city called Tiruvidaimarudur,\nwhere ruled a king named Chakraditya. In that city there lived a\npoor Brahman and his wife, who, having no children, brought up in\ntheir house a young parrot as tenderly as if it had been their own\noffspring. One day the parrot was sitting on the roof of the house,\nbasking itself in the morning sun, when a large flock of parrots flew\npast, talking to each other about certain mango fruits. The Brahman's\nparrot asked them what were the peculiar properties of those fruits,\nand was informed that beyond the seven oceans there was a great mango\ntree, the fruit of which gave perpetual youth to the person who ate\nof it, however old and infirm he might be. On hearing of this wonder\nthe Brahman's parrot requested permission to accompany them, which\nbeing granted, they all continued their flight. When at length they\narrived at the mango tree, all ate of its fruit; but the Brahman's\nparrot reflected:--\n\n\"It would not be right for me to eat this fruit; I am young, while\nmy adopted parents, the poor Brahman and his wife are very old. So I\nshall give them this fruit, and they will become young and blooming\nby eating it.\"\n\nAnd that same evening the good parrot brought the fruit to the Brahman,\nand explained to him its extraordinary properties. But the Brahman\nthought within himself:--\n\n\"I am a beggar. What matters it if I become young and live for ever,\nor else die this very moment? Our king is very good and charitable. If\nsuch a great man should eat of this fruit and renew his youth, he\nwould confer the greatest benefit on mankind. Therefore I will give\nthis mango to our good king.\"\n\nIn pursuance of this self-denying resolution, the poor Brahman\nproceeded to the palace and presented the fruit to the king, at the\nsame time relating how he had obtained it and its qualities. The king\nrichly rewarded the Brahman for his gift, and sent him away. Then he\nbegan to reflect thus:--\n\n\"Here is a fruit which can bestow perpetual youth on the person who\neats it. I should gain this great boon for myself alone, and what\nhappiness could I expect under such circumstances unless shared by\nmy friends and subjects? I shall therefore not eat this mango-fruit,\nbut plant it carefully in my garden, and it will in time become a\ntree, which will bear much fruit having the same wonderful virtue,\nand my subjects shall, every one, eat of the fruit, and, with myself,\nbe endowed with everlasting youth.\"\n\nSo, calling his gardener, the king gave him the fruit, and he planted\nit in the royal presence. In due course of time the fruit grew\ninto a fine tree, and during the spring season it began to bud and\nblossom and bear fruit. The king, having fixed upon an auspicious\nday for cutting one of the mango-fruits, gave it to his domestic\nchaplain, who was ninety years old, in order that his youth should\nbe renewed. But no sooner had the priest tasted it than he fell down\ndead. At this unexpected calamity the king was both astonished and\ndeeply grieved. When the old priest's wife heard of her husband's\nsudden death she came and prayed the king to allow her to perform sati\nwith him on the same funeral pyre, which increased the king's sorrow;\nbut he gave her the desired permission, and himself superintended\nall the ceremonies of the cremation. King Chakraditya then sent for\nthe poor Brahman, and demanded of him how he had dared to present a\npoisonous fruit to his king. The Brahman replied:--\n\n\"My lord, I brought up a young parrot in my house, in order to console\nme for having no son. That parrot brought me the fruit one day,\nand told me of its wonderful properties. Believing that the parrot\nspoke the truth, I presented it to your Majesty, never for a moment\nsuspecting it to be poisonous.\"\n\nThe king listened to the poor Brahman's words, but thought that the\npoor priest's death should be avenged. So he consulted his ministers\nwho recommended, as a slight punishment, that the Brahman should\nbe deprived of his left eye. This was done accordingly, and, on his\nreturn home, when his wife saw his condition, she asked the reason\nof such mutilation.\n\n\"My dear,\" said she, \"the parrot we have fostered so tenderly is the\ncause of this.\"\n\nAnd they resolved to break the neck of the treacherous bird. But the\nparrot, having overheard their conversation, thus addressed them:--\n\n\"My kind foster parents, everyone must be rewarded for the good actions\nor punished for the evil deeds of his previous life. I brought you the\nfruit with a good intention, but my sins in my former life have given\nit a different effect. Therefore I pray you to kill me and bury me\nwith a little milk in a pit. And, after my funeral ceremony is over,\nI request you to undertake a pilgrimage to Banaras to expiate your\nown sins.\"\n\nSo the old Brahman and his wife killed their pet parrot and buried\nit as directed, after which, overcome with grief, they set out on a\npilgrimage to the Holy City.\n\nMeanwhile the king commanded his gardener to set guards over the\npoison-tree, and to allow no one to eat of its fruit; and all the\ninhabitants soon came to know that the king had a mango tree in\nhis garden, the fruit of which was deadly poison. Now, there was\nin the city an old washerwoman, who had frequent quarrels with her\ndaughter-in-law, and one day, being weary of life, she left the house,\nthreatening to eat of the poison tree and die.\n\nThe young parrot who was killed for having brought the poisonous\nmango-fruit was re-born as a green parrot, and was waiting for an\nopportunity to demonstrate the harmless nature of the tree; and when he\nsaw the old woman approach with a determination to put an end to her\nlife by eating of its fruit, he plucked one with his beak and dropped\nit down before her. The old woman rejoiced that fate sanctioned her\ndeath, and greedily ate the fruit, when lo! instead of dying she\nbecame young and blooming again. Those who had seen her leave the\nhouse a woman over sixty years of age were astonished on seeing her\nreturn as a handsome girl of sixteen and learning that the wonderful\ntransformation was caused by the supposed poisonous mango-tree.\n\nThe strange news soon reached the king, who, in order to test the tree\nstill further, ordered another fruit of it to be brought and gave it\nto a goldsmith of more than ninety years of age, who had embezzled\nsome gold which had been entrusted to him to make into ornaments\nfor the ladies of the palace, and was on that account undergoing\nimprisonment. When he had eaten the fruit, he, in his turn, became\na young man of sixteen. The king was now convinced that the fruit\nof the mango-tree, so far from being poisonous, had the power of\nconverting decrepit age into lusty and perennial youth. But how had\nthe old priest died by eating of it?\n\nIt was by a mere accident. One day a huge serpent was sleeping on a\nbranch of the mango-tree, and its head hung over one of the fruit;\npoison dropped from its mouth and fell on the rind of that fruit;\nthe gardener, who had no knowledge of this, when asked to bring a\nfruit for the priest, happened to bring the one on which the poison\nhad fallen, and the priest having eaten it, died.\n\nAnd now the king caused proclamation to be made throughout his kingdom\nthat all who pleased might come and partake of the mango-fruit, and\neveryone ate of it and became young. But king Chakaraditya's heart\nburnt within him at the remembrance of his ill-treatment of the poor\nBrahman, who had returned with his wife from Banaras. So he sent\nfor him, explained his mistake, and gave him a fruit to eat, which,\nhaving tasted, the aged Brahman became young and his eye was also\nrestored to him. But the greatest loss of all, that of the parrot who\nbrought the fruit from beyond the seven oceans, remained irreparable.\n\n\n\n\"Thus, my lord,\" continued the old minister, Manuniti, \"it behoves us\nnot to act precipitately in this affair of Bodhaditya, which we must\ncarefully sift before expressing our opinion as to the punishment he\nmay deserve at your majesty's hands.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nFIFTH PART.\n\n\nWhen Manuniti had concluded his story of the wonderful mango-fruit,\nking Alakesa ordered his four ministers to approach the throne,\nand then, with an angry countenance he thus addressed Bodhaditya:--\n\n\"What excuse have you for entering my bedchamber without permission,\nthus violating the rules of the harem?\"\n\nBodhaditya humbly begged leave to relate to his majesty a story of\nhow a Brahman fed a hungry traveller and had afterwards to endure the\ninfamy of having caused that traveller's death, and on king Alakesa\nsignifying his consent, he thus began:--\n\n\n\nSTORY OF THE POISONED FOOD.\n\nThere was a city called Vijayanagara, to the north of which flowed\na small river with mango topes [72] on both banks. One day a young\nBrahmin pilgrim came and sat down to rest by the side of the stream,\nand, finding the place very cool and shady, he resolved to bathe,\nperform his religious ablutions, and make his dinner off the rice\nwhich he carried tied up in a bundle.\n\nThree days before there had come to the same spot an old Brahmin whose\nyears numbered more than three score and ten; he had quarrelled with\nhis family, and had fled from his house to die. Since he had reached\nthat place he had tasted no food, and the young pilgrim found him lying\nin a pitiable state, and placed near him a portion of his rice. The old\nman arose, and proceeded to the rivulet in order to wash his feet and\nhands, and pronounce a holy incantation or two before tasting the food.\n\nWhile thus engaged a kite, carrying in its beak a huge serpent,\nalighted upon the tree at the foot of which was the rice given by\nthe pilgrim to the old man, and while the bird was feasting on the\nserpent some of its poison dropped on the rice, and the old Brahmin,\nin his hunger, did not observe it on his return; he greedily devoured\nsome of the rice, and instantly fell down dead.\n\nThe young pilgrim, seeing him prostrate on the ground, ran to help\nhim, but found that life was gone; and concluding that the old man's\nhasty eating after his three days' fast must have caused his death,\nand being unwilling to leave his corpse to be devoured by kites and\njackals, he determined to cremate it before resuming his journey. With\nthis object he ran to the neighbouring village, and, reporting to the\npeople what had occurred on the tope, requested their assistance in\ncremating the old man's body.\n\nThe villagers, however, suspected that the young pilgrim had killed\nand robbed the old Brahmin; so they laid hold of him, and, after\ngiving him a severe flogging, imprisoned him in the village temple\nof Kali. Alas! what a reward was this for his kind hospitality! and\nhow was he repaid for his beneficence!\n\nThe unhappy pilgrim gave vent to his sorrows in the form of verses\nin praise of the goddess in whose temple he was a prisoner; for he\nwas a great Pandit, versed in the four Vedas, and the six Sastras,\nand the sixty-four varieties of knowledge. On hearing the pilgrim's\nverses, the rage of the goddess descended upon the villagers, who\nhad so rashly accused and punished him for a crime of which he was\ninnocent. Suddenly the whole village was destroyed by fire, and the\npeople lost all their property, and were houseless. In their extremity\nthey went to the temple of Kali, and humbly requested the goddess to\ninform them of the cause of the calamity which had thus unexpectedly\ncome upon them. The goddess infused herself into the person of one\nof the villagers, and thus responded:--\n\n\"Know ye, unkind villagers, that ye have most unjustly scourged\nand imprisoned in our presence an innocent, charitable, and pious\nBrahmin. The old man died from the effects of the poison, which dropped\nfrom a serpent's mouth on some rice at the foot of a tree when it\nwas being devoured by a kite. Ye did not know of this; nevertheless\nye have maltreated a good man without first making due inquiry as to\nhis guilt or innocence. For this reason we visited your village with\nthis calamity. Beware, and henceforward avoid such sins.\"\n\nSo saying, Kali departed from the person through whom she had\nmanifested herself. [73] Then the villagers perceived the grievous\nerror into which they had fallen. They released the good pilgrim and\nimplored his forgiveness, which he readily granted. And thus was an\ninnocent man charged with murder in return for his benevolent actions.\n\n\"Even so,\" continued Bodhaditya, \"my most noble sovereign, I have\nthis day had to endure the infamy of having violated the harem for\nsaving your valuable life.\"\n\nHe then sent for a thief who was undergoing imprisonment, and gave\nhim the handful of rice which he had the preceding day snatched\nfrom the king at dinner, and the thief having eaten it, instantly\ndied. He next caused a servant to go to the royal bed-chamber, and\nfetch from the canopy of the couch the pieces of the serpent and his\nlittle finger-tip, which he laid before the wonder-struck king and\nthe counsellors, and then addressed his majesty as follows:--\n\n\"My most noble king, and ye wise counsellors, it is known to you\nall that we four ministers keep watch over the town during the four\nquarters of the night, and mine is the first watch. Well, while I\nwas on duty the day before yesterday, I heard a weeping voice in the\ndirection of the temple. I proceeded to the spot, and discovered the\ngoddess sobbing bitterly. She related to me how three calamities\nawaited the king on the morrow. The first of them was the arrows\ndespatched by the king of Vijayanagara as sweetmeats to our Sovereign;\nthe second was the poisoned rice, and the third the serpent. In trying\nto avert these calamities, I have committed the offence of entering\nthe harem.\"\n\n\n\nAnd he thereupon explained the whole affair from first to last.\n\nKing Alakesa and the whole assembly were highly delighted at the\nfidelity and devotion of Bodhaditya; for it was now very evident\nthat he had done nothing amiss, but had saved the life of the king\non three occasions, and indeed also the life of the queen by wiping\noff the serpent's poison which had fallen on her bosom. Then Alakesa\nrelated the following story in explanation of the proverb:--\n\n\n\n\"EATING UP THE PROTECTOR.\" [74]\n\nIn the country of Uttara there lived a Brahmin named Kusalanatha,\nwho had a wife and six sons. All lived in a state of prosperity for\nsome time, but the entrance of Saturn into the Brahmin's horoscope\nturned everything upside down. The once prosperous Brahmin became poor,\nand was reduced to go to the neighbouring woods to gather bamboo rice\nwith which to feed his hungry family. [75]\n\nOne day while plucking the bamboo ears, he saw a bush close by\nin flames, in the midst of which was a serpent struggling for its\nlife. The Brahmin at once ran to its rescue, and stretching towards\nit a long green stick the reptile crept on to it and escaped from the\nflames, and then spread its hood and with a hissing sound approached\nto sting its rescuer. The Brahmin began to weep and bewail his folly in\nhaving saved the ungrateful creature, at which the serpent asked him:--\n\n\"O Brahmin, why do you weep?\"\n\nSaid the old man: \"You now purpose to kill me; is this the reward\nfor my having saved your life?\"\n\n\"True, you have rescued me from a terrible death, but how am I to\nappease my hunger?\" replied the serpent.\n\nAnd quoth the Brahmin, \"You speak of your hunger, but who is to feed\nmy old wife and six hungry children at my house?\"\n\nThe serpent, seeing the anxiety of the Brahmin, emitted a precious\ngem from its hood, and bade him take it home and give it to his\nwife for household expenses, after which to return to the wood to be\ndevoured. The old man agreed, and, solemnly promising to return without\nfail, went home. Having given the gem to his family, and told them\nof his pact with the serpent, the Brahmin went back to the wood. The\nserpent had meanwhile reflected upon its own base ingratitude.\n\n\"Is it right,\" said it to itself, \"to kill him who saved me from the\nflames? No! I shall rather perish of hunger, if I cannot find a prey\nto-day, than slay my protector.\"\n\nSo when the old Brahmin appeared, true to his word, the serpent\npresented him with another valuable gem, and after expressing a wish\nthat he should live long and happily with his wife and children,\nwent its own way, while the Brahmin returned joyously to his home.\n\n\"Even as the serpent purposed acting towards its benefactor,\" continued\nthe king, \"so did I, in my rage, intend putting to death my faithful\nminister and the protector of my life, Bodhaditya; and to free myself\nfrom this grievous sin there is no penance I should not undergo.\"\n\n\n\nThen king Alakesa ordered a thousand Brahmins to be fed every day\nduring his life, and many rich gifts to be distributed in temples as\natonement for his great error. And from that day Bodhaditya and his\nthree colleagues enjoyed still more of the royal favour. With those\nfour faithful ministers king Alakesa lived a most happy life and had\na most prosperous reign.\n\nMay there be prosperity to all!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\nTHE MONKEY WITH THE TOM-TOM. [76]\n\n\nIn a remote wood there lived a monkey, and one day while he was eating\nwood-apples, a sharp thorn from the tree ran into the tip of his tail,\nhe tried his best to get it out but could not. So he proceeded to\nthe nearest village, and calling the barber asked him to oblige him\nby removing the thorn.\n\n\"Friend barber,\" said the monkey, \"a thorn has run into my tail. Kindly\nremove it and I will reward you.\"\n\nThe barber took up his razor and began to examine the tail; but as he\nwas cutting out the thorn he cut off the tip of the tail. The monkey\nwas greatly enraged and said:--\n\n\"Friend barber, give me back my tail. If you cannot do that, give me\nyour razor.\"\n\nThe barber was now in a difficulty, and as he could not replace the\ntip of the tail he had to give up his razor to the monkey.\n\nThe monkey, went back to the wood with his razor thus trickishly\nacquired. On the way he met an old woman, who was cutting fuel from\na dried-up tree.\n\n\"Grandmother, grandmother,\" said the monkey, \"the tree is very\nhard. You had better use this sharp razor, and you will cut your\nfuel easily.\"\n\nThe poor woman was very pleased, and took the razor from the monkey. In\ncutting the wood she, of course, blunted the razor, and the monkey\nseeing his razor thus spoiled, said:--\n\n\"Grandmother, you have spoiled my razor. So you must either give me\nyour fuel or get me a better razor.\"\n\nThe woman was not able to procure another razor. So she gave the\nmonkey her fuel and returned to her house bearing no load that day.\n\nThe roguish monkey now put the bundle of dry fuel on his head and\nproceeded to a village to sell it. There he met an old woman seated\nby the roadside and making puddings. Said the monkey to her:--\n\n\"Grandmother, grandmother, you are making puddings and your fuel is\nalready exhausted. Use mine also and make more cakes.\"\n\nThe old lady thanked him for his kindness and used his fuel for her\npuddings. The cunning monkey waited till the last stick of his fuel\nwas burnt up, and then he said to the old woman:--\n\n\"Grandmother, grandmother, return me my fuel or give me all your\npuddings.\"\n\nShe was unable to return him the fuel, and so had to give him all\nher puddings.\n\nThe monkey with the basket of puddings on his head walked and walked\ntill he met a Paraiya [77] coming with a tom-tom towards him.\n\n\"Brother Paraiya,\" said the monkey, \"I have a basketful of puddings\nto give you. Will you, in return, present me with your tom-tom?\"\n\nThe Paraiya gladly agreed, as he was then very hungry, and had nothing\nwith him to eat.\n\nThe monkey now ascended with the tom-tom to the topmost branch of a\nbig tree and there beat his drum most triumphantly, saying in honour\nof his several tricks:--\n\n\"I lost my tail and got a razor; dum dum.\" [78]\n\n\"I lost my razor and got a bundle of fuel; dum dum.\"\n\n\"I lost my fuel and got a basket of puddings; dum dum\".\n\n\"I lost my puddings and got a tom-tom; dum dum.\"\n\nThus there are rogues in this innocent world, who live to glory over\ntheir wicked tricks.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\nPRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL.\n\n\nCorresponding to this English proverb, there is one in Tamil--Ahambha\nvam alai alikkum--\"Self-pride brings destruction;\" and the following\nstory is related by the common folk to illustrate it.\n\nIn a certain village there lived ten cloth merchants, who always\nwent about together. Once upon a time they had travelled far afield,\nand were returning home with a great deal of money which they had\nobtained by selling their wares. Now there happened to be a dense\nforest near their village, and this they reached early one morning. In\nit there lived three notorious robbers, of whose existence the traders\nhad never heard, and while they were still in the middle of it, the\nrobbers stood before them, with swords and cudgels in their hands,\nand ordered them to lay down all they had. The traders had no weapons\nwith them, and so, though they were many more in number, they had\nto submit themselves to the robbers, who took away everything from\nthem, even the very clothes they wore, and gave to each only a small\nloin-cloth (langoti), a span in breadth and a cubit in length.\n\nThe idea that they had conquered ten men, and plundered all their\nproperty, now took possession of the robbers' minds. They seated\nthemselves like three monarchs before the men they had plundered, and\nordered them to dance to them before returning home. The merchants now\nmourned their fate. They had lost all they had, except their chief\nessential, the langoti, and still the robbers were not satisfied,\nbut ordered them to dance.\n\nThere was, among the ten merchants, one who was very intelligent. He\npondered over the calamity that had come upon him and his friends,\nthe dance they would have to perform, and the magnificent manner in\nwhich the three robbers had seated themselves on the grass. At the\nsame time he observed that these last had placed their weapons on\nthe ground, in the assurance of having thoroughly cowed the traders,\nwho were now commencing to dance. So he took the lead in the dance,\nand, as a song is always sung by the leader on such occasions, to\nwhich the rest keep time with hands and feet, he thus began to sing:--\n\n\n                Namanum puli per,\n                Talanum tiru per:\n                Savana talanai\n                Tiruvanan suttinan,\n                Savana talan midi\n                Ta tai tom tadingana.\n\n                \"We are puli men,\n                They are tiru men:\n                If one sa man,\n                Surrounds tiru men.\n                Sa man remains.\n                Ta, tai, tom, tadingana.