Old Deccan Days; or, Hindoo Fairy Legends Current in Southern India
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Title: Old Deccan Days; or, Hindoo Fairy Legends Current in Southern India
Compiler: Mary Frere
Contributor: Bartle Frere
Release date: July 11, 2011 [eBook #36696]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD DECCAN DAYS; OR, HINDOO FAIRY LEGENDS CURRENT IN SOUTHERN INDIA ***
Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
OLD
DECCAN DAYS
OR
HINDOO FAIRY LEGENDS
_CURRENT IN SOUTHERN INDIA._
COLLECTED FROM ORAL TRADITION,
BY M. FRERE.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES,
BY SIR BARTLE FRERE.
[Decoration]
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1870.
Lippincott's Press, Philadelphia.
[Illustration: VICRAM MAHARAJAH--p. 133.]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 5
THE COLLECTOR'S APOLOGY 12
THE NARRATOR'S NARRATIVE 15
1. PUNCHKIN 27
2. A FUNNY STORY 44
3. BRAVE SEVENTEE BAI 51
4. TRUTH'S TRIUMPH 81
5. RAMA AND LUXMAN; OR, THE LEARNED OWL 98
6. LITTLE SURYA BAI 113
7. THE WANDERINGS OF VICRAM MAHARAJAH 129
8. LESS INEQUALITY THAN MEN DEEM 161
9. PANCH-PHUL RANEE 164
10. HOW THE SUN, THE MOON AND THE WIND WENT OUT
TO DINNER 194
11. SINGH RAJAH AND THE CUNNING LITTLE JACKALS 196
12. THE JACKAL, THE BARBER AND THE BRAHMIN WHO HAD
SEVEN DAUGHTERS 199
13. TIT FOR TAT 218
14. THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER AND THE SIX JUDGES 220
15. THE SELFISH SPARROW AND THE HOUSELESS CROWS 225
16. THE VALIANT CHATTEE-MAKER 227
17. THE RAKSHAS' PALACE 236
18. THE BLIND MAN, THE DEAF MAN AND THE DONKEY 248
19. MUCHIE LAL 258
20. CHUNDUN RAJAH 268
21. SODEWA BAI 280
22. CHANDRA'S VENGEANCE 291
23. HOW THE THREE CLEVER MEN OUTWITTED THE DEMONS 314
24. THE ALLIGATOR AND THE JACKAL 326
NOTES 333
INTRODUCTION.
A few words seem necessary regarding the origin of these stories, in
addition to what the Narrator says for herself in her Narrative, and
what is stated in the Collector's "Apology."
With the exception of two or three, which will be recognized as
substantially identical with stories of Pilpay or other well-known
Hindoo fabulists, I never before heard any of these tales among the
Mahrattas, in that part of the Deccan where the Narrator and her
family have lived for the last two generations; and it is probable
that most of the stories were brought from among the Lingaets of
Southern India, the tribe, or rather sect, to which Anna de Souza
tells us her family belonged before their conversion to Christianity.
The Lingaets form one of the most strongly marked divisions of the
Hindoo races south of the river Kistna. They are generally a
well-favored, well-to-do people, noticeable for their superior
frugality, intelligence and industry, and for the way in which they
combine and act together as a separate body apart from other Hindoos.
They have many peculiarities of costume, of social ceremony and of
religion, which strike even a casual observer; and though clearly not
aboriginal, they seem to have much ground for their claim to belong to
a more ancient race and an earlier wave of immigration than most of
the Hindoo nations with which they are now intermingled.
The country they inhabit is tolerably familiar to most English readers
on Indian subjects, for it is the theatre of many of the events
described in the great Duke's earlier despatches, and in the writings
of Munro, of Wilkes, and of Buchanan. The extraordinary beauty of some
of the natural features of the coast scenery, and the abundance of
the architectural and other remains of powerful and highly civilized
Hindoo dynasties, have attracted the attention of tourists and
antiquaries, though not to the extent their intrinsic merit deserves.
Some knowledge of the land tenures and agriculture of the country is
accessible to readers of Indian blue-books.
But of all that relates to the ancient history and politics of the
former Hindoo sovereigns of these regions very little is known to the
general reader, though from their power, and riches and long-sustained
civilization, as proved by the monuments these rulers have left behind
them there are few parts of India better worth the attention of the
historian and antiquary.
Of the inner life of the people, past or present, of their social
peculiarities and popular beliefs, even less is known or procurable in
any published form. With the exception of a few graphic and
characteristic notices of shrewd observers like Munro, little
regarding them is to be found in the writings of any author likely to
come in the way of ordinary readers.
But this is not from want of materials: a good deal has been published
in India, though, with the common fate of Indian publications, the
books containing the information are often rare in English
collections, and difficult to meet with in England, except in a few
public libraries. Of unpublished material there must be a vast amount,
collected not only by the government servants, but by missionaries,
and others residing in the country, who have peculiar opportunities
for observation, and for collecting information not readily to be
obtained by a stranger or an official. Collections of this kind are
specially desirable as regards the popular non-Brahminical
superstitions of the lower orders.
Few, even of those who have lived many years in India and made some
inquiry regarding the external religion of its inhabitants, are aware
how little the popular belief of the lower classes has in common with
the Hindooism of the Brahmins, and how much it differs in different
provinces, and in different races and classes in the same province.
In the immediate vicinity of Poona, where Brahminism seems so
orthodox and powerful, a very little observation will satisfy the
inquirer that the favorite objects of popular worship do not always
belong to the regular Hindoo Pantheon. No orthodox Hindoo deity is so
popular in the Poona Deccan as the deified sage Vithoba and his
earlier expounders, both sage and followers being purely local
divinities. Wherever a few of the pastoral tribes are settled, there
Byroba, the god of the herdsmen, or Kundoba, the deified hero of the
shepherds, supersedes all other popular idols. Byroba the Terrible,
and other remnants of Fetish or of Snake-worship, everywhere divide
the homage of the lower castes with the recognized Hindoo divinities,
while outside almost every village the circle of large stones sacred
to Vetal, the demon-god of the outcast helot races, which reminds the
traveler of the Druid circles of the northern nations, has for ages
held, and still holds, its ground against all Brahminical innovations.
Some of these local or tribal divinities, when their worshipers are
very numerous or powerful, have been adopted into the Hindoo Olympus
as incarnations or manifestations of this or that orthodox divinity,
and one or two have been provided with elaborate written legends
connecting them with some known Puranic character or event; but, in
general, the true history of the local deity, if it survives at all,
is to be found only in popular tradition; and it thus becomes a matter
of some ethnological and historical importance to secure all such
fleeting remnants of ancient superstition before they are forgotten as
civilization advances.
Some information of this kind is to be gleaned even from the present
series of legends, though the object of the collector being simply
amusement, and not antiquarian research, any light which is thrown on
the popular superstitions of the country is only incidental.
Of the superhuman personages who appear in them, the "Rakshas" is the
most prominent. This being has many features in common with the
demoniacal Ogre of other lands. The giant bulk and terrible teeth of
his usual form are the universal attributes of his congener. His habit
of feasting on dead bodies will remind the reader of the Arabian
Ghoul, while the simplicity and stupidity which qualify the
supernatural powers of the Rakshas, and usually enable the
quick-witted mortal to gain the victory over him, will recall many
humorous passages in which giants figure in our own Norse and Teutonic
legends.
The English reader must bear in mind that in India beings of this or
of very similar nature are not mere traditions of the past, but that
they form an important part of the existing practical belief of the
lower orders. Grown men will sometimes refuse every inducement to pass
at night near the supposed haunt of a Rakshas, and I have heard the
cries of a belated traveler calling for help attributed to a Rakshas
luring his prey.
Nor is darkness always an element in this superstition: I have known a
bold and experienced tracker of game gravely assert that some figures
which he had been for some time keenly scanning on the bare summit of
a distant hill were beings of this order, and he was very indignant at
the laugh which his observation provoked from his less-experienced
European disciple. "If your telescope could see as far as my old
eyes," the veteran said, "or if you knew the movements of all the
animals of this hunting-ground as well as I do, you would see that
those must be demons and nothing else. No men nor animals at this time
of day would collect on an open space and move about in that way.
Besides, that large rock close by them is a noted place for demons;
every child in the village knows that."
I have heard another man of the same class, when asked why he looked
so intently at a human footstep in the forest pathway, gravely
observed that the footmark looked as if the foot which made it had
been walking heel-foremost, and must therefore have been made by a
Rakshas, "for they always walked so when in human form."
Another expressed particular dread of a human face, the eyes of which
were placed at an exaggerated angle to each other, like those of a
Chinese or Malay, "because that position of the eyes was the only way
in which you could recognize a Rakshas in human shape."
In the more advanced and populous parts of the country the Rakshas
seems giving way to the "Bhoot," which more nearly resembles the mere
ghost of modern European superstition; but even in this diluted form
such beings have an influence over Indian imaginations to which it is
difficult in these days to find any parallel in Europe.
I found, quite lately, a traditionary order in existence at Government
House, Dapoorie, near Poona, which directed the native sentry on guard
"to present arms if a cat or dog, jackal or goat, entered or left the
house or crossed near his beat" during certain hours of the night,
"because it was the ghost" of a former governor, who was still
remembered as one of the best and kindest of men.
How or when the custom originated I could not learn, but the order had
been verbally handed on from one native sergeant of the guard to
another for many years, without any doubts as to its propriety or
authority, till it was accidentally overheard by an European officer
of the governor's staff.
In the hills and deserts of Sind the belief in beings of this order,
as might be expected in a wild and desolate country, is found strong
and universal; there, however, the Rakshas has changed his name to
that of our old friend the "Gin" of the Arabian Nights, and he has
somewhat approximated in character to the Pwcca or Puck of our own
country. The Gin of the Beelooch hills is wayward and often morose,
but not necessarily malignant. His usual form is that of a dwarfish
human being, with large eyes and covered with long hair, and apt to
breathe with a heavy snoring kind of noise. From the circumstantial
accounts I have heard of such "Gins" being seen seated on rocks at the
side of lonely passes, I suspect that the great horned eagle-owl,
which is not uncommon in the hill-country of Sind, has to answer for
many well-vouched cases of Gin apparition.
The Gin does not, however, always retain his own shape; he frequently
changes to the form of a camel, goat or other animal. If a Gin be
accidentally met, it is recommended that the traveler should show no
sign of fear, and, above all, keep a civil tongue in his head, for the
demon has a special aversion to bad language. Every Beelooch has heard
of instances in which such chance acquaintanceships with Gins have not
only led to no mischief, but been the source of much benefit to the
fortunate mortal who had the courage and prudence to turn them to
account; for a Gin once attached to a man will work hard and
faithfully for him, and sometimes show him the entrance to those great
subterranean caverns under the hills, where there is perpetual spring,
and trees laden with fruits of gold and precious stones; but the
mortal once admitted to such a paradise is never allowed to leave it.
There are few neighborhoods in the Beelooch hills which cannot show
huge stones, apparently intended for building, which have been, "as
all the country-side knows," moved by such agency, and the entrance to
the magic cavern is never very far off, though the boldest Beelooch is
seldom very willing to show or to seek for the exact spot.
Superstitions nearly identical were still current within the last
forty years, when I was a boy, on the borders of Wales. In Cwm Pwcca
(the Fairies' Glen), in the valley of the Clydach, between Abergavenny
and Merthyr, the cave used to be shown into which a belated miner was
decoyed by the Pwccas, and kept dancing for ten years; and a
farm-house on the banks of the Usk, not far off, was, in the last
generation, the abode of a farmer who had a friendly Pwcca in his
service. The goblin was called Pwcca Trwyn, as I was assured from his
occasionally being visible as a huge human nose. He would help the
mortal by carrying loads and mending hedges, but usually worked only
while the farmer slept at noon, and always expected as his guerdon a
portion of the toast and ale which his friend had for dinner in the
field. If none was left for him, he would cease to work; and he once
roused the farmer from his noontide slumbers by thrashing him soundly
with his own hedging-stake.
The Peris or Fairies of these stories have nothing distinctive about
them. Like the fairies of other lands, they often fall in love with
mortal men, and are visible to the pure eyes of childhood when hidden
from the grosser vision of maturer years.
Next to the Rakshas, the Cobra, or deadly hooded snake, plays the most
important part in these legends as a supernatural personage. This is
one only of the many traces still extant of that serpent-worship
formerly so general in Western India. I have no doubt that Mr.
Ferguson, in his forthcoming work on Bhuddhist antiquities, will throw
much light on this curious subject. I will, therefore, only now
observe that this serpent-worship as it still exists is something more
active than a mere popular superstition. The Cobra, unless disturbed,
rarely goes far from home, and is supposed to watch jealously over a
hidden treasure. He is always, in the estimation of the lower classes,
invested with supernatural powers, and according to the treatment he
receives he builds up or destroys the fortunes of the house to which
he belongs. No native will willingly kill him if he can get rid of him
in any other way; and the poorer classes always, after he is killed,
give him all the honors of a regular cremation, assuring him, with
many protestations, as the pile burns, "that they are guiltless of his
blood; that they slew him by order of their master," or "that they had
no other way to prevent his biting the children or the chickens."
A very interesting discussion on the subject of the Snake Race of
Ancient India, between Mr. Bayley and Baboo Rajendralal Mitr, will be
found in the _Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of Bengal_, for
February, 1867.
THE COLLECTOR'S APOLOGY.
The collection of these legends was commenced with the object of
amusing a favorite young friend of mine. It was continued, as they
appeared in themselves curious illustrations of Indian popular
tradition, and in the hope that something might thus be done to rescue
them from the danger of oral transmission.
Though varied in their imagery, the changes between the different
legends are rung upon very few themes, as if purposely confined to
what was most familiar to the people. The similarity between the
incidents in some of these and in favorite European stories,
particularly modern German ones, is curious; and the leading
characteristics peculiar to all orthodox fairy tales are here
preserved intact. Step-mothers are always cruel, and step-sisters,
their willing instruments; giants and ogres always stupid; youngest
daughters more clever than their elder sisters; and the Jackal (like
his European cousin the Fox) usually overcomes every difficulty, and
proves a bright moral example of the success of wit against brute
force--the triumph of mind over matter.
It is remarkable that in the romances of a country where women are
generally supposed by us to be regarded as mere slaves or intriguers,
their influence (albeit most frequently put to proof behind the
scenes) should be made to appear so great, and, as a rule, exerted
wholly for good; and that, in a land where despotism has such a firm
hold on the hearts of the people, the liberties of the subject should
be so boldly asserted as by the old Milkwoman to the Rajah in "Little
Surya Bai," or the old Malee[1] to the Rajah in "Truth's Triumph;"
and few, probably would have expected to find the Hindoos owning such
a romance as "Brave Seventee Bai;"[2] or to meet with such stories as
"The Valiant Chattee-maker," and "The Blind Man, the Deaf Man and the
Donkey," among a nation which, it has been constantly asserted,
possesses no humor, no sense of the ridiculous, and cannot understand
a joke.
[1] Gardener.
[2] Was this narrative of feminine sagacity invented by some old
woman, who felt aggrieved at the general contempt entertained for
her sex?
In "The Narrator's Narrative" Anna Liberata de Souza's own story is
related, as much as possible, in her own words of expressive but
broken English. She did not, however, tell it in one continuous
narrative: it is the sum of many conversations I had with her during
the eighteen months that she was with us.
The legends themselves are altered as little as possible: half their
charm, however, consisted in the Narrator's eager, flexible voice and
graphic gestures.
I often asked her if there were no stories of elephants having done
wonderful deeds (as from their strength and sagacity one would have
imagined them to possess all the qualifications requisite to heroes of
romance); but, strange to say, she knew of none in which elephants
played any part whatsoever.
As regards the Oriental names, they have generally been written as
Anna pronounced them. It was frequently not possible to give the true
orthography, and the correctly spelt name does not always give a clue
to the popular pronunciation. So with the interpretations and
geography. Where it is possible to identify what is described, an
attempt has been made to do so; but for other explanations Anna's is
the sole authority: she was quite sure that "Seventee Bai" meant the
"Daisy Lady," though no botanist would acknowledge the plant under
that name; and she was satisfied that all gentlemen who have traveled
know where "Agra Brum" is, though she had never been there, and no
such province appears in any ordinary Gazeteer or description of the
city of Akbar.
