{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38488/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38488","id":"gutenberg_38488","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38488","summary":null,"tags":["Bengali (South Asian people) -- Folklore","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Tales -- India -- Bengal"],"text":"Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project\nGutenberg. (This file was produced from images generously\nmade available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n FOLK-TALES OF BENGAL\n\n By the\n Rev. LAL BEHARI DAY\n\n Author of 'Bengal Peasant Life,' etc.\n\n With 32 illustrations in colour\n By Warwick Goble\n\n\n\n Macmillan and Co., Limited\n St. Martin's Street, London\n 1912\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n TO\n RICHARD CARNAC TEMPLE\n CAPTAIN, BENGAL STAFF CORPS\n F.R.G.S., M.R.A.S., M.A.I., ETC.\n WHO FIRST SUGGESTED TO THE WRITER\n THE IDEA OF COLLECTING\n THESE TALES\n AND WHO IS DOING SO MUCH\n IN THE CAUSE OF INDIAN FOLK-LORE\n THIS LITTLE BOOK\n IS INSCRIBED\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn my Peasant Life in Bengal I make the peasant boy Govinda spend\nsome hours every evening in listening to stories told by an old woman,\nwho was called Sambhu's mother, and who was the best story-teller in\nthe village. On reading that passage, Captain R. C. Temple, of the\nBengal Staff Corps, son of the distinguished Indian administrator\nSir Richard Temple, wrote to me to say how interesting it would be to\nget a collection of those unwritten stories which old women in India\nrecite to little children in the evenings, and to ask whether I could\nnot make such a collection. As I was no stranger to the Maehrchen of\nthe Brothers Grimm, to the Norse Tales so admirably told by Dasent,\nto Arnason's Icelandic Stories translated by Powell, to the Highland\nStories done into English by Campbell, and to the fairy stories\ncollected by other writers, and as I believed that the collection\nsuggested would be a contribution, however slight, to that daily\nincreasing literature of folk-lore and comparative mythology which,\nlike comparative philosophy, proves that the swarthy and half-naked\npeasant on the banks of the Ganges is a cousin, albeit of the\nhundredth remove, to the fair-skinned and well-dressed Englishman\non the banks of the Thames, I readily caught up the idea and cast\nabout for materials. But where was an old story-telling woman to\nbe got? I had myself, when a little boy, heard hundreds--it would\nbe no exaggeration to say thousands--of fairy tales from that same\nold woman, Sambhu's mother--for she was no fictitious person; she\nactually lived in the flesh and bore that name; but I had nearly\nforgotten those stories, at any rate they had all got confused in\nmy head, the tail of one story being joined to the head of another,\nand the head of a third to the tail of a fourth. How I wished that\npoor Sambhu's mother had been alive! But she had gone long, long ago,\nto that bourne from which no traveller returns, and her son Sambhu,\ntoo, had followed her thither. After a great deal of search I found\nmy Gammer Grethel--though not half so old as the Frau Viehmaennin of\nHesse-Cassel--in the person of a Bengali Christian woman, who, when\na little girl and living in her heathen home, had heard many stories\nfrom her old grandmother. She was a good story-teller, but her stock\nwas not large; and after I had heard ten from her I had to look about\nfor fresh sources. An old Brahman told me two stories; an old barber,\nthree; an old servant of mine told me two; and the rest I heard from\nanother old Brahman. None of my authorities knew English; they all\ntold the stories in Bengali, and I translated them into English when\nI came home. I heard many more stories than those contained in the\nfollowing pages; but I rejected a great many, as they appeared to me\nto contain spurious additions to the original stories which I had\nheard when a boy. I have reason to believe that the stories given\nin this book are a genuine sample of the old old stories told by old\nBengali women from age to age through a hundred generations.\n\nSambhu's mother used always to end every one of her stories--and\nevery orthodox Bengali story-teller does the same--with repeating\nthe following formula:--\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth.\n \"Why, O Natiya-thorn, dost wither?\"\n \"Why does thy cow on me browse?\"\n \"Why, O cow, dost thou browse?\"\n \"Why does thy neat-herd not tend me?\"\n \"Why, O neat-herd, dost not tend the cow?\"\n \"Why does thy daughter-in-law not give me rice?\"\n \"Why, O daughter-in-law, dost not give rice?\"\n \"Why does my child cry?\"\n \"Why, O child, dost thou cry?\"\n \"Why does the ant bite me?\"\n \"Why, O ant, dost thou bite?\"\n Koot! koot! koot!\n\n\nWhat these lines mean, why they are repeated at the end of every\nstory, and what the connection is of the several parts to one another,\nI do not know. Perhaps the whole is a string of nonsense purposely\nput together to amuse little children.\n\n\nLal Behari Day.\n\nHooghly College,\n\nFebruary 27, 1883.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n 1. Life's Secret 1\n 2. Phakir Chand 16\n 3. The Indigent Brahman 51\n 4. The Story of the Rakshasas 61\n 5. The Story of Swet-Basanta 89\n 6. The Evil Eye of Sani 104\n 7. The Boy whom Seven Mothers suckled 113\n 8. The Story of Prince Sobur 119\n 9. The Origin of Opium 132\n 10. Strike but Hear 140\n 11. The Adventures of Two Thieves and of their Sons 152\n 12. The Ghost-Brahman 173\n 13. The Man who wished to be Perfect 178\n 14. A Ghostly Wife 188\n 15. The Story of a Brahmadaitya 192\n 16. The Story of a Hiraman 200\n 17. The Origin of Rubies 211\n 18. The Match-making Jackal 217\n 19. The Boy with the Moon on his Forehead 227\n 20. The Ghost who was Afraid of being Bagged 247\n 21. The Field of Bones 251\n 22. The Bald Wife 269\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n Facing page\n\n \"She rushed out of the palace ... and came to the\n upper world\" (p. 26) Frontispiece\n \"The Suo queen went to the door with a handful\n of rice\" 1\n \"The prince revived, and, walking about, saw a human\n figure near the gate\" 9\n \"She took up the jewel in her hand, left the palace,\n and successfully reached the upper world\" 22\n \"He rushed out of his hiding-place and killed the\n serpent\" 43\n \"Instead of sweetmeats about a score of demons\" 56\n \"At the door of which stood a lady of exquisite\n beauty\" 62\n \"In a trice she woke up, sat up in her bed, and\n eyeing the stranger, inquired who he was\" 77\n The Girl of the Wall-Almirah 90\n \"On a sudden an elephant gorgeously caparisoned shot\n across his path\" 95\n \"They then set out on their journey\" 106\n \"A monstrous bird comes out apparently from the\n palace\" 117\n \"Hundreds of peacocks of gorgeous plumes came to the\n embankments to eat the khai\" 123\n \"'You would adorn the palace of the mightiest\n sovereign'\" 138\n \"He saw a beautiful woman coming out of the palace\" 141\n \"'Husband, take up all this large quantity of gold\n and these precious stones'\" 145\n \"They ran away in great fear, leaving behind them\n the money and jewels\" 162\n \"The camel-driver alighted, tied the camel to a\n tree on the spot, and began smoking\" 170\n \"'How is it that you have returned so soon?'\" 174\n \"At dawn he used to cull flowers in the forest\" 181\n \"The Brahman's wife had occasion to go to the tank,\n and as she went she brushed by a Sankchinni\" 188\n \"The moment the first stroke was given, a great many\n ghosts rushed towards the Brahman\" 194\n \"The lady, king, and hiraman all reached the king's\n capital safe and sound\" 210\n \"'What princess ever puts only one ruby in her\n hair?'\" 214\n \"Coming up to the surface they climbed into the\n boat\" 216\n \"The jackal ... opened his bundle of betel-leaves,\n put some into his mouth, and began chewing them\" 218\n \"A bright light, like that of the moon, was seen\n shining on his forehead\" 237\n \"The six queens tried to comfort him\" 238\n \"'Now, barber, I am going to destroy you. Who will\n protect you?'\" 248\n \"They approached a magnificent pile of buildings\" 259\n \"Thus the princess was deserted\" 266\n \"When she got out of the water, what a change was\n seen in her!\" 271\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nLIFE'S SECRET\n\n\nThere was a king who had two queens, Duo and Suo. [1] Both of them\nwere childless. One day a Faquir (mendicant) came to the palace-gate\nto ask for alms. The Suo queen went to the door with a handful of\nrice. The mendicant asked whether she had any children. On being\nanswered in the negative, the holy mendicant refused to take alms, as\nthe hands of a woman unblessed with child are regarded as ceremonially\nunclean. He offered her a drug for removing her barrenness, and she\nexpressing her willingness to receive it, he gave it to her with the\nfollowing directions:--\"Take this nostrum, swallow it with the juice\nof the pomegranate flower; if you do this, you will have a son in due\ntime. The son will be exceedingly handsome, and his complexion will\nbe of the colour of the pomegranate flower; and you shall call him\nDalim Kumar. [2] As enemies will try to take away the life of your\nson, I may as well tell you that the life of the boy will be bound up\nin the life of a big boal fish which is in your tank, in front of the\npalace. In the heart of the fish is a small box of wood, in the box is\na necklace of gold, that necklace is the life of your son. Farewell.\"\n\nIn the course of a month or so it was whispered in the palace\nthat the Suo queen had hopes of an heir. Great was the joy of\nthe king. Visions of an heir to the throne, and of a never-ending\nsuccession of powerful monarchs perpetuating his dynasty to the\nlatest generations, floated before his mind, and made him glad as he\nhad never been in his life. The usual ceremonies performed on such\noccasions were celebrated with great pomp; and the subjects made loud\ndemonstrations of their joy at the anticipation of so auspicious an\nevent as the birth of a prince. In the fulness of time the Suo queen\ngave birth to a son of uncommon beauty. When the king the first time\nsaw the face of the infant, his heart leaped with joy. The ceremony\nof the child's first rice was celebrated with extraordinary pomp,\nand the whole kingdom was filled with gladness.\n\nIn course of time Dalim Kumar grew up a fine boy. Of all sports he was\nmost addicted to playing with pigeons. This brought him into frequent\ncontact with his stepmother, the Duo queen, into whose apartments\nDalim's pigeons had a trick of always flying. The first time the\npigeons flew into her rooms, she readily gave them up to the owner;\nbut the second time she gave them up with some reluctance. The fact\nis that the Duo queen, perceiving that Dalim's pigeons had this happy\nknack of flying into her apartments, wished to take advantage of it\nfor the furtherance of her own selfish views. She naturally hated the\nchild, as the king, since his birth, neglected her more than ever,\nand idolised the fortunate mother of Dalim. She had heard, it is not\nknown how, that the holy mendicant that had given the famous pill\nto the Suo queen had also told her of a secret connected with the\nchild's life. She had heard that the child's life was bound up with\nsomething--she did not know with what. She determined to extort that\nsecret from the boy. Accordingly, the next time the pigeons flew\ninto her rooms, she refused to give them up, addressing the child\nthus:--\"I won't give the pigeons up unless you tell me one thing.\"\n\nDalim. What thing, mamma?\n\nDuo. Nothing particular, my darling; I only want to know in what your\nlife is.\n\nDalim. What is that, mamma? Where can my life be except in me?\n\nDuo. No, child; that is not what I mean. A holy mendicant told your\nmother that your life is bound up with something. I wish to know what\nthat thing is.\n\nDalim. I never heard of any such thing, mamma.\n\nDuo. If you promise to inquire of your mother in what thing your\nlife is, and if you tell me what your mother says, then I will let\nyou have the pigeons, otherwise not.\n\nDalim. Very well, I'll inquire, and let you know. Now, please, give\nme my pigeons.\n\nDuo. I'll give them on one condition more. Promise to me that you\nwill not tell your mother that I want the information.\n\nDalim. I promise.\n\nThe Duo queen let go the pigeons, and Dalim, overjoyed to find again\nhis beloved birds, forgot every syllable of the conversation he had\nhad with his stepmother. The next day, however, the pigeons again flew\ninto the Duo queen's rooms. Dalim went to his stepmother, who asked\nhim for the required information. The boy promised to ask his mother\nthat very day, and begged hard for the release of the pigeons. The\npigeons were at last delivered. After play, Dalim went to his mother\nand said--\"Mamma, please tell me in what my life is contained.\" \"What\ndo you mean, child?\" asked the mother, astonished beyond measure at\nthe child's extraordinary question. \"Yes, mamma,\" rejoined the child,\n\"I have heard that a holy mendicant told you that my life is contained\nin something. Tell me what that thing is.\" \"My pet, my darling, my\ntreasure, my golden moon, do not ask such an inauspicious question. Let\nthe mouth of my enemies be covered with ashes, and let my Dalim live\nfor ever,\" said the mother, earnestly. But the child insisted on being\ninformed of the secret. He said he would not eat or drink anything\nunless the information were given him. The Suo queen, pressed by the\nimportunity of her son, in an evil hour told the child the secret of\nhis life. The next day the pigeons again, as fate would have it, flew\ninto the Duo queen's rooms. Dalim went for them; the stepmother plied\nthe boy with sugared words, and obtained the knowledge of the secret.\n\nThe Duo queen, on learning the secret of Dalim Kumar's life, lost\nno time in using it for the prosecution of her malicious design. She\ntold her maid-servants to get for her some dried stalks of the hemp\nplant, which are very brittle, and which, when pressed upon, make\na peculiar noise, not unlike the cracking of joints of bones in the\nhuman body. These hemp stalks she put under her bed, upon which she\nlaid herself down and gave out that she was dangerously ill. The\nking, though he did not love her so well as his other queen, was\nin duty bound to visit her in her illness. The queen pretended that\nher bones were all cracking; and sure enough, when she tossed from\none side of her bed to the other, the hemp stalks made the noise\nwanted. The king, believing that the Duo queen was seriously ill,\nordered his best physician to attend her. With that physician the\nDuo queen was in collusion. The physician said to the king that for\nthe queen's complaint there was but one remedy, which consisted in\nthe outward application of something to be found inside a large boal\nfish which was in the tank before the palace. The king's fisherman was\naccordingly called and ordered to catch the boal in question. On the\nfirst throw of the net the fish was caught. It so happened that Dalim\nKumar, along with other boys, was playing not far from the tank. The\nmoment the boal fish was caught in the net, that moment Dalim felt\nunwell; and when the fish was brought up to land, Dalim fell down on\nthe ground, and made as if he was about to breathe his last. He was\nimmediately taken into his mother's room, and the king was astonished\non hearing of the sudden illness of his son and heir. The fish was\nby the order of the physician taken into the room of the Duo queen,\nand as it lay on the floor striking its fins on the ground, Dalim\nin his mother's room was given up for lost. When the fish was cut\nopen, a casket was found in it; and in the casket lay a necklace of\ngold. The moment the necklace was worn by the queen, that very moment\nDalim died in his mother's room.\n\nWhen the news of the death of his son and heir reached the king he was\nplunged into an ocean of grief, which was not lessened in any degree\nby the intelligence of the recovery of the Duo queen. He wept over\nhis dead Dalim so bitterly that his courtiers were apprehensive of a\npermanent derangement of his mental powers. The king would not allow\nthe dead body of his son to be either buried or burnt. He could not\nrealise the fact of his son's death; it was so entirely causeless\nand so terribly sudden. He ordered the dead body to be removed to\none of his garden-houses in the suburbs of the city, and to be laid\nthere in state. He ordered that all sorts of provisions should be\nstowed away in that house, as if the young prince needed them for his\nrefection. Orders were issued that the house should be kept locked\nup day and night, and that no one should go into it except Dalim's\nmost intimate friend, the son of the king's prime minister, who was\nintrusted with the key of the house, and who obtained the privilege\nof entering it once in twenty-four hours.\n\nAs, owing to her great loss, the Suo queen lived in retirement,\nthe king gave up his nights entirely to the Duo queen. The latter,\nin order to allay suspicion, used to put aside the gold necklace at\nnight; and, as fate had ordained that Dalim should be in the state\nof death only during the time that the necklace was round the neck\nof the queen, he passed into the state of life whenever the necklace\nwas laid aside. Accordingly Dalim revived every night, as the Duo\nqueen every night put away the necklace, and died again the next\nmorning when the queen put it on. When Dalim became reanimated\nat night he ate whatever food he liked, for of such there was a\nplentiful stock in the garden-house, walked about on the premises,\nand meditated on the singularity of his lot. Dalim's friend, who\nvisited him only during the day, found him always lying a lifeless\ncorpse; but what struck him after some days was the singular fact that\nthe body remained in the same state in which he saw it on the first\nday of his visit. There was no sign of putrefaction. Except that it\nwas lifeless and pale, there were no symptoms of corruption--it was\napparently quite fresh. Unable to account for so strange a phenomenon,\nhe determined to watch the corpse more closely, and to visit it not\nonly during the day but sometimes also at night. The first night that\nhe paid his visit he was astounded to see his dead friend sauntering\nabout in the garden. At first he thought the figure might be only\nthe ghost of his friend, but on feeling him and otherwise examining\nhim, he found the apparition to be veritable flesh and blood. Dalim\nrelated to his friend all the circumstances connected with his death;\nand they both concluded that he revived at nights only because the\nDuo queen put aside her necklace when the king visited her. As the\nlife of the prince depended on the necklace, the two friends laid\ntheir heads together to devise if possible some plans by which they\nmight get possession of it. Night after night they consulted together,\nbut they could not think of any feasible scheme. At length the gods\nbrought about the deliverance of Dalim Kumar in a wonderful manner.\n\nSome years before the time of which we are speaking, the sister of\nBidhata-Purusha [3] was delivered of a daughter. The anxious mother\nasked her brother what he had written on her child's forehead;\nto which Bidhata-Purusha replied that she should get married to a\ndead bridegroom. Maddened as she became with grief at the prospect of\nsuch a dreary destiny for her daughter, she yet thought it useless to\nremonstrate with her brother, for she well knew that he never changed\nwhat he once wrote. As the child grew in years she became exceedingly\nbeautiful, but the mother could not look upon her with pleasure in\nconsequence of the portion allotted to her by her divine brother. When\nthe girl came to marriageable age, the mother resolved to flee from\nthe country with her, and thus avert her dreadful destiny. But the\ndecrees of fate cannot thus be overruled. In the course of their\nwanderings the mother and daughter arrived at the gate of that very\ngarden-house in which Dalim Kumar lay. It was evening. The girl said\nshe was thirsty and wanted to drink water. The mother told her daughter\nto sit at the gate, while she went to search for drinking water in some\nneighbouring hut. In the meantime the girl through curiosity pushed\nthe door of the garden-house, which opened of itself. She then went\nin and saw a beautiful palace, and was wishing to come out when the\ndoor shut itself of its own accord, so that she could not get out. As\nnight came on the prince revived, and, walking about, saw a human\nfigure near the gate. He went up to it, and found it was a girl of\nsurpassing beauty. On being asked who she was, she told Dalim Kumar\nall the details of her little history,--how her uncle, the divine\nBidhata-Purusha, wrote on her forehead at her birth that she should\nget married to a dead bridegroom, how her mother had no pleasure in\nher life at the prospect of so terrible a destiny, and how, therefore,\non the approach of her womanhood, with a view to avert so dreadful a\ncatastrophe, she had left her house with her and wandered in various\nplaces, how they came to the gate of the garden-house, and how her\nmother had now gone in search of drinking water for her. Dalim Kumar,\nhearing her simple and pathetic story, said, \"I am the dead bridegroom,\nand you must get married to me, come with me to the house.\" \"How\ncan you be said to be a dead bridegroom when you are standing and\nspeaking to me?\" said the girl. \"You will understand it afterwards,\"\nrejoined the prince, \"come now and follow me.\" The girl followed the\nprince into the house. As she had been fasting the whole day the\nprince hospitably entertained her. As for the mother of the girl,\nthe sister of the divine Bidhata-Purusha, she returned to the gate\nof the garden-house after it was dark, cried out for her daughter,\nand getting no answer, went away in search of her in the huts in the\nneighbourhood. It is said that after this she was not seen anywhere.\n\nWhile the niece of the divine Bidhata-Purusha was partaking of the\nhospitality of Dalim Kumar, his friend as usual made his appearance. He\nwas surprised not a little at the sight of the fair stranger; and his\nsurprise became greater when he heard the story of the young lady from\nher own lips. It was forthwith resolved that very night to unite the\nyoung couple in the bonds of matrimony. As priests were out of the\nquestion, the hymeneal rites were performed a la Gandharva. [4] The\nfriend of the bridegroom took leave of the newly-married couple and\nwent away to his house. As the happy pair had spent the greater part\nof the night in wakefulness, it was long after sunrise that they awoke\nfrom their sleep;--I should have said that the young wife woke from her\nsleep, for the prince had become a cold corpse, life having departed\nfrom him. The feelings of the young wife may be easily imagined. She\nshook her husband, imprinted warm kisses on his cold lips, but in\nvain. He was as lifeless as a marble statue. Stricken with horror, she\nsmote her breast, struck her forehead with the palms of her hands, tore\nher hair and went about in the house and in the garden as if she had\ngone mad. Dalim's friend did not come into the house during the day,\nas he deemed it improper to pay a visit to her while her husband was\nlying dead. The day seemed to the poor girl as long as a year, but the\nlongest day has its end, and when the shades of evening were descending\nupon the landscape, her dead husband was awakened into consciousness;\nhe rose up from his bed, embraced his disconsolate wife, ate, drank,\nand became merry. His friend made his appearance as usual, and the\nwhole night was spent in gaiety and festivity. Amid this alternation\nof life and death did the prince and his lady spend some seven or\neight years, during which time the princess presented her husband\nwith two lovely boys who were the exact image of their father.\n\nIt is superfluous to remark that the king, the two queens, and other\nmembers of the royal household did not know that Dalim Kumar was\nliving, at any rate, was living at night. They all thought that he\nwas long ago dead and his corpse burnt. But the heart of Dalim's wife\nwas yearning after her mother-in-law, whom she had never seen. She\nconceived a plan by which she might be able not only to have a\nsight of her mother-in-law, but also to get hold of the Duo queen's\nnecklace, on which her husband's life was dependent. With the consent\nof her husband and of his friend she disguised herself as a female\nbarber. Like every female barber she took a bundle containing the\nfollowing articles:--an iron instrument for paring nails, another\niron instrument for scraping off the superfluous flesh of the soles\nof the feet, a piece of jhama or burnt brick for rubbing the soles of\nthe feet with, and alakta [5] for painting the edges of the feet and\ntoes with. Taking this bundle in her hand she stood at the gate of the\nking's palace with her two boys. She declared herself to be a barber,\nand expressed a desire to see the Suo queen, who readily gave her an\ninterview. The queen was quite taken up with the two little boys, who,\nshe declared, strongly reminded her of her darling Dalim Kumar. Tears\nfell profusely from her eyes at the recollection of her lost treasure;\nbut she of course had not the remotest idea that the two little boys\nwere the sons of her own dear Dalim. She told the supposed barber\nthat she did not require her services, as, since the death of her\nson, she had given up all terrestrial vanities, and among others the\npractice of dyeing her feet red; but she added that, nevertheless,\nshe would be glad now and then to see her and her two fine boys. The\nfemale barber, for so we must now call her, then went to the quarters\nof the Duo queen and offered her services. The queen allowed her to\npare her nails, to scrape off the superfluous flesh of her feet,\nand to paint them with alakta and was so pleased with her skill,\nand the sweetness of her disposition, that she ordered her to wait\nupon her periodically. The female barber noticed with no little\nconcern the necklace round the queen's neck. The day of her second\nvisit came on, and she instructed the elder of her two sons to set\nup a loud cry in the palace, and not to stop crying till he got into\nhis hands the Duo queen's necklace. The female barber, accordingly,\nwent again on the appointed day to the Duo queen's apartments. While\nshe was engaged in painting the queen's feet, the elder boy set up a\nloud cry. On being asked the reason of the cry, the boy, as previously\ninstructed, said that he wanted the queen's necklace. The queen said\nthat it was impossible for her to part with that particular necklace,\nfor it was the best and most valuable of all her jewels. To gratify\nthe boy, however, she took it off her neck, and put it into the\nboy's hand. The boy stopped crying and held the necklace tight in\nhis hand. As the female barber after she had done her work was about\nto go away, the queen wanted the necklace back. But the boy would\nnot part with it. When his mother attempted to snatch it from him,\nhe wept bitterly, and showed as if his heart would break. On which\nthe female barber said--\"Will your Majesty be gracious enough to let\nthe boy take the necklace home with him? When he falls asleep after\ndrinking his milk, which he is sure to do in the course of an hour,\nI will carefully bring it back to you.\" The queen, seeing that the\nboy would not allow it to be taken away from him, agreed to the\nproposal of the female barber, especially reflecting that Dalim,\nwhose life depended on it, had long ago gone to the abodes of death.\n\nThus possessed of the treasure on which the life of her husband\ndepended, the woman went with breathless haste to the garden-house and\npresented the necklace to Dalim, who had been restored to life. Their\njoy knew no bounds, and by the advice of their friend they determined\nthe next day to go to the palace in state, and present themselves to\nthe king and the Suo queen. Due preparations were made; an elephant,\nrichly caparisoned, was brought for the prince Dalim Kumar, a pair\nof ponies for the two little boys, and a chaturdala [6] furnished\nwith curtains of gold lace for the princess. Word was sent to the\nking and the Suo queen that the prince Dalim Kumar was not only\nalive, but that he was coming to visit his royal parents with his\nwife and sons. The king and Suo queen could hardly believe in the\nreport, but being assured of its truth they were entranced with joy;\nwhile the Duo queen, anticipating the disclosure of all her wiles,\nbecame overwhelmed with grief. The procession of Dalim Kumar, which\nwas attended by a band of musicians, approached the palace-gate; and\nthe king and Suo queen went out to receive their long-lost son. It is\nneedless to say that their joy was intense. They fell on each other's\nneck and wept. Dalim then related all the circumstances connected\nwith his death. The king, inflamed with rage, ordered the Duo queen\ninto his presence. A large hole, as deep as the height of a man,\nwas dug in the ground. The Duo queen was put into it in a standing\nposture. Prickly thorn was heaped around her up to the crown of her\nhead; and in this manner she was buried alive.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth;\n \"Why, O Natiya-thorn, dost wither?\"\n \"Why does thy cow on me browse?\"\n \"Why, O cow, dost thou browse?\"\n \"Why does thy neat-herd not tend me?\"\n \"Why, O neat-herd, dost not tend the cow?\"\n \"Why does thy daughter-in-law not give me rice?\"\n \"Why, O daughter-in-law, dost not give rice?\"\n \"Why does my child cry?\"\n \"Why, O child, dost thou cry?\"\n \"Why does the ant bite me?\"\n \"Why, O ant, dost thou bite?\"\n Koot! koot! koot!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nPHAKIR CHAND\n\n\nThere was a king's son, and there was a minister's son. They loved\neach other dearly; they sat together, they stood up together, they\nwalked together, they ate together, they slept together, they got up\ntogether. In this way they spent many years in each other's company,\ntill they both felt a desire to see foreign lands. So one day they\nset out on their journey. Though very rich, the one being the son of\na king and the other the son of his chief minister, they did not take\nany servants with them; they went by themselves on horseback. The\nhorses were beautiful to look at; they were pakshirajes, or kings\nof birds. The king's son and the minister's son rode together many\ndays. They passed through extensive plains covered with paddy; through\ncities, towns, and villages; through waterless, treeless deserts;\nthrough dense forests which were the abode of the tiger and the\nbear. One evening they were overtaken by night in a region where human\nhabitations were not seen; and as it was getting darker and darker,\nthey dismounted beneath a lofty tree, tied their horses to its trunk,\nand, climbing up, sat on its branches covered with thick foliage. The\ntree grew near a large tank, the water of which was as clear as the\neye of a crow. The king's son and the minister's son made themselves\nas comfortable as they could on the tree, being determined to spend\non its branches the livelong night. They sometimes chatted together in\nwhispers on account of the lonely terrors of the region; they sometimes\nsat demurely silent for some minutes; and anon they were falling into\na doze, when their attention was arrested by a terrible sight.\n\nA sound like the rush of many waters was heard from the middle of the\ntank. A huge serpent was seen leaping up from under the water with its\nhood of enormous size. It \"lay floating many a rood\"; then it swam\nashore, and went about hissing. But what most of all attracted the\nattention of the king's son and the minister's son was a brilliant\nmanikya (jewel) on the crested hood of the serpent. It shone like\na thousand diamonds. It lit up the tank, its embankments, and the\nobjects round about. The serpent doffed the jewel from its crest and\nthrew it on the ground, and then it went about hissing in search of\nfood. The two friends sitting on the tree greatly admired the wonderful\nbrilliant, shedding ineffable lustre on everything around. They had\nnever before seen anything like it; they had only heard of it as\nequalling the treasures of seven kings. Their admiration, however,\nwas soon changed into sorrow and fear; for the serpent came hissing\nto the foot of the tree on the branches of which they were seated,\nand swallowed up, one by one, the horses tied to the trunk. They\nfeared that they themselves would be the next victims, when, to their\ninfinite relief, the gigantic cobra turned away from the tree, and went\nabout roaming to a great distance. The minister's son, seeing this,\nbethought himself of taking possession of the lustrous stone. He had\nheard that the only way to hide the brilliant light of the jewel was\nto cover it with cow-dung or horse-dung, a quantity of which latter\narticle he perceived lying at the foot of the tree. He came down from\nthe tree softly, picked up the horse-dung, threw it upon the precious\nstone, and again climbed into the tree. The serpent, not perceiving\nthe light of its head-jewel, rushed with great fury to the spot\nwhere it had been left. Its hissings, groans, and convulsions were\nterrible. It went round and round the jewel covered with horse-dung,\nand then breathed its last. Early next morning the king's son and the\nminister's son alighted from the tree, and went to the spot where the\ncrest-jewel was. The mighty serpent lay there perfectly lifeless. The\nminister's son took up in his hand the jewel covered with horse-dung;\nand both of them went to the tank to wash it. When all the horse-dung\nhad been washed off, the jewel shone as brilliantly as before. It\nlit up the entire bed of the tank, and exposed to their view the\ninnumerable fishes swimming about in the waters. But what was their\nastonishment when they saw, by the light of the jewel, in the bottom\nof the tank, the lofty walls of what seemed a magnificent palace. The\nventuresome son of the minister proposed to the prince that they should\ndive into the waters and get at the palace below. They both dived into\nthe waters--the jewel being in the hand of the minister's son--and\nin a moment stood at the gate of the palace. The gate was open. They\nsaw no being, human or superhuman. They went inside the gate, and\nsaw a beautiful garden laid out on the ample grounds round about the\nhouse which was in the centre. The king's son and the minister's son\nhad never seen such a profusion of flowers. The rose with its many\nvarieties, the jessamine, the bel, the mallika, the king of smells,\nthe lily of the valley, the Champaka, and a thousand other sorts\nof sweet-scented flowers were there. And of each of these flowers\nthere seemed to be a large number. Here were a hundred rose-bushes,\nthere many acres covered with the delicious jessamine, while yonder\nwere extensive plantations of all sorts of flowers. As all the\nplants were begemmed with flowers, and as the flowers were in full\nbloom, the air was loaded with rich perfume. It was a wilderness of\nsweets. Through this paradise of perfumery they proceeded towards\nthe house, which was surrounded by banks of lofty trees. They stood\nat the door of the house. It was a fairy palace. The walls were of\nburnished gold, and here and there shone diamonds of dazzling hue\nwhich were stuck into the walls. They did not meet with any beings,\nhuman or other. They went inside, which was richly furnished. They\nwent from room to room, but they did not see any one. It seemed to be\na deserted house. At last, however, they found in one room a young lady\nlying down, apparently in sleep, on a bed of golden framework. She was\nof exquisite beauty; her complexion was a mixture of red and white;\nand her age was apparently about sixteen. The king's son and the\nminister's son gazed upon her with rapture; but they had not stood\nlong when this young lady of superb beauty opened her eyes, which\nseemed like those of a gazelle. On seeing the strangers she said:\n\"How have you come here, ye unfortunate men? Begone, begone! This\nis the abode of a mighty serpent, which has devoured my father,\nmy mother, my brothers, and all my relatives; I am the only one\nof my family that he has spared. Flee for your lives, or else the\nserpent will put you both in its capacious maw.\" The minister's son\ntold the princess how the serpent had breathed its last; how he and\nhis friend had got possession of its head-jewel, and by its light\nhad come to her palace. She thanked the strangers for delivering her\nfrom the infernal serpent, and begged of them to live in the house,\nand never to desert her. The king's son and the minister's son gladly\naccepted the invitation. The king's son, smitten with the charms of\nthe peerless princess, married her after a short time; and as there\nwas no priest there, the hymeneal knot was tied by a simple exchange\nof garlands of flowers.\n\nThe king's son became inexpressibly happy in the company of the\nprincess, who was as amiable in her disposition as she was beautiful\nin her person; and though the wife of the minister's son was living in\nthe upper world, he too participated in his friend's happiness. Time\nthus passed merrily, when the king's son bethought himself of returning\nto his native country; and as it was fit that he should go with his\nprincess in due pomp, it was determined that the minister's son\nshould first ascend from the subaqueous regions, go to the king,\nand bring with him attendants, horses, and elephants for the happy\npair. The snake-jewel was therefore had in requisition. The prince,\nwith the jewel in hand, accompanied the minister's son to the upper\nworld, and bidding adieu to his friend returned to his lovely wife in\nthe enchanted palace. Before leaving, the minister's son appointed\nthe day and the hour when he would stand on the high embankments of\nthe tank with horses, elephants, and attendants, and wait upon the\nprince and the princess, who were to join him in the upper world by\nmeans of the jewel.\n\nLeaving the minister's son to wend his way to his country and to make\npreparations for the return of his king's son, let us see how the happy\ncouple in the subterranean palace were passing their time. One day,\nwhile the prince was sleeping after his noonday meal, the princess,\nwho had never seen the upper regions, felt the desire of visiting them,\nand the rather as the snake-jewel, which alone could give her safe\nconduct through the waters, was at that moment shedding its bright\neffulgence in the room. She took up the jewel in her hand, left the\npalace, and successfully reached the upper world. No mortal caught\nher sight. She sat on the flight of steps with which the tank was\nfurnished for the convenience of bathers, scrubbed her body, washed\nher hair, disported in the waters, walked about on the water's edge,\nadmired all the scenery around, and returned to her palace, where\nshe found her husband still locked in the embrace of sleep. When the\nprince woke up, she did not tell him a word about her adventure. The\nfollowing day at the same hour, when her husband was asleep, she paid\na second visit to the upper world, and went back unnoticed by mortal\nman. As success made her bold, she repeated her adventure a third\ntime. It so chanced that on that day the son of the Rajah, in whose\nterritories the tank was situated, was out on a hunting excursion,\nand had pitched his tent not far from the place. While his attendants\nwere engaged in cooking their noon-day meal, the Rajah's son sauntered\nabout on the embankments of the tank, near which an old woman was\ngathering sticks and dried branches of trees for purposes of fuel. It\nwas while the Rajah's son and the old woman were near the tank that\nthe princess paid her third visit to the upper world. She rose up\nfrom the waters, gazed around, and seeing a man and a woman on the\nbanks again went down. The Rajah's son caught a momentary glimpse of\nthe princess, and so did the old woman gathering sticks. The Rajah's\nson stood gazing on the waters. He had never seen such a beauty. She\nseemed to him to be one of those deva-kanyas, heavenly goddesses,\nof whom he had read in old books, and who are said now and then to\nfavour the lower world with their visits, which, like angel visits,\nare \"few and far between.\" The unearthly beauty of the princess,\nthough he had seen her only for a moment, made a deep impression on\nhis heart, and distracted his mind. He stood there like a statue, for\nhours, gazing on the waters, in the hope of seeing the lovely figure\nagain. But in vain. The princess did not appear again. The Rajah's\nson became mad with love. He kept muttering--\"Now here, now gone! Now\nhere, now gone!\" He would not leave the place till he was forcibly\nremoved by the attendants who had now come to him. He was taken to his\nfather's palace in a state of hopeless insanity. He spoke to nobody;\nhe always sobbed heavily; and the only words which proceeded out of\nhis mouth--and he was muttering them every minute--were, \"Now here, now\ngone! Now here, now gone!\" The Rajah's grief may well be conceived. He\ncould not imagine what should have deranged his son's mind. The words,\n\"Now here, now gone,\" which ever and anon issued from his son's\nlips, were a mystery to him; he could not unravel their meaning;\nneither could the attendants throw any light on the subject. The best\nphysicians of the country were consulted, but to no effect. The sons\nof AEsculapius could not ascertain the cause of the madness, far less\ncould they cure it. To the many inquiries of the physicians, the only\nreply made by the Rajah's son was the stereotyped words--\"Now here,\nnow gone! Now here, now gone!\"\n\nThe Rajah, distracted with grief on account of the obscuration of\nhis son's intellects, caused a proclamation to be made in the capital\nby beat of drum, to the effect that, if any person could explain the\ncause of his son's madness and cure it, such a person would be rewarded\nwith the hand of the Rajah's daughter, and with the possession of half\nhis kingdom. The drum was beaten round most parts of the city, but no\none touched it, as no one knew the cause of the madness of the Rajah's\nson. At last an old woman touched the drum, and declared that she would\nnot only discover the cause of the madness, but cure it. This woman,\nwho was the identical woman that was gathering sticks near the tank\nat the time the Rajah's son lost his reason, had a crack-brained son\nof the name of Phakir Chand, and was in consequence called Phakir's\nmother, or more familiarly Phakre's mother. When the woman was brought\nbefore the Rajah, the following conversation took place:--\n\nRajah. You are the woman that touched the drum.--You know the cause\nof my son's madness?\n\nPhakir's Mother. Yes, O incarnation of justice! I know the cause,\nbut I will not mention it till I have cured your son.\n\nRajah. How can I believe that you are able to cure my son, when the\nbest physicians of the land have failed?\n\nPhakir's Mother. You need not now believe, my lord, till I have\nperformed the cure. Many an old woman knows secrets with which wise\nmen are unacquainted.\n\nRajah. Very well, let me see what you can do. In what time will you\nperform the cure?\n\nPhakir's Mother. It is impossible to fix the time at present; but I\nwill begin work immediately with your lordship's assistance.\n\nRajah. What help do you require from me?\n\nPhakir's Mother. Your lordship will please order a hut to be raised on\nthe embankment of the tank where your son first caught the disease. I\nmean to live in that hut for a few days. And your lordship will also\nplease order some of your servants to be in attendance at a distance of\nabout a hundred yards from the hut, so that they might be within call.\n\nRajah. Very well; I will order that to be immediately done. Do you\nwant anything else?\n\nPhakir's Mother. Nothing else, my lord, in the way of preparations. But\nit is as well to remind your lordship of the conditions on which I\nundertake the cure. Your lordship has promised to give to the performer\nof the cure the hand of your daughter and half your kingdom. As I\nam a woman and cannot marry your daughter, I beg that, in case I\nperform the cure, my son Phakir Chand may marry your daughter and\ntake possession of half your kingdom.\n\nRajah. Agreed, agreed.\n\nA temporary hut was in a few hours erected on the embankment of the\ntank, and Phakir's mother took up her abode in it. An outpost was\nalso erected at some distance for servants in attendance who might\nbe required to give help to the woman. Strict orders were given by\nPhakir's mother that no human being should go near the tank excepting\nherself. Let us leave Phakir's mother keeping watch at the tank, and\nhasten down into the subterranean palace to see what the prince and\nthe princess are about. After the mishap which had occurred on her\nlast visit to the upper world, the princess had given up the idea of\na fourth visit. But women generally have greater curiosity than men;\nand the princess of the underground palace was no exception to the\ngeneral rule. One day, while her husband was asleep as usual after\nhis noonday meal, she rushed out of the palace with the snake-jewel in\nher hand, and came to the upper world. The moment the upheaval of the\nwaters in the middle of the tank took place, Phakir's mother, who was\non the alert, concealed herself in the hut and began looking through\nthe chinks of the matted wall. The princess, seeing no mortal near,\ncame to the bank, and sitting there began to scrub her body. Phakir's\nmother showed herself outside the hut, and addressing the princess,\nsaid in a winning tone--\"Come, my child, thou queen of beauty, come\nto me, and I will help you to bathe.\" So saying, she approached the\nprincess, who, seeing that it was only a woman, made no resistance. The\nold woman, while in the act of washing the hair of the princess,\nnoticed the bright jewel in her hand, and said--\"Put the jewel here\ntill you are bathed.\" In a moment the jewel was in the possession\nof Phakir's mother, who wrapped it up in the cloth that was round\nher waist. Knowing the princess to be unable to escape, she gave the\nsignal to the attendants in waiting, who rushed to the tank and made\nthe princess a captive.\n\nGreat were the rejoicings of the people when the tidings reached the\ncity that Phakir's mother had captured a water-nymph from the nether\nregions. The whole city came to see the \"daughter of the immortals,\"\nas they called the princess. When she was brought to the palace and\nconfronted with the Rajah's son of obscured intellect, the latter\nsaid with a shout of exultation--\"I have found! I have found!\" The\ncloud which had settled on his brain was dissipated in a moment. The\neyes, erewhile vacant and lustreless, now glowed with the fire of\nintelligence; his tongue, of which he had almost lost the use--the\nonly words which he used to utter being, \"Now here, now gone!\"--was\nnow relaxed: in a word, he was restored to his senses. The joy of the\nRajah knew no bounds. There was great festivity in the city; and the\npeople who showered benedictions on the head of Phakir Chand's mother,\nexpected the speedy celebration of the marriage of the Rajah's son\nwith the beauty of the nether world. The princess, however, told the\nRajah, through Phakir's mother, that she had made a vow to the effect\nthat she would not, for one whole year, look at the face of another\nman than that of her husband who was dwelling beneath the waters,\nand that therefore the marriage could not be performed during that\nperiod. Though the Rajah's son was somewhat disappointed, he readily\nagreed to the delay, believing, agreeably to the proverb, that delay\nwould greatly enhance the sweetness of those pleasures which were in\nstore for him.\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to say that the princess spent her days and\nher nights in sorrowing and sighing. She lamented that idle curiosity\nwhich had led her to come to the upper world, leaving her husband\nbelow. When she recollected that her husband was all alone below the\nwaters she wept bitter tears. She wished she could run away. But that\nwas impossible, as she was immured within walls, and there were walls\nwithin walls. Besides, if she could get out of the palace and of the\ncity, of what avail would it be? She could not gain her husband,\nas the serpent jewel was not in her possession. The ladies of the\npalace and Phakir's mother tried to divert her mind, but in vain. She\ntook pleasure in nothing; she would hardly speak to any one; she wept\nday and night. The year of her vow was drawing to a close, and yet\nshe was disconsolate. The marriage, however, must be celebrated. The\nRajah consulted the astrologers, and the day and the hour in which\nthe nuptial knot was to be tied were fixed. Great preparations were\nmade. The confectioners of the city busied themselves day and night\nin preparing sweetmeats; milkmen took contracts for supplying the\npalace with tanks of curds; gunpowder was being manufactured for a\ngrand display of fireworks; bands of musicians were placed on sheds\nerected over the palace gate, who ever and anon sent forth many\n\"a bout of linked sweetness\"; and the whole city assumed an air of\nmirth and festivity.