\"\n\n\nThe robbers were all uneducated, and thought that the leader was\nmerely singing a song as usual. So it was in one sense; for the leader\ncommenced from a distance, and had sung the song over twice, before\nhe and his companions commenced to approach the robbers. They had\nunderstood his meaning, which, however, even to the best educated,\nunless trained to the technical expressions of trade, would have\nremained a riddle.\n\nWhen two traders discuss the price of an article in the presence of\na purchaser, they use an enigmatic form of language.\n\n\"What is the price of this cloth?\" one trader will ask another.\n\n\"Puli rupees,\" another will reply, meaning \"ten rupees.\"\n\nThus, there is no possibility of the purchaser knowing what is meant\nunless he be acquainted with trade technicalities. [79] By the rules of\nthis secret language tiru means \"three,\" puli means \"ten,\" and savana\n(or shortly sa) means \"one.\" So the leader by his song meant to hint\nto his fellow-traders that they were ten men, the robbers only three,\nthat if three pounced upon each of the robbers, nine of them could hold\nthem down, while the remaining one bound the robbers' hands and feet.\n\nThe three thieves, glorying in their victory, and little understanding\nthe meaning of the song and the intentions of the dancers, were proudly\nseated chewing betel and tambak (tobacco). Meanwhile the song was\nsung a third time. Ta tai tom had left the lips of the singer; and,\nbefore tadingana was out of them, the traders separated into parties\nof three, and each party pounced upon a thief. The remaining one--the\nleader himself, for to him the other nine left the conclusion--tore\nup into long narrow strips a large piece of cloth, six cubits long,\nand tied the hands and feet of the robbers. These were entirely\nhumbled now, and rolled on the ground like three bags of rice!\n\nThe ten traders now took back all their property, and armed themselves\nwith the swords and cudgels of their enemies; and when they reached\ntheir village, they often amused their friends and relatives by\nrelating their adventure. [80]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\nGOOD WILL GROW OUT OF GOOD.\n\n\nIn a certain town there reigned a king named Patnipriya, [81] to whose\ncourt, a poor old Brahmin, named Papabhiru, [82] came every morning,\nwith a yellow lime in his hand, and presenting it to the king,\npronounced a benediction in Tamil:--\n\n\n            Nanmai vidaittal, nanmai vilaiyum:\n            Timai vidaittal, timai vijaiyum:\n            Nanmaiyum timaiyum pinvara kanalam.\n\n            \"If good is sown, then good will grow:\n            If bad is sown, then bad will grow:\n            Thus good or bad the end will show.\"\n\n\nThe king respected as much the noble benediction of the Brahman as\nhe did his grey hairs.\n\nIn this way the presentation of the fruit continued daily, though\nthe Brahmin had nothing to request from the king, but simply wished\nto pay his respects. On observing that he had no ulterior motives,\nbut was merely actuated by rajasevana, or duty to his king, the king's\nadmiration for his old morning visitor increased the more.\n\nAfter presenting the fruit the Brahmin waited upon his sovereign till\nhis puja [83] was over, and then went home where his wife kept ready\nfor him all the requisites for his own puja. Papabhiru then partook\nof what dinner his wife had prepared for him. Sometimes, however,\na Brahmin neighbour sent him an invitation to dinner, which he at\nonce accepted. For his father, before he breathed his last, had\ncalled him to his bedside, and, pronouncing his last benediction,\nhad thus advised him in Tamil:--\n\n\n            Kalai sottai tallade,\n            Kannil Kandadai sollade,\n            Rajanukku payandu nada.\"\n\n            \"Morning meal do thou never spurn,\n            Nor say thou what thine eyes discern,\n            But serve thy king for fame to earn.\"\n\n\nThus it was that Papabhiru began his visits to the king, nor did he\never reject an invitation to dinner, though it might come at a very\ninconvenient time.\n\nNow on a certain ekadasi [84] morning, Papabhiru went to the king\nto pay his respects as usual, with the lime and the benediction, but\nfound that he had gone to his puja and so followed him there. On seeing\nthe Brahmin, the king's face glowed with pleasure, and he said:--\n\n\"My most revered god on earth, [85] I thought that some ill must have\nbefallen you, when I missed you in the council-hall this morning;\nbut praised be Paramesvara for having sent you to me, though it is\na little late. I never do my puja without placing my scimitar by the\nside of the god, but last night I left it in my queen's room. It is\nunder the pillow of the couch on which I usually sleep. Until you\ncame I could find no suitable person to fetch it for me, and so I have\nwaited for you. Would you kindly take the trouble to fetch it for me?\"\n\nThe poor Brahmin was only too glad of the opportunity thus presented\nto him of serving his king, and so he ran to the harem and into the\nroom where the king usually slept. The queen was a very wicked woman\nand always having secret meetings with courtiers of her husband, so\nwhen Papabhiru returned he surprised the queen and one of her lovers\nwalking in the garden, he went through, however, to the king's room,\nand lifting up the king's pillow felt for the scimitar, and went\naway. True however, to his father's words, \"Nor say thou what thine\neyes discern,\" he never opened his lips and went his way with a\nheavy heart.\n\nThe queen and her wicked suitor were greatly alarmed.\n\n\"That rogue of an old Brahmin has seen us and may report to the king\nat the first opportunity,\" faltered the minister.\n\nBut the queen, as bold in words as in sin, said; \"I will have him\nmurdered before the sun rises. Wait you here. I shall inform the king\nof what is to be done and report the result to you, and then you may\ngo home.\"\n\nSo saying, she went and stood before her royal husband who was at\nhis worship. Patnipriya rose up and asked her the reason of her\nsudden appearance.\n\nSaid she, \"Your Majesty seems to think the whole world as innocent\nas yourself. That wretched old Brahmin, though his hair is as white\nas milk, has not forgotten his younger days, he asked me to run away\nwith him. If you do not order his death before to-morrow morning,\nI shall kill myself.\"\n\nThe king was much vexed with what he heard, and all the regard he had\nfor the Brahmin disappeared at once. He called two of his executioners\nand spoke to them thus before his wife:--\n\n\"Take to the east gate of the town a large iron caldron, and keep it\nboiling to the brim with gingely oil. [86] A certain person shall\ncome to you in the morning and ask you, 'Is it all done?' Without\nobserving who he is, tie his hands and feet and throw him into the\nboiling oil. When he has been boiled to death, put out the fire and\nempty out the oil.\"\n\nThe executioners received the order and went away to perform\ntheir terrible duty. The queen, too, glad at heart at having thus\nsuccessfully arranged for the murder of the Brahmin, reported the\nfact to the minister, but said nothing about the special question to\nbe put by the victim. The minister, much pleased, went to his palace\nand waited for news of the Brahmin's death.\n\nWhen his puja was over the king sent for Papabhiru, and the poor\nBrahmin, never having before been sent for at such a time, made his\nappearance with a beating heart. When he arrived the king, in order\nto arouse no suspicion in his mind, said gently to him:--\n\n\"My dear Brahmin, to-morrow morning, when you go to make your\nablutions, pass by the east gate. There you will see two persons\nseated by the side of a large caldron. Ask them, 'Is it all done?' And\nwhatever reply they give you, come and communicate to me.\"\n\nThus spoke the king, firmly believing that Papabhiru would never\nreturn to him; while the Brahmin, glad to be able to serve the king\na second time next morning, went home and slept soundly. Early in\nthe morning, even a ghatika before his usual time, he got up, and,\nplacing on his head a bag containing dry clothes, proceeded to the\nriver for his morning bath. He took the road to the eastern gate as\nhe had been ordered, but had not walked far when a friend invited\nhim to a dvadasi [87] breakfast.\n\n\"My poor old mother did not taste even a drop of water the whole of the\nekadasi, (yesterday). Rice and hot water for a bath are ready. Pour a\nlittle of the water over your head, [88] pronounce one gayatri [89]\nand taste a handful of rice. Whatever may be the urgency of your\nbusiness, oblige me for my poor mother's sake.\"\n\nThus spoke his friend, and Papabhiru, out of regard to his father's\norder never to spurn a morning meal, ran in haste into his friend's\nhouse to oblige him; the king's order all the while sitting heavily\non his mind.\n\nMeanwhile the minister was most anxious to hear the news of the\nBrahmin's death, but was afraid to send any one to inquire about it,\nlest he should arouse suspicion. So he went himself to the east gate,\nas soon as the sun had risen, and asked the executioners, sitting by\nthe side of the caldron, by way of a simple question: \"Is the business\nall done?\" And as they were instructed not to observe who the person\nwas that came to question them, but to tie him up and boil him in the\noil, they, notwithstanding his howls, bound him and threw him in. As\nsoon as he was dead, they extinguished the fire, poured out the oil,\nturned over the caldron, corpse and all.\n\nThe Brahmin finished his dvadasi breakfast, in great haste, and,\nwith the betel leaf still in his hand, ran to the gate to inquire of\nthe persons seated by the caldron whether it was all done. When he\nput them the question, they smilingly replied:--\n\n\"Yes, Sir, it is all done. The minister is boiled to death. We gave\nfull execution to the king's orders. You may go and report the affair\nto him.\"\n\nThe Brahmin, not knowing the reason for the course events had taken,\nran back and reported the reply of the executioners to the king. The\nminister's interference in the affair at once kindled suspicion in the\nking's mind. He unsheathed his scimitar, and holding it in his right\nhand, twisted the lock of hair on the Brahmin's head into his left. He\nthen asked him whether he had not tried to get his wife away from him\nthe previous morning, and told him that, if he concealed the truth,\nhe would make an end of him. The poor Brahmin now confessed what he\nhad seen, on which the king threw down the scimitar and fell down on\nhis knees before him.\n\n\"The words of thy benediction, O respected Brahmin, have only\nnow been explained to me. Thou hast sown nothing but good; and\ngood in having thy life preserved, hast thou reaped. The wicked\nminister--whose conscious guilt made him so very anxious to hear\nabout thy death--because he sowed a bad intention in his heart has\nreaped evil, even a death that he never expected. Another victim of\nevil sowing, remains in my queen, in whom I placed an undeserved love.\"\n\nSo said he, and ordered her to the gallows. The old Brahmin he\nappointed his minister and reigned for a long time.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\nLIGHT MAKES PROSPERITY.\n\n\nThere is a Tamil proverb dipam lakshmikaram, meaning, \"light makes\nprosperity,\" and the following story is related to explain it:--\n\nIn the town of Govindapathi there lived a merchant named Pasupati\nSetti, who had a son and a daughter. The son's name was Vinita and the\ndaughter's Garvi, and while still playmates they made a mutual vow,\nthat in case they ever had children that could be married to each\nother, they would certainly see that this was done. Garvi grew up\nto marry a very rich merchant, and gave birth in due course to three\ndaughters, the last of whom was named Sunguni. Vinita, too, had three\nsons. Before, however, this brother and sister could fulfil their\nvow an event happened which threw a gloom over all their expectations.\n\nPasupati Setti died, and his creditors--for he had many--grew\ntroublesome. All his property had to be sold to clear his debts,\nand in a month or two after his father's death Vinita was reduced to\nthe condition of a penniless pauper. But being a sensible person he\npatiently bore up against his calamity, and tried his best to live\nan honest life on what little was left to him.\n\nHis sister Garvi was, as has been already said, married into a rich\nfamily, and when she saw the penniless condition of her brother the\nengagements she had entered into with him began to trouble her. To\ngive or not to give her daughters in marriage to the sons of her\nbrother! This was the question that occupied her thoughts for several\nmonths, till at last she determined within herself never to give poor\nhusbands to her children. Fortunately for her, two young merchants of\nrespectable family offered themselves to her two eldest daughters,\nshe gladly accepted them and had the weddings celebrated. The last\ndaughter, Suguni, alone remained unmarried.\n\nVinita was sorely troubled in his heart at this disappointment,\nas he never thought that his sister would thus look down upon his\npoverty; but, being very sensible, he never interfered and never said\na word. The vow of his childhood was, however, known to every one, and\nsome came to sympathise with him; while others spoke in a criticising\ntone to Garvi for having broken her promise, because her brother had\nbecome poor through unforeseen circumstances. Their remarks fell on the\nears of Suguni, who was as yet unmarried, and also was a very learned\nand sensible girl. She found her uncle Vinita extremely courteous and\nrespectful, and his sons all persons of virtue and good nature. The\nthought that her mother should have forgotten all these excellent and\nrare qualities in the presence of fleeting mammon (asthiraisvarya)\nvexed her heart very greatly. So, though it is considered most\ncontrary to etiquette for a girl in Hindu society to fix upon a boy\nas her husband, she approached her mother and thus addressed her:--\n\n\"Mother, I have heard all the story about your vow to your brother\nto marry us--myself and my sisters--to his sons, our cousins; but\nI am ashamed to see you have unwarrantably broken it in the case of\nmy sisters. I cannot bear such shame. I cannot marry anyone in the\nworld except one of my three cousins. You must make up your mind to\ngive me your consent.\"\n\nGarvi was astonished to hear her youngest daughter talk thus to her.\n\n\"You wish to marry a beggar?\" said she. \"We will never agree to it,\nand if you persist we will give you away to your penniless pauper,\nbut we will never see your face again.\"\n\nBut Suguni persisted. So her marriage with the youngest son of Vinita\nwas arranged. He had never spoken a word about it to his sister,\nbut he had waited to make matches for his children till all his\nsister's daughters had been given away, and when he heard that Suguni\nwas determined to marry his youngest son, he was very pleased. He\nsoon fixed upon two girls from a poor family for his other sons,\nand celebrated the three weddings as became his position.\n\nSuguni was as noble in her conduct as in her love for her poor\ncousin. She was never proud or insolent on account of having come\nfrom a rich family. Nor did she ever disregard her husband, or his\nbrothers, or father.\n\nNow Vinita and his sons used to go out in the mornings to gather\ndried leaves which his three daughters-in-law stitched into plates\n(patravali), which the male members of the family sold in the bazar for\nabout four panams each. [90] Sometimes these leaf-plates would go for\nmore, sometimes for less; but whatever money the father-in-law brought\nhome his daughters-in-law used for the day's expense. The youngest\nof them was Suguni, who spent the money most judiciously, and fed her\nfather-in-law and his sons sumptuously. Whatever remained she partook\nof with her two poor sisters-in-law, and lived most contentedly. And\nthe family respected Suguni as a paragon of virtue, and had a very\ngreat regard for her. Her parents, as they had threatened, never\nreturned to see how their last, and of course once beloved, child\nwas doing in her husband's home. Thus passed a couple of years.\n\nOne day the king of the town was taking an oil bath, and pulling a\nring off his finger, left it in a niche in the open courtyard. A garuda\n(Brahmani kite) was at that moment describing circles in the air, and,\nmistaking the glittering rubies in the ring for flesh, pounced upon it\nand flew away. Finding it not to be flesh he dropped it in the house of\nSuguni's husband. She happened to be alone working in the courtyard,\nwhile her sisters-in-law and the others were in different parts of\nthe house. So she took up the sparkling ring and hid it in her lap.\n\nSoon afterwards she heard a proclamation made in the street that the\nking had lost a valuable ring, and that any person who could trace it\nand give it back to him should obtain a great reward. Suguni called\nher husband and his brothers and thus addressed them:--\n\n\"My lord and brothers, I have the king's ring. Exactly at midday a\ngaruda dropped it in our courtyard and here it is. We must all go to\nthe king, and there, before you three, I shall deliver up the ring,\nexplaining how I got it. When his majesty desires me to name my\nreward I shall do so, and beg of you never to contradict or gainsay\nmy desires, if they appear very humble in your opinion.\"\n\nThe brothers agreed, and they all started for the palace. They had\na very great respect for Suguni and expected a good result from this\nvisit to the king.\n\nThe palace was reached, and the ring was given back to the king\nwith the explanation. His majesty was charmed at the modesty and\ntruthfulness of Suguni, and asked her to name her reward.\n\n\"My most gracious sovereign! King of kings! Supreme lord! Only a slight\nfavour thy dog of a servant requests of your majesty. It is this,\nthat on a Friday night all the lights in the town be extinguished,\nand not a lamp be lit even in the palace. Only the house of thy dog\nof a servant must be lighted up with such lights as it can afford.\"\n\n\"Agreed, most modest lady. We grant your request, and we permit you\nto have the privilege you desire this very next Friday.\"\n\nJoyfully she bowed before his majesty, and returned with her husband\nand the others to her house. She then pledged the last jewel she had\nby her and procured some money.\n\nFriday came. She fasted the whole day, and as soon as twilight\napproached she called both the brothers of her husband, and thus\naddressed them:--\n\n\"My brothers, I have made arrangements for lighting up our house\nwith one thousand lamps to-night. One of you, without ever closing\nyour eyes for a moment, must watch the front of our house and the\nother the back. If a woman of a graceful appearance and of feminine\nmajesty wishes you to permit her to enter it, boldly tell her to\nswear first never to go out again. If she solemnly agrees to this,\nthen permit her to come in. If in the same way any woman wishes to\ngo out, make a similar condition that she must swear never to return\nat any time in her life.\"\n\nWhat Suguni said seemed ridiculous to the brothers; but they allowed\nher to have her way, and waited to see patiently what would take place.\n\nThe whole town was gloomy that night, except Suguni's house; for,\nby order of his majesty, no light was lit in any other house. The\nAshtalakshmis--the Eight Prosperities--entered the town that night and\nwent house by house into every street. All of them were dark, and the\nonly house lit up was Suguni's. They tried to enter it, but the brother\nat the door stopped them and ordered them to take the oath. This they\ndid, and when he came to understand that these ladies were the Eight\nProsperities, he admired the sagacity of his brother's wife.\n\nA nimisha after the eight ladies had gone in, there came out of the\nhouse a hideous female and requested permission to go, but the brother\nat the back would not permit this unless she swore never to come back\nagain. She solemnly swore, and the next moment he came to know that\nshe was Mudevi, or Adversity, the elder sister of Prosperity.\n\nFor she said:--\"My sisters have come. I cannot stay here for a minute\nlonger. God bless you and your people. I swear by everything sacred\nnever to come back.\"\n\nAnd so, unable to breathe there any longer, Adversity ran away.\n\nWhen the morning dawned, the Prosperities had already taken up a\npermanent abode with the family. The rice bag became filled. The money\nchest overflowed with money. The pot contained milk. And thus plenty\nbegan to reign in Suguni's house from that day. The three brothers and\nher father-in-law were overjoyed at the way Suguni had driven away\ntheir poverty for ever, and even Suguni's parents did not feel it a\ndisgrace to come and beg their daughter's pardon. She nobly granted\nit and lived with all the members of her family in prosperity for a\nlong life.\n\nIt is a notion, therefore, among orthodox Hindus, that light in the\nhouse brings prosperity, and darkness adversity. [91]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\nCHANDRALEKHA AND THE EIGHT ROBBERS.\n\n\nThere was an ancient city named Kaivalyam, in the Pandiya country,\nand in that city there lived a dancing girl named Muttumohana. She was\nan excellent gem of womankind, for though born of the dancing-girls'\ncaste, she was a very learned and pious woman, and never would she\ntaste her food without first going and worshipping in the temple of\nSiva. She moved in the society of kings, ministers, and Brahmins, and\nnever mingled with low people, however rich they might be. She had a\ndaughter named Chandralekha, whom she put to school with the sons of\nkings, ministers and Brahmins. Chandralekha showed signs of very great\nintelligence, even when she was beginning her alphabet, so that the\nmaster took the greatest care with her tuition, and in less than four\nyears she began her lessons and became a great pandita. [92] However,\nas she was only a dancing-girl by birth, there was no objection to her\nattending to her studies in open school till she attained to maturity,\nand, accordingly, up to that age she attended the school and mastered\nthe four Vedas and Sastras and the sixty-four varieties of knowledge.\n\nShe then ceased to attend the school, and Muttumohana said to her:--\n\n\"My darling daughter, for the last seven or eight years you have\nbeen taking lessons under the Brahmin, your master, in the various\ndepartments of knowledge, and you must now pay a large fee to\nremunerate your master's labours in having taught you so much. You\nare at liberty to take as much money as you please from my hoard.