These few legends, told by one old woman to her grandchildren, can
only be considered as representatives of a class. "That world," to
use her own words, "is gone;" and those who can tell us about it in
this critical and unimaginative age are fast disappearing too before
the onward march of civilization; yet there must be in the country
many a rich gold mine unexplored. Will no one go to the diggings?
M. F.
THE NARRATOR'S NARRATIVE.
My grandfather's family were of the Lingaet caste, and lived in
Calicut; but they went and settled near Goa at the time the English
were there. It was there my grandfather became a Christian. He and his
wife, and all the family, became Christians at once, and when his
father heard it he was very angry, and turned them all out of the
house. There were very few Christians in those days. Now you see
Christians everywhere, but then we were very proud to see one
anywhere. My grandfather was Havildar[3] in the English army, and when
the English fought against Tippo Sahib, my grandmother followed him
all through the war. She was a very tall, fine, handsome woman, and
very strong; wherever the regiment marched she went, on, on, on, on
(great deal hard work that old woman done). Plenty stories my granny
used to tell about Tippo and how Tippo was killed, and about Wellesley
Sahib, and Monro Sahib, and Malcolm Sahib, and Elphinstone Sahib.[4]
Plenty things had that old woman heard and seen. Ah, he was a good
man, Elphinstone Sahib! My granny used often to tell us how he would
go down and say to the soldiers, "Baba,[5] Baba, fight well. Win the
battles, and each man shall have his cap full of money; and after the
war is over I'll send every one of you to his own home." (And he did
do it.) Then we children plenty proud, when we heard what Elphinstone
Sahib had said. In those days the soldiers were not low-caste people
like they are now. Many, very high-caste men, and come from very far,
from Goa, and Calicut, and Malabar to join the English.
[3] Sergeant of native troops.
[4] The Duke of Wellington, Sir Thomas Monro, Sir John Malcolm and
Mr. Mountstuart Elphinstone.
[5] My children.
My father was a tent lascar,[6] and when the war was over my
grandfather had won five medals for all the good he had done, and my
father had three; and my father was given charge of the Kirkee
stores.[7] My grandmother and mother, and all the family, were in
those woods behind Poona at time of the battle at Kirkee.[8] I've
often heard my father say how full the river was after the
battle--baggage and bundles floating down, and men trying to swim
across--and horses and all such a bustle. Many people got good things
on that day. My father got a large chattee,[9] and two good ponies
that were in the river, and he took them home to camp; but when he got
there the guard took them away. So all his trouble did him no good.
[6] Tent-pitcher.
[7] The Field Arsenal at Kirkee (near Poona).
[8] The battle which decided the fate of the Deccan, and led to the
downfall of Bajee Row Peishwa, and extinction of Mahratta rule.
Fought 13th November, 1817. See Note A.
[9] A Jar.
We were poor people, but living was cheap, and we had plenty comfort.
In those days house rent did not cost more than half a rupee[10] a
month, and you could build a very comfortable house for a hundred
rupees. Not such good houses as people now live in, but well enough
for people like us. Then a whole family could live as comfortably on
six or seven rupees a month as they can now on thirty. Grain, now a
rupee a pound, was then two annas a pound. Common sugar, then one anna
a pound, is now worth four annas a pound. Oil which then sold for six
pice a bottle, now costs four annas. Four annas' worth of salt,
chillies, tamarinds, onions and garlic, would then last a family a
whole month; now the same money would not buy a week's supply. Such
dungeree[11] as you now pay half rupee a yard for, you could then buy
from twenty to forty yards of, for the rupee. You could not get such
good calico then as now, but the dungeree did very well. Beef then
was a pice a pound, and the vegetables cost a pie a day. For half a
rupee you could fill the house with wood. Water also was much cheaper.
You could then get a man to bring you two large skins full, morning
and evening, for a pie; now he would not do it under half a rupee or
more. If the children came crying for fruit, a pie would get them as
many guavas as they liked in the bazaar. Now you'd have to pay that
for each guava. This shows how much more money people need now than
they did then.[12]
[10] The following shows the Narrator's calculation of currency:
1 Pie = 1/4 of a cent.
3 Pie = 1 Pice.
4 Pice = 1 Anna.
16 Annas = 1 Rupee = about 50 cents.
[11] A coarse cotton cloth.
[12] See Note B.
The English fixed the rupee to the value of sixteen annas, in those
days there were some big annas, and some little ones, and you could
sometimes get twenty-two annas for a rupee.
I had seven brothers and one sister. Things were very different in
those days to what they are now. There were no schools then to send
the children to; it was only the great people who could read and
write. If a man was known to be able to write he was plenty proud, and
hundreds and hundreds of people would come to him to write their
letters. Now you find a pen and ink in every house! I don't know what
good all this reading and writing does. My grandfather couldn't write,
and my father couldn't write, and they did very well; but all's
changed now.
My father used to be out all day at his work, and my mother often went
to do coolie-work,[13] and she had to take my father his dinner (my
mother did plenty work in the world); and when my granny was strong
enough she used sometimes to go into the bazaar, if we wanted money,
and grind rice for the shop-keepers, and they gave her half a rupee
for her day's work, and used to let her have the bran and chaff
besides. But afterward she got too old to do that, and besides there
were so many of us children. So she used to stay at home and look
after us while my mother was at work. Plenty bother 'tis to look after
a lot of children. No sooner my granny's back turned than we all run
out in the sun, and play with the dust and stones on the road.
[13] Such work as is done by the Coolie caste, chiefly fetching and
carrying heavy loads.
Then my granny would call out to us, "Come here, children, out of the
sun, and I'll tell you a story. Come in; you'll all get headaches."
So she used to get us together (there were nine of us, and great
little fidgets, like all children), into the house; and there she'd
sit on the floor, and tell us one of the stories I tell you. But then
she used to make them last much longer, the different people telling
their own stories from the beginning as often as possible; so that by
the time she'd got to the end, she had told the beginning over five or
six times. And so she went on, talk, talk, talk, Mera Bap reh![14]
Such a long time she'd go on for, till all the children got quite
tired and fell asleep. Now there are plenty schools to which to send
the children, but there were no schools when I was a young girl; and
the old women, who could do nothing else, used to tell them stories to
keep them out of mischief.
[14] Oh, my Father!
We used sometimes to ask my grandmother, "Are those stories you tell
us really true? Were there ever such people in the world?" She
generally answered, "I don't know, but maybe there are somewhere." I
don't believe there are any of those people living; I dare say,
however, they did once live; but my granny believed more in those
things than we do now. She was a Christian, she worshiped God and
believed in our Saviour, but still she would always respect the Hindoo
temples. If she saw a red stone, or an image of Gunputti[15] or any of
the other Hindoo gods, she would kneel down and say her prayers there,
for she used to say, "Maybe there's something in it."
[15] The Hindoo God of Wisdom.
About all things she would tell us pretty stories--about men, and
animals, and trees, and flowers, and stars. There was nothing she did
not know some tale about. On the bright cold-weather nights, when you
can see more stars than at any other time of the year, we used to like
to watch the sky, and she would show us the Hen and Chickens,[16] and
the Key,[17] and the Scorpion, and the Snake, and the Three Thieves
climbing up to rob the Ranee's silver bedstead, with their mother
(that twinkling star far away) watching for her sons' return.
Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, you can see how her heart beats, for she is
always frightened, thinking, "Perhaps they will be caught and hanged!"
[16] The Pleiades.
[17] The Great Bear.
Then she would show us the Cross,[18] that reminds us of our
Saviour's, and the great pathway of light[19] on which He went up to
heaven. It is what you call the Milky Way. My granny usen't to call it
that: she used to say that when our Lord returned up to heaven that
was the way He went, and that ever since it has shone in memory of His
ascension, so beautiful and bright.
[18] The Southern Cross.
[19] The Milky Way. This is an ancient Christian legend.
She always said a star with a smoky tail (comet) meant war, and she
never saw a falling star without saying, "There's a great man died;"
but the fixed stars she used to think were all really good people,
burning like bright lamps before God.
As to the moon, my granny used to say she's most useful to debtors who
can't pay their debts. Thus: A man who borrows money he knows he
cannot pay, takes the full moon for witness and surety. Then, if any
man so silly as to lend him money and go and ask him for it, he can
say, "The moon's my surety; go catch hold of the moon!" Now, you see,
no man can do that; and what's more, when the moon's once full, it
grows every night less and less, and at last goes out altogether.
All the Cobras in my grandmother's stories were seven-headed. This
puzzled us children, and we would say to her, "Granny, are there any
seven-headed Cobras now? For all the Cobras we see that the conjurors
bring round have only one head each." To which she used to answer,
"No, of course there are no seven-headed Cobras now. That world is
gone, but you see each Cobra has a hood of skin; that is the remains
of another head." Then we would say, "Although none of those old
seven-headed Cobras are alive now, maybe there are some of their
children living somewhere." But at this my granny used to get vexed,
and say, "Nonsense! you are silly little chatter-boxes; get along with
you!" And, though we often looked for the seven-headed Cobras, we
never could find any of them.
My old granny lived till she was nearly a hundred; when she got very
old she rather lost her memory, and often made mistakes in the stories
she told us, telling a bit of one story and then joining on to it a
bit of some other; for we children bothered her too much about them,
and sometimes she used to get very tired of talking, and when we asked
her for a story, would answer, "You must ask your mother about it; she
can tell you."
Ah! those were happy days, and we had plenty ways to amuse ourselves.
I was very fond of pets; I had a little dog that followed me
everywhere, and played all sorts of pretty tricks, and I and my
youngest brother used to take the little sparrows out of their nests
on the roof of our house and tame them. These little birds got so fond
of me they would always fly after me; as I was sweeping the floor one
would perch on my head, and two or three on my shoulders, and the rest
come fluttering after. But my poor father and mother used to shake
their heads at me when they saw this, and say, "Ah, naughty girl, to
take the little birds out of their nests: that stealing will bring you
no good." All my family were very fond of music. You know that Rosie
(my daughter) sings very nicely and plays upon the guitar, and my
son-in-law plays on the pianoforte and the fiddle (we've got two
fiddles in our house now), but Mera Bap reh! how well my grandfather
sang! Sometimes of an evening he would drink a little toddy,[20] and
be quite cheerful, and sing away; and all we children liked to hear
him. I was very fond of singing. I had a good voice when I was young,
and my father used to be so fond of making me sing, and I often sang
to him that Calicut song about the ships sailing on the sea[21] and
the little wife watching for her husband to come back, and plenty more
that I forget now; and my father and brothers would be so pleased at
my singing, and laugh and say, "That girl can do anything." But now my
voice is gone, and I didn't care to sing any more since my son died,
and my heart been so sad.
[20] An intoxicating drink made from the juice of the palm tree.
[21] See Note C.
In those days there were much fewer houses in Poona than there are
now, and many more wandering gipsies, and such like. They were very
troublesome, doing nothing but begging and stealing, but people gave
them all they wanted, as it was believed that to incur their ill-will
was very dangerous. It was not safe even to speak harshly of them. I
remember one day, when I was quite a little girl, running along by my
mother's side, when she was on her way to the bazaar: we happened to
pass the huts of some of these people, and I said to her "See, mother,
what nasty, dirty people those are; they live in such ugly little
houses, and they look as if they never combed their hair nor washed."
When I said this, my mother turned round quite sharply and boxed my
ears, saying, "Because God has given you a comfortable home and good
parents, is that any reason for you to laugh at others who are poorer
and less happy?" "I meant no harm," I said; and when we got home I
told my father what my mother had done, and he said to her, "Why did
you slap the child?" She answered, "If you want to know, ask your
daughter why I punished her. You will then be able to judge whether I
was right or not." So I told my father what I had said about the
gipsies, and when I told him, instead of pitying me, he also boxed my
ears very hard. So that was all I got for telling tales against my
mother!
But they both did it, fearing if I spoke evil of the gipsies and were
not instantly punished, some dreadful evil would befall me.
It was after my granny that I was named "Anna Liberata." She died
after my father, and when I was eleven years old. Her eyes were quite
bright, her hair black, and her teeth good to the last. If I'd been
older then, I should have been able to remember more of her stories.
Such a number as she used to tell! I'm afraid my sister would not be
able to remember any of them. She has had much trouble; that puts
those sort of things out of people's heads; besides, she is a goose.
She is younger than I am, although you would think her so much older,
for her hair turned gray when she was very young, while mine is quite
black still. She is almost bald too, now, as she pulled out her hair
because it was gray. I always said to her, "Don't do so; for you can't
make yourself any younger, and it is better, when you are getting old,
to look old. Then people will do whatever you ask them! But however
old you may be, if you look young, they'll say to you, 'You are young
enough and strong enough to do your own work yourself.'"
My mother used to tell us stories too; but not so many as my granny.
A few years ago there might be found several old people who knew those
sorts of stories; but now children go to school, and nobody thinks of
remembering or telling them--they'll soon be all forgotten. It is true
there are books with some stories something like these, but they
always put them down wrong. Sometimes when I cannot remember a bit of
a story, I ask some one about it; then they say, "There is a story of
that name in my book. I don't know it, but I'll read." Then they read
it to me, but it is all wrong, so that I get quite cross, and make
them shut up the book. For in the books they cut the stories quite
short, and leave out the prettiest part, and they jumble up the
beginning of one story with the end of another--so that it is
altogether wrong.
When I was young, old people used to be very fond of telling these
stories; but instead of that, it seems to me that now the old people
are fond of nothing but making money.
Then I was married. I was twelve years old then. Our native people
have a very happy life till we marry. The girls live with their father
and mother and brothers and sisters, and have got nothing to do but
amuse themselves, and got father and mother to take care of them; but
after they're married they go to live at their husband's house, and
the husband's mother and sisters are often very unkind to them.
You English people can't understand that sort of thing. When an
Englishman marries, he goes to a new house, and his wife is the
mistress of it; but our native people are very different. If the
father is dead, the mother and unmarried sisters live in the son's
house, and rule it; his wife is nothing in the house. And the mother
and sisters say to the son's wife, "This is not your house--you've not
always lived in it; you cannot be mistress here." And if the wife
complains to her husband, and he speaks about it, they say, "Very
well, if you are such an unnatural son, you'd better turn your mother
and sisters out of doors; but while we live here, we'll rule the
house." So there is always plenty fighting. It's not unkind of the
mother and sisters--it's custom.
My husband was a servant in Government House--that was when Lord Clare
was governor here. When I was twenty years old, my husband died of a
bad fever, and left me with two children--the boy and the girl, Rosie.
I had no money to keep them with, so I said, "I'll go to service," and
my mother-in-law said, "How can you go with two children, and so young,
and knowing nothing?" But I said, "I can learn, and I'll go;" and a
kind lady took me into her service. When I went to my first place, I
hardly knew a word of English (though I knew our Calicut language, and
Portuguese, and Hindostani, and Mahratti well enough), and I could not
hold a needle. I was so stupid, like a Coolie-woman;[22] but my
mistress was very kind to me, and I soon learnt; she did not mind the
trouble of teaching me. I often think, "Where find such good Christian
people in these days?" To take a poor, stupid woman and her two
children into the house--for I had them both with me, Rosie and the
boy. I was a sharp girl in those days; I did my mistress' work and I
looked after the children too. I never left them to any one else. If
she wanted me for a long time, I used to bring the children into the
room and set them down on the floor, so as to have them under my own
eye whilst I did her work. My mistress was very fond of Rosie, and used
to teach her to work and read. After some time my mistress went home,
and since then I have been in eight places.
[22] A low caste--hewers of wood and drawers of water.
My brother-in-law was valet at that time to Napier Sahib, up in Sind.
All the people and servants were very fond of that Sahib. My
brother-in-law was with him for ten years; and he wanted me to go up
there to get place as ayah, and said, "You quick, sharp girl, and know
English very well; you easily get good place and make plenty money."
But I such a foolish woman I would not go. I write and tell him, "No,
I can't come, for Sind such a long way off, and I cannot leave the
children." I plenty proud then. I give up all for the children. But
now what good? I know your language. What use? To blow the fire? I
only a miserable woman, fit to go to cook-room and cook the dinner. So
go down in the world, a poor woman (not much good to have plenty in
head and empty pocket!) but if I'd been a man I might now be a
Fouzdar.[23]
[23] Chief Constable.