\n\nIt is time we should think of the minister's son, who, leaving his\nfriend in the subterranean palace, had gone to his country to bring\nhorses, elephants, and attendants for the return of the king's son\nand his lovely princess with due pomp. The preparations took him\nmany months; and when everything was ready he started on his journey,\naccompanied by a long train of elephants, horses, and attendants. He\nreached the tank two or three days before the appointed day. Tents were\npitched in the mango-topes adjoining the tank for the accommodation of\nmen and cattle; and the minister's son always kept his eyes fixed on\nthe tank. The sun of the appointed day sank below the horizon; but the\nprince and the princess dwelling beneath the waters made no sign. He\nwaited two or three days longer; still the prince did not make his\nappearance. What could have happened to his friend and his beautiful\nwife? Were they dead? Had another serpent, possibly the mate of the one\nthat had died, beaten the prince and the princess to death? Had they\nsomehow lost the serpent-jewel? Or had they been captured when they\nwere once on a visit to the upper world? Such were the reflections of\nthe minister's son. He was overwhelmed with grief. Ever since he had\ncome to the tank he had heard at regular intervals the sound of music\ncoming from the city which was not distant. He inquired of passers-by\nwhat that music meant. He was told that the Rajah's son was about\nto be married to some wonderful young lady, who had come out of the\nwaters of that very tank on the bank of which he was now seated, and\nthat the marriage ceremony was to be performed on the day following\nthe next. The minister's son immediately concluded that the wonderful\nyoung lady of the lake that was to be married was none other than the\nwife of his friend, the king's son. He resolved therefore to go into\nthe city to learn the details of the affair, and try if possible to\nrescue the princess. He told the attendants to go home, taking with\nthem the elephants and the horses; and he himself went to the city,\nand took up his abode in the house of a Brahman.\n\nAfter he had rested and taken his dinner, the minister's son asked\nthe Brahman what the meaning was of the music that was heard in the\ncity at regular intervals. The Brahman asked, \"From what part of\nthe world have you come that you have not heard of the wonderful\ncircumstance that a young lady of heavenly beauty rose out of the\nwaters of a tank in the suburbs, and that she is going to be married\nthe day after to-morrow to the son of our Rajah?\"\n\nMinister's Son. No, I have heard nothing. I have come from a distant\ncountry whither the story has not reached. Will you kindly tell me\nthe particulars?\n\nBrahman. The Rajah's son went out a-hunting about this time last\nyear. He pitched his tents close to a tank in the suburbs. One day,\nwhile the Rajah's son was walking near the tank, he saw a young\nwoman, or rather goddess, of uncommon beauty rise from the waters of\nthe tank. She gazed about for a minute or two and disappeared. The\nRajah's son, however, who had seen her, was so struck with her heavenly\nbeauty that he became desperately enamoured of her. Indeed, so intense\nwas his passion, that his reason gave way; and he was carried home\nhopelessly mad. The only words he uttered day and night were--\"Now\nhere, now gone!\" The Rajah sent for all the best physicians of the\ncountry for restoring his son to his reason; but the physicians were\npowerless. At last he caused a proclamation to be made by beat of drum\nto the effect that if any one could cure the Rajah's son, he should\nbe the Rajah's son-in-law and the owner of half his kingdom. An old\nwoman, who went by the name of Phakir's mother, took hold of the drum,\nand declared her ability to cure the Rajah's son. On the tank where\nthe princess had appeared was raised for Phakir's mother a hut in\nwhich she took up her abode; and not far from her hut another hut was\nerected for the accommodation of attendants who might be required to\nhelp her. It seems the goddess rose from the waters; Phakir's mother\nseized her with the help of the attendants, and carried her in a palki\nto the palace. At the sight of her the Rajah's son was restored to\nhis senses; and the marriage would have been celebrated at that time\nbut for a vow which the goddess had made that she would not look at\nthe face of any male person till the lapse of a year. The year of the\nvow is now over; and the music which you have heard is from the gate\nof the Rajah's palace. This, in brief, is the story.\n\nMinister's Son. A truly wonderful story! And has Phakir's mother,\nor rather Phakir Chand himself, been rewarded with the hand of the\nRajah's daughter and with the possession of half the kingdom?\n\nBrahman. No, not yet. Phakir has not been got hold of. He is a\nhalf-witted lad, or rather quite mad. He has been away for more\nthan a year from his home, and no one knows where he is. That is his\nmanner; he stays away for a long time, suddenly comes home, and again\ndisappears. I believe his mother expects him soon.\n\nMinister's Son. What like is he? and what does he do when he returns\nhome?\n\nBrahman. Why, he is about your height, though he is somewhat younger\nthan you. He puts on a small piece of cloth round his waist, rubs\nhis body with ashes, takes the branch of a tree in his hand, and,\nat the door of the hut in which his mother lives, dances to the tune\nof dhoop! dhoop! dhoop! His articulation is very indistinct; and when\nhis mother says--\"Phakir! stay with me for some days,\" he invariably\nanswers in his usual unintelligible manner, \"No, I won't remain,\nI won't remain.\" And when he wishes to give an affirmative answer,\nhe says, \"Hoom,\" which means \"Yes.\"\n\nThe above conversation with the Brahman poured a flood of light into\nthe mind of the minister's son. He saw how matters stood. He perceived\nthat the princess of the subterranean palace must have alone ventured\nout into the tank by means of the snake-jewel; that she must have\nbeen captured alone without the king's son; that the snake-jewel\nmust be in the possession of Phakir's mother; and that his friend,\nthe king's son, must be alone below the waters without any means of\nescape. The desolate and apparently hopeless state of his friend\nfilled him with unutterable grief. He was in deep musings during\nmost part of the night. Is it impossible, thought he, to rescue the\nking's son from the nether regions? What if, by some means or other,\nI contrive to get the jewel from the old woman? And can I not do it\nby personating Phakir Chand himself, who is expected by his mother\nshortly? And possibly by the same means I may be able to rescue the\nprincess from the Rajah's palace. He resolved to act the role of Phakir\nChand the following day. In the morning he left the Brahman's house,\nwent to the outskirts of the city, divested himself of his usual\nclothing, put round his waist a short and narrow piece of cloth which\nscarcely reached his knee-joints, rubbed his body well with ashes,\ntook in his hand a twig which he broke off a tree, and thus accoutred,\npresented himself before the door of the hut of Phakir's mother. He\ncommenced operations by dancing, in a most violent manner, to the\ntune of dhoop! dhoop! dhoop! The dancing attracted the notice of the\nold woman, who, supposing that her son had come, said--\"My son Phakir,\nare you come? Come, my darling; the gods have at last become propitious\nto us.\" The supposed Phakir Chand uttered the monosyllable \"hoom,\" and\nwent on dancing in a still more violent manner than before, waving the\ntwig in his hand. \"This time you must not go away,\" said the old woman,\n\"you must remain with me.\" \"No, I won't remain, I won't remain,\" said\nthe minister's son. \"Remain with me, and I'll get you married to the\nRajah's daughter. Will you marry, Phakir Chand?\" The minister's son\nreplied--\"Hoom, hoom,\" and danced on like a madman. \"Will you come\nwith me to the Rajah's house? I'll show you a princess of uncommon\nbeauty who has risen from the waters.\" \"Hoom, hoom,\" was the answer\nthat issued from his lips, while his feet tripped it violently to\nthe sound of dhoop! dhoop! \"Do you wish to see a manik, Phakir, the\ncrest jewel of the serpent, the treasure of seven kings?\" \"Hoom,\nhoom,\" was the reply. The old woman brought out of the hut the\nsnake-jewel, and put it into the hand of her supposed son. The\nminister's son took it, and carefully wrapped it up in the piece\nof cloth round his waist. Phakir's mother, delighted beyond measure\nat the opportune appearance of her son, went to the Rajah's house,\npartly to announce to the Rajah the news of Phakir's appearance,\nand partly to show Phakir the princess of the waters. The supposed\nPhakir and his mother found ready access to the Rajah's palace, for\nthe old woman had, since the capture of the princess, become the most\nimportant person in the kingdom. She took him into the room where the\nprincess was, and introduced him to her. It is superfluous to remark\nthat the princess was by no means pleased with the company of a madcap,\nwho was in a state of semi-nudity, whose body was rubbed with ashes,\nand who was ever and anon dancing in a wild manner. At sunset the old\nwoman proposed to her son that they should leave the palace and go\nto their own house. But the supposed Phakir Chand refused to comply\nwith the request; he said he would stay there that night. His mother\ntried to persuade him to return with her, but he persisted in his\ndetermination. He said he would remain with the princess. Phakir's\nmother therefore went away, after giving instructions to the guards\nand attendants to take care of her son.\n\nWhen all in the palace had retired to rest, the supposed Phakir, coming\ntowards the princess, said in his own usual voice--\"Princess! do you\nnot recognise me? I am the minister's son, the friend of your princely\nhusband.\" The princess, astonished at the announcement, said--\"Who? The\nminister's son? Oh, my husband's best friend, do rescue me from this\nterrible captivity, from this worse than death. O fate! it is by my\nown fault that I am reduced to this wretched state. Oh, rescue me,\nrescue me, thou best of friends!\" She then burst into tears. The\nminister's son said, \"Do not be disconsolate. I will try my best\nto rescue you this very night; only you must do whatever I tell\nyou.\" \"I will do anything you tell me, minister's son; anything you\ntell me.\" After this the supposed Phakir left the room, and passed\nthrough the courtyard of the palace. Some of the guards challenged\nhim, to whom he replied, \"Hoom, hoom; I will just go out for a\nminute and again come in presently.\" They understood that it was\nthe madcap Phakir. True to his word he did come back shortly, and\nwent to the princess. An hour afterwards he again went out and was\nagain challenged, on which he made the same reply as at the first\ntime. The guards who challenged him began to mutter between their\nteeth--\"This madcap of a Phakir will, we suppose, go out and come in\nall night. Let the fellow alone; let him do what he likes. Who can\nbe sitting up all night for him?\" The minister's son was going out\nand coming in with the view of accustoming the guards to his constant\negress and ingress, and also of watching for a favourable opportunity\nto escape with the princess. About three o'clock in the morning the\nminister's son again passed through the courtyard, but this time no\none challenged him, as all the guards had fallen asleep. Overjoyed at\nthe auspicious circumstance, he went to the princess. \"Now, princess,\nis the time for escape. The guards are all asleep. Mount on my back,\nand tie the locks of your hair round my neck, and keep tight hold\nof me.\" The princess did as she was told. He passed unchallenged\nthrough the courtyard with the lovely burden on his back, passed out\nof the gate of the palace--no one challenging him, passed on to the\noutskirts of the city, and reached the tank from which the princess\nhad risen. The princess stood on her legs, rejoicing at her escape, and\nat the same time trembling. The minister's son untied the snake-jewel\nfrom his waist-cloth, and descending into the waters, both he and she\nfound their way to the subterranean palace. The reception which the\nprince in the subaqueous palace gave to his wife and his friend may be\neasily imagined. He had nearly died of grief; but now he suffered a\nresurrection. The three were now mad with joy. During the three days\nthat they remained in the palace they again and again told the story\nof the egress of the princess into the upper world, of her seizure,\nof her captivity in the palace, of the preparations for marriage, of\nthe old woman, of the minister's son personating Phakir Chand, and of\nthe successful deliverance. It is unnecessary to add that the prince\nand the princess expressed their gratitude to the minister's son in\nthe warmest terms, declared him to be their best and greatest friend,\nand vowed to abide always, till the day of their death, by his advice,\nand to follow his counsel.\n\nBeing resolved to return to their native country, the king's son,\nthe minister's son, and the princess left the subterranean palace,\nand, lighted in the passage by the snake-jewel, made their way good to\nthe upper world. As they had neither elephants nor horses, they were\nunder the necessity of travelling on foot; and though this mode of\ntravelling was troublesome to both the king's son and the minister's\nson, as they were bred in the lap of luxury, it was infinitely more\ntroublesome to the princess, as the stones of the rough road\n\n\n \"Wounded the invisible\n Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell.\"\n\n\nWhen her feet became very sore, the king's son sometimes took her\nup on his broad shoulders, on which she sat astride; but the load,\nhowever lovely, was too heavy to be carried any great distance. She\ntherefore, for the most part, travelled on foot.\n\nOne evening they bivouacked beneath a tree, as no human habitations\nwere visible. The minister's son said to the prince and princess,\n\"Both of you go to sleep, and I will keep watch in order to prevent any\ndanger.\" The royal couple were soon locked in the arms of sleep. The\nfaithful son of the minister did not sleep, but sat up watching. It so\nhappened that on that tree swung the nest of the two immortal birds,\nBihangama and Bihangami, who were not only endowed with the power\nof human speech, but who could see into the future. To the no little\nastonishment of the minister's son the two prophetical birds joined\nin the following conversation:--\n\nBihangama. The minister's son has already risked his own life for the\nsafety of his friend, the king's son; but he will find it difficult\nto save the prince at last.\n\nBihangami. Why so?\n\nBihangama. Many dangers await the king's son. The prince's father, when\nhe hears of the approach of his son, will send for him an elephant,\nsome horses, and attendants. When the king's son rides on the elephant\nhe will fall down and die.\n\nBihangami. But suppose some one prevents the king's son from riding\non the elephant, and makes him ride on horseback, will he not in that\ncase be saved?\n\nBihangama. Yes, he will in that case escape that danger, but a fresh\ndanger awaits him. When the king's son is in sight of his father's\npalace, and when he is in the act of passing through its lion-gate,\nthe lion-gate will fall upon him and crush him to death.\n\nBihangami. But suppose some one destroys the lion-gate before the\nking's son goes up to it; will not the king's son in that case\nbe saved?\n\nBihangama. Yes, in that case he will escape that particular danger;\nbut a fresh danger awaits him. When the king's son reaches the palace\nand sits at a feast prepared for him, and when he takes into his\nmouth the head of a fish cooked for him, the head of the fish will\nstick in his throat and choke him to death.\n\nBihangami. But suppose some one sitting at the feast snatches the head\nof the fish from the prince's plate, and thus prevents him from putting\nit into his mouth, will not the king's son in that case be saved?\n\nBihangama. Yes, in that case he will escape that particular danger;\nbut a fresh danger awaits him. When the prince and princess after\ndinner retire into their sleeping apartment, and they lie together\nin bed, a terrible cobra will come into the room and bite the king's\nson to death.\n\nBihangami. But suppose some one lying in wait in the room cut the\nsnake into pieces, will not the king's son in that case be saved?\n\nBihangama. Yes, in that case the life of the king's son will be\nsaved; but if the man who kills the snake repeats to the king's son\nthe conversation between you and me, that man will be turned into a\nmarble statue.\n\nBihangami. But is there no means of restoring the marble statue\nto life?\n\nBihangama. Yes, the marble statue may be restored to life if it is\nwashed with the life-blood of the infant which the princess will give\nbirth to, immediately after it is ushered into the world.\n\nThe conversation of the prophetical birds had extended thus far\nwhen the crows began to caw, the east put on a reddish hue, and the\ntravellers beneath the tree bestirred themselves. The conversation\nstopped, but the minister's son had heard it all.\n\nThe prince, the princess, and the minister's son pursued their journey\nin the morning; but they had not walked many hours when they met a\nprocession consisting of an elephant, a horse, a palki, and a large\nnumber of attendants. These animals and men had been sent by the king,\nwho had heard that his son, together with his newly married wife and\nhis friend the minister's son, were not far from the capital on their\njourney homewards. The elephant, which was richly caparisoned, was\nintended for the prince; the palki the framework of which was silver\nand was gaudily adorned, was meant for the princess; and the horse for\nthe minister's son. As the prince was about to mount on the elephant,\nthe minister's son went up to him and said--\"Allow me to ride on\nthe elephant, and you please ride on horseback.\" The prince was not\na little surprised at the coolness of the proposal. He thought his\nfriend was presuming too much on the services he had rendered; he was\ntherefore nettled, but remembering that his friend had saved both him\nand his wife, he said nothing, but quietly mounted the horse, though\nhis mind became somewhat alienated from him. The procession started,\nand after some time came in sight of the palace, the lion-gate of\nwhich had been gaily adorned for the reception of the prince and\nthe princess. The minister's son told the prince that the lion-gate\nshould be broken down before the prince could enter the palace. The\nprince was astounded at the proposal, especially as the minister's\nson gave no reasons for so extraordinary a request. His mind became\nstill more estranged from him; but in consideration of the services\nthe minister's son had rendered, his request was complied with,\nand the beautiful lion-gate, with its gay decorations, was broken down.\n\nThe party now went into the palace, where the king gave a warm\nreception to his son, to his daughter-in-law, and to the minister's\nson. When the story of their adventures was related, the king and his\ncourtiers expressed great astonishment, and they all with one voice\nextolled the sagacity, prudence, and devotedness of the minister's\nson. The ladies of the palace were struck with the extraordinary\nbeauty of the new-comer; her complexion was milk and vermilion mixed\ntogether; her neck was like that of a swan; her eyes were like those\nof a gazelle; her lips were as red as the berry bimba; her cheeks were\nlovely; her nose was straight and high; her hair reached her ankles;\nher walk was as graceful as that of a young elephant--such were the\nterms in which the connoisseurs of beauty praised the princess whom\ndestiny had brought into the midst of them. They sat around her and\nput her a thousand questions regarding her parents, regarding the\nsubterranean palace in which she formerly lived, and the serpent\nwhich had killed all her relatives. It was now time that the new\narrivals should have their dinner. The dinner was served up in dishes\nof gold. All sorts of delicacies were there, amongst which the most\nconspicuous was the large head of a rohita fish placed in a golden\ncup near the prince's plate. While they were eating, the minister's\nson suddenly snatched the head of the fish from the prince's plate,\nand said, \"Let me, prince, eat this rohita's head.\" The king's son was\nquite indignant. He said nothing, however. The minister's son perceived\nthat his friend was in a terrible rage; but he could not help it,\nas his conduct, however strange, was necessary to the safety of his\nfriend's life; neither could he clear himself by stating the reason of\nhis behaviour, as in that case he himself would be transformed into\na marble statue. The dinner over, the minister's son expressed his\ndesire to go to his own house. At other times the king's son would\nnot allow his friend to go away in that fashion; but being shocked at\nhis strange conduct, he readily agreed to the proposal. The minister's\nson, however, had not the slightest notion of going to his own house;\nhe was resolved to avert the last peril that was to threaten the life\nof his friend. Accordingly, with a sword in his hand, he stealthily\nentered the room in which the prince and the princess were to sleep\nthat night, and ensconced himself under the bedstead, which was\nfurnished with mattresses of down and canopied with mosquito curtains\nof the richest silk and gold lace. Soon after dinner the prince and\nprincess came into the bedroom, and undressing themselves went to\nbed. At midnight, while the royal couple were asleep, the minister's\nson perceived a snake of gigantic size enter the room through one of\nthe water-passages, and climb up the tester-frame of the bed. He rushed\nout of his hiding-place, killed the serpent, cut it up in pieces, and\nput the pieces in the dish for holding betel-leaves and spices. It so\nhappened, however, that as the minister's son was cutting the serpent\ninto pieces, a drop of blood fell on the breast of the princess, and\nthe rather as the mosquito curtains had not been let down. Thinking\nthat the drop of blood might injure the fair princess, he resolved\nto lick it up. But as he regarded it as a great sin to look upon a\nyoung woman lying asleep half naked, he blindfolded himself with\nseven-fold cloth, and licked up the drop of blood. But while he\nwas in the act of licking it, the princess awoke and screamed, and\nher scream roused her husband lying beside her. The prince seeing\nthe minister's son, who he thought had gone away to his own house,\nbending over the body of his wife, fell into a great rage, and would\nhave got up and killed him, had not the minister's son besought him\nto restrain his anger, adding--\"Friend, I have done this only in\norder to save your life.\" \"I do not understand what you mean,\" said\nthe prince; \"ever since we came out of the subterranean palace you\nhave been behaving in a most extraordinary way. In the first place,\nyou prevented me from getting upon the richly caparisoned elephant,\nthough my father, the king, had purposely sent it for me. I thought,\nhowever, that a sense of the services you had rendered to me had made\nyou exceedingly vain; I therefore let the matter pass, and mounted\nthe horse. In the second place, you insisted on the destruction of the\nfine lion-gate, which my father had adorned with gay decorations; and\nI let that matter also pass. Then, again, at dinner you snatched away,\nin a most shameful manner, the rohita's head which was on my plate,\nand devoured it yourself, thinking, no doubt, that you were entitled\nto higher honours than I. You then pretended that you were going\nhome, for which I was not at all sorry, as you had made yourself\nvery disagreeable to me. And now you are actually in my bedroom,\nbending over the naked bosom of my wife. You must have had some evil\ndesign; and you pretend that you have done this to save my life. I\nfancy it was not for saving my life, but for destroying my wife's\nchastity.\" \"Oh, do not harbour such thoughts in your mind against\nme. The gods know that I have done all this for the preservation of\nyour life. You would see the reasonableness of my conduct throughout\nif I had the liberty of stating my reasons.\" \"And why are you not\nat liberty?\" asked the prince; \"who has shut up your mouth?\" \"It is\ndestiny that has shut up my mouth,\" answered the minister's son;\n\"if I were to tell it all, I should be transformed into a marble\nstatue.\" \"You would be transformed into a marble statue!\" exclaimed\nthe prince; \"you must take me to be a simpleton to believe this\nnonsense.\" \"Do you wish me then, friend,\" said the minister's son,\n\"to tell you all? You must then make up your mind to see your friend\nturned into stone.\" \"Come, out with it,\" said the prince, \"or else you\nare a dead man.\" The minister's son, in order to clear himself of the\nfoul accusation brought against him, deemed it his duty to reveal the\nsecret at the risk of his life. He again and again warned the prince\nnot to press him. But the prince remained inexorable. The minister's\nson then went on to say that, while bivouacking under a lofty tree\none night, he had overheard a conversation between Bihangama and\nBihangami, in which the former predicted all the dangers that were to\nthreaten the life of the prince. When the minister's son had related\nthe prediction concerning the mounting upon the elephant, his lower\nparts were turned into stone. He then, turning to the prince, said,\n\"See, friend, my lower parts have already turned into stone.\" \"Go on,\ngo on,\" said the prince, \"with your story.\" The minister's son then\nrelated the prophecy regarding the destruction of the lion-gate,\nwhen half of his body was converted into stone. He then related\nthe prediction regarding the eating of the head of the fish, when\nhis body up to his neck was petrified. \"Now, friend,\" said the\nminister's son, \"the whole of my body, excepting my neck and head,\nis petrified; if I tell the rest, I shall assuredly become a man of\nstone. Do you wish me still to go on?\" \"Go on,\" answered the prince,\n\"go on.\" \"Very well, I will go on to the end,\" said the minister's\nson; \"but in case you repent after I have become turned into stone,\nand wish me to be restored to life, I will tell you of the manner\nin which it may be effected. The princess after a few months will be\ndelivered of a child; if immediately after the birth of the infant you\nkill it and besmear my marble body with its blood, I shall be restored\nto life.\" He then related the prediction regarding the serpent in the\nbedroom; and when the last word was on his lips the rest of his body\nwas turned into stone, and he dropped on the floor a marble image. The\nprincess jumped out of bed, opened the vessel for betel-leaves and\nspices, and saw there pieces of a serpent. Both the prince and the\nprincess now became convinced of the good faith and benevolence of\ntheir departed friend. They went to the marble figure, but it was\nlifeless. They set up a loud lamentation; but it was to no purpose,\nfor the marble moved not. They then resolved to keep the marble figure\nconcealed in a safe place, and to besmear it with the blood of their\nfirst-born child when it should be ushered into existence.\n\nIn process of time the hour of the princess's travail came on,\nand she was delivered of a beautiful boy, the perfect image of his\nmother. Both father and mother were struck with the beauty of their\nchild, and would fain have spared its life; but recollecting the vows\nthey had made on behalf of their best friend, now lying in a corner of\nthe room a lifeless stone, and the inestimable services he had rendered\nto both of them, they cut the child into two, and besmeared the marble\nfigure of the minister's son with its blood. The marble became animated\nin a moment. The minister's son stood before the prince and princess,\nwho became exceedingly glad to see their old friend again in life. But\nthe minister's son, who saw the lovely new-born babe lying in a pool\nof blood, was overwhelmed with grief. He took up the dead infant,\ncarefully wrapped it up in a towel, and resolved to get it restored\nto life.\n\nThe minister's son, intent on the reanimation of his friend's child,\nconsulted all the physicians of the country; but they said that\nthey would undertake to cure any person of any disease so long as\nlife was in him, but when life was extinct, the case was beyond\ntheir jurisdiction. The minister's son at last bethought himself\nof his own wife, who was living in a distant town, and who was a\ndevoted worshipper of the goddess Kali, who, through his wife's\nintercession, might be prevailed upon to give life to the dead\nchild. He, accordingly, set out on a journey to the town in which\nhis wife was living in her father's house. Adjoining that house there\nwas a garden where upon a tree he hung the dead child wrapped up in\na towel. His wife was overjoyed to see her husband after so long a\ntime; but to her surprise she found that he was very melancholy, that\nhe spoke very little, and that he was brooding over something in his\nmind. She asked the reason of his melancholy, but he kept quiet. One\nnight while they were lying together in bed, the wife got up and\nopening the door went out. The husband, who had little sleep any night\nin consequence of the weight of anxiety regarding the reanimation of\nhis friend's child, perceiving his wife go out at that dead hour of\nnight, determined to follow her without being noticed. She went to a\ntemple of the goddess Kali, which was at no great distance from her\nhouse. She worshipped the goddess with flowers and sandal-wood perfume,\nand said, \"O mother Kali! have mercy upon me, and deliver me out of\nall my troubles.\" The goddess replied, \"Why, what further grievance\nhave you? You long prayed for the return of your husband, and he has\nreturned; what aileth thee now?\" The woman answered, \"True, O Mother,\nmy husband has come to me, but he is very moody and melancholy,\nhardly speaks to me, takes no delight in me, only sits moping in a\ncorner.\" To which the goddess rejoined, \"Ask your husband what the\nreason of his melancholy is, and let me know it.\" The minister's son\noverheard the conversation between the goddess and his wife, but he\ndid not make his appearance; he quietly slunk away before his wife\nand went to bed. The following day the wife asked her husband of the\ncause of his melancholy; and he related all the particulars regarding\nthe killing of the infant child of the prince. Next night at the same\ndead hour the wife proceeded to Kali's temple and mentioned to the\ngoddess the reason of her husband's melancholy; on which the goddess\nsaid, \"Bring the child here and I will restore it to life.\" On the\nsucceeding night the child was produced before the goddess Kali,\nand she called it back to life. Entranced with joy, the minister's\nson took up the reanimated child, went as fast as his legs could\ncarry him to the prince and princess, and presented to them their\nchild alive and well. They all rejoiced with exceeding great joy,\nand lived together happily till the day of their death.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nTHE INDIGENT BRAHMAN\n\n\nThere was a Brahman who had a wife and four children. He was\nvery poor. With no resources in the world, he lived chiefly on the\nbenefactions of the rich. His gains were considerable when marriages\nwere celebrated or funeral ceremonies were performed; but as his\nparishioners did not marry every day, neither did they die every\nday, he found it difficult to make the two ends meet. His wife\noften rebuked him for his inability to give her adequate support,\nand his children often went about naked and hungry. But though poor\nhe was a good man. He was diligent in his devotions; and there was\nnot a single day in his life in which he did not say his prayers at\nstated hours. His tutelary deity was the goddess Durga, the consort\nof Siva, the creative Energy of the Universe. On no day did he either\ndrink water or taste food till he had written in red ink the name\nof Durga at least one hundred and eight times; while throughout the\nday he incessantly uttered the ejaculation, \"O Durga! O Durga! have\nmercy upon me.\" Whenever he felt anxious on account of his poverty\nand his inability to support his wife and children, he groaned\nout--\"Durga! Durga! Durga!\"\n\nOne day, being very sad, he went to a forest many miles distant\nfrom the village in which he lived, and indulging his grief wept\nbitter tears. He prayed in the following manner:--\"O Durga! O Mother\nBhagavati! wilt thou not make an end of my misery? Were I alone in\nthe world, I should not have been sad on account of poverty; but thou\nhast given me a wife and children. Give me, O Mother, the means to\nsupport them.\" It so happened that on that day and on that very spot\nthe god Siva and his wife Durga were taking their morning walk. The\ngoddess Durga, on seeing the Brahman at a distance, said to her divine\nhusband--\"O Lord of Kailas! do you see that Brahman? He is always\ntaking my name on his lips and offering the prayer that I should\ndeliver him out of his troubles. Can we not, my lord, do something\nfor the poor Brahman, oppressed as he is with the cares of a growing\nfamily? We should give him enough to make him comfortable. As the\npoor man and his family have never enough to eat, I propose that you\ngive him a handi [7] which should yield him an inexhaustible supply\nof mudki.\" [8] The lord of Kailas readily agreed to the proposal of\nhis divine consort, and by his decree created on the spot a handi\npossessing the required quality. Durga then, calling the Brahman\nto her, said,--\"O Brahman! I have often thought of your pitiable\ncase. Your repeated prayers have at last moved my compassion. Here is\na handi for you. When you turn it upside down and shake it, it will\npour down a never-ceasing shower of the finest mudki, which will not\nend till you restore the handi to its proper position. Yourself,\nyour wife, and your children can eat as much mudki as you like,\nand you can also sell as much as you like.\" The Brahman, delighted\nbeyond measure at obtaining so inestimable a treasure, made obeisance\nto the goddess, and, taking the handi in his hand, proceeded towards\nhis house as fast as his legs could carry him. But he had not gone\nmany yards when he thought of testing the efficacy of the wonderful\nvessel. Accordingly he turned the handi upside down and shook it, when,\nlo, and behold! a quantity of the finest mudki he had ever seen fell\nto the ground. He tied the sweetmeat in his sheet and walked on. It\nwas now noon, and the Brahman was hungry; but he could not eat without\nhis ablutions and his prayers. As he saw in the way an inn, and not\nfar from it a tank, he purposed to halt there that he might bathe,\nsay his prayers, and then eat the much-desired mudki. The Brahman\nsat at the innkeeper's shop, put the handi near him, smoked tobacco,\nbesmeared his body with mustard oil, and before proceeding to bathe\nin the adjacent tank gave the handi in charge to the innkeeper,\nbegging him again and again to take especial care of it.\n\nWhen the Brahman went to his bath and his devotions, the innkeeper\nthought it strange that he should be so careful as to the safety of\nhis earthen vessel. There must be something valuable in the handi,\nhe thought, otherwise why should the Brahman take so much thought\nabout it? His curiosity being excited he opened the handi, and to his\nsurprise found that it contained nothing. What can be the meaning of\nthis? thought the innkeeper within himself. Why should the Brahman\ncare so much for an empty handi? He took up the vessel, and began\nto examine it carefully; and when, in the course of examination, he\nturned the handi upside down, a quantity of the finest mudki fell\nfrom it, and went on falling without intermission. The innkeeper\ncalled his wife and children to witness this unexpected stroke of good\nfortune. The showers of the sugared fried paddy were so copious that\nthey filled all the vessels and jars of the innkeeper. He resolved\nto appropriate to himself this precious handi, and accordingly put in\nits place another handi of the same size and make. The ablutions and\ndevotions of the Brahman being now over, he came to the shop in wet\nclothes reciting holy texts of the Vedas. Putting on dry clothes,\nhe wrote on a sheet of paper the name of Durga one hundred and\neight times in red ink; after which he broke his fast on the mudki\nhis handi had already given him. Thus refreshed, and being about\nto resume his journey homewards, he called for his handi, which the\ninnkeeper delivered to him, adding--\"There, sir, is your handi; it is\njust where you put it; no one has touched it.\" The Brahman, without\nsuspecting anything, took up the handi and proceeded on his journey;\nand as he walked on, he congratulated himself on his singular good\nfortune. \"How agreeably,\" he thought within himself, \"will my poor\nwife be surprised! How greedily the children will devour the mudki\nof heaven's own manufacture! I shall soon become rich, and lift up\nmy head with the best of them all.\" The pains of travelling were\nconsiderably alleviated by these joyful anticipations. He reached his\nhouse, and calling his wife and children, said--\"Look now at what I\nhave brought. This handi that you see is an unfailing source of wealth\nand contentment. You will see what a stream of the finest mudki will\nflow from it when I turn it upside down.\" The Brahman's good wife,\nhearing of mudki falling from the handi unceasingly, thought that her\nhusband must have gone mad; and she was confirmed in her opinion when\nshe found that nothing fell from the vessel though it was turned upside\ndown again and again. Overwhelmed with grief, the Brahman concluded\nthat the innkeeper must have played a trick with him; he must have\nstolen the handi Durga had given him, and put a common one in its\nstead. He went back the next day to the innkeeper, and charged him\nwith having changed his handi. The innkeeper put on a fit of anger,\nexpressed surprise at the Brahman's impudence in charging him with\ntheft, and drove him away from his shop.\n\nThe Brahman then bethought himself of an interview with the goddess\nDurga who had given him the handi, and accordingly went to the forest\nwhere he had met her. Siva and Durga again favoured the Brahman\nwith an interview. Durga said--\"So, you have lost the handi I gave\nyou. Here is another, take it and make good use of it.\" The Brahman,\nelated with joy, made obeisance to the divine couple, took up the\nvessel, and went on his way. He had not gone far when he turned it\nupside down, and shook it in order to see whether any mudki would\nfall from it. Horror of horrors! instead of sweetmeats about a score\nof demons, of gigantic size and grim visage, jumped out of the handi,\nand began to belabour the astonished Brahman with blows, fisticuffs and\nkicks. He had the presence of mind to turn up the handi and to cover\nit, when the demons forthwith disappeared. He concluded that this new\nhandi had been given him only for the punishment of the innkeeper. He\naccordingly went to the innkeeper, gave him the new handi in charge,\nbegged of him carefully to keep it till he returned from his ablutions\nand prayers. The innkeeper, delighted with this second godsend, called\nhis wife and children, and said--\"This is another handi brought here by\nthe same Brahman who brought the handi of mudki. This time, I hope, it\nis not mudki but sandesa. [9] Come, be ready with baskets and vessels,\nand I'll turn the handi upside down and shake it.\" This was no sooner\ndone than scores of fierce demons started up, who caught hold of the\ninnkeeper and his family and belaboured them mercilessly. They also\nbegan upsetting the shop, and would have completely destroyed it,\nif the victims had not besought the Brahman, who had by this time\nreturned from his ablutions, to show mercy to them and send away\nthe terrible demons. The Brahman acceded to the innkeeper's request,\nhe dismissed the demons by shutting up the vessel; he got the former\nhandi, and with the two handis went to his native village.\n\nOn reaching home the Brahman shut the door of his house, turned the\nmudki-handi upside down, and shook it; the result was an unceasing\nstream of the finest mudki that any confectioner in the country\ncould produce. The man, his wife, and their children devoured the\nsweetmeat to their hearts' content; all the available earthen pots\nand pans of the house were filled with it; and the Brahman resolved\nthe next day to turn confectioner, to open a shop in his house, and\nsell mudki. On the very day the shop was opened, the whole village\ncame to the Brahman's house to buy the wonderful mudki. They had never\nseen such mudki in their life, it was so sweet, so white, so large, so\nluscious; no confectioner in the village or any town in the country had\never manufactured anything like it. The reputation of the Brahman's\nmudki extended, in a few days, beyond the bounds of the village,\nand people came from remote parts to purchase it. Cartloads of the\nsweetmeat were sold every day, and the Brahman in a short time became\nvery rich. He built a large brick house, and lived like a nobleman\nof the land. Once, however, his property was about to go to wreck\nand ruin. His children one day by mistake shook the wrong handi,\nwhen a large number of demons dropped down and caught hold of the\nBrahman's wife and children and were striking them mercilessly, when\nhappily the Brahman came into the house and turned up the handi. In\norder to prevent a similar catastrophe in future, the Brahman shut up\nthe demon-handi in a private room to which his children had no access.\n\nPure and uninterrupted prosperity, however, is not the lot of mortals;\nand though the demon-handi was put aside, what security was there\nthat an accident might not befall the mudki-handi? One day, during\nthe absence of the Brahman and his wife from the house, the children\ndecided upon shaking the handi; but as each of them wished to enjoy\nthe pleasure of shaking it there was a general struggle to get it, and\nin the melee the handi fell to the ground and broke. It is needless to\nsay that the Brahman, when on reaching home he heard of the disaster,\nbecame inexpressibly sad. The children were of course well cudgelled,\nbut no flogging of children could replace the magical handi. After some\ndays he again went to the forest, and offered many a prayer for Durga's\nfavour. At last Siva and Durga again appeared to him, and heard how\nthe handi had been broken. Durga gave him another handi, accompanied\nwith the following caution--\"Brahman, take care of this handi; if you\nagain break it or lose it, I'll not give you another.\" The Brahman\nmade obeisance, and went away to his house at one stretch without\nhalting anywhere. On reaching home he shut the door of his house,\ncalled his wife to him, turned the handi upside down, and began to\nshake it. They were only expecting mudki to drop from it, but instead\nof mudki a perennial stream of beautiful sandesa issued from it. And\nsuch sandesa! No confectioner of Burra Bazar ever made its like. It\nwas more the food of gods than of men. The Brahman forthwith set up\na shop for selling sandesa, the fame of which soon drew crowds of\ncustomers from all parts of the country. At all festivals, at all\nmarriage feasts, at all funeral celebrations, at all Pujas, no one\nbought any other sandesa than the Brahman's. Every day, and every\nhour, many jars of gigantic size, filled with the delicious sweetmeat,\nwere sent to all parts of the country.\n\nThe wealth of the Brahman excited the envy of the Zemindar of the\nvillage, who, having heard that the sandesa was not manufactured but\ndropped from a handi, devised a plan for getting possession of the\nmiraculous vessel. At the celebration of his son's marriage he held\na great feast, to which were invited hundreds of people. As many\nmountain-loads of sandesa would be required for the purpose, the\nZemindar proposed that the Brahman should bring the magical handi to\nthe house in which the feast was held. The Brahman at first refused\nto take it there; but as the Zemindar insisted on its being carried\nto his own house, he reluctantly consented to take it there. After\nmany Himalayas of sandesa had been shaken out, the handi was taken\npossession of by the Zemindar, and the Brahman was insulted and driven\nout of the house. The Brahman, without giving vent to anger in the\nleast, quietly went to his house, and taking the demon-handi in his\nhand, came back to the door of the Zemindar's house. He turned the\nhandi upside down and shook it, on which a hundred demons started up\nas from the vasty deep and enacted a scene which it is impossible to\ndescribe. The hundreds of guests that had been bidden to the feast\nwere caught hold of by the unearthly visitants and beaten; the women\nwere dragged by their hair from the Zenana and dashed about amongst\nthe men; while the big and burly Zemindar was driven about from room\nto room like a bale of cotton. If the demons had been allowed to do\ntheir will only for a few minutes longer, all the men would have been\nkilled, and the very house razed to the ground. The Zemindar fell\nprostrate at the feet of the Brahman and begged for mercy. Mercy was\nshown him, and the demons were removed. After that the Brahman was\nno more disturbed by the Zemindar or by any one else; and he lived\nmany years in great happiness and enjoyment.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE STORY OF THE RAKSHASAS\n\n\nThere was a poor half-witted Brahman who had a wife but no children. It\nwas only with difficulty he could supply the wants of himself and his\nwife. And the worst of it was that he was rather lazily inclined. He\nwas averse to taking long journeys, otherwise he might always have\nhad enough, in the shape of presents from rich men, to enable him\nand his wife to live comfortably. There was at that time a king in a\nneighbouring country who was celebrating the funeral obsequies of his\nmother with great pomp. Brahmans and beggars were going from different\nparts with the expectation of receiving rich presents. Our Brahman was\nrequested by his wife to seize this opportunity and get a little money;\nbut his constitutional indolence stood in the way. The woman, however,\ngave her husband no rest till she extorted from him the promise that\nhe would go. The good woman, accordingly, cut down a plantain tree\nand burnt it to ashes, with which ashes she cleaned the clothes of\nher husband, and made them as white as any fuller could make them. She\ndid this because her husband was going to the palace of a great king,\nwho could not be approached by men clothed in dirty rags; besides,\nas a Brahman, he was bound to appear neat and clean. The Brahman at\nlast one morning left his house for the palace of the great king. As\nhe was somewhat imbecile, he did not inquire of any one which road\nhe should take; but he went on and on, and proceeded whithersoever\nhis two eyes directed him. He was of course not on the right road,\nindeed he had reached a region where he did not meet with a single\nhuman being for many miles, and where he saw sights which he had\nnever seen in his life. He saw hillocks of cowries (shells used as\nmoney) on the roadside: he had not proceeded far from them when he\nsaw hillocks of pice, then successively hillocks of four-anna pieces,\nhillocks of eight-anna pieces, and hillocks of rupees. To the infinite\nsurprise of the poor Brahman, these hillocks of shining silver coins\nwere succeeded by a large hill of burnished gold-mohurs, which were\nall as bright as if they had been just issued from the mint. Close\nto this hill of gold-mohurs was a large house which seemed to be\nthe palace of a powerful and rich king, at the door of which stood\na lady of exquisite beauty. The lady, seeing the Brahman, said,\n\"Come, my beloved husband; you married me when I was young, and\nyou never came once after our marriage, though I have been daily\nexpecting you. Blessed be this day which has made me see the face of\nmy husband. Come, my sweet, come in, wash your feet and rest after the\nfatigues of your journey; eat and drink, and after that we shall make\nourselves merry.\" The Brahman was astonished beyond measure. He had\nno recollection of having been married in early youth to any other\nwoman than the woman who was now keeping house with him. But being\na Kulin Brahman, he thought it was quite possible that his father\nhad got him married when he was a little child, though the fact had\nmade no impression on his mind. But whether he remembered it or not,\nthe fact was certain, for the woman declared that she was his wedded\nwife,--and such a wife! as beautiful as the goddesses of Indra's\nheaven, and no doubt as wealthy as she was beautiful. While these\nthoughts were passing through the Brahman's mind, the lady said again,\n\"Are you doubting in your mind whether I am your wife? Is it possible\nthat all recollection of that happy event has been effaced from your\nmind--all the pomp and circumstance of our nuptials? Come in, beloved;\nthis is your own house, for whatever is mine is thine.\" The Brahman\nsuccumbed to the loving entreaties of the fair lady, and went into the\nhouse. The house was not an ordinary one--it was a magnificent palace,\nall the apartments being large and lofty and richly furnished. But one\nthing surprised the Brahman very much, and that was that there was\nno other person in the house besides the lady herself. He could not\naccount for so singular a phenomenon; neither could he explain how\nit was that he did not meet with any human being in his morning and\nevening walks. The fact was that the lady was not a human being. She\nwas a Rakshasi. [10] She had eaten up the king, the queen, and all\nthe members of the royal family, and gradually all his subjects. This\nwas the reason why human beings were not seen in those parts.