\"\n\nSo saying she handed over the key to her daughter, and Chandralekha,\ndelighted at her mother's sound advice, filled up five baskets with\nfive thousand mohars in each, and setting them on the heads of five\nmaid-servants, went to her master's house with betel leaves, areca nut,\nflowers and cocoanuts in a platter in her hand, to be presented along\nwith the money. The servants placed the baskets before the master and\nstood outside the house, while Chandralekha took the dish of betel\nleaves, nuts, &c., and humbly prostrated herself on the ground before\nhim. Then, rising up, she said:--\n\n\"My most holy guru (master), great are the pains your holiness\nundertook in instructing me, and thus destroying the darkness of my\nignorance. For the last eight years I have been a regular student\nunder your holiness, and all the branches of knowledge hath your\nholiness taught me. Though what I offer might be insufficient for\nthe pains your holiness took in my case, still I humbly request your\nholiness to accept what I have brought.\"\n\nThus said she, and respectfully pushed the baskets of mohars and\nthe betel-nut platter towards the Brahmin. She expected to hear\nbenedictions from her tutor, but in that we shall see she was soon\ndisappointed.\n\nReplied the wretched Brahmin:--\n\n\"My dear Chandralekha, do you not know that I am the tutor of the\nprince, the minister's son and several others of great wealth in\nKaivalyam? Of money I have more than enough. I do not want a single\nmohar from you, but what I want is that you should marry me.\" [93]\n\nThus spoke the shameless teacher, and Chandralekha's face changed\ncolour. She was horrified to hear such a suggestion from one whom she\nhad thought till then to be an incarnation of perfection. But, still\nhoping to convince him of the unjustness of the request, she said:--\n\n\"My most holy master! The deep respect I entertain towards your holy\nfeet is such that, though your holiness's words are plain, I am led\nto think that they are merely uttered to test my character. Does not\nyour holiness know the rules by which a preceptor is to be regarded\nas a father, and that I thus stand in the relationship of a daughter\nto your holiness? So kindly forget all that your holiness has said,\nand accepting what I have brought in my humble state, permit me to\ngo home.\"\n\nBut the wretched teacher never meant anything of the sort. He had\nspoken in earnest, and his silence now and lascivious look at once\nconvinced the dancing-girl's daughter of what was passing in his\nmind. So she quickly went out and told her servants to take back\nthe money.\n\nAt home Muttumohana was anxiously awaiting the return of her daughter,\nand as soon as Chandralekha came in without the usual cheerfulness in\nher face, and without having given the presents, her mother suspected\nthat something had gone wrong, and inquired of her daughter the cause\nof her gloom. She then related to her mother the whole story of her\ninterview with her old master. Muttumohana was glad to find such a\nfirm heart in her daughter, and blessed her, saying that she would\nbe wedded to a young husband, and lead a chaste life, though born of\nthe dancing-girls' caste. The money she safely locked up in her room.\n\nNow, the Brahmin, in consequence of his disappointment, was very angry\nwith Chandralekha, and, that no young and wealthy gentleman might\nvisit her house, he spread reports that Chandralekha was possessed of\na demon (kuttichchatti). So no one approached Chandralekha's house to\nwin her love, and her mother was much vexed. Her great wish was that\nsome respectable young man should secure her daughter's affections,\nbut the master's rumours stood in the way. And thus a year passed,\nand the belief that a kuttichchatti had possessed Chandralekha gained\nfirm ground.\n\nAfter what seemed to these two to be a long period, a sage happened to\nvisit Muttumohana's house, and she related to him all her daughter's\nstory. He listened and said:--\n\n\"Since the belief that a demon has taken possession of your daughter\nhas taken firm hold of the citizens, it is but necessary now that\nshe should perform (puja) worship to the demon-king on the night of\nthe new moon of this month in the cremation-ground. Let her do this\nand she will be all right, for then some worthy young man can secure\nher affections.\"\n\nSo saying the sage went away, and his advice seemed to be reasonable\nto the mother. She very well knew that no such demon had possessed\nher daughter, but that it was all the master's idle report. But still,\nto wipe away any evil notion in the minds of the people she publicly\nproclaimed that her daughter would perform puja in the cremation-ground\nat midnight at the next new moon. [94] Now, it is always the rule in\nsuch rites that the person who is possessed should go alone to the\ncremation-ground, and, accordingly, on the night of the next new moon,\nChandralekha went to the burning-ground with a basket containing all\nthe necessary things for worship, and a light.\n\nNear Kaivalyam, at a distance of five kos from it, was a great\nforest called Khandavam. In it there dwelt eight robbers, who used\nto commit the greatest havoc in the country round. At the time that\nChandralekha proceeded to the cremation-ground, these eight robbers\nalso happened to go there to conceal what they had stolen in the\nearlier part of that night. Then, being relieved of their burden,\nthey determined to go to some other place to plunder during the\nlatter half of the night also. When Chandralekha heard the sound of\nfootsteps at a distance she feared something wrong, and, covering up\nher glittering light by means of her empty basket, concealed herself\nin a hollow place. The thieves came and looked round about them. They\nfound nobody, but, fearing that some one might be near, one of them\ntook out an instrument called kannakkol, and, whirling it round his\nhead, threw it towards the east. This kannakkol is the instrument\nby which these robbers bore holes in walls and enter buildings, and\nsome robbers say they get it from a thunderbolt. During a stormy\nday they make a large heap of cow-dung, into which a thunderbolt\nfalls and leaves a rod in the middle, which is so powerful that it\ncan bore even through stone walls without making any noise. It has\nalso the attribute of obeying its master's orders. So when the chief\nof the eight robbers threw his kannakkol towards the east, true to\nits nature, it fell into the hole in which Chandralekha was hiding,\nand began to pierce her in the back. As soon as she felt it, she\ndragged it out by both her hands without making the slightest noise,\nand, throwing it under her feet, stood firmly over it. The robbers,\nhaving concealed the eight boxes of wealth they had brought with\nthem in the sands near the cremation-ground, went away to spend the\nremaining part of the night usefully in their own fashion.\n\nAs soon as the robbers had left the place Chandralekha came out, and,\ntaking possession of the robbers' rod, took out the eight boxes that\nthe robbers had buried. With these she quickly hastened home, where\nher mother was awaiting her return. She soon made her appearance,\nand related all that had occurred during the night to her mother. They\nsoon removed the contents of the boxes and locked them up safely. Then,\ntaking the empty boxes, she filled them up with stones, old iron and\nother useless materials, and, arranging them two and two by the side\nof each leg of her cot, went to sleep on it.\n\nAs the night was drawing to a close, the robbers, with still more\nbooty, came to the ground, and were thunderstruck when they missed\ntheir boxes. But as the day was dawning they went away into the jungle,\nleaving the investigation of the matter to the next night. They were\nastonished at the trick that had been played upon them and were very\nanxious to find out the thief who had outwitted thieves. Now they were\nsure that their boring-rod, which they had aimed against the unknown\nperson who might be lurking in the smasanam (cremation-ground),\nmust have wounded him. So one of them assumed the guise of an\nointment-seller, [95] and, with some ointment in a cocoanut-bottle,\nbegan to walk the streets of Kaivalyam city, crying out:--\n\n\"Ointment to sell. The best of ointments to cure new wounds and old\nsores. Please buy my ointment.\"\n\nAnd the other seven thieves assumed seven different disguises and\nalso went wandering round the streets of the city. A maid-servant\nof Chandralekha had seen that her mistress was suffering from the\neffects of a wound in her back, and never suspecting a thief in the\nmedicine seller, called out to the ointment-man and took him inside\nthe house. She then informed Chandralekha that she had brought in\nan ointment-man, and that she would do well to buy a little of his\nmedicine for her wound. The clever Chandralekha at once recognised the\nthief in the medicine vendor, and he too, as he was a very cunning\nbrute, recognised in the young lady the thief of his boxes, and\nfound her wound to be that made by his boring-rod. They soon parted\ncompany. The lady bought a little ointment, and the thief in disguise,\ngladly giving a little of his precious stuff from his cocoanut-bottle,\nwent away. The eight thieves had appointed a place outside Kaivalyam\nfor their rendezvous, and there they learnt who had robbed them of\ntheir treasure. Not wishing to remain idle, they chose that very\nnight both to break into Chandralekha's house and bring away herself\nand their boxes.\n\nChandralekha, too, was very careful. She locked up all the treasures\nand kept the eight boxes filled with rubbish, so as to correspond with\ntheir original weights, under the cot on which she slept, or rather\npretended to sleep, that night. The thieves in due course made a hole\ninto her bedroom and entered. They found her to all appearance sound\nasleep, and to their still greater joy, they found beneath her cot\ntheir eight boxes.\n\n\"The vixen is asleep. Let us come to-morrow night and take her away;\nbut first let us remove our boxes.\"\n\nSo saying to each other, they took their boxes, each placing one on his\nhead, and returned in haste to their cave, which they reached early in\nthe morning. But when they opened the boxes to sort out their booty,\nastonishment of astonishments, their eyes met only broken pieces of\nstone, lumps of iron, and other such rubbish. Every one of them placed\nhis forefinger at right angles to the tip of his nose, and exclaimed:--\n\n\"Ah! A very clever girl. She has managed to deceive us all. But let\nthis day pass. We shall see whether she will not fall into our hands\nto-night.\"\n\nThus, in wonder and amazement, they spent the whole day. Nor was\nChandralekha idle at her own house. She was sure she would again see\nthe robbers in her room that night, and, in order to be prepared for\nthe occasion, she made a small sharp knife out of the robber's rod,\nand kept it beneath her pillow, in the place where she was accustomed\nto keep her purse containing a few betel leaves, nuts, chunam, &c.,\nto chew. The night came on. Early Chandralekha had her supper and\nretired to bed. Sleep she could not, but she cunningly kept eyelids\nclosed and pretended to sleep. Even before it was midnight the eight\nthieves broke into her room, saying to themselves:--\n\n\"This clever lady-thief sleeps soundly. We will do her no mischief\nhere. Let us range ourselves two and two at each leg of her cot,\nand carry her away unconscious to the woods. There we can kill her.\"\n\nThus thinking, the eight thieves ranged themselves at the side\nof the four legs of the cot, and, without the slightest shaking,\nremoved the cot with the sleeper on it outside the town. Their\njoy in thus having brought away their enemy was very great, and,\nnot fearing for the safe custody of their prisoner, they marched to\ntheir cave. Meanwhile Chandralekha was not idle on the cot. The way\nto the jungle was through a long and fine avenue of mango trees. It\nwas the mango season, and all the branches were hanging with bunches\nof ripe and unripe fruit. To make up for her weight on the cot she\nkept plucking mango bunches and heaping them on it, and as soon as\na quantity which she thought would make up her weight was upon her\ncot, she without the slightest noise took hold of a branch and swung\nherself off it. The thieves walked on as before, the weight on their\nheads not apparently diminishing, leaving our heroine safely seated\non a mango branch to pass the few remaining ghatikas of that anxious\nnight there. The thieves reached their cave just at daybreak, and\nwhen they placed their burden down their eyes met only bunches of\nripe mangoes, and not the lady they looked for.\n\n\"Is she a woman of flesh and blood, or is she a devil?\" asked the\nchief of the next in rank.\n\n\"My lord! she is a woman fast enough, and if we search in the wood\nwe shall find her,\" replied he, and at once all the eight robbers\nafter a light breakfast began to search for her.\n\nMeanwhile the morning dawned upon Chandralekha and let her see that\nshe was in the midst of a thick jungle. She feared to escape in\nthe daytime as the way was long, and she was sure that the robbers\nwould soon be after her. So she resolved to conceal herself in some\ndeep ambush and wait for the night. Before she left the cot for the\nmango branch she had secured in her hip the small knife she had made\nfor herself out of the robbers' rod and the purse containing the\nmaterials for chewing betel; and near the tree into which she had\nclimbed she saw a deep hollow surrounded by impenetrable reeds on all\nsides. So she slowly let herself down from the tree into this hollow,\nand anxiously waited there for the night.\n\nAll this time the eight thieves were searching for her in different\nplaces, and one of them came to the spot where Chandralekha had sat\nin the tree, and the dense bushes near made him suspect that she\nwas hidden there; so he proceeded to examine the place by climbing\nup the tree. When Chandralekha saw the thief on the tree she gave\nup all hopes of life. But suddenly a bright thought came into her\nmind, just as the man up above saw her. Putting on a most cheerful\ncountenance she slowly spoke to him.\n\n\"My dear husband, for I must term you so from this moment, since God\nhas elevated you now to that position, do not raise an alarm. Come\ndown here gently, that we may be happy in each other's company. You\nare my husband and I am your wife from this moment.\"\n\nSo spoke the clever Chandralekha, and the head of the thief began\nto turn with joy when he heard so sweet a speech, and forgetting all\nher previous conduct to himself and his brethren, he leapt into the\nhollow. She welcomed him with a smiling face, in which the eager heart\nof the robber read sincere affection, and gave him some betel-nut\nto chew and chewed some herself merrily. Now redness of the tongue\nafter chewing betel is always an indication of the mutual affection\nof a husband and wife among the illiterate of Hindu society. So while\nthe betel-leaf was being chewed she put out her tongue to show the\nthief how red it was, letting him see thereby how deeply she loved\nhim: and he, to show in return how deeply he loved her, put out his\ntongue too. And she, as if examining it closely, clutched it in her\nleft hand, while with her right hand in the twinkling of an eye cut\noff the tongue and nose of the robber, and taking advantage of the\nconfusion that came over him she cut his throat and left him dead.\n\nBy this time evening was fast approaching, and the other seven robbers,\nafter fruitless search, returned to their cave, feeling sure that\nthe eighth man must have discovered Chandralekha. They waited and\nwaited the whole night, but no one returned, for how could a man who\nhad been killed come back?\n\nOur heroine, meanwhile, as soon as evening set in started homewards,\nbeing emboldened by the occasion and the circumstances in which she\nwas placed. She reached home safely at midnight and related all her\nadventures to her mother. Overcome by exhaustion she slept the rest of\nthe night, and as soon as morning dawned began to strengthen the walls\nof her bedroom by iron plates. To her most useful pocket-knife she now\nadded a bagful of powdered chillies, and went to bed, not to sleep,\nbut to watch for the robbers. Just as she expected, a small hole was\nbored in the east wall of her bedroom, and one of the seven robbers\nthrust in his head. As soon as she saw the hole our heroine stood\nby the side of it with the powder and knife, and with the latter she\ncut off the nose of the man who peeped in and thrust the powder into\nthe wound. Unable to bear the burning pain he dragged himself back,\nuttering \"na, na, na, na,\" having now no nose to pronounce properly\nwith. A second thief, abusing the former for having lost his nose\nso carelessly, went in, and the bold lady inside dealt in the same\nway with his nose, and he too, dragged himself back in the same way,\ncalling out \"na, na, na, na.\" A third thief abused the second in his\nturn, and going in lost his nose also. Thus all the seven thieves\nlost their noses, and, fearing to be discovered if they remained,\nran off to the forest, where they had to take a few days' rest from\ntheir plundering habits to cure their mutilated noses.\n\nChandralekha had thus three or four times disappointed the thieves. The\nmore she disappointed them the more she feared for her own safety,\nespecially as she had now inflicted a life-long shame on them.\n\n\"The thieves will surely come as soon as their noses are cured and\nkill me in some way or other. I am, after all, only a girl,\" she\nthought to herself. So she went at once to the palace and reported\nall her adventures with the eight robbers to the prince, who had been\nher former class-mate. The prince was astonished at the bravery of\nChandralekha, and promised the next time the robbers came to lend\nher his assistance. So every night a spy from the palace slept in\nChandralekha's house to carry the news of the arrival of the robbers to\nthe prince, should they ever go there. But the robbers were terribly\nafraid of approaching Chandralekha's house, after they came to know\nthat she had a knife made out of the boring-rod. But they devised\namong themselves a plan of inviting Chandralekha to the forest under\nthe pretence of holding a nautch, and sent to her house a servant for\nthat purpose. The servant came, and, entering Chandralekha's house,\nspoke thus to her:--\n\n\"My dear young lady, whoever you may be, you have now a chance of\nenriching yourself. I see plainly from the situation of your house\nthat you are one of the dancing-girls' caste. My masters in the forest\nhave made a plan to give a nautch to their relatives on the occasion\nof a wedding which is to take place there the day after to-morrow. If\nyou come there they will reward you with a karor of mohars for every\nnimisha (minute) of your performance.\"\n\nThus spoke the servant, and Chandralekha, knowing that the mission\nwas from the thieves, agreed to perform the nautch, and, asking the\nman to come and take her and her party the next morning to the forest,\nsent him away.\n\nIn order to lose no time she went at once to the prince and told him\nall about the nautch. Said she:--\n\n\"I know very well that this is a scheme of the thieves to kill me,\nbut before they can do that we must try to kill them. A way suggests\nitself to me in this wise. To make up a nautch party more than seven\npersons are required. One must play the drum; a second must sound the\ncymbals; a third must blow upon the nagasvara pipe, etc., etc. So I\nrequest you to give me seven of your strongest men to accompany me\ndisguised as men of my party, and some of your troops must secretly\nlie in ambush in readiness to take the robbers prisoners when a signal\nis given to them.\"\n\nThus Chandralekha spoke, and all her advice the prince received with\ngreat admiration. He himself offered to follow her as her drummer for\nthe nautch, and he chose six of the ablest commanders from his army,\nand asked them to disguise themselves as fiddlers, pipers, etc., and\nhe directed an army of a thousand men to follow their footsteps at a\ndistance of two ghatikas' march, and to lie in ambush near the place\nwhere they were going to perform the nautch, ready for a call. Thus\neverything was arranged and all were ready by the morning to start\nfrom Chandralekha's house.\n\nBefore the third ghatika of the morning was over, the robbers' servant\ncame to conduct Chandralekha with her party to the forest, where the\nprince and six of his strongest men disguised as her followers, were\nwaiting for him. Chandralekha with all her followers accompanied him,\nbut as soon as she left her house a spy ran off to the army, which,\nas ordered by the prince, began to follow her party at a distance of\ntwo ghatikas.\n\nAfter travelling a long way Chandralekha and her party reached the\nnautch pavilion at about five ghatikas before sunset. All their\nhosts were without their noses, and some still had their noses\nbandaged up. When they saw that Chandralekha's followers had a fine\nand prepossessing appearance, even the hard hearts of the robbers\nsoftened a little.\n\n\"Let us have a look at her performance. She is now entirely in\nour possession. Instead of murdering her now, we will witness her\nperformance for a ghatika,\" said the robbers to each other; and all\nwith one voice said \"agreed,\" and at once the order for the performance\nwas given.\n\nChandralekha, who was clever in every department of knowledge, began\nher performance, and, by the most exquisite movement of her limbs,\nheld the audience spell-bound, when suddenly ta tai, tom clashed the\ncymbals. This was the signal for the destruction of the robbers, as\nwell as the sign of the close of a part of the nautch. In the twinkling\nof an eye the seven disguised followers of the dancing-girl had thrown\ndown the thieves and were upon them. Before the servants of the robbers\ncould come to the help of their masters the footsteps of an army near\nwere heard, and in no time the prince's one thousand men were on the\nspot and took all the robbers and their followers prisoners.\n\nSo great had been the ravages of these robbers in and round Kaivalyam\nthat, without any mercy being shown to them, they and their followers\nwere all ordered to be beheaded, and the prince was so much won over\nby the excellent qualities of Chandralekha that, notwithstanding her\nbirth as a dancing-girl, he regarded her as a gem of womankind and\nmarried her.\n\n\"Buy a girl in a bazar\" (kanniyai kadaiyir kol) is a proverb. What\nmatter where a girl is born provided she is virtuous! And Chandralekha,\nby her excellent virtue, won a prince for her lord. And when that\nlord came to know of the real nature of his teacher, who was also\nthe teacher of Chandralekha, he banished him from his kingdom, as a\nmerciful punishment, in consideration of his previous services.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIX.\n\nTHE CONQUEST OF FATE.\n\n\nIn the Dakshinadesa there lived a Brahmin boy who from his childhood\nwas given a very liberal education in Sanskrit. He had read so much\nin philosophy that before he reached the sixteenth year of his life\nhe began to despise the pleasures of the world. Everything which he\nsaw was an illusion (mithya) to him. So he resolved to renounce the\nworld and to go to a forest, there to meet with some great sage,\nand pass his days with him in peace and happiness.