I was at Kolapore[24] at the time of the mutiny, and we had to run
away in the middle of the night; but I've told you before all about
that. Then seven years ago my mother died (she was ninety when she
died), and we came back to live at Poona, and my daughter was married,
and I was so happy and pleased.
[24] Capital of the Kolapore State, in the Southern Mahratta country.
I gave a feast then to three hundred people, and we had music and
dancing, and my son, he so proud he dancing from morning to night, and
running here and there arranging everything; and on that day I said,
"Throw the doors open, and any beggar, any poor person come here, give
them what they like to eat, for whoever comes shall have enough, since
there's no more work for me in the world." So, thinking I should be
able to leave service, and give up work, I spent all the money I had
left. That was not very much, for in sending my son to school I'd
spent a great deal. He was such a beauty boy--tall, straight,
handsome--and so clever. They used to say he looked more like my
brother than my son, and he said to me, "Mammy, you've worked for us
all your life; now I'm grown up, I'll get a clerk's place and work for
you. You shall work no more, but live in my house." But last year he
was drowned in the river. That was my great sad. Since then I couldn't
lift up my head. I can't remember things now as I used to do, and all
is muddled in my head, six and seven. It makes me sad sometimes to
hear you laughing and talking so happy with your father and mother and
all your family, when I think of my father, and mother, and brothers,
and husband, and son, all dead and gone! No more happy home like that
for me. What should I care to live for? I would come to England with
you, for I know you would be good to me and bury me when I die, but I
cannot go so far from Rosie. My one eye put out, my other eye left. I
could not lose it too. If it were not for Rosie and her children I
should like to travel about and see the world. There are four places I
have always wished to see--Calcutta, Madras, England and Jerusalem (my
poor mother always wished to see Jerusalem, too--that her great hope);
but I shall not see them now. Many ladies wanted to take me to England
with them, and if I had gone I should have saved plenty money, but now
it is too late to think of that. Besides, it would not be much use.
What's the good of my saving money? Can I take it away with me when I
die? My father and grandfather did not do so, and they had enough to
live on till they died. I have enough for what I want, and I've plenty
poor relations. They all come to me, asking for money, and I give it
them. I thank our Saviour there are enough good Christians here to
give me a slice of bread and cup of water when I can't work for it. I
do not fear to come to want.
Government House,
Parell, Bombay, 1866.
[Decoration]
OLD DECCAN DAYS.
I.
_PUNCHKIN._
Once upon a time there was a Rajah[25] who had seven beautiful
daughters. They were all good girls; but the youngest, named
Balna,[26] was more clever than the rest. The Rajah's wife died when
they were quite little children, so these seven poor Princesses were
left with no mother to take care of them.
[25] King.
[26] The Little One.
The Rajah's daughters took it by turns to cook their father's dinner
every day,[27] whilst he was absent deliberating with his ministers on
the affairs of the nation.
[27] See Notes at the end.
About this time the Purdan[28] died, leaving a widow and one daughter;
and every day, every day, when the seven Princesses were preparing
their father's dinner, the Purdan's widow and daughter would come and
beg for a little fire from the hearth. Then Balna used to say to her
sisters, "Send that woman away; send her away. Let her get the fire
at her own house. What does she want with ours? If we allow her to
come here, we shall suffer for it some day." But the other sisters
would answer, "Be quiet, Balna; why must you always be quarreling with
this poor woman? Let her take some fire if she likes." Then the
Purdan's widow used to go to the hearth and take a few sticks from it;
and, whilst no one was looking, she would quickly throw some mud into
the midst of the dishes which were being prepared for the Rajah's
dinner.
[28] Or, more correctly, _Prudhan_, Prime Minister.
Now the Rajah was very fond of his daughters. Ever since their
mother's death they had cooked his dinner with their own hands, in
order to avoid the danger of his being poisoned by his enemies. So,
when he found the mud mixed up with his dinner, he thought it must
arise from their carelessness, as it appeared improbable that any one
should have put mud there on purpose; but being very kind, he did not
like to reprove them for it, although this spoiling of the currie was
repeated many successive days.
At last, one day, he determined to hide and watch his daughters
cooking, and see how it all happened; so he went into the next room,
and watched them through a hole in the wall.
There he saw his seven daughters carefully washing the rice and
preparing the currie, and as each dish was completed, they put it by
the fire ready to be cooked. Next he noticed the Purdan's widow come
to the door, and beg for a few sticks from the fire to cook her dinner
with. Balna turned to her, angrily, and said, "Why don't you keep fuel
in your own house, and not come here every day and take ours?
Sisters, don't give this woman any more; let her buy it for herself."
Then the eldest sister answered, "Balna, let the poor woman take the
wood and the fire; she does us no harm." But Balna replied, "If you
let her come here so often, maybe she will do us some harm, and make
us sorry for it, some day."
The Rajah then saw the Purdan's widow go to the place where all his
dinner was nicely prepared, and, as she took the wood, she threw a
little mud into each of the dishes.
At this he was very angry, and sent to have the woman seized and
brought before him. But when the widow came, she told him that she had
played this trick because she wanted to gain an audience with him; and
she spoke so cleverly, and pleased him so well with her cunning words,
that instead of punishing her, the Rajah married her, and made her his
Ranee,[29] and she and her daughter came to live in the palace.
[29] Queen.
The new Ranee hated the seven poor Princesses, and wanted to get them,
if possible, out of the way, in order that her daughter might have all
their riches and live in the palace as Princess in their place; and
instead of being grateful to them for their kindness to her, she did
all she could to make them miserable. She gave them nothing but bread
to eat, and very little of that, and very little water to drink; so
these seven poor little Princesses, who had been accustomed to have
everything comfortable about them, and good food and good clothes all
their lives long, were very miserable and unhappy; and they used to go
out every day and sit by their dead mother's tomb and cry; and used to
say,
"Oh mother, mother, cannot you see your poor children, how unhappy we
are, and how we are starved by our cruel step-mother?"
One day, whilst they were sobbing and crying, lo and behold! a
beautiful pomelo tree[30] grew up out of the grave, covered with fresh
ripe pomeloes, and the children satisfied their hunger by eating some
of the fruit; and every day after this, instead of trying to eat the
nasty dinner their step-mother provided for them, they used to go out
to their mother's grave and eat the pomeloes which grew there on the
beautiful tree.
[30] _Citrus decumana_--the Shaddock of the West Indies.
Then the Ranee said to her daughter, "I cannot tell how it is: every
day those seven girls say they don't want any dinner, and won't eat
any; and yet they never grow thin nor look ill; they look better than
you do. I cannot tell how it is;" and she bade her watch the seven
Princesses and see if any one gave them anything to eat.
So next day, when the Princesses went to their mother's grave, and
were eating the beautiful pomeloes, the Purdan's daughter followed
them and saw them gathering the fruit.
Then Balna said to her sisters, "Do you see that girl watching us? Let
us drive her away or hide the pomeloes, else she will go and tell her
mother all about it, and that will be very bad for us."
But the other sisters said, "Oh no, do not be unkind, Balna. The girl
would never be so cruel as to tell her mother. Let us rather invite
her to come and have some of the fruit;" and calling her to them, they
gave her one of the pomeloes.
No sooner had she eaten it, however, than the Purdan's daughter went
home and said to her mother, "I do not wonder the seven Princesses
will not eat the nasty dinner you prepare for them, for by their
mother's grave there grows a beautiful pomelo tree, and they go there
every day and eat the pomeloes. I ate one, and it was the nicest I
have ever tasted."
The cruel Ranee was much vexed at hearing this, and all next day she
stayed in her room, and told the Rajah that she had a very bad
headache. The Rajah at hearing this was deeply grieved, and said to
his wife, "What can I do for you?" She answered, "There is only one
thing that will make my headache well. By your dead wife's tomb there
grows a fine pomelo tree; you must bring that here, and boil it, root
and branch, and put a little of the water in which it has been boiled
on my forehead, and that will cure my headache." So the Rajah sent his
servants, and had the beautiful pomelo tree pulled up by the roots,
and did as the Ranee desired; and when some of the water in which it
had been boiled was put on her forehead, she said her headache was
gone and she felt quite well.
Next day, when the seven Princesses went as usual to the grave of
their mother, the pomelo tree had disappeared. Then they all began to
cry very bitterly.
Now there was by the Ranee's tomb a small tank,[31] and as they were
crying they saw that the tank was filled with a rich cream-like
substance, which quickly hardened into a thick white cake. At seeing
this all the Princesses were very glad, and they ate some of the cake,
and liked it; and next day the same thing happened, and so it went on
for many days. Every morning the Princesses went to their mother's
grave, and found the little tank filled with the nourishing cream-like
cake. Then the cruel step-mother said to her daughter: "I cannot tell
how it is: I have had the pomelo tree which used to grow by the
Ranee's grave destroyed, and yet the Princesses grow no thinner nor
look more sad, though they never eat the dinner I give them. I cannot
tell how it is!"
[31] Reservoir for water.
And her daughter said, "I will watch."
Next day, while the Princesses were eating the cream cake, who should
come by but their step-mother's daughter? Balna saw her first, and
said, "See, sisters, there comes that girl again. Let us sit round the
edge of the tank, and not allow her to see it; for if we give her some
of our cake, she will go and tell her mother, and that will be very
unfortunate for us."
The other sisters, however, thought Balna unnecessarily suspicious,
and instead of following her advice, they gave the Purdan's daughter
some of the cake, and she went home and told her mother all about it.
The Ranee, on hearing how well the Princesses fared, was exceedingly
angry, and sent her servants to pull down the dead Ranee's tomb and
fill the little tank with the ruins. And not content with this, she
next day pretended to be very, very ill--in fact, at the point of
death; and when the Rajah was much grieved, and asked her whether it
was in his power to procure her any remedy, she said to him: "Only one
thing can save my life, but I know you will not do it." He replied,
"Yes, whatever it is, I will do it." She then said, "To save my life,
you must kill the seven daughters of your first wife, and put some of
their blood on my forehead and on the palms of my hands, and their
death will be my life." At these words the Rajah was very sorrowful;
but because he feared to break his word, he went out with a heavy
heart to find his daughters.
He found them crying by the ruins of their mother's grave.
Then, feeling he could not kill them, the Rajah spoke kindly to them,
and told them to come out into the jungle with him; and there he made
a fire and cooked some rice, and gave it to them. But in the
afternoon, it being very hot, the seven Princesses all fell asleep,
and when he saw they were fast asleep, the Rajah, their father, stole
away and left them (for he feared his wife), saying to himself: "It is
better my poor daughters should die here than be killed by their
step-mother."
He then shot a deer, and returning home, put some of the blood on the
forehead and hands of the Ranee, and she thought then that he had
really killed the Princesses, and said she felt quite well.
Meantime the seven Princesses awoke, and when they found themselves
all alone in the thick jungle they were much frightened, and began to
call out as loud as they could, in hopes of making their father hear;
but he was by that time far away, and would not have been able to hear
them, even had their voices been as loud as thunder.
It so happened that this very day the seven young sons of a
neighboring Rajah chanced to be hunting in that same jungle, and as
they were returning home after the day's sport was over, the youngest
Prince said to his brothers: "Stop, I think I hear some one crying and
calling out. Do you not hear voices? Let us go in the direction of
the sound, and try and find out what it is."
So the seven Princes rode through the wood until they came to the
place where the seven Princesses sat crying and wringing their hands.
At the sight of them the young Princes were very much astonished, and
still more so on learning their story; and they settled that each
should take one of these poor forlorn ladies home with him and marry
her.
So the first and eldest Prince took the eldest Princess home with him,
and married her.
And the second took the second;
And the third took the third;
And the fourth took the fourth;
And the fifth took the fifth;
And the sixth took the sixth;
And the seventh, and handsomest of all, took the beautiful Balna.
And when they got to their own land, there was great rejoicing
throughout the kingdom at the marriage of the seven young Princes to
seven such beautiful Princesses.
About a year after this Balna had a little son, and his uncles and
aunts were all so fond of the boy that it was as if he had seven
fathers and seven mothers. None of the other Princes or Princesses had
any children, so the son of the seventh Prince and Balna was
acknowledged their heir by all the rest.
They had thus lived very happily for some time, when one fine day the
seventh Prince (Balna's husband) said he would go out hunting, and
away he went; and they waited long for him, but he never came back.
Then his six brothers said they would go and see what had become of
him; and they went away, but they also did not return.
And the seven Princesses grieved very much, for they felt sure their
kind husbands must have been killed.
One day, not long after this had happened, as Balna was rocking her
baby's cradle, and whilst her sisters were working in the room below,
there came to the palace door a man in a long black dress, who said
that he was a Fakeer,[32] and came to beg. The servants said to him,
"You cannot go into the palace--the Rajah's sons have all gone away;
we think they must be dead, and their widows cannot be interrupted by
your begging." But he said, "I am a holy man; you must let me in."
Then the stupid servants let him walk through the palace, but they did
not know that this man was no Fakeer, but a wicked Magician named
Punchkin.
[32] Holy beggar.
Punchkin Fakeer wandered through the palace, and saw many beautiful
things there, till at last he reached the room where Balna sat singing
beside her little boy's cradle. The Magician thought her more
beautiful than all the other beautiful things he had seen, insomuch
that he asked her to go home with him and to marry him. But she said,
"My husband, I fear, is dead, but my little boy is still quite young;
I will stay here and teach him to grow up a clever man, and when he is
grown up he shall go out into the world, and try and learn tidings of
his father. Heaven forbid that I should ever leave him or marry you."
At these words the Magician was very angry, and turned her into a
little black dog, and led her away, saying, "Since you will not come
with me of your own free will, I will make you." So the poor Princess
was dragged away, without any power of effecting an escape, or of
letting her sisters know what had become of her. As Punchkin passed
through the palace gate the servants said to him, "Where did you get
that pretty little dog?" And he answered, "One of the Princesses gave
it to me as a present." At hearing which they let him go without
further questioning.
Soon after this the six elder Princesses heard the little baby, their
nephew, begin to cry, and when they went up stairs they were much
surprised to find him all alone, and Balna nowhere to be seen. Then
they questioned the servants, and when they heard of the Fakeer and
the little black dog, they guessed what had happened, and sent in
every direction seeking them, but neither the Fakeer nor the dog were
to be found. What could six poor women do? They had to give up all
hopes of ever seeing their kind husbands, and their sister and her
husband again, and they devoted themselves thenceforward to teaching
and taking care of their little nephew.
Thus time went on, till Balna's son was fourteen years old. Then one
day his aunts told him the history of the family; and no sooner did he
hear it than he was seized with a great desire to go in search of his
father and mother and uncles, and bring them home again if he could
find them alive. His aunts, on learning his determination, were much
alarmed and tried to dissuade him, saying, "We have lost our husbands,
and our sister and her husband, and you are now our sole hope; if you
go away, what shall we do?" But he replied, "I pray you not to be
discouraged; I will return soon, and, if it is possible, bring my
father and mother and uncles with me." So he sat out on his travels,
but for some months he could learn nothing to help him in his search.
At last, after he had journeyed many hundreds of weary miles, and
become almost hopeless of ever being able to hear anything further of
his parents, he one day came to a country which seemed full of stones
and rocks and trees, and there he saw a large palace with a high
tower; hard by which was a Malee's[33] little house.
[33] Gardener's.
As he was looking about, the Malee's wife saw him, and ran out of the
house and said, "My dear boy, who are you that dare venture to this
dangerous place?" And he answered, "I am a Rajah's son, and I come in
search of my father and my uncles, and my mother whom a wicked
enchanter bewitched." Then the Malee's wife said, "This country and
this palace belong to a great Enchanter; he is all-powerful, and if
any one displeases him, he can turn them into stones and trees. All
the rocks and trees you see here were living people once, and the
Magician turned them to what they now are. Some time ago a Rajah's son
came here, and shortly afterward came his six brothers, and they were
all turned into stones and trees; and these are not the only
unfortunate ones, for up in that tower lives a beautiful Princess,
whom the Magician has kept prisoner there for twelve years, because
she hates him and will not marry him."