\n\nThe Rakshasi and the Brahman lived together for about a week, when\nthe former said to the latter, \"I am very anxious to see my sister,\nyour other wife. You must go and fetch her, and we shall all live\ntogether happily in this large and beautiful house. You must go early\nto-morrow, and I will give you clothes and jewels for her.\" Next\nmorning the Brahman, furnished with fine clothes and costly ornaments,\nset out for his home. The poor woman was in great distress; all the\nBrahmans and Pandits that had been to the funeral ceremony of the\nking's mother had returned home loaded with largesses; but her husband\nhad not returned,--and no one could give any news of him, for no one\nhad seen him there. The woman therefore concluded that he must have\nbeen murdered on the road by highwaymen. She was in this terrible\nsuspense, when one day she heard a rumour in the village that her\nhusband was seen coming home with fine clothes and costly jewels for\nhis wife. And sure enough the Brahman soon appeared with his valuable\nload. On seeing his wife the Brahman thus accosted her:--\"Come with\nme, my dearest wife; I have found my first wife. She lives in a\nstately palace, near which are hillocks of rupees and a large hill\nof gold-mohurs. Why should you pine away in wretchedness and misery\nin this horrible place? Come with me to the house of my first wife,\nand we shall all live together happily.\" When the woman heard her\nhusband speak of his first wife, of hillocks of rupees and of a hill\nof gold-mohurs, she thought in her mind that her half-witted good man\nhad become quite mad; but when she saw the exquisitely beautiful silks\nand satins and the ornaments set with diamonds and precious stones,\nwhich only queens and princesses were in the habit of putting on,\nshe concluded in her mind that her poor husband had fallen into the\nmeshes of a Rakshasi. The Brahman, however, insisted on his wife's\ngoing with him, and declared that if she did not come she was at\nliberty to pine away in poverty, but that for himself he meant to\nreturn forthwith to his first and rich wife. The good woman, after a\ngreat deal of altercation with her husband, resolved to go with him\nand judge for herself how matters stood. They set out accordingly\nthe next morning, and went by the same road on which the Brahman had\ntravelled. The woman was not a little surprised to see hillocks of\ncowries, of pice, of eight-anna pieces, of rupees, and last of all a\nlofty hill of gold-mohurs. She saw also an exceedingly beautiful lady\ncoming out of the palace hard by, and hastening towards her. The lady\nfell on the neck of the Brahman woman, wept tears of joy, and said,\n\"Welcome, beloved sister! this is the happiest day of my life! I have\nseen the face of my dearest sister!\" The party then entered the palace.\n\nWhat with the stately mansion in which he was lodged, with the most\ndelectable provisions which seemed to rise as if by enchantment, what\nwith the caresses and endearments of his two wives, the one human and\nthe other demoniac, who vied with each other in making him happy and\ncomfortable, the Brahman had a jolly time of it. He was steeped as\nit were in an ocean of enjoyment. Some fifteen or sixteen years were\nspent by the Brahman in this state of Elysian pleasure, during which\nperiod his two wives presented him with two sons. The Rakshasi's son,\nwho was the elder, and who looked more like a god than a human being,\nwas named Sahasra Dal, literally the Thousand-Branched; and the son\nof the Brahman woman, who was a year younger, was named Champa Dal,\nthat is, branch of a champaka tree. The two boys loved each other\ndearly. They were both sent to a school which was several miles\ndistant, to which they used every day to go riding on two little\nponies of extraordinary fleetness.\n\nThe Brahman woman had all along suspected from a thousand little\ncircumstances that her sister-in-law was not a human being but a\nRakshasi; but her suspicion had not yet ripened into certainty, for\nthe Rakshasi exercised great self-restraint on herself, and never\ndid anything which human beings did not do. But the demoniac nature,\nlike murder, will out. The Brahman having nothing to do, in order\nto pass his time had recourse to hunting. The first day he returned\nfrom the hunt, he had bagged an antelope. The antelope was laid in the\ncourtyard of the palace. At the sight of the antelope the mouth of the\nraw-eating Rakshasi began to water. Before the animal was dressed for\nthe kitchen, she took it away into a room, and began devouring it. The\nBrahman woman, who was watching the whole scene from a secret place,\nsaw her Rakshasi sister tear off a leg of the antelope, and opening her\ntremendous jaws, which seemed to her imagination to extend from earth\nto heaven, swallow it up. In this manner the body and other limbs of\nthe antelope were devoured, till only a little bit of the meat was\nkept for the kitchen. The second day another antelope was bagged,\nand the third day another; and the Rakshasi, unable to restrain her\nappetite for raw flesh, devoured these two as she had devoured the\nfirst. On the third day the Brahman woman expressed to the Rakshasi her\nsurprise at the disappearance of nearly the whole of the antelope with\nthe exception of a little bit. The Rakshasi looked fierce and said,\n\"Do I eat raw flesh?\" To which the Brahman woman replied, \"Perhaps you\ndo, for aught I know to the contrary.\" The Rakshasi, knowing herself\nto be discovered, looked fiercer than before, and vowed revenge. The\nBrahman woman concluded in her mind that the doom of herself, of\nher husband, and of her son was sealed. She spent a miserable night,\nbelieving that next day she would be killed and eaten up, and that her\nhusband and son would share the same fate. Early next morning, before\nher son Champa Dal went to school, she gave him in a small golden\nvessel a little quantity of her own breast milk, and told him to be\nconstantly watching its colour. \"Should you,\" she said, \"see the milk\nget a little red, then conclude that your father has been killed; and\nshould you see it grow still redder, then conclude that I am killed:\nwhen you see this, gallop away for your life as fast as your horse\ncan carry you, for if you do not, you also will be devoured.\"\n\nThe Rakshasi on getting up from bed--and she had prevented the Brahman\novernight from having any communication with his wife--proposed that\nshe and the Brahman should go to bathe in the river, which was at\nsome distance. She would take no denial; the Brahman had therefore\nto follow her as meekly as a lamb. The Brahman woman at once saw from\nthe proposal that ruin was impending; but it was beyond her power to\navert the catastrophe. The Rakshasi, on the river-side, assuming her\nown proper gigantic dimensions, took hold of the ill-fated Brahman,\ntore him limb by limb, and devoured him up. She then ran to her house,\nand seized the Brahman woman, and put her into her capacious stomach,\nclothes, hair and all. Young Champa Dal, who, agreeably to his mother's\ninstructions, was diligently watching the milk in the small golden\nvessel, was horror-struck to find the milk redden a little. He set\nup a cry and said that his father was killed; a few minutes after,\nfinding the milk become completely red, he cried yet louder, and\nrushing to his pony, mounted it. His half-brother, Sahasra Dal,\nsurprised at Champa Dal's conduct, said, \"Where are you going,\nChampa? Why are you crying? Let me accompany you.\" \"Oh! do not come\nto me. Your mother has devoured my father and mother; don't you come\nand devour me.\" \"I will not devour you; I'll save you.\" Scarcely\nhad he uttered these words and galloped away after Champa Dal, when\nhe saw his mother in her own Rakshasi form appearing at a distance,\nand demanding that Champa Dal should come to her. He said, \"I will\ncome to you, not Champa.\" So saying, he went to his mother, and with\nhis sword, which he always wore as a young prince, cut off her head.\n\nChampa Dal had, in the meantime, galloped off a good distance, as\nhe was running for his life; but Sahasra Dal, by pricking his horse\nrepeatedly, soon overtook him, and told him that his mother was no\nmore. This was small consolation to Champa Dal, as the Rakshasi,\nbefore being killed, had devoured both his father and mother; still\nhe could not but feel that Sahasra Dal's friendship was sincere. They\nboth rode fast, and as their horses were of the breed of pakshirajes\n(literally, kings of birds), they travelled over hundreds of miles. An\nhour or two before sundown they descried a village, to which they made\nup, and became guests in the house of one of its most respectable\ninhabitants. The two friends found the members of that respectable\nfamily in deep gloom. Evidently there was something agitating them\nvery much. Some of them held private consultations, and others were\nweeping. The eldest lady of the house, the mother of its head, said\naloud, \"Let me go, as I am the eldest. I have lived long enough;\nat the utmost my life would be cut short only by a year or two.\" The\nyoungest member of the house, who was a little girl, said, \"Let me\ngo, as I am young and useless to the family; if I die I shall not be\nmissed.\" The head of the house, the son of the old lady, said, \"I am\nthe head and representative of the family; it is but reasonable that\nI should give up my life.\" His younger brother said, \"You are the main\nprop and pillar of the family; if you go the whole family is ruined. It\nis not reasonable that you should go; let me go, as I shall not be\nmuch missed.\" The two strangers listened to all this conversation\nwith no little curiosity. They wondered what it all meant. Sahasra\nDal at last, at the risk of being thought meddlesome, ventured to\nask the head of the house the subject of their consultations, and\nthe reason of the deep misery but too visible in their countenances\nand words. The head of the house gave the following answer: \"Know\nthen, worthy guests, that this part of the country is infested by a\nterrible Rakshasi, who has depopulated all the regions round. This\ntown, too, would have been depopulated, but that our king became a\nsuppliant before the Rakshasi, and begged her to show mercy to us his\nsubjects. The Rakshasi replied, 'I will consent to show mercy to you\nand to your subjects only on this condition, that you every night put\na human being, either male or female, in a certain temple for me to\nfeast upon. If I get a human being every night I will rest satisfied,\nand not commit any further depredations on your subjects.' Our king\nhad no other alternative than to agree to this condition, for what\nhuman beings can ever hope to contend against a Rakshasi? From that\nday the king made it a rule that every family in the town should in\nits turn send one of its members to the temple as a victim to appease\nthe wrath and to satisfy the hunger of the terrible Rakshasi. All the\nfamilies in this neighbourhood have had their turn, and this night\nit is the turn for one of us to devote himself to destruction. We are\ntherefore discussing who should go. You must now perceive the cause of\nour distress.\" The two friends consulted together for a few minutes,\nand at the conclusion of their consultations, Sahasra Dal, who was the\nspokesman of the party, said, \"Most worthy host, do not any longer be\nsad: as you have been very kind to us, we have resolved to requite\nyour hospitality by ourselves going to the temple and becoming the\nfood of the Rakshasi. We go as your representatives.\" The whole\nfamily protested against the proposal. They declared that guests\nwere like gods, and that it was the duty of the host to endure all\nsorts of privation for the comfort of the guest, and not the duty of\nthe guest to suffer for the host. But the two strangers insisted on\nstanding proxy to the family, who, after a great deal of yea and nay,\nat last consented to the arrangement.\n\nImmediately after candle-light, Sahasra Dal and Champa Dal, with\ntheir two horses, installed themselves in the temple, and shut the\ndoor. Sahasra told his brother to go to sleep, as he himself was\ndetermined to sit up the whole night and watch against the coming of\nthe terrible Rakshasi. Champa was soon in a fine sleep, while Sahasra\nlay awake. Nothing happened during the early hours of the night, but\nno sooner had the gong of the king's palace announced the dead hour\nof midnight than Sahasra heard the sound as of a rushing tempest,\nand immediately concluded, from his knowledge of Rakshasas, that\nthe Rakshasi was nigh. A thundering knock was heard at the door,\naccompanied with the following words:--\n\n\n \"How, mow, khow!\n A human being I smell;\n Who watches inside?\"\n\n\nTo this question Sahasra Dal made the following reply:--\n\n\n \"Sahasra Dal watcheth,\n Champa Dal watcheth,\n Two winged horses watch.\"\n\n\nOn hearing this answer the Rakshasi turned away with a groan, knowing\nthat Sahasra Dal had Rakshasa blood in his veins. An hour after,\nthe Rakshasi returned, thundered at the door, and called out--\n\n\n \"How, mow, khow!\n A human being I smell;\n Who watcheth inside?\"\n\n\nSahasra Dal again replied--\n\n\n \"Sahasra Dal watcheth,\n Champa Dal watcheth,\n Two winged horses watch.\"\n\n\nThe Rakshasi again groaned and went away. At two o'clock and at three\no'clock the Rakshasi again and again made her appearance, and made\nthe usual inquiry, and obtaining the same answer, went away with a\ngroan. After three o'clock, however, Sahasra Dal felt very sleepy:\nhe could not any longer keep awake. He therefore roused Champa,\ntold him to watch, and strictly enjoined upon him, in reply to the\nquery of the Rakshasi, to mention Sahasra's name first. With these\ninstructions he went to sleep. At four o'clock the Rakshasi again\nmade her appearance, thundered at the door, and said--\n\n\n \"How, mow, khow!\n A human being I smell;\n Who watches inside?\"\n\n\nAs Champa Dal was in a terrible fright, he forgot the instructions\nof his brother for the moment, and answered--\n\n\n \"Champa Dal watcheth,\n Sahasra Dal watcheth,\n Two winged horses watch.\"\n\n\nOn hearing this reply the Rakshasi uttered a shout of exultation,\nlaughed such a laugh as only demons can, and with a dreadful noise\nbroke open the door. The noise roused Sahasra, who in a moment\nsprung to his feet, and with his sword, which was as supple as a\npalm-leaf, cut off the head of the Rakshasi. The huge mountain of a\nbody fell to the ground, making a great noise, and lay covering many\nan acre. Sahasra Dal kept the severed head of the Rakshasi near him,\nand went to sleep. Early in the morning some wood-cutters, who were\npassing near the temple, saw the huge body on the ground. They could\nnot from a distance make out what it was, but on coming near they\nknew that it was the carcase of the terrible Rakshasi, who had by\nher voracity nearly depopulated the country. Remembering the promise\nmade by the king that the killer of the Rakshasi should be rewarded\nby the hand of his daughter and with a share of the kingdom, each of\nthe wood-cutters, seeing no claimant at hand, thought of obtaining\nthe reward. Accordingly each of them cut off a part of a limb of the\nhuge carcase, went to the king, and represented himself to be the\ndestroyer of the great raw-eater, and claimed the reward. The king,\nin order to find out the real hero and deliverer, inquired of his\nminister the name of the family whose turn it was on the preceding\nnight to offer a victim to the Rakshasi. The head of that family, on\nbeing brought before the king, related how two youthful travellers,\nwho were guests in his house, volunteered to go into the temple\nin the room of a member of his family. The door of the temple was\nbroken open; Sahasra Dal and Champa Dal and their horses were found\nall safe; and the head of the Rakshasi, which was with them, proved\nbeyond the shadow of a doubt that they had killed the monster. The\nking kept his word. He gave his daughter in marriage to Sahasra Dal\nand the sovereignty of half his dominions. Champa Dal remained with\nhis friend in the king's palace, and rejoiced in his prosperity.\n\nSahasra Dal and Champa Dal lived together happily for some time, when\na misunderstanding arose between them in this wise. There was in the\nservice of the queen-mother a certain maid-servant who was the most\nuseful domestic in the palace. There was nothing which she could not\nput her hands to and perform. She had uncommon strength for a woman;\nneither was her intelligence of a mean order. She was a woman of\nimmense activity and energy; and if she were absent one day from the\npalace, the affairs of the zenana would be in perfect disorder. Hence\nher services were highly valued by the queen-mother and all the ladies\nof the palace. But this woman was not a woman; she was a Rakshasi, who\nhad put on the appearance of a woman to serve some purposes of her own,\nand then taken service in the royal household. At night, when every\none in the palace was asleep, she used to assume her own real form, and\ngo about in quest of food, for the quantity of food that is sufficient\nfor either man or woman was not sufficient for a Rakshasi. Now Champa\nDal, having no wife, was in the habit of sleeping outside the zenana,\nand not far from the outer gate of the palace. He had noticed her going\nabout on the premises and devouring sundry goats and sheep, horses and\nelephants. The maid-servant, finding that Champa Dal was in the way of\nher supper, determined to get rid of him. She accordingly went one day\nto the queen-mother, and said, \"Queen-mother! I am unable any longer\nto work in the palace.\" \"Why? what is the matter, Dasi? [11] How can\nI get on without you? Tell me your reasons. What ails you?\" \"Why,\"\nsaid the woman, \"nowadays it is impossible for a poor woman like\nme to preserve my honour in the palace. There is that Champa Dal,\nthe friend of your son-in-law; he always cracks indecent jokes with\nme. It is better for me to beg for my rice than to lose my honour. If\nChampa Dal remains in the palace I must go away.\" As the maid-servant\nwas an absolute necessity in the palace, the queen-mother resolved\nto sacrifice Champa Dal to her. She therefore told Sahasra Dal that\nChampa Dal was a bad man, that his character was loose, and that\ntherefore he must leave the palace. Sahasra Dal earnestly pleaded on\nbehalf of his friend, but in vain; the queen-mother had made up her\nmind to drive him out of the palace. Sahasra Dal had not the courage\nto speak personally to his friend on the subject; he therefore wrote\na letter to him, in which he simply said that for certain reasons\nChampa must leave the palace immediately. The letter was put in his\nroom after he had gone to bathe. On reading the letter Champa Dal,\nexceedingly grieved, mounted his fleet horse and left the palace.\n\nAs Champa's horse was uncommonly fleet, in a few hours he traversed\nthousands of miles, and at last found himself at the gateway of what\nseemed a magnificent palace. Dismounting from his horse, he entered\nthe house, where he did not meet with a single creature. He went from\napartment to apartment, but though they were all richly furnished he\ndid not see a single human being. At last, in one of the side rooms,\nhe found a young lady of heavenly beauty lying down on a splendid\nbedstead. She was asleep. Champa Dal looked upon the sleeping beauty\nwith rapture--he had not seen any woman so beautiful. Upon the bed,\nnear the head of the young lady, were two sticks, one of silver and the\nother of gold. Champa took the silver stick into his hand, and touched\nwith it the body of the lady; but no change was perceptible. He then\ntook up the gold stick and laid it upon the lady, when in a trice\nshe woke up, sat in her bed, and eyeing the stranger, inquired who\nhe was. Champa Dal briefly told his story. The young lady, or rather\nprincess--for she was nothing less--said, \"Unhappy man! why have you\ncome here? This is the country of Rakshasas, and in this house and\nround about there live no less than seven hundred Rakshasas. They\nall go away to the other side of the ocean every morning in search of\nprovisions; and they all return every evening before dusk. My father\nwas formerly king in these regions, and had millions of subjects, who\nlived in flourishing towns and cities. But some years ago the invasion\nof the Rakshasas took place, and they devoured all his subjects,\nand himself and my mother, and my brothers and sisters. They devoured\nalso all the cattle of the country. There is no living human being in\nthese regions excepting myself; and I too should long ago have been\ndevoured had not an old Rakshasi, conceiving strange affection for\nme, prevented the other Rakshasas from eating me up. You see those\nsticks of silver and gold; the old Rakshasi, when she goes away in\nthe morning, kills me with the silver stick, and on her return in\nthe evening re-animates me with the gold stick. I do not know how\nto advise you; if the Rakshasas see you, you are a dead man.\" Then\nthey both talked to each other in a very affectionate manner, and\nlaid their heads together to devise if possible some means of escape\nfrom the hands of the Rakshasas. The hour of the return of the seven\nhundred raw-eaters was fast approaching; and Keshavati--for that\nwas the name of the princess, so called from the abundance of her\nhair--told Champa to hide himself in the heaps of the sacred trefoil\nwhich were lying in the temple of Siva in the central part of the\npalace. Before Champa went to his place of concealment, he touched\nKeshavati with the silver stick, on which she instantly died.\n\nShortly after sunset Champa Dal heard from beneath the heaps of the\nsacred trefoil the sound as of a mighty rushing wind. Presently he\nheard terrible noises in the palace. The Rakshasas had come home\nfrom cruising, after having filled their stomachs, each one, with\nsundry goats, sheep, cows, horses, buffaloes, and elephants. The old\nRakshasi, of whom we have already spoken, came to Keshavati's room,\nroused her by touching her body with the gold stick, and said--\n\n\n \"Hye, mye, khye!\n A human being I smell.\"\n\n\nOn which Keshavati said, \"I am the only human being here; eat me if you\nlike.\" To which the raw-eater replied, \"Let me eat up your enemies;\nwhy should I eat you?\" She laid herself down on the ground, as long\nand as high as the Vindhya Hills, and presently fell asleep. The other\nRakshasas and Rakshasis also soon fell asleep, being all tired out on\naccount of their gigantic labours in the day. Keshavati also composed\nherself to sleep; while Champa, not daring to come out of the heaps\nof leaves, tried his best to court the god of repose. At daybreak all\nthe raw-eaters, seven hundred in number, got up and went as usual to\ntheir hunting and predatory excursions, and along with them went the\nold Rakshasi, after touching Keshavati with the silver stick. When\nChampa Dal saw that the coast was clear, he came out of the temple,\nwalked into Keshavati's room, and touched her with the gold stick,\non which she woke up. They sauntered about in the gardens, enjoying\nthe cool breeze of the morning; they bathed in a lucid tank which\nwas in the grounds; they ate and drank, and spent the day in sweet\nconverse. They concocted a plan for their deliverance. They settled\nthat Keshavati should ask the old Rakshasi on what the life of a\nRakshasa depended, and when the secret should be made known they would\nadopt measures accordingly. As on the preceding evening, Champa, after\ntouching his fair friend with the silver stick, took refuge in the\ntemple beneath the heaps of the sacred trefoil. At dusk the Rakshasas\nas usual came home; and the old Rakshasi, rousing her pet, said--\n\n\n \"Hye, mye, khye!\n A human being I smell.\"\n\n\nKeshavati answered, \"What other human being is here excepting\nmyself? Eat me up, if you like.\" \"Why should I eat you, my darling? Let\nme eat up all your enemies.\" Then she laid down on the ground her huge\nbody, which looked like a part of the Himalaya mountains. Keshavati,\nwith a phial of heated mustard oil, went towards the feet of the\nRakshasi, and said, \"Mother, your feet are sore with walking; let me\nrub them with oil.\" So saying, she began to rub with oil the Rakshasi's\nfeet; and while she was in the act of doing so, a few tear-drops from\nher eyes fell on the monster's leg. The Rakshasi smacked the tear-drops\nwith her lips, and finding the taste briny, said, \"Why are you weeping,\ndarling? What aileth thee?\" To which the princess replied, \"Mother,\nI am weeping because you are old, and when you die I shall certainly\nbe devoured by one of the Rakshasas.\" \"When I die! Know, foolish girl,\nthat we Rakshasas never die. We are not naturally immortal, but our\nlife depends on a secret which no human being can unravel. Let me\ntell you what it is that you may be comforted. You know yonder tank;\nthere is in the middle of it a Sphatikasthambha, [12] on the top of\nwhich in deep waters are two bees. If any human being can dive into\nthe waters, and bring up to land the two bees from the pillar in one\nbreath, and destroy them so that not a drop of their blood falls to\nthe ground, then we Rakshasas shall certainly die; but if a single\ndrop of blood falls to the ground, then from it will start up a\nthousand Rakshasas. But what human being will find out this secret,\nor, finding it, will be able to achieve the feat? You need not,\ntherefore, darling, be sad; I am practically immortal.\" Keshavati\ntreasured up the secret in her memory, and went to sleep.\n\nEarly next morning the Rakshasas as usual went away; Champa came\nout of his hiding-place, roused Keshavati, and fell a-talking. The\nprincess told him the secret she had learnt from the Rakshasi. Champa\nimmediately made preparations for accomplishing the mighty deed. He\nbrought to the side of the tank a knife and a quantity of ashes. He\ndisrobed himself, put a drop or two of mustard oil into each of his\nears to prevent water from entering in, and dived into the waters. In\na moment he got to the top of the crystal pillar in the middle of the\ntank, caught hold of the two bees he found there, and came up in one\nbreath. Taking the knife, he cut up the bees over the ashes, a drop\nor two of the blood fell, not on the ground, but on the ashes. When\nChampa caught hold of the bees, a terrible scream was heard at a\ndistance. This was the wailing of the Rakshasas, who were all running\nhome to prevent the bees from being killed; but before they could reach\nthe palace, the bees had perished. The moment the bees were killed,\nall the Rakshasas died, and their carcases fell on the very spot on\nwhich they were standing. Champa and the princess afterwards found\nthat the gateway of the palace was blocked up by the huge carcases\nof the Rakshasas--some of them having nearly succeeded in getting to\nthe palace. In this manner was effected the destruction of the seven\nhundred Rakshasas.\n\nAfter the destruction of the seven hundred raw-eating monsters, Champa\nDal and Keshavati got married together by the exchange of garlands of\nflowers. The princess, who had never been out of the house, naturally\nexpressed a desire to see the outer world. They used every day to\ntake long walks both morning and evening, and as a large river was\nhard by Keshavati wished to bathe in it. The first day they went to\nbathe, one of Keshavati's hairs came off, and as it is the custom\nwith women never to throw away a hair unaccompanied with something\nelse, she tied the hair to a shell which was floating on the water;\nafter which they returned home. In the meantime the shell with the hair\ntied to it floated down the stream, and in course of time reached that\nghat [13] at which Sahasra Dal and his companions were in the habit\nof performing their ablutions. The shell passed by when Sahasra Dal\nand his friends were bathing; and he, seeing it at some distance,\nsaid to them, \"Whoever succeeds in catching hold of yonder shell\nshall be rewarded with a hundred rupees.\" They all swam towards it,\nand Sahasra Dal, being the fleetest swimmer, got it. On examining\nit he found a hair tied to it. But such hair! He had never seen so\nlong a hair. It was exactly seven cubits long. \"The owner of this\nhair must be a remarkable woman, and I must see her\"--such was the\nresolution of Sahasra Dal. He went home from the river in a pensive\nmood, and instead of proceeding to the zenana for breakfast, remained\nin the outer part of the palace. The queen-mother, on hearing that\nSahasra Dal was looking melancholy and had not come to breakfast,\nwent to him and asked the reason. He showed her the hair, and said\nhe must see the woman whose head it had adorned. The queen-mother\nsaid, \"Very well, you shall have that lady in the palace as soon as\npossible. I promise you to bring her here.\" The queen-mother told her\nfavourite maid-servant, whom she knew to be full of resources--the same\nwho was a Rakshasi in disguise--that she must, as soon as possible,\nbring to the palace that lady who was the owner of the hair seven\ncubits long. The maid-servant said she would be quite able to fetch\nher. By her directions a boat was built of Hajol wood, the oars of\nwhich were of Mon Paban wood. The boat was launched on the stream,\nand she went on board of it with some baskets of wicker-work of\ncurious workmanship; she also took with her some sweetmeats into\nwhich some poison had been mixed. She snapped her fingers thrice,\nand uttered the following charm:--\n\n\n \"Boat of Hajol!\n Oars of Mon Paban!\n Take me to the Ghat,\n In which Keshavati bathes.\"\n\n\nNo sooner had the words been uttered than the boat flew like lightning\nover the waters. It went on and on, leaving behind many a town and\ncity. At last it stopped at a bathing-place, which the Rakshasi\nmaid-servant concluded was the bathing ghat of Keshavati. She landed\nwith the sweetmeats in her hand. She went to the gate of the palace,\nand cried aloud, \"O Keshavati! Keshavati! I am your aunt, your mother's\nsister. I am come to see you, my darling, after so many years. Are you\nin, Keshavati?\" The princess, on hearing these words, came out of her\nroom, and making no doubt that she was her aunt, embraced and kissed\nher. They both wept rivers of joy--at least the Rakshasi maid-servant\ndid, and Keshavati followed suit through sympathy. Champa Dal also\nthought that she was the aunt of his newly married wife. They all\nate and drank and took rest in the middle of the day. Champa Dal,\nas was his habit, went to sleep after breakfast. Towards afternoon,\nthe supposed aunt said to Keshavati, \"Let us both go to the river and\nwash ourselves.\" Keshavati replied, \"How can we go now? my husband\nis sleeping.\" \"Never mind,\" said the aunt, \"let him sleep on; let me\nput these sweetmeats, that I have brought, near his bedside, that he\nmay eat them when he gets up.\" They then went to the river-side close\nto the spot where the boat was. Keshavati, when she saw from some\ndistance the baskets of wicker-work in the boat, said, \"Aunt, what\nbeautiful things are those! I wish I could get some of them.\" \"Come,\nmy child, come and look at them; and you can have as many as you\nlike.\" Keshavati at first refused to go into the boat, but on being\npressed by her aunt, she went. The moment they two were on board,\nthe aunt snapped her fingers thrice and said:--\n\n\n \"Boat of Hajol!\n Oars of Mon Paban!\n Take me to the Ghat,\n In which Sahasra Dal bathes.\"\n\n\nAs soon as these magical words were uttered the boat moved and flew\nlike an arrow over the waters. Keshavati was frightened and began to\ncry, but the boat went on and on, leaving behind many towns and cities,\nand in a trice reached the ghat where Sahasra Dal was in the habit of\nbathing. Keshavati was taken to the palace; Sahasra Dal admired her\nbeauty and the length of her hair; and the ladies of the palace tried\ntheir best to comfort her. But she set up a loud cry, and wanted to be\ntaken back to her husband. At last when she saw that she was a captive,\nshe told the ladies of the palace that she had taken a vow that she\nwould not see the face of any strange man for six months. She was\nthen lodged apart from the rest in a small house, the window of which\noverlooked the road; there she spent the livelong day and also the\nlivelong night--for she had very little sleep--in sighing and weeping.\n\nIn the meantime when Champa Dal awoke from sleep, he was distracted\nwith grief at not finding his wife. He now thought that the woman,\nwho pretended to be his wife's aunt, was a cheat and an impostor,\nand that she must have carried away Keshavati. He did not eat the\nsweetmeats, suspecting they might be poisoned. He threw one of\nthem to a crow which, the moment it ate it, dropped down dead. He\nwas now the more confirmed in his unfavourable opinion of the\npretended aunt. Maddened with grief, he rushed out of the house,\nand determined to go whithersoever his eyes might lead him. Like a\nmadman, always blubbering \"O Keshavati! O Keshavati!\" he travelled\non foot day after day, not knowing whither he went. Six months were\nspent in this wearisome travelling when, at the end of that period, he\nreached the capital of Sahasra Dal. He was passing by the palace-gate\nwhen the sighs and wailings of a woman sitting at the window of\na house, on the road-side, attracted his attention. One moment's\nlook, and they recognised each other. They continued to hold secret\ncommunications. Champa Dal heard everything, including the story of\nher vow, the period of which was to terminate the following day. It\nis customary, on the fulfilment of a vow, for some learned Brahman\nto make public recitations of events connected with the vow and\nthe person who makes it. It was settled that Champa Dal should take\nupon himself the functions of the reciter. Accordingly, next morning,\nwhen it was proclaimed by beat of drum that the king wanted a learned\nBrahman who could recite the story of Keshavati on the fulfilment\nof her vow, Champa Dal touched the drum and said that he would make\nthe recitation. Next morning a gorgeous assembly was held in the\ncourtyard of the palace under a huge canopy of silk. The old king,\nSahasra Dal, all the courtiers and the learned Brahmans of the country,\nwere present there. Keshavati was also there behind a screen that she\nmight not be exposed to the rude gaze of the people. Champa Dal, the\nreciter, sitting on a dais, began the story of Keshavati, as we have\nrelated it, from the beginning, commencing with the words--\"There\nwas a poor and half-witted Brahman, etc.\" As he was going on with\nthe story, the reciter every now and then asked Keshavati behind the\nscreen whether the story was correct; to which question she as often\nreplied, \"Quite correct; go on, Brahman.\" During the recitation of\nthe story the Rakshasi maid-servant grew pale, as she perceived that\nher real character was discovered; and Sahasra Dal was astonished\nat the knowledge of the reciter regarding the history of his own\nlife. The moment the story was finished, Sahasra Dal jumped up from\nhis seat, and embracing the reciter, said, \"You can be none other\nthan my brother Champa Dal.\" Then the prince, inflamed with rage,\nordered the maid-servant into his presence. A large hole, as deep\nas the height of a man, was dug in the ground; the maid-servant was\nput into it in a standing posture; prickly thorn was heaped around\nher up to the crown of her head: in this wise was the maid-servant\nburied alive. After this Sahasra Dal and his princess, and Champa\nDal and Keshavati, lived happily together many years.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE STORY OF SWET-BASANTA\n\n\nThere was a rich merchant who had an only son whom he loved\npassionately. He gave to his son whatever he wanted. His son wanted\na beautiful house in the midst of a large garden. The house was built\nfor him, and the grounds were laid out into a fine garden. One day as\nthe merchant's son was walking in his garden, he put his hand into\nthe nest of a small bird called toontooni, and found in it an egg,\nwhich he took and put in an almirah which was dug into the wall of\nhis house. He closed the door of the almirah, and thought no more of\nthe egg.\n\nThough the merchant's son had a house of his own, he had no separate\nestablishment; at any rate he kept no cook, for his mother used to\nsend him regularly his breakfast and dinner every day. The egg which\nhe deposited in the wall-almirah one day burst, and out of it came a\nbeautiful infant, a girl. But the merchant's son knew nothing about\nit. He had forgotten everything about the egg, and the door of the\nwall-almirah had been kept closed, though not locked, ever since the\nday the egg was put there. The child grew up within the wall-almirah\nwithout the knowledge of the merchant's son or of any one else. When\nthe child could walk, it had the curiosity one day to open the door;\nand seeing some food on the floor (the breakfast of the merchant's son\nsent by his mother), it came out, and ate a little of it, and returned\nto its cell in the wall-almirah. As the mother of the merchant's\nson sent him always more than he could himself eat, he perceived no\ndiminution in the quantity. The girl of the wall-almirah used every\nday to come out and eat a part of the food, and after eating used\nto return to her place in the almirah. But as the girl got older and\nolder, she began to eat more and more; hence the merchant's son began\nto perceive a diminution in the quantity of his food. Not dreaming of\nthe existence of the wall-almirah girl, he wondered that his mother\nshould send him such a small quantity of food. He sent word to his\nmother, complaining of the insufficiency of his meals, and of the\nslovenly manner in which the food was served up in the dish; for the\ngirl of the wall-almirah used to finger the rice, curry, and other\narticles of food, and as she always went in a hurry back into the\nalmirah that she might not be perceived by any one, she had no time\nto put the rice and the other things into proper order after she had\neaten part of them. The mother was astonished at her son's complaint,\nfor she gave always a much larger quantity than she knew her son could\nconsume, and the food was served up on a silver plate neatly by her\nown hand. But as her son repeated the same complaint day after day,\nshe began to suspect foul play. She told her son to watch and see\nwhether any one ate part of it unperceived. Accordingly, one day when\nthe servant brought the breakfast and laid it in a clean place on the\nfloor, the merchant's son, instead of going to bathe as it had hitherto\nbeen his custom, hid himself in a secret place and began to watch. In\na few minutes he saw the door of the wall-almirah open; a beautiful\ndamsel of sweet sixteen stepped out of it, sat on the carpet spread\nbefore the breakfast, and began to eat. The merchant's son came out\nof his hiding-place, and the damsel could not escape. \"Who are you,\nbeautiful creature? You do not seem to be earth-born. Are you one\nof the daughters of the gods?\" asked the merchant's son. The girl\nreplied, \"I do not know who I am. This I know, that one day I found\nmyself in yonder almirah, and have been ever since living in it.\" The\nmerchant's son thought it strange. He now remembered that sixteen years\nbefore he had put in the almirah an egg he had found in the nest of\na toontooni bird. The uncommon beauty of the wall-almirah girl made\na deep impression on the mind of the merchant's son, and he resolved\nin his mind to marry her. The girl no more went into the almirah, but\nlived in one of the rooms of the spacious house of the merchant's son.\n\nThe next day the merchant's son sent word to his mother to the effect\nthat he would like to get married. His mother reproached herself\nfor not having long before thought of her son's marriage, and sent\na message to her son to the effect that she and his father would\nthe next day send ghataks [14] to different countries to seek for a\nsuitable bride. The merchant's son sent word that he had secured for\nhimself a most lovable young lady, and that if his parents had no\nobjections he would produce her before them. Accordingly the young\nlady of the wall-almirah was taken to the merchant's house; and the\nmerchant and his wife were so struck with the matchless beauty, grace,\nand loveliness of the stranger, that, without asking any questions\nas to her birth, the nuptials were celebrated.\n\nIn course of time the merchant's son had two sons; the elder he\nnamed Swet and the younger Basanta. The old merchant died and so\ndid his wife. Swet and Basanta grew up fine lads, and the elder was\nin due time married. Some time after Swet's marriage his mother,\nthe wall-almirah lady, also died, and the widower lost no time in\nmarrying a young and beautiful wife. As Swet's wife was older than\nhis stepmother, she became the mistress of the house. The stepmother,\nlike all stepmothers, hated Swet and Basanta with a perfect hatred;\nand the two ladies were naturally often at loggerheads with each other.\n\nIt so happened one day that a fisherman brought to the merchant (we\nshall no longer call him the merchant's son, as his father had died)\na fish of singular beauty. It was unlike any other fish that had\nbeen seen. The fish had marvellous qualities ascribed to it by the\nfisherman. If any one eats it, said he, when he laughs maniks [15]\nwill drop from his mouth, and when he weeps pearls will drop from his\neyes. The merchant, hearing of the wonderful properties of the fish,\nbought it at one thousand rupees, and put it into the hands of Swet's\nwife, who was the mistress of the house, strictly enjoining on her\nto cook it well and to give it to him alone to eat. The mistress,\nor house-mother, who had overheard the conversation between her\nfather-in-law and the fisherman, secretly resolved in her mind to\ngive the cooked fish to her husband and to his brother to eat, and to\ngive to her father-in-law instead a frog daintily cooked. When she had\nfinished cooking both the fish and the frog, she heard the noise of a\nsquabble between her stepmother-in-law and her husband's brother. It\nappears that Basanta, who was but a lad yet, was passionately fond\nof pigeons, which he tamed. One of these pigeons had flown into the\nroom of his stepmother, who had secreted it in her clothes. Basanta\nrushed into the room, and loudly demanded the pigeon. His stepmother\ndenied any knowledge of the pigeon, on which the elder brother,\nSwet, forcibly took out the bird from her clothes and gave it to\nhis brother. The stepmother cursed and swore, and added, \"Wait,\nwhen the head of the house comes home I will make him shed the blood\nof you both before I give him water to drink.\" Swet's wife called\nher husband and said to him, \"My dearest lord, that woman is a most\nwicked woman, and has boundless influence over my father-in-law. She\nwill make him do what she has threatened. Our life is in imminent\ndanger. Let us first eat a little, and let us all three run away\nfrom this place.\" Swet forthwith called Basanta to him, and told him\nwhat he had heard from his wife. They resolved to run away before\nnightfall. The woman placed before her husband and her brother-in-law\nthe fish of wonderful properties, and they ate of it heartily. The\nwoman packed up all her jewels in a box. As there was only one horse,\nand it was of uncommon fleetness, the three sat upon it; Swet held\nthe reins, the woman sat in the middle with the jewel-box in her lap,\nand Basanta brought up the rear.\n\nThe horse galloped with the utmost swiftness. They passed through\nmany a plain and many a noted town, till after midnight they found\nthemselves in a forest not far from the bank of a river. Here\nthe most untoward event took place. Swet's wife began to feel the\npains of child-birth. They dismounted, and in an hour or two Swet's\nwife gave birth to a son. What were the two brothers to do in this\nforest? A fire must be kindled to give heat both to the mother and\nthe new-born baby. But where was the fire to be got? There were no\nhuman habitations visible. Still fire must be procured--and it was\nthe month of December--or else both the mother and the baby would\ncertainly perish. Swet told Basanta to sit beside his wife, while he\nset out in the darkness of the night in search of fire.\n\nSwet walked many a mile in darkness. Still he saw no human\nhabitations. At last the genial light of Sukra [16] somewhat illumined\nhis path, and he saw at a distance what seemed a large city. He was\ncongratulating himself on his journey's end and on his being able to\nobtain fire for the benefit of his poor wife lying cold in the forest\nwith the new-born babe, when on a sudden an elephant, gorgeously\ncaparisoned, shot across his path, and gently taking him up by his\ntrunk, placed him on the rich howdah [17] on its back. It then walked\nrapidly towards the city. Swet was quite taken aback. He did not\nunderstand the meaning of the elephant's action, and wondered what\nwas in store for him. A crown was in store for him. In that kingdom,\nthe chief city of which he was approaching, every morning a king was\nelected, for the king of the previous day was always found dead in\nthe morning in the room of the queen. What caused the death of the\nking no one knew; neither did the queen herself (for every successive\nking took her to wife) know the cause. And the elephant who took\nhold of Swet was the king-maker. Early in the morning it went about,\nsometimes to distant places, and whosoever was brought on its back was\nacknowledged king by the people. The elephant majestically marched\nthrough the crowded streets of the city, amid the acclamations of\nthe people, the meaning of which Swet did not understand, entered\nthe palace, and placed him on the throne. He was proclaimed king\namid the rejoicings of some and the lamentations of others. In the\ncourse of the day he heard of the strange fatality which overtook\nevery night the elected king of those realms, but being possessed of\ngreat discretion and courage, he took every precaution to avert the\ndreadful catastrophe. Yet he hardly knew what expedients to adopt,\nas he was unacquainted with the nature of the danger. He resolved,\nhowever, upon two things, and these were, to go armed into the\nqueen's bedchamber, and to sit up awake the whole night. The queen\nwas young and of exquisite beauty, and so guileless and benevolent\nwas the expression of her face that it was impossible from looking\nat her to suppose that she could use any foul means of taking away\nthe life of her nightly consort. In the queen's chamber Swet spent a\nvery agreeable evening; as the night advanced the queen fell asleep,\nbut Swet kept awake, and was on the alert, looking at every creek\nand corner of the room, and expecting every minute to be murdered. In\nthe dead of night he perceived something like a thread coming out of\nthe left nostril of the queen. The thread was so thin that it was\nalmost invisible. As he watched it he found it several yards long,\nand yet it was coming out. When the whole of it had come out, it\nbegan to grow thick, and in a few minutes it assumed the form of a\nhuge serpent. In a moment Swet cut off the head of the serpent, the\nbody of which wriggled violently. He sat quiet in the room, expecting\nother adventures. But nothing else happened. The queen slept longer\nthan usual as she had been relieved of the huge snake which had made\nher stomach its den. Early next morning the ministers came expecting\nas usual to hear of the king's death; but when the ladies of the\nbedchamber knocked at the door of the queen they were astonished\nto see Swet come out. It was then known to all the people how that\nevery night a terrible snake issued from the queen's nostrils, how\nit devoured the king every night, and how it had at last been killed\nby the fortunate Swet. The whole country rejoiced in the prospect\nof a permanent king. It is a strange thing, nevertheless it is true,\nthat Swet did not remember his poor wife with the new-born babe lying\nin the forest, nor his brother attending on her. With the possession\nof the throne he seemed to forget the whole of his past history.\n\nBasanta, to whom his brother had entrusted his wife and child, sat\nwatching for many a weary hour, expecting every moment to see Swet\nreturn with fire. The whole night passed away without his return. At\nsunrise he went to the bank of the river which was close by, and\nanxiously looked about for his brother, but in vain. Distressed beyond\nmeasure, he sat on the river side and wept. A boat was passing by in\nwhich a merchant was returning to his country. As the boat was not\nfar from the shore the merchant saw Basanta weeping; and what struck\nthe attention of the merchant was the heap of what looked like pearls\nnear the weeping man. At the request of the merchant the boatman took\nhis vessel towards the bank; the merchant went to the weeping man,\nand found that the heap was a heap of real pearls of the finest\nlustre: and what astonished him most of all was that the heap was\nincreasing every second, for the tear-drops that were falling from\nhis eyes fell to the ground not as tears but as pearls. The merchant\nstowed away the heap of pearls into his boat, and with the help of his\nservants caught hold of Basanta himself, put him on board the vessel,\nand tied him to a post. Basanta, of course, resisted; but what could\nhe do against so many? Thinking of his brother, his brother's wife\nand baby, and his own captivity, Basanta wept more bitterly than\nbefore, which mightily pleased the merchant, as the more tears his\ncaptive shed the richer he himself became. When the merchant reached\nhis native town he confined Basanta in a room, and at stated hours\nevery day scourged him in order to make him shed tears, every one of\nwhich was converted into a bright pearl. The merchant one day said\nto his servants, \"As the fellow is making me rich by his weeping,\nlet us see what he gives me by laughing.