\n\nHaving thus made up his mind, he left his home one day without the\nknowledge of his parents and travelled towards the Dandakaranya. After\nwandering for a long time in that impenetrable forest, and undergoing\nall the miseries of a wood inhabited only by wild beasts, he reached\nthe banks of the Tungabhadra. His sufferings in his wanderings in a\nforest untrodden by human feet, his loneliness in the midst of wild\nbeasts, his fears whether after all he had not failed in his search\nfor consolation in a preceptor to teach him the higher branches of\nphilosophy, came up one after another before his mind. Dejected and\nweary, he cast his glance forward as far as it could reach. Was it\na reality or only imagination? He saw before him a lonely cottage\nof leaves (parnasala). To a lonely traveller even the appearance of\nshelter is welcome, so he followed up his vision till it became a\nreality, and an aged hoary Brahmin, full fourscore and more in years,\nwelcomed our young philosopher.\n\n\"What has brought you here, my child, to this lonely forest thus\nalone?\" spoke in a sweet voice the hoary lord of the cottage of leaves.\n\n\"A thirst for knowledge, so that I may acquire the mastery over the\nhigher branches of philosophy,\" was the reply of our young adventurer,\nwhose name was Subrahmanya.\n\n\"Sit down my child,\" said the old sage, much pleased that in this\nKaliyuga, which is one long epoch of sin, there was at least one\nyoung lad who had forsaken his home for philosophy.\n\nHaving thus seen our hero safely relieved from falling a prey to the\ntigers and lions of the Dandakaranya, let us enquire into the story\nof the old sage. In the good old days even of this Kaliyuga learned\npeople, after fully enjoying the world, retired to the forests,\nwith or without their wives, to pass the decline of life in solemn\nsolitude and contemplation. When they went with their wives they were\nsaid to undergo the vanaprastha stage of family life.\n\nThe hoary sage of our story was undergoing vanaprastha, for he was\nin the woods with his wife. His name while living was Jnananidhi. He\nhad built a neat parnasala, or cottage of leaves, on the banks of\nthe commingled waters of the Tunga and Bhadra, and here his days and\nnights were spent in meditation. Though old in years he retained the\nfull vigour of manhood, the result of a well-spent youth. The life\nof his later years was most simple and sinless.\n\n\n        \"Remote from man, with God he passed his days;\n        Prayer all his business, all his pleasures praise.\"\n\n\nThe wood yielded him herbs, fruits, and roots, and the river,\nproverbial [96] for its sweet waters, supplied him with drink. He\nlived, in fact, as simply as the bard who sang:--\n\n\n                \"But from the mountain's grassy side\n                    A guiltless feast I bring;\n                A bag with herbs and fruits supplied,\n                    And water from the spring.\"\n\n\nHis faithful wife brought him these, while Jnananidhi himself devoted\nhis whole time to the contemplation of God.\n\nSuch was Jnananidhi--the abode of all wise people--to whom the\nboy-philosopher, Subrahmanya, resorted. After questioning each other\nboth were mightily pleased at the fortune which had brought them\ntogether. Jnananidhi was glad to impart his hard-earned knowledge\nduring his leisure moments to the young student, and Subrahmanya,\nwith that longing which made him renounce the city and take to the\nwoods eagerly swallowed and assimilated whatever was administered to\nhim. He relieved his mother--for as such he regarded his master's\nwife--of all her troubles, and used, himself, to go out to bring\nthe fruits, herbs, and roots necessary for the repasts of the little\nfamily. Thus passed five years, by which time our young friend had\nbecome learned in the many branches of Aryan philosophy.\n\nJnananidhi had a desire to visit the source of the Tungabhadra, but\nhis wife was eight months advanced in her pregnancy. So he could not\ntake her; and to take care of her he had to leave behind his disciple,\nSubrahmanya. Thus after commending the lady to Subrahmanya's care,\nand leaving for female assistance another sage's wife, whom he had\nbrought from a distant forest, Jnananidhi went his way.\n\nNow, there is a strong belief among Hindus that Brahma, the great\ncreator, writes on everyone's head at the time of his birth his\nfuture fortunes in life. He is supposed to do this just at the\nmoment of birth. Of course, the great god when he enters the room\nto discharge his onerous duty, is invisible to all human eyes. But\nthe eyes of Subrahmanya were not exactly human. The supreme knowledge\nwhich Jnananidhi had imparted to him made it easy for him to discern at\nonce a person entering most impolitely the room in which his master's\nwife had been confined.\n\n\"Let your reverence stop here,\" said the disciple angrily though\nrespectfully.\n\nThe great god shuddered, for he had been in the habit of entering\nhourly innumerable buildings on his eternal rounds of duty, but never\ntill then had a human being perceived him and asked him to stop. His\nwonder knew no measure, and as he stood bewildered the following\nreprimand fell on his ears:\n\n\"Hoary Brahmin sage (for so Brahma appeared), it is unbecoming your age\nthus to enter the hut of my master, unallowed by me, who am watching\nhere. My teacher's wife is ill. Stop!\"\n\nBrahma hastily--for the time of inscribing the future fortune on the\nforehead of the baby to be born was fast approaching--explained to\nSubrahmanya who he was and what had brought him there. As soon as\nour young hero came to know the person who stood before him he rose\nup, and, tying his upper cloth round his hips as a mark of respect,\nwent round the creator thrice, fell down before Brahma's most holy\nfeet and begged his pardon. Brahma had not much time. He wanted to\ngo in at once, but our young friend would not leave the god until he\nexplained what he meant to write on the head of the child.\n\n\"My son!\" said Brahma, \"I myself do not know what my iron nail will\nwrite on the head of the child. When the child is born I place the\nnail on its head, and the instrument writes the fate of the baby in\nproportion to its good or bad acts in its former life. To delay me\nis merely wrong. Let me go in.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Subrahmanya, \"your holiness must inform me when your\nholiness goes out what has been written on the child's head.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" said Brahma and went in. After a moment he returned, and\nour young hero at the door asked the god what his nail had written.\n\n\"My child!\" said Brahma, \"I will inform you what it wrote; but if you\ndisclose it to anyone your head will split into a thousand pieces. The\nchild is a male child. It has before it a very hard life. A buffalo and\na sack of grain will be its livelihood. What is to be done. Perhaps\nit had not done any good acts in its former life, and as the result\nof its sin it must undergo miseries now.\"\n\n\"What! Your supreme holiness, the father of this child is a great\nsage! And is this the fate reserved to the son of a sage?\" wept the\ntrue disciple of the sage.\n\n\"What have I to do with the matter? The fruits of acts in a former\nlife must be undergone in the present life. But, remember, if you\nshould reveal this news to any one your head will split into a\nthousand pieces.\"\n\nHaving said this Brahma went away, leaving Subrahmanya extremely pained\nto hear that the son of a great sage was to have a hard life. He could\nnot even open his lips on the subject, for if he did his head would be\nsplit. In sorrow he passed some days, when Jnananidhi returned from\nhis pilgrimage and was delighted to see his wife and the child doing\nwell, and in the learned company of the old sage our young disciple\nforgot all his sorrow.\n\nThree more years passed away in deep study, and again the old\nsage wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the sacred source of the\nTungabhadra. Again was his wife expecting her confinement, and he\nhad to leave her and his disciple behind with the usual temporary\nfemale assistance. Again, too, did Brahma come at the moment of birth,\nbut found easy admittance as Subrahmanya had now become acquainted\nwith him owing to the previous event. Again did Brahma take an oath\nfrom him not to communicate the fortunes of the second child, with\nthe curse that if he broke his oath, his head would split into a\nthousand pieces. This child was a female, and the nail had written\nthat her fate was to be that of a frivolous woman. Extremely vexed\nwas our young philosopher. The thought vexed him to such a degree,\nthat language has no words to express it. After worrying a great deal\nhe consoled himself with the soothing philosophies of the fatalists,\nthat fate alone governs the world.\n\nThe old sage in due course returned, and our young disciple spent\ntwo more happy years with him. After a little more than ten years\nhad been thus spent the boy reached to five years and the girl to\ntwo. The more they advanced in years the more did the recollection\nof their future pain Subrahmanya. So one morning he humbly requested\nthe old sage to permit him to go on a long journey to the Himalayas\nand other mountains, and Jnananidhi, knowing that all that he knew\nhad been grasped by the young disciple, permitted him with a glad\nheart to satisfy his curiosity.\n\nOur hero started, and after several years, during which he visited\nseveral towns and learned men, reached the Himalayas. There he saw\nmany sages, and lived with them for some time. He did not remain in\none place, for his object was more to examine the world. So he went\nfrom place to place, and after a long and interesting journey of\ntwenty years he again returned to the banks of the Tungabhadra, at\nthe very place where he lived for ten years and imbibed philosophical\nknowledge from Jnananidhi. But he saw there neither Jnananidhi nor his\nold wife. They had long since fallen a prey to the lord of death. Much\nafflicted at heart at seeing his master and mistress no more, he went\nto the nearest town, and there after a deal of search he found a coolie\nwith a single buffalo. The fate which Brahma's nail had written on\nhis master's son rushed into the mind of Subrahmanya. He approached\nthe coolie, and, on closely examining him from a distance, our hero\nfound distinct indications of his master's face in the labourer. His\ngrief knew no bounds at seeing the son of a great sage thus earning\nhis livelihood by minding a buffalo. He followed him to his home,\nand found that he had a wife and two children. One sack of corn he had\nin his house and no more, from which he took out a portion every day\nand gave it to his wife to be shelled. The rice was cooked, and with\nthe petty earnings of a coolie, he and his family kept body and soul\ntogether. Each time the corn in the sack became exhausted he used to\nbe able to save enough to replenish it again with corn. Thus did he\n(according to the writing of Brahma's nail) pass his days. Kapali\nwas the name of this coolie, the sage's son.\n\n\"Do you know me, Kapali?\" said our hero, as he remembered his name.\n\nThe coolie was astonished to hear his name so readily pronounced by\none who was apparently a stranger to him, but he said:--\n\n\"I am sorry that I do not know you, Sir.\"\n\nSubrahmanya then explained to him who he was, and requested him to\nfollow his advice.\n\n\"My dear son,\" said he, \"do as I bid you. Early morning to-morrow leave\nyour bed and take to the market your buffalo and the corn sack. Dispose\nof them for whatever amount they will fetch. Do not think twice about\nthe matter. Buy all that is necessary for a sumptuous meal from the\nsale proceeds and eat it all up at once without reserving a morsel\nfor the morrow. You will get a great deal more than you can eat in a\nday; but do not reserve any, even the smallest portion of it. Feed\nseveral other Brahmins with it. Do not think that I advise you for\nyour ruin. You will see in the end that what your father's disciple\ntells you is for your own prosperity.\"\n\nHowever, whatever the sage might say, Kapali could not bring himself\nto believe him.\n\n\"What shall I do to feed my wife and children to-morrow if I sell\neverything belonging to me to-day?\"\n\nThus thought Kapali, and consulted his wife.\n\nNow she was a very virtuous and intelligent woman. Said she:--\n\n\"My dear lord, we have heard that your father was a great mahatma. This\ndisciple must equally be a mahatma. His holiness would not advise us\nto our ruin. Let us follow the sage's advice.\"\n\nWhen Kapali's wife thus supported the sage, he resolved to dispose of\nhis beast and sack the next morning, and he did so accordingly. The\nprovisions he bought were enough to feed fifty Brahmins morning and\nevening, as well as his own family. So that day he fed Brahmins for\nthe first time in his life. Night came on, and after an adventurous day\nKapali retired to sleep, but sleep he could not. Meanwhile Subrahmanya\nwas sleeping on the bare verandah outside the house, and he came to\nthe sage and said:--\n\n\"Holy sage, nearly half the night is spent, and there are only\nfifteen ghatikas more for the dawn. What shall I do for the morrow\nfor my hungry children? All that I had I have spent. I have not even\na morsel of cold rice for the morning.\"\n\nSubrahmanya showed him some money that he had in his hand, enough to\nbuy a buffalo and a sack of corn in case the great god did not help\nhim, and asked him to spend that night, at least the remainder of it,\nin calm sleep. So Kapali, with his heart at ease, retired to rest.\n\nHe had not slept more than ten ghatikas when he dreamt that all\nhis family--his wife and children--were screaming for a mouthful\nof rice. Suddenly he awoke and cursed his poverty which always\nmade such thoughts dwell uppermost in his mind. There were only\nfive ghatikas for the lord of the day to make his appearance in the\neastern horizon, and before this could happen he wanted to finish his\nmorning bath and ablutions, and so he went to his garden to bathe at\nthe well. The shed for the buffalo was erected in the garden, and it\nhad been his habit daily before bathing to give fresh straw to his\nbeast. That morning he thought he would be spared that duty. But,\nwonder of wonders! He saw another buffalo standing there. He cursed\nhis poverty again which made him imagine impossibilities. How could it\nbe possible that his beast should be standing there when he had sold\nit the previous morning? So he went into the shed and found a real\nbuffalo standing there. He could not believe his eyes, and hastily\nbrought a lamp from his house. It was, however, a real buffalo, and\nbeside it was a sack of corn! His heart leapt with joy, and he ran\nout to tell his patron, Subrahmanya. But when the latter heard it he\nsaid with a disgusted air:--\n\n\"My dear Kapali, why do you care so much? Why do you feel so\noverjoyed? Take the beast at once with the corn-sack and sell them\nas you did yesterday.\"\n\nKapali at once obeyed the orders and changed the money into\nprovisions. Again fifty Brahmins were fed the next day too, and\nnothing was reserved for the third day's use. Thus it went on in\nKapali's house. Every morning he found a buffalo and a sack of corn,\nwhich he sold and fed Brahmins with the proceeds. In this way a month\npassed. Said Subrahmanya one day:--\n\n\"My dear Kapali, I am your holy father's disciple, and I would never\nadvise you to do a thing prejudicial to your welfare. When I came to\nknow that you were the son of the great sage, Jnananidhi, and were\nleading so wretched a life, I came to see you in order to alleviate\nyour miseries. I have now done so, having pointed out the way to you\nto live comfortably. Daily must you continue thus. Do as you have\nbeen doing for the past month, and never store away anything, for if\nyou reserve a portion all this happiness may fail, and you will have\nto revert to your former wretched life. I have done my duty towards\nyou. If you become ambitious of hoarding up money this good fortune\nmay desert you.\"\n\nKapali agreed to follow the advice of the sage to the uttermost detail\nand requested him to remain in his house. Again said Subrahmanya:--\n\n\"My son! I have better work before me than living in your house. So\nplease excuse me. But before leaving you, I request you to inform\nme as to where your sister is. She was a child of two years of age\nwhen I saw her twenty years ago. She must be about twenty-two or\ntwenty-three now. Where is she?\"\n\nTears trickled down the eyes of Kapali when his sister was\nmentioned. Said he:--\n\n\"Do not, my patron, think of her. She is lost to the world. I am\nashamed to think of her. Why should we think of such a wretch at this\nhappy time?\"\n\nAt once the inscription made by Brahma's nail rushed into Subrahmanya's\nmind and he understood what was meant. Said he:--\n\n\"Never mind; be open and tell me where she is.\"\n\nThen her brother, Kapali, with his eyes still wet with tears, said\nthat his sister, the daughter of the sage Jnananidhi, was leading the\nworst of lives in an adjoining village, and that her name was Kalyani.\n\nSubrahmanya took leave of Kapali and his wife, after blessing his\nlittle children and again warning his friend. He had conferred what\nhappiness he could upon his master's son, and now the thought of\nreforming his master's daughter reigned supreme in his heart. He\nwent at once to the village indicated and reached it at about\nnightfall. After an easy search he found her house and knocked at the\ndoor. The door was at once opened. But on that day she was astonished\nto see a face such as she could never expect to approach her house.\n\n\"Do you know me, Kalyani?\" said Subrahmanya, and she in reply said that\nshe did not. He then explained who he was, and when she came to know\nthat it was a disciple of her father that was standing before her she\nwept most bitterly. The thought that after having been born of such\na holy sage, she had adopted so wretched a life, the most shameful in\nthe world, made her miserable at heart. She fell down at his feet and\nasked to be forgiven. She then explained to him her extreme misery,\nand the hard necessity which had compelled her to take to her present\nway of living. He then consoled her and spoke thus:--\n\n\"My dear daughter! My heart burns within me when I see that necessity\nhas driven you to this wretched life. But I can redeem you if you\nwill only follow my advice. From this night you had better shut your\ndoor, and never open it to any other person except to him who brings\nto you a large measure full of pearls of the first water. You follow\nthis advice for a day and I shall then advise you further.\"\n\nBeing the daughter of a great sage, and having been compelled by\nnecessity to take to a wretched life, she readily consented to follow\nher father's disciple when he promised to redeem her. She bolted the\ndoor, and refused admission to anyone unless they brought a large\nmeasure full of pearls. Her visitors, fancying that she must have\ngone mad, went away. The night was almost drawing to a close and all\nher friends had gone away disappointed. Who was there in the village\nto give to her one measure full of pearls? But as the nail of Brahma\nhad appointed for her such a life as stated, some one was bound to\ncomply with her terms. And as there was no human being who could do\nso, the god Brahma himself assumed the shape of a young man, and,\nwith a measure full of pearls, visited her in the last watch of the\nnight and remained with her.\n\nWhen morning dawned he disappeared, and when Kalyani explained to the\ndisciple of her father the next morning that after all one person had\nvisited her with a measure full of pearls on the previous night, he was\nglad to hear of it. He knew that his plan was working well. Said he:--\n\n\"My dear daughter, you are restored to your former good self hereafter\nfrom this day. There are very few people in this world who could\nafford to give you a measure full of pearls every night. So he that\nbrought you the pearls last night must continue to do so every night,\nand he shall be hereafter your only husband. No other person must ever\nhereafter see your face, and you must obey my orders. You must sell all\nthe pearls he brings you every day and convert them into money. This\nmoney you should spend in feeding the poor and other charities. None\nof it must you reserve for the next day, neither must you entertain\na desire to hoard up money. The day you fail to follow my advice you\nwill lose your husband, and then you will have to fall back on your\nformer wretched life.\"\n\nThus said Subrahmanya, and Kalyani agreed to strictly follow his\ninjunctions. He then went to live under a tree opposite to her house\nfor a month to see whether his plan was working well, and found it\nworked admirably.\n\nThus, after having conferred happiness, to the best of his abilities,\non the son and daughter of his former master, Subrahmanya took\nleave of Kalyani, and with her permission, most reluctantly given,\nhe pursued his pilgrimage.\n\nOne moonlight night, after a long sleep, Subrahmanya rose up almost\nat midnight, and hearing the crows crowing he mistook it for the dawn\nand commenced his journey. He had not proceeded far, when on his way\nhe met a beautiful person coming towards him, with a sack of corn\non his head and a bundle of pearls tied up in the end of his upper\ncloth on his shoulder, leading a buffalo before him.\n\n\"Who are you, sir, walking thus in this forest?\" said Subrahmanya.\n\nWhen thus addressed, the person before him threw down the sack and\nwept most bitterly.\n\n\"See, sir, my head is almost become bald by having to bear to Kapali's\nhouse a sack of corn every night. This buffalo I lead to Kapali's\nshed and this bundle of pearls I take to Kalyani's house. My nail\nwrote their fate on their respective heads and by your device I have\nto supply them with what my nail wrote. When will you relieve me of\nthese troubles?\"\n\nThus wept Brahma, for it was no other personage. He was the creator\nand protector of all beings, and when Subrahmanya had pointed out the\nway for his master's children, and they had conquered fate, Brahma\ntoo was conquered. So the great god soon gave them eternal felicity\nand relieved himself of his troubles.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXX.\n\nTHE BRAHMAN PRIEST WHO BECAME AN AMILDAR. [97]\n\n\nIn the Karnata desa there reigned a famous king named Chamunda,\nwho was served by an household priest, named Gundappa, well versed\nin all the rituals at which he officiated.\n\nChamunda, one day, while chewing betel-leaves, thus addressed Gundappa,\nwho was sitting opposite him:--\n\n\"My most holy priest, I am greatly pleased at your faithfulness in\nthe discharge of your sacred duties; and you may ask of me now what\nyou wish and I shall grant your request.