Then the little Prince thought, "These must be my parents and my
uncles. I have found what I seek at last." So he told his story to the
Malee's wife, and begged her to help him to remain in that place a
while, and inquire further concerning the unhappy people she
mentioned; and she promised to befriend him, and advised his
disguising himself, lest the Magician should see him, and turn him
likewise into stone. To this the Prince agreed. So the Malee's wife
dressed him up in a saree,[34] and pretended that he was her daughter.
[34] A woman's dress.
One day, not long after this, as the Magician was walking in his
garden, he saw the little girl (as he thought) playing about, and
asked her who she was. She told him she was the Malee's daughter, and
the Magician said, "You are a pretty little girl, and to-morrow you
shall take a present of flowers from me to the beautiful lady who
lives in the tower."
The young Prince was much delighted at hearing this, and after some
consultation with the Malee's wife, he settled that it would be more
safe for him to retain his disguise, and trust to the chance of a
favorable opportunity for establishing some communication with his
mother, if it were indeed she.
Now it happened that at Balna's marriage her husband had given her a
small gold ring, on which her name was engraved, and she put it on her
little son's finger when he was a baby, and afterward, when he was
older, his aunts had had it enlarged for him, so that he was still
able to wear it. The Malee's wife advised him to fasten the well-known
treasure to one of the bouquets he presented to his mother, and trust
to her recognizing it. This was not to be done without difficulty, as
such a strict watch was kept over the poor Princess (for fear of her
ever establishing communication with her friends) that though the
supposed Malee's daughter was permitted to take her flowers every day,
the Magician or one of his slaves was always in the room at the time.
At last one day, however, opportunity favored him, and when no one was
looking the boy tied the ring to a nosegay and threw it at Balna's
feet. The ring fell with a clang on the floor, and Balna, looking to
see what made the strange sound, found the little ring tied to the
flowers. On recognizing it, she at once believed the story her son
told her of his long search, and begged him to advise her as to what
she had better do; at the same time entreating him on no account to
endanger his life by trying to rescue her. She told him that for
twelve long years the Magician had kept her shut up in the tower
because she refused to marry him, and she was so closely guarded that
she saw no hope of release.
Now Balna's son was a bright, clever boy; so he said, "Do not fear,
dear mother; the first thing to do is to discover how far the
Magician's power extends, in order that we may be able to liberate my
father and uncles, whom he has imprisoned in the form of rocks and
trees. You have spoken to him angrily for twelve long years; do you
now rather speak kindly. Tell him you have given up all hopes of again
seeing the husband you have so long mourned, and say you are willing
to marry him. Then endeavor to find out what his power consists in,
and whether he is immortal or can be put to death."
Balna determined to take her son's advice; and the next day sent for
Punchkin and spoke to him as had been suggested.
The Magician, greatly delighted, begged her to allow the wedding to
take place as soon as possible.
But she told him that before she married him he must allow her a
little more time, in which she might make his acquaintance, and, that,
after being enemies so long, their friendship could but strengthen by
degrees. "And do tell me," she said, "are you quite immortal? Can
death never touch you? And are you too great an enchanter ever to feel
human suffering?"
"Why do you ask?" said he.
"Because," she replied, "if I am to be your wife, I would fain know
all about you, in order, if any calamity threatens you, to overcome,
or, if possible, to avert it."
"It is true," he said, "that I am not as others. Far, far away,
hundreds of thousands of miles from this, there lies a desolate
country covered with thick jungle. In the midst of the jungle grows a
circle of palm trees, and in the centre of the circle stand six
chattees full of water, piled one above another; below the sixth
chattee is a small cage which contains a little green parrot: on the
life of the parrot depends my life, and if the parrot is killed I must
die. It is, however," he added, "impossible that the parrot should
sustain any injury, both on account of the inaccessibility of the
country, and because, by my appointment, many thousand evil genii
surround the palm trees, and kill all who approach the place."
Balna told her son what Punchkin had said, but, at the same time,
implored him to give up all idea of getting the parrot.
The prince, however, replied, "Mother, unless I can get hold of that
parrot, you and my father and uncles cannot be liberated: be not
afraid, I will shortly return. Do you, meantime, keep the Magician in
good humor--still putting off your marriage with him on various
pretexts; and before he finds out the cause of delay I will return."
So saying, he went away.
Many, many weary miles did he travel, till at last he came to a thick
jungle, and being very tired, sat down under a tree and fell asleep.
He was awakened by a soft rustling sound, and looking about him, saw a
large serpent which was making its way to an eagle's nest built in the
tree under which he lay, and in the nest were two young eagles. The
Prince, seeing the danger of the young birds, drew his sword and
killed the serpent; at the same moment a rushing sound was heard in
the air, and the two old eagles, who had been out hunting for food for
their young ones, returned. They quickly saw the dead serpent and the
young Prince standing over it; and the old mother eagle said to him,
"Dear boy, for many years all our young have been devoured by that
cruel serpent: you have now saved the lives of our children; whenever
you are in need, therefore, send to us and we will help you; and as
for these little eagles, take them, and let them be your servants."
At this the Prince was very glad, and the two eaglets crossed their
wings, on which he mounted; and they carried him far, far away over
the thick jungles, until he came to the place where grew the circle of
palm trees, in the midst of which stood the six chattees full of
water. It was the middle of the day. All round the trees were the
genii fast asleep: nevertheless, there were such countless thousands
of them that it would have been quite impossible for any one to walk
through their ranks to the place. Down swooped the strong-winged
eaglets--down jumped the prince: in an instant he had overthrown the
six chattees full of water, and seized the little green parrot, which
he rolled up in his cloak; while, as he mounted again into the air,
all the genii below awoke, and, finding their treasure gone, set up a
wild and melancholy howl.
Away, away flew the little eagles till they came to their home in the
great tree; then the Prince said to the old eagles, "Take back your
little ones; they have done me good service; if ever again I stand in
need of help, I will not fail to come to you." He then continued his
journey on foot till he arrived once more at the Magician's palace,
where he sat down at the door and began playing with the parrot. The
Magician saw him, and came to him quickly, and said, "My boy, where
did you get that parrot? Give it to me, I pray you." But the Prince
answered, "Oh no, I cannot give away my parrot; it is a great pet of
mine; I have had it many years." Then the Magician said, "If it is an
old favorite, I can understand your not caring to give it away; but
come, what will you sell it for?" "Sir," replied the Prince, "I will
not sell my parrot."
Then the Magician got frightened, and said, "Anything, anything; name
what price you will, and it shall be yours." "Then," the Prince
answered, "I will that you liberate the Rajah's seven sons who you
turned into rocks and trees." "It is done as you desire," said the
Magician, "only give me my parrot." (And with that, by a stroke of his
wand, Balna's husband and his brothers resumed their natural shapes.)
"Now give me my parrot," repeated Punchkin. "Not so fast, my master,"
rejoined the Prince; "I must first beg that you will restore to life
all whom you have thus imprisoned."
The Magician immediately waved his wand again; and whilst he cried in
an imploring voice, "Give me my parrot!" the whole garden became
suddenly alive: where rock and stones and trees had been before, stood
Rajahs and Punts[35] and Sirdars,[36] and mighty men on prancing
horses, and jeweled pages and troops of armed attendants.
[35] Principal ministers.
[36] Nobles or chiefs.
"Give me my parrot!" cried Punchkin. Then the boy took hold of the
parrot, and tore off one of his wings; and as he did so the Magician's
right arm fell off.
Punchkin then stretched out his left arm, crying, "Give me my parrot!"
The Prince pulled off the parrot's second wing, and the Magician's
left arm tumbled off.
"Give me my parrot!" cried he, and fell on his knees. The Prince
pulled off the parrot's right leg--the Magician's right leg fell off:
the Prince pulled off the parrot's left leg--down fell the Magician's
left.
Nothing remained of him save the limbless body and the head; but still
he rolled his eyes, and cried, "Give me my parrot!" "Take your parrot,
then," cried the boy, and with that he wrung the bird's neck and threw
it at the Magician; and as he did so, Punchkin's head twisted round,
and with a fearful groan he died!
Then they let Balna out of the tower; and she, her son and the seven
Princes went to their own country, and lived very happily ever
afterward. And as to the rest of the world, every one went to his own
house.
[Decoration]
II.
_A FUNNY STORY._
Once upon a time there were a Rajah and Ranee who were much grieved
because they had no children, and the little dog in the palace had
also no little puppies. At last the Rajah and Ranee had some children,
and it also happened that the pet dog in the palace had some little
puppies; but, unfortunately, the Ranee's two children were two little
puppies! and the dog's two little puppies were two pretty little
girls! This vexed her majesty very much; and sometimes when the dog
had gone away to its dinner, the Ranee used to put the two little
puppies (her children) into the kennel, and carry away the dog's two
little girls to the palace. Then the poor dog grew very unhappy, and
said, "They never will leave my two little children alone. I must take
them away into the jungle, or their lives will be worried out." So one
night she took the little girls in her mouth and ran with them to the
jungle, and there made them a home in a pretty cave in the rock,
beside a clear stream; and every day she would go into the towns and
carry away some nice currie and rice to give her little daughters; and
if she found any pretty clothes or jewels that she could bring away in
her mouth, she used to take them also for the children.
Now it happened some time after this, one day, when the dog had gone
to fetch her daughters' dinner, two young Princes (a Rajah and his
brother) came to hunt in the jungle, and they hunted all day and found
nothing. It had been very hot, and they were thirsty; so they went to
a tree which grew on a little piece of high ground, and sent their
attendants to search all round for water; but no one could find any.
At last one of the hunting dogs came to the foot of the tree quite
muddy, and the Rajah said, "Look, the dog is muddy: he must have found
water: follow him, and see where he goes." The attendants followed the
dog, and saw him go to the stream at the mouth of the cave where the
two children were; and the two children also saw them, and were very
much frightened and ran inside the cave. Then the attendants returned
to the two Princes, and said, "We have found clear, sparkling water
flowing past a cave, and, what is more, within the cave are two of the
most lovely young ladies that eye ever beheld, clothed in fine dresses
and covered with jewels; but when they saw us they were frightened and
ran away." On hearing this the Princes bade their servants lead them
to the place; and when they saw the two young girls, they were quite
charmed with them, and asked them to go to their kingdom and become
their wives. The maidens were frightened; but at last the Rajah and
his brother persuaded them, and they went, and the Rajah married the
eldest sister, and his brother married the youngest.
When the dog returned, she was grieved to find her children gone, and
for twelve long years the poor thing ran many, many miles to find
them, but in vain. At last one day she came to the place where the
two Princesses lived. Now it chanced that the eldest, the wife of the
Rajah, was looking out of the window, and seeing the dog run down the
street, she said, "That must be my dear long-lost mother." So she ran
into the street as fast as possible, and took the tired dog in her
arms, and brought her into her own room, and made her a nice
comfortable bed on the floor, and bathed her feet, and was very kind
to her. Then the dog said to her, "My daughter, you are good and kind,
and it is a great joy to me to see you again; but I must not stay; I
will first go and see your younger sister, and then return." The Ranee
answered, "Do not do so, dear mother; rest here to-day; to-morrow I
will send and let my sister know, and she, too, will come and see
you." But the poor, silly dog would not stay, but ran to the house of
her second daughter. Now the second daughter was looking out of the
window when the unfortunate creature came to the door, and seeing the
dog she said to herself, "That must be my mother. What will my husband
think if he learns that this wretched, ugly, miserable-looking dog is
my mother?" So she ordered her servants to go and throw stones at it,
and drive it away, and they did so; and one large stone hit the dog's
head, and she ran back, very much hurt, to her eldest daughter's
house. The Ranee saw her coming, and ran out into the street and
brought her in in her arms, and did all she could to make her well,
saying, "Ah, mother, mother! why did you ever leave my house?" But all
her care was in vain: the poor dog died. Then the Ranee thought her
husband might be vexed if he found a dead dog (an unclean animal) in
the palace; so she put the body in a small room into which the Rajah
hardly ever went, intending to have it reverently buried; and over it
she placed a basket turned topsy-turvy.
It so happened, however, that when the Rajah came to visit his wife,
as chance would have it, he went through this very room: and tripping
over the upturned basket, called for a light to see what it was. Then,
lo and behold! there lay the statue of a dog, life size, composed
entirely of diamonds, emeralds, and other precious stones, set in
gold! So he called out to his wife, and said, "Where did you get this
beautiful dog?" And when the Ranee saw the golden dog, she was very
much frightened, and, I'm sorry to say, instead of telling her husband
the truth, she told a story, and said, "Oh, it is only a present my
parents sent me."
Now see what trouble she got into for not telling the truth.
"_Only!_" said the Rajah; "why this is valuable enough to buy the
whole of my kingdom. Your parents must be very rich people to be able
to send you such presents as this. How is it you never told me of
them? Where do they live?" (Now she had to tell another story to cover
the first.) She said, "In the jungle." He replied, "I will go and see
them; you must take me and show where they live." Then the Ranee
thought, "What will the Rajah say when he finds I have been telling
him such stories? He will order my head to be cut off." So she said,
"You must first give me a palanquin, and I will go into the jungle and
tell them you are coming;" but really she determined to kill herself,
and so get out of her difficulties. Away she went; and when she had
gone some distance in her palanquin, she saw a large white ants'
nest, over which hung a cobra, with its mouth wide open; then the
Ranee thought, "I will go to that cobra and put my finger in his
mouth, that he may bite me, and so I shall die." So she ordered the
palkee-bearers to wait, and said she would be back in a while, and got
out, and ran to the ants' nest, and put her finger in the cobra's
mouth. Now a large thorn had run, a short time before, into the
cobra's throat, and hurt him very much; and the Ranee, by putting her
finger into his mouth, pushed out this thorn; then the cobra, feeling
much better, turned to her, and said, "My dear daughter, you have done
me a great kindness; what return can I make you?" The Ranee told him
all her story, and begged him to bite her, that she might die. But the
cobra said, "You did certainly very wrong to tell the Rajah that
story; nevertheless, you have been very kind to me. I will help you in
your difficulty. Send your husband here. I will provide you with a
father and mother of whom you need not be ashamed." So the Ranee
returned joyfully to the palace, and invited her husband to come and
see her parents.
When they reached the spot near where the cobra was, what a wonderful
sight awaited them! There, in the place which had before been thick
jungle, stood a splendid palace, twenty-four miles long and
twenty-four miles broad, with gardens and trees and fountains all
round; and the light shining from it was to be seen a hundred miles
off. The walls were made of gold and precious stones, and the carpets
cloth of gold. Hundreds of servants, in rich dresses, stood waiting in
the long, lofty rooms; and in the last room of all, upon golden
thrones, sat a magnificent old Rajah and Ranee, who introduced
themselves to the young Rajah as his papa and mamma-in-law. The Rajah
and Ranee stayed at the palace six months, and were entertained the
whole of that time with feasting and music; and they left for their
own home loaded with presents. Before they started, however, the Ranee
went to her friend, the cobra, and said, "You have conjured up all
these beautiful things to get me out of my difficulties, but my
husband, the Rajah, has enjoyed his visit so much that he will
certainly want to come here again. Then, if he returns and finds
nothing at all, he will be very angry with me." The friendly cobra
answered, "Do not fear. When you have gone twenty-four miles on your
journey, look back, and see what you will see." So they started; and
on looking back at the end of twenty-four miles, saw the whole of the
splendid palace in flames, the fire reaching up to heaven. The Rajah
returned to see if he could help anybody to escape, or invite them in
their distress to his court; but he found that all was burnt down--not
a stone nor a living creature remained!
Then he grieved much over the sad fate of his parents-in-law.
When the party returned home, the Rajah's brother said to him, "Where
did you get these magnificent presents?" He replied, "They are gifts
from my father and mother-in-law." At this news the Rajah's brother
went home to his wife very discontented, and asked her why she had
never told him of her parents, and taken him to see them, whereby he
might have received rich gifts as well as his brother. His wife then
went to her sister, and asked how she had managed to get all the
things. But the Ranee said, "Go away, you wicked woman. I will not
speak to you. You killed the poor dog, our mother."
But afterward she told her all about it.
The sister then said, "I shall go and see the cobra, and get presents
too." The Ranee then answered,--"You can go if you like."