\" Accordingly he began to\ntickle his captive, on which Basanta laughed, and as he laughed a\ngreat many maniks dropped from his mouth. After this poor Basanta\nwas alternately whipped and tickled all the day and far into the\nnight; and the merchant, in consequence, became the wealthiest man\nin the land. Leaving Basanta subjected to the alternate processes\nof castigation and titillation, let us attend to the fortunes of the\npoor wife of Swet, alone in the forest, with a child just born.\n\nSwet's wife, apparently deserted by her husband and her brother-in-law,\nwas overwhelmed with grief. A woman, but a few hours since delivered\nof a child--and her first child, alone, and in a forest, far from the\nhabitations of men,--her case was indeed pitiable. She wept rivers of\ntears. Excessive grief, however, brought her relief. She fell asleep\nwith the new-born baby in her arms. It so happened that at that\nhour the Kotwal (prefect of the police) of the country was passing\nthat way. He had been very unfortunate with regard to his offspring;\nevery child his wife presented him with died shortly after birth, and\nhe was now going to bury the last infant on the banks of the river. As\nhe was going, he saw in the forest a woman sleeping with a baby in her\narms. It was a lively and beautiful boy. The Kotwal coveted the lovely\ninfant. He quietly took it up, put in its place his own dead child,\nand returning home, told his wife that the child had not really died\nand had revived. Swet's wife, unconscious of the deceit practised\nupon her by the Kotwal, on waking found her child dead. The distress\nof her mind may be imagined. The whole world became dark to her. She\nwas distracted with grief, and in her distraction she formed the\nresolution of committing suicide. The river was not far from the spot,\nand she determined to drown herself in it. She took in her hand the\nbundle of jewels and proceeded to the river-side. An old Brahman was\nat no great distance, performing his morning ablutions. He noticed\nthe woman going into the water, and naturally thought that she was\ngoing to bathe; but when he saw her going far into deep waters, some\nsuspicion arose in his mind. Discontinuing his devotions, he bawled\nout and ordered the woman to come to him. Swet's wife seeing that it\nwas an old man that was calling her, retraced her steps and came to\nhim. On being asked what she was about to do, she said that she was\ngoing to make an end of herself, and that as she had some jewels with\nher she would be obliged if he would accept them as a present. At the\nrequest of the old Brahman she related to him her whole story. The\nupshot was, that she was prevented from drowning herself, and that\nshe was received into the Brahman's family, where she was treated by\nthe Brahman's wife as her own daughter.\n\nYears passed on. The reputed son of the Kotwal grew up a vigorous,\nrobust lad. As the house of the old Brahman was not far from the\nKotwal's, the Kotwal's son used accidentally to meet the handsome\nstrange woman who passed for the Brahman's daughter. The lad liked\nthe woman, and wanted to marry her. He spoke to his father about\nthe woman, and the father spoke to the Brahman. The Brahman's rage\nknew no bounds. What! the infidel Kotwal's son aspiring to the hand\nof a Brahman's daughter! A dwarf may as well aspire to catch hold of\nthe moon! But the Kotwal's son determined to have her by force. With\nthis wicked object he one day scaled the wall that encompassed the\nBrahman's house, and got upon the thatched roof of the Brahman's\ncow-house. While he was reconnoitering from that lofty position, he\nheard the following conversation between two calves in the cow-house:--\n\nFirst Calf. Men accuse us of brutish ignorance and immorality; but\nin my opinion men are fifty times worse.\n\nSecond Calf. What makes you say so, brother? Have you witnessed to-day\nany instance of human depravity?\n\nFirst Calf. Who can be a greater monster of crime than the same lad\nwho is at this moment standing on the thatched roof of this hut over\nour head?\n\nSecond Calf. Why, I thought it was only the son of our Kotwal; and\nI never heard that he was exceptionally vicious.\n\nFirst Calf. You never heard, but now you hear from me. This wicked\nlad is now wishing to get married to his own mother!\n\nThe First Calf then related to the inquisitive Second Calf in full\nthe story of Swet and Basanta; how they and Swet's wife fled from\nthe vengeance of their stepmother; how Swet's wife was delivered of a\nchild in the forest by the river-side; how Swet was made king by the\nelephant, and how he succeeded in killing the serpent which issued out\nof the queen's nostrils; how Basanta was carried away by the merchant,\nconfined in a dungeon, and alternately flogged and tickled for pearls\nand maniks; how the Kotwal exchanged his dead child for the living\none of Swet; how Swet's wife was prevented from drowning herself in\nthe river by the Brahman; how she was received into the Brahman's\nfamily and treated as his daughter; how the Kotwal's son grew up a\nhardy, lusty youth, and fell in love with her; and how at that very\nmoment he was intent on accomplishing his brutal object. All this\nstory the Kotwal's son heard from the thatched roof of the cow-house,\nand was struck with horror. He forthwith got down from the thatch,\nand went home and told his father that he must have an interview\nwith the king. Notwithstanding his reputed father's protestations\nto the contrary, he had an interview with the king, to whom he\nrepeated the whole story as he had overheard it from the thatch of\nthe cow-house. The king now remembered his poor wife's case. She\nwas brought from the house of the Brahman, whom he richly rewarded,\nand put her in her proper position as the queen of the kingdom;\nthe reputed son of the Kotwal was acknowledged as his own son, and\nproclaimed the heir-apparent to the throne; Basanta was brought out\nof the dungeon, and the wicked merchant who had maltreated him was\nburied alive in the earth surrounded with thorns. After this, Swet,\nhis wife and son, and Basanta, lived together happily for many years.\n\n\n Now my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE EVIL EYE OF SANI\n\n\nOnce upon a time Sani, or Saturn, the god of bad luck, and Lakshmi,\nthe goddess of good luck, fell out with each other in heaven. Sani said\nhe was higher in rank than Lakshmi, and Lakshmi said she was higher in\nrank than Sani. As all the gods and goddesses of heaven were equally\nranged on either side, the contending deities agreed to refer the\nmatter to some human being who had a name for wisdom and justice. Now,\nthere lived at that time upon earth a man of the name of Sribatsa,\n[18] who was as wise and just as he was rich. Him, therefore, both the\ngod and the goddess chose as the settler of their dispute. One day,\naccordingly, Sribatsa was told that Sani and Lakshmi were wishing to\npay him a visit to get their dispute settled. Sribatsa was in a fix. If\nhe said Sani was higher in rank than Lakshmi, she would be angry with\nhim and forsake him. If he said Lakshmi was higher in rank than Sani,\nSani would cast his evil eye upon him. Hence he made up his mind not to\nsay anything directly, but to leave the god and the goddess to gather\nhis opinion from his action. He got two stools made, the one of gold\nand the other of silver, and placed them beside him. When Sani and\nLakshmi came to Sribatsa, he told Sani to sit upon the silver stool,\nand Lakshmi upon the gold stool. Sani became mad with rage, and said\nin an angry tone to Sribatsa, \"Well, as you consider me lower in rank\nthan Lakshmi, I will cast my eye on you for three years; and I should\nlike to see how you fare at the end of that period.\" The god then went\naway in high dudgeon. Lakshmi, before going away, said to Sribatsa,\n\"My child, do not fear. I'll befriend you.\" The god and the goddess\nthen went away.\n\nSribatsa said to his wife, whose name was Chintamani, \"Dearest, as the\nevil eye of Sani will be upon me at once, I had better go away from the\nhouse; for if I remain in the house with you, evil will befall you and\nme; but if I go away, it will overtake me only.\" Chintamani said, \"That\ncannot be; wherever you go, I will go, your lot shall be my lot.\" The\nhusband tried hard to persuade his wife to remain at home; but it was\nof no use. She would go with her husband. Sribatsa accordingly told\nhis wife to make an opening in their mattress, and to stow away in\nit all the money and jewels they had. On the eve of leaving their\nhouse, Sribatsa invoked Lakshmi, who forthwith appeared. He then\nsaid to her, \"Mother Lakshmi! as the evil eye of Sani is upon us,\nwe are going away into exile; but do thou befriend us, and take\ncare of our house and property.\" The goddess of good luck answered,\n\"Do not fear; I'll befriend you; all will be right at last.\" They\nthen set out on their journey. Sribatsa rolled up the mattress and\nput it on his head. They had not gone many miles when they saw a\nriver before them. It was not fordable; but there was a canoe there\nwith a man sitting in it. The travellers requested the ferryman to\ntake them across. The ferryman said, \"I can take only one at a time;\nbut you are three--yourself, your wife, and the mattress.\" Sribatsa\nproposed that first his wife and the mattress should be taken across,\nand then he; but the ferryman would not hear of it. \"Only one at a\ntime,\" repeated he; \"first let me take across the mattress.\" When the\ncanoe with the mattress was in the middle of the stream, a fierce gale\narose, and carried away the mattress, the canoe, and the ferryman,\nno one knows whither. And it was strange the stream also disappeared,\nfor the place, where they saw a few minutes since the rush of waters,\nhad now become firm ground. Sribatsa then knew that this was nothing\nbut the evil eye of Sani.\n\nSribatsa and his wife, without a pice in their pocket, went to a\nvillage which was hard by. It was dwelt in for the most part by\nwood-cutters, who used to go at sunrise to the forest to cut wood,\nwhich they sold in a town not far from the village. Sribatsa proposed\nto the wood-cutters that he should go along with them to cut wood. They\nagreed. So he began to fell trees as well as the best of them; but\nthere was this difference between Sribatsa and the other wood-cutters,\nthat whereas the latter cut any and every sort of wood, the former cut\nonly precious wood like sandal-wood. The wood-cutters used to bring\nto market large loads of common wood, and Sribatsa only a few pieces\nof sandal-wood, for which he got a great deal more money than the\nothers. As this was going on day after day, the wood-cutters through\nenvy plotted together, and drove away from the village Sribatsa and\nhis wife.\n\nThe next place they went to was a village of weavers, or rather\ncotton-spinners. Here Chintamani, the wife of Sribatsa, made herself\nuseful by spinning cotton. And as she was an intelligent and skilful\nwoman, she spun finer thread than the other women; and she got more\nmoney. This roused the envy of the native women of the village. But\nthis was not all. Sribatsa, in order to gain the good grace of\nthe weavers, asked them to a feast, the dishes of which were all\ncooked by his wife. As Chintamani excelled in cooking, the barbarous\nweavers of the village were quite charmed by the delicacies set\nbefore them. When the men went to their homes, they reproached their\nwives for not being able to cook so well as the wife of Sribatsa,\nand called them good-for-nothing women. This thing made the women of\nthe village hate Chintamani the more. One day Chintamani went to the\nriver-side to bathe along with the other women of the village. A boat\nhad been lying on the bank stranded on the sand for many days; they\nhad tried to move it, but in vain. It so happened that as Chintamani\nby accident touched the boat, it moved off to the river. The boatmen,\nastonished at the event, thought that the woman had uncommon power,\nand might be useful on similar occasions in future. They therefore\ncaught hold of her, put her in the boat, and rowed off. The women of\nthe village, who were present, did not offer any resistance as they\nhated Chintamani. When Sribatsa heard how his wife had been carried\naway by boatmen, he became mad with grief. He left the village, went to\nthe river-side, and resolved to follow the course of the stream till\nhe should meet the boat where his wife was a prisoner. He travelled\non and on, along the side of the river, till it became dark. As there\nwere no huts to be seen, he climbed into a tree for the night. Next\nmorning as he got down from the tree he saw at the foot of it a cow\ncalled a Kapila-cow, which never calves, but which gives milk at all\nhours of the day whenever it is milked. Sribatsa milked the cow, and\ndrank its milk to his heart's content. He was astonished to find that\nthe cow-dung which lay on the ground was of a bright yellow colour;\nindeed, he found it was pure gold. While it was in a soft state he\nwrote his own name upon it, and when in the course of the day it\nbecame hardened, it looked like a brick of gold--and so it was. As\nthe tree grew on the river-side, and as the Kapila-cow came morning\nand evening to supply him with milk, Sribatsa resolved to stay there\ntill he should meet the boat. In the meantime the gold-bricks were\nincreasing in number every day, for the cow both morning and evening\ndeposited there the precious article. He put the gold-bricks, upon\nall of which his name was engraved, one upon another in rows, so that\nfrom a distance they looked like a hillock of gold.\n\nLeaving Sribatsa to arrange his gold-bricks under the tree on the\nriver-side we must follow the fortunes of his wife. Chintamani was a\nwoman of great beauty; and thinking that her beauty might be her ruin,\nshe, when seized by the boatmen, offered to Lakshmi the following\nprayer----\"O Mother Lakshmi! have pity upon me. Thou hast made me\nbeautiful, but now my beauty will undoubtedly prove my ruin by the loss\nof honour and chastity. I therefore beseech thee, gracious Mother, to\nmake me ugly, and to cover my body with some loathsome disease, that\nthe boatmen may not touch me.\" Lakshmi heard Chintamani's prayer; and\nin the twinkling of an eye, while she was in the arms of the boatmen,\nher naturally beautiful form was turned into a vile carcase. The\nboatmen, on putting her down in the boat, found her body covered\nwith loathsome sores which were giving out a disgusting stench. They\ntherefore threw her into the hold of the boat amongst the cargo,\nwhere they used morning and evening to send her a little boiled rice\nand some water. In that hold Chintamani had a miserable life of it;\nbut she greatly preferred that misery to the loss of chastity. The\nboatmen went to some port, sold the cargo, and were returning to their\ncountry when the sight of what seemed a hillock of gold, not far from\nthe river-side, attracted their attention. Sribatsa, whose eyes were\never directed towards the river, was delighted when he saw a boat turn\ntowards the bank, as he fondly imagined his wife might be in it. The\nboatmen went to the hillock of gold, when Sribatsa said that the gold\nwas his. They put all the gold-bricks on board their vessel, took\nSribatsa prisoner, and put him into the hold not far from the woman\ncovered with sores. They of course immediately recognised each other,\nin spite of the change Chintamani had undergone, but thought it prudent\nnot to speak to each other. They communicated their ideas, therefore,\nby signs and gestures. Now, the boatmen were fond of playing at dice,\nand as Sribatsa appeared to them from his looks to be a respectable\nman, they always asked him to join in the game. As he was an expert\nplayer, he almost always won the game, on which the boatmen, envying\nhis superior skill, threw him overboard. Chintamani had the presence\nof mind, at that moment, to throw into the water a pillow which she\nhad for resting her head upon. Sribatsa took hold of the pillow,\nby means of which he floated down the stream till he was carried\nat nightfall to what seemed a garden on the water's edge. There he\nstuck among the trees, where he remained the whole night, wet and\nshivering. Now, the garden belonged to an old widow who was in former\nyears the chief flower-supplier to the king of that country. Through\nsome cause or other a blight seemed to have come over her garden, as\nalmost all the trees and plants ceased flowering; she had therefore\ngiven up her place as the flower-supplier of the royal household. On\nthe morning following the night on which Sribatsa had stuck among\nthe trees, however, the old woman on getting up from her bed could\nscarcely believe her eyes when she saw the whole garden ablaze with\nflowers. There was not a single tree or plant which was not begemmed\nwith flowers. Not understanding the cause of such a miraculous sight,\nshe took a walk through the garden, and found on the river's brink,\nstuck among the trees, a man shivering and almost dying with cold. She\nbrought him to her cottage, lighted a fire to give him warmth, and\nshowed him every attention, as she ascribed the wonderful flowering\nof her trees to his presence. After making him as comfortable as\nshe could, she ran to the king's palace, and told his chief servants\nthat she was again in a position to supply the palace with flowers;\nso she was restored to her former office as the flower-woman of the\nroyal household. Sribatsa, who stopped a few days with the woman,\nrequested her to recommend him to one of the king's ministers for a\nberth. He was accordingly sent for to the palace, and as he was at\nonce found to be a man of intelligence, the king's minister asked\nhim what post he would like to have. Agreeably to his wish he was\nappointed collector of tolls on the river. While discharging his\nduties as river toll-gatherer, in the course of a few days he saw the\nvery boat in which his wife was a prisoner. He detained the boat, and\ncharged the boatmen with the theft of gold-bricks which he claimed as\nhis own. At the mention of gold-bricks the king himself came to the\nriver-side, and was astonished beyond measure to see bricks made of\ngold, every one of which had the inscription--Sribatsa. At the same\ntime Sribatsa rescued from the boatmen his wife, who, the moment she\ncame out of the vessel, became as lovely as before. The king heard\nthe story of Sribatsa's misfortunes from his lips, entertained him\nin a princely style for many days, and at last sent him and his wife\nto their own country with presents of horses and elephants. The evil\neye of Sani was now turned away from Sribatsa, and he again became\nwhat he formerly was, the Child of Fortune.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE BOY WHOM SEVEN MOTHERS SUCKLED\n\n\nOnce on a time there reigned a king who had seven queens. He was\nvery sad, for the seven queens were all barren. A holy mendicant,\nhowever, one day told the king that in a certain forest there grew\na tree, on a branch of which hung seven mangoes; if the king himself\nplucked those mangoes and gave one to each of the queens they would\nall become mothers. So the king went to the forest, plucked the seven\nmangoes that grew upon one branch, and gave a mango to each of the\nqueens to eat. In a short time the king's heart was filled with joy,\nas he heard that the seven queens were all with child.\n\nOne day the king was out hunting, when he saw a young lady of peerless\nbeauty cross his path. He fell in love with her, brought her to his\npalace, and married her. This lady was, however, not a human being,\nbut a Rakshasi; but the king of course did not know it. The king became\ndotingly fond of her; he did whatever she told him. She said one day\nto the king, \"You say that you love me more than any one else. Let\nme see whether you really love me so. If you love me, make your seven\nother queens blind, and let them be killed.\" The king became very sad\nat the request of his best-beloved queen, the more so as the seven\nqueens were all with child. But there was nothing for it but to comply\nwith the Rakshasi-queen's request. The eyes of the seven queens were\nplucked out of their sockets, and the queens themselves were delivered\nup to the chief minister to be destroyed. But the chief minister was\na merciful man. Instead of killing the seven queens he hid them in a\ncave which was on the side of a hill. In course of time the eldest\nof the seven queens gave birth to a child. \"What shall I do with\nthe child,\" said she, \"now that we are blind and are dying for want\nof food? Let me kill the child, and let us all eat of its flesh.\" So\nsaying she killed the infant, and gave to each of her sister-queens a\npart of the child to eat. The six ate their portion, but the seventh\nor youngest queen did not eat her share, but laid it beside her. In a\nfew days the second queen also was delivered of a child, and she did\nwith it as her eldest sister had done with hers. So did the third,\nthe fourth, the fifth, and the sixth queen. At last the seventh\nqueen gave birth to a son; but she, instead of following the example\nof her sister-queens, resolved to nurse the child. The other queens\ndemanded their portions of the newly-born babe. She gave each of them\nthe portion she had got of the six children which had been killed,\nand which she had not eaten but laid aside. The other queens at once\nperceived that their portions were dry, and could not therefore be\nthe parts of the child just born. The seventh queen told them that she\nhad made up her mind not to kill the child but to nurse it. The others\nwere glad to hear this, and they all said that they would help her in\nnursing the child. So the child was suckled by seven mothers, and it\nbecame after some years the hardiest and strongest boy that ever lived.\n\nIn the meantime the Rakshasi-wife of the king was doing infinite\nmischief to the royal household and to the capital. What she ate at\nthe royal table did not fill her capacious stomach. She therefore,\nin the darkness of night, gradually ate up all the members of the\nroyal family, all the king's servants and attendants, all his horses,\nelephants, and cattle; till none remained in the palace except she\nherself and her royal consort. After that she used to go out in\nthe evenings into the city and eat up a stray human being here and\nthere. The king was left unattended by servants; there was no person\nleft to cook for him, for no one would take his service. At last the\nboy who had been suckled by seven mothers, and who had now grown up to\na stalwart youth, volunteered his services. He attended on the king,\nand took every care to prevent the queen from swallowing him up, for\nhe went away home long before nightfall; and the Rakshasi-queen never\nseized her victims except at night. Hence the queen determined in\nsome other way to get rid of the boy. As the boy always boasted that\nhe was equal to any work, however hard, the queen told him that she\nwas suffering from some disease which could be cured only by eating a\ncertain species of melon, which was twelve cubits long, but the stone\nof which was thirteen cubits long, and that that fruit could be had\nonly from her mother, who lived on the other side of the ocean. She\ngave him a letter of introduction to her mother, in which she requested\nher to devour the boy the moment he put the letter into her hands. The\nboy, suspecting foul play, tore up the letter and proceeded on his\njourney. The dauntless youth passed through many lands, and at last\nstood on the shore of the ocean, on the other side of which was the\ncountry of the Rakshasis. He then bawled as loud as he could, and\nsaid, \"Granny! granny! come and save your daughter; she is dangerously\nill.\" An old Rakshasi on the other side of the ocean heard the words,\ncrossed the ocean, came to the boy, and on hearing the message took the\nboy on her back and re-crossed the ocean. So the boy was in the country\nof the Rakshasis. The twelve-cubit melon with its thirteen-cubit stone\nwas given to the boy at once, and he was told to perform the journey\nback. But the boy pleaded fatigue, and begged to be allowed to rest\none day. To this the old Rakshasi consented. Observing a stout club\nand a rope hanging in the Rakshasi's room, the boy inquired what\nthey were there for. She replied, \"Child, by that club and rope I\ncross the ocean. If any one takes the club and the rope in his hands,\nand addresses them in the following magical words--\n\n\n \"O stout club! O strong rope!\n Take me at once to the other side,\"\n\n\nthen immediately the club and rope will take him to the other side\nof the ocean.\" Observing a bird in a cage hanging in one corner of\nthe room, the boy inquired what it was. The old Rakshasi replied,\n\"It contains a secret, child, which must not be disclosed to mortals,\nand yet how can I hide it from my own grandchild? That bird, child,\ncontains the life of your mother. If the bird is killed, your mother\nwill at once die.\" Armed with these secrets, the boy went to bed that\nnight. Next morning the old Rakshasi, together with all the other\nRakshasis, went to distant countries for forage. The boy took down\nthe cage from the ceiling, as well as the club and rope. Having well\nsecured the bird, he addressed the club and rope thus--\n\n\n \"O stout club! O strong rope!\n Take me at once to the other side.\"\n\n\nIn the twinkling of an eye the boy was put on this side of the\nocean. He then retraced his steps, came to the queen, and gave her,\nto her astonishment, the twelve-cubit melon with its thirteen-cubit\nstone; but the cage with the bird in it he kept carefully concealed.\n\nIn the course of time the people of the city came to the king and said,\n\"A monstrous bird comes out apparently from the palace every evening,\nand seizes the passengers in the streets and swallows them up. This\nhas been going on for so long a time that the city has become almost\ndesolate.\" The king could not make out what this monstrous bird\nwas. The king's servant, the boy, replied that he knew the monstrous\nbird, and that he would kill it provided the queen stood beside\nthe king. By royal command the queen was made to stand beside the\nking. The boy then took the bird from the cage which he had brought\nfrom the other side of the ocean, on seeing which she fell into a\nfainting fit. Turning to the king the boy said, \"Sire, you will soon\nperceive who the monstrous bird is that devours your subjects every\nevening. As I tear off each limb of this bird, the corresponding limb\nof the man-devourer will fall off.\" The boy then tore off one leg of\nthe bird in his hand; immediately, to the astonishment of the whole\nassembly, for the citizens were all present, one of the legs of the\nqueen fell off. And when the boy squeezed the throat of the bird,\nthe queen gave up the ghost. The boy then related his own history\nand that of his mother and his stepmothers. The seven queens, whose\neyesight was miraculously restored, were brought back to the palace;\nand the boy that was suckled by seven mothers was recognised by the\nking as his rightful heir. So they lived together happily.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, &c.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTHE STORY OF PRINCE SOBUR\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a certain merchant who had seven\ndaughters. One day the merchant put to his daughters the question:\n\"By whose fortune do you get your living?\" The eldest daughter\nanswered--\"Papa, I get my living by your fortune.\" The same answer\nwas given by the second daughter, the third, the fourth, the fifth,\nand the sixth; but his youngest daughter said--\"I get my living by my\nown fortune.\" The merchant got very angry with the youngest daughter,\nand said to her--\"As you are so ungrateful as to say that you get\nyour living by your own fortune, let me see how you fare alone. This\nvery day you shall leave my house without a pice in your pocket.\" He\nforthwith called his palki-bearers, and ordered them to take away the\ngirl and leave her in the midst of a forest. The girl begged hard to\nbe allowed to take with her her work-box containing her needles and\nthreads. She was allowed to do so. She then got into the palki, which\nthe bearers lifted on their shoulders. The bearers had not gone many\nhundred yards to the tune of \"Hoon! hoon! hoon! hoon! hoon! hoon!\" when\nan old woman bawled out to them and bid them stop. On coming up to\nthe palki, she said, \"Where are you taking away my daughter?\" for she\nwas the nurse of the merchant's youngest child. The bearers replied,\n\"The merchant has ordered us to take her away and leave her in the\nmidst of a forest; and we are going to do his bidding.\" \"I must go with\nher,\" said the old woman. \"How will you be able to keep pace with us,\nas we must needs run?\" said the bearers. \"Anyhow I must go where my\ndaughter goes,\" rejoined the old woman. The upshot was that, at the\nentreaty of the merchant's youngest daughter, the old woman was put\ninside the palki along with her. In the afternoon the palki-bearers\nreached a dense forest. They went far into it; and towards sunset\nthey put down the girl and the old woman at the foot of a large tree,\nand retraced their steps homewards.\n\nThe case of the merchant's youngest daughter was truly pitiable. She\nwas scarcely fourteen years old; she had been bred in the lap of\nluxury; and she was now here at sundown in the heart of what seemed\nan interminable forest, with not a penny in her pocket, and with no\nother protection than what could be given her by an old, decrepit,\nimbecile woman. The very trees of the forest looked upon her with\npity. The gigantic tree, at whose foot she was mingling her tears\nwith those of the old woman, said to her (for trees could speak in\nthose days)--\"Unhappy girl! I much pity you. In a short time the wild\nbeasts of the forest will come out of their lairs and roam about for\ntheir prey; and they are sure to devour you and your companion. But\nI can help you; I will make an opening for you in my trunk. When you\nsee the opening go into it; I will then close it up; and you will\nremain safe inside; nor can the wild beasts touch you.\" In a moment\nthe trunk of the tree was split into two. The merchant's daughter\nand the old woman went inside the hollow, on which the tree resumed\nits natural shape. When the shades of night darkened the forest the\nwild beasts came out of their lairs. The fierce tiger was there; the\nwild bear was there; the hard-skinned rhinoceros was there; the bushy\nbear was there; the musty elephant was there; and the horned buffalo\nwas there. They all growled round about the tree, for they got the\nscent of human blood. The merchant's daughter and the old woman heard\nfrom within the tree the growl of the beasts. The beasts came dashing\nagainst the tree; they broke its branches; they pierced its trunk with\ntheir horns; they scratched its bark with their claws: but in vain. The\nmerchant's daughter and her old nurse were safe within. Towards dawn\nthe wild beasts went away. After sunrise the good tree said to her two\ninmates, \"Unhappy women, the wild beasts have gone into their lairs\nafter greatly tormenting me. The sun is up; you can now come out.\" So\nsaying the tree split itself into two, and the merchant's daughter\nand the old woman came out. They saw the extent of the mischief done\nby the wild beasts to the tree. Many of its branches had been broken\ndown; in many places the trunk had been pierced; and in other places\nthe bark had been stripped off. The merchant's daughter said to the\ntree, \"Good mother, you are truly good to give us shelter at such\na fearful cost. You must be in great pain from the torture to which\nthe wild beasts subjected you last night.\" So saying she went to the\ntank which was near the tree, and bringing thence a quantity of mud,\nshe besmeared the trunk with it, especially those parts which had\nbeen pierced and scratched. After she had done this, the tree said,\n\"Thank you, my good girl, I am now greatly relieved of my pain. I am,\nhowever, concerned not so much about myself as about you both. You\nmust be hungry, not having eaten the whole of yesterday. And what can I\ngive you? I have no fruit of my own to give you. Give to the old woman\nwhatever money you have, and let her go into the city hard by and\nbuy some food.\" They said they had no money. On searching, however,\nin the work-box she found five cowries. [19] The tree then told the\nold woman to go with the cowries to the city and buy some khai. [20]\nThe old woman went to the city, which was not far, and said to one\nconfectioner, \"Please give me five cowries' worth of khai.\" The\nconfectioner laughed at her and said, \"Be off, you old hag, do you\nthink khai can be had for five cowries?\" She tried another shop,\nand the shopkeeper, thinking the woman to be in great distress,\ncompassionately gave her a large quantity of khai for the five cowries.\n\nWhen the old woman returned with the khai, the tree said to the\nmerchant's daughter, \"Each of you eat a little of the khai, lay by\nmore than half, and strew the rest on the embankments of the tank all\nround.\" They did as they were bidden, though they did not understand\nthe reason why they were told to scatter the khai on the sides of the\ntank. They spent the day in bewailing their fate, and at night they\nwere housed inside the trunk of the tree as on the previous night. The\nwild beasts came as before, further mutilated the tree, and tortured\nit as in the preceding night. But during the night a scene was being\nenacted on the embankments of the tank of which the two women saw the\noutcome only on the following morning. Hundreds of peacocks of gorgeous\nplumes came to the embankments to eat the khai which had been strewed\non them; and as they strove with each other for the tempting food\nmany of their plumes fell off their bodies. Early in the morning the\ntree told the two women to gather the plumes together, out of which\nthe merchant's daughter made a beautiful fan. This fan was taken into\nthe city to the palace, where the son of the king admired it greatly\nand paid for it a large sum of money. As each morning a quantity of\nplumes was collected, every day one fan was made and sold. So that\nin a short time the two women got rich. The tree then advised them\nto employ men in building a house for them to live in. Accordingly\nbricks were burnt, trees were cut down for beams and rafters, bricks\nwere reduced to powder, lime was manufactured, and in a few months\na stately, palace-like house was built for the merchant's daughter\nand her old nurse. It was thought advisable to lay out the adjoining\ngrounds as a garden, and to dig a tank for supplying them with water.\n\nIn the meantime the merchant himself with his wife and six daughters\nhad been frowned upon by the goddess of wealth. By a sudden stroke of\nmisfortune he lost all his money, his house and property were sold,\nand he, his wife, and six daughters, were turned adrift penniless into\nthe world. It so happened that they lived in a village not far from the\nplace where the two strange women had built a palace and were digging\na tank. As the once rich merchant was now supporting his family by\nthe pittance which he obtained every day for his manual labour, he\nbethought himself of employing himself as a day labourer in digging\nthe tank of the strange lady on the skirts of the forest. His wife\nsaid she would also go to dig the tank with him. So one day while\nthe strange lady was amusing herself from the window of her palace\nwith looking at the labourers digging her tank, to her utter surprise\nshe saw her father and mother coming towards the palace, apparently\nto engage themselves as day labourers. Tears ran down her cheeks as\nshe looked at them, for they were clothed in rags. She immediately\nsent servants to bring them inside the house. The poor man and woman\nwere frightened beyond measure. They saw that the tank was all ready;\nand as it was customary in those days to offer a human sacrifice when\nthe digging was over, they thought that they were called inside in\norder to be sacrificed. Their fears increased when they were told to\nthrow away their rags and to put on fine clothes which were given to\nthem. The strange lady of the palace, however, soon dispelled their\nfears; for she told them that she was their daughter, fell on their\nnecks and wept. The rich daughter related her adventures, and the\nfather felt she was right when she said that she lived upon her own\nfortune and not on that of her father. She gave her father a large\nfortune, which enabled him to go to the city in which he formerly\nlived, and to set himself up again as a merchant.\n\nThe merchant now bethought himself of going in his ship to distant\ncountries for purposes of trade. All was ready. He got on board,\nready to start, but, strange to say, the ship would not move. The\nmerchant was at a loss what to make of this. At last the idea occurred\nto him that he had asked each of his six daughters, who were living\nwith him, what thing she wished he should bring for her; but he had\nnot asked that question of his seventh daughter who had made him\nrich. He therefore immediately despatched a messenger to his youngest\ndaughter, asking her what she wished her father to bring for her on\nhis return from his mercantile travels. When the messenger arrived\nshe was engaged in her devotions, and hearing that a messenger had\narrived from her father she said to him \"Sobur,\" meaning \"wait.\" The\nmessenger understood that she wanted her father to bring for her\nsomething called Sobur. He returned to the merchant and told him that\nshe wanted him to bring for her Sobur. The ship now moved of itself,\nand the merchant started on his travels. He visited many ports,\nand by selling his goods obtained immense profit. The things his\nsix daughters wanted him to bring for them he easily got, but Sobur,\nthe thing which he understood his youngest daughter wished to have,\nhe could get nowhere. He asked at every port whether Sobur could be\nhad there, but the merchants all told him that they had never heard\nof such an article of commerce. At the last port he went through the\nstreets bawling out--\"Wanted Sobur! wanted Sobur!\" The cry attracted\nthe notice of the son of the king of that country whose name was\nSobur. The prince, hearing from the merchant that his daughter wanted\nSobur, said that he had the article in question, and bringing out a\nsmall box of wood containing a magical fan with a looking-glass in\nit, said--\"This is Sobur which your daughter wishes to have.\" The\nmerchant having obtained the long-wished-for Sobur weighed anchor,\nand sailed for his native land. On his arrival he sent to his youngest\ndaughter the said wonderful box. The daughter, thinking it to be a\ncommon wooden box, laid it aside. Some days after when she was at\nleisure she bethought herself of opening the box which her father\nhad sent her. When she opened it she saw in it a beautiful fan,\nand in it a looking-glass. As she shook the fan, in a moment the\nPrince Sobur stood before her, and said--\"You called me, here I\nam. What's your wish?\" The merchant's daughter, astonished at the\nsudden appearance of a prince of such exquisite beauty, asked who he\nwas, and how he had made his appearance there. The prince told her\nof the circumstances under which he gave the box to her father, and\ninformed her of the secret that whenever the fan would be shaken he\nwould make his appearance. The prince lived for a day or two in the\nhouse of the merchant's daughter, who entertained him hospitably. The\nupshot was, that they fell in love with each other, and vowed to\neach other to be husband and wife. The prince returned to his royal\nfather and told him that he had selected a wife for himself. The\nday for the wedding was fixed. The merchant and his six daughters\nwere invited. The nuptial knot was tied. But there was death in the\nmarriage-bed. The six daughters of the merchant, envying the happy\nlot of their youngest sister, had determined to put an end to the\nlife of her newly-wedded husband. They broke several bottles, reduced\nthe broken pieces into fine powder, and scattered it profusely on the\nbed. The prince, suspecting no danger, laid himself down in the bed;\nbut he had scarcely been there two minutes when he felt acute pain\nthrough his whole system, for the fine bottle-powder had gone through\nevery pore of his body. As the prince became restless through pain,\nand was shrieking aloud, his attendants hastily took him away to his\nown country.\n\nThe king and queen, the parents of Prince Sobur, consulted all the\nphysicians and surgeons of the kingdom; but in vain. The young prince\nwas day and night screaming with pain, and no one could ascertain\nthe disease, far less give him relief. The grief of the merchant's\ndaughter may be imagined. The marriage knot had been scarcely tied\nwhen her husband was attacked, as she thought, by a terrible disease\nand carried away many hundreds of miles off. Though she had never seen\nher husband's country she determined to go there and nurse him. She\nput on the garb of a Sannyasi, and with a dagger in her hand set\nout on her journey. Of tender years, and unaccustomed to make long\njourneys on foot, she soon got weary and sat under a tree to rest. On\nthe top of the tree was the nest of the divine bird Bihangama and\nhis mate Bihangami. They were not in their nest at the time, but two\nof their young ones were in it. Suddenly the young ones on the top\nof the tree gave a scream which roused the half-drowsy merchant's\ndaughter whom we shall now call the young Sannyasi. He saw near\nhim a huge serpent raising its hood and about to climb into the\ntree. In a moment he cut the serpent into two, on which the young\nbirds left off screaming. Shortly after the Bihangama and Bihangami\ncame sailing through the air; and the latter said to the former--\"I\nsuppose our offspring as usual have been devoured by our great enemy\nthe serpent. Ah me! I do not hear the cries of my young ones.\" On\nnearing the nest, however, they were agreeably surprised to find\ntheir offspring alive. The young ones told their dams how the young\nSannyasi under the tree had destroyed the serpent. And sure enough\nthe snake was lying there cut into two.\n\nThe Bihangami then said to her mate--\"The young Sannyasi has saved\nour offspring from death, I wish we could do him some service in\nreturn.\" The Bihangama replied, \"We shall presently do her service,\nfor the person under the tree is not a man but a woman. She got married\nonly last night to Prince Sobur, who, a few hours after, when jumping\ninto his bed, had every pore of his body pierced with fine particles\nof ground bottles which had been spread over his bed by his envious\nsisters-in-law. He is still suffering pain in his native land, and,\nindeed, is at the point of death. And his heroic bride taking the garb\nof a Sannyasi is going to nurse him.\" \"But,\" asked the Bihangami, \"is\nthere no cure for the prince?\" \"Yes, there is,\" replied the Bihangama:\n\"if our dung which is lying on the ground round about, and which is\nhardened, be reduced to powder, and applied by means of a brush to\nthe body of the prince after bathing him seven times with seven jars\nof water and seven jars of milk, Prince Sobur will undoubtedly get\nwell.\" \"But,\" asked the Bihangami, \"how can the poor daughter of the\nmerchant walk such a distance? It must take her many days, by which\ntime the poor prince will have died.\" \"I can,\" replied the Bihangama,\n\"take the young lady on my back, and put her in the capital of Prince\nSobur, and bring her back, provided she does not take any presents\nthere.\" The merchant's daughter, in the garb of a Sannyasi, heard\nthis conversation between the two birds, and begged the Bihangama\nto take her on his back. To this the bird readily consented. Before\nmounting on her aerial car she gathered a quantity of birds' dung\nand reduced it to fine powder. Armed with this potent drug she got\nup on the back of the kind bird, and sailing through the air with the\nrapidity of lightning, soon reached the capital of Prince Sobur. The\nyoung Sannyasi went up to the gate of the palace, and sent word to\nthe king that he was acquainted with potent drugs and would cure the\nprince in a few hours. The king, who had tried all the best doctors\nin the kingdom without success, looked upon the Sannyasi as a mere\npretender, but on the advice of his councillors agreed to give him\na trial. The Sannyasi ordered seven jars of water and seven jars of\nmilk to be brought to him. He poured the contents of all the jars on\nthe body of the prince. He then applied, by means of a feather, the\ndung-powder he had already prepared to every pore of the prince's\nbody. Thereafter seven jars of water and seven jars of milk were\nagain six times poured upon him. When the prince's body was wiped,\nhe felt perfectly well. The king ordered that the richest treasures\nhe had should be presented to the wonderful doctor; but the Sannyasi\nrefused to take any. He only wanted a ring from the prince's finger to\npreserve as a memorial. The ring was readily given him. The merchant's\ndaughter hastened to the sea-shore where the Bihangama was awaiting\nher. In a moment they reached the tree of the divine birds. Hence\nthe young bride walked to her house on the skirts of the forest. The\nfollowing day she shook the magical fan, and forthwith Prince Sobur\nappeared before her. When the lady showed him the ring, he learnt with\ninfinite surprise that his own wife was the doctor that cured him. The\nprince took away his bride to his palace in his far-off kingdom,\nforgave his sisters-in-law, lived happily for scores of years, and\nwas blessed with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF OPIUM [21]\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived on the banks of the holy Ganga a Rishi,\n[22] who spent his days and nights in the performance of religious\nrites and in meditation upon God. From sunrise to sunset he sat on the\nriver bank engaged in devotion, and at night he took shelter in a hut\nof palm-leaves which his own hand had raised in a bush hard by. There\nwere no men and women for miles round. In the hut, however, there was a\nmouse, which used to live upon the leavings of the Rishi's supper. As\nit was not in the nature of the sage to hurt any living thing, our\nmouse never ran away from him, but, on the contrary, went to him,\ntouched his feet, and played with him. The Rishi, partly in kindness to\nthe little brute, and partly to have some one by to talk to at times,\ngave the mouse the power of speech. One night the mouse, standing on\nits hind-legs and joining together its fore-legs reverently, said to\nthe Rishi, \"Holy sage, you have been so kind as to give me the power\nto speak like men. If it will not displease your reverence, I have one\nmore boon to ask.\" \"What is it?\" said the Rishi. \"What is it, little\nmousie? Say what you want.\" The mouse answered--\"When your reverence\ngoes in the day to the river-side for devotion, a cat comes to the\nhut to catch me. And had it not been for fear of your reverence, the\ncat would have eaten me up long ago; and I fear it will eat me some\nday. My prayer is that I may be changed into a cat that I may prove a\nmatch for my foe.\" The Rishi became propitious to the mouse, and threw\nsome holy water on its body, and it was at once changed into a cat.\n\nSome nights after, the Rishi asked his pet, \"Well, little puss,\nhow do you like your present life?\" \"Not much, your reverence,\"\nanswered the cat. \"Why not?\" demanded the sage. \"Are you not strong\nenough to hold your own against all the cats in the world?\" \"Yes,\"\nrejoined the cat. \"Your reverence has made me a strong cat, able to\ncope with all the cats in the world. But I do not now fear cats; I\nhave got a new foe. Whenever your reverence goes to the river-side,\na pack of dogs comes to the hut, and sets up such a loud barking\nthat I am frightened out of my life. If your reverence will not be\ndispleased with me, I beg you to change me into a dog.\" The Rishi said,\n\"Be turned into a dog,\" and the cat forthwith became a dog.\n\nSome days passed, when one night the dog said thus to the Rishi:\n\"I cannot thank your reverence enough for your kindness to me. I was\nbut a poor mouse, and you not only gave me speech but turned me into a\ncat; and again you were kind enough to change me into a dog. As a dog,\nhowever, I suffer a great deal of trouble, I do not get enough food:\nmy only food is the leavings of your supper, but that is not sufficient\nto fill the maw of such a large beast as you have made me. O how I\nenvy those apes who jump about from tree to tree, and eat all sorts\nof delicious fruits! If your reverence will not get angry with me,\nI pray that I be changed into an ape.\" The kind-hearted sage readily\ngranted his pet's wish, and the dog became an ape.\n\nOur ape was at first wild with joy. He leaped from one tree to\nanother, and sucked every luscious fruit he could find. But his\njoy was short-lived. Summer came on with its drought. As a monkey\nhe found it hard to drink water out of a river or of a pool; and\nhe saw the wild boars splashing in the water all the day long. He\nenvied their lot, and exclaimed, \"O how happy those boars are! All\nday their bodies are cooled and refreshed by water. I wish I were a\nboar.