\"\n\nThe priest elated replied: \"I have always had a desire to become\nthe Amildar [98] of a district and to exercise power over a number\nof people; and if your Majesty should grant me this I shall have\nattained my ambition.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" said the king, and at that time the Amildarship of Nanjangod\nhappening to be vacant, his Majesty at once appointed his priest to the\npost, thinking that his priest, who was intelligent in his duties,\nwould do well in the new post. Before he sent him off, however,\nhe gave Gundappa three bits of advice:--\n\n(1). Mukha kappage irabeku.\n\n(2). Ellaru kevianna kachchi matan adu.\n\n(3). ellar juttu kayyalii irabeku.\n\nThe meaning of which is:\n\n(1). You should always keep a black (i.e. frowning) countenance.\n\n(2). When you speak about State affairs you should do it biting the\near (i.e. secretly--close to the ear).\n\n(3.) The locks of every one should be in your hand (i.e. you must\nuse your influence and make every one subservient to you).\n\nGundappa heard these words so kindly given by the king, and the way\nin which he listened to them made his Majesty understand that he had\ntaken them to heart. So with a smiling face the king gave the letter\ncontaining the appointment to Gundappa, who returned home with an\nelated heart.\n\nHe told his wife about the change that had come over his prospects,\nand wished to start at once to take charge of the new post. The king\nand his officers at once sent messengers to Nanjangod informing the\nofficers of the Amildari that a newly appointed Amildar would be\ncoming soon. So they all waited near the gate of the town to pay\ntheir respects to the new Amildar and escort him into it.\n\nGundappa started the very next morning to Nanjangod with a bundle\ncontaining clean clothes, six by twelve cubits long, on his head. Poor\npriest! Wherever he saw the kusa grass on the road, he was drawn\nto it by its freshness, and kept on storing it up all the way. The\nsacred grass had become so dear to him, that, though he would have no\noccasion to use it as Amildar of Nanjangod, he could not pass by it\nwithout gathering some of it. So with his bundle of clothes on his\nhead and his beloved kusa grass in his hands, Gundappa approached\nthe city of Nanjangod about the twentieth ghatika of the day.\n\nNow, though it was very late in the day, none of the officers,\nwho had come out to receive the Amildar had returned home to their\nmeals. Everyone was waiting in the gate and when Gundappa turned\nup, no one took him to be anything more than a priest. The bundle\non his head and the green ritual grass in his hands proclaimed his\nvocation. But everyone thought that, as a priest was coming by the\nvery road the Amildar would take, he might bring news of him--whether\nhe had halted on the road and would or might be expected before the\nevening. So the next officer in rank to the Amildar came to the most\nreverend priest and asked him whether he had any news of the coming\nAmildar; on which our hero put down his bundle and taking out the cover\ncontaining the order of his appointment with a handful of kusa grass,\nlest his clothes be polluted if he touched them with his bare hands\ninformed his subordinate that he was himself the Amildar!\n\nAll those assembled were astonished to find such a wretched priest\nappointed to so responsible a post, but when it was made known that\nGundappa was the new Amildar the customary music was played and he was\nescorted in a manner due to his position, into the town. He had been\nfasting from the morning, and a grand feast was prepared for him in\nthe house of the next senior official, which Gundappa entered for a\ndinner and rest. He there informed the officials that he would be at\nthe office at the twenty-fifth ghatika of the evening. From the way\nin which he issued the order all thought that he was really an able\nman, and that he had come in the guise of a simple priest in order to\nfind out the real state of his district. So every officer went home,\nbathed, had his meal in haste and attended at the office.\n\nThe chief assistant took the Amildar to his house, and entertained\nhis guest as became his position. Gundappa, being a priest, was a very\ngood eater, for never for a day in his life had he spent money out of\nhis own pocket on meals, so what reason had he to enquire about the\nprice of provisions? It was at the expense of others he had grown so\nfat! And doing more than full justice to all the good things, much to\nthe secret amusement of his host and assistant, Gundappa rose up from\nhis food, and washed his hands. He then wanted betel-leaves though to\nask for these before the host offers them is very impolite. But his\nsubordinate interpreted it as an order from a master and brought the\nplatter containing the necessary nutmeg, mace, nut, leaves, and chunam\n(lime).\n\n\"Where is the dakshina?\" [99] next asked the Amildar. His host did\nnot quite understand whether this was meant in earnest or in joke,\nbut before he could solve the question in his mind:--\n\n\"Where is the dakshina?\" reiterated the Amildar, and his assistant,\nthinking that his new superior was prone to taking bribes, at once\nbrought a bag containing 500 mohars and placed it in the platter. Now\na dakshina to a Brahmin is not usually more than a couple of rupees,\nbut should an Amildar ask for one, his assistant would naturally\nmistake him, and think he was hinting at a bribe!\n\nGundappa greatly pleased at a princely dakshina such as he had never\nseen before in all his life, at once opened the bag and counted out\nevery gold piece in it, carefully tying them up in his bundle. He\nthen began to chew his betel, and at one gulp swallowed up all the\nnutmeg and mace in the platter! All this made his assistant strongly\nsuspect the real nature of the new Amildar; but then there was the\norder of the king, and it must be obeyed! Gundappa next asked his\nassistant to go on in advance of him to the office, saying that he\nwould be there himself in a ghatika. The assistant accordingly left\na messenger to attend on the Amildar, and being very anxious to see\nthings in good order, left his house for the office.\n\nGundappa now remembered the three bits of advice given by the king,\nthe first of which was that he should always put on, when in office,\na black countenance. Now he understood the word \"black\" in its literal\nsense, and not in its allegorical one of \"frowning,\" and, so going\ninto the kitchen, he asked for a lump of charcoal paste. When this\nwas ready he blackened the whole of his face with it, and covering\nhis face with his cloth--as he was ashamed to show it--entered the\noffice. With his face thus blackened and partly covered with a cloth,\nthe new Amildar came and took his seat. Now and then he would remove\nthe cloth from his eyes to see how his officers were working, and\nmeanwhile all the clerks and others present were laughing in their\nsleeves at the queer conduct of their chief.\n\nThe evening was drawing to a close, and there were certain orders to\nbe signed: so taking them all in his hand the assistant approached\nthe Amildar, and stood at a respectful distance. Gundappa, however,\nasked him to come nearer, and nearer the assistant came.\n\n\"Still nearer,\" said Gundappa, and nearer still came the assistant.\n\nThe second bit of advice from the king now rushed into the Amildar's\nmind that he should bite the ears of his officials when he enquired\ninto State affairs, and as Gundappa's want of sense always made\nhim take what was said literally, he opened his mouth and bit the\near of his assistant, while in a muffled voice he asked him whether\nall his people enjoyed full prosperity! The assistant, now in very\nfear of his life, roared out that all the people were enjoying the\ngreatest prosperity. But Gundappa would not let go his ear till the\npoor assistant had roared out the answer more than twenty times. The\npoor wretch's ear soon began to swell enormously, and leaving the\noffice in disgust, he started to report to the king the insane acts\nof the new Amildar.\n\nTwo out of the three bits of advice from the king had now been duly\nobeyed, but the third, that the locks of all the people must be in\nhis hands, remained unfulfilled, and Gundappa wished to carry out that\nalso quickly. Night had now set in, and as the Amildar still remained\nin his seat, all his officers were compelled to do the same. In this\nway the tenth ghatika of the night approached, and still the Amildar\nwould not get up, but sat with his black face secured in his cloth, now\nand then peeping out to see whether they were all asleep or awake. The\nfact was, he was waiting for an opportunity to have all the locks of\nhis officers in his hand! As soon as all his officers fell asleep\nhe intended to cut off all their locks, as usual understanding the\nwords in their literal sense! At about midnight, never dreaming of\nthe stupid act that the Amildar was contemplating in his mind, every\none fell asleep, and Gundappa rose up, and with a pair of scissors\ncut off all the locks of his officers. He then tied them all up in\na bundle and returned to his assistant's home late at night, where\nthe servants gave him something to eat; after which he started with\nhis bag of mohars and bundle of locks to his king to inform him of\nhow well he had obeyed his orders!\n\nIn the early morning he reached the presence of his Majesty only a\nnimisha after his assistant had arrived. Seeing the Amildar he was\ntoo afraid to to lodge any complaint, but his swollen ear drew the\nattention of every eye in the assembly.\n\nGundappa now stood before the king with the charcoal on his face\nand said:--\n\n\"Most noble king, you ordered me to blacken my face for my new\nduty. See, I have not even yet removed the dye! You ordered me next\nonly to speak while biting an ear. Look, please, at my assistant's\near, who stands before you and tell me whether I have not obeyed\nyou!! And as for having the locks of my officers in my hands; why\nhere they are in this bundle!!!\"\n\nNever had the king seen a similar instance of such stupidity, and\nthe thought that Gundappa had shorn so many respectable heads of\ntheir locks, and had really bitten the ear of a worthy gentleman,\nbrought much shame to his heart. He begged pardon of the injured\nman and from that day forward was very careful in the choice of his\nofficers! Poor Gundappa was dismissed even from the priestship, and\nhis belly grew lean from having no longer the privilege of eating\nrich food at others' cost!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXI.\n\nTHE GARDENER'S CUNNING WIFE.\n\n\nIn a certain village there lived with his wife a poor gardener who\ncultivated greens in a small patch in the backyard of his house. They\nwere in thirty little beds, half of which he would water every\nday. This occupied him from the fifth to the fifteenth ghatika.\n\nHis wife used to cut a basketful of greens every evening, and he\ntook them in the mornings to sell in the village. The sale brought\nhim a measure or two of rice, and on this the family lived! If he\ncould manage any extra work of an evening he got a few coppers which\nserved to meet their other expenses.\n\nNow in that village there was a temple to Kali, before which was a\nfine tank with a mango tree on its bank. The fish in the tank and the\nmangoes from the tree were dedicated to the goddess, and were strictly\nforbidden to the villagers. If any one was discovered cutting a mango\nor catching a fish, he was at once excommunicated from the village. So\nstrict was the prohibition.\n\nThe gardener was returning home one morning after selling his\ngreens and passed the temple. The mangoes, so carefully guarded by\nreligious protection, were hanging on the tree in great numbers,\nand the gardener's eyes fell on them! His mouth watered. He looked\nround about him, and fortunately there was no one by, at least, as\nfar as his eyes could reach. So he hastily plucked one of the mangoes\nand with nimble feet descended into the tank to wash it. Just then\na most charming shoal of fish met his eyes. These protected dwellers\nin the tank had no notion of danger, and so were frolicking about at\ntheir ease. The gardener looked about him first and finding no one\nby caught half a dozen stout fish at one plunge of his hand. He hid\nthem and the mango underneath the rice in his basket and returned\nhome, happy in the thought that he had not been caught. Now he had\na special delight in fish, and when he reached his house he showed\nwhat he brought to his wife and asked her to prepare a dish with the\nnewly caught fish and the never-till-then tasted mango.\n\nMeanwhile he had to water his garden, and went to the backyard for\nthe purpose. The watering was done by a pikota. He used to run up\nand down the pole while a friend of his, the son of his neighbour,\nlifted the water and irrigated the garden.\n\nMeanwhile his wife cooked the dish of mango and fish in a pan, and\nfound the flavour so sweet that even while the fish was only half\ncooked she began to taste one bit of it after another till more than\nhalf had already gone down her throat! The dish was at last cooked,\nand the few remaining slices in the pan were taken off the fire, so\nshe went into the verandah and from thence saw her husband running up\nand down the pikota. She beckoned to him that the dish was ready and\nthat he should come in and taste it. However, he never noticed her,\nbut kept on running up and down the pikota, and while running up\nand down he was obliged to wave his hands about, and this his wife\nmistook as an indication that she might eat up her portion of the\ndish. At any rate her imagination made her think so; and she went in\nand ate a slice, and then went out into the verandah again to call\nher husband who was still running up and down the pikota. Again, her\nhusband, so she thought, waved his hands in permission to go on with\nher dinner. Again she went in and had another slice. Thus it went on\nfor a full ghatika till the last slice was consumed.\n\n\"Alas!\" thought she, \"With what great eagerness my husband fetched\nthe fish and the mango, and how sadly, out of greediness, have I\ndisappointed him. Surely his anger will know no bounds when he comes\nin. I must soon devise some means to save myself.\"\n\nSo she brought the pan in which she cooked the fish and mango out\nof the house and covered it with another pan of similar size and\nsat down before it. Then she undid her hair and twisted it about\nher head until it was dishevelled. She then began to make a great\nnoise. This action by a woman in an illiterate family of low caste is\nalways supposed to indicate a visitation from a goddess and a demon;\nso when her husband from the pikota tree saw the state of his wife,\nhis guilty conscience smote him. The change in his wife alarmed him,\nand he came down suddenly and stood before her. As soon as she saw\nhim she roared out at him:--\n\n\"Why have you injured me to-day by plundering my mango and fish? How\ndare you do such an irreligious act? You shall soon see the results\nof your impertinence!\"\n\n\"The goddess has come upon my wife most terribly,\" thought the poor\nman. \"Her divine power may soon kill her! What shall I do?\"\n\nSo he fell at the feet of the divine visitation as he thought it to\nbe, and said:--\n\n\"My most holy goddess, your dog of a servant has this day deviated\nfrom the straight path. Excuse him this time, and he will never do\nso a second time.\"\n\n\"Run then with the pan which contains the fruits of your robbery and\ndip it deep into my tank. Then shall the fish become alive and the\nmango shall take its place in the tree.\"\n\nThe gardener received the order most submissively, and taking the\npan in his hand flew to the tank. There he dipped it in the water\nand came back to his house fully believing that his sin that day had\nbeen forgiven, and that the cooked fish had become alive again and\nthe mango a living one. Thus did the cunning wife save herself from\nher husband's wrath!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXII.\n\nKEEP IT FOR THE BEGGAR.\n\n\nWhen anything sweet is prepared in the house on a particular night, and\nwhen the children, after feeding to their fill, say to the mother:--\n\n\"Amma, this pudding is sweet; keep it for the morning,\" the mother\nsays at once:--\n\n\"Ask me to keep it for the beggar, and I shall do it.\"\n\n\"Why should I not say keep it for the morning, Amma,\" ask the curious\nchildren, and the South Indian mother gives to her listening children\nthe following story:--\n\nIn a certain village there lived an affectionate husband and wife. The\nhusband would go to look after the fields and garden and return home\nwith abundance of vegetables. The wife would cook and serve her lord\nto his fill. Before going out in the morning the husband used to\ntake whatever of last night's dishes were left cold to remain for\nhis breakfast.\n\nThe husband was a great eater of dhal [100] soup. Every night the\nwife used to prepare a large quantity of it and leave a good portion\nof it to stand for the morning's breakfast of her lord. And he, too,\nowing to his taste for the cold rice, used to warn his wife--though\nshe was very careful--and say:--\n\n\"Keep me some of this soup for the next morning.\"\n\nThe wife used to say: \"Yes, my dear husband, I shall do so.\"\n\nThis went on for several years. Every day the dhal soup was invariably\nprepared for the night meal and a good portion of it was reserved for\nthe cold rice. Every night, the husband, without forgetting for even\na single day, used to ask his wife to reserve a portion. Thus passed\non several years, as we have already said.\n\nOne night this husband had his supper. The wife had sat at her\nhusband's leaf to take her supper after her lord had had his. That\nnight, too, our hero, as usual, repeated:--\n\n\"Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.\"\n\nAt once a gurgling laughter was heard near the doorsill of their\nhouse. The pair were astonished, and searched their whole house. No\none was discovered. Again the husband said:--\n\n\"Keep, my dear, some of this soup for the morning.\"\n\nAgain the laughter was heard. Finding that the laughter immediately\nfollowed his order, the husband repeated it a third time. A third\ntime also the laughter broke out. They were astonished. Three times\nhad laughter been heard in their house, and still they could see no\none. Thinking that some one must have mocked him from the neighbouring\nhouses, he made careful inquiries and satisfied himself that none\nof his neighbours had mocked him. He was afraid at the laughter\nwhich thrice proceeded from a part of his house, as he had heard\nit distinctly.\n\nThat very night our hero had a sudden and unforeseen calamity, and\njust as he was dragging the latch of his backyard door a serpent\nstung him in his finger. Neighbours hearing of the venomous reptile\nin their next house, ran there with a stout cudgel. Already the\nmaster of the house, who was passionately fond of the dhal soup,\nhad swooned away. His wife was mourning by his side, saying:--\n\n\"My dear husband. How did you forget your soup so soon and leave us\nall for the other world? Just now you gave me the order, and before\ntasting it even you have died.\"\n\nThe neighbours began to search for the snake; but they did not\nsucceed. And again a voice exclaimed from vacuum:--\n\n\"This husband's fate ended at the twelfth ghatika of this night. Yama\nordered me to go and fetch him to his world. I came down and reached\nthis house at the eighth ghatika when the husband was giving the\norder to reserve for the morning meal his dear dhal soup. I could not\ncontain my laughter, and so broke out with a gurgling noise. As I am\ndivine no one could perceive me. And so none ever found me in this\nhouse after they heard the laughter. Then I transformed myself into\na serpent and waited for the hour to do my death-dealing duty. The\npoor man is now no more. Four ghatikas ago he was of opinion that he\nwould live and eat his cold rice to-morrow morning. How very sanguine\npeople are in this world of uncertainty. The cause for my laughter\nwas the husband's certainty when he issued that order to reserve the\ndhal soup for the breakfast.\"\n\nThus ended the messenger, and vanished of course to inform his master\nhow he had executed his orders.\n\nAnd from that day, my children, it was fixed that our life in this\nworld is always uncertain, and that one who lives at this moment\ncannot be sure of doing so at the next moment. While such is the case,\nhow can you say, \"Keep the pudding for to-morrow morning.\" Since you\nsaw in the story just related to you, that we can never be certain\nof our life, you must say, instead of \"for to-morrow morning, for\nthe beggar.\" If we keep it for the beggar, and if we fortunately\nlive till to-morrow morning, we shall use a portion of it and give\nthe remainder to the beggar. Hence you must always, hereafter,\nsay when any supper from overnight is to be left for the morning,\n\"Keep it for the beggar, Amma.\"\n\n\"Yes, mother. We shall do so hereafter,\" replied the children.\n\nIn India, among Brahmins, the wife must never take her food before her\nlord, unless she is pregnant or sick. In these two cases even on the\ndays when it is possible to avoid the meal before her lord, the wife\ninvariably does it; on other days she cannot probably help it when she\nis physically unable. And in taking her meal, the wife sits in front\nof the leaf (dish) from which her husband has eaten. Most husbands\ngenerally leave their leaves clean, some out of pure affection to\ntheir wives and out of a good intention of not injuring the feelings\nof their wives. But there are others, who, as they are unclean in\ntheir other habits, are also unclean in their eating. The appearance\nof their leaves after they have left off eating, is like those thrown\nout in the streets and mutilated by crows and dogs. But their wives,\ncursing their lot to have married such husbands, must, as long as\nthey are orthodox, eat out of those leaves.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXIII.\n\nGOOD LUCK TO THE LUCKY ONE; OR, SHALL I FALL DOWN?\n\n\nIn a certain town there lived a wealthy Brahmin. He wished to build\na house--pretty large and spacious--as became his riches. For that\npurpose he called in a great number of soothsayers, and fixed,\nguided by their scientific opinion, a place for building the\nmansion. A certain portion of every day is supposed to be bad for\ndoing work. This portion is sometimes called the Rahu-kala--the\nevil time of the demon rahu and sometimes tyajya--the time to be\navoided. And abandoning carefully all these evil hours the wealthy\nBrahmin built his mansion in ten years. The first entrance into a\nnew house to dwell is performed always with a great deal of pomp and\nceremony, even by the poor according to their means. And our wealthy\nBrahmin to please the gods of the other world and the gods of this\nworld--bhusuras Brahmins--spent a great deal of his wealth, and with\nveoras and music sounding all around him he entered into his house.