So the sister ordered her palanquin, and told her husband she was
going to see her parents, and prepare them for a visit from him. When
she reached the ants' nest, she saw the cobra there, and she went and
put her finger in his mouth, and the cobra bit her, and she died.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
III.
_BRAVE SEVENTEE BAI._
Siu Rajah,[37] who reigned long years ago in the country of Agrabrum,
had an only son, to whom he was passionately attached. The Prince,
whose name was Logedas, was young and handsome, and had married the
beautiful Princess, Parbuttee Bai.
[37] Or Singh Rajah, the Lion King.
Now it came to pass that Siu Rajah's Wuzeer[38] had a daughter called
Seventee Bai (the Daisy Lady), who was as fair as the morning, and
beloved by all for her gentleness and goodness; and when Logedas Rajah
saw her, he fell in love with her, and determined to marry her. But
when Siu Rajah heard of this he was very angry, and sent for his son,
and said: "Of all that is rich and costly in my kingdom I have
withheld nothing from you, and in Parbuttee Bai you have a wife as
fair as heart could wish; nevertheless, if you are desirous of having
a second wife, I freely give you leave to do so; there are daughters
of many neighboring kings who would be proud to become your Queen, but
it is beneath your dignity to marry a Wuzeer's daughter; and, if you
do, my love for you shall not prevent my expelling you from the
kingdom." Logedas did not heed his father's threat, and he married
Seventee Bai; which the Rajah learning, ordered him immediately to
quit the country; but yet, because he loved him much, he gave Logedas
many elephants, camels, horses, palanquins and attendants, that he
might not need help on the journey, and that his rank might be
apparent to all.
[38] Or Vizier.
So Logedas Rajah and his two young wives set forth on their travels.
Before, however, they had gone very far, the Prince dismissed the
whole of his retinue, except the elephant on which he himself rode,
and the palanquin, carried by two men, in which his wives traveled.
Thus, almost alone, he started through the jungle in search of a new
home; but, being wholly ignorant of that part of the country, before
they had gone very far they lost their way. The poor Princesses were
reduced to a state of great misery; day after day they wandered on,
living on roots or wild berries and the leaves of trees pounded down;
and by night they were terrified by the cries of wild beasts in search
of prey. Logedas Rajah became more melancholy and desponding every
day; until, one night, maddened by the thought of his wives' sad
condition, and unable longer to bear the sight of their distress, he
got up, and casting aside his royal robes, twisted a coarse
handkerchief about his head, after the manner of a fakeer's (holy
beggar's) turban, and throwing a woolen cloak around him, ran away in
disguise into the jungle.
A little while after he had gone, the Wuzeer's daughter awoke and
found Parbuttee Bai crying bitterly. "Sister dear," said she, "what is
the matter?" "Ah, sister," answered Parbuttee Bai, "I am crying
because in my dreams I thought our husband had dressed himself like a
fakeer and run away into the jungle; and I awoke, and found it was all
true: he has gone, and left us here alone. It would have been better
we had died than that such a misfortune should have befallen us." "Do
not cry," said Seventee Bai: "if we cry we are lost, for the
palkee-bearers[39] will think we are only two weak women, and will run
away, and leave us in the jungle, out of which we can never get by
ourselves. Keep a cheerful mind, and all will be well; who knows but
we may yet find our husband? Meanwhile, I will dress myself in his
clothes, and take the name of Seventee Rajah, and you shall be my
wife; and the palkee-bearers will think it is only I that have been
lost; and it will not seem very wonderful to them that in such a place
as this a wild beast should have devoured me."
[39] _I.e._, palanquin-bearers.
Then Parbuttee Bai smiled and said, "Sister, you speak well; you have
a brave heart. I will be your little wife."
So Seventee Bai dressed herself in her husband's clothes, and next day
she mounted the elephant as he had done, and ordered the bearers to
take up the palkee in which Parbuttee Bai was, and again attempt to
find their way out of the jungle. The palkee-bearers wondered much to
themselves what had become of Seventee Bai, and they said to one
another, "How selfish and how fickle are the rich! See now our young
Rajah, who married the Wuzeer's daughter and brought all this trouble
on himself thereby (and in truth 'tis said she was a beautiful lady),
he seemed to love her as his own soul; but now that she has been
devoured by some cruel animal in this wild jungle, he appears scarcely
to mourn her death."
After journeying for some days under the wise direction of the
Wuzeer's daughter, the party found themselves getting out of the
jungle, and at last they came to an open plain, in the middle of which
was a large city. When the citizens saw the elephant coming they ran
out to see who was on it, and returning, told their Rajah that a very
handsome Rajah, richly dressed, was riding toward the city, and that
he brought with him his wife--a most lovely Princess. Whereupon the
Rajah of that country sent to Seventee Bai, and asked her who she was,
and why she had come? Seventee Bai replied, "My name is Seventee
Rajah. My father was angry with me, and drove me from his kingdom; and
I and my wife have been wandering for many days in the jungle, where
we lost our way."
The Rajah and all his court thought they had never seen so brave and
royal-looking a Prince; and the Rajah said that if Seventee Rajah
would take service under him, he would give him as much money as he
liked. To whom the Wuzeer's daughter replied: "I am not accustomed to
take service under anybody; but you are good to us in receiving us
courteously and offering us your protection; therefore, give me
whatever post you please, and I will be your faithful servant." So the
Rajah gave Seventee Bai a salary of L24,000 a-year and a beautiful
house, and treated her with the greatest confidence, consulting her in
all matters of importance, and entrusting her with many state affairs;
and from her gentleness and kindness, none felt envious at her good
fortune, but she was beloved and honored by all; and thus these two
Princesses lived for twelve years in that city. No one suspected that
Seventee Bai was not the Rajah she pretended to be, and she most
strictly forbade Parbuttee Bai's making a great friend of anybody, or
admitting any one to her confidence; for, she said, "Who knows, then,
but some day you may, unawares, reveal that I am only Seventee Bai;
and, though I love you as my very sister, if that were told by you, I
would kill you with my own hands."
Now the King's palace was on the side of the city nearest to the
jungle, and one night the Ranee was awakened by loud and piercing
shrieks coming from that direction; so she woke her husband, and said,
"I am so frightened by that terrible noise that I cannot sleep. Send
some one to see what is the matter." And the Rajah called all his
attendants, and said, "Go down toward the jungle and see what that
noise is about." But they were all afraid, for the night was very
dark, and the noise very dreadful, and they said to him: "We are
afraid to go. We dare not do so by ourselves. Send for this young
Rajah who is such a favorite of yours, and tell him to go. He is
brave. You pay him more than you do us all. What is the good of your
paying him so much, unless he can be of use when he is wanted?" So
they all went to Seventee Bai's house, and when she heard what was the
matter, she jumped up, and said she would go down to the jungle and
see what the noise was.
This noise had been made by a Rakshas,[40] who was standing under a
gallows on which a thief had been hanged the day before. He had been
trying to reach the corpse with his cruel claws; but it was just too
high for him, and he was howling with rage and disappointment. When,
however, the Wuzeer's daughter reached the place, no Rakshas was to be
seen; but in his stead a very old woman, in a wonderful glittering
saree, sitting wringing her withered hands under the gallows tree, and
above, the corpse, swaying about in the night wind. "Old woman," said
Seventee Bai, "what is the matter?" "Alas!" said the Rakshas (for it
was he), "my son hangs above on that gallows. He is dead, he is dead!
and I am too bent with age to be able to reach the rope and cut his
body down." "Poor old woman!" said Seventee Bai; "get upon my
shoulders, and you will then be tall enough to reach your son." So the
Rakshas mounted on Seventee Bai's shoulders, who held him steady by
his glittering saree. Now, as she stood there, Seventee Bai began to
think the old woman was a very long time cutting the rope round the
dead man's neck; and just at that moment the moon shone out from
behind a cloud, and Seventee Bai, looking up, saw that instead of a
feeble old woman, she was supporting on her shoulders a Rakshas, who
was tearing down portions of the flesh and devouring it.
Horror-stricken, she sprang back, and with a shrill scream the Rakshas
fled away, leaving in her hands the shining saree.
[40] Gigantic demoniacal ogres, who can at will assume any shape.
Their chief terrestrial delight is said to be digging dead bodies
out of their graves and devouring them.
Seventee Bai did not choose to say anything about this adventure to
the Ranee, not wishing to alarm her; so she merely returned to the
palace, and said that the noise was made by an old woman whom she had
found crying under the gallows. She then returned home, and gave the
bright saree to Parbuttee Bai.
One fine day, some time after this, two of the Rajah's little
daughters thought they would go and see Parbuttee Bai; and as it
happened, Parbuttee Bai had on the Rakshas' saree, and was standing
by the half-closed window shutters looking out, when the Princesses
arrived at her house. The little Princesses were quite dazzled by the
golden saree, and running home said to their mother, "That young
Rajah's wife has the most beautiful saree we ever saw. It shines like
the sun, and dazzles one's eyes. We have no sarees half so beautiful,
and although you are Ranee, you have none so rich as that. Why do you
not get one too?"
When the Ranee heard about Parbuttee Bai's saree she was very eager to
have one like it; and she said to the Rajah, "Your servant's wife is
dressed more richly than your Ranee. I hear Parbuttee Bai has a saree
more costly than any of mine. Now, therefore, I beg you to get me one
like hers; for I cannot rest until I have one equally costly."
Then the Rajah sent for Seventee Bai, and said, "Tell me where your
wife got her beautiful golden saree; for the Ranee desires to have one
like it." Seventee Bai answered, "Noble master, that saree came from a
very far country--even the country of the Rakshas. It is impossible to
get one like it here; but if you give me leave I will go and search
for their country, and, if I succeed in finding it, bring you home
sarees of the same kind." And the Rajah was very much pleased, and
ordered Seventee Bai to go. So she returned to her house and bade
good-bye to Parbuttee Bai, and warned her to be discreet and cautious;
and then, mounting her horse, rode away in search of the Rakshas'
country.
Seventee Bai traveled for many days through the jungle, going one
hundred miles every day, and staying to rest every now and then at
little villages on her road. At last one day, after having gone
several hundred miles, she came to a fine city situated on the banks
of a beautiful river, and on the city walls a proclamation was painted
in large letters. Seventee Bai inquired of the people what it meant,
who told her that it was to say the Rajah's daughter would marry any
man who could tame a certain pony belonging to her father, which was
very vicious.
"Has no one been able to manage it?" asked Seventee Bai. "No one,"
they said. "Many have tried, but failed miserably. The pony was born
on the same day as the Princess. It is so fierce that no one can
approach it; but when the Princess heard how wild it was, she vowed
she would marry no one who could not tame it. Every one who likes is
free to try." Then Seventee Bai said, "Show me the pony to-morrow. I
think I shall be able to tame it." They answered, "You can try if you
like, but it is very dangerous, and you are but a youth." She replied,
"God gives his strength to the weak. I do not fear." So she went to
sleep, and early next morning they beat a drum all round the town to
let every one know that another man was going to try and tame the
Rajah's pony, and all the people flocked out of their houses to see
the sight. The pony was in a field near the river, and Seventee Bai
ran up to it, as it came running toward her intending to trample her
to death, and seized it firmly by the mane, so that it could neither
strike her with its fore legs nor kick her. The pony tried to shake
her off, but Seventee Bai clung firmly on, and finally jumped on its
back; and when the pony found that it was mastered, it became quite
gentle and tame. Then Seventee Bai, to show how completely she had
conquered, put spurs to the pony to make it jump the river, and the
pony immediately sprang up in the air and right across the river
(which was a jump of three miles), and this it did three times (for it
was strong and agile, and had never been ridden before); and when all
the people saw this they shouted for joy, and ran down to the river
bank and brought Seventee Bai, riding in triumph on the pony, to see
the Rajah. And the Rajah said, "Oh, best of men, and worthy of all
honor, you have won my daughter." So he took Seventee Bai to the
palace and paid her great honor, and gave her jewels and rich clothes,
and horses and camels innumerable. The Princess also came to greet the
winner of her hand. Then they said, "To-morrow shall be the wedding
day." But Seventee Bai replied, "Great Rajah and beautiful Princess, I
am going on an important errand of my own Rajah's; let me, I pray you,
first accomplish the duty on which I am bound, and on my way home I
will come through this city and claim my bride." At this they were
both pleased, and the Rajah said, "It is well spoken. Do not let us
hinder your keeping faith with your own Rajah. Go your way. We shall
eagerly await your return, when you shall claim the Princess and all
your possessions, and we will have such a gay wedding as was not since
the world began." And they went out with her to the borders of their
land, and showed her on her way.
So the Wuzeer's daughter traveled on in search of the Rakshas'
country, until at last one day she came in sight of another fine large
town. Here she rested in the house for travelers for some days. Now
the Rajah of this country had a very beautiful daughter, who was his
only child, and for her he had built a splendid bath. It was like a
little sea, and had high marble walls all around, with a hedge of
spikes at the top of the walls, so high that at a distance it looked
like a great castle. The young Princess was very fond of it, and she
vowed she would only marry a man who could jump across her bath on
horseback. This had happened some years before, but no one had been
able to do it, which grieved the Rajah and Ranee very much; for they
wished to see their daughter happily married. And they said to her,
"We shall both be dead before you get a husband. What folly is this,
to expect that any one should be able to jump over those high marble
walls, with the spikes at the top!" The Princess only answered, "Then
I will never marry. It matters not; I will never have a husband who
has not jumped those walls."
So the Rajah caused it to be proclaimed throughout the land that he
would give his daughter in marriage, and great riches, to whoever
could jump, on horseback, over the Princess' bath.
All this Seventee Bai learnt as soon as she arrived in the town, and
she said, "To-morrow I will try and jump over the Princess' bath." The
country people said to her, "You speak foolishly: it is quite
impossible." She replied, "Heaven, in which I trust, will help me." So
next day she rose up, and saddled her horse, and led him in front of
the palace, and there she sprang on his back, and going at full
gallop, leapt over the marble walls, over the spikes high up in the
air, and down on to the ground on the other side of the bath; and this
she did three times, which, when the the Rajah saw, he was filled with
joy, and sent for Seventee Bai, and said, "Tell me your name, brave
Prince; for you are the only man in the world--you have won my
daughter." Then the Wuzeer's daughter replied, "My name is Seventee
Rajah. I come from a far country on a mission from my Rajah to the
country of the Rakshas; let me therefore, I pray you, first do my
appointed work, and if I live to return, I will come through this
country and claim my bride." To which the Rajah consented, for he did
not wish the Princess, his daughter, to undertake so long and tiresome
a journey. It was therefore agreed that the Princess should await
Seventee Bai's return at her father's court, and that Seventee Bai
herself should immediately proceed on her journey.
From this place she went on for many, many days without adventure, and
traversed a dense jungle, for her brave heart carried her through all
difficulties. At last she arrived at another large city, beautifully
situated by a lake, with blue hills rising behind it, and sheltering
it from the cutting winds; little gardens filled with pomegranates,
jasmine and other fragrant and lovely flowers reached down from the
city to the water's edge.
Seventee Bai, tired with her long journey, rode up to one of the
Malees' houses, where the hospitable inmates, seeing she was a
stranger and weary, offered her food and shelter for the night, which
she thankfully accepted.
As they all sat round the fire cooking their evening meal, Seventee
Bai asked the Malee's wife about the place and the people, and what
was going on in the town. "Much excitement," she replied, "has of late
been caused by our Rajah's dream, which no one can interpret." "What
did he dream?" asked Seventee Bai. "Ever since he was ten years old,"
she replied, "he has dreamed of a fair tree growing in a large garden.
The stem of the tree is made of silver, the leaves are pure gold, and
the fruit is bunches of pearls. The Rajah has inquired of all his wise
men and seers where such a tree is to be found; but they all replied,
'There is no such tree in the world;' wherefore he is dissatisfied and
melancholy. Moreover, the Princess, his daughter, hearing of her
father's dream, has determined to marry no man save the finder of this
marvelous tree." "It is very odd," said Seventee Bai; and, their
supper being over, she dragged her mattress outside the little house
(as a man would have done), and, placing it in a sheltered nook near
the lake, knelt down, as her custom was, to say her prayers before
going to sleep.