\" Accordingly at night he recounted to the Rishi the troubles of\nthe life of an ape and the pleasures of that of a boar, and begged\nof him to change him into a boar. The sage, whose kindness knew no\nbounds, complied with his pet's request, and turned him into a wild\nboar. For two whole days our boar kept his body soaking wet, and on\nthe third day, as he was splashing about in his favourite element,\nwhom should he see but the king of the country riding on a richly\ncaparisoned elephant. The king was out hunting, and it was only by a\nlucky chance that our boar escaped being bagged. He dwelt in his own\nmind on the dangers attending the life of a wild boar, and envied the\nlot of the stately elephant who was so fortunate as to carry about\nthe king of the country on his back. He longed to be an elephant,\nand at night besought the Rishi to make him one.\n\nOur elephant was roaming about in the wilderness, when he saw the king\nout hunting. The elephant went towards the king's suite with the view\nof being caught. The king, seeing the elephant at a distance, admired\nit on account of its beauty, and gave orders that it should be caught\nand tamed. Our elephant was easily caught, and taken into the royal\nstables, and was soon tamed. It so chanced that the queen expressed\na wish to bathe in the waters of the holy Ganga. The king, who wished\nto accompany his royal consort, ordered that the newly-caught elephant\nshould be brought to him. The king and queen mounted on his back. One\nwould suppose that the elephant had now got his wishes, as the king\nhad mounted on his back. But no. There was a fly in the ointment. The\nelephant, who looked upon himself as a lordly beast, could not brook\nthe idea that a woman, though a queen, should ride on his back. He\nthought himself degraded. He jumped up so violently that both the\nking and queen fell to the ground. The king carefully picked up the\nqueen, took her in his arms, asked her whether she had been much\nhurt, wiped off the dust from her clothes with his handkerchief, and\ntenderly kissed her a hundred times. Our elephant, after witnessing\nthe king's caresses, scampered off to the woods as fast as his legs\ncould carry him. As he ran he thought within himself thus: \"After\nall, I see that a queen is the happiest of all creatures. Of what\ninfinite regard is she the object! The king lifted her up, took her\nin his arms, made many tender inquiries, wiped off the dust from her\nclothes with his own royal hands, and kissed her a hundred times! O\nthe happiness of being a queen! I must tell the Rishi to make me a\nqueen!\" So saying the elephant, after traversing the woods, went at\nsunset to the Rishi's hut, and fell prostrate on the ground at the feet\nof the holy sage. The Rishi said, \"Well, what's the news? Why have\nyou left the king's stud?\" \"What shall I say to your reverence? You\nhave been very kind to me; you have granted every wish of mine. I\nhave one more boon to ask, and it will be the last. By becoming an\nelephant I have got only my bulk increased, but not my happiness. I\nsee that of all creatures a queen is the happiest in the world. Do,\nholy father, make me a queen.\" \"Silly child,\" answered the Rishi,\n\"how can I make you a queen? Where can I get a kingdom for you,\nand a royal husband to boot? All I can do is to change you into an\nexquisitely beautiful girl, possessed of charms to captivate the\nheart of a prince, if ever the gods grant you an interview with some\ngreat prince! \"Our elephant agreed to the change; and in a moment the\nsagacious beast was transformed into a beautiful young lady, to whom\nthe holy sage gave the name of Postomani, or the poppy-seed lady.\n\nPostomani lived in the Rishi's hut, and spent her time in tending\nthe flowers and watering the plants. One day, as she was sitting at\nthe door of the hut during the Rishi's absence, she saw a man dressed\nin a very rich garb come towards the cottage. She stood up and asked\nthe stranger who he was, and what he had come there for. The stranger\nanswered that he had come a-hunting in those parts, that he had been\nchasing in vain a deer, that he felt thirsty, and that he came to\nthe hut of the hermit for refreshment.\n\nPostomani. Stranger, look upon this cot as your own house. I'll do\neverything I can to make you comfortable; I am only sorry we are too\npoor suitably to entertain, a man of your rank, for if I mistake not\nyou are the king of this country.\n\nThe king smiled. Postomani then brought out a water-pot, and made\nas if she would wash the feet of her royal guest with her own hands,\nwhen the king said, \"Holy maid, do not touch my feet, for I am only\na Kshatriya, and you are the daughter of a holy sage.\"\n\nPostomani. Noble sir, I am not the daughter of the Rishi, neither\nam I a Brahmani girl; so there can be no harm in my touching your\nfeet. Besides, you are my guest, and I am bound to wash your feet.\n\nKing. Forgive my impertinence. What caste do you belong to?\n\nPostomani. I have heard from the sage that my parents were Kshatriyas.\n\nKing. May I ask you whether your father was a king, for your uncommon\nbeauty and your stately demeanour show that you are a born princess.\n\nPostomani, without answering the question, went inside the hut,\nbrought out a tray of the most delicious fruits, and set it before the\nking. The king, however, would not touch the fruits till the maid had\nanswered his questions. When pressed hard Postomani gave the following\nanswer: \"The holy sage says that my father was a king. Having been\novercome in battle, he, along with my mother, fled into the woods. My\npoor father was eaten up by a tiger, and my mother at that time was\nbrought to bed of me, and she closed her eyes as I opened mine. Strange\nto say, there was a bee-hive on the tree at the foot of which I lay;\ndrops of honey fell into my mouth and kept alive the spark of life\ntill the kind Rishi found me and brought me into his hut. This is\nthe simple story of the wretched girl who now stands before the king.\"\n\nKing. Call not yourself wretched. You are the loveliest and most\nbeautiful of women. You would adorn the palace of the mightiest\nsovereign.\n\nThe upshot was, that the king made love to the girl and they were\njoined in marriage by the Rishi. Postomani was treated as the favourite\nqueen, and the former queen was in disgrace. Postomani's happiness,\nhowever, was short-lived. One day as she was standing by a well,\nshe became giddy, fell into the water, and died. The Rishi then\nappeared before the king and said: \"O king, grieve not over the\npast. What is fixed by fate must come to pass. The queen, who has\njust been drowned, was not of royal blood. She was born a mouse; I\nthen changed her successively, according to her own wish, into a cat,\na dog, an ape, a boar, an elephant, and a beautiful girl. Now that\nshe is gone, do you again take into favour your former queen. As\nfor my reputed daughter, through the favour of the gods I'll make\nher name immortal. Let her body remain in the well; fill the well up\nwith earth. Out of her flesh and bones will grow a tree which shall\nbe called after her Posto, that is, the Poppy tree. From this tree\nwill be obtained a drug called opium, which will be celebrated as a\npowerful medicine through all ages, and which will always be either\nswallowed or smoked as a wonderful narcotic to the end of time. The\nopium swallower or smoker will have one quality of each of the animals\nto which Postomani was transformed. He will be mischievous like a\nmouse, fond of milk like a cat, quarrelsome like a dog, filthy like\nan ape, savage like a boar, and high-tempered like a queen.\"\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nSTRIKE BUT HEAR\n\n\nOnce upon a time there reigned a king who had three sons. His subjects\none day came to him and said, \"O incarnation of justice! the kingdom\nis infested with thieves and robbers. Our property is not safe. We\npray your majesty to catch hold of these thieves and punish them.\" The\nking said to his sons, \"O my sons, I am old, but you are all in the\nprime of manhood. How is it that my kingdom is full of thieves? I\nlook to you to catch hold of these thieves.\" The three princes then\nmade up their minds to patrol the city every night. With this view\nthey set up a station in the outskirts of the city, where they kept\ntheir horses. In the early part of the night the eldest prince rode\nupon his horse and went through the whole city, but did not see a\nsingle thief. He came back to the station. About midnight the second\nprince got upon his horse and rode through every part of the city,\nbut he did not see or hear of a single thief. He came also back to\nthe station. Some hours after midnight the youngest prince went the\nrounds, and when he came near the gate of the palace where his father\nlived, he saw a beautiful woman coming out of the palace. The prince\naccosted the woman, and asked who she was and where she was going\nat that hour of the night. The woman answered, \"I am Rajlakshmi,\n[23] the guardian deity of this palace. The king will be killed this\nnight. I am therefore not needed here. I am going away.\" The prince\ndid not know what to make of this message. After a moment's reflection\nhe said to the goddess, \"But suppose the king is not killed to-night,\nthen have you any objection to return to the palace and stay there?\" \"I\nhave no objection,\" replied the goddess. The prince then begged the\ngoddess to go in, promising to do his best to prevent the king from\nbeing killed. Then the goddess entered the palace again, and in a\nmoment went the prince knew not whither.\n\nThe prince went straight into the bedroom of his royal father. There he\nlay immersed in deep sleep. His second and young wife, the stepmother\nof our prince, was sleeping in another bed in the room. A light\nwas burning dimly. What was his surprise when the prince saw a huge\ncobra going round and round the golden bedstead on which his father\nwas sleeping. The prince with his sword cut the serpent in two. Not\nsatisfied with killing the cobra, he cut it up into a hundred pieces,\nand put them inside the pan dish [24] which was in the room. While the\nprince was cutting up the serpent a drop of blood fell on the breast\nof his stepmother who was sleeping hard by. The prince was in great\ndistress. He said to himself, \"I have saved my father but killed my\nmother.\" How was the drop of blood to be taken out of his mother's\nbreast? He wrapped round his tongue a piece of cloth sevenfold, and\nwith it licked up the drop of blood. But while he was in the act of\ndoing this, his stepmother woke up, and opening her eyes saw that\nit was her stepson, the youngest prince. The young prince rushed\nout of the room. The queen, intending to ruin the youngest prince,\nwhom she hated, called out to her husband, \"My lord, my lord, are\nyou awake? are you awake? Rouse yourself up. Here is a nice piece of\nbusiness.\" The king on awaking inquired what the matter was. \"The\nmatter, my lord? Your worthy son, the youngest prince, of whom you\nspeak so highly, was just here. I caught him in the act of touching\nmy breast. Doubtless he came with a wicked intent. And this is your\nworthy son!\" The king was horror-struck. The prince went to the\nstation to his brothers, but told them nothing.\n\nEarly in the morning the king called his eldest son to him and said,\n\"If a man to whom I intrust my honour and my life prove faithless,\nhow should he be punished?\" The eldest prince replied, \"Doubtless such\na man's head should be cut off; but before you kill, you should see\nwhether the man is really faithless.\" \"What do you mean?\" inquired\nthe king. \"Let your majesty be pleased to listen,\" answered the prince.\n\n\"Once on a time there lived a goldsmith who had a grown-up son. And\nthis son had a wife who had the rare faculty of understanding the\nlanguage of beasts; but neither her husband nor any one else knew\nthat she had this uncommon gift. One night she was lying in bed\nbeside her husband in their house, which was close to a river, when\nshe heard a jackal howl out, 'There goes a carcase floating on the\nriver; is there any one who will take off the diamond ring from the\nfinger of the dead man and give me the corpse to eat?' The woman\nunderstood the jackal's language, got up from bed and went to the\nriver-side. The husband, who was not asleep, followed his wife at\nsome distance so as not to be observed by her. The woman went into\nthe water, tugged the floating corpse towards the shore, and saw the\ndiamond ring on the finger. Unable to loosen it with her hand, as the\nfingers of the dead body had swelled, she bit it off with her teeth,\nand put the dead body upon land. She then went to her bed, whither\nshe had been preceded by her husband. The young goldsmith lay beside\nhis wife almost petrified with fear, for he concluded after what he\nsaw that his wife was not a human being but a Rakshasi. He spent the\nrest of the night in tossing in his bed, and early in the morning\nspoke to his father in the following manner: 'Father, the woman whom\nthou hast given me to wife is not a real woman but a Rakshasi. Last\nnight as I was lying in bed with her, I heard outside the house,\ntowards the river-side, a jackal set up a fearful howl. On this she,\nthinking that I was asleep, got up from bed, opened the door, and\nwent out to the river-side. Surprised to see her go out alone at\nthe dead hour of night, I suspected evil and followed her, but so\nthat she could not see me. What did she do, do you think? O horror of\nhorrors! She went into the stream, dragged towards the shore the dead\nbody of a man which was floating by, and began to eat it! I saw this\nwith mine own eyes. I then returned home while she was feasting upon\nthe carcase, and jumped into bed. In a few minutes she also returned,\nbolted the door, and lay beside me. O my father, how can I live with\na Rakshasi? She will certainly kill me and eat me up one night.' The\nold goldsmith was not a little shocked to hear this account. Both\nfather and son agreed that the woman should be taken into the forest\nand there left to be devoured by wild beasts. Accordingly the young\ngoldsmith spoke to his wife thus: 'My dear love, you had better not\ncook much this morning; only boil rice and burn a brinjal, for I must\ntake you to-day to see your father and mother, who are dying to see\nyou.' At the mention of her father's house she became full of joy,\nand finished the cooking in no time. The husband and wife snatched a\nhasty breakfast and started on their journey. The way lay through a\ndense jungle, in which the goldsmith bethought himself of leaving his\nwife alone to be eaten up by wild beasts. But while they were passing\nthrough this jungle the woman heard a serpent hiss, the meaning of\nwhich hissing, as understood by her, was as follows: 'O passer-by, how\nthankful should I be to you if you would catch hold of that croaking\nfrog in yonder hole, which is full of gold and precious stones,\nand give me the frog to swallow, and you take the gold and precious\nstones.' The woman forthwith made for the frog, and began digging\nthe hole with a stick. The young goldsmith was now quaking with fear,\nthinking his Rakshasi-wife was about to kill him. She called out to\nhim and said, 'Husband, take up all this large quantity of gold and\nthese precious stones.' The goldsmith, not knowing what to make of it,\ntimidly went to the place, and to his infinite surprise saw the gold\nand the precious stones. They took up as much as they could. On the\nhusband's asking his wife how she came to know of the existence of all\nthis riches, she said that she understood the language of animals,\nand that the snake coiled up hard by had informed her of it. The\ngoldsmith, on finding out what an accomplished wife he was blessed\nwith, said to her, 'My love, it has got very late to-day; it would be\nimpossible to reach your father's house before nightfall, and we may\nbe devoured by wild beasts in the jungle; I propose therefore that\nwe both return home.' It took them a long time to reach home, for\nthey were laden with a large quantity of gold and precious stones. On\ncoming near the house, the goldsmith said to his wife, 'My dear, you\ngo by the back door, while I go by the front door and see my father\nin his shop and show him all this gold and these precious stones.' So\nshe entered the house by the back door, and the moment she entered\nshe was met by the old goldsmith, who had come that minute into the\nhouse for some purpose with a hammer in his hand. The old goldsmith,\nwhen he saw his Rakshasi daughter-in-law, concluded in his mind that\nshe had killed and swallowed up his son. He therefore struck her on\nthe head with the hammer, and she immediately died. That moment the\nson came into the house, but it was too late. Hence it is that I told\nyour majesty that before you cut off a man's head you should inquire\nwhether the man is really guilty.\"\n\nThe king then called his second son to him, and said, \"If a man to\nwhom I intrust my honour and my life prove faithless, how should he\nbe punished?\" The second prince replied, \"Doubtless such a man's head\nshould be cut off, but before you kill you should see whether the\nman is really faithless.\" \"What do you mean?\" inquired the king. \"Let\nyour majesty be pleased to listen,\" answered the prince.\n\n\"Once on a time there reigned a king who was very fond of going out\na-hunting. Once while he was out hunting his horse took him into\na dense forest far from his followers. He rode on and on, and did\nnot see either villages or towns. He became very thirsty, but he\ncould see neither pond, lake, nor stream. At last he found something\ndripping from the top of a tree. Concluding it to be rain-water which\nhad rested in some cavity of the tree, he stood on horseback under\nthe tree and caught the dripping contents in a small cup. It was,\nhowever, no rain-water. A huge cobra, which was on the top of the\ntree, was dashing in rage its fangs against the tree; and its poison\nwas coming out and was falling in drops. The king, however, thought\nit was rain-water; though his horse knew better. When the cup was\nnearly filled with the liquid snake-poison, and the king was about\nto drink it off, the horse, to save the life of his royal master,\nso moved about that the cup fell from the king's hand and all the\nliquid spilled about. The king became very angry with his horse,\nand with his sword gave a cut to the horse's neck, and the horse died\nimmediately. Hence it is that I told your majesty that before you cut\noff a man's head you should inquire whether the man is really guilty.\"\n\nThe king then called to him his third and youngest son, and said,\n\"If a man to whom I intrust my honour and my life prove faithless,\nhow should he be punished?\" The youngest prince replied, \"Doubtless\nsuch a man's head should be cut off, but before you kill you should\nsee whether the man is really faithless.\" \"What do you mean?\" inquired\nthe king. \"Let your majesty be pleased to listen,\" answered the prince.\n\n\"Once on a time there reigned a king who had in his palace a remarkable\nbird of the Suka species. One day as the Suka went out to the fields\nfor an airing, he saw his dad and dam, who pressed him to come and\nspend some days with them in their nest in some far-off land. The\nSuka answered he would be very happy to come, but he could not go\nwithout the king's leave; he added that he would speak to the king\nthat very day, and would be ready to go the following morning if his\ndad and dam would come to that very spot. The Suka spoke to the king,\nand the king gave leave with reluctance as he was very fond of the\nbird. So the next morning the Suka met his dad and dam at the place\nappointed, and went with them to his paternal nest on the top of some\nhigh tree in a far-off land. The three birds lived happily together\nfor a fortnight, at the end of which period the Suka said to his\ndad and dam, 'My beloved parents, the king granted me leave only\nfor a fortnight, and to-day the fortnight is over: to-morrow I must\nstart for the city of the king.' His dad and dam readily agreed to the\nreasonable proposal, and told him to take a present to the king. After\nlaying their heads together for some time they agreed that the present\nshould be a fruit of the tree of Immortality. So early next morning\nthe Suka plucked a fruit off the tree of Immortality, and carefully\ncatching it in his beak, started on his aerial journey. As he had a\nheavy weight to carry, the Suka was not able to reach the city of\nthe king that day, and was benighted on the road. He took shelter\nin a tree, and was at a loss to know where to keep the fruit. If\nhe kept it in his beak it was sure, he thought, to fall out when he\nfell asleep. Fortunately he saw a hole in the trunk of the tree in\nwhich he had taken shelter, and accordingly put the fruit in it. It\nso happened that in that hole there was a snake; in the course of the\nnight the snake darted its fangs on the fruit, and thus besmeared it\nwith its poison. Early before crow-cawing the Suka, suspecting nothing,\ntook up the fruit of Immortality in its beak, and began his aerial\nvoyage. The Suka reached the palace while the king was sitting with\nhis ministers. The king was delighted to see his pet bird come again,\nand greatly admired the beautiful fruit which the Suka had brought as\na present. The fruit was very fair to look at; it was the loveliest\nfruit in all the earth; and as its name implies it makes the eater\nof it immortal. The king was going to eat it, but his courtiers said\nthat it was not advisable for the king to eat it, as it might be a\npoisonous fruit. He accordingly threw it to a crow which was perched\non the wall; the crow ate a part of it; but in a moment the crow fell\ndown and died. The king, imagining that the Suka had intended to take\naway his life, took hold of the bird and killed it. The king ordered\nthe stone of the deadly fruit, as it was thought to be, to be planted\nin a garden outside the city. The stone in course of time became\na large tree bearing lovely fruit. The king ordered a fence to be\nput round the tree, and placed a guard lest people should eat of the\nfruit and die. There lived in that city an old Brahman and his wife,\nwho used to live upon charity. The Brahman one day mourned his hard\nlot, and told his wife that instead of leading the wretched life of\na beggar he would eat the fruit of the poisonous tree in the king's\ngarden and thus end his days. So that very night he got up from his\nbed in order to get into the king's garden. His wife, suspecting her\nhusband's intention, followed him, resolved also to eat of the fruit\nand die with her husband. As at that dead hour of night the guard\nwas asleep, the old Brahman plucked a fruit and ate it. The woman\nsaid to her husband, 'If you die what is the use of my life? I'll\nalso eat and die.' So saying she plucked a fruit and ate it. Thinking\nthat the poison would take some time to produce its due effect, they\nboth went home and lay in bed, supposing that they would never rise\nagain. To their infinite surprise next morning they found themselves\nto be not only alive, but young and vigorous. Their neighbours could\nscarcely recognise them--they had become so changed. The old Brahman\nhad become handsome and vigorous, no grey hairs, no wrinkles on his\ncheeks; and as for his wife, she had become as beautiful as any lady\nin the king's household. The king, hearing of this wonderful change,\nsent for the old Brahman, who told him all the circumstances. The\nking then greatly lamented the sad fate of his pet bird, and blamed\nhimself for having killed it without fully inquiring into the case.\n\n\"Hence it is,\" continued the youngest prince, \"that I told your majesty\nthat before you cut off a man's head you should inquire whether the\nman is really guilty. I know your majesty thinks that last night\nI entered your chamber with wicked intent. Be pleased to hear me\nbefore you strike. Last night as I was on my rounds I saw a female\nfigure come out of the palace. On challenging her she said that she\nwas Rajlakshmi, the guardian deity of the palace; and that she was\nleaving the palace as the king would be killed that night. I told her\nto come in, and that I would prevent the king from being killed. I\nwent straight into your bedroom, and saw a large cobra going round\nand round your golden bedstead. I killed the cobra, cut it up into a\nhundred pieces, and put them in the pan dish. But while I was cutting\nup the snake, a drop of its blood fell on the breast of my mother;\nand then I thought that while I had saved my father I had killed\nmy mother. I wrapped round my tongue a piece of cloth sevenfold\nand licked up the drop of blood. While I was licking up the blood,\nmy mother opened her eyes and noticed me. This is what I have done;\nnow cut off my head if your majesty wishes it.\"\n\nThe king filled with joy and gratitude embraced his son, and from\nthat time loved him more even than he had loved him before.\n\n\n Thus my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF TWO THIEVES AND OF THEIR SONS\n\n\nPART I\n\nOnce on a time there lived two thieves in a village who earned their\nlivelihood by stealing. As they were well-known thieves, every act\nof theft in the village was ascribed to them whether they committed\nit or not; they therefore left the village, and, being resolved to\nsupport themselves by honest labour, went to a neighbouring town for\nservice. Both of them were engaged by a householder; the one had to\ntend a cow, and the other to water a champaka plant. The elder thief\nbegan watering the plant early in the morning, and as he had been\ntold to go on pouring water till some of it collected itself round\nthe foot of the plant he went on pouring bucketful after bucketful:\nbut to no purpose. No sooner was the water poured on the foot of the\nplant than it was forthwith sucked up by the thirsty earth; and it\nwas late in the afternoon when the thief, tired with drawing water,\nlaid himself down on the ground, and fell asleep. The younger thief\nfared no better. The cow which he had to tend was the most vicious\nin the whole country. When taken out of the village for pasturage it\ngalloped away to a great distance with its tail erect; it ran from one\npaddy-field to another, and ate the corn and trod upon it; it entered\ninto sugar-cane plantations and destroyed the sweet cane;--for all\nwhich damage and acts of trespass the neat-herd was soundly rated by\nthe owners of the fields. What with running after the cow from field\nto field, from pool to pool; what with the abusive language poured\nnot only upon him, but upon his forefathers up to the fourteenth\ngeneration, by the owners of the fields in which the corn had been\ndestroyed,--the younger thief had a miserable day of it. After a\nworld of trouble he succeeded about sunset in catching hold of the\ncow, which he brought back to the house of his master. The elder\nthief had just roused himself from sleep when he saw the younger one\nbringing in the cow. Then the elder said to the younger--\"Brother,\nwhy are you so late in coming from the fields?\"\n\nYounger. What shall I say, brother? I took the cow to that part of the\nmeadow where there is a tank, near which there is a large tree. I let\nthe cow loose, and it began to graze about without giving the least\ntrouble. I spread my gamchha [25] upon the grass under the tree;\nand there was such a delicious breeze that I soon fell asleep, and\nI did not wake till after sunset; and when I awoke I saw my good cow\ngrazing contentedly at the distance of a few paces. But how did you\nfare, brother?\n\nElder. Oh, as for me, I had a jolly time of it. I had poured only\none bucketful of water on the plant, when a large quantity rested\nround it. So my work was done, and I had the whole day to myself. I\nlaid myself down on the ground; I meditated on the joys of this new\nmode of life; I whistled; I sang; and at last fell asleep. And I am\nup only this moment.\n\nWhen this talk was ended, the elder thief, believing that what the\nyounger thief had said was true, thought that tending the cow was more\ncomfortable than watering the plant; and the younger thief, for the\nsame reason, thought that watering the plant was more comfortable\nthan tending the cow: each therefore resolved to exchange his own\nwork for that of the other.\n\nElder. Well, brother, I have a wish to tend the cow. Suppose to-morrow\nyou take my work, and I yours. Have you any objection?\n\nYounger. Not the slightest, brother. I shall be glad to take up your\nwork, and you are quite welcome to take up mine. Only let me give\nyou a bit of advice. I felt it rather uncomfortable to sleep nearly\nthe whole of the day on the bare ground. If you take a charpoy [26]\nwith you, you will have a merry time of it.\n\nEarly the following morning the elder thief went out with the cow to\nthe fields, not forgetting to take with him a charpoy for his ease and\ncomfort; and the younger thief began watering the plant. The latter\nhad thought that one bucketful, or at the outside two bucketfuls,\nof water would be enough. But what was his surprise when he found\nthat even a hundred bucketfuls were not sufficient to saturate the\nground around the roots of the plant. He was dead tired with drawing\nwater. The sun was almost going down, and yet his work was not over. At\nlast he gave it up through sheer weariness.\n\nThe elder thief in the fields was in no better case. He took the\ncow beside the tank which the younger thief had spoken of, put his\ncharpoy under the large tree hard by, and then let the cow loose. As\nsoon as the cow was let loose it went scampering about in the meadow,\njumping over hedges and ditches, running through paddy-fields, and\ninjuring sugar-cane plantations. The elder thief was not a little\nput about. He had to run about the whole day, and to be insulted by\nthe people whose fields had been trespassed upon. But the worst of\nit was, that our thief had to run about the meadow with the charpoy\non his head, for he could not put it anywhere for fear it should be\ntaken away. When the other neat-herds who were in the meadow saw the\nelder thief running about in breathless haste after the cow with the\ncharpoy on his head, they clapped their hands and raised shouts of\nderision. The poor fellow, hungry and angry, bitterly repented of\nthe exchange he had made. After infinite trouble, and with the help\nof the other neat-herds, he at last caught hold of the precious cow,\nand brought it home long after the village lamps had been lit.\n\nWhen the two thieves met in the house of their master, they merely\nlaughed at each other without speaking a word. Their dinner over,\nthey laid themselves to rest, when there took place the following\nconversation:--\n\nYounger. Well, how did you fare, brother?\n\nElder. Just as you fared, and perhaps some degrees better.\n\nYounger. I am of opinion that our former trade of thieving was\ninfinitely preferable to this sort of honest labour, as people call it.\n\nElder. What doubt is there of that? But, by the gods, I have never\nseen a cow which can be compared to this. It has no second in the\nworld in point of viciousness.\n\nYounger. A vicious cow is not a rare thing. I have seen some cows\nas vicious. But have you ever seen a plant like this champaka plant\nwhich you were told to water? I wonder what becomes of all the water\nthat is poured round about it. Is there a tank below its roots?\n\nElder. I have a good mind to dig round it and see what is beneath it.\n\nYounger. We had better do so this night when the good man of the\nhouse and his wife are asleep.\n\nAt about midnight the two thieves took spades and shovels and began\ndigging round the plant. After digging a good deal the younger thief\nlighted upon some hard thing against which the shovel struck. The\ncuriosity of both was excited. The younger thief saw that it was\na large jar; he thrust his hand into it and found that it was full\nof gold mohurs. But he said to the elder thief--\"Oh, it is nothing;\nit is only a large stone.\" The elder thief, however, suspected that\nit was something else; but he took care not to give vent to his\nsuspicion. Both agreed to give up digging as they had found nothing;\nand they went to sleep. An hour or two after, when the elder thief\nsaw that the younger thief was asleep, he quietly got up and went\nto the spot which had been digged. He saw the jar filled with gold\nmohurs. Digging a little near it, he found another jar also filled\nwith gold mohurs. Overjoyed to find the treasure, he resolved to secure\nit. He took up both the jars, went to the tank which was near, and from\nwhich water used to be drawn for the plant, and buried them in the mud\nof its bank. He then returned to the house, and quietly laid himself\ndown beside the younger thief, who was then fast asleep. The younger\nthief, who had first found the jar of gold mohurs, now woke, and softly\nstealing out of bed, went to secure the treasure he had seen. On going\nto the spot he did not see any jar; he therefore naturally thought\nthat his companion the elder thief had secreted it somewhere. He went\nto his sleeping partner, with a view to discover if possible by any\nmarks on his body the place where the treasure had been hidden. He\nexamined the person of his friend with the eye of a detective, and\nsaw mud on his feet and near the ankles. He immediately concluded\nthe treasure must have been concealed somewhere in the tank. But in\nwhat part of the tank? on which bank? His ingenuity did not forsake\nhim here. He walked round all the four banks of the tank. When he\nwalked round three sides, the frogs on them jumped into the water;\nbut no frogs jumped from the fourth bank. He therefore concluded that\nthe treasure must have been buried on the fourth bank. In a little\nhe found the two jars filled with gold mohurs; he took them up, and\ngoing into the cow-house brought out the vicious cow he had tended,\nand put the two jars on its back. He left the house and started for\nhis native village.\n\nWhen the elder thief at crow-cawing got up from sleep, he was surprised\nnot to find his companion beside him. He hastened to the tank and\nfound that the jars were not there. He went to the cow-house, and did\nnot see the vicious cow. He immediately concluded the younger thief\nmust have run away with the treasure on the back of the cow. And where\ncould he think of going? He must be going to his native village. No\nsooner did this process of reasoning pass through his mind than he\nresolved forthwith to set out and overtake the younger thief. As\nhe passed through the town, he invested all the money he had in a\ncostly pair of shoes covered with gold lace. He walked very fast,\navoiding the public road and making short cuts. He descried the\nyounger thief trudging on slowly with his cow. He went before him\nin the highway about a distance of 200 yards, and threw down on the\nroad one shoe. He walked on another 200 yards and threw the other\nshoe at a place near which was a large tree; amid the thick leaves of\nthat tree he hid himself. The younger thief coming along the public\nroad saw the first shoe and said to himself--\"What a beautiful shoe\nthat is! It is of gold lace. It would have suited me in my present\ncircumstances now that I have got rich. But what shall I do with one\nshoe?\" So he passed on. In a short time he came to the place where\nthe other shoe was lying. The younger thief said within himself--\"Ah,\nhere is the other shoe! What a fool I was, that I did not pick up\nthe one I first saw! However it is not too late. I'll tie the cow to\nyonder tree and go for the other shoe.\" He tied the cow to the tree,\nand taking up the second shoe went for the first, lying at a distance\nof about 200 yards. In the meantime the elder thief got down from\nthe tree, loosened the cow, and drove it towards his native village,\navoiding the king's highway. The younger thief on returning to the\ntree found that the cow was gone. He of course concluded that it\ncould have been done only by the elder thief. He walked as fast as\nhis legs could carry him, and reached his native village long before\nthe elder thief with the cow. He hid himself near the door of the\nelder thief's house. The moment the elder thief arrived with the\ncow, the younger thief accosted him, saying--\"So you are come safe,\nbrother. Let us go in and divide the money.\" To this proposal the\nelder thief readily agreed. In the inner yard of the house the two\njars were taken down from the back of the cow; they went to a room,\nbolted the door, and began dividing. Two mohurs were taken up by\nthe hand, one was put in one place, and the other in another; and\nthey went on doing that till the jars became empty. But last of all\none gold mohur remained. The question was--Who was to take it? Both\nagreed that it should be changed the next morning, and the silver cash\nequally divided. But with whom was the single mohur to remain? There\nwas not a little wrangling about the matter. After a great deal of yea\nand nay, it was settled that it should remain with the elder thief,\nand that next morning it should be changed and equally divided.\n\nAt night the elder thief said to his wife and the other women of\nthe house, \"Look here, ladies, the younger thief will come to-morrow\nmorning to demand the share of the remaining gold mohur; but I don't\nmean to give it to him. You do one thing to-morrow. Spread a cloth on\nthe ground in the yard. I will lay myself on the cloth pretending to\nbe dead; and to convince people that I am dead, put a tulasi [27]\nplant near my head. And when you see the younger thief coming to\nthe door, you set up a loud cry and lamentation. Then he will of\ncourse go away, and I shall not have to pay his share of the gold\nmohur.\" To this proposal the women readily agreed. Accordingly the\nnext day, about noon, the elder thief laid himself down in the yard\nlike a corpse with the sacred basil near his head. When the younger\nthief was seen coming near the house, the women set up a loud cry,\nand when he came nearer and nearer, wondering what it all meant,\nthey said, \"Oh, where did you both go? What did you bring? What\ndid you do to him? Look, he is dead!\" So saying they rent the air\nwith their cries. The younger thief, seeing through the whole, said,\n\"Well, I am sorry my friend and brother is gone. I must now attend to\nhis funeral. You all go away from this place, you are but women. I'll\nsee to it that the remains are well burnt.\" He brought a quantity of\nstraw and twisted it into a rope, which he fastened to the legs of the\ndeceased man, and began tugging him, saying that he was going to take\nhim to the place of burning. While the elder thief was being dragged\nthrough the streets, his body was getting dreadfully scratched and\nbruised, but he held his peace, being resolved to act his part out,\nand thus escape giving the share of the gold mohur. The sun had\ngone down when the younger thief with the corpse reached the place\nof burning. But as he was making preparations for a funeral pile,\nhe remembered that he had not brought fire with him. If he went\nfor fire leaving the elder thief behind, he would undoubtedly run\naway. What then was to be done? At last he tied the straw rope to the\nbranch of a tree, and kept the pretended corpse hanging in the air,\nand he himself climbed into the tree and sat on that branch, keeping\ntight hold of the rope lest it should break, and the elder thief run\naway. While they were in this state, a gang of robbers passed by. On\nseeing the corpse hanging, the head of the gang said, \"This raid of\nours has begun very auspiciously. Brahmans and Pandits say that if\non starting on a journey one sees a corpse, it is a good omen. Well,\nwe have seen a corpse, it is therefore likely that we shall meet with\nsuccess this night. If we do, I propose one thing: on our return let\nus first burn this dead body and then return home.\" All the robbers\nagreed to this proposal. The robbers then entered into the house of\na rich man in the village, put its inmates to the sword, robbed it of\nall its treasures, and withal managed it so cleverly that not a mouse\nstirred in the village. As they were successful beyond measure, they\nresolved on their return to burn the dead body they had seen. When they\ncame to the place of burning they found the corpse hanging as before,\nfor the elder thief had not yet opened his mouth lest he should be\nobliged to give half of the gold mohur. The thieves dug a hollow\nin the ground, brought fuel, and laid it upon the hollow. They took\ndown the corpse from the tree, and laid it upon the pile; and as they\nwere going to set it on fire, the corpse gave out an unearthly scream\nand jumped up. That very moment the younger thief jumped down from\nthe tree with a similar scream. The robbers were frightened beyond\nmeasure. They thought that a Dana (evil spirit) had possessed the\ncorpse, and that a ghost jumped down from the tree. They ran away in\ngreat fear, leaving behind them the money and the jewels which they had\nobtained by robbery. The two thieves laughed heartily, took up all the\nriches of the robbers, went home, and lived merrily for a long time.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nThe elder thief and the younger thief had one son each. As they had\nbeen so far successful in life by practising the art of thieving, they\nresolved to train up their sons to the same profession. There was in\nthe village a Professor of the Science of Roguery, who took pupils,\nand gave them lessons in that difficult science. The two thieves\nput their sons under this renowned Professor. The son of the elder\nthief distinguished himself very much, and bade fair to surpass his\nfather in the art of stealing. The lad's cleverness was tested in the\nfollowing manner. Not far from the Professor's house there lived a\npoor man in a hut, upon the thatch of which climbed a creeper of the\ngourd kind. In the middle of the thatch, which was also its topmost\npart, there was a splendid gourd, which the man and his wife watched\nday and night. They certainly slept at night, but then the thatch was\nso old and rickety that if even a mouse went up to it bits of straw\nand particles of earth used to fall inside the hut, and the man and\nhis wife slept right below the spot where the gourd was; so that it\nwas next to impossible to steal the gourd without the knowledge of\nits owners. The Professor said to his pupils--for he had many--that\nany one who stole the gourd without being caught would be pronounced\nthe dux of the school. Our elder thief's son at once accepted the\noffer. He said he would steal away the gourd if he were allowed the use\nof three things, namely, a string, a cat, and a knife. The Professor\nallowed him the use of these three things. Two or three hours after\nnightfall, the lad, furnished with the three things mentioned above,\nsat behind the thatch under the eaves, listening to the conversation\ncarried on by the man and his wife lying in bed inside the hut. In\na short time the conversation ceased. The lad then concluded that\nthey must both have fallen asleep. He waited half an hour longer,\nand hearing no sound inside, gently climbed up on the thatch. Chips of\nstraw and particles of earth fell upon the couple sleeping inside. The\nwoman woke up, and rousing her husband said, \"Look there, some one is\nstealing the gourd!\" That moment the lad squeezed the throat of the\ncat, and puss immediately gave out her usual \"Mew! mew! mew!\" The\nhusband said, \"Don't you hear the cat mewing? There is no thief;\nit is only a cat.\" The lad in the meantime cut the gourd from the\nplant with his knife, and tied the string which he had with him to\nits stalk. But how was he to get down without being discovered and\ncaught, especially as the man and the woman were now awake? The woman\nwas not convinced that it was only a cat; the shaking of the thatch,\nand the constant falling of bits of straw and particles of dust, made\nher think that it was a human being that was upon the thatch. She was\ntelling her husband to go out and see whether a man was not there;\nbut he maintained that it was only a cat. While the man and woman\nwere thus disputing with each other, the lad with great force threw\ndown the cat upon the ground, on which the poor animal purred most\nvociferously; and the man said aloud to his wife, \"There it is; you\nare now convinced that it was only a cat.\" In the meantime, during\nthe confusion created by the clamour of the cat and the loud talk\nof the man, the lad quietly came down from the thatch with the gourd\ntied to the string. Next morning the lad produced the gourd before his\nteacher, and described to him and to his admiring comrades the manner\nin which he had committed the theft. The Professor was in ecstasy,\nand remarked, \"The worthy son of a worthy father.\" But the elder\nthief, the father of our hopeful genius, was by no means satisfied\nthat his son was as yet fit to enter the world. He wanted to prove\nhim still further. Addressing his son he said, \"My son, if you can\ndo what I tell you, I'll think you fit to enter the world. If you\ncan steal the gold chain of the queen of this country from her neck,\nand bring it to me, I'll think you fit to enter the world.\" The gifted\nson readily agreed to do the daring deed.\n\nThe young thief--for so we shall now call the son of the elder\nthief--made a reconnaissance of the palace in which the king and queen\nlived. He reconnoitred all the four gates, and all the outer and inner\nwalls as far as he could; and gathered incidentally a good deal of\ninformation, from people living in the neighbourhood, regarding the\nhabits of the king and queen, in what part of the palace they slept,\nwhat guards there were near the bedchamber, and who, if any, slept\nin the antechamber. Armed with all this knowledge the young thief\nfixed upon one dark night for doing the daring deed. He took with\nhim a sword, a hammer and some large nails, and put on very dark\nclothes. Thus accoutred he went prowling about the Lion gate of the\npalace. Before the zenana [28] could be got at, four doors, including\nthe Lion gate, had to be passed; and each of these doors had a guard\nof sixteen stalwart men. The same men, however, did not remain all\nnight at their post. As the king had an infinite number of soldiers\nat his command, the guards at the doors were relieved every hour; so\nthat once every hour at each door there were thirty-two men present,\nconsisting of the relieving party and of the relieved. The young thief\nchose that particular moment of time for entering each of the four\ndoors. At the time of relief when he saw the Lion gate crowded with\nthirty-two men, he joined the crowd without being taken notice of; he\nthen spent the hour preceding the next relief in the large open space\nand garden between two doors; and he could not be taken notice of, as\nthe night as well as his clothes was pitch dark. In a similar manner\nhe passed the second door, the third door, and the fourth door. And\nnow the queen's bedchamber stared him in the face. It was in the third\nloft; there was a bright light in it; and a low voice was heard as\nthat of a woman saying something in a humdrum manner. The young thief\nthought that the voice must be the voice of a maid-servant reciting\na story, as he had learnt was the custom in the palace every night,\nfor composing the king and queen to sleep. But how to get up into the\nthird loft? The inner doors were all closed, and there were guards\neverywhere. But the young thief had with him nails and a hammer: why\nnot drive the nails into the wall and climb up by them? True; but the\ndriving of nails into the wall would make a great noise which would\nrouse the guards, and possibly the king and queen,--at any rate the\nmaid-servant reciting stories would give the alarm. Our erratic genius\nhad considered that matter well before engaging in the work. There is\na water-clock in the palace which shows the hours; and at the end of\nevery hour a very large Chinese gong is struck, the sound of which\nis so loud that it is not only heard all over the palace, but over\nmost part of the city; and the peculiarity of the gong, as of every\nChinese gong, was that nearly one minute must elapse after the first\nstroke before the second stroke could be made, to allow the gong to\ngive out the whole of its sound. The thief fixed upon the minutes\nwhen the gong was struck at the end of every hour for driving nails\ninto the wall. At ten o'clock when the gong was struck ten times, the\nthief found it easy to drive ten nails into the wall. When the gong\nstopped, the thief also stopped, and either sat or stood quiet on the\nninth nail catching hold of the tenth which was above the other. At\neleven o'clock he drove into the wall in a similar manner eleven nails,\nand got a little higher than the second story; and by twelve o'clock\nhe was in the loft where the royal bedchamber was. Peeping in he saw\na drowsy maid-servant drowsily reciting a story, and the king and\nqueen apparently asleep. He went stealthily behind the story-telling\nmaid-servant and took his seat. The queen was lying down on a richly\nfurnished bedstead of gold beside the king. The massive chain of gold\nround the neck of the queen was gleaming in candle-light. The thief\nquietly listened to the story of the drowsy maid-servant. She was\nbecoming more and more sleepy. She stopped for a second, nodded her\nhead, and again resumed the story. It was plain she was under the\ninfluence of sleep. In a moment the thief cut off the head of the\nmaid-servant with his sword, and himself went on reciting for some\nminutes the story which the woman was telling. The king and queen were\nunconscious of any change as to the person of the story-teller, for\nthey were both in deep sleep. He stripped the murdered woman of her\nclothes, put them on himself, tied up his own clothes in a bundle,\nand walking softly, gently took off the chain from the neck of the\nqueen. He then went through the rooms down stairs, ordered the inner\nguard to open the door, as she was obliged to go out of the palace\nfor purposes of necessity. The guards, seeing that it was the queen's\nmaid-servant, readily allowed her to go out. In the same manner, and\nwith the same pretext, he got through the other doors, and at last\nout into the street. That very night, or rather morning, the young\nthief put into his father's hand the gold chain of the queen. The\nelder thief could scarcely believe his own eyes. It was so like a\ndream. His joy knew no bounds. Addressing his son he said--\"Well done,\nmy son; you are not only as clever as your father, but you have beaten\nme hollow. The gods give you long life, my son.