\n\nThe whole of the day almost was spent in ceremonies and\nfestivities. All the guests left the place at evening, and much\nexhausted by the exertions of the day the Brahmin house-owner retired\nto rest. Before sleep could close his eyelids he heard a fearful voice\nover his head exclaiming:--\"Shall I fall down? Shall I fall down?\"\n\nGreat was the concern of the landlord at hearing this voice. He thought\nthat some demon had taken possession of his house, and that he was\ngoing to pull down the roof of his house over his own head. That very\nnight with as much haste as he entered the new house, he vacated it\nand went back to his old house.\n\nSirukakhatti perukavalka is the Tamil proverb. The meaning of it\nis \"build small and live great,\" i.e., build small houses without\nlaying out much capital uselessly in houses and live prosperously;\nand in villages many a rich landlord would prefer small houses to big\nones. The idea that he had spent a great deal of money to build a big\nhouse troubled our hero. The spaciousness of the house was one reason\nfor the devil to come in so easily, as he thought. When he vacated\nhis house on the very night of the day he entered it people began to\ntalk all sorts of scandals about it. The ladies in the bathing places\n(ghats) in rivers began to give all sorts of colour to the devils in\nthat house. One said that when she was coming to the river she saw\na company of devils dancing round and round the middle pillar of the\nupper storey of that unfortunate house. Another said that she observed\nunearthly lights in that mansion the previous night. Thus people\ntalked and talked, furnishing new colours and new adventures out of\ntheir pure imagination for a phenomena which they never saw. And our\nunfortunate rich man had to lock up his house which he built after so\nmany days, and at the expense of so much money. Thus passed six months.\n\nIn that town there lived a poor beggar Brahmin. He was in extreme\npoverty, and spent a great portion of the day in begging from house\nto house his meal and clothes. He had, poor man, seven children. With\nthis large family he was constantly in the greatest misery. He had\nnot a proper house to live in. A miserable hut was all his wealth in\nthat village. Winter was approaching, and the roof of their only hut\nbegan to fall down. The increasing miseries made the poor Brahmin\nresolve upon suicide. He could not bring himself to do that by his\nown hand. He had heard of the haunted house, and resolved to go there\nwith all his family and perish by the hands of the devils. This was\nhis secret intention, but he never spoke of it to any one. One day\nhe came to the rich Brahmin who was the owner of the haunted mansion,\nand spoke to him thus:--\n\n\"My noble lord! The winter is approaching and the roof of my hut has\nfallen away. If you would kindly allow it I shall pass the rainy days\nin your big house.\"\n\nWhen the rich man heard this he was very glad to see that one person\nat least there was in his little world who wanted the use of his\nhouse. So, without hesitating any longer, he replied:--\n\n\"My most holy sir, you can have the free use of that whole house for\nwhatever time you may want it. It is enough if you light a lamp there\nand live happily. I built it, and I am not destined to live there. You\ncan go and try your fortune there.\"\n\nSo said the rich landlord, and gave the key of that haunted house to\nthe poor Brahmin. The latter took it, and with his family went and\nlived there from that day. That very night he also heard the same\nvoice: \"Shall I fall down?\" \"Shall I fall down?\" twice. Nothing\ndaunted, and quite resolved to perish with his wife and children,\nwho were sound asleep near him, he exclaimed, \"Fall down,\" and lo! a\ngolden river of mohurs and pagodas began to fall down in the middle of\nthe room from the top of the roof. It began falling and falling without\nany stopping till the poor Brahmin, who sat agape with wonder, began\nto fear that they would all be buried in mohurs. The moment he saw\nthe sea of wealth before him, his idea of suicide abandoned him. \"Stop\nplease,\" said he at once, and the mohur-fall came to a sudden stop. He\nwas delighted at the good nature of the devil, or whatever good spirit\nmight have taken possession of the house, for its having given him so\nmuch wealth. He heaped up all the mohurs in one room, and locked it up,\nand had the key of it in his own possession. His wife and children got\nup during the mohur-fall. They also were informed of everything. The\npoor Brahmin advised his wife and children to keep the matter secret,\nand they, to their great credit, did so. They all--the poor parents and\nchildren--rejoiced at the good fortune that had made its visit to them.\n\nAs soon as morning dawned the poor Brahmin converted little by\nlittle his mohurs into money and bought grains and clothes for his\nfamily. This he did day by day till rumour began to spread that\nthe poor Brahmin had found a treasure-trove in the rich landlord's\nhouse. Of course this rumour reached the ears of the wealthy\nman also. He came to the poor Brahmin and asked him all about the\ntreasure-trove. The latter to his great honour related to the landlord\nevery bit of the mohur-fall. He also wished to witness it and sleep\nin the room with the poor Brahmin, for the first time in his life,\nhis thirst for mohurs inducing him to do so. At about midnight \"Shall\nI fall down?\" was again heard.\n\n\"Fall down\" said the poor Brahmin, and lo! the mohurs began to descend\nlike a water-fall. But, horror of horrors, they all appeared as so\nmany scorpions to the house-owner. The poor man was heaping up the\ngold coins, but all of them seemed to crawl as so many scorpions to\nthe eyes of the landlord.\n\n\"Stop please,\" said the poor man, and the mohur-fall stopped.\n\nThen turning to the house-owner, the poor man said: \"My lord, you\nmay take home this heap for your use.\"\n\nThe house-owner began to weep and said: \"Most fortunate of mankind,\nI have heard my old father often repeat a proverb, 'To the fortunate\nfortune comes,' and its meaning I have discovered to-day only. I built\nthe house and ran away when I heard the 'shall I fall.' No doubt I\ndid very well, for had I remained a scorpion torrent would have sent\nme to the other world. Know then my most fortunate friend, that I\nsee all your mohurs as so many scorpions. I have not the fortune to\nsee them as mohurs. But you have that gift. So from this moment this\nhouse is yours. Whatever you can convert into money of your mohurs\nI shall receive and bless you.\"\n\nSo saying the house-owner came out of the room fearing the\nscorpions. And our poor man thus had all the fortune to himself,\nand was no longer a poor man. He soon became one of the wealthiest\nof men of his time, but remembering that he owed all his riches to\nthe wealthy landlord who gave him the house, he used to share with\nthe latter half of his wealth every year.\n\nThis story explains the Tamil proverb Madrishtam ullavanukku kidaikkum;\nto the fortunate good fortune.\n\n\n    N.B.--This story was also related to me by my step-mother\n    whose birth-place is a village in the Trichinopoly district.\n\n        N. S.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXIV.\n\nRETALIATION--PALIKKUPPALI.\n\n\nThere is a proverb in Tamil called Palikkuppali vangukiradu which\nwould best be translated by the expression \"tit for tat,\" and the\nfollowing story I heard when a boy from my step-mother, illustrating\nthat proverb, and I have of late found the same story also in the\nTrichinopoly districts.\n\nIn a certain village there lived a poor Sudra. He had made a vow\nto the goddess of his village, that if he came out successfully in\na certain undertaking he would offer her a couple of goats. And he\nsucceeded in his undertaking, and thought that his goddess alone had\ngranted his request. Great was his joy and greater became his faith\nin her extraordinary powers. And as he promised he brought two fat\ngoats and sacrificed them to her.\n\nThese goats thus sacrificed and the Sudra sacrificer who meanwhile\nhad died by a sudden fever, after a short time were all re-born in\nthe world to undergo the results of their goodness or sin. The two\ngoats, because they were sacrificed to the goddess, were re-born as\nthe king and the minister of a large country. The Sudra, as he had\nas much faith in his former life as in his goddess, was reborn in\nthe priest's (gurukkula) caste, of course neither the king and his\nminister nor the priest had any reason to know their former life,\nuntil the death of the latter approached, as we shall presently see. A\nlarge kingdom fell to the share of the king, and he with his minister\nreigned over it most peacefully. In an unfrequented wilderness was a\nfamous temple of a powerful goddess of of that country, and in that\npagoda the priest regularly conducted her worship.\n\nThus passed several years, the king and minister happy in their\nown kingdom, and the priest executing his religious duties in the\nwilderness. The priest was leading a most calm and holy life, eating\nwhat grew in the wilderness. His life was as pure as pure can be.\n\nBut for all that fate would not forgive him for his acts in his\nformer life.\n\nThe king and the minister had vowed to the goddess of the wilderness\nthat if they returned successfully from the conquest of an enemy of\ntheirs they would offer her some human sacrifice. And so they returned,\nand to make entire their vow to the goddess they left their kingdom\nlike ordinary men and came to the wood. All along the way they searched\nfor a person to sacrifice, but no one--fortunately for him--was to be\nfound. They still thought that the vow must not be left unaccomplished,\nand resolved upon catching the priest of the temple and offering him\nup as their intended sacrifice. When such strong people like the king\nand his minister resolved to do so, what could the poor priest do? He\nwas quite unable to escape when those two informed him of what they\nwere going to do with him on his entering to worship the goddess. Said\nthe priest:--\n\n\"Sirs! You have come here resolved upon offering me up as a sacrifice\nto the goddess. I cannot hereafter escape your hold. But if you\nwould allow me to perform my puja to the goddess this morning also,\nI shall gladly die after having done my duty.\"\n\nSo said the priest, and the king and the minister watched at the\nentrance and let him in.\n\nThe priest went into the Garbhagriha--the holy of the holies in the\ntemple, and performed his worship to the goddess. After that was over\nhe gave the image a severe blow on its back and thus addressed it:--\n\n\"Most merciless goddess. What have you done for all my faith in you. In\nthis lonely wilderness, without knowing any other duty than your\nworship, I had been your true servant for the past many years. And\nin reward for all that, I must fall now a prey to the sacrifice of\nthe king and the minister who are sharpening their knives outside\nto cut off my head at this moment. Is this the result of all my puja\n(worship) to you.\"\n\nSo spake the priest, and the goddess, laughing, thus replied from\nthe vacuum:--\n\n\"My true priest. Your acts in your former life must trouble you in\nthis. And the charitable acts of this life, even, cannot protect\nyou in your next birth. In your former birth you had murdered two\ngoats. They were born as king and minister, and have dragged you here\nto murder you. But this--the murder you are to undergo soon, by these\nhands will relieve you only of one of the two murders of your former\nlife. And for the other murder you and they would be re-born again,\nand again they would kill you. So in your next third life from this\none you would enjoy the fruits of all this devotion. Since now you\nknow the story of your former life, you will forgive me, I think.\"\n\nThus spoke the goddess, and the priest, as the knowledge of his former\nlife dawned upon him, by the grace of the goddess, seemed resolved\nto die, in order to pay for his former sin. But the idea that in the\nnext life he was to undergo the same punishment, vexed him much, and\nfalling down at the goddess's feet, he respectfully requested her to\ntry her best to let him off the next life; and the goddess's heart\nwas also moved at the severity of fate which would make her devotee\npass through one more life in misery before he enjoyed the fruits of\nhis devotion. So she devised the following plan to exculpate him from\nhis two crimes at the same time, and thus replied:--\n\n\"Priest! 'Intelligence can conquer even Fate,' is the proverb. When\nKali gave 500 years' life to Vikramaditya in his town, Bhatti,\nhis minister, by making the king live six months in his capital and\nsix months in the jungle, made his master's life to last for 1000\nyears. So by intelligence we conquer our fate too, sometimes. So hear\nmy advice. Ask the king who has come to murder you to hold one end of\nthe knife, and request his minister to hold the other end. Ask both\nof them to aim the blow at your neck; that will accomplish everything\ncomplete during this life. They will have no revenge to take from\nyou in your next life.\"\n\nSo saying, the voice of the goddess stopped. The priest came back\nwith a cheerful heart to the king and the minister, and asked them to\noblige him by each of them holding one end of the knife and murdering\nhim. They agreed, and performed thus their vow. The poor priest, too,\nwithout having another miserable life, was born a king in his next\nlife, and lived in prosperity.\n\nHere the story ends, and the story-teller in the Hindu household,\nand in my case my stepmother, would at once moralise, that if we did\nanything to any one in this life, that one would pay us out for it\nin our next life.\n\n\n    N.B.--I am led to think that this story does not contain a\n    purely Hindu moral.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXV.\n\nTHE BEGGAR AND THE FIVE MUFFINS.\n\n\nIn a certain village there lived a poor beggar and his wife. The man\nused to go out every morning with a clean vessel in his hand, return\nhome with rice enough for the day's meal, and thus they lived on in\nextreme poverty.\n\nOne day a poor Madhava Brahmin invited the pair to a feast, and\namong Madhavas muffins (tosai) are always a part of the good things\non festive occasions. So during the feast the beggar and his wife had\ntheir fill of muffins. They were so pleased with them, that the woman\nwas extremely anxious to prepare some muffins in her own house, and\nbegan to save a little rice every day from what her husband brought\nher for the purpose. When enough had been thus collected she begged\na poor neighbour's wife to give her a little black pulse which the\nlatter--praised be her charity--readily did. The faces of the beggar\nand his wife literally glowed with joy that day, for were they not\nto taste the long-desired muffins for a second time?\n\nThe woman soon turned the rice she had been saving, and the black\npulse she had obtained from her neighbour into a paste, and mixing it\nwell with a little salt, green chillies, coriander seed and curds,\nset it in a pan on the fire; and with her mouth watering all the\nwhile, prepared five muffins! By the time her husband had returned\nfrom his collection of alms, she was just turning out of the pan the\nfifth muffin! And when she placed the whole five muffins before him\nhis mouth, too, began to water. He kept two for himself and two he\nplaced before his wife, but what was to be done with the fifth? He did\nnot understand the way out of this difficulty. That half and half made\none, and that each could take two and a half muffins was a question too\nhard for him to solve. The beloved muffins must not be torn in pieces;\nso he said to his wife that either he or she must take the remaining\none. But how were they to decide which should be the lucky one?\n\nProposed the husband:--\"Let us both shut our eyes and stretch ourselves\nas if in sleep, each on a verandah on either side the kitchen. Whoever\nopens an eye and speaks first gets only two muffins; and the other\ngets three.\"\n\nSo great was the desire of each to get the three muffins, that they\nboth abided by the agreement, and the woman, though her mouth watered\nfor the muffins, resolved to go through the ordeal. She placed the\nfive cakes in a pan and covered it over with another pan. She then\ncarefully bolted the door inside and asking her husband to go into\nthe east verandah, she lay down in the west one. Sleep she had none,\nand with closed eyes kept guard over her husband: for if he spoke\nfirst he would have only two muffins, and the other three would come\nto her share. Equally watchful was her husband over her.\n\nThus passed one whole day--two--three! The house was never opened! No\nbeggar came to receive the morning dole. The whole village began to\nenquire after the missing beggar. What had become of him? What had\nbecome of his wife?\n\n\"See whether his house is locked on the outside and whether he has\nleft us to go to some other village,\" spoke the greyheads.\n\nSo the village watchman came and tried to push the door open, but it\nwould not open!\n\n\"Surely,\" said they, \"it is locked on the inside! Some great calamity\nmust have happened. Perhaps thieves have entered the house, and after\nplundering their property, murdered the inmates.\"\n\n\"But what property is a beggar likely to have?\" thought the village\nassembly, and not liking to waste time in idle speculations, they\nsent two watchmen to climb the roof and open the latch from the inside.\n\nMeanwhile the whole village, men, women, and children, stood outside\nthe beggar's house to see what had taken place inside. The watchmen\njumped into the house, and to their horror found the beggar and his\nwife stretched on opposite verandahs like two corpses. They opened\nthe door, and the whole village rushed in. They, too, saw the beggar\nand his wife lying so still that they thought them to be dead. And\nthough the beggar pair had heard everything that passed around them,\nneither would open an eye or speak. For whoever did it first would\nget only two muffins!\n\nAt the public expense of the village two green litters of bamboo and\ncocoanut leaves were prepared on which to remove the unfortunate pair\nto the cremation ground.\n\n\"How loving they must have been to have died together like this!\" said\nsome greybeards of the village.\n\nIn time the cremation ground was reached, and village watchmen had\ncollected a score of dried cowdung cakes and a bundle of firewood from\neach house, for the funeral pyre. From these charitable contributions\ntwo pyres had been prepared, one for the man and one for the woman. The\npyre was then lighted, and when the fire approached his leg, the man\nthought it time to give up the ordeal and to be satisfied with only\ntwo muffins! So while the villagers were still continuing the funeral\nrites, they suddenly heard a voice:--\n\n\"I shall be satisfied with two muffins!\"\n\nImmediately another voice replied from the woman's pyre:--\n\n\"I have gained the day; let me have the three!\"\n\nThe villagers were amazed and ran away. One bold man alone stood face\nto face with the supposed dead husband and wife. He was a bold man,\nindeed for when a dead man or a man supposed to have died comes to\nlife, village people consider him to be a ghost. However, this bold\nvillager questioned the beggars until he came to know their story. He\nthen went after the runaways and related to them the whole story of\nthe five muffins to their great amazement.\n\nBut what was to be done to the people who had thus voluntarily faced\ndeath out of love for muffins. Persons who had ascended the green\nlitter and slept on the funeral pyre could never come back to the\nvillage! If they did the whole village would perish. So the elders\nbuilt a small hut in a deserted meadow outside the village and made\nthe beggar and his wife live there.\n\nEver after that memorable day our hero and his wife were called the\nmuffin beggar, and the muffin beggar's wife, and many old ladies and\nyoung children from the village use to bring them muffins in the\nmorning and evening, out of pity for them, for had they not loved\nmuffin so much that they underwent death in life?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXVI.\n\nTHE BRAHMARAKSHAS AND THE HAIR.\n\n\nIn a certain village there lived a very rich landlord, who owned\nseveral villages, but was such a great miser that no tenant would\nwillingly cultivate his lands, and those he had gave him not a little\ntrouble. He was indeed so vexed with them that he left all his lands\nuntilled, and his tanks and irrigation channels dried up. All this,\nof course, made him poorer and poorer day by day. Nevertheless he\nnever liked the idea of freely opening his purse to his tenants and\nobtaining their good will.\n\nWhile he was in this frame of mind a learned Sanyasi paid him a visit,\nand on his representing his case to him, he said:--\n\n\"My dear son,--I know an incantation (mantra) in which I can instruct\nyou. If you repeat it for three months day and night, a Brahmarakshas\nwill appear before you on the first day of the fourth month. Make him\nyour servant, and then you can set at naught all your petty troubles\nwith your tenants. The Brahmarakshas will obey all your orders,\nand you will find him equal to one hundred servants.\"\n\nOur hero fell at his feet and begged to be instructed at once. The\nsage then sat facing the east and his disciple the landlord facing\nthe west, and in this position formal instruction was given, after\nwhich the Sanyasi went his way.\n\nThe landlord, mightily pleased at what he had learnt, went on\npractising the incantation, till, on the first day of the fourth month,\nthe great Brahmarakshas stood before him.\n\n\"What do you want, sir, from my hands?\" said he; \"what is the object\nof your having propitiated me for these three months?\"\n\nThe landlord was thunderstruck at the huge monster who now stood\nbefore him and still more so at his terrible voice, but nevertheless\nhe said:--\n\n\"I want you to become my servant and obey all my commands.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" answered the Brahmarakshas in a very mild tone, for it\nwas his duty to leave off his impertinent ways when any one who had\nperformed the required penance wanted him to become his servant;\n\"Agreed. But you must always give me work to do; when one job is\nfinished you must at once give me a second, and so on. If you fail\nI shall kill you.\"\n\nThe landlord, thinking that he would have work for several such\nBrahmarakshasas, was pleased to see that his demoniacal servant was\nso eager to help him. He at once took him to a big tank which had been\ndried up for several years, and pointing it out spoke as follows:--\n\n\"You see this big tank; you must make it as deep as the height of\ntwo palmyra trees and repair the embankment wherever it is broken.\"\n\n\"Yes, my master, your orders shall be obeyed,\" humbly replied the\nservant and fell to work.