As she knelt there, with her eyes fixed on the dark water, she saw, on
a sudden, a glorious shining light coming slowly toward her, and
discovered, in a minute or two more, that a very large cobra was
crawling up the steps from the water's edge, having in his mouth an
enormous diamond, the size and shape of an egg, that sparkled and
shone like a little sun, or as if one of the stars had suddenly
dropped out of heaven. The cobra laid the diamond down at the top of
the steps, and crawled away in search of food. Presently returning
when the night was far spent, he picked up the diamond again, and slid
down the steps with it into the lake. Seventee Bai knew not what to
make of this, but she resolved to return to the same place next night
and watch for the cobra.
Again she saw him bring the diamond in his mouth, and take it away
with him after his evening meal; and again, a third night, the same
thing. Then Seventee Bai determined to kill the cobra, and if possible
secure the diamond. So early next morning she went into the bazaar,
and ordered a blacksmith to make her a very strong iron trap, which
should catch hold of anything it was let down upon so firmly as to
require the strength of twelve men to get out of it. The blacksmith
did as he was ordered, and made a very strong trap; the lower part of
it was like knives, and when it caught hold of anything it required
the strength of twelve men to break through it and escape.
Seventee Bai had this trap hung up by a rope to a tree close to the
lake, and all around she scattered flowers and sweet scents, such as
cobras love; and at nightfall she herself got into the tree just above
the trap, and waited for the cobra to come as he was wont.
About twelve o'clock the cobra came up the steps from the lake in
search of food. He had the diamond in his mouth, and, attracted by the
sweet scents and flowers, instead of going into the jungle, he
proceeded toward the tree in which Seventee Bai was.
When Seventee Bai saw him, she untied the rope and let down the trap
upon him; but for fear he might not be quite dead, she waited till
morning before going to get the diamond.
As soon as the sun was up, she went to look at her prey. There he lay
cold and dead, with the diamond, which shone like a mountain of light,
in his mouth. Seventee Bai took it, and, tired by her night of
watching, thought she would bathe in the lake before returning to the
Malee's cottage. So she ran and knelt down by the brink, to dip her
hands and face in the cool water; but no sooner did she touch its
surface with the diamond, than it rolled back in a wall on either
hand, and she saw a pathway leading down below the lake, on each side
of which were beautiful houses and gardens full of flowers, red, and
white, and blue. Seventee Bai resolved to see whither this might lead,
so she walked down the path until she came opposite a large door. She
opened it, and found herself in a more lovely garden than she had ever
seen on earth; tall trees laden with rich fruit grew in it, and on the
boughs were bright birds singing melodiously, while the ground was
covered with flowers, among which flew many gaudy butterflies.
In the centre of the garden grew one tree more beautiful than all the
rest: _the stem was of silver, the leaves were golden, and the fruit
was clusters of pearls_. Swinging amid the branches sat a young girl,
more fair than any earthly lady; she had a face like the angels which
men only see in dreams; her eyes were like two stars, her golden hair
fell in ripples to her feet; she was singing to herself. When she saw
the stranger, she gave a little cry, and said, "Ah, my lord, why do
you come here?" Seventee Bai answered, "May I not come to see you,
beautiful lady?" Then the lady said, "Oh, sir, you are welcome; but if
my father sees you here, he will kill you. I am the great Cobra's
daughter, and he made this garden for me to play in, and here I have
played these many, many years all alone, for he lets me see no one,
not even of our own subjects. I never saw any one before you. Speak,
beautiful Prince--tell me how you came here, and who you are?"
Seventee Bai answered, "I am Seventee Rajah: have no fear--the stern
Cobra is no more." Then the lady was joyful, when she heard that the
Cobra who had tyrannized over her was dead, and she said her name was
Hera Bai (the Diamond Lady), and that she was possessor of all the
treasures under the lake; and she said to Seventee Bai, "Stay with me
here; you shall be king of all this country, and I will be your wife."
"That cannot be," answered Seventee Bai, "for I have been sent on a
mission by my Rajah, and I must continue my journey until I have
accomplished it; but if you love me as I love you, come rather with me
to my own land, and you shall be my wife." Hera Bai shook her head.
"Not so, dearest," she said, "for if I go with you, all the people
will see how fair I am, and they will kill you, and sell me for a
slave; and so I shall bring evil upon you, and not good. But take this
flute, dear husband (and saying this, she gave Seventee Bai a little
golden flute); whenever you wish to see me, or are in need of my aid,
go into the jungle and play upon it, and before the sound ceases I
will be there; but do not play it in the towns, nor yet amid a crowd."
Then Seventee Bai put the flute in the folds of her dress, and she
bade farewell to Hera Bai and went away.
When she came back to the Malee's cottage, the Malee's wife said to
her, "We became alarmed about you, sir; for two days we have seen
nothing of you; and we thought you must have gone away. Where have you
been so long?" Seventee Bai answered, "I had business of my own in the
bazaar" (for she did not choose to tell the Malee's wife that she had
been under the lake); "now go and inquire what time your Rajah's
Wuzeer can give a stranger audience, for I must see him before I leave
this city." So the Malee's wife went; whilst she was gone, Seventee
Bai went down again to the edge of the lake, and there reverently
burnt the cobra's body, both for the sake of Hera Bai, and because the
cobra is a sacred animal. Next day (the Malee's wife having brought a
favorable answer from the palace) Seventee Bai went to see the Wuzeer.
Now the Wuzeer wondered much why she came to see him, and he said,
"Who are you, and what is your errand?" Whereupon she answered, "I am
Seventee Rajah. I am going a long journey on my own Rajah's account,
and happening to be passing through this city, I came to pay you a
friendly visit." Then the Wuzeer became quite cordial, and talked with
Seventee Bai about the country and the city, and the Rajah and his
wonderful dream. And Seventee Bai said, "What do you suppose your
Rajah would give to any one who could show him the tree of which he
has so often dreamed?" The Wuzeer replied, "He would certainly give
him his daughter in marriage and the half of his kingdom." "Very
well," said Seventee Bai, "tell your master that, upon these
conditions, if he likes to send for me, I will show him the tree; he
may look at it for one night, but he cannot have it for his own."
The Wuzeer took the message to the Rajah, and next day the Wuzeer, the
Sirdars, and all the great men of the court, went in state by the
Rajah's order to the Malee's hut, to say that he was willing to grant
all Seventee Rajah's demands, and would like to see the tree that very
night. Seventee Bai thereupon promised the Wuzeer that if the Rajah
would come with his court, he should see the reality of his dream.
Then she went into the jungle and played on her little flute, and Hera
Bai immediately appeared as she had seen her before, swinging in the
silver tree; and when she heard what Seventee Bai wanted, she bade her
bring the Rajah, who should see it without fail.
When the Rajah came, he and all his court were overcome with
astonishment; for there, in the midst of the desolate jungle, was a
beautiful palace; fountains played in every court, the rooms were
richly decorated with thousands and thousands of shining jewels; a
light as clear as day filled all the place, soft music was played
around by unseen hands, sweet odors filled the air, and in the midst
of the palace garden there grew _a silver tree, with golden leaves and
fruit of pearls_.
The next morning all had disappeared; but the Rajah, enchanted with
what he had seen, remained true to his promise, and agreed to give
Seventee Bai the half of his kingdom and his daughter in marriage;
for, said he to himself, "A man who can convert the jungle into a
paradise in one night must surely be rich enough and clever enough to
be my son-in-law." But Seventee Bai said, "I am now employed on an
errand of my Rajah's; let me, I beg, first accomplish it, and on my
homeward journey I will remain a while in this town, and will marry
the Princess." So they gave him leave to go, and the Rajah and all the
great men of his kingdom accompanied Seventee Bai to the borders of
their land. Thence the Wuzeer's daughter went on journeying many days
until she had left that country far behind; but as yet she had gained
no clue as to the way to the Rakshas' land. In this difficulty she
bethought her of Hera Bai, and played upon the little golden flute.
Hera Bai immediately appeared, saying, "Husband, what can I do for
you?" Seventee Bai answered, "Kind Hera, I have now been wandering in
this jungle for many days, endeavoring in vain to discover the
Rakshas' country, whither my Rajah has ordered me to go. Can you help
me to get there?" She answered, "You cannot go there by yourself. For
a six months' journey round their land there is placed a Rakshas'
guard, and not a sparrow could find his way into the country without
their knowledge and permission. No men are admitted there, and there
are more Rakshas employed in keeping guard than there are trees on the
face of the earth. They are invisible, but they would see you, and
instantly tear you to pieces. Be, however, guided by me, and I will
contrive a way by which you may gain what you seek. Take this ring
(and so saying, she placed a glorious ring on Seventee Bai's finger);
it was given me by my dearest friend, the Rajah of the Rakshas'
daughter, and will render you invisible. Look at that mountain, whose
blue head you can just see against the sky; you must climb to the top
of that, for it stands on the borders of the Rakshas' territory. When
there, turn the stone on the ring I have given you toward the palm of
your hand, and you will instantly fall through the earth into the
space below the mountain where the Rakshas' Rajah holds his court, and
find yourself in his daughter's presence. Tell her you are my husband;
she will love and help you for my sake." Hera Bai so saying
disappeared, and Seventee Bai continued her journey until she reached
the mountain top, where she turned the ring round as she had been
bidden, and immediately found herself falling through the earth, down,
down, down, deeper and deeper, until at last she arrived in a
beautiful room, richly furnished, and hung round with cloth of gold.
In every direction, as far as the eye could reach, were thousands and
thousands of Rakshas, and in the centre of the room was a gold and
ivory throne, on which sat the most beautiful Princess that it is
possible to imagine. She was tall and of a commanding aspect; her
black hair was bound by long strings of pearl; her dress was of fine
spun gold, and round her waist was clasped a zone of restless,
throbbing, light-giving diamonds; her neck and her arms were covered
with a profusion of costly jewels; but brighter than all shone her
bright eyes, which looked full of gentle majesty. She could see
Seventee Bai, although her attendants could not, because of the magic
ring; and as soon as she saw her she started and cried, "Who are you?
How came you here?" Seventee Bai answered, "I am Seventee Rajah, the
husband of the Lady Hera, and I have come here by the power of the
magic ring you gave her." The Rakshas' Princess then said, "You are
welcome: but you must know that your coming is attended with much
danger; for, did the guard placed around me by my father know of your
presence, they would instantly put you to death, and I should be
powerless to save you. Tell me why did you come?" Seventee Bai
answered, "I came to see you, beautiful lady; tell me your name, and
how it is you are here all alone." She replied, "I am the Rakshas'
Rajah's only daughter, and my name is Tara Bai (the Star Lady), and
because my father loves me very much he has built this palace for me,
and placed this great guard of Rakshas all round for many thousand
miles, to prevent any one coming in or out without his permission.
"So great is the state they keep that I seldom see my father and
mother; indeed, I have not seen them for several years. Nevertheless,
I will go now in person to implore their protection for you; for
though I never saw king nor prince before, I love you very much."
So saying, she arose to go to her father's court, bidding Seventee Bai
await her return.
When the Rajah and Ranee of the Rakshas heard that their daughter was
coming to see them, they were very much surprised, and said, "What can
be the matter with our daughter? Can she be ill? or can our Tara Bai
be unhappy in the beautiful house we have given her?" And they said to
her, "Daughter, why do you come? what is the matter?" She answered,
"Oh, my father! I come to tell you I should like to be married. Cannot
you find some beautiful Prince to be my husband?" Then the Rajah
laughed, and said, "You are but a child still, my daughter;
nevertheless, if you wish for a husband, certainly, if any Prince
comes here, and asks you in marriage, we will let you wed him." She
said, "If some brave and beautiful Prince were to come here, and get
through the great guard you have placed around the palace, would you
indeed protect him for my sake, and not allow them to tear him in
pieces?" The Rajah answered, "If such a one come, he shall be safe."
Then Tara Bai was very joyful, and ran and fetched Seventee Bai, and
said to her father and mother, "See here is Seventee Rajah, the young
Prince of whom I spoke." And when the Rajah and Ranee saw Seventee Bai
they were greatly astonished, and could not think how she had managed
to reach their land, and they thought she must be very brave and wise
to have done so. And because also Seventee Bai looked a very noble
Prince, they were the more willing that she should marry Tara Bai,
and said, "Seventee Rajah, we are willing you should be our
son-in-law, for you look good and true, and you must be brave, to have
come so long and dangerous a journey for your wife; now, therefore,
you shall be married; the whole land is open to you, and all that we
have is yours; only take good care of our dear daughter, and if ever
she or you are unhappy, return here and you shall find a home with
us." So the wedding took place amidst great rejoicings. The wedding
festivities lasted twelve days, and to it came hundreds and hundreds
of thousands of Rakshas from every country under heaven; from the
north and the south and the east and the west, from the depths of the
earth and the uttermost parts of the sea. Troop after troop they came
flocking in, an ever-increasing crowd, from all parts of this wide
world, to be present at the marriage of their master's daughter.
It would be impossible to count all the rich and costly presents that
the Rakshas' Rajah and Ranee gave Tara Bai. There were jewels enough
to fill the seas; diamonds and emeralds, rubies, sapphires and pearls;
gold and silver, costly hangings, carved ebony and ivory, more than a
man could count in a hundred years; for the Rajah gave his daughter a
guard of 100,000,000,000,000 Rakshas, and each Rakshas carried a
bundle of riches, and each bundle was as big as a house! and so they
took leave of the Rakshas' Rajah and Ranee, and left the Rakshas'
country.
When they got to the country of the Rajah who had dreamed about the
silver tree, with leaves of gold and fruit of pearl (because the
number of their retinue was so great that if they had come into a
country they would have devoured all that was in it like a swarm of
locusts), Seventee Bai and Tara Bai determined that Tara Bai should
stay with the guard of Rakshas in the jungle, on the borders of the
Rajah's dominions, and that Seventee Bai should go to the city, as she
had promised, to marry the Rajah's daughter. And there they stayed a
week, and the Rajah's daughter was married with great pomp and
ceremony to Seventee Bai; and when they left the city the Rajah gave
Seventee Bai and the bride, his daughter, horses and camels and
elephants, and rich robes and jewels innumerable; and he and all his
court accompanied them to the borders of the land.
Thence they went to the country where lived the Princess whose great
marble bath Seventee Bai had jumped over; and there Seventee Bai was
married to her, amid great rejoicings, and the wedding was one of
surpassing splendor, and the wedding festivities lasted for three
whole days.
And leaving that city, they traveled on until they reached the city
where Seventee Bai had tamed the Rajah's wild pony, and there they
spent two days in great honor and splendor, and Seventee Bai married
that Princess also; so with her five wives--that is to say, Hera Bai
the Rajah of the Cobras' daughter, Tara Bai the Rajah of the Rakshas'
daughter, and the three other Princesses--and a great tribe of
attendants and elephants and camels and horses, she returned to the
city where she had left Parbuttee Bai.
Now when news was brought to Seventee Bai's master (the friendly
Rajah), of the great cavalcade that was approaching his city, he
became very much alarmed, taking Seventee Bai for some strange Rajah
who had come to make war upon him. When Seventee Bai heard how
alarmed he was, she sent a messenger to him, on a swift horse, to say,
"Be not alarmed; it is only thy servant, Seventee Rajah, returning
from the errand on which thou didst send him." Then the Rajah's heart
was light, and he ordered a royal salute to be fired, and went out
with all his court to meet Seventee Bai, and they all went together in
a state procession into the city. And Seventee Bai said to the Rajah,
"You sent your servant to the Rakshas' country to fetch a golden saree
for the Ranee. Behold, I have done as you wish." And so saying, she
gave to the Rajah five Rakshas' bundles of rich hangings and garments
covered with jewels (that is to say, five housefuls of costly things;
for each Rakshas carried as much in the bundle on his shoulders as a
house would hold); and to the Wuzeer she gave two bundles.
After this, Seventee Bai discharged almost all her immense train of
attendants (for fear they should create a famine in the land), sending
them to their own houses with many valuable presents; and she took the
three Princesses, her wives, to live with her and Parbuttee Bai; but
Hera Bai and Tara Bai, on account of their high rank and their
surpassing beauty, had a splendid palace of their own in the jungle,
of which no one knew but Seventee Bai.