\"\n\nNext morning when the king and queen got up from bed, they were\nshocked to see the maid-servant lying in a pool of blood. The queen\nalso found that her gold chain was not round her neck. They could not\nmake out how all this could have taken place. How could any thief\nmanage to elude the vigilance of so many guards? How could he get\ninto the queen's bedchamber? And how could he again escape? The king\nfound from the reports of the guards that a person calling herself\nthe royal maid-servant had gone out of the palace some hours before\ndawn. All sorts of inquiries were made, but in vain. Proclamation\nwas made in the city; a large reward was offered to any one who\nwould give information tending to the apprehension of the thief and\nmurderer. But no one responded to the call. At last the king ordered\na camel to be brought to him. On the back of the animal was placed\ntwo large bags filled with gold mohurs. The man taking charge of the\nbags upon the camel was ordered to go through every part of the city\nmaking the following challenge:--\"As the thief was daring enough to\nsteal away a gold chain from the neck of the queen, let him further\nshow his daring by stealing the gold mohurs from the back of this\ncamel.\" Two days and nights the camel paraded through the city, but\nnothing happened. On the third night as the camel-driver was going\nhis rounds he was accosted by a sannyasi, [29] who sat on a tiger's\nskin before a fire, and near whom was a monstrous pair of tongs. This\nsannyasi was no other than the young thief in disguise. The sannyasi\nsaid to the camel-driver--\"Brother, why are you going through the city\nin this manner? Who is there so daring as to steal from the back of the\nking's camel? Come down, friend, and smoke with me.\" The camel-driver\nalighted, tied the camel to a tree on the spot, and began smoking. The\nmendicant supplied him not only with tobacco, but with ganja and other\nintoxicating drugs, so that in a short time the camel-driver became\nquite intoxicated and fell asleep. The young thief led away the camel\nwith the treasure on its back in the dead of night, through narrow\nlanes and bye-paths to his own house. That very night the camel was\nkilled, and its carcase buried in deep pits in the earth, and the\nthing was so managed that no one could discover any trace of it.\n\nThe next morning when the king heard that the camel-driver was\nlying drunk in the street, and that the camel had been made away\nwith together with the treasure, he was almost beside himself with\nanger. Proclamation was made in the city to the effect that whoever\ncaught the thief would get the reward of a lakh of rupees. The son of\nthe younger thief--who, by the way, was in the same school of roguery\nwith the son of the elder thief, though he did not distinguish himself\nso much--now came to the front and said that he would apprehend the\nthief. He of course suspected that the son of the elder thief must\nhave done it--for who so daring and clever as he? In the evening of\nthe following day the son of the younger thief disguised himself as a\nwoman, and coming to that part of the town where the young thief lived,\nbegan to weep very much, and went from door to door saying--\"O sirs,\ncan any of you give me a bit of camel's flesh, for my son is dying,\nand the doctors say nothing but eating camel's meat can save his\nlife. O for pity's sake, do give me a bit of camel's flesh.\" At last\nhe went to the house of the young thief, and begged of the wife--for\nthe young thief himself was out--to tell him where he could get hold\nof camel's flesh, as his son would assuredly perish if it could not\nbe got. Saying this he rent the air with his cries, and fell down at\nthe feet of the young thief's wife. Woman as she was, though the wife\nof a thief, she felt pity for the supposed woman, and said--\"Wait,\nand I will try and get some camel's flesh for your son.\" So saying,\nshe secretly went to the spot where the dead camel had been buried,\nbrought a small quantity of flesh, and gave it to the party. The son\nof the younger thief was now entranced with joy. He went and told the\nking that he had succeeded in tracing the thief, and would be ready to\ndeliver him up at night if the king would send some constables with\nhim. At night the elder thief and his son were captured, the body\nof the camel dug out, and all the treasures in the house seized. The\nfollowing morning the king sat in judgment. The son of the elder thief\nconfessed that he had stolen the queen's gold chain, and killed the\nmaid-servant, and had taken away the camel; but he added that the\nperson who had detected him and his father--the younger thief--were\nalso thieves and murderers, of which fact he gave undoubted proofs. As\nthe king had promised to give a lakh of rupees to the detective, that\nsum was placed before the son of the younger thief. But soon after he\nordered four pits to be dug in the earth in which were buried alive,\nwith all sorts of thorns and thistles, the elder thief and the younger\nthief, and their two sons.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nTHE GHOST-BRAHMAN\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived a poor Brahman, who not being a Kulin,\nfound it the hardest thing in the world to get married. He went to\nrich people and begged of them to give him money that he might marry a\nwife. And a large sum of money was needed, not so much for the expenses\nof the wedding, as for giving to the parents of the bride. He begged\nfrom door to door, flattered many rich folk, and at last succeeded in\nscraping together the sum needed. The wedding took place in due time;\nand he brought home his wife to his mother. After a short time he said\nto his mother--\"Mother, I have no means to support you and my wife; I\nmust therefore go to distant countries to get money somehow or other. I\nmay be away for years, for I won't return till I get a good sum. In\nthe meantime I'll give you what I have; you make the best of it, and\ntake care of my wife.\" The Brahman receiving his mother's blessing set\nout on his travels. In the evening of that very day, a ghost assuming\nthe exact appearance of the Brahman came into the house. The newly\nmarried woman, thinking it was her husband, said to him--\"How is it\nthat you have returned so soon? You said you might be away for years;\nwhy have you changed your mind?\" The ghost said--\"To-day is not a\nlucky day, I have therefore returned home; besides, I have already\ngot some money.\" The mother did not doubt but that it was her son. So\nthe ghost lived in the house as if he was its owner, and as if he was\nthe son of the old woman and the husband of the young woman. As the\nghost and the Brahman were exactly like each other in everything, like\ntwo peas, the people in the neighbourhood all thought that the ghost\nwas the real Brahman. After some years the Brahman returned from his\ntravels; and what was his surprise when he found another like him in\nthe house. The ghost said to the Brahman--\"Who are you? what business\nhave you to come to my house?\" \"Who am I?\" replied the Brahman, \"let\nme ask who you are. This is my house; that is my mother, and this\nis my wife.\" The ghost said--\"Why herein is a strange thing. Every\none knows that this is my house, that is my wife, and yonder is\nmy mother; and I have lived here for years. And you pretend this\nis your house, and that woman is your wife. Your head must have got\nturned, Brahman.\" So saying the ghost drove away the Brahman from his\nhouse. The Brahman became mute with wonder. He did not know what to\ndo. At last he bethought himself of going to the king and of laying\nhis case before him. The king saw the ghost-Brahman as well as the\nBrahman, and the one was the picture of the other; so he was in a\nfix, and did not know how to decide the quarrel. Day after day the\nBrahman went to the king and besought him to give him back his house,\nhis wife, and his mother; and the king, not knowing what to say every\ntime, put him off to the following day. Every day the king tells him\nto--\"Come to-morrow\"; and every day the Brahman goes away from the\npalace weeping and striking his forehead with the palm of his hand,\nand saying--\"What a wicked world this is! I am driven from my own\nhouse, and another fellow has taken possession of my house and of my\nwife! And what a king this is! He does not do justice.\"\n\nNow, it came to pass that as the Brahman went away every day from\nthe court outside the town, he passed a spot at which a great\nmany cowboys used to play. They let the cows graze on the meadow,\nwhile they themselves met together under a large tree to play. And\nthey played at royalty. One cowboy was elected king; another, prime\nminister or vizier; another, kotwal, or prefect of the police; and\nothers, constables. Every day for several days together they saw\nthe Brahman passing by weeping. One day the cowboy king asked his\nvizier whether he knew why the Brahman wept every day. On the vizier\nnot being able to answer the question, the cowboy king ordered one of\nhis constables to bring the Brahman to him. One of them went and said\nto the Brahman--\"The king requires your immediate attendance.\" The\nBrahman replied--\"What for? I have just come from the king, and he\nput me off till to-morrow. Why does he want me again?\" \"It is our king\nthat wants you--our neat-herd king,\" rejoined the constable. \"Who is\nneat-herd king?\" asked the Brahman. \"Come and see,\" was the reply. The\nneat-herd king then asked the Brahman why he every day went away\nweeping. The Brahman then told him his sad story. The neat-herd king,\nafter hearing the whole, said, \"I understand your case; I will give\nyou again all your rights. Only go to the king and ask his permission\nfor me to decide your case.\" The Brahman went back to the king of the\ncountry, and begged his Majesty to send his case to the neat-herd king,\nwho had offered to decide it. The king, whom the case had greatly\npuzzled, granted the permission sought. The following morning was\nfixed for the trial. The neat-herd king, who saw through the whole,\nbrought with him next day a phial with a narrow neck. The Brahman\nand the ghost-Brahman both appeared at the bar. After a great deal\nof examination of witnesses and of speech-making, the neat-herd king\nsaid--\"Well, I have heard enough. I'll decide the case at once. Here\nis this phial. Whichever of you will enter into it shall be declared\nby the court to be the rightful owner of the house the title of\nwhich is in dispute. Now, let me see, which of you will enter.\" The\nBrahman said--\"You are a neat-herd, and your intellect is that of\na neat-herd. What man can enter into such a small phial?\" \"If you\ncannot enter,\" said the neat-herd king, \"then you are not the rightful\nowner. What do you say, sir, to this?\" turning to the ghost-Brahman\nand addressing him. \"If you can enter into the phial, then the\nhouse and the wife and the mother become yours.\" \"Of course I will\nenter,\" said the ghost. And true to his word, to the wonder of all,\nhe made himself into a small creature like an insect, and entered\ninto the phial. The neat-herd king forthwith corked up the phial,\nand the ghost could not get out. Then, addressing the Brahman, the\nneat-herd king said, \"Throw this phial into the bottom of the sea,\nand take possession of your house, wife, and mother.\" The Brahman\ndid so, and lived happily for many years and begat sons and daughters.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nTHE MAN WHO WISHED TO BE PERFECT\n\n\nOnce on a time a religious mendicant came to a king who had no issue,\nand said to him, \"As you are anxious to have a son, I can give to the\nqueen a drug, by swallowing which she will give birth to twin sons;\nbut I will give the medicine on this condition, that of those twins you\nwill give one to me, and keep the other yourself.\" The king thought\nthe condition somewhat hard, but as he was anxious to have a son to\nbear his name, and inherit his wealth and kingdom, he at last agreed\nto the terms. Accordingly the queen swallowed the drug, and in due\ntime gave birth to two sons. The twin brothers became one year old,\ntwo years old, three years old, four years old, five years old, and\nstill the mendicant did not appear to claim his share; the king and\nqueen therefore thought that the mendicant, who was old, was dead, and\ndismissed all fears from their minds. But the mendicant was not dead,\nbut living; he was counting the years carefully. The young princes\nwere put under tutors, and made rapid progress in learning, as well\nas in the arts of riding and shooting with the bow; and as they were\nuncommonly handsome, they were admired by all the people. When the\nprinces were sixteen years old the mendicant made his appearance at the\npalace gate, and demanded the fulfilment of the king's promise. The\nhearts of the king and of the queen were dried up within them. They\nhad thought that the mendicant was no more in the land of the living;\nbut what was their surprise when they saw him standing at the gate\nin flesh and blood, and demanding one of the young princes for\nhimself? The king and queen were plunged into a sea of grief. There\nwas nothing for it, however, but to part with one of the princes;\nfor the mendicant might by his curse turn into ashes not only both\nthe princes, but also the king, queen, palace, and the whole of the\nkingdom to boot. But which one was to be given away? The one was as\ndear as the other. A fearful struggle arose in the hearts of the king\nand queen. As for the young princes, each of them said, \"I'll go,\"\n\"I'll go.\" The younger one said to the elder, \"You are older, if\nonly by a few minutes; you are the pride of my father; you remain\nat home, I'll go with the mendicant.\" The elder said to the younger,\n\"You are younger than I am; you are the joy of my mother; you remain\nat home, I'll go with the mendicant.\" After a great deal of yea and\nnay, after a great deal of mourning and lamentation, after the queen\nhad wetted her clothes with her tears, the elder prince was let go\nwith the mendicant. But before the prince left his father's roof he\nplanted with his own hands a tree in the courtyard of the palace, and\nsaid to his parents and brother, \"This tree is my life. When you see\nthe tree green and fresh, then know that it is well with me; when you\nsee the tree fade in some parts, then know that I am in an ill case;\nand when you see the whole tree fade, then know that I am dead and\ngone.\" Then kissing and embracing the king and queen and his brother,\nhe followed the mendicant.\n\nAs the mendicant and the prince were wending their way towards the\nforest they saw some dog's whelps on the roadside. One of the whelps\nsaid to its dam, \"Mother, I wish to go with that handsome young man,\nwho must be a prince.\" The dam said, \"Go\"; and the prince gladly\ntook the puppy as his companion. They had not gone far when upon\na tree on the roadside they saw a hawk and its young ones. One of\nthe young ones said to its dam, \"Mother, I wish to go with that\nhandsome young man, who must be the son of a king.\" The hawk said,\n\"Go\"; and the prince gladly took the young hawk as his companion. So\nthe mendicant, the prince, with the puppy and the young hawk, went\non their journey. At last they went into the depth of the forest far\naway from the houses of men, where they stopped before a hut thatched\nwith leaves. That was the mendicant's cell. The mendicant said to\nthe prince, \"You are to live in this hut with me. Your chief work\nwill be to cull flowers from the forest for my devotions. You can\ngo on every side except the north. If you go towards the north evil\nwill betide you. You can eat whatever fruit or root you like; and\nfor your drink, you will get it from the brook.\" The prince disliked\nneither the place nor his work. At dawn he used to cull flowers in\nthe forest and give them to the mendicant; after which the mendicant\nwent away somewhere the whole day and did not return till sundown;\nso the prince had the whole day to himself. He used to walk about in\nthe forest with his two companions--the puppy and the young hawk. He\nused to shoot arrows at the deer, of which there was a great number;\nand thus made the best of his time. One day as he pierced a stag with\nan arrow, the wounded stag ran towards the north, and the prince, not\nthinking of the mendicant's behest, followed the stag, which entered\ninto a fine-looking house that stood close by. The prince entered,\nbut instead of finding the deer he saw a young woman of matchless\nbeauty sitting near the door with a dice-table set before her. The\nprince was rooted to the spot while he admired the heaven-born\nbeauty of the lady. \"Come in, stranger,\" said the lady; \"chance has\nbrought you here, but don't go away without having with me a game of\ndice.\" The prince gladly agreed to the proposal. As it was a game of\nrisk they agreed that if the prince lost the game he should give his\nyoung hawk to the lady; and that if the lady lost it, she should give\nto the prince a young hawk just like that of the prince. The lady won\nthe game; she therefore took the prince's young hawk and kept it in a\nhole covered with a plank. The prince offered to play a second time,\nand the lady agreeing to it, they fell to it again, on the condition\nthat if the lady won the game she should take the prince's puppy,\nand if she lost it she should give to the prince a puppy just like\nthat of the prince. The lady won again, and stowed away the puppy in\nanother hole with a plank upon it. The prince offered to play a third\ntime, and the wager was that, if the prince lost the game, he should\ngive himself up to the lady to be done to by her anything she pleased;\nand that if he won, the lady should give him a young man exactly like\nhimself. The lady won the game a third time; she therefore caught hold\nof the prince and put him in a hole covered over with a plank. Now,\nthe beautiful lady was not a woman at all; she was a Rakshasi who\nlived upon human flesh, and her mouth watered at the sight of the\ntender body of the young prince. But as she had had her food that\nday she reserved the prince for the meal of the following day.\n\nMeantime there was great weeping in the house of the prince's\nfather. His brother used every day to look at the tree planted in\nthe courtyard by his own hand. Hitherto he had found the leaves of\na living green colour; but suddenly he found some leaves fading. He\ngave the alarm to the king and queen, and told them how the leaves\nwere fading. They concluded that the life of the elder prince must\nbe in great danger. The younger prince therefore resolved to go to\nthe help of his brother, but before going he planted a tree in the\ncourtyard of the palace, similar to the one his brother had planted,\nand which was to be the index of the manner of his life. He chose\nthe swiftest steed in the king's stables, and galloped towards the\nforest. In the way he saw a dog with a puppy, and the puppy thinking\nthat the rider was the same that had taken away his fellow-cub--for\nthe two princes were exactly like each other--said, \"As you have\ntaken away my brother, take me also with you.\" The younger prince\nunderstanding that his brother had taken away a puppy, he took up\nthat cub as a companion. Further on, a young hawk, which was perched\non a tree on the roadside, said to the prince, \"You have taken away\nmy brother; take me also, I beseech you\"; on which the younger prince\nreadily took it up. With these companions he went into the heart of the\nforest, where he saw a hut which he supposed to be the mendicant's. But\nneither the mendicant nor his brother was there. Not knowing what to\ndo or where to go, he dismounted from his horse, allowed it to graze,\nwhile he himself sat inside the house. At sunset the mendicant returned\nto his hut, and seeing the younger prince, said, \"I am glad to see\nyou. I told your brother never to go towards the north, for evil in\nthat case would betide him; but it seems that, disobeying my orders,\nhe has gone to the north and has fallen into the toils of a Rakshasi\nwho lives there. There is no hope of rescuing him; perhaps he has\nalready been devoured.\" The younger prince forthwith went towards\nthe north, where he saw a stag which he pierced with an arrow. The\nstag ran into a house which stood by, and the younger prince followed\nit. He was not a little astonished when, instead of seeing a stag,\nhe saw a woman of exquisite beauty. He immediately concluded, from\nwhat he had heard from the mendicant, that the pretended woman was none\nother than the Rakshasi in whose power his brother was. The lady asked\nhim to play a game of dice with her. He complied with the request,\nand on the same conditions on which the elder prince had played. The\nyounger prince won; on which the lady produced the young hawk from the\nhole and gave it to the prince. The joy of the two hawks on meeting\neach other was great. The lady and the prince played a second time,\nand the prince won again. The lady therefore brought to the prince\nthe young puppy lying in the hole. They played a third time, and the\nprince won a third time. The lady demurred to producing a young man\nexactly like the prince, pretending that it was impossible to get one;\nbut on the prince insisting upon the fulfilment of the condition,\nhis brother was produced. The joy of the two brothers on meeting each\nother was great. The Rakshasi said to the princes, \"Don't kill me,\nand I will tell you a secret which will save the life of the elder\nprince.\" She then told them that the mendicant was a worshipper of the\ngoddess Kali, who had a temple not far off; that he belonged to that\nsect of Hindus who seek perfection from intercourse with the spirits of\ndeparted men; that he had already sacrificed at the altar of Kali six\nhuman victims whose skulls could be seen in niches inside her temple;\nthat he would become perfect when the seventh victim was sacrificed;\nand that the elder prince was intended for the seventh victim. The\nRakshasi then told the prince to go immediately to the temple to find\nout the truth of what she had said. To the temple they accordingly\nwent. When the elder prince went inside the temple, the skulls in the\nniches laughed a ghastly laugh. Horror-struck at the sight and sound,\nhe inquired the cause of the laughter; and the skulls told him that\nthey were glad because they were about to get another added to their\nnumber. One of the skulls, as spokesman of the rest, said, \"Young\nprince, in a few days the mendicant's devotions will be completed, and\nyou will be brought into this temple and your head will be cut off, and\nyou will keep company with us. But there is one way by which you can\nescape that fate and do us good.\" \"Oh, do tell me,\" said the prince,\n\"what that way is, and I promise to do you all the good I can.\" The\nskull replied, \"When the mendicant brings you into this temple to offer\nyou up as a sacrifice, before cutting off your head he will tell you\nto prostrate yourself before Mother Kali, and while you prostrate\nyourself he will cut off your head. But take our advice, when he\ntells you to bow down before Kali, you tell him that as a prince you\nnever bowed down to any one, that you never knew what bowing down was,\nand that the mendicant should show it to you by himself doing it in\nyour presence. And when he bows down to show you how it is done, you\ntake up your sword and separate his head from his body. And when you\ndo that we shall all be restored to life, as the mendicant's vows will\nbe unfulfilled.\" The elder prince thanked the skulls for their advice,\nand went into the hut of the mendicant along with his younger brother.\n\nIn the course of a few days the mendicant's devotions were\ncompleted. On the following day he told the prince to go along with\nhim to the temple of Kali, for what reason he did not mention; but the\nprince knew it was to offer him up as a victim to the goddess. The\nyounger prince also went with them, but he was not allowed to go\ninside the temple. The mendicant then stood in the presence of Kali\nand said to the prince, \"Bow down to the goddess.\" The prince replied,\n\"I have not, as a prince, bowed to any one; I do not know how to\nperform the act of prostration. Please show me the way first, and\nI'll gladly do it.\" The mendicant then prostrated himself before the\ngoddess; and while he was doing so the prince at one stroke of his\nsword separated his head from his body. Immediately the skulls in the\nniches of the temple laughed aloud, and the goddess herself became\npropitious to the prince and gave him that virtue of perfection which\nthe mendicant had sought to obtain. The skulls were again united to\ntheir respective bodies and became living men, and the two princes\nreturned to their country.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nA GHOSTLY WIFE\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived a Brahman who had married a wife, and who\nlived in the same house with his mother. Near his house was a tank,\non the embankment of which stood a tree, on the boughs of which lived\na ghost of the kind called Sankchinni. [30] One night the Brahman's\nwife had occasion to go to the tank, and as she went she brushed by a\nSankchinni who stood near; on which the she-ghost got very angry with\nthe woman, seized her by the throat, climbed into her tree, and thrust\nher into a hole in the trunk. There the woman lay almost dead with\nfear. The ghost put on the clothes of the woman and went into the house\nof the Brahman. Neither the Brahman nor his mother had any inkling\nof the change. The Brahman thought his wife returned from the tank,\nand the mother thought that it was her daughter-in-law. Next morning\nthe mother-in-law discovered some change in her daughter-in-law. Her\ndaughter-in-law, she knew, was constitutionally weak and languid, and\ntook a long time to do the work of the house. But she had apparently\nbecome quite a different person. All of a sudden she had become very\nactive. She now did the work of the house in an incredibly short\ntime. Suspecting nothing, the old woman said nothing either to her\nson or to her daughter-in-law; on the contrary, she inly rejoiced\nthat her daughter-in-law had turned over a new leaf. But her surprise\nbecame every day greater and greater. The cooking of the household\nwas done in much less time than before. When the mother-in-law\nwanted the daughter-in-law to bring anything from the next room, it\nwas brought in much less time than was required in walking from one\nroom to the other. The ghost, instead of going inside the next room,\nwould stretch a long arm--for ghosts can lengthen or shorten any\nlimb of their bodies--from the door and get the thing. One day the\nold woman observed the ghost doing this. She ordered her to bring a\nvessel from some distance, and the ghost unconsciously stretched her\nhand to several yards' distance, and brought it in a trice. The old\nwoman was struck with wonder at the sight. She said nothing to her,\nbut spoke to her son. Both mother and son began to watch the ghost\nmore narrowly. One day the old woman knew that there was no fire in\nthe house, and she knew also that her daughter-in-law had not gone\nout of doors to get it; and yet, strange to say, the hearth in the\nkitchen-room was quite in a blaze. She went in, and, to her infinite\nsurprise, found that her daughter-in-law was not using any fuel for\ncooking, but had thrust into the oven her foot, which was blazing\nbrightly. The old mother told her son what she had seen, and they both\nconcluded that the young woman in the house was not his real wife but\na she-ghost. The son witnessed those very acts of the ghost which his\nmother had seen. An Ojha [31] was therefore sent for. The exorcist\ncame, and wanted in the first instance to ascertain whether the woman\nwas a real woman or a ghost. For this purpose he lighted a piece of\nturmeric and set it below the nose of the supposed woman. Now this\nwas an infallible test, as no ghost, whether male or female, can put\nup with the smell of burnt turmeric. The moment the lighted turmeric\nwas taken near her, she screamed aloud and ran away from the room. It\nwas now plain that she was either a ghost or a woman possessed by a\nghost. The woman was caught hold of by main force and asked who she\nwas. At first she refused to make any disclosures, on which the Ojha\ntook up his slippers and began belabouring her with them. Then the\nghost said with a strong nasal accent--for all ghosts speak through\nthe nose--that she was a Sankchinni, that she lived on a tree by the\nside of the tank, that she had seized the young Brahmani and put her\nin the hollow of her tree because one night she had touched her, and\nthat if any person went to the hole the woman would be found. The\nwoman was brought from the tree almost dead; the ghost was again\nshoebeaten, after which process, on her declaring solemnly that she\nwould not again do any harm to the Brahman and his family, she was\nreleased from the spell of the Ojha and sent away; and the wife of\nthe Brahman recovered slowly. After which the Brahman and his wife\nlived many years happily together and begat many sons and daughters.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nTHE STORY OF A BRAHMADAITYA [32]\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived a poor Brahman who had a wife. As he had\nno means of livelihood, he used every day to beg from door to door,\nand thus got some rice which they boiled and ate, together with some\ngreens which they gleaned from the fields. After some time it chanced\nthat the village changed its owner, and the Brahman bethought himself\nof asking some boon of the new laird. So one morning the Brahman\nwent to the laird's house to pay him court. It so happened that at\nthat time the laird was making inquiries of his servants about the\nvillage and its various parts. The laird was told that a certain\nbanyan-tree in the outskirts of the village was haunted by a number\nof ghosts; and that no man had ever the boldness to go to that tree\nat night. In bygone days some rash fellows went to the tree at night,\nbut the necks of them all were wrung, and they all died. Since that\ntime no man had ventured to go to the tree at night, though in the\nday some neat-herds took their cows to the spot. The new laird on\nhearing this said, that if any one would go at night to the tree, cut\none of its branches and bring it to him, he would make him a present\nof a hundred bighas [33] of rent-free land. None of the servants of\nthe laird accepted the challenge, as they were sure they would be\nthrottled by the ghosts. The Brahman, who was sitting there, thought\nwithin himself thus--\"I am almost starved to death now, as I never get\nmy bellyful. If I go to the tree at night and succeed in cutting off\none of its branches I shall get one hundred bighas of rent-free land,\nand become independent for life. If the ghosts kill me, my case will\nnot be worse, for to die of hunger is no better than to be killed by\nghosts.\" He then offered to go to the tree and cut off a branch that\nnight. The laird renewed his promise, and said to the Brahman that if\nhe succeeded in bringing one of the branches of that haunted tree at\nnight he would certainly give him one hundred bighas of rent-free land.\n\nIn the course of the day when the people of the village heard of the\nlaird's promise and of the Brahman's offer, they all pitied the poor\nman. They blamed him for his foolhardiness, as they were sure the\nghosts would kill him, as they had killed so many before. His wife\ntried to dissuade him from the rash undertaking; but in vain. He said\nhe would die in any case; but there was some chance of his escaping,\nand of thus becoming independent for life. Accordingly, one hour after\nsundown, the Brahman set out. He went to the outskirts of the village\nwithout the slightest fear as far as a certain vakula-tree (Mimusops\nElengi), from which the haunted tree was about one rope distant. But\nunder the vakula-tree the Brahman's heart misgave him. He began to\nquake with fear, and the heaving of his heart was like the upward and\ndownward motion of the paddy-husking pedal. The vakula-tree was the\nhaunt of a Brahmadaitya, who, seeing the Brahman stop under the tree,\nspoke to him, and said, \"Are you afraid, Brahman? Tell me what you wish\nto do, and I'll help you. I am a Brahmadaitya.\" The Brahman replied,\n\"O blessed spirit, I wish to go to yonder banyan-tree, and cut off\none of its branches for the zemindar, who has promised to give me one\nhundred bighas of rent-free land for it. But my courage is failing\nme. I shall thank you very much for helping me.\" The Brahmadaitya\nanswered, \"Certainly I'll help you, Brahman. Go on towards the tree,\nand I'll come with you.\" The Brahman, relying on the supernatural\nstrength of his invisible patron, who is the object of the fear and\nreverence of common ghosts, fearlessly walked towards the haunted tree,\non reaching which he began to cut a branch with the bill which was\nin his hand. But the moment the first stroke was given, a great many\nghosts rushed towards the Brahman, who would have been torn to pieces\nbut for the interference of the Brahmadaitya. The Brahmadaitya said in\na commanding tone, \"Ghosts, listen. This is a poor Brahman. He wishes\nto get a branch of this tree which will be of great use to him. It is\nmy will that you let him cut a branch.\" The ghosts, hearing the voice\nof the Brahmadaitya, replied, \"Be it according to thy will, lord. At\nthy bidding we are ready to do anything. Let not the Brahman take\nthe trouble of cutting; we ourselves will cut a branch for him.\" So\nsaying, in the twinkling of an eye, the ghosts put into the hands of\nthe Brahman a branch of the tree, with which he went as fast as his\nlegs could carry him to the house of the zemindar. The zemindar and\nhis people were not a little surprised to see the branch; but he said,\n\"Well, I must see to-morrow whether this branch is a branch of the\nhaunted tree or not; if it be, you will get the promised reward.\"\n\nNext morning the zemindar himself went along with his servants to the\nhaunted tree, and found to their infinite surprise that the branch in\ntheir hands was really a branch of that tree, as they saw the part\nfrom which it had been cut off. Being thus satisfied, the zemindar\nordered a deed to be drawn up, by which he gave to the Brahman for\never one hundred bighas of rent-free land. Thus in one night the\nBrahman became a rich man.\n\nIt so happened that the fields, of which the Brahman became the owner,\nwere covered with ripe paddy, ready for the sickle. But the Brahman\nhad not the means to reap the golden harvest. He had not a pice in\nhis pocket for paying the wages of the reapers. What was the Brahman\nto do? He went to his spirit-friend the Brahmadaitya, and said,\n\"Oh, Brahmadaitya, I am in great distress. Through your kindness I\ngot the rent-free land all covered with ripe paddy. But I have not\nthe means of cutting the paddy, as I am a poor man. What shall I\ndo?\" The kind Brahmadaitya answered, \"Oh, Brahman, don't be troubled\nin your mind about the matter. I'll see to it that the paddy is not\nonly cut, but that the corn is threshed and stored up in granaries,\nand the straw piled up in ricks. Only you do one thing. Borrow from\nmen in the village one hundred sickles, and put them all at the foot\nof this tree at night. Prepare also the exact spot on which the grain\nand the straw are to be stored up.\"\n\nThe joy of the Brahman knew no bounds. He easily got a hundred sickles,\nas the husbandmen of the village, knowing that he had become rich,\nreadily lent him what he wanted. At sunset he took the hundred sickles\nand put them beneath the vakula-tree. He also selected a spot of ground\nnear his hut for his magazine of paddy and for his ricks of straw;\nand washed the spot with a solution of cow-dung and water. After\nmaking these preparations he went to sleep.\n\nIn the meantime, soon after nightfall, when the villagers had all\nretired to their houses, the Brahmadaitya called to him the ghosts\nof the haunted tree, who were one hundred in number, and said to\nthem, \"You must to-night do some work for the poor Brahman whom I\nam befriending. The hundred bighas of land which he has got from the\nzemindar are all covered with standing ripe corn. He has not the means\nto reap it. This night you all must do the work for him. Here are,\nyou see, a hundred sickles; let each of you take a sickle in hand and\ncome to the field I shall show him. There are a hundred of you. Let\neach ghost cut the paddy of one bigha, bring the sheaves on his back\nto the Brahman's house, thresh the corn, put the corn in one large\ngranary, and pile up the straw in separate ricks. Now, don't lose\ntime. You must do it all this very night.\" The hundred ghosts at once\nsaid to the Brahmadaitya, \"We are ready to do whatever your lordship\ncommands us.\" The Brahmadaitya showed the ghosts the Brahman's house,\nand the spot prepared for receiving the grain and the straw, and\nthen took them to the Brahman's fields, all waving with the golden\nharvest. The ghosts at once fell to it. A ghost harvest-reaper is\ndifferent from a human harvest-reaper. What a man cuts in a whole day,\na ghost cuts in a minute. Mash, mash, mash, the sickles went round,\nand the long stalks of paddy fell to the ground. The reaping over,\nthe ghosts took up the sheaves on their huge backs and carried them\nall to the Brahman's house. The ghosts then separated the grain from\nthe straw, stored up the grain in one huge store-house, and piled\nup the straw in many a fantastic rick. It was full two hours before\nsunrise when the ghosts finished their work and retired to rest on\ntheir tree. No words can tell either the joy of the Brahman and his\nwife when early next morning they opened the door of their hut, or\nthe surprise of the villagers, when they saw the huge granary and the\nfantastic ricks of straw. The villagers did not understand it. They\nat once ascribed it to the gods.\n\nA few days after this the Brahman went to the vakula-tree and\nsaid to the Brahmadaitya, \"I have one more favour to ask of you,\nBrahmadaitya. As the gods have been very gracious to me, I wish to feed\none thousand Brahmans; and I shall thank you for providing me with the\nmaterials of the feast.\" \"With the greatest pleasure,\" said the polite\nBrahmadaitya; \"I'll supply you with the requirements of a feast for\na thousand Brahmans; only show me the cellars in which the provisions\nare to be stored away.\" The Brahman improvised a store-room. The day\nbefore the feast the store-room was overflowing with provisions. There\nwere one hundred jars of ghi (clarified butter), one hill of flour, one\nhundred jars of sugar, one hundred jars of milk, curds, and congealed\nmilk, and the other thousand and one things required in a great\nBrahmanical feast. The next morning one hundred Brahman pastrycooks\nwere employed; the thousand Brahmans ate their fill; but the host,\nthe Brahman of the story, did not eat. He thought he would eat with\nthe Brahmadaitya. But the Brahmadaitya, who was present there though\nunseen, told him that he could not gratify him on that point, as by\nbefriending the Brahman the Brahmadaitya's allotted period had come\nto an end, and the pushpaka [34] chariot had been sent to him from\nheaven. The Brahmadaitya, being released from his ghostly life, was\ntaken up into heaven; and the Brahman lived happily for many years,\nbegetting sons and grandsons.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nTHE STORY OF A HIRAMAN [35]\n\n\nThere was a fowler who had a wife. The fowler's wife said to her\nhusband one day, \"My dear, I'll tell you the reason why we are always\nin want. It is because you sell every bird you catch by your rods,\nwhereas if we sometimes eat some of the birds you catch, we are sure\nto have better luck. I propose therefore that whatever bird or birds\nyou bag to-day we do not sell, but dress and eat.\" The fowler agreed\nto his wife's proposal, and went out a-bird-catching. He went about\nfrom wood to wood with his limed rods, accompanied by his wife, but in\nvain. Somehow or other they did not succeed in catching any bird till\nnear sundown. But just as they were returning homewards they caught\na beautiful hiraman. The fowler's wife, taking the bird in her hand\nand feeling it all over, said, \"What a small bird this is! how much\nmeat can it have? There is no use in killing it.\" The hiraman said,\n\"Mother, do not kill me, but take me to the king, and you will\nget a large sum of money by selling me.\" The fowler and his wife\nwere greatly taken aback on hearing the bird speak, and they asked\nthe bird what price they should set upon it. The hiraman answered,\n\"Leave that to me; take me to the king and offer me for sale; and when\nthe king asks my price, say, 'The bird will tell its own price,' and\nthen I'll mention a large sum.\" The fowler accordingly went the next\nday to the king's palace, and offered the bird for sale. The king,\ndelighted with the beauty of the bird, asked the fowler what he would\ntake for it. The fowler said, \"O great king, the bird will tell its\nown price.\" \"What! can the bird speak?\" asked the king. \"Yes, my lord;\nbe pleased to ask the bird its price,\" replied the fowler. The king,\nhalf in jest and half in seriousness, said, \"Well, hiraman, what is\nyour price?\" The hiraman answered, \"Please your majesty, my price is\nten thousand rupees. Do not think that the price is too high. Count\nout the money for the fowler, for I'll be of the greatest service to\nyour majesty.\" \"What service can you be of to me, hiraman?\" asked\nthe king. \"Your majesty will see that in due time,\" replied the\nhiraman. The king, surprised beyond measure at hearing the hiraman\ntalk, and talk so sensibly, took the bird, and ordered his treasurer\nto tell down the sum of ten thousand rupees to the fowler.\n\nThe king had six queens, but he was so taken up with the bird that\nhe almost forgot that they lived; at any rate, his days and nights\nwere spent in the company, not of the queens, but of the bird. The\nhiraman not only replied intelligently to every question the king\nput, but it recited to him the names of the three hundred and thirty\nmillions of the gods of the Hindu pantheon, the hearing of which is\nalways regarded as an act of piety. The queens felt that they were\nneglected by the king, became jealous of the bird, and determined to\nkill it. It was long before they got an opportunity, as the bird was\nthe king's inseparable companion. One day the king went out a-hunting,\nand he was to be away from the palace for two days. The six queens\ndetermined to avail themselves of the opportunity and put an end to\nthe life of the bird. They said to one another, \"Let us go and ask\nthe bird which of us is the ugliest in his estimation, and she whom\nhe pronounces the ugliest shall strangle the bird.\" Thus resolved,\nthey all went into the room where the bird was; but before the queens\ncould put any questions the bird so sweetly and so piously recited\nthe names of the gods and goddesses, that the hearts of them all\nwere melted into tenderness, and they came away without accomplishing\ntheir purpose. The following day, however, their evil genius returned,\nand they called themselves a thousand fools for having been diverted\nfrom their purpose. They therefore determined to steel their hearts\nagainst all pity, and to kill the bird without delay. They all went\ninto the room, and said to the bird, \"O hiraman, you are a very wise\nbird, we hear, and your judgments are all right; will you please tell\nus which of us is the handsomest and which the ugliest?\" The bird,\nknowing the evil design of the queens, said to them, \"How can I\nanswer your questions remaining in this cage? In order to pronounce\na correct judgment I must look minutely on every limb of you all,\nboth in front and behind. If you wish to know my opinion you must\nset me free.\" The women were at first afraid of setting the bird\nfree lest it should fly away; but on second thoughts they set it\nfree after shutting all the doors and windows of the room. The bird,\non examining the room, saw that it had a water-passage through which\nit was possible to escape. When the question was repeated several\ntimes by the queens, the bird said, \"The beauty of not one of you\ncan be compared to the beauty of the little toe of the lady that\nlives beyond the seven oceans and the thirteen rivers.\" The queens,\non hearing their beauty spoken of in such slighting terms, became\nexceedingly furious, and rushed towards the bird to tear it in pieces;\nbut before they could get at it, it escaped through the water-passage,\nand took shelter in a wood-cutter's hut which was hard by.\n\nThe next day the king returned home from hunting, and not finding\nthe hiraman on its perch became mad with grief. He asked the queens,\nand they told him that they knew nothing about it. The king wept day\nand night for the bird, as he loved it much. His ministers became\nafraid lest his reason should give way, for he used every hour of\nthe day to weep, saying, \"O my hiraman! O my hiraman! where art thou\ngone?\" Proclamation was made by beat of drum throughout the kingdom\nto the effect that if any person could produce before the king his pet\nhiraman he would be rewarded with ten thousand rupees. The wood-cutter,\nrejoiced at the idea of becoming independent for life, produced the\nprecious bird and obtained the reward. The king, on hearing from\nthe parrot that the queens had attempted to kill it, became mad with\nrage. He ordered them to be driven away from the palace and put in\na desert place without food. The king's order was obeyed, and it was\nrumoured after a few days that the poor queens were all devoured by\nwild beasts.\n\nAfter some time the king said to the parrot, \"Hiraman, you said to\nthe queens that the beauty of none of them could be compared to the\nbeauty of even the little toe of the lady who lives on the other side\nof the seven oceans and thirteen rivers. Do you know of any means by\nwhich I can get at that lady?\"\n\nHiraman. Of course I do. I can take your majesty to the door of\nthe palace in which that lady of peerless beauty lives; and if your\nmajesty will abide by my counsel, I will undertake to put that lady\ninto your arms.\n\nKing. I will do whatever you tell me. What do you wish me to do?\n\nHiraman. What is required is a pakshiraj. [36] If you can procure a\nhorse of that species, you can ride upon it, and in no time we shall\ncross the seven oceans and thirteen rivers, and stand at the door of\nthe lady's palace.\n\nKing. I have, as you know, a large stud of horses; we can now go and\nsee if there are any pakshirajes amongst them.\n\nThe king and the hiraman went to the royal stables and examined all\nthe horses. The hiraman passed by all the fine-looking horses and\nthose of high mettle, and alighted upon a wretched-looking lean pony,\nand said, \"Here is the horse I want. It is a horse of the genuine\npakshiraj breed, but it must be fed full six months with the finest\ngrain before it can answer our purpose.\" The king accordingly put\nthat pony in a stable by itself and himself saw every day that it\nwas fed with the finest grain that could be got in the kingdom. The\npony rapidly improved in appearance, and at the end of six months the\nhiraman pronounced it fit for service. The parrot then told the king\nto order the royal silversmith to make some khais [37] of silver. A\nlarge quantity of silver khais was made in a short time. When about\nto start on their aerial journey the hiraman said to the king,\n\"I have one request to make. Please whip the horse only once at\nstarting. If you whip him more than once, we shall not be able to\nreach the palace, but stick mid-way. And when we return homewards\nafter capturing the lady, you are also to whip the horse only once;\nif you whip him more than once, we shall come only half the way and\nremain there.\" The king then got upon the pakshiraj with the hiraman\nand the silver khais and gently whipped the animal once. The horse\nshot through the air with the speed of lightning, passed over many\ncountries, kingdoms, and empires, crossed the oceans and thirteen\nrivers, and alighted in the evening at the gate of a beautiful palace.