\n\nThe landlord, thinking that it would take several months, if not\nyears, to do the work in the tank, for it was two kos long and one\nkos broad, returned delighted to his home, where his people were\nawaiting him with a sumptuous dinner. When enemies were approaching\nthe Brahmarakshas came to inform his master that he had finished his\nwork in the tank. He was indeed astonished and feared for his own life!\n\n\"What! finished the work in one day which I thought would occupy him\nfor months and years; if he goes on at this rate, how shall I keep\nhim employed. And when I cannot find it for him he will kill me!\" Thus\nhe thought and began to weep; his wife wiped the tears that ran down\nhis face, and said:--\n\n\"My dearest husband, you must not lose courage. Get out of the\nBrahmarakshas all the work you can and then let me know. I'll give\nhim something that will keep him engaged for a very very long time,\nand then he'll trouble us no more.\"\n\nBut her husband only thought her words to be meaningless and followed\nthe Brahmarakshas to see what he had done. Sure enough the thing was\nas complete as could be, so he asked him to plough all his lands,\nwhich extended over twenty villages! This was done in two ghatikas! He\nnext made him dig and cultivate all his garden lands. This was done\nin the twinkling of an eye! The landlord now grew hopeless.\n\n\"What more work have you for me?\" roared the Brahmarakshas, as he\nfound that his master had nothing for him to do, and that the time\nfor his eating him up was approaching.\n\n\"My dear friend,\" said he, \"my wife says she has a little job to give\nyou; do it please now. I think that that is the last thing I can give\nyou to do, and after it in obedience to the conditions under which\nyou took service with me, I must become your prey!\"\n\nAt this moment his wife came to them, holding in her left hand a long\nhair, which she had just pulled out from her head, and said:--\n\n\"Well, Brahmarakshas, I have only a very light job for you. Take this\nhair, and when you have made it straight, bring it back to me.\"\n\nThe Brahmarakshas calmly took it, and sat in a pipal tree to make it\nstraight. He rolled it several times on his thigh and lifted it up to\nsee if it became straight; but no, it would still bend! Just then it\noccurred to him that goldsmiths, when they want to make their metal\nwires straight, have them heated in fire; so he went to a fire and\nplaced the hair over it, and of course it frizzled up with a nasty\nsmell! He was horrified!\n\n\"What will my master's wife say if I do not produce the hair she\ngave me?\"\n\nSo he became mightily afraid, and ran away.\n\nThis story is told to explain the modern custom of nailing a handful\nof hair to a tree in which devils are supposed to dwell, to drive\nthem away.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\nNOTES TO XIII.--FIRST PART.\n\n\nFew stories are more familiar and widely spread than that of the Lost\nCamel, which occurs in the opening of the romance. It was formerly, and\nperhaps is still, reproduced in English school reading-books. Voltaire,\nin chapter iii. of his \"Zadig; ou, La Destinee\" (the materials of which\nhe is said to have derived from Geuelette's \"Soirees Bretonnes,\")\nhas a version in which a lost palfrey and a she dog are described\nby the \"sage\" from the traces they had left on the path over which\nthey passed. The great Arabian historian and traveller Mas'udi, in\nhis \"Meadows of Gold, and Mines of Gems,\" written A.D. 943, gives\nthe story of the Lost Camel, and from Mas'udi it was probably taken\ninto the MS. text of the \"Thousand and One Nights,\" procured in the\nEast (?Constantinople) by Wortley Montague, and now preserved in the\nBodleian Library, Oxford. [101] In that MS. it forms an incident in\nthe story of the Sultan of Yeman and his Three Sons: the princes,\nafter their father's death, quarrel over the succession to the throne,\nand at length agree to lay their respective claims before one of the\ntributary princes. On the road one of them remarks, \"A camel has lately\npassed this way loaded with grain on one side, and with sweetmeats\non the other.\" The second observes, \"and the camel is blind of one\neye.\" The third adds, \"and it has lost its tail.\" The owner comes up,\nand on hearing their description of his beast, forces them to go before\nthe king of the country, to whom they explain how they discovered\nthe defects of the camel and its lading. In a Persian work, entitled\n\"Nigaristan,\" three brothers rightly conjecture in like manner that\na camel which had passed, and which they had not seen, was blind\nof an eye, wanted a tooth, was lame, and laden with oil on the one\nside, and honey on the other. The story is also found in the Hebrew\nTalmud. Two slaves are overheard by their master conversing about a\ncamel that had gone before them along the road. It was blind of an\neye, and laden with two skin bottles, one of which contained wine,\nthe other oil. In a Siberian version (Radloff), three youths are met\nby a man who asks them if they had seen his camel, to which they reply\nby describing the colour and defects of the animal so exactly that he\naccuses them to the Prince of having stolen it. \"I have lost a camel,\nmy lord,\" said he, \"and when I met these three young men we saluted,\nand I told them that I had lost my camel. Quoth one of these youths,\n'Was thy camel of a light colour?' The second asked, 'was thy camel\nlame?' And the third, 'Was it not blind of an eye?' I answered\nYes to their questions. Now decide, my lord. It is evident these\nyoung men have stolen my camel.\" Then the Prince asked the eldest,\n\"How did you know that the camel was of a light colour?\" He replied,\n\"By some hairs which has fallen on the ground when it had rubbed\nitself against trees.\" The two others gave answers similar to those\nin our version. Then said the Prince to the man, \"Thy camel is lost;\ngo and look for it.\" So the stranger mounted his horse and departed.\n\n\n\nNOTES TO XIII.--THE SECOND PART.\n\nThe Hunter and his Faithful Dog.--A variety of this story is cited\nfrom a Cawnpore newspaper, in the \"Asiatic Journal,\" Vol. XV. (new\nseries), Part II. October, 1834, p. 78, which is to the following\neffect:--A Bunjarrah named Dabee had a dog called Bhyro, the faithful\ncompanion of his travels, who guarded his goods from robbers while\nhe slept. He wished to go to a distant part of the country to trade\nin grain, but had not sufficient funds for the purpose. After much\ncogitation, he at length resolved to pledge his dog for 1,000 rupees,\nand when he applied to several persons was laughed at for his folly;\nbut a wealthy merchant named Dyaram gave the money, on condition that\nit should be paid back within twelve months, taking the dog Bhyro in\npledge. When eleven months had passed, the merchant began to bewail\nthe stupidity which had induced him to lend so large a sum on so\nprecarious a security. His relentings were, however, premature. One\ndark and dreary night he was aroused from his slumbers by a great\nnoise, occasioned by the clashing of swords and the barking of Bhyro. A\nband of armed men had entered the house with intent to plunder, but\nbefore they could effect their purpose they had been observed by the\nfaithful Bhyro, who commenced an attack upon them. Before Dyaram could\nrender any assistance, Bhyro had laid two of the robbers dead at his\nfeet; a third, on the approach of Dyaram, aimed a blow at his head,\nwhich was prevented from taking effect by Bhyro seizing the ruffian\nby the throat and laying him prostrate on the ground. After peace\nwas restored, Dyaram congratulated himself on having received Bhyro\nin pledge for the Bunjarrah, by which act he not only escaped being\nplundered, but in all probably murdered. Next morning Dyaram called\nBhyro, and after caressing him, said:--\"The service you rendered me\nlast night is more than an equivalent for the 1,000 rupees I lent\nyour master; go, faithful creature. I give you a free discharge from\nyour obligation as security for him.\" Bhyro shook his head in token\nthat it was impossible for him to go until his master returned; but\nDyaram, comprehending his meaning, soon arranged matters by writing\na statement of the circumstances, and giving a voucher for the 1,000\nrupees. This document he tied round Bhyro's neck, which done, Bhyro\nexpressed his delight by leaping about in every direction, and, after\nlicking the hands of Dyaram, darted out of the house and set off in\nquest of his master. While these scenes were transpiring in Dyaram's\nhouse, Dabee was not unmindful of the pledge he had left behind him,\nand, having succeeded in his speculation, was returning with all haste\nto redeem it. At his last stage homewards he was surprised to see\nBhyro approaching him with every demonstration of joy, but at sight\nof him Dabee's rage was kindled, and repulsing Bhyro as he fawned\nupon him he thus addressed him:--\"O, ungrateful wretch! is this the\nreturn you have made for my kindness to you? and is this the manner\nin which you have established my character for veracity? You remained\nfaithful to your trust during eleven months--could you not have held\nout for thirty short days? You have, by your desertion from your\npost, entailed dishonour upon me, and for this you shall die.\" And,\nso saying, he drew his sword and slew him. After having committed this\ndeed, he observed a paper tied round Bhyro's neck; having read it,\nhis grief was indescribable. To atone in some measure for his rash\nact, caused poor Bhyro to be buried on the spot where he fell, and a\nsuperb monument to be erected over his remains. To the grave of Bhyro,\neven at the present day, resort natives who have been bitten by dogs,\nthey believing that the dust collected there, when applied to the\nwounds, is an antidote for hydrophobia.\n\n\n\nNOTES TO XIII.--THE THIRD PART.\n\nThe Brahman's Wife and the Mongoose.--We have, in this story,\nan Indian variety of the well-known Welsh legend of Llewellyn and\nhis dog Gellert. A similar legend was current in France during the\nMiddle Ages. But our story--mutatis mutandis--is as old as the third\ncentury B.C., since it is found in a Buddhist work of that period. It\nalso occurs in two Sanskrit forms of the celebrated Fables of Pilpay,\nor Bidnaia namely the \"Pancha Tantra\" (five chapters), which is said\nto date as far back as the 5th century A.D., and the \"Hitopadesa\"\n(Friendly Counsels); also in the Arabian and other Eastern versions\nof the same work. It is found in all the texts of the Book of\nSindibad--Greek, Syriac, Persian, Hebrew, Old Castilian, Arabic,\n&c., and in the several European versions, known generally under\nthe title of \"The History of the Seven Wise Masters,\" the earliest\nform of which being a Latin prose work entitled \"Dolopathos.\" There\nare, of course, differences in the details of the numerous versions\nboth Western and Eastern, but the fundamental outline is the same in\nall. In my work on the migrations of popular tales, I have reproduced\nall the known versions of this world-wide story, with the exception\nof that in the present romance, which is singular in representing the\nwoman as killing herself after she had discovered her fatal mistake,\nand her husband as slaying his little son and himself. The author of\nthe romance probably added these tragedies, in order to enable the\nsupposed narrator to more forcibly impress the king with the grievous\nconsequences of acting in affairs of moment with inconsiderateness\nand precipitation. In most versions it is the husband who kills the\nfaithful animal. Among the Malays the story of the Snake and the\nMongoose is current in this form:--A man left a tame bear in charge\nof his house, and of his sleeping child, while he was absent from\nhome. On his return he missed his child, the house was in disorder,\nas if some great struggle had taken place, and the floor was covered\nwith blood. Hastily concluding that the bear had killed and devoured\nthe child, the enraged father slew the animal with his spear, but\nalmost immediately afterwards found the carcase of a tiger, which the\nfaithful bear had defeated and killed, and the child emerged unharmed\nfrom the jungle, where it had taken refuge.\n\nIn a black-letter English edition of the \"Seven Wise Masters,\"\nthe knight, having slain his hound and discovered his child safe in\nits cradle, exclaims (and here the hand of the misogynist monkish\nwriter is very evident!)--\"Woe be to me, that, for the words of my\nwife, I have slain my good and best greyhound, the which had saved\nmy child's life, and hath slain the serpent; therefore I will put\nmyself to penance.\" And so he brake his sword in three pieces, and\ntravelled in the direction of the Holy Land, and abode there all the\ndays of his life. The preceding story of the Hunter and his Dog, it\nwill be observed, is closely allied to that of the Brahman's Wife and\nthe Mongoose; and in conclusion, where the hunter erects a stately\ntomb over his dog's remains, it presents a striking resemblance to\nthe Welsh legend of Llewellyn and the dog Gellert, which is probably\nnot merely fortuitous.\n\nA very curious version is found in a black-letter chapter-book,\nentitled the \"Seven Wise Mistresses,\" written in imitation of the\n\"Seven Wise Masters,\" by one Thomas Howard, about the end of the\nseventeenth century, in which a knight and his lady are wrecked\nand cast ashore on a desert island, and the knight soon afterwards\ndies. His wife takes a thorn out of a lion's foot (Androcles in\npetticoats), and the grateful animal follows her about, and provides\nher with food, and this is how the story goes on:--\n\n\"At last she began mourning to herself, deploring her condition\nin living in such obscurity in a foreign Country, and as her daily\ncompanion, a savage Beast, her mind yearning after her own habitation,\nshe thus complained: 'Oh, how hath fortune frowned on me that I\nam driven out from all human knowledge, and am glad to take up my\nhabitation with the Beast of the Field!'\n\n\"As she thus complained to herself, the Devil chanced to appear to her,\nand demanded the cause of her complaint, and she related all to him as\nyou have heard. Then said he to her: 'What wilt thou give and I will\nprovide a ship which shall carry thee home to thy own country.' She\nanswered: 'Half my Estates.'\n\n\"'Nay,' said the Devil, 'If thou wilt give me thy Soul at the term of\ntwelve years, I will set thee down in thy own country, and thou shalt\nlive and flourish so long.' 'God forbid,' said the Lady. 'I would\nrather end my wretched life in this solitary island than that.' 'Why\nthen,' said the Devil, 'I will make this bargain with you, that if you\nabstain from sleeping all the time of our voyage, which shall be but\nthree days, I will have nothing to do with your Soul; if you sleep,\nI will have it as I have said.'\n\n\"And upon this bargain the lady ventured, provided she might have her\nLion with her. So 'twas concluded, and a brave Ship came and took the\nLady and her Lion. When she lay down the Lion lay by her, and if she\nslumbered the Lion would touch her with his paw, by which means he\nkept her awake all the voyage, until she landed in her own country,\nand being come to her Father's house, she knocked at the gate. Then\nthe Porter coming with all speed opened the gate and thought that it\nwas a Beggar.\n\n\"Frowningly he shut it again, saying, 'There's nothing here for\nyou.' Then she bounced at the gate again, and asked the Porter if such\na Knight lived there, meaning her Father, and he said 'Yes.' 'Then,'\nsaid she, 'Pray, deliver this piece of ring unto him.' Now this ring\nwas it she brake betwixt her Father and she at her departure out of\nthe land. Then the Porter delivered the Ring to his Master, saying:\n'The Beggar woman at the gate willed me to deliver the piece of ring\nunto you.'\n\n\"When the Knight saw the ring he fell down in a swound but when he\nwas revived he said, 'Call her in, for she is my only Daughter, whom\nI thought was dead.' 'Then,' said the Porter, 'I dare not call her in,\nfor there is a mighty Lion with her.' 'Though it be,' said the Knight,\n'call her in.' Then said the Porter [to the Lady], 'You are to come\nin, but leave your Lion outside.' 'No,' said the Lady, 'my Lion goes\nwhereever I go, and where he is not, there will I not be.'\n\n\"And when she came to her Father she fell down on her knees and\nwept. Her Father took her up in his arms and kissed her, weeping as\nfast, and after he clothed her in purple, and placed her by him in a\nchair, and demanded an account of her travels, and she told him all\nthat had happened, and how the Lion had saved her life, and was the\ngreatest comfort she had in the Wilderness. It chanced afterwards\nthat as the Knight was going into his Wood to look after his young\nHorses, he met with a wild Boar, with whom he fell in combat. The\nLion loved the Old Knight, and by accident walking along he scented\nthe Boar, and as the Lion ran toward the place where the Boar was,\nthe Steward espied him, and he ran into the Palace, and cryed out,\n'the Lion is running after my Master to destroy him.'\n\n\"Then the Lady sent after him ten of her servants, who met the Lion,\nhis mouth all bloody, and they ran back and told the Lady the Lion\nhad destroyed her aged Father. Then said the Lady, 'O woe is me\nthat ever I was born, that have brought a Lion from far to destroy\nmy own Father.' Therefore she commanded her servants to slay the\nLion, which no sooner was done but her Father came in, and said;\n'O, I have met with a wild Boar, with whom I fought, and there came\nthe Lion to my aid, and slew the Boar, and so saved my life, else I\nhad died by the Boar.'\n\n\"When the Lady heard this, O how she wept and wrung her hands, saying,\n'For the words of a wicked Steward, I have slain my good Lion, who\nhath saved my life and my Father's. Cursed be the time I was advised\nby him.'\"\n\n\n\nThe Faithless Wife and the Ungrateful Blind Man.--I do not remember\nhaving met with this story in any other collection, although there are\nthere many tales in Asiatic story-books of women abandoning their blind\nor infirm husbands, and going off with strange men. A very considerable\nproportion, in fact of Eastern stories turn upon the alleged wickedness\nand profligacy and intrigues of women. This most unjust estimate of\n\"the sex\" seems to have been universal in Asiatic countries from\nevery remote times and probably was introduced into Europe through\nthe Crusades. Not a few of the mediaeval Monkish tales represent women\nin a very unfavourable light, and this is also the case in our early\nEnglish jest-books, which were compiled soon after the invention of\nprinting. In the oldest Indian literature, however, especially the\ntwo grand epics \"Ramayana\" and \"Mahabharata,\" occur several notable\ntales of noble women, such as \"Dushyanta and Sakuntala,\" and the\ncharming romance of \"Nala and Damayanti;\" and in another work, the\n\"Adventures of the Ten princes,\" (\"Dasa Kumara Charita,\") the fine\nstory of Gomiui, who is held up as a pattern to her sex.\n\n\n\nNOTES TO XIII.--THE FOURTH PART.\n\nThe Wonderful Mango-fruit.--A variety of this story occurs in the\nPersian \"Tuti Nama\" of Nakhshabi:--A Prince, who is very ill, sends\na parrot of great sagacity to procure him some fruit of the Tree of\nLife. When at length the bird returns with the life-giving fruit,\nthe Prince scruples to eat of it, upon which the parrot relates\nthe legend of \"Solomon and the Water of Immortality;\" how that wise\nmonarch declined to procure immunity from death, on consideration that\nhe should thus survive all his friends and female favourites. The\nPrince, however, being suspicious regarding the fruit, sent some\ntrusty messengers to \"bring the first apple that fell from the Tree\nof Existence.\" But it happened that a black snake had poisoned it\nby seizing it in its mouth and then letting it drop again. When the\nmessengers returned with the fruit, the Prince tried the effect on a\nholy man, who instantly falls down dead. Upon seeing this, the Prince\ndooms the parrot to death; but the sagacious bird suggests that, before\nthe Prince should execute him for treason, he should himself go to the\nTree of Life and make another experiment with its fruit. The Prince\ndoes so, and, returning home, gives part of the fruit to an old woman,\n\"who, from age and infirmity, had not stirred abroad for many years;\"\nand, no sooner had she tasted it, than she was changed into a charming\ngirl of eighteen. But more closely resembling our story is a version\nin a Canarese collection, entitled \"Katha Manjari\":--A certain king\nhad a magpie that flew one day to heaven with another magpie. From\nthence it took away some mango seed, and, having returned, gave it\nto the king, saying:--\n\n\"If you cause this to be planted and grow, whoever eats of its fruit\nold age will forsake him and his youth be restored.\"\n\nThe king was much pleased, and caused it to be planted in his favourite\ngarden. After some years, buds appeared and became flowers, then\nyoung fruit, then full grown; and when the fruit was ripe the king\nordered one to be plucked and brought to him, when he gave it to an\nold man. But on it had fallen poison from a serpent as it was carried\nthrough the air by a kite, so the old man immediately withered and\ndied. The king, on seeing this, exclaimed in wrath:--\n\n\"Is not this bird attempting to kill me?\" And he seized the magpie and\nwrung off its head. Afterwards in the village the tree had the name\nof the poisonous mango. Now, it happened that a washerman, taking the\npart of his wife in a quarrel with his old mother, struck the latter,\nwho was so angry at her son that she resolved to die, in order that\nthe blame of her death should fall upon him; and having gone to the\npoisonous mango-tree in the garden, she cut off a fruit and ate it,\nwhen instantly she became more blooming than a girl of sixteen. This\nmiracle she published everywhere and it came to the king's ears, who,\nhaving called her and seen her, caused the fruit to be given to other\nold people. Having seen what was thus done by the marvelous virtue\nof the mango-fruit, the king sorrowfully exclaimed:--\n\n\"Alas, the faithful magpie is killed which gave me this divine\ntree! How guilty am I!\" And he pierced himself with his sword and died.\n\n\"Therefore,\" adds the story-teller, \"those who act without thought\nare certain to be ruined.