Now when she again saw Seventee Bai, the Rajah's little daughter said
to her father, "Father, I do not think there is such a brave and
beautiful Prince in all the world as this Seventee Rajah. I would
rather have him for my husband than any one else." And the Rajah said,
"Daughter, I am very willing you should marry him." So it was settled
Seventee Bai should marry the little Princess; but she said to the
Rajah, "I am willing to marry your daughter, but we must have a very
grand wedding; give me time, therefore, to send into all the countries
round, and invite all their Rajahs to be present at the ceremony." And
to this the Rajah agreed.
Now, about this time, Seventee Bai one day found Parbuttee Bai crying,
and said to her, "Little sister, why are you unhappy?" And Parbuttee
Bai answered, "Oh sister, you have brought us out of all our
difficulties, and won us honor and great riches, but yet I do not feel
merry; for I cannot help thinking of our poor husband, who is now,
maybe, wandering about a wretched beggar, and I long with my whole
heart to see him again." Then Seventee Bai said, "Well, cheer up, do
not cry; mind those women do not find out I am not Seventee Rajah.
Keep a good heart, and I will try and find your husband for you." So
Seventee Bai went into the jungle palace to see Hera Bai, and said to
her, "I have a friend whom I have not seen since he became mad twelve
years ago, and ran away into the jungle disguised as a Fakeer. I
should like very much to find out if he is still alive. How can I
learn?" Now Hera Bai was a very wise Princess, and she answered, "Your
best plan will be to provide a great feast for the poor, and cause it
to be proclaimed in all lands, far and near, that you are about to
give it as a thank-offering for all the blessings God has bestowed on
you. The poor will flock from all countries to come to it, and perhaps
among the rest you may find your friend."
Seventee Bai did as Hera Bai had advised, causing two long tables to
be spread in the jungle, whereat hundreds of poor from all parts of
the world were daily entertained; and every day, for six months,
Seventee Bai and Parbuttee Bai walked down the long rows of people,
apparently to see how they were all getting on, but in reality to look
for Logedas Rajah; but they found him not.
At last one day, as Seventee Bai was going her accustomed round, she
saw a wretched wild-looking man, black as pitch, with tangled hair, a
thin wrinkled face, and in his hand a wooden bowl, such as Fakeers
carry about to collect broken meat and scraps of bread in, and
touching Parbuttee Bai, she said to her, "See, Parbuttee, there is
your husband." When Parbuttee Bai saw this pitiful sight (for it was,
indeed, Logedas, but so changed and altered that even his wives hardly
recognized him), she began to cry. Then Seventee Bai said, "Do not
cry; go home quickly. I will take care of him." And when Parbuttee Bai
was gone, she called one of the guard and said to him, "Catch hold of
that man and put him in prison." Then Logedas Rajah said, "Why do you
seize me? I have done no harm to any one." But Seventee Bai ordered
the guard not to heed his remonstrances, but to take him to prison
instantly, for she did not wish the people around to discover how
interested she was in him. So the guard took Logedas Rajah away to
lock him up. Poor Logedas Rajah said to them, "Why has this wicked
Rajah had me taken prisoner? I have harmed no one. I have not fought,
nor robbed; but for twelve years I have been a wretched beggar, living
on the bread of charity." For he did not tell them he was a Rajah's
son, for he knew they would only laugh at him. They replied. "You must
not call our Rajah wicked; it is you that are wicked, and not he, and
doubtless he will have your head cut off."
When they put him in prison he begged them again to say what was to be
done to him. "Oh!" said they, "you will certainly be hanged to-morrow
morning, or perhaps, if you like it better, beheaded, in front of the
palace."
Now as soon as Seventee Bai got home, she sent for her head servants,
and said to them, "Go at once to the prison, and order the guard to
give you up the Fakeer I gave into their charge, and bring him here in
a palanquin, but see that he does not escape." Then Seventee Bai
ordered them to lock up Logedas in a distant part of the palace, and
commanded that he should be washed, and dressed in new clothes, and
given food, and that a barber should be sent for, to cut his hair and
trim his beard. Then Logedas said to his keepers, "See how good the
Rajah is to me! He will not surely hang me after this." "Oh, never
fear," they answered; "when you are dressed up and made very smart, it
will be a much finer sight to see you hanged than before." Thus they
tried to frighten the poor man. After this Seventee Bai sent for all
the greatest doctors in the kingdom, and said to them, "If a Rajah
wanders about for twelve years in the jungle, until all trace of his
princely beauty is lost, how long will it take you to restore him to
his original likeness?" They answered, "With care and attention it may
be done in six months." "Very well," said Seventee Bai, "there is a
friend of mine now in my palace of whom this is the case. Take him and
treat him well, and at the end of six months I shall expect to see him
restored to his original health and strength."
So Logedas was placed under the doctors' care; but all this time he
had no idea who Seventee Bai was, nor why he was thus treated. Every
day Seventee Bai came to see him and talk to him. Then he said to his
keepers, "See, good people, how kind this great Rajah is, coming to
see me every day; he can intend for me nothing but good." To which
they would answer, "Don't you be in a hurry; none can fathom the
hearts of kings. Most probably, for all this delay, he will in the end
have you taken and hanged." Thus they amused themselves by alarming
him.
Then, some day, when Seventee Bai had been more than usually kind,
Logedas Rajah would say again, "I do not fear the Rajah's intentions
toward me. Did you not notice how very kind he was to-day!" And to
this his keepers would reply--
"Doubtless it is amusing for him, but hardly, we should think, for
you. He will play with you probably for some time (as a cat does with
a mouse); but in three months is the Rajah's birthday; most likely he
is keeping you to kill you then." And so the time wore on.
Seventee Bai's birthday was fixed for the day also of her wedding with
the Rajah's daughter. For this great event immense preparations were
made all over the plain outside the city walls. Tents made of cloth of
gold were pitched in a great square, twelve miles long and twelve
miles broad, for the accommodation of the neighboring Rajahs, and in
the centre was a larger tent than all the rest, covered with jewels
and shining like a great golden temple, in which they were to
assemble.
Then Seventee Bai said to Parbuttee Bai, "On my birthday I will
restore you to your husband." But Parbuttee Bai was vexed and said, "I
cannot bear the thought of him; it is such a terrible thing to think
of our once handsome husband as none other than that miserable
Fakeer."
Seventee Bai smiled. "In truth," she said, "I think you will find him
again altered, and for the better. You cannot think what a change rest
and care have made in him; but he does not know who we are, and as you
value my happiness, tell no one now that I am not the Rajah." "Indeed
I will not, dearest sister," answered Parbuttee Bai. "I should in
truth be loath to vex you, after all you have done for me; for owing
to you here have we lived happily for twelve years like sisters, and I
do not think as clever a woman as you was ever before born in this
world."
Among other guests invited to the wedding were Siu Rajah and his wife,
and the Wuzeer, Seventee Bai's father, and her mother. Seventee Bai
arranged thrones for them all, made of gold and emeralds, and
diamonds, and rubies, and ivory. And she ordered that in the seat of
honor on her left-hand side should be placed the Wuzeer, her father,
and next to him her mother, and next to them Siu Rajah and his wife,
and after them all the other Rajahs and Ranees, according to their
rank; and all the Rajahs and Ranees wondered much that the place of
honor should have been given to the stranger Wuzeer. Then Seventee Bai
took her most costly Rajah dress, and ordered that Logedas Rajah
should be clothed in it, and escorted to the tent; and she took off
the man's clothes which she had worn, and dressed herself in a saree.
When she was dressed in it she looked a more lovely woman than she
had before looked a handsome man. And she went to the tent leading
Parbuttee Bai, while with her came Hera Bai and Tara Bai of more than
mortal beauty, and the three other Princesses clothed in the most
costly robes. Then before all the Rajahs and Ranees, Seventee Bai
knelt down at Logedas Rajah's feet, and said to him, "I am your true
wife. O husband, have you forgotten her whom you left in the jungle
with Parbuttee Bai twelve years ago? See here she also is; and behold
these rich jewels, these tents of gold, these hangings of priceless
worth, these elephants, camels, horses, attendants and all this
wealth. It is all yours, as I am yours; for I have collected all for
you."
Then Logedas Rajah wept for joy, and Siu Rajah arose and kissed
Seventee Bai, and said to her, "My noble daughter, you have rescued my
son from misery, and done more wisely and well than woman ever did
before. May all honor and blessing attend you henceforth and for
ever."
And the assembled Rajahs and Ranees were surprised beyond measure,
saying, "Did any one ever hear of a woman doing so much?" But more
than any was the good Rajah astonished, whom Seventee Bai had served
so well for twelve years, and whose daughter she was to have married
that day, when he learnt that she was a woman! It was then agreed by
all that Logedas Rajah should on that day be newly married to his two
wives, Parbuttee Bai and Seventee Bai; and should also marry the six
other beautiful Princesses--the Princess Hera Bai, the Princess Tara
Bai, the Rajah's little daughter, and the three other Princesses; and
that he should return with his father to his own kingdom. And the
weddings took place amid great splendor and rejoicings unheard of;
and of all the fine things that were seen and done on that day it is
impossible to tell. And afterward Logedas Rajah and his eight wives,
and his father and mother, and the Wuzeer and his wife, and all their
attendants, returned to their own land, where they all lived very
happily ever after. And so may all who read this story live happily
too.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
IV.
_TRUTH'S TRIUMPH._
Several hundred years ago there was a certain Rajah who had twelve
wives, but no children, and though he caused many prayers to be said,
and presents made in temples far and near, never a son nor a daughter
had he. Now this Rajah had a Wuzeer who was a very, very wise old man,
and it came to pass that one day, when he was traveling in a distant
part of his kingdom, accompanied by this Wuzeer and the rest of his
court, he came upon a large garden, in walking round which he was
particularly struck by a little tree which grew there. It was a
bringal[41] tree, not above two feet in height. It had no leaves, but
on it grew a hundred and one bringals. The Rajah stopped to count
them, and then turning to the Wuzeer in great astonishment, said, "It
is to me a most unaccountable thing, that this little tree should have
no leaves, but a hundred and one bringals growing on it. You are a
wise man--can you guess what this means?" The Wuzeer replied, "I can
interpret this marvel to you, but if I do, you will most likely not
believe me; promise therefore that if I tell you, you will not cause
me to be killed as having told (as you imagine) a lie." The Rajah
promised, and the Wuzeer continued: "The meaning of this little
bringal tree, with the hundred and one bringals growing on it, is
this. Whoever marries the daughter of the Malee in charge of this
garden will have a hundred and one children--a hundred sons and one
daughter." The Rajah said, "Where is the maiden to be seen?" The
Wuzeer answered, "When a number of great people like you and all your
court come into a little village like this, the poor people, and
especially the children, are frightened and run away and hide
themselves; therefore, as long as you stay here as Rajah you cannot
hope to see her. Your only means will be to send away your suite, and
cause it be announced that you have left the place. Then, if you walk
daily in this garden, you may some morning meet the pretty Guzra
Bai,[42] of whom I speak."
[41] _Solanum molengena_--the egg-shaped fruit of which is a
favorite vegetable all over India.
[42] Flower Girl.
Upon this advice the Rajah acted; and one day whilst walking in the
garden he saw the Malee's young daughter, a girl of twelve years old,
busy gathering flowers. He went forward to accost her, but she, seeing
that he was not one of the villagers, but a stranger, was shy, and ran
home to her father's house.
The Rajah followed, for he was very much struck with her grace and
beauty; in fact, he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her, and
thought he had never seen a king's daughter half so charming.
When he got to the Malee's house the door was shut; so he called out,
"Let me in, good Malee; I am the Rajah, and I wish to marry your
daughter." The Malee only laughed, and answered, "A pretty tale to
tell a simple man, indeed! You a Rajah! why the Rajah is miles away.
You had better go home, my good fellow, for there's no welcome for you
here!" But the Rajah continued calling till the Malee opened the door;
who then was indeed surprised, seeing it was truly no other than the
Rajah, and he asked what he could do for him.
The Rajah said, "I wish to marry your beautiful daughter, Guzra Bai."
"No, no," said the Malee, "this joke won't do. None of your Princes in
disguise for me. You may think you are a great Rajah and I only a poor
Malee, but I tell you that makes no difference at all to me. Though
you were king of all the earth, I would not permit you to come here
and amuse yourself chattering to my girl, only to fill her head with
nonsense, and to break her heart."
"In truth, good man, you do me wrong," answered the Rajah, humbly: "I
mean what I say; I wish to marry your daughter."
"Do not think," retorted the Malee, "that I'll make a fool of myself
because I'm only a Malee, and believe what you've got to say, because
you're a great Rajah. Rajah or no Rajah is all one to me. If you mean
what you say, if you care for my daughter and wish to be married to
her, come and be married; but I'll have none of your new-fangled forms
and court ceremonies hard to be understood; let the girl be married by
her father's hearth and under her father's roof, and let us invite to
the wedding our old friends and acquaintance whom we've known all our
lives, and before we ever thought of you."
The Rajah was not angry, but amused, and rather pleased than otherwise
at the old man's frankness, and he consented to all that was desired.
The village beauty, Guzra Bai, was therefore married with as much
pomp as they could muster, but in village fashion, to the great Rajah,
who took her home with him, followed by the tears and blessings of her
parents and playmates.
The twelve kings' daughters were by no means pleased at this addition
to the number of the Ranees; and they agreed amongst themselves that
it would be highly derogatory to their dignity to permit Guzra Bai to
associate with them, and that the Rajah, their husband, had offered
them an unpardonable insult in marrying a Malee's daughter, which was
to be revenged upon her the very first opportunity.
Having made this league, they tormented poor Guzra Bai so much that to
save her from their persecutions, the Rajah built her a little house
of her own, where she lived very, very happily for a short time.
At last one day he had occasion to go and visit a distant part of his
dominions, but fearing his high-born wives might ill-use Guzra Bai in
his absence, at parting he gave her a little golden bell,[43] saying,
"If while I am away you are in any trouble, or any one should be
unkind to you, ring this little bell, and wherever I am I shall
instantly hear it, and will return to your aid."
[43] "It must have been a kind of telegraph to go so quick," my
Narrator said.
No sooner had the Rajah gone, than Guzra Bai thought she would try the
power of the bell. So she rang it. The Rajah instantly appeared. "What
do you want?" he said. "Oh, nothing," she replied. "I was foolish. I
could hardly believe what you told me could be true, and thought I
would try." "Now you will believe, I hope," he said, and went away. A
second time she rang the bell. Again the Rajah returned. "Oh, pardon
me, husband," she said; "it was wrong of me not to trust you, but I
hardly thought you could return again from so far." "Never mind," he
said, "only do not try the experiment again." And again he went away.
A third time she rang the golden bell. "Why do you ring again, Guzra
Bai?" asked the Rajah sternly, as for a third time he returned. "I
don't know, indeed; indeed I beg your pardon," she said; "but I know
not why, I felt so frightened." "Have any of the Ranees been unkind to
you?" he asked. "No, none," she answered; "in fact, I have seen none
of them." "You are a silly child," said he, stroking her hair.
"Affairs of the state call me away. You must try and keep a good heart
till my return;" and for the fourth time he disappeared.
A little while after this, wonderful to relate, Guzra Bai had a
hundred and one children!--a hundred boys and one girl. When the
Ranees heard this, they said to each other, "Guzra Bai, the Malee's
daughter, will rank higher than us; she will have great power and
influence as mother to the heir to the Raj;[44] let us kill these
children, and tell our husband that she is a sorceress; then will he
love her no longer, and his old affection for us will return." So
these twelve wicked Ranees all went over to Guzra Bai's house. When
Guzra Bai saw them coming, she feared they meant to do her some harm,
so she seized her little golden bell, and rang, and rang, and
rang--but no Rajah came. She had called him back so often that he did
not believe she really needed his help. And thus the poor woman was
left to the mercy of her implacable enemies.
[44] Kingdom.
Now the nurse who had charge of the hundred and one babies was an old
servant of the twelve Ranees, and moreover a very wicked woman, able
and willing to do whatever her twelve wicked old mistresses ordered.
So when they said to her, "Can you kill these children?" she answered,
"Nothing is easier; I will throw them out upon the dust-heap behind
the palace, where the rats and hawks and vultures will have left none
of them remaining by to-morrow morning." "So be it," said the Ranees.