\n\nNow, near the palace-gate there stood a lofty tree. The hiraman told\nthe king to put the horse in the stable hard by, and then to climb\ninto the tree and remain there concealed. The hiraman took the silver\nkhais, and with its beak began dropping khai after khai from the foot\nof the tree, all through the corridors and passages, up to the door\nof the bedchamber of the lady of peerless beauty. After doing this,\nthe hiraman perched upon the tree where the king was concealed. Some\nhours after midnight, the maid-servant of the lady, who slept in\nthe same room with her, wishing to come out, opened the door and\nnoticed the silver khais lying there. She took up a few of them,\nand not knowing what they were, showed them to her lady. The lady,\nadmiring the little silver bullets, and wondering how they could have\ngot there, came out of her room and began picking them up. She saw a\nregular stream of them apparently issuing from near the door of her\nroom, and proceeding she knew not how far. She went on picking up\nin a basket the bright, shining khais all through the corridors and\npassages, till she came to the foot of the tree. No sooner did the\nlady of peerless beauty come to the foot of the tree than the king,\nagreeably to instructions previously given to him by the hiraman,\nalighted from the tree and caught hold of the lady. In a moment\nshe was put upon the horse along with himself. At that moment the\nhiraman sat upon the shoulder of the king, the king gently whipped\nthe horse once, and they all were whirled through the air with the\nspeed of lightning. The king, wishing to reach home soon with the\nprecious prize, and forgetful of the instructions of the hiraman,\nwhipped the horse again; on which the horse at once alighted on\nthe outskirts of what seemed a dense forest. \"What have you done,\nO king?\" shouted out the hiraman. \"Did I not tell you not to whip\nthe horse more than once? You have whipped him twice, and we are\ndone for. We may meet with our death here.\" But the thing was done,\nand it could not be helped. The pakshiraj became powerless; and the\nparty could not proceed homewards. They dismounted; but they could not\nsee anywhere the habitations of men. They ate some fruits and roots,\nand slept that night there upon the ground.\n\nNext morning it so chanced that the king of that country came to that\nforest to hunt. As he was pursuing a stag, whom he had pierced with an\narrow, he came across the king and the lady of peerless beauty. Struck\nwith the matchless beauty of the lady, he wished to seize her. He\nwhistled, and in a moment his attendants flocked around him. The lady\nwas made a captive, and her lover, who had brought her from her house\non the other side of the seven oceans and thirteen rivers, was not\nput to death, but his eyes were put out, and he was left alone in the\nforest--alone, and yet not alone, for the good hiraman was with him.\n\nThe lady of peerless beauty was taken into the king's palace,\nas well as the pony of her lover. The lady said to the king that\nhe must not come near her for six months, in consequence of a vow\nwhich she had taken, and which would be completed in that period of\ntime. She mentioned six months, as that period would be necessary for\nrecruiting the constitution of the pakshiraj. As the lady professed to\nengage every day in religious ceremonies, in consequence of her vow,\na separate house was assigned to her, where she took the pakshiraj and\nfed him with the choicest grain. But everything would be fruitless\nif the lady did not meet the hiraman. But how is she to get a sight\nof that bird? She adopted the following expedient. She ordered her\nservants to scatter on the roof of her house heaps of paddy, grain,\nand all sorts of pulse for the refreshment of birds. The consequence\nwas, that thousands of the feathery race came to the roof to partake\nof the abundant feast. The lady was every day on the look out for\nher hiraman. The hiraman, meanwhile, was in great distress in the\nforest. He had to take care not only of himself, but of the now\nblinded king. He plucked some ripe fruits in the forest, and gave\nthem to the king to eat, and he ate of them himself. This was the\nmanner of hiraman's life. The other birds of the forest spoke thus\nto the parrot--\"O hiraman, you have a miserable life of it in this\nforest. Why don't you come with us to an abundant feast provided for us\nby a pious lady, who scatters many maunds of pulse on the roof of her\nhouse for the benefit of our race? We go there early in the morning\nand return in the evening, eating our fill along with thousands of\nother birds.\" The hiraman resolved to accompany them next morning,\nshrewdly suspecting more in the lady's charity to birds than the\nother birds thought there was in it. The hiraman saw the lady,\nand had a long chat with her about the health of the blinded king,\nthe means of curing his blindness, and about her escape. The plan\nadopted was as follows: The pony would be ready for aerial flight in\na short time--for a great part of the six months had already elapsed;\nand the king's blindness could be cured if the hiraman could procure\nfrom the chicks of the bihangama and bihangami birds, who had their\nnest on the tree at the gate of the lady's palace beyond the seven\noceans and thirteen rivers, a quantity of their ordure, fresh and hot,\nand apply it to the eyeballs of the blinded king. The following morning\nthe hiraman started on his errand of mercy, remained at night on the\ntree at the gate of the palace beyond the seven oceans and thirteen\nrivers, and early the next morning waited below the nest of the\nbirds with a leaf on his beak, into which dropped the ordure of the\nchicks. That moment the hiraman flew across the oceans and rivers,\ncame to the forest, and applied the precious balm to the sightless\nsockets of the king. The king opened his eyes and saw. In a few days\nthe pakshiraj was in proper trim. The lady escaped to the forest\nand took the king up; and the lady, king, and hiraman all reached\nthe king's capital safe and sound. The king and the lady were united\ntogether in wedlock. They lived many years together happily, and begat\nsons and daughters; and the beautiful hiraman was always with them\nreciting the names of the three hundred and thirty millions of gods.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF RUBIES\n\n\nThere was a certain king who died leaving four sons behind him with\nhis queen. The queen was passionately fond of the youngest of the\nprinces. She gave him the best robes, the best horses, the best food,\nand the best furniture. The other three princes became exceedingly\njealous of their youngest brother, and conspiring against him and their\nmother, made them live in a separate house, and took possession of\nthe estate. Owing to overindulgence, the youngest prince had become\nvery wilful. He never listened to any one, not even to his mother,\nbut had his own way in everything. One day he went with his mother to\nbathe in the river. A large boat was riding there at anchor. None of\nthe boatmen were in it. The prince went into the boat, and told his\nmother to come into it. His mother besought him to get down from the\nboat, as it did not belong to him. But the prince said, \"No, mother,\nI am not coming down; I mean to go on a voyage, and if you wish to\ncome with me, then delay not but come up at once, or I shall be off\nin a trice.\" The queen besought the prince to do no such thing, but to\ncome down instantly. But the prince gave no heed to what she said, and\nbegan to take up the anchor. The queen went up into the boat in great\nhaste; and the moment she was on board the boat started, and falling\ninto the current passed on swiftly like an arrow. The boat went on\nand on till it reached the sea. After it had gone many furlongs into\nthe open sea, the boat came near a whirlpool, where the prince saw a\ngreat many rubies of monstrous size floating on the waters. Such large\nrubies no one had ever seen, each being in value equal to the wealth of\nseven kings. The prince caught hold of half a dozen of those rubies,\nand put them on board. His mother said, \"Darling, don't take up those\nred balls; they must belong to somebody who has been shipwrecked,\nand we may be taken up as thieves.\" At the repeated entreaties of\nhis mother the prince threw them into the sea, keeping only one tied\nup in his clothes. The boat then drifted towards the coast, and the\nqueen and the prince arrived at a certain port where they landed.\n\nThe port where they landed was not a small place; it was a large city,\nthe capital of a great king. Not far from the place, the queen and\nher son hired a hut where they lived. As the prince was yet a boy,\nhe was fond of playing at marbles. When the children of the king\ncame out to play on a lawn before the palace, our young prince joined\nthem. He had no marbles, but he played with the ruby which he had in\nhis possession. The ruby was so hard that it broke every taw against\nwhich it struck. The daughter of the king, who used to watch the games\nfrom a balcony of the palace, was astonished to see a brilliant red\nball in the hand of the strange lad, and wanted to take possession\nof it. She told her father that a boy of the street had an uncommonly\nbright stone in his possession which she must have, or else she would\nstarve herself to death. The king ordered his servants to bring to him\nthe lad with the precious stone. When the boy was brought, the king\nwondered at the largeness and brilliancy of the ruby. He had never\nseen anything like it. He doubted whether any king of any country\nin the world possessed so great a treasure. He asked the lad where\nhe had got it. The lad replied that he got it from the sea. The king\noffered a thousand rupees for the ruby, and the lad not knowing its\nvalue readily parted with it for that sum. He went with the money to\nhis mother, who was not a little frightened, thinking that her son\nhad stolen the money from some rich man's house. She became quiet,\nhowever, on being assured that the money was given to him by the king\nin exchange for the red ball which he had picked up in the sea.\n\nThe king's daughter, on getting the ruby, put it in her hair,\nand, standing before her pet parrot, said to the bird, \"Oh, my\ndarling parrot, don't I look very beautiful with this ruby in my\nhair?\" The parrot replied, \"Beautiful! you look quite hideous with\nit! What princess ever puts only one ruby in her hair? It would be\nsomewhat feasible if you had two at least.\" Stung with shame at the\nreproach cast in her teeth by the parrot, the princess went into the\ngrief-chamber of the palace, and would neither eat nor drink. The\nking was not a little concerned when he heard that his daughter\nhad gone into the grief-chamber. He went to her, and asked her the\ncause of her grief. The princess told the king what her pet parrot\nhad said, and added, \"Father, if you do not procure for me another\nruby like this, I'll put an end to my life by mine own hands.\" The\nking was overwhelmed with grief. Where was he to get another ruby\nlike it? He doubted whether another like it could be found in the\nwhole world. He ordered the lad who had sold the ruby to be brought\ninto his presence. \"Have you, young man,\" asked the king, \"another\nruby like the one you sold me?\" The lad replied, \"No, I have not got\none. Why, do you want another? I can give you lots, if you wish to have\nthem. They are to be found in a whirlpool in the sea, far, far away. I\ncan go and fetch some for you.\" Amazed at the lad's reply, the king\noffered rich rewards for procuring only another ruby of the same sort.\n\nThe lad went home and said to his mother that he must go to sea again\nto fetch some rubies for the king. The woman was quite frightened\nat the idea, and begged him not to go. But the lad was resolved on\ngoing, and nothing could prevent him from carrying out his purpose. He\naccordingly went alone on board that same vessel which had brought\nhim and his mother, and set sail. He reached the whirlpool, from\nnear which he had formerly picked up the rubies. This time, however,\nhe determined to go to the exact spot whence the rubies were coming\nout. He went to the centre of the whirlpool, where he saw a gap\nreaching to the bottom of the ocean. He dived into it, leaving his\nboat to wheel round the whirlpool. When he reached the bottom of the\nocean he saw there a beautiful palace. He went inside. In the central\nroom of the palace there was the god Siva, with his eyes closed,\nand absorbed apparently in intense meditation. A few feet above\nSiva's head was a platform, on which lay a young lady of exquisite\nbeauty. The prince went to the platform and saw that the head of the\nlady was separated from her body. Horrified at the sight, he did not\nknow what to make of it. He saw a stream of blood trickling from the\nsevered head, falling upon the matted head of Siva, and running into\nthe ocean in the form of rubies. After a little two small rods, one of\nsilver and one of gold, which were lying near the head of the lady,\nattracted his eyes. As he took up the rods in his hands, the golden\nrod accidentally fell upon the head, on which the head immediately\njoined itself to the body, and the lady got up. Astonished at the\nsight of a human being, the lady asked the prince who he was and how\nhe had got there. After hearing the story of the prince's adventures,\nthe lady said, \"Unhappy young man, depart instantly from this place;\nfor when Siva finishes his meditations he will turn you to ashes\nby a single glance of his eyes.\" The young man, however, would not\ngo except in her company, as he was over head and ears in love with\nthe beautiful lady. At last they both contrived to run away from the\npalace, and coming up to the surface of the ocean they climbed into\nthe boat near the centre of the whirlpool, and sailed away towards\nland, having previously laden the vessel with a cargo of rubies. The\nwonder of the prince's mother at seeing the beautiful damsel may be\nwell imagined. Early next morning the prince sent a basin full of big\nrubies, through a servant. The king was astonished beyond measure. His\ndaughter, on getting the rubies, resolved on marrying the wonderful lad\nwho had made a present of them to her. Though the prince had a wife,\nwhom he had brought up from the depths of the ocean, he consented to\nhave a second wife. They were accordingly married, and lived happily\nfor years, begetting sons and daughters.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nTHE MATCH-MAKING JACKAL\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived a weaver, whose ancestors were very rich,\nbut whose father had wasted the property which he had inherited\nin riotous living. He was born in a palace-like house, but he now\nlived in a miserable hut. He had no one in the world, his parents\nand all his relatives having died. Hard by the hut was the lair of a\njackal. The jackal, remembering the wealth and grandeur of the weaver's\nforefathers, had compassion on him, and one day coming to him, said,\n\"Friend weaver, I see what a wretched life you are leading. I have\na good mind to improve your condition. I'll try and marry you to\nthe daughter of the king of this country.\" \"I become the king's\nson-in-law!\" replied the weaver; \"that will take place only when the\nsun rises in the west.\" \"You doubt my power?\" rejoined the jackal;\n\"you will see, I'll bring it about.\"\n\nThe next morning the jackal started for the king's city, which\nwas many miles off. On the way he entered a plantation of the\nPiper betel plant, and plucked a large quantity of its leaves. He\nreached the capital, and contrived to get inside the palace. On the\npremises of the palace was a tank in which the ladies of the king's\nhousehold performed their morning and afternoon ablutions. At the\nentrance of that tank the jackal laid himself down. The daughter of\nthe king happened to come just at the time to bathe, accompanied\nby her maids. The princess was not a little struck at seeing the\njackal lying down at the entrance. She told her maids to drive\nthe jackal away. The jackal rose as if from sleep, and instead\nof running away, opened his bundle of betel-leaves, put some into\nhis mouth, and began chewing them. The princess and her maids were\nnot a little astonished at the sight. They said among themselves,\n\"What an uncommon jackal is this! From what country can he have\ncome? A jackal chewing betel-leaves! why thousands of men and women\nof this city cannot indulge in that luxury. He must have come from\na wealthy land.\" The princess asked the jackal, \"Sivalu! [38] from\nwhat country do you come? It must be a very prosperous country where\nthe jackals chew betel-leaves. Do other animals in your country chew\nbetel-leaves?\" \"Dearest princess,\" replied the jackal, \"I come from a\nland flowing with milk and honey. Betel-leaves are as plentiful in my\ncountry as the grass in your fields. All animals in my country--cows,\nsheep, dogs--chew betel-leaves. We want no good thing.\" \"Happy is the\ncountry,\" said the princess, \"where there is such plenty, and thrice\nhappy the king who rules in it!\" \"As for our king,\" said the jackal,\n\"he is the richest king in the world. His palace is like the heaven\nof Indra. I have seen your palace here; it is a miserable hut compared\nto the palace of our king.\" The princess, whose curiosity was excited\nto the utmost pitch, hastily went through her bath, and going to the\napartments of the queen-mother, told her of the wonderful jackal lying\nat the entrance of the tank. Her curiosity being excited, the jackal\nwas sent for. When the jackal stood in the presence of the queen, he\nbegan munching the betel-leaves. \"You come,\" said the queen, \"from\na very rich country. Is your king married?\" \"Please your majesty,\nour king is not married. Princesses from distant parts of the world\ntried to get married to him, but he rejected them all. Happy will\nthat princess be whom our king condescends to marry!\" \"Don't you\nthink, Sivalu,\" asked the queen, \"that my daughter is as beautiful\nas a Peri, and that she is fit to be the wife of the proudest king\nin the world?\" \"I quite think,\" said the jackal, \"that the princess\nis exceedingly handsome; indeed, she is the handsomest princess I\nhave ever seen; but I don't know whether our king will have a liking\nfor her.\" \"Liking for my daughter!\" said the queen, \"you have only to\npaint her to him as she is, and he is sure to turn mad with love. To be\nserious, Sivalu, I am anxious to get my daughter married. Many princes\nhave sought her hand, but I am unwilling to give her to any of them,\nas they are not the sons of great kings. But your king seems to be a\ngreat king. I can have no objection to making him my son-in-law.\" The\nqueen sent word to the king, requesting him to come and see the\njackal. The king came and saw the jackal, heard him describe the\nwealth and pomp of the king of his country, and expressed himself\nnot unwilling to give away his daughter in marriage to him.\n\nThe jackal after this returned to the weaver and said to him, \"O lord\nof the loom, you are the luckiest man in the world; it is all settled;\nyou are to become the son-in-law of a great king. I have told them that\nyou are yourself a great king, and you must behave yourself as one. You\nmust do just as I instruct you, otherwise your fortune will not only\nnot be made, but both you and I will be put to death.\" \"I'll do just as\nyou bid me,\" said the weaver. The shrewd jackal drew in his own mind a\nplan of the method of procedure he should adopt, and after a few days\nwent back to the palace of the king in the same manner in which he had\ngone before, that is to say, chewing betel-leaves and lying down at\nthe entrance of the tank on the premises of the palace. The king and\nqueen were glad to see him, and eagerly asked him as to the success of\nhis mission. The jackal said, \"In order to relieve your minds I may\ntell you at once that my mission has been so far successful. If you\nonly knew the infinite trouble I have had in persuading his Majesty,\nmy sovereign, to make up his mind to marry your daughter, you would\ngive me no end of thanks. For a long time he would not hear of it, but\ngradually I brought him round. You have now only to fix an auspicious\nday for the celebration of the solemn rite. There is one bit of advice,\nhowever, which I, as your friend, would give you. It is this. My master\nis so great a king that if he were to come to you in state, attended\nby all his followers, his horses and his elephants, you would find it\nimpossible to accommodate them all in your palace or in your city. I\nwould therefore propose that our king should come to your city, not\nin state, but in a private manner; and that you send to the outskirts\nof your city your own elephants, horses, and conveyances, to bring\nhim and only a few of his followers to your palace.\" \"Many thanks,\nwise Sivalu, for this advice. I could not possibly make accommodation\nin my city for the followers of so great a king as your master is. I\nshould be very glad if he did not come in state; and trust you will\nuse your influence to persuade him to come in a private manner; for I\nshould be ruined if he came in state.\" The jackal then gravely said, \"I\nwill do my best in the matter,\" and then returned to his own village,\nafter the royal astrologer had fixed an auspicious day for the wedding.\n\nOn his return the jackal busied himself with making preparations for\nthe great ceremony. As the weaver was clad in tatters, he told him\nto go to the washermen of the village and borrow from them a suit\nof clothes. As for himself, he went to the king of his race, and\ntold him that on a certain day he would like one thousand jackals to\naccompany him to a certain place. He went to the king of crows, and\nbegged that his corvine majesty would be pleased to allow one thousand\nof his black subjects to accompany him on a certain day to a certain\nplace. He preferred a similar petition to the king of paddy-birds.\n\nAt last the great day arrived. The weaver arrayed himself in the\nclothes which he had borrowed from the village washermen. The jackal\nmade his appearance, accompanied by a train of a thousand jackals,\na thousand crows, and a thousand paddy-birds. The nuptial procession\nstarted on their journey, and towards sundown arrived within two\nmiles of the king's palace. There the jackal told his friends,\nthe thousand jackals, to set up a loud howl; at his bidding the\nthousand crows cawed their loudest; while the hoarse screechings of\nthe thousand paddy-birds furnished a suitable accompaniment. The\neffect may be imagined. They all together made a noise the like\nof which had never been heard since the world began. While this\nunearthly noise was going on, the jackal himself hastened to the\npalace, and asked the king whether he thought he would be able to\naccommodate the wedding-party, which was about two miles distant, and\nwhose noise was at that moment sounding in his ears. The king said\n\"Impossible, Sivalu; from the sound of the procession I infer there\nmust be at least one hundred thousand souls. How is it possible to\naccommodate so many guests? Please, so arrange that the bridegroom\nonly will come to my house.\" \"Very well,\" said the jackal; \"I told\nyou at the beginning that you would not be able to accommodate all\nthe attendants of my august master. I'll do as you wish. My master\nwill alone come in undress. Send a horse for the purpose.\" The jackal,\naccompanied by a horse and groom, came to the place where his friend\nthe weaver was, thanked the thousand jackals, the thousand crows,\nand the thousand paddy-birds, for their valuable services, and told\nthem all to go away, while he himself, and the weaver on horseback,\nwended their way to the king's palace. The bridal party, waiting in\nthe palace, were greatly disappointed at the personal appearance of\nthe weaver; but the jackal told them that his master had purposely\nput on a mean dress, as his would-be father-in-law declared himself\nunable to accommodate the bridegroom and his attendants coming in\nstate. The royal priests now began the interesting ceremony, and the\nnuptial knot was tied for ever. The bridegroom seldom opened his lips,\nagreeably to the instructions of the jackal, who was afraid lest\nhis speech should betray him. At night when he was lying in bed he\nbegan to count the beams and rafters of the room, and said audibly,\n\"This beam will make a first-rate loom, that other a capital beam,\nand that yonder an excellent sley.\" The princess, his bride, was not\na little astonished. She began to think in her mind, \"Is the man,\nto whom they have tied me, a king or a weaver? I am afraid he is\nthe latter; otherwise why should he be talking of weaver's loom,\nbeam, and sley? Ah, me! is this what the fates keep in store for\nme?\" In the morning the princess related to the queen-mother the\nweaver's soliloquy. The king and queen, not a little surprised at\nthis recital, took the jackal to task about it. The ready-witted\njackal at once said, \"Your Majesty need not be surprised at my august\nmaster's soliloquy. His palace is surrounded by a population of seven\nhundred families of the best weavers in the world, to whom he has given\nrent-free lands, and whose welfare he continually seeks. It must have\nbeen in one of his philanthropic moods that he uttered the soliloquy\nwhich has taken your Majesty by surprise.\" The jackal, however,\nnow felt that it was high time for himself and the weaver to decamp\nwith the princess, since the proverbial simplicity of his friend of\nthe loom might any moment involve him in danger. The jackal therefore\nrepresented to the king, that weighty affairs of state would not permit\nhis august master to spend another day in the palace; that he should\nstart for his kingdom that very day with his bride; and his master was\nresolved to travel incognito on foot, only the princess, now the queen,\nshould leave the city in a palki. After a great deal of yea and nay,\nthe king and queen at last consented to the proposal. The party came\nto the outskirts of the weaver's village; the palki bearers were sent\naway; and the princess, who asked where her husband's palace was,\nwas made to walk on foot. The weaver's hut was soon reached, and the\njackal, addressing the princess, said, \"This, madam, is your husband's\npalace.\" The princess began to beat her forehead with the palms of her\nhands in sheer despair. \"Ah, me! is this the husband whom Prajapati\n[39] intended for me? Death would have been a thousand times better.\"\n\nAs there was nothing for it, the princess soon got reconciled to her\nfate. She, however, determined to make her husband rich, especially as\nshe knew the secret of becoming rich. One day she told her husband to\nget for her a pice-worth of flour. She put a little water in the flour,\nand smeared her body with the paste. When the paste dried on her body,\nshe began wiping the paste with her fingers; and as the paste fell in\nsmall balls from her body, it got turned into gold. She repeated this\nprocess every day for some time, and thus got an immense quantity of\ngold. She soon became mistress of more gold than is to be found in\nthe coffers of any king. With this gold she employed a whole army of\nmasons, carpenters and architects, who in no time built one of the\nfinest palaces in the world. Seven hundred families of weavers were\nsought for and settled round about the palace. After this she wrote\na letter to her father to say that she was sorry he had not favoured\nher with a visit since the day of her marriage, and that she would be\ndelighted if he now came to see her and her husband. The king agreed\nto come, and a day was fixed. The princess made great preparations\nagainst the day of her father's arrival. Hospitals were established in\nseveral parts of the town for diseased, sick, and infirm animals. The\nbeasts in thousands were made to chew betel-leaves on the wayside. The\nstreets were covered with Cashmere shawls for her father and his\nattendants to walk on. There was no end of the display of wealth and\ngrandeur. The king and queen arrived in state, and were infinitely\ndelighted at the apparently boundless riches of their son-in-law. The\njackal now appeared on the scene, and saluting the king and queen,\nsaid--\"Did I not tell you?\"\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nTHE BOY WITH THE MOON ON HIS FOREHEAD\n\n\nThere was a certain king who had six queens, none of whom bore\nchildren. Physicians, holy sages, mendicants, were consulted,\ncountless drugs were had recourse to, but all to no purpose. The king\nwas disconsolate. His ministers told him to marry a seventh wife;\nand he was accordingly on the look out.\n\nIn the royal city there lived a poor old woman who used to pick up\ncow-dung from the fields, make it into cakes, dry them in the sun,\nand sell them in the market for fuel. This was her only means of\nsubsistence. This old woman had a daughter exquisitely beautiful. Her\nbeauty excited the admiration of every one that saw her; and it was\nsolely in consequence of her surpassing beauty that three young\nladies, far above her in rank and station, contracted friendship\nwith her. Those three young ladies were the daughter of the king's\nminister, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and the daughter of the\nroyal priest. These three young ladies, together with the daughter of\nthe poor old woman, were one day bathing in a tank not far from the\npalace. As they were performing their ablutions, each dwelt on her\nown good qualities. \"Look here, sister,\" said the minister's daughter,\naddressing the merchant's daughter, \"the man that marries me will be a\nhappy man, for he will not have to buy clothes for me. The cloth which\nI once put on never gets soiled, never gets old, never tears.\" The\nmerchant's daughter said, \"And my husband too will be a happy man, for\nthe fuel which I use in cooking never gets turned into ashes. The same\nfuel serves from day to day, from year to year.\" \"And my husband will\nalso become a happy man,\" said the daughter of the royal chaplain,\n\"for the rice which I cook one day never gets finished, and when\nwe have all eaten, the same quantity which was first cooked remains\nalways in the pot.\" The daughter of the poor old woman said in her\nturn, \"And the man that marries me will also be happy, for I shall\ngive birth to twin children, a son and a daughter. The daughter will\nbe divinely fair, and the son will have the moon on his forehead and\nstars on the palms of his hands.\"\n\nThe above conversation was overheard by the king, who, as he was on\nthe look out for a seventh queen, used to skulk about in places where\nwomen met together. The king thus thought in his mind--\"I don't care\na straw for the girl whose clothes never tear and never get old;\nneither do I care for the other girl whose fuel is never consumed;\nnor for the third girl whose rice never fails in the pot. But the\nfourth girl is quite charming! She will give birth to twin children,\na son and a daughter; the daughter will be divinely fair, and the\nson will have the moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his\nhands. That is the girl I want. I'll make her my wife.\"\n\nOn making inquiries on the same day, the king found that the fourth\ngirl was the daughter of a poor old woman who picked up cow-dung from\nthe fields; but though there was thus an infinite disparity in rank,\nhe determined to marry her. On the very same day he sent for the\npoor old woman. She, poor thing, was quite frightened when she saw\na messenger of the king standing at the door of her hut. She thought\nthat the king had sent for her to punish her, because, perhaps, she had\nsome day unwittingly picked up the dung of the king's cattle. She went\nto the palace, and was admitted into the king's private chamber. The\nking asked her whether she had a very fair daughter, and whether\nthat daughter was the friend of his own minister's and priest's\ndaughters. When the woman answered in the affirmative, he said to\nher, \"I will marry your daughter, and make her my queen.\" The woman\nhardly believed her own ears--the thing was so strange. He, however,\nsolemnly declared to her that he had made up his mind, and was\ndetermined to marry her daughter. It was soon known in the capital\nthat the king was going to marry the daughter of the old woman who\npicked up cow-dung in the fields. When the six queens heard the news,\nthey would not believe it, till the king himself told them that the\nnews was true. They thought that the king had somehow got mad. They\nreasoned with him thus--\"What folly, what madness, to marry a girl\nwho is not fit to be our maid-servant! And you expect us to treat\nher as our equal--a girl whose mother goes about picking up cow-dung\nin the fields! Surely, my lord, you are beside yourself!\" The king's\npurpose, however, remained unshaken. The royal astrologer was called,\nand an auspicious day was fixed for the celebration of the king's\nmarriage. On the appointed day the royal priest tied the marital knot,\nand the daughter of the poor old picker-up of cow-dung in the fields\nbecame the seventh and best beloved queen.\n\nSome time after the celebration of the marriage, the king went for six\nmonths to another part of his dominions. Before setting out he called\nto him the seventh queen, and said to her, \"I am going away to another\npart of my dominions for six months. Before the expiration of that\nperiod I expect you to be confined. But I should like to be present\nwith you at the time, as your enemies may do mischief. Take this golden\nbell and hang it in your room. When the pains of childbirth come upon\nyou, ring this bell, and I will be with you in a moment in whatever\npart of my dominions I may be at the time. Remember, you are to ring\nthe bell only when you feel the pains of childbirth.\" After saying this\nthe king started on his journey. The six queens, who had overheard the\nking, went on the next day to the apartments of the seventh queen,\nand said, \"What a nice bell of gold you have got, sister! Where did\nyou get it, and why have you hung it up?\" The seventh queen, in her\nsimplicity, said, \"The king has given it to me, and if I were to ring\nit, the king would immediately come to me wherever he might be at the\ntime.\" \"Impossible!\" said the six queens, \"you must have misunderstood\nthe king. Who can believe that this bell can be heard at the distance\nof hundreds of miles? Besides, if it could be heard, how would the king\nbe able to travel a great distance in the twinkling of an eye? This\nmust be a hoax. If you ring the bell, you will find that what the\nking said was pure nonsense.\" The six queens then told her to make a\ntrial. At first she was unwilling, remembering what the king had told\nher; but at last she was prevailed upon to ring the bell. The king was\nat the moment half-way to the capital of his other dominions, but at\nthe ringing of the bell he stopped short in his journey, turned back,\nand in no time stood in the queen's apartments. Finding the queen\ngoing about in her rooms, he asked why she had rung the bell though\nher hour had not come. She, without informing the king of the entreaty\nof the six queens, replied that she rang the bell only to see whether\nwhat he had said was true. The king was somewhat indignant, told her\ndistinctly not to ring the bell again till the moment of the coming\nupon her of the pains of childbirth, and then went away. After the\nlapse of some weeks the six queens again begged of the seventh queen\nto make a second trial of the bell. They said to her, \"The first time\nwhen you rang the bell, the king was only at a short distance from you,\nit was therefore easy for him to hear the bell and to come to you;\nbut now he has long ago settled in his other capital, let us see if\nhe will now hear the bell and come to you.\" She resisted for a long\ntime, but was at last prevailed upon by them to ring the bell. When\nthe sound of the bell reached the king he was in court dispensing\njustice, but when he heard the sound of the bell (and no one else\nheard it) he closed the court and in no time stood in the queen's\napartments. Finding that the queen was not about to be confined,\nhe asked her why she had again rung the bell before her hour. She,\nwithout saying anything of the importunities of the six queens, replied\nthat she merely made a second trial of the bell. The king became very\nangry, and said to her, \"Now listen, since you have called me twice for\nnothing, let it be known to you that when the throes of childbirth do\nreally come upon you, and you ring the bell ever so lustily, I will not\ncome to you. You must be left to your fate.\" The king then went away.\n\nAt last the day of the seventh queen's deliverance arrived. On first\nfeeling the pains she rang the golden bell. She waited, but the\nking did not make his appearance. She rang again with all her might,\nstill the king did not make his appearance. The king certainly did\nhear the sound of the bell; but he did not come as he was displeased\nwith the queen. When the six queens saw that the king did not come,\nthey went to the seventh queen and told her that it was not customary\nwith the ladies of the palace to be confined in the king's apartments;\nshe must go to a hut near the stables. They then sent for the midwife\nof the palace, and heavily bribed her to make away with the infant\nthe moment it should be born into the world. The seventh queen gave\nbirth to a son who had the moon on his forehead and stars on the\npalms of his hands, and also to an uncommonly beautiful girl. The\nmidwife had come provided with a couple of newly born pups. She put\nthe pups before the mother, saying--\"You have given birth to these,\"\nand took away the twin-children in an earthen vessel. The queen was\nquite insensible at the time, and did not notice the twins at the\ntime they were carried away. The king, though he was angry with the\nseventh queen, yet remembering that she was destined to give birth to\nthe heir of his throne, changed his mind, and came to see her the next\nmorning. The pups were produced before the king as the offspring of\nthe queen. The king's anger and vexation knew no bounds. He ordered\nthat the seventh queen should be expelled from the palace, that she\nshould be clothed in leather, and that she should be employed in\nthe market-place to drive away crows and to keep off dogs. Though\nscarcely able to move she was driven away from the palace, stripped\nof her fine robes, clothed in leather, and set to drive away the\ncrows of the market-place.\n\nThe midwife, when she put the twins in the earthen vessel, bethought\nherself of the best way to destroy them. She did not think it proper\nto throw them into a tank, lest they should be discovered the next\nday. Neither did she think of burying them in the ground, lest they\nshould be dug up by a jackal and exposed to the gaze of people. The\nbest way to make an end of them, she thought, would be to burn them,\nand reduce them to ashes, that no trace might be left of them. But\nhow could she, at that dead hour of night, burn them without some\nother person helping her? A happy thought struck her. There was a\npotter on the outskirts of the city, who used during the day to mould\nvessels of clay on his wheel, and burn them during the latter part\nof the night. The midwife thought that the best plan would be to put\nthe vessel with the twins along with the unburnt clay vessels which\nthe potter had arranged in order and gone to sleep expecting to get up\nlate at night and set them on fire; in this way, she thought, the twins\nwould be reduced to ashes. She, accordingly, put the vessel with the\ntwins along with the unburnt clay vessels of the potter, and went away.\n\nSomehow or other, that night the potter and his wife overslept\nthemselves. It was near the break of day when the potter's wife,\nawaking out of sleep, roused her husband, and said, \"Oh, my good man,\nwe have overslept ourselves; it is now near morning and I much fear it\nis now too late to set the pots on fire.\" Hastily unbolting the door\nof her cottage, she rushed out to the place where the pots were ranged\nin rows. She could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw that all the\npots had been baked and were looking bright red, though neither she nor\nher husband had applied any fire to them. Wondering at her good luck,\nand not knowing what to make of it, she ran to her husband and said,\n\"Just come and see!\" The potter came, saw, and wondered. The pots had\nnever before been so well baked. Who could have done this? This could\nhave proceeded only from some god or goddess. Fumbling about the pots,\nhe accidentally upturned one in which, lo and behold, were seen huddled\nup together two newly born infants of unearthly beauty. The potter\nsaid to his wife, \"My dear, you must pretend to have given birth to\nthese beautiful children.\" Accordingly all arrangements were made,\nand in due time it was given out that the twins had been born to\nher. And such lovely twins they were! On the same day many women\nof the neighbourhood came to see the potter's wife and the twins to\nwhich she had given birth, and to offer their congratulations on this\nunexpected good fortune. As for the potter's wife, she could not be\ntoo proud of her pretended children, and said to her admiring friends,\n\"I had hardly hoped to have children at all. But now that the gods\nhave given me these twins, may they receive the blessings of you all,\nand live for ever!\"\n\nThe twins grew and were strengthened. The brother and sister, when\nthey played about in the fields and lanes, were the admiration of\nevery one who saw them; and all wondered at the uncommonly good luck\nof the potter in being blessed with such angelic children. They were\nabout twelve years old when the potter, their reputed father, became\ndangerously ill. It was evident to all that his sickness would end\nin death. The potter, perceiving his last end approaching, said to\nhis wife, \"My dear, I am going the way of all the earth; but I am\nleaving to you enough to live upon; live on and take care of these\nchildren.\" The woman said to her husband, \"I am not going to survive\nyou. Like all good and faithful wives, I am determined to die along\nwith you. You and I will burn together on the same funeral pyre. As\nfor the children, they are old enough to take care of themselves,\nand you are leaving them enough money.\" Her friends tried to dissuade\nher from her purpose, but in vain. The potter died; and as his remains\nwere being burnt, his wife, now a widow, threw herself on the pyre,\nand burnt herself to death.\n\nThe boy with the moon on his forehead--by the way, he always kept his\nhead covered with a turban lest the halo should attract notice--and\nhis sister, now broke up the potter's establishment, sold the wheel\nand the pots and pans, and went to the bazaar in the king's city. The\nmoment they entered, the bazaar was lit up on a sudden. The shopkeepers\nof the bazaar were greatly surprised. They thought some divine beings\nmust have entered the place. They looked upon the beautiful boy and his\nsister with wonder. They begged of them to stay in the bazaar. They\nbuilt a house for them. When they used to ramble about, they were\nalways followed at a distance by the woman clothed in leather, who\nwas appointed by the king to drive away the crows of the bazaar. By\nsome unaccountable impulse she used also to hang about the house in\nwhich they lived. The boy in a short time bought a horse, and went\na-hunting in the neighbouring forests. One day while he was hunting,\nthe king was also hunting in the same forest, and seeing a brother\nhuntsman the king drew near to him. The king was struck with the beauty\nof the lad and a yearning for him the moment he saw him. As a deer\nwent past, the youth shot an arrow, and the reaction of the force\nnecessary to shoot the arrow made the turban of his head fall off,\non which a bright light, like that of the moon, was seen shining on\nhis forehead. The king saw, and immediately thought of the son with\nthe moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands who was\nto have been born of his seventh queen. The youth on letting fly the\narrow galloped off, in spite of the earnest entreaty of the king to\nwait and speak to him. The king went home a sadder man than he came\nout of it. He became very moody and melancholy. The six queens asked\nhim why he was looking so sad. He told them that he had seen in the\nwoods a lad with the moon on his forehead, which reminded him of the\nson who was to be born of the seventh queen. The six queens tried\nto comfort him in the best way they could; but they wondered who the\nyouth could be. Was it possible that the twins were living? Did not\nthe midwife say that she had burnt both the son and the daughter to\nashes? Who, then, could this lad be? The midwife was sent for by the\nsix queens and questioned. She swore that she had seen the twins\nburnt. As for the lad whom the king had met with, she would soon\nfind out who he was. On making inquiries, the midwife soon found out\nthat two strangers were living in the bazaar in a house which the\nshopkeepers had built for them. She entered the house and saw the\ngirl only, as the lad had again gone out a-shooting. She pretended\nto be their aunt, who had gone away to another part of the country\nshortly after their birth; she had been searching after them for a\nlong time, and was now glad to find them in the king's city near the\npalace. She greatly admired the beauty of the girl, and said to her,\n\"My dear child, you are so beautiful, you require the kataki [40]\nflower properly to set off your beauty. You should tell your brother to\nplant a row of that flower in this courtyard.\" \"What flower is that,\nauntie? I never saw it.\" \"How could you have seen it, my child? It\nis not found here; it grows on the other side of the ocean, guarded\nby seven hundred Rakshasas.\" \"How, then,\" said the girl, \"will my\nbrother get it?\" \"He may try to get it, if you speak to him,\" replied\nthe woman. The woman made this proposal in the hope that the boy with\nthe moon on his forehead would perish in the attempt to get the flower.\n\nWhen the youth with the moon on his forehead returned from hunting,\nhis sister told him of the visit paid to her by their aunt, and\nrequested him, if possible, to get for her the kataki flower. He was\nsceptical about the existence of any aunt of theirs in the world,\nbut he was resolved that, to please his beloved sister, he would get\nthe flower on which she had set her heart. Next morning, accordingly,\nhe started on his journey, after bidding his sister not to stir\nout of the house till his return. He rode on his fleet steed, which\nwas of the pakshiraj [41] tribe, and soon reached the outskirts of\nwhat seemed to him dense forests of interminable length. He descried\nsome Rakshasas prowling about. He went to some distance, shot with\nhis arrows some deer and rhinoceroses in the neighbouring thickets,\nand, approaching the place where the Rakshasas were prowling about,\ncalled out, \"O auntie dear, O auntie dear, your nephew is here.\" A\nhuge Rakshasi came towards him and said, \"O, you are the youth with\nthe moon on your forehead and stars on the palms of your hands. We\nwere all expecting you, but as you have called me aunt, I will\nnot eat you up. What is it you want? Have you brought any eatables\nfor me?\" The youth gave her the deer and rhinoceroses which he had\nkilled. Her mouth watered at the sight of the dead animals, and she\nbegan eating them. After swallowing down all the carcases, she said,\n\"Well, what do you want?\" The youth said, \"I want some kataki flowers\nfor my sister.\" She then told him that it would be difficult for\nhim to get the flower, as it was guarded by seven hundred Rakshasas;\nhowever, he might make the attempt, but in the first instance he must\ngo to his uncle on the north side of that forest. While the youth\nwas going to his uncle of the north, on the way he killed some deer\nand rhinoceroses, and seeing a gigantic Rakshasa at some distance,\ncried out, \"Uncle dear, uncle dear, your nephew is here. Auntie has\nsent me to you.\" The Rakshasa came near and said, \"You are the youth\nwith the moon on your forehead and stars on the palms of your hands;\nI would have swallowed you outright, had you not called me uncle, and\nhad you not said that your aunt had sent you to me. Now, what is it you\nwant?\" The savoury deer and rhinoceroses were then presented to him;\nhe ate them all, and then listened to the petition of the youth. The\nyouth wanted the kataki flower. The Rakshasa said, \"You want the kataki\nflower! Very well, try and get it if you can. After passing through\nthis forest, you will come to an impenetrable forest of kachiri. [42]\nYou will say to that forest, 'O mother kachiri! please make way for\nme, or else I die.' On that the forest will open up a passage for\nyou. You will next come to the ocean. You will say to the ocean,\n'O mother ocean! please make way for me, or else I die,' and the\nocean will make way for you. After crossing the ocean, you enter the\ngardens where the kataki blooms. Good-bye; do as I have told you.\" The\nyouth thanked his Rakshasa-uncle, and went on his way. After he had\npassed through the forest, he saw before him an impenetrable forest\nof kachiri. It was so close and thick, and withal so bristling with\nthorns, that not a mouse could go through it. Remembering the advice\nof his uncle, he stood before the forest with folded hands, and said,\n\"O mother kachiri! please make way for me, or else I die.\" On a sudden\na clean path was opened up in the forest, and the youth gladly passed\nthrough it. The ocean now lay before him. He said to the ocean, \"O\nmother ocean! make way for me, or else I die.\" Forthwith the waters\nof the ocean stood up on two sides like two walls, leaving an open\npassage between them, and the youth passed through dryshod.