\" The old Brahman's generously presenting\nthe king with the wonderful mango-fruit in our story, finds its\nparallel with a difference, in the Hindu romance entitled \"Simhasana\nDwatrinsatri,\" or Thirty-two Tales of a throne, where a Brahman having\nreceived from the gods, as a reward for his devotional austerities,\nthe fruit of immortality, joyfully proceeds home and shows it to\nhis wife, who advises him to give it to the Raja Bhartrihari, as the\nwealth he should receive in return were preferable to an endless life\nof poverty. He goes to the palace, and presenting the fruit to the\nRaja, acquaints him of its nature, and is rewarded with a lakh of\nrupees. The Raja gives the fruit to his wife, telling her that if\nshe ate it her beauty would increase day by day, and she should be\nimmortal. The Kani gives it to her paramour, the chief of police, who,\nin his turn, presents it as the choicest of gifts to a courtesan, who,\nafter reflecting that it would only enable her to commit innumerable\nsins, resolves to offer it to the Raja, in hope of a reward in a future\nlife. When Raja Bhartrihari receives the fruit again he is astonished,\nand, on learning from the haetera from whom she had obtained it, he\nknew that his queen was unfaithful, and, abandoning his throne and\nkingdom, departs into the jungle, where he became an ascetic.\n\n\n\nNOTES TO XIII.--THE FIFTH PART.\n\nThe Poisoned Food.--This is a third instance of food or fruit\nbeing poisoned by serpents, and it occurs very frequently in Eastern\nstories. The oldest form of this tale is found in a Sanskrit collection\nentitled \"Twenty-five Tales of a Vampyre\" (Vetalapanchavimsati),\nwhich is probably of Buddhist extraction, and which also exists in\nmany of the vernacular languages of India. The wife of a man named\nHarisvamin having been stolen from him one night by a Vidyadhara\nPrince, he gave away all his wealth to the Brahmans, and resolved to\nvisit the sacred waters to wash away his sins, after which he hoped\nto recover his beloved wife; and the story thus proceeds:--Then\nhe left the country, with his Brahman birth as his only fortune,\nand began to go round to all the sacred bathing-places in order to\nrecover his beloved. And as he was roaming about there came upon him\nthe terrible lion of the hot season, with the blazing sun for mouth\nand with a mane composed of his fiery rays. And the winds blew with\nexcessive heat, as if warmed by the breath of sighs furnaced forth by\ntravellers grieved at being separated from their wives. And the tanks,\nwith their supply of water diminished by the heat and their drying\nwhite mud, appeared to be showing their broken hearts. And the trees\nby the roadside seemed to lament on account of the departure of the\nglory of spring, making their wailing heard in the shrill moaning of\ntheir bark, with leaves, as it were, lips, parched with heat.\n\nAt that season Harisvamin, wearied out with the heat of the sun,\nwith bereavement, hunger and thirst, and continual travelling,\nemaciated and dirty, and pining for food, reached in the course of his\nwanderings a certain village, and found in it the house of a Brahman\nnamed Padmanabha, who was engaged in a sacrifice. And, seeing that\nmany Brahmans were eating in his house, he stood leaning against the\ndoor-post, silent and motionless. And the good wife of that Brahman\nnamed Padmanabha, seeing him in this position, felt pity for him,\nand reflected:--\n\n\"Alas! mighty is hunger! Whom will it not bring down? For here stands\na man at the door, who appears to be a householder, desiring food,\nwith downcast countenance; evidently come from a long journey, and\nwith all his faculties impaired by hunger. So is not he a man to whom\nfood ought to be given?\" Having gone through these reflections, that\nkind woman took up in her hand a vessel full of rice boiled in milk,\nwith ghi and sugar, and brought it, and courteously presented it to\nhim, and said:--\n\n\"Go and eat this somewhere on the bank of the lake, for this place\nis unfit to eat in, as it is filled with feasting Brahmans.\" He said\n\"I will do so,\" and took the vessel of rice and placed it at no great\ndistance under a banyan-tree on the edge of the lake; and he washed\nhis hands and feet in the lake, and rinsed his mouth, and then came\nback in high spirits to eat the rice. But while he was thus engaged\na kite, holding a black cobra with its beak and claws, came and sat\non that tree. And it so happened that poisonous saliva issued from\nthe mouth of that dead snake, which the bird had captured and was\ncarrying along. The saliva fell into the dish of rice which was placed\nunder the tree, and Harisvamin, without observing it, came and ate up\nthat rice. As soon as in his hunger he had devoured all that food, he\nbegan to suffer terrible agonies, caused by the poison. He exclaimed:--\n\n\"When fate has turned against a man, everything in this world turns\nalso; accordingly this rice has become poison to me.\" Thus speaking,\nHarisvamin, tortured with the poison, tottered to the house of that\nBrahman who was engaged in a sacrifice, and said to his wife:--\n\n\"The rice which you gave me has poisoned me; so fetch me quickly a\ncharmer who can counteract the operation of poison; otherwise you\nwill be guilty of the death of a Brahman.\" When Harisvamin had said\nthis to the good woman, who was beside herself to think what it could\nall mean, his eyes closed and he died.\n\nThen the Brahman who was engaged in a sacrifice drove his wife out\nof the house, though she was innocent and hospitable, being enraged\nwith her for the supposed murder of her guest. The good woman, for\nher part, having incurred groundless blame from her charitable deed,\nand so become burdened with infamy, went to a holy bathing-place, to\nperform penance. Then there was a discussion before the superintendent\nof religion as to which of the four parties, the kite, the snake,\nand the couple who gave rice, was guilty of the murder of a Brahman;\nbut the question was not decided.\n\nIt will be seen that our story differs very considerably from the\nforegoing, which we must regard as the original. The same story occurs\nin all the Eastern versions of the Book of Sindibad, but in most of\nthese it is not a traveller who is thus poisoned, but a wealthy man and\nhis guests; having sent a domestic to the market to buy sour curds,\nwhich she carried back in an open vessel, poison from a serpent in\na stork's mouth dropped into the curds, of which the master of the\nhouse and his guests partook and died. The story is probably more\nthan 2,000 years old.\n\n\"Eating up the Protector.\" Akin to this, but with a very different\nconclusion, is the well-known story of the traveller who released a\ntiger from a trap into which he had fallen. The Brahman's fidelity\nto his pact with the serpent reminds one of the Arabian story of\nthe Merchant and the Genie. In a Tamil tale, a cow having given\nherself up to a tiger to redeem her owner (it is to be understood,\nof course, that both animals are human beings re-born in those forms)\nshe obtains leave to go and suckle her calf, after which she returns\nwhen the tiger, moved by her fidelity, lets her go free.\n\nThe serpent's emitting gems recalls Shakespeare's allusion to the\npopular notion of the \"toad, ugly and venomous, which bears a precious\njewel in its head.\" It is a very ancient and widespread belief that\nserpents are the guardians of hidden treasures. Preller, in his work\non Grecian mythology, refers to a Servian story in which a shepherd,\nas in our tale, saves the life of a snake in a forest fire, and,\nin return for this service, the snake's father gives him endless\ntreasures and teaches him the language of birds. There is a very\nsimilar story in Dozon's \"Contes Albanais.\"\n\nIn the charming tale of \"Nala and Damayanti,\" which occurs in the third\npart (\"Vana Parva\") of the grand Indian epic \"Mahabharata,\" the exiled\nking perceives a snake with a ray of jewels in its crest, writhing\nin a jungle fire, and lifting it out, carries it some distance, and\nis about to set it down, when the snake says to him, \"Carry me ten\nsteps farther, and count them aloud as you go.\" So Nala proceeds,\ncounting the steps--one, two, three--and when he said \"ten\" (dasa,\nwhich means \"ten\" and also \"bite\") the snake took him at his word, and\nbit the king in the forehead, upon which he became black and deformed.\n\nAn abstract of a considerably modified form of our romance orally\ncurrent among the people of Bengal may be given in conclusion: A king\nappoints his three sons to patrol in turn the streets of his capital\nduring the night. It happens that the youngest Prince in going his\nrounds one night sees a beautiful woman issuing from the royal palace,\nand accosting her, asks her business at such an hour. She replies:--\n\n\"I am the guardian deity of this palace; the king will be killed this\nnight, therefore I am going away.\"\n\nThe Prince persuades the goddess to return into the palace and await\nthe event. As in our story, he enters his father's sleeping chamber\nand discovers a huge cobra near the royal couch. He cuts the serpent\ninto many pieces, which he puts inside a brass vessel that is in the\nroom. Then seeing that some drops of the serpent's blood had fallen on\nhis step-mother's breast, he wraps a piece of cloth round his tongue to\nprotect it from the poison, and licks off the blood. The lady awakes,\nand recognises him as he is leaving the room. She accuses him to the\nking of having used an unpardonable freedom with her. In the morning\nthe king sends for his eldest son, and asks him: \"If a trusted servant\nshould prove faithless how should he be punished?\"\n\nQuoth the Prince: \"Surely his head should be parted from his body;\nbut before doing so you should ascertain whether the man is actually\nguilty.\"\n\nAnd then he proceeds to relate the following story:--\"Once upon a\ntime there was a goldsmith who had a grown-up son, whose wife was\nacquainted with the language of animals, but she kept secret from her\nhusband and all others the fact of her being endowed with such a rare\ngift. It happened one night she heard a jackal exclaim: 'There is a\ndead body floating on the river; would that some one might give me\nthat body to eat, and for his pains take the diamond ring from the\nfinger of the dead man.'\n\n\"The woman arose from her bed and went to the bank of the river, and\nher husband, who was not asleep, followed her unobserved. She went\ninto the water, drew the corpse to land, and unable to loosen the\nring from the dead man's finger, which had swelled, she bit off the\nfinger, and leaving the corpse on the bank, returned home, whither\nshe had been preceded by her husband. Almost petrified with fear,\nthe young goldsmith concluded from what he had seen that his wife was\nnot a human being, but a ghoul (rakshasi), and early in the morning\nhe hastened to his father and related the whole affair to him--how\nthe woman had got up during the night and gone to the river, out of\nwhich she dragged a dead body to the land, and was busy devouring it\nwhen he ran home in horror.\n\n\"The old man was greatly shocked, and advised his son to take his wife\non some pretext into the forest and leave her there to be destroyed by\nwild beasts. So the husband caused the woman to get herself ready to go\non a visit to her father, and after a hasty breakfast they set out. In\ngoing through a dense jungle, where the goldsmith proposed abandoning\nhis wife, she heard a serpent cry, 'O, passenger, I pray thee to seize\nand give me that croaking frog, and take for thy reward the gold and\nprecious stones concealed in yonder hole.' The woman at once seized\nthe frog and threw it towards the serpent, and then began digging into\nthe ground with a stick. Her husband quaked with fear, thinking that\nhis ghoul-wife was about to kill him, but she called to him, saying,\n'My dear husband, gather up all this gold and precious gems.'\n\n\"Approaching the spot with hesitation he was surprised to perceive an\nimmense treasure laid bare by his wife, who then explained to him how\nshe had learned of it from the snake that lay coiled up near them,\nwhose language she understood. Then he said to his wife--'It is now\nso late that we cannot reach your father's house before dark, and\nwe might be slain by wild beasts. Let us therefore return home.' So\nthey retraced their steps, and approaching the house the goldsmith\nsaid to his wife--'Do, you, my dear, go in by the back door, while\nI enter by the front and show my father all this treasure.'\n\nThe woman went in by the back door and was met by her father-in-law,\nwho, on seeing her, concluded that she had killed and devoured his\nson, and striking her on the head with a hammer which he happened to\nhave in his hand, she instantly expired. Just then the son came into\nthe room, but it was too late.\"\n\n\"I have told your Majesty this story,\" adds the eldest Prince, \"in\norder that before putting the man to death you should make sure that\nhe is guilty.\"\n\nThe king next calls his second son and asks him the same question,\nto which he replies by relating a story to caution his father against\nrash actions.\n\n\"A king, separated from his attendants while engaged in the chase, saw\nwhat he conceived to be rain-water dropping from the top of a tree,\nand, being very thirst, held his drinking cup under it until it was\nnearly filled, and, just as he was about to put it to his lips, his\nhorse purposely moved so as to cause the contents to be spilled on the\nground, upon which the king in a rage drew his sword and killed the\nfaithful animal; but afterwards discovering that what he had taken\nfor rain-water was poison that dropped from a cobra in the tree,\nhis grief knew no bounds.\"\n\nCalling lastly his third son, the king asks him what should be done\nto the man who proved false to his trust. The Prince tells the story\nof the wonderful tree, the fruit of which bestowed on him who ate of\nit perennial youth, with unimportant variations from the version in\nour romance.\n\nThen the Prince explained the occasion of his presence in the Royal\nbedchamber, and how he had saved the king and his consort from the\ncobra's deadly bite. And the king, overjoyed and full of gratitude,\nstrained his faithful son to his heart, and ever after cherished and\nloved him with all a father's love.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] Soothsaying.\n\n[2] An Indian hour equal to twenty-four minutes.\n\n[3] It is the custom amongst widows to use betel leaves instead\nof plates.\n\n[4] In English, Benares.\n\n[5] The Deccan.\n\n[6] A small vessel.\n\n[7] Storey is here put for divisions in an Indian well. These\ndivisions are little projecting ledges of stone made for natives to\nstand on so that they can get down close to the water if the well\nis not full. There are sometimes six or seven divisions, or ledges,\nof this sort.\n\n[8] The first serpent--the king of serpents.\n\n[9] Literally the stealer of gold--a practice very common in India\namong that class. There is a proverb to the effect that even from\nthe gold given by their mothers to be turned into jewels, they will\npilfer a little.\n\n[10] The distance of a kas being equal to 2000 Indian poles.\n\n[11] Dungeon.\n\n[12] A period of time equal to an hour and a half.\n\n[13] King of tigers.\n\n[14] A ghatika is equal to twenty-four minutes.\n\n[15] Siva.\n\n[16] The eldest son of Siva commonly known as the belly god.\n\n[17] Another name of Ganapati.\n\n[18] Worship.\n\n[19] Attendants of Ganesa.\n\n[20] Classical name of Karur, a small, but very ancient, town in the\nKoyambatur District of the Madras Presidency.\n\n[21] Naraka of Put--Naraka is hell, and Put is a certain kind of\nhell to which, according to Hindu mythology, son-less persons are\nhurled down.\n\n[22] Putra-son, so-called as he protects the father from the hell\nof Put.\n\n[23] Ficus religiosa.\n\n[24] The fair.\n\n[25] Voluntary cremation of widows with the dead bodies of their\nhusbands on the funeral pile.\n\n[26] Karor is equal to ten lacs (lakhs); mohur is an old gold coin.\n\n[27] Spring.\n\n[28] The king's court.\n\n[29] Council chamber.\n\n[30] My darling prince.\n\n[31] The creator of the Hindu mythology.\n\n[32] A Hindu feast.\n\n[33] Fee.\n\n[34] Vedas--The sacred books of the Hindus.\n\n[35] Minister.\n\n[36] The chief officer of the realm next to the minister.\n\n[37] The image of the belly-god.\n\n[38] The world of Indra, the regent of the sky.\n\n[39] Names of divine damsels.\n\n[40] Cinnamon-stone.\n\n[41] Diamond.\n\n[42] A precious stone (cat's eye).\n\n[43] A sort of paint for the eye (Hindustani--Surma).\n\n[44] A mark on the forehead.\n\n[45] Serpent sacrifice.\n\n[46] Sacrifice.\n\n[47] Brahman woman.\n\n[48] Throne.\n\n[49] Tevai is the classical name of the modern town of Ramnad in the\ndistrict of Madura.\n\n[50] Kodamundan.\n\n[51] Vidamundan.\n\n[52] Vayalvallan.\n\n[53] Kaiyalvallan.\n\n[54] There is no such word as kuta in Tamil. The Tamil and other\nDravidian languages allow rhyming repetitions of word, like\nthis--bhuta-kuta.\n\n[55] [Compare the tale of Fattu, the Valiant Weaver, Indian Antiquary,\nVol. XI., p. 282 ff.--R. C. T.]\n\n[56] Which in Tamil are exclamations of lamentation, meaning, Ah! Alas!\n\n[57] A place of public feeding.\n\n[58] Among high caste Hindus, when girls leave one village and go to\nanother, the old woman of the house--the mother or grandmother--always\nplaces in her bundles and on her head a few margosa leaves as a\ntalisman against demons.\n\n[59] A ghatika is twenty-four minutes. The story being Hindu, the\nHindu method of reckoning distance is used.\n\n[60] A \"watch\" is a yama, or three hours.\n\n[61] Tamil, to'sai.\n\n[62] A fragrant herb, held in great veneration by the Hindus; Ocymum\nsanctum. This herb is sacred alike to Siva and Vishnu. Those species\nspecially sacred to Siva are--Vendulasi, Siru-tulasi, and Siva-tulasi;\nthose to Vishnu are Sendulasi, Karundulasi and Vishnu-tulasi.\n\n[63] Compare the Singalese folktale given on p. 62, Vol I. of the\nOrientalist.--Ed.\n\n[64] Uparani or upavastra, an upper garment.\n\n[65] This kind of statement often occurs in stories in proof of the\njust reign of a monarch. The Hindu idea is that so long as justice\nand equity characterise a king's rule, even beasts naturally inimical\nare disposed to live in friendship. When timely rain fails or famine\nstalks through the land, turning his eyes from the natural causes,\nthe orthodox Hindu will say that such a king is now reigning over\nthem unjustly, and hence the calamity.--Translator.\n\n[66] \"Distinguishing the peculiarities of an animal by its footsteps,\n&c., is often met with in Indian stories. Precisely the reverse of\nthis is the tale of the four blind men who disputed about the form\nof an elephant. One of them had felt only the elephant's ears, and\nsaid it was like a winnow; another examined the breast and a foreleg,\nand said it was like a thick stump of wood; the third felt the trunk,\nand said it was like a heavy crook; while the fourth, having touched\nonly the tail, declared it was like a sweeping rake.\"--W. A. Clouston.\n\n[67] The night-watch hearing the tutelary goddess of the village\nmourning, is a very ancient idea. It also occurs, for example,\nin the story of Viravara, in the Sanskrit book of fables entitled\n\"Hitopadesa.\" Sambhavi and Mahamayi are different names of Kali--a\nfierce goddess, much worshipped as the presiding deity of cholera\nand smallpox.--T.\n\n[68] A ghatika = 24 minutes.--T.\n\n[69] Apparently the arrows were attached to some kind of mechanism\nwhich discharged them on the opening of the jar. There is \"nothing\nnew under the sun.\" Dynamite is perhaps a discovery of our own times,\nbut \"infernal machines,\" which served the purpose of king-killers,\nare of ancient date.\n\n[70] The Hindus, at their meals, squat on the ground, with leaves in\nplace of earthenware dishes, on which their food is served.--T.\n\n[71] A sum of money varying in different localities of the South of\nIndia. In the Chola grants \"pon\" also occurs.\n\n[72] An Indian word meaning clumps of trees.\n\n[73] It is a very common practice to dupe the ordinary people in\nthis manner in Hindu temples. Some impostor will proclaim to the\ncrowd that the spirit of a god, or goddess, is upon him, and utters\nwhatever comes uppermost in his mind. He occasionally contrives to\naccomplish his private ends by such \"revelations.\" The ignorant are\ngreatly misled by these impostors, and learned Hindus condemn the\npractice as gross superstition.--T.\n\n[74] Corresponding to the English proverb: \"Quarrelling with one's\nbread and butter.\"\n\n[75] Full grown and ripe bamboo bears a kind of corn which when\ncollected and shelled resembles wheat. Hunters cook a most excellent\nfood of bamboo grain and honey.--T.\n\n[76] Compare the story of \"The Rat's Wedding\" from the Panjab, The\nIndian Antiquary, Vol. XI., pp, 226ff: where, however, a better moral\nfrom the tale is drawn.\n\n[77] A low caste man; Pariah.\n\n[78] In response to the sound of the tom-tom.\n\n[79] Traders have also certain secret symbols for marking their prices\non their cloths.\n\n[80] This story, apart from its folklore value, is specially\ninteresting as showing that the customs mentioned in the Indian\nAntiquary, Vol. XIV., pp. 155ff., as being prevalent at Delhi,\nregarding secret trade language are universal in India.\n\n[81] i.e., lover of his wife.\n\n[82] i.e., a shudder at sin.\n\n[83] Worship of the household gods or devotion.\n\n[84] The eleventh lunar day of every fortnight, on which a fast is\nobserved by orthodox Hindus.\n\n[85] Bhusura, bhudeva; a generic name for a Brahmin.\n\n[86] Oil of sesamun; til and gingely oil are the ordinary names for\nthis common product of India.\n\n[87] Dvadasi is the twelfth lunar day, on which early in the morning,\nbefore even the fifth ghatika is over, every orthodox Hindu is obliged\nby his religious codes to break the previous day's fast.\n\n[88] Lit. a \"chombu-full;\" the chombu is a small vessel.\n\n[89] A sacred hymn.\n\n[90] A panam is generally worth two anas.\n\n[91] See also the second tale in this series.\n\n[92] Learned woman.\n\n[93] There would of course be no real marriage between a dancing girl\nand a Brahmin. Hence the insult.\n\n[94] In stories of a master falling in love with the girl he has been\nteaching, he is usually himself made a soothsayer. In that capacity\nhe asks the guardian (father or mother) to put the girl in a light\nbox and to float her down a river. The girl in the box is taken by\na young man, sometimes a prince, and becomes his wife. A tiger or a\nlion is then put into the box, and when the teacher, a great way down\nthe river, takes the box and wishes to run away with the girl inside,\nhe is torn to pieces, as a fit reward for his evil intentions, by\nthe beast. But here the story takes a different turn.\n\n[95] From this point up to the end we shall find the story to be\nsimilar to \"Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves\" in the Arabian Nights,\nthough the plot is different.\n\n[96] Ganga snana Tunga pana. The Ganges for bath and Tunga\n(Tungabhadra) for drink.\n\n[97] A Kanarese tale related by a risaldar.\n\n[98] Headman of the village.\n\n[99] Dakshinas (fees given in donation to Brahmins) are ordinarily\ngiven to priests.\n\n[100] A yellow grain, peculiar to India.\n\n[101] It is not generally known that the \"Birnam Wood\" incident in\nShakespeare's \"Macbeth\" occurs in the same Arabian historical work.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Tales of the Sun; or, Folklore of Southern India","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":71053}