\n\nNow, right before him were the gardens of the kataki flower. He entered\nthe inclosure, and found himself in a spacious palace which seemed to\nbe unoccupied. On going from apartment to apartment he found a young\nlady of more than earthly beauty sleeping on a bedstead of gold. He\nwent near, and noticed two little sticks, one of gold and the other of\nsilver, lying in the bedstead. The silver stick lay near the feet of\nthe sleeping beauty, and the golden one near the head. He took up the\nsticks in his hands, and as he was examining them, the golden stick\naccidentally fell upon the feet of the lady. In a moment the lady\nwoke and sat up, and said to the youth, \"Stranger, how have you come\nto this dismal place? I know who you are, and I know your history. You\nare the youth with the moon on your forehead and stars on the palms of\nyour hands. Flee, flee from this place! This is the residence of seven\nhundred Rakshasas who guard the gardens of the kataki flower. They\nhave all gone a-hunting; they will return by sundown; and if they\nfind you here you will be eaten up. One Rakshasi brought me from the\nearth where my father is king. She loves me very dearly, and will not\nlet me go away. By means of these gold and silver sticks she kills\nme when she goes away in the morning, and by means of those sticks\nshe revives me when she returns in the evening. Flee, flee hence, or\nyou die!\" The youth told the young lady how his sister wished very\nmuch to have the kataki flower, how he passed through the forest\nof kachiri, and how he crossed the ocean. He said also that he was\ndetermined not to go alone, he must take the young lady along with\nhim. The remaining part of the day they spent together in rambling\nabout the gardens. As the time was drawing near when the Rakshasas\nshould return, the youth buried himself amid an enormous heap of\nkataki flower which lay in an adjoining apartment, after killing the\nyoung lady by touching her head with the golden stick. Just after\nsunset the youth heard the sound as of a mighty tempest: it was the\nreturn of the seven hundred Rakshasas into the gardens. One of them\nentered the apartment of the young lady, revived her, and said, \"I\nsmell a human being, I smell a human being.\" The young lady replied,\n\"How can a human being come to this place? I am the only human being\nhere.\" The Rakshasi then stretched herself on the floor, and told the\nyoung lady to shampoo her legs. As she was going on shampooing, she\nlet fall a tear-drop on the Rakshasi's leg. \"Why are you weeping,\nmy dear child?\" asked the raw-eater; \"why are you weeping? Is\nanything troubling you?\" \"No, mamma,\" answered the young lady,\n\"nothing is troubling me. What can trouble me, when you have made\nme so comfortable? I was only thinking what will become of me when\nyou die.\" \"When I die, child?\" said the Rakshasi; \"shall I die? Yes,\nof course all creatures die; but the death of a Rakshasa or Rakshasi\nwill never happen. You know, child, that deep tank in the middle part\nof these gardens. Well, at the bottom of that tank there is a wooden\nbox, in which there are a male and a female bee. It is ordained by\nfate that if a human being who has the moon on his forehead and stars\non the palms of his hands were to come here and dive into that tank,\nand get hold of the same wooden box, and crush to death the male and\nfemale bees without letting a drop of their blood fall to the ground,\nthen we should die. But the accomplishment of this decree of fate is,\nI think, impossible. For, in the first place, there can be no such\nhuman being who will have the moon on his forehead and stars on the\npalms of his hands; and, in the second place, if there be such a man,\nhe will find it impossible to come to this place, guarded as it is\nby seven hundred of us, encompassed by a deep ocean, and barricaded\nby an impervious forest of kachiri--not to speak of the outposts and\nsentinels that are stationed on the other side of the forest. And then,\neven if he succeeds in coming here, he will perhaps not know the secret\nof the wooden box; and even if he knows of the secret of the wooden\nbox, he may not succeed in killing the bees without letting a drop of\ntheir blood fall on the ground. And woe be to him if a drop does fall\non the ground, for in that case he will be torn up into seven hundred\npieces by us. You see then, child, that we are almost immortal--not\nactually, but virtually so. You may, therefore, dismiss your fears.\"\n\nOn the next morning the Rakshasi got up, killed the young lady by\nmeans of the sticks, and went away in search of food along with other\nRakshasas and Rakshasis. The lad, who had the moon on his forehead\nand stars on the palms of his hands, came out of the heap of flowers\nand revived the young lady. The young lady recited to the young man\nthe whole of the conversation she had had with the Rakshasi. It was a\nperfect revelation to him. He, however, lost no time in beginning to\nact. He shut the heavy gates of the gardens. He dived into the tank\nand brought up the wooden box. He opened the wooden box, and caught\nhold of the male and female bees as they were about to escape. He\ncrushed them on the palms of his hands, besmearing his body with every\ndrop of their blood. The moment this was done, loud cries and groans\nwere heard around about the inclosure of the gardens. Agreeably to\nthe decree of fate all the Rakshasas approached the gardens and fell\ndown dead. The youth with the moon on his forehead took as many kataki\nflowers as he could, together with their seeds, and left the palace,\naround which were lying in mountain heaps the carcases of the mighty\ndead, in company with the young and beautiful lady. The waters of\nthe ocean retreated before the youth as before, and the forest of\nkachiri also opened up a passage through it; and the happy couple\nreached the house in the bazaar, where they were welcomed by the\nsister of the youth who had the moon on his forehead.\n\nOn the following morning the youth, as usual, went to hunt. The king\nwas also there. A deer passed by, and the youth shot an arrow. As\nhe shot, the turban as usual fell off his head, and a bright light\nissued from it. The king saw and wondered. He told the youth to stop,\nas he wished to contract friendship with him. The youth told him to\ncome to his house, and gave him his address. The king went to the\nhouse of the youth in the middle of the day. Pushpavati--for that\nwas the name of the young lady that had been brought from beyond the\nocean--told the king--for she knew the whole history--how his seventh\nqueen had been persuaded by the other six queens to ring the bell\ntwice before her time, how she was delivered of a beautiful boy and\ngirl, how pups were substituted in their room, how the twins were\nsaved in a miraculous manner in the house of the potter, how they\nwere well treated in the bazaar, and how the youth with the moon on\nhis forehead rescued her from the clutches of the Rakshasas. The king,\nmightily incensed with the six queens, had them, on the following day,\nburied alive in the ground. The seventh queen was then brought from\nthe market-place and reinstated in her position; and the youth with\nthe moon on his forehead, and the lovely Pushpavati and their sister,\nlived happily together.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nTHE GHOST WHO WAS AFRAID OF BEING BAGGED\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived a barber who had a wife. They did not live\nhappily together, as the wife always complained that she had not enough\nto eat. Many were the curtain lectures which were inflicted upon the\npoor barber. The wife used often to say to her mate, \"If you had not\nthe means to support a wife, why did you marry me? People who have not\nmeans ought not to indulge in the luxury of a wife. When I was in my\nfather's house I had plenty to eat, but it seems that I have come to\nyour house to fast. Widows only fast; I have become a widow in your\nlife-time.\" She was not content with mere words; she got very angry\none day and struck her husband with the broomstick of the house. Stung\nwith shame, and abhorring himself on account of his wife's reproach\nand beating, he left his house, with the implements of his craft,\nand vowed never to return and see his wife's face again till he had\nbecome rich. He went from village to village, and towards nightfall\ncame to the outskirts of a forest. He laid himself down at the foot\nof a tree, and spent many a sad hour in bemoaning his hard lot.\n\nIt so chanced that the tree, at the foot of which the barber was\nlying down, was dwelt in by a ghost. The ghost seeing a human being\nat the foot of the tree naturally thought of destroying him. With\nthis intention the ghost alighted from the tree, and, with outspread\narms and a gaping mouth, stood like a tall palmyra tree before the\nbarber, and said, \"Now, barber, I am going to destroy you. Who will\nprotect you?\" The barber, though quaking in every limb through fear,\nand his hair standing erect, did not lose his presence of mind, but,\nwith that promptitude and shrewdness which are characteristic of his\nfraternity, replied, \"O spirit, you will destroy me! wait a bit and\nI'll show you how many ghosts I have captured this very night and\nput into my bag; and right glad am I to find you here, as I shall\nhave one more ghost in my bag.\" So saying the barber produced from\nhis bag a small looking-glass, which he always carried about with him\nalong with his razors, his whet-stone, his strop and other utensils,\nto enable his customers to see whether their beards had been well\nshaved or not. He stood up, placed the looking-glass right against\nthe face of the ghost, and said, \"Here you see one ghost which I have\nseized and bagged; I am going to put you also in the bag to keep this\nghost company.\" The ghost, seeing his own face in the looking-glass,\nwas convinced of the truth of what the barber had said, and was filled\nwith fear. He said to the barber, \"O, sir barber, I'll do whatever\nyou bid me, only do not put me into your bag. I'll give you whatever\nyou want.\" The barber said, \"You ghosts are a faithless set, there is\nno trusting you. You will promise, and not give what you promise.\" \"O,\nsir,\" replied the ghost, \"be merciful to me; I'll bring to you whatever\nyou order; and if I do not bring it, then put me into your bag.\" \"Very\nwell,\" said the barber, \"bring me just now one thousand gold mohurs;\nand by to-morrow night you must raise a granary in my house, and fill\nit with paddy. Go and get the gold mohurs immediately: and if you\nfail to do my bidding you will certainly be put into my bag.\" The\nghost gladly consented to the conditions. He went away, and in the\ncourse of a short time returned with a bag containing a thousand gold\nmohurs. The barber was delighted beyond measure at the sight of the\ngold mohurs. He then told the ghost to see to it that by the following\nnight a granary was erected in his house and filled with paddy.\n\nIt was during the small hours of the morning that the barber, loaded\nwith the heavy treasure, knocked at the door of his house. His wife,\nwho reproached herself for having in a fit of rage struck her husband\nwith a broomstick, got out of bed and unbolted the door. Her surprise\nwas great when she saw her husband pour out of the bag a glittering\nheap of gold mohurs.\n\nThe next night the poor devil, through fear of being bagged, raised\na large granary in the barber's house, and spent the live-long night\nin carrying on his back large packages of paddy till the granary was\nfilled up to the brim. The uncle of this terrified ghost, seeing his\nworthy nephew carrying on his back loads of paddy, asked what the\nmatter was. The ghost related what had happened. The uncle-ghost then\nsaid, \"You fool, you think the barber can bag you! The barber is a\ncunning fellow; he has cheated you, like a simpleton as you are.\" \"You\ndoubt,\" said the nephew-ghost, \"the power of the barber! come and\nsee.\" The uncle-ghost then went to the barber's house, and peeped\ninto it through a window. The barber, perceiving from the blast of\nwind which the arrival of the ghost had produced that a ghost was at\nthe window, placed full before it the self-same looking-glass, saying,\n\"Come now, I'll put you also into the bag.\" The uncle-ghost, seeing his\nown face in the looking-glass, got quite frightened, and promised that\nvery night to raise another granary and to fill it, not this time with\npaddy, but with rice. So in two nights the barber became a rich man,\nand lived happily with his wife begetting sons and daughters.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nTHE FIELD OF BONES\n\n\nOnce on a time there lived a king who had a son. The young prince had\nthree friends, the son of the prime minister, the son of the prefect\nof the police, and the son of the richest merchant of the city. These\nfour friends had great love for one another. Once on a time they\nbethought themselves of seeing distant lands. They accordingly set\nout one day, each one riding on a horse. They rode on and on, till\nabout noon they came to the outskirts of what seemed to be a dense\nforest. There they rested a while, tying to the trees their horses,\nwhich began to browse. When they had refreshed themselves, they again\nmounted their horses and resumed their journey. At sunset they saw in\nthe depths of the forest a temple, near which they dismounted, wishing\nto lodge there that night. Inside the temple there was a sannyasi,\n[43] apparently absorbed in meditation, as he did not notice the four\nfriends. When darkness covered the forest, a light was seen inside\nthe temple. The four friends resolved to pass the night on the balcony\nof the temple; and as the forest was infested with many wild beasts,\nthey deemed it safe that each of them should watch one prahara [44]\nof the night, while the rest should sleep. It fell to the lot of the\nmerchant's son to watch during the first prahara, that is to say,\nfrom six in the evening to nine o'clock at night. Towards the end of\nhis watch the merchant's son saw a wonderful sight. The hermit took\nup a bone with his hand, and repeated over it some words which the\nmerchant's son distinctly heard. The moment the words were uttered,\na clattering sound was heard in the precincts of the temple, and\nthe merchant's son saw many bones moving from different parts of the\nforest. The bones collected themselves inside the temple, at the foot\nof the hermit, and lay there in a heap. As soon as this took place,\nthe watch of the merchant's son came to an end; and, rousing the son\nof the prefect of the police, he laid himself down to sleep.\n\nThe prefect's son, when he began his watch, saw the hermit sitting\ncross-legged, wrapped in meditation, near a heap of bones, the\nhistory of which he, of course, did not know. For a long time nothing\nhappened. The dead stillness of the night was broken only by the howl\nof the hyaena and the wolf, and the growl of the tiger. When his time\nwas nearly up he saw a wonderful sight. The hermit looked at the heap\nof bones lying before him, and uttered some words which the prefect's\nson distinctly heard. No sooner had the words been uttered than a\nnoise was heard among the bones, \"and behold a shaking, and the bones\ncame together, bone to its bone\"; and the bones which were erewhile\nlying together in a heap now took the form of a skeleton. Struck with\nwonder, the prefect's son would have watched longer, but his time\nwas over. He therefore laid himself down to sleep, after rousing the\nminister's son, to whom, however, he told nothing of what he had seen,\nas the merchant's son had not told him anything of what he had seen.\n\nThe minister's son got up, rubbed his eyes, and began watching. It\nwas the dead hour of midnight, when ghosts, hobgoblins, and spirits of\nevery name and description, go roaming over the wide world, and when\nall creation, both animate and inanimate, is in deep repose. Even\nthe howl of the wolf and the hyaena and the growl of the tiger had\nceased. The minister's son looked towards the temple, and saw the\nhermit sitting wrapt up in meditation; and near him lying something\nwhich seemed to be the skeleton of some animal. He looked towards\nthe dense forest and the darkness all around, and his hair stood\non end through terror. In this state of fear and trembling he spent\nnearly three hours, when an uncommon sight in the temple attracted\nhis notice. The hermit, looking at the skeleton before him, uttered\nsome words which the minister's son distinctly heard. As soon as\nthe words were uttered, \"lo, the sinews and the flesh came up upon\nthe bones, and the skin covered them above\"; but there was no breath\nin the skeleton. Astonished at the sight, the minister's son would\nhave sat up longer, but his time was up. He therefore laid himself\ndown to sleep, after having roused the king's son, to whom, however,\nhe said nothing of what he had seen and heard.\n\nThe king's son, when he began his watch, saw the hermit sitting,\ncompletely absorbed in devotion, near a figure which looked like\nsome animal, but he was not a little surprised to see the animal\nlying apparently lifeless, without showing any of the symptoms of\nlife. The prince spent his hours agreeably enough, especially as he\nhad had a long sleep, and as he felt none of that depression which\nthe dead hour of midnight sheds on the spirits; and he amused himself\nwith marking how the shades of darkness were becoming thinner and\npaler every moment. But just as he noticed a red streak in the east,\nhe heard a sound from inside the temple. He turned his eyes towards\nthe hermit. The hermit, looking towards the inanimate figure of the\nanimal lying before him, uttered some words which the prince distinctly\nheard. The moment the words were spoken, \"breath came into the animal;\nit lived, it stood up upon its feet\"; and quickly rushed out of the\ntemple into the forest. That moment the crows cawed; the watch of the\nprince came to an end; his three companions were roused; and after\na short time they mounted their horses, and resumed their journey,\neach one thinking of the strange sight seen in the temple.\n\nThey rode on and on through the dense and interminable forest, and\nhardly spoke to one another, till about mid-day they halted under a\ntree near a pool for refreshment. After they had refreshed themselves\nwith eating some fruits of the forest and drinking water from the\npool, the prince said to his three companions, \"Friends, did you not\nsee something in the temple of the devotee? I'll tell you what I saw,\nbut first let me hear what you all saw. Let the merchant's son first\ntell us what he saw as he had the first watch; and the others will\nfollow in order.\"\n\nMerchant's son. I'll tell you what I saw. I saw the hermit take up\na bone in his hand, and repeat some words which I well remember. The\nmoment those words were uttered, a clattering sound was heard in the\nprecincts of the temple, and I saw many bones running into the temple\nfrom different directions. The bones collected themselves together\ninside the temple at the feet of the hermit, and lay there in a heap. I\nwould have gladly remained longer to see the end, but my time was up,\nand I had to rouse my friend, the son of the prefect of the police.\n\nPrefect's son. Friends, this is what I saw. The hermit looked at\nthe heap of bones lying before him, and uttered some words which\nI well remember. No sooner had the words been uttered than I heard\na noise among the bones, and, strange to say, the bones jumped up,\neach bone joined itself to its fellow, and the heap became a perfect\nskeleton. At that moment my watch came to an end, and I had to rouse\nmy respected friend the minister's son.\n\nMinister's son. Well, when I began my watch I saw the said skeleton\nlying near the hermit. After three mortal hours, during which I was\nin great fear, I saw the hermit lift his eyes towards the skeleton\nand utter some words which I well remember. As soon as the words were\nuttered the skeleton was covered with flesh and hair, but it did not\nshow any symptom of life, as it lay motionless. Just then my watch\nended, and I had to rouse my royal friend the prince.\n\nKing's son. Friends, from what you yourselves saw, you can guess what\nI saw. I saw the hermit turn towards the skeleton covered with skin and\nhair, and repeat some words which I well remember. The moment the words\nwere uttered, the skeleton stood up on its feet, and it looked a fine\nand lusty deer, and while I was admiring its beauty, it skipped out\nof the temple, and ran into the forest. That moment the crows cawed.\n\nThe four friends, after hearing one another's story, congratulated\nthemselves on the possession of supernatural power, and they did not\ndoubt but that if they pronounced the words which they had heard the\nhermit utter, the utterance would be followed by the same results. But\nthey resolved to verify their power by an actual experiment. Near\nthe foot of the tree they found a bone lying on the ground, and they\naccordingly resolved to experiment upon it. The merchant's son took\nup the bone, and repeated over it the formula he had heard from\nthe hermit. Wonderful to relate, a hundred bones immediately came\nrushing from different directions, and lay in a heap at the foot of\nthe tree. The son of the prefect of the police then looking upon the\nheap of bones, repeated the formula which he had heard from the hermit,\nand forthwith there was a shaking among the bones; the several bones\njoined themselves together, and formed themselves into a skeleton, and\nit was the skeleton of a quadruped. The minister's son then drew near\nthe skeleton, and, looking intently upon it, pronounced over it the\nformula which he had heard from the hermit. The skeleton immediately\nwas covered with flesh, skin, and hair, and, horrible to relate,\nthe animal proved itself to be a royal tiger of the largest size. The\nfour friends were filled with consternation. If the king's son were,\nby the repetition of the formula he had heard from the hermit, to make\nthe beast alive, it might prove fatal to them all. The three friends,\ntherefore, tried to dissuade the prince from giving life to the\ntiger. But the prince would not comply with the request. He naturally\nsaid, \"The mantras [45] which you have learned have been proved true\nand efficacious. But how shall I know that the mantra which I have\nlearned is equally efficacious? I must have my mantra verified. Nor\nis it certain that we shall lose our lives by the experiment. Here\nis this high tree. You can climb into its topmost branches, and\nI shall also follow you thither after pronouncing the mantra.\" In\nvain did the three friends dwell upon the extreme danger attending\nthe experiment: the prince remained inexorable. The minister's son,\nthe prefect's son, and the merchant's son climbed up into the topmost\nbranches of the tree, while the king's son went up to the middle of\nthe tree. From there, looking intently upon the lifeless tiger, he\npronounced the words which he had learned from the hermit, and quickly\nran up the tree. In the twinkling of an eye the tiger stood upright,\ngave out a terrible growl, with a tremendous spring killed all the\nfour horses which were browsing at a little distance, and, dragging\none of them, rushed towards the densest part of the forest. The four\nfriends ensconced on the branches of the tree were almost petrified\nwith fear at the sight of the terrible tiger; but the danger was now\nover. The tiger went off at a great distance from them, and from its\ngrowl they judged that it must be at least two miles distance from\nthem. After a little they came down from the tree; and as they now had\nno horses on which to ride, they walked on foot through the forest,\ntill, coming to its end, they reached the shore of the sea. They sat\non the sea-shore hoping to see some ship sailing by. They had not sat\nlong, when fortunately they descried a vessel in the offing. They\nwaved their handkerchiefs, and made all sorts of signs to attract\nthe notice of the people on board the ship. The captain and the crew\nnoticed the men on the shore. They came towards the shore, took the\nmen upon board, but added that as they were short of provisions they\ncould not have them a long time on board, but would put them ashore\nat the first port they came to. After four or five days' voyage, they\nsaw not far from the shore high buildings and turrets, and supposing\nthe place to be a large city, the four friends landed there.\n\nThe four friends, immediately after landing, walked along a long avenue\nof stately trees, at the end of which was a bazaar. There were hundreds\nof shops in the bazaar, but not a single human being in them. There\nwere sweetmeat shops in which there were heaps of confectioneries\nranged in regular rows, but no human beings to sell them. There was\nthe blacksmith's shop, there was the anvil, there were the bellows\nand the other tools of the smithy, but there was no smith there. There\nwere stalls in which there were heaps of faded and dried vegetables,\nbut no men or women to sell them. The streets were all deserted, no\nhuman beings, no cattle were to be seen there. There were carts, but no\nbullocks; there were carriages, but no horses. The doors and windows\nof the houses of the city on both sides of the streets were all open,\nbut no human being was visible in them. It seemed to be a deserted\ncity. It seemed to be a city of the dead--and all the dead taken out\nand buried. The four friends were astonished--they were frightened\nat the sight. As they went on, they approached a magnificent pile of\nbuildings, which seemed to be the palace of a king. They went to the\ngate and to the porter's lodge. They saw shields, swords, spears, and\nother weapons suspended in the lodge, but no porters. They entered the\npremises, but saw no guards, no human beings. They went to the stables,\nsaw the troughs, grain, and grass lying about in profusion, but no\nhorses. They went inside the palace, passed the long corridors--still\nno human being was visible. They went through six long courts--still\nno human being. They entered the seventh court, and there and then,\nfor the first time, did they see living human beings. They saw\ncoming towards them four princesses of matchless beauty. Each of\nthese four princesses caught hold of the arm of each of the four\nfriends; and each princess called each man whom she had caught hold\nof her husband. The princesses said that they had been long waiting\nfor the four friends, and expressed great joy at their arrival. The\nprincesses took the four friends into the innermost apartments, and\ngave them a sumptuous feast. There were no servants attending them,\nthe princesses themselves bringing in the provisions and setting\nthem before the four friends. At the outset the four princesses\ntold the four friends that no questions were to be asked about the\ndepopulation of the city. After this, each princess went into her\nprivate apartment along with her newly-found husband. Shortly after\nthe prince and princess had retired into their private apartment,\nthe princess began to shed tears. On the prince inquiring into the\ncause, the princess said, \"O prince! I pity you very much. You seem,\nby your bearing, to be the son of a king, and you have, no doubt,\nthe heart of a king's son; I will therefore tell you my whole story,\nand the story of my three companions who look like princesses. I am the\ndaughter of a king, whose palace this is, and those three creatures,\nwho are dressed like princesses, and who have called your three friends\ntheir husbands, are Rakshasis. They came to this city some time ago;\nthey ate up my father, the king, my mother, the queen, my brothers,\nmy sisters, of whom I had a large number. They ate up the king's\nministers and servants. They ate up gradually all the people of the\ncity, all my father's horses and elephants, and all the cattle of the\ncity. You must have noticed, as you came to the palace, that there\nare no human beings, no cattle, no living thing in this city. They\nhave all been eaten up by those three Rakshasis. They have spared me\nalone--and that, I suppose, only for a time. When the Rakshasis saw\nyou and your friends from a distance, they were very glad, as they\nmean to eat you all up after a short time.\"\n\nKing's son. But if this is the case, how do I know that you are not\na Rakshasi yourself? Perhaps you mean to swallow me up by throwing\nme off my guard.\n\nPrincess. I'll mention one fact which proves that those three creatures\nare Rakshasis, while I am not. Rakshasis, you know, eat food a hundred\ntimes larger in quantity than men or women. What the Rakshasis eat at\ntable along with us is not sufficient to appease their hunger. They\ntherefore go out at night to distant lands in search of men or cattle,\nas there are none in this city. If you ask your friends to watch and\nsee whether their wives remain all night in their beds, they will find\nthey go out and stay away a good part of the night, whereas you will\nfind me the whole night with you. But please see that the Rakshasis do\nnot get the slightest inkling of all this; for if they hear of it, they\nwill kill me in the first instance, and afterwards swallow you all up.\n\nThe next day the king's son called together the minister's son,\nthe prefect's son, and the merchant's son, and held a consultation,\nenjoining the strictest secrecy on all. He told them what he had heard\nfrom the princess, and requested them to lie awake in their beds to\nwatch whether their pretended princesses went out at night or not. One\npresumptive argument in favour of the assertion of the princess was\nthat all the pretended princesses were fast asleep during the whole of\nthe day in consequence of their nightly wanderings, whereas the female\nfriend of the king's son did not sleep at all during the day. The\nthree friends accordingly lay in their beds at night pretending to\nbe asleep and manifesting all the symptoms of deep sleep. Each one\nobserved that his female friend at a certain hour, thinking her mate\nto be in deep sleep, left the room, stayed away the whole night,\nand returned to her bed only at dawn. During the following day each\nfemale friend slept out nearly the whole day, and woke up only in the\nafternoon. For two nights and days the three friends observed this. The\nking's son also remained awake at night pretending to be asleep, but\nthe princess was not observed for a single moment to leave the room,\nnor was she observed to sleep in the day. From these circumstances\nthe friends of the king's son began to suspect that their partners\nwere really Rakshasis as the princess said they were.\n\nBy way of confirmation the princess also told the king's son, that the\nRakshasis, after eating the flesh of men and animals, threw the bones\ntowards the north of the city, where there was an immense collection\nof them. The king's son and his three friends went one day towards\nthat part of the city, and sure enough they saw there immense heaps\nof the bones of men and animals piled up into hills. From this they\nbecame more and more convinced that the three women were Rakshasis\nin deed and truth.\n\nThe question now was how to run away from these devourers of men\nand animals? There was one circumstance greatly in favour of the\nfour friends, and that was, that the three Rakshasis slept during\nnearly the whole day; they had therefore the greater part of the\nday for the maturing of their plans. The princess advised them to go\ntowards the sea-shore, and watch if any ships sailed that way. The\nfour friends accordingly used to go to the sea-shore looking for\nships. They were always accompanied by the princess, who took the\nprecaution of carrying with her in a bundle her most valuable jewels,\npearls and precious stones. It happened one day that they saw a ship\npassing at a great distance from the shore. They made signs which\nattracted the notice of the captain and crew. The ship came towards\nthe land, and the four friends and princess were, after much entreaty,\ntaken up. The princess exhorted the crew to row with all their might,\nfor which she promised them a handsome reward; for she knew that the\nRakshasis would awake in the afternoon, and immediately come after the\nship; and they would assuredly catch hold of the vessel and destroy\nall the crew and passengers if it stood short of eighty miles from\nland, for the Rakshasis had the power of distending their bodies to\nthe length of ten Yojanas. [46] The four friends and the princess\ncheered on the crew, and the oarsmen rowed with all their might; and\nthe ship, favoured by the wind, shot over the deep like lightning. It\nwas near sun-down when a terrible yell was heard on the shore. The\nRakshasis had wakened from their sleep, and not finding either the\nfour friends or the princess, naturally thought they had got hold\nof a ship and were escaping. They therefore ran along the shore with\nlightning rapidity, and seeing the ship afar off they distended their\nbodies. But fortunately the vessel was more than eighty miles off\nland, though only a trifle more: indeed, the ship was so dangerously\nnear that the heads of the Rakshasis with their widely-distended\njaws almost touched its stern. The words which the Rakshasis uttered\nin the hearing of the crew and passengers were--\"O sister, so you\nare going to eat them all yourself alone.\" The minister's son, the\nprefect's son, and the merchant's son had all along a suspicion that\nthe pretended princess, the prince's partner, might after all also\nbe a Rakshasi; that suspicion was now confirmed by what they heard\nthe three Rakshasis say. Those words, however, produced no effect in\nthe mind of the king's son, as from his intimate acquaintance with\nthe princess he could not possibly take her to be a Rakshasi.\n\nThe captain told the four friends and princess that as he was bound\nfor distant regions in search of gold mines, he could not take\nthem along with him; he, therefore, proposed that on the next day\nhe should put them ashore near some port, especially as they were\nnow safe from the clutches of the Rakshasis. On the following day\nno port was visible for a long time; towards the evening, however,\nthey came near a port where the four friends and the princess were\nlanded. After walking some distance, the princess, who had never been\naccustomed to take long walks, complained of fatigue and hunger; they\nall therefore sat under a tree, and the king's son sent the merchant's\nson to buy some sweetmeats in the bazaar which they heard was not far\noff. The merchant's son did not return, as he was fully persuaded in\nhis mind that the king's son's partner was as real a Rakshasi as the\nthree others from whose clutches he had escaped. Seeing the delay of\nthe merchant's son, the king's son sent the prefect's son after him;\nbut neither did he return, he being also convinced that the pretended\nprincess was a Rakshasi. The minister's son was next sent; but he also\njoined the other two. The king's son then himself went to the shop\nof the sweetmeat seller where he met his three friends, who made him\nremain with them by main force, earnestly declaring that the woman\nwas no princess, but a real Rakshasi like the other three. Thus the\nprincess was deserted by the four friends who returned to their own\ncountry, full of the adventures they had met with.\n\nIn the meantime the princess walked to the bazaar and found shelter\nfor a few days in the house of a poor woman, after which she set\nout for the city of the four friends, the name and whereabouts of\nwhich city she had learnt from the king's son. On arriving at the\ncity, she sold some of her costly ornaments, pearls and precious\nstones, and hired a stately house for her residence with a suitable\nestablishment. She caused herself to be proclaimed as a heaven-born\ndice-player, and challenged all the players in the city to play, the\nconditions of the game being that if she lost it she would give the\nwinner a lakh [47] of rupees, and if she won it she should get a lakh\nfrom him who lost the game. She also got authority from the king of\nthe country to imprison in her own house any one who could not pay her\nthe stipulated sum of money. The merchant's son, the prefect's son,\nand the minister's son, who all looked upon themselves as miraculous\nplayers, played with the princess, paid her many lakhs, but being\nunable to pay her all the sums they owed her, were imprisoned in her\nhouse. At last the king's son offered to play with her. The princess\npurposely allowed him to win the first game, which emboldened him to\nplay many times, in all of which he was the loser; and being unable to\npay the many lakhs owing her, the prince was about to be dragged into\nthe dungeon, when the princess told him who she was. The merchant's\nson, the prefect's son, and the minister's son were brought out of\ntheir cells; and the joy of the four friends knew no bounds. The\nking and the queen received their daughter-in-law with open arms,\nand with demonstrations of great festivity.\n\nEvery one in the palace was glad except the princess. She could not\nforget that her parents, her brothers and sisters had been devoured\nby the Rakshasis, and that their bones, along with the bones of her\nfather's subjects, stood in mountain heaps on the north side of the\ncapital. The prince had told her that he and his three friends had\nthe power of giving life to bones. They could then reconstruct the\nframes of her parents and other relatives; but the difficulty lay\nin this--how to kill the three Rakshasis. Could not the hermit, who\ntaught them to give life, not teach also how to take away life? In all\nlikelihood he could. Reasoning in this manner, the four friends and\nthe princess went to the temple of the hermit in the forest, prayed\nto him to give them the secret of destroying life from a distance by a\ncharm. The hermit became propitious, and granted the boon. A deer was\npassing by at the moment. The hermit took a handful of water, repeated\nover it some words which the king's son distinctly heard, and threw\nit upon the deer. The deer died in a moment. He repeated other words\nover the dead animal, the deer jumped up and ran away into the forest.\n\nArmed with this killing charm, the king's son, together with\nthe princess and the three friends, went to his father-in-law's\ncapital. As they approached the city of death, the three Rakshasis\nran furiously towards them with open jaws. The king's son spilled\ncharmed water upon them, and they died in an instant. They all then\nwent to the heaps of bones. The merchant's son brought together the\nproper bones of the bodies, the prefect's son constructed them into\nskeletons, the minister's son clothed them with sinews, flesh, and\nskin, and the king's son gave them life. The princess was entranced\nat the sight of the re-animation of her parents and other relatives,\nand her eyes were filled with tears of joy. After a few days which\nthey spent in great festivity, they left the revivified city, went\nto their own country, and lived many years in great happiness.\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nTHE BALD WIFE\n\n\nA certain man had two wives, the younger of whom he loved more than\nthe elder. The younger wife had two tufts of hair on her head, and\nthe elder only one. The man went to a distant town for merchandise;\nso the two wives lived together in the house. But they hated each\nother: the younger one, who was her husband's favourite, ill-treated\nthe other. She made her do all the menial work in the house; rebuked\nher all day and night; and did not give her enough to eat. One day\nthe younger wife said to the elder, \"Come and take away all the lice\nfrom the hair of my head.\" While the elder wife was searching among the\nyounger one's hair for the vermin, one lock of hair by chance gave way;\non which the younger one, mightily incensed, tore off the single tuft\nthat was on the head of the elder wife, and drove her away from the\nhouse. The elder wife, now become completely bald, determined to go\ninto the forest, and there either die of starvation or be devoured by\nsome wild beast. On her way she passed by a cotton plant. She stopped\nnear it, made for herself a broom with some sticks which lay about,\nand swept clean the ground round about the plant. The plant was much\npleased, and gave her a blessing. She wended on her way, and now saw\na plantain tree. She swept the ground round about the plantain tree\nwhich, being pleased with her, gave her a blessing. As she went on\nshe saw the shed of a Brahmani bull. As the shed was very dirty,\nshe swept the place clean, on which the bull, being much pleased,\nblessed her. She next saw a tulasi plant, bowed herself down before\nit, and cleaned the place round about, on which the plant gave her\na blessing. As she was going on in her journey she saw a hut made of\nbranches of trees and leaves, and near it a man sitting cross-legged,\napparently absorbed in meditation. She stood for a moment behind\nthe venerable muni. \"Whoever you may be,\" he said, \"come before me;\ndo not stand behind me; if you do, I will reduce you to ashes.\" The\nwoman, trembling with fear, stood before the muni. \"What is your\npetition?\" asked the muni. \"Father Muni,\" answered the woman, \"thou\nknowest how miserable I am, since thou art all-knowing. My husband\ndoes not love me, and his other wife, having torn off the only tuft\nof hair on my head, has driven me away from the house. Have pity\nupon me, Father Muni!\" The muni, continuing sitting, said, \"Go into\nthe tank which you see yonder. Plunge into the water only once, and\nthen come to me again.\" The woman went to the tank, washed in it,\nand plunged into the water only once, according to the bidding of\nthe muni. When she got out of the water, what a change was seen in\nher! Her head was full of jet black hair, which was so long that it\ntouched her heels; her complexion had become perfectly fair; and she\nlooked young and beautiful. Filled with joy and gratitude, she went\nto the muni, and bowed herself to the ground. The muni said to her,\n\"Rise, woman. Go inside the hut, and you will find a number of wicker\nbaskets, and bring out any you like.\" The woman went into the hut,\nand selected a modest-looking basket. The muni said, \"Open the\nbasket.\" She opened it, and found it filled with ingots of gold,\npearls and all sorts of precious stones. The muni said, \"Woman,\ntake that basket with you. It will never get empty. When you take\naway the present contents their room will be supplied by another set,\nand that by another, and that by another, and the basket will never\nbecome empty. Daughter, go in peace.\" The woman bowed herself down\nto the ground in profound but silent gratitude, and went away.\n\nAs she was returning homewards with the basket in her hand, she passed\nby the tulasi plant whose bottom she had swept. The tulasi plant said\nto her, \"Go in peace, child! thy husband will love thee warmly.\" She\nnext came to the shed of the Brahmani bull, who gave her two shell\nornaments which were twined round its horns, saying, \"Daughter, take\nthese shells, put them on your wrists, and whenever you shake either\nof them you will get whatever ornaments you wish to obtain.\" She then\ncame to the plantain tree, which gave her one of its broad leaves,\nsaying, \"Take, child, this leaf; and when you move it you will get\nnot only all sorts of delicious plantains, but all kinds of agreeable\nfood.\" She came last of all to the cotton plant, which gave her one\nof its own branches, saying, \"Daughter, take this branch; and when\nyou shake it you will get not only all sorts of cotton clothes, but\nalso of silk and purple. Shake it now in my presence.\" She shook the\nbranch, and a fabric of the finest glossy silk fell on her lap. She\nput on that silk cloth, and wended on her way with the shells on her\nwrists, and the basket and the branch and the leaf in her hands.\n\nThe younger wife was standing at the door of her house, when she\nsaw a beautiful woman approach her. She could scarcely believe her\neyes. What a change! The old, bald hag turned into the very Queen\nof Beauty herself! The elder wife, now grown rich and beautiful,\ntreated the younger wife with kindness. She gave her fine clothes,\ncostly ornaments, and the richest viands. But all to no purpose. The\nyounger wife envied the beauty and hair of her associate. Having heard\nthat she got it all from Father Muni in the forest, she determined to\ngo there. Accordingly she started on her journey. She saw the cotton\nplant, but did nothing to it; she passed by the plantain tree, the\nshed of the Brahmani bull, and the tulasi plant, without taking any\nnotice of them. She approached the muni. The muni told her to bathe in\nthe tank, and plunge only once into the water. She gave one plunge,\nat which she got a glorious head of hair and a beautifully fair\ncomplexion. She thought a second plunge would make her still more\nbeautiful. Accordingly she plunged into the water again, and came\nout as bald and ugly as before. She came to the muni, and wept. The\nsage drove her away, saying, \"Be off, you disobedient woman. You will\nget no boon from me.\" She went back to her house mad with grief. The\nlord of the two women returned from his travels and was struck with\nthe long locks and beauty of his first wife. He loved her dearly;\nand when he saw her secret and untold resources and her incredible\nwealth, he almost adored her. They lived together happily for many\nyears, and had for their maid-servant the younger woman, who had been\nformerly his best beloved.\n\n\n\n Here my story endeth,\n The Natiya-thorn withereth;\n \"Why, O Natiya-thorn, dost wither?\"\n \"Why does thy cow on me browse?\"\n \"Why, O cow, dost thou browse?\"\n \"Why does thy neat-herd not tend me?\"\n \"Why, O neat-herd, dost not tend the cow?\"\n \"Why does thy daughter-in-law not give me rice?\"\n \"Why, O daughter-in-law, dost not give rice?\"\n \"Why does my child cry?\"\n \"Why, O child, dost thou cry?\"\n \"Why does the ant bite me?\"\n \"Why, O ant, dost thou bite?\"\n Koot! koot! koot!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] Kings, in Bengali folk-tales, have invariably two queens--the\nelder is called duo, that is, not loved; and the younger is called suo,\nthat is, loved.\n\n[2] Dalim or dadimba means a pomegranate, and kumara son.\n\n[3] Bidhata-Purusha is the deity that predetermines all the events\nof the life of man or woman, and writes on the forehead of the child,\non the sixth day of its birth, a brief precis of them.\n\n[4] There are eight forms of marriage spoken of in the Hindu Sastras,\nof which the Gandharva is one, consisting in the exchange of garlands.\n\n[5] Alakta is leaves or flimsy paper saturated with lac.\n\n[6] A sort of open Palki, used generally for carrying the bridegroom\nand bride in marriage processions.\n\n[7] Handi is an earthen pot, generally used in cooking food.\n\n[8] Mudki, fried paddy boiled dry in treacle or sugar.\n\n[9] A sort of sweetmeat made of curds and sugar.\n\n[10] Rakshasas and Rakshasis (male and female) are in Hindu mythology\nhuge giants and giantesses, or rather demons. The word means literally\nraw-eaters; they were probably the chiefs of the aborigines whom the\nAryans overthrew on their first settlement in the country.\n\n[11] Dasi is a general name for all maid-servants.\n\n[12] Sphatika is crystal, and sthambha pillar.\n\n[13] Bathing-place, either in a tank or on the bank of a river,\ngenerally furnished with flights of steps.\n\n[14] Professional match-makers.\n\n[15] Manik, or rather manikya, is a fabulous precious stone of\nincredible value. It is found on the head of some species of snakes,\nand is equal in value to the wealth of seven kings.\n\n[16] Venus, the Morning Star.\n\n[17] The seat on the back of an elephant.\n\n[18] Sri is another name of Lakshmi, and batsa means child; so that\nSribatsa is literally the \"child of fortune.\"\n\n[19] Shells used as money, one hundred and sixty of which could have\nbeen got a few years ago for one pice.\n\n[20] Fried paddy.\n\n[21] This story is not my own. It was recited to me by a story-teller\nof the other sex who rejoices in the nom de plume \"An Inmate of the\nCalcutta Lunatic Asylum.\"\n\n[22] A holy sage.\n\n[23] The tutelary goddess of a king's household.\n\n[24] A vessel, made generally of brass, for keeping the pan leaf\ntogether with betel-nut and other spices.\n\n[25] A towel used in bathing.\n\n[26] A sort of bed made of rope, supported by posts of wood.\n\n[27] The sacred basil.\n\n[28] Zenana is not the name of a province in India, as the good people\nof Scotland the other day took it to be, but the innermost department\nof a Hindu or Mohammedan house which the women occupy.\n\n[29] A religious mendicant.\n\n[30] Sankchinnis or Sankhachurnis are female ghosts of white\ncomplexion. They usually stand at the dead of night at the foot of\ntrees, and look like sheets of white cloth.\n\n[31] An exorcist, one who drives away ghosts from possessed persons.\n\n[32] The ghost of a Brahman who dies unmarried.\n\n[33] A bigha is about the third part of an acre.\n\n[34] The chariot of Kuvera, the Hindu god of riches.\n\n[35] \"Hiraman (from harit, green, and mani, a gem), the name of\na beautiful species of parrot, a native of the Molucca Islands\n(Psittacus sinensis).\"--Carey's Dictionary of the Bengalee Language,\nvol. ii. part iii. p. 1537.\n\n[36] Winged horse, literally, the king of birds.\n\n[37] Khai is fried paddy.\n\n[38] A name for a jackal, not unlike Reynard in Europe.\n\n[39] The god who presides over marriages.\n\n[40] Calotropis gigantea.\n\n[41] Literally the king of birds, a fabulous species of horse\nremarkable for their swiftness.\n\n[42] Arum fornicatum.\n\n[43] Religious devotee.\n\n[44] Eighth part of twenty-four hours, that is, three hours.\n\n[45] Charm or incantation.\n\n[46] A yojana is nearly eight miles.\n\n[47] Ten thousand pounds sterling.\n\n\n\n THE END","title":"Folk-Tales of Bengal","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":73423}