Then the nurse took the hundred and one little innocent children--the
hundred little boys and the one little girl--and threw them behind the
palace on the dust-heap, close to some large rat-holes; and after
that, she and the twelve Ranees placed a very large stone in each of
the babies' cradles, and said to Guzra Bai, "Oh, you evil witch in
disguise, do not hope any longer to impose by your arts on the Rajah's
credulity. See, your children have all turned into stones. See these,
your pretty babies!"--and with that they tumbled the hundred and one
stones down in a great heap on the floor. Then Guzra Bai began to cry,
for she knew it was not true; but what could one poor woman do against
thirteen? At the Rajah's return the twelve Ranees accused Guzra Bai of
being a witch, and the nurse testified that the hundred and one
children she had charge of had turned into stones, and the Rajah
believed them rather than Guzra Bai, and he ordered her to be
imprisoned for life.
Meanwhile a Bandicote[45] had heard the pitiful cries of the
children, and taking pity on them, dragged them all, one by one, into
her hole, out of the way of kites and vultures. She then assembled all
the Bandicotes from far and near, and told them what she had done,
begging them to assist in finding food for the children. Then every
day a hundred and one Bandicotes would come, each bringing a little
bit of food in his mouth, and give it to one of the children; and so
day by day they grew stronger and stronger, until they were able to
run about, and then they used to play of a morning at the mouth of the
Bandicote's hole, running in there to sleep every night. But one fine
day who should come by but the wicked old nurse! Fortunately, all the
boys were in the hole, and the little girl, who was playing outside,
on seeing her ran in there too, but not before the nurse had seen her.
She immediately went to the twelve Ranees and related this, saying, "I
cannot help thinking some of the children may still be living in those
rat-holes. You had better send and have them dug out and killed." "We
dare not do that," answered they, "for fear of causing suspicion; but
we will order some laborers to dig up that ground and make it into a
field, and that will effectually smother any of the children who may
still be alive." This plan was approved and forthwith carried into
execution; but the good Bandicote, who happened that day to be out on
a foraging expedition in the palace, heard all about it there, and
immediately running home, took all the children from her hole to a
large well some distance off, where she hid them in the hollows behind
the steps leading down to the well, laying one child under each step.
[45] A species of large rat.
Here they would have been quite safe, had not the Dhobee[46] happened
to go down to the well that day to wash some clothes, taking with him
his little girl. While her father was drawing up water, the child
amused herself running up and down the steps of the well. Now each
time her weight pressed down a step it gave the child hidden
underneath a little squeeze. All the hundred boys bore this without
uttering a sound; but when the Dhobee's child trod on the step under
which the little girl was hidden, she cried out, "How can you be so
cruel to me, trampling on me in this way? Have pity on me, for I am a
little girl as well as you."
[46] Washerman.
When the child heard these words proceeding from the stone, she ran in
great alarm to her father, saying, "Father, I don't know what's the
matter, but something alive is certainly under those stones. I heard
it speak; but whether it is a Rakshas or an angel or a human being I
cannot tell." Then the Dhobee went to the twelve Ranees to tell them
the wonderful news about the voice in the well; and they said to each
other, "Maybe it's some of Guzra Bai's children; let us send and have
this inquired into." So they sent some people to pull down the well
and see if some evil spirits were not there.
Then laborers went to pull down the well. Now close to the well was a
little temple dedicated to Gunputti, containing a small shrine and a
little clay image of the god. When the children felt the well being
pulled down they called out for help and protection to Gunputti, who
took pity on them and changed them into trees growing by his temple--a
hundred little mango trees all round in a circle (which were the
hundred little boys), and a little rose bush in the middle, covered
with red and white roses, which was the little girl.
The laborers pulled down the well, but they found nothing there but a
poor old Bandicote, which they killed. Then, by order of the twelve
wicked Ranees, they sacrilegiously destroyed the little temple. But
they found no children there either. However, the Dhobee's mischievous
little daughter had gone with her father to witness the work of
destruction, and as they were looking on, she said, "Father, do look
at all those funny little trees; I never remember noticing them here
before." And being very inquisitive, she started off to have a nearer
look at them. There in a circle grew the hundred little mango trees,
and in the centre of all the little rose bush, bearing the red and
white roses.
The girl rushed by the mango trees, who uttered no words, and running
up to the rose bush, began gathering some of the flowers. At this the
rose bush trembled very much, and sighed and said, "I am a little girl
as well as you; how can you be so cruel? You are breaking all my
ribs." Then the child ran back to her father and said, "Come and
listen to what the rose bush says." And the father repeated the news
to the twelve Ranees, who ordered that a great fire should be made,
and the hundred and one little trees be burnt in it, root and branch,
till not a stick remained.
The fire was made, and the hundred and one little trees were dug up
and just going to be put into it, when Gunputti, taking pity on them,
caused a tremendous storm to come on, which put out the fire and
flooded the country and swept the hundred and one trees into the
river, where they were carried down a long, long way by the torrent,
until at last the children were landed, restored to their own shapes,
on the river bank, in the midst of a wild jungle, very far from any
human habitation.
Here these children lived for ten years, happy in their mutual love
and affection. Generally every day fifty of the boys would go out to
collect roots and berries for their food, leaving fifty at home to
take care of their little sister: but sometimes they put her in some
safe place, and all would go out together for the day; nor were they
ever molested in their excursions by bear, panther, snake, scorpion,
or other noxious creature. One day all the brothers put their little
sister safely up in a fine shady tree, and went out together to hunt.
After rambling on for some time, they came to the hut of a savage
Rakshas, who in the disguise of an old woman had lived for many years
in the jungle. The Rakshas, angry at this invasion of her domain, no
sooner saw them than she changed them all into crows. Night came on,
and their little sister was anxiously awaiting her brothers' return,
when on a sudden she heard a loud whirring sound in the air, and round
the tree flocked a hundred black crows, cawing and offering her
berries and roots which they had dug up with their sharp bills. Then
the little sister guessed too truly what must have happened--that some
malignant spirit had metamorphosed her brothers into this hideous
shape; and at the sad sight she began to cry.
Time wore on; every morning the crows flew away to collect food for
her and for themselves, and every evening they returned to roost in
the branches of the high tree where she sat the livelong day, crying
as if her heart would break.
At last so many bitter tears had she shed that they made a little
stream which flowed from the foot of the tree right down through the
jungle.
Some months after this, one fine day, a young Rajah from a neighboring
country happened to be hunting in this very jungle; but he had not
been very successful. Toward the close of the day he found himself
faint and weary, having missed his way and lost his comrades, with no
companion save his dogs, who, being thirsty, ran hurriedly hither and
thither in search of water. After some time, they saw in the distance
what looked like a clear stream: the dogs rushed there and the tired
prince, following them, flung himself down on the grass by the water's
brink, thinking to sleep there for the night; and, with his hands
under his head, stared up into the leafy branches of the tree above
him. Great was his astonishment to see high up in the air an immense
number of crows, and above them all a most lovely young girl, who was
feeding them with berries and wild fruits. Quick as thought, he
climbed the tree, and bringing her carefully and gently down, seated
her on the grass beside him, saying, "Tell me, pretty lady, who you
are, and how you come to be living in this dreary palace?" So she told
him all her adventures, except that she did not say the hundred crows
were her hundred brothers. Then the Rajah said, "Do not cry any more,
fair Princess; you shall come home with me and be my Ranee, and my
father and mother shall be yours." At this she smiled and dried her
eyes, but quickly added, "You will let me take these crows with me,
will you not? for I love them dearly, and I cannot go away unless they
may come too." "To be sure," he answered. "You may bring all the
animals in the jungle with you, if you like, so you will only come."
So he took her home to his father's house, and the old Rajah and Ranee
wondered much at this jungle Lady, when they saw her rare beauty, her
modest gentle ways and her queenly grace. Then the young Rajah told
them how she was a persecuted Princess, and asked their leave to marry
her; and because her loving goodness had won all hearts, they gave
their consent as joyfully as if she had been daughter of the greatest
of Rajahs, and brought with her a splendid dower; and they called her
Draupadi Bai.[47]
[47] Doubtless after the beautiful Princess Draupadi, daughter of
the Rajah of Panchala, and a famous character in the great Hindoo
epic, the "Maha Bharata."
Draupadi had some beautiful trees planted in front of her palace, in
which the crows, her brothers, used to live, and she daily with her
own hands boiled a quantity of rice, which she would scatter for them
to eat as they flocked around her. Now some time after this, Draupadi
Bai had a son, who was called Ramchundra. He was a very good boy, and
his mother Draupadi Bai used to take him to school every morning, and
go and fetch him home in the evening. But one day, when Ramchundra was
about fourteen years old, it happened that Draupadi Bai did not go to
fetch him home from school as she was wont; and on his return he found
her sitting under the trees in front of her palace, stroking the
glossy black crows that flocked around her, and weeping.
Then Ramchundra threw down his bundle of books, and said to his
mother, putting his elbows on her knees, and looking up in her face,
"Mammy, dear, tell me why you are now crying, and what it is that
makes you so often sad." "Oh, nothing, nothing," she answered. "Yes,
dear mother," said he, "do tell me. Can I help you? If I can, I will."
Draupadi Bai shook her head. "Alas, no, my son," she said; "you are
too young to help me; and as for my grief, I have never told it to any
one. I cannot tell it to you now." But Ramchundra continued begging
and praying her to tell him, until at last she did; relating to him
all her own and his uncles' sad history; and lastly, how they had been
changed by a Rakshas into the black crows he saw around him. Then the
boy sprang up and said, "Which way did your brothers take when they
met the Rakshas?" "How can I tell?" she asked. "Why," he answered, "I
thought perhaps you might remember on which side they returned that
first night to you, after being bewitched?" "Oh," she said, "they came
toward the tree from that part of the jungle which lies in a straight
line behind the palace." "Very well," cried Ramchundra, joyfully, "I
also will go there, and find out this wicked old Rakshas, and learn by
what means they may be disenchanted." "No, no, my son," she answered,
"I cannot let you go: see, I have lost father and mother, and these my
hundred brothers; and now, if you fall into the Rakshas' clutches as
well as they, and are lost to me, what will life have worth living
for?" To this he replied, "Do not fear for me, mother; I will be wary
and discreet." And going to his father, he said, "Father, it is time I
should see something of the world. I beg you to permit me to travel
and see other lands." The Rajah answered, "You shall go. Tell me what
attendants you would like to accompany you?" "Give me," said
Ramchundra, "a horse to ride, and a groom to take care of it." The
Rajah consented, and Ramchundra set off riding toward the jungle; but
as soon as he got there, he sent his horse back by the groom with a
message to his parents, and proceeded alone, on foot.
After wandering about for some time he came upon a small hut, in which
lay an ugly old woman fast asleep. She had long claws instead of
hands, and her hair hung down all around her in a thick black tangle.
Ramchundra knew, by the whole appearance of the place, that he must
have reached the Rakshas' abode of which he was in search; so,
stealing softly in, he sat down and began shampooing her head. At last
the Rakshas woke up. "You dear little boy," she said, "do not be
afraid; I am only a poor old woman, and will not hurt you. Stay with
me, and you shall be my servant." This she said not from any feeling
of kindness or pity for Ramchundra, but merely because she thought he
might be helpful to her. So the young Rajah remained in her service,
determining to stay there till he should have learnt from her all that
he wished to know.
Thus one day he said to her, "Good mother, what is the use of all
those little jars of water you have arranged round your house?" She
answered, "That water possesses certain magical attributes: if any of
it is sprinkled on people enchanted by me, they instantly resume their
former shape." "And what," he continued, "is the use of your wand?"
"That," she replied, "has many supernatural powers: for instance, by
simply uttering your wish and waving it in the air, you can conjure up
a mountain, a river or a forest in a moment of time."
Another day Ramchundra said to her, "Your hair, good mother, is
dreadfully tangled; pray let me comb it." "No," she said, "you must
not touch my hair; it would be dangerous; for every hair has power to
set the jungle on fire." "How is that?" he asked. She replied, "The
least fragment of my hair thrown in the direction of the jungle would
instantly set it in a blaze." Having learnt all this, one day when it
was very hot, and the old Rakshas was drowsy, Ramchundra begged leave
to shampoo her head, which speedily sent her to sleep; then, gently
pulling out two or three of her hairs, he got up, and taking in one
hand her wand, and in the other two jars of the magic water, he
stealthily left the hut; but he had not gone far before she woke up,
and instantly divining what he had done, pursued him with great
rapidity. Ramchundra, looking back and perceiving that she was gaining
upon him, waved the enchanted wand and created a great river, which
suddenly rolled its tumultuous waves between them; but, quick as
thought, the Rakshas swam the river.
Then he turned, and waving the wand again, caused a high mountain to
rise between them; but the Rakshas climbed the mountain. Nearer she
came, and yet nearer; each time he turned to use the wand and put
obstacles in her way, the delay gave her a few minutes' advantage, so
that he lost almost as much as he gained. Then, as a last resource, he
scattered the hairs he had stolen to the winds, and instantly the
jungle on the hill side, through which the Rakshas was coming, was set
in a blaze; the fire rose higher and higher, the wicked old Rakshas
was consumed by the flames, and Ramchundra pursued his journey in
safety until he reached his father's palace. Draupadi Bai was
overjoyed to see her son again, and he led her out into the garden,
and scattered the magic water on the hundred black crows, which
instantly recovered their human forms, and stood up one hundred fine,
handsome young men.
Then were there rejoicings throughout the country, because the Ranee's
brothers had been disenchanted; and the Rajah sent out into all
neighboring lands to invite their Rajahs and Ranees to a great feast
in honor of his brothers-in-law.
Among others who came to the feast was the Rajah Draupadi Bai's
father, and the twelve wicked Ranees his wives.
When they were all assembled, Draupadi arose, and said to him, "Noble
sir, we had looked to see your wife Guzra Bai with you. Pray you tell
us wherefore she has not accompanied you." The Rajah was much
surprised to learn that Draupadi Bai knew anything about Guzra Bai,
and he said, "Speak not of her: she is a wicked woman; it is fit that
she should end her days in prison." But Draupadi Bai and her husband,
and her hundred brothers, rose and said, "We require, O Rajah, that
you send home instantly and fetch hither that much injured lady,
which, if you refuse to do, your wives shall be imprisoned, and you
ignominiously expelled this kingdom."
The Rajah could not guess what the meaning of this was, and thought
they merely wished to pick a quarrel with him: but not much caring
whether Guzra Bai came or not, he sent for her as was desired. When
she arrived, her daughter Draupadi Bai, and her hundred sons, with
Draupadi Bai's husband and the young Ramchundra, went out to the gate
to meet her, and conducted her into the palace with all honor. Then,
standing around her, they turned to the Rajah her husband, and related
to him the story of their lives; how that they were his children, and
Guzra Bai their mother; how she had been cruelly calumniated by the
twelve wicked Ranees, and they in constant peril of their lives; but
having miraculously escaped many terrible dangers, still lived to pay
him duteous service and to cheer and support his old age.
At this news the whole company was very much astonished. The Rajah,
overjoyed, embraced his wife Guzra Bai, and it was agreed that she and
their hundred sons should return with him to his own land, which
accordingly was done. Ramchundra lived very happily with his father
and mother to the day of their death, when he ascended the throne, and
became a very popular Rajah; and the twelve wicked old Ranees, who had
conspired against Guzra Bai and her children, were, by order of the
Rajah, burnt to death. Thus truth triumphed in the end; but so
unequally is human justice meted out that the old nurse, who worked
their evil will, and was in fact the most guilty wretch of all, is
said to have lived unpunished, to have died in the bosom of her
family, and to have had as big a funeral pile as any virtuous Hindoo.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
V.
_RAMA AND LUXMAN; OR, THE LEARNED OWL._
"With a lengthened loud halloo,
Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo."
Once upon a time there was a Rajah whose name was Chandra Rajah,[48]
and he had a learned Wuzeer or Minister, named Butti. Their mutual
love was so great that they were more like brothers than master and
servant. Neither the Rajah nor the Wuzeer had any children, and both
were equally anxious to have a son. At last, in one day and one hour,
the wife of the Rajah and the wife of the Wuzeer had each a little
baby boy. They named the Rajah's son Rama, and the son of the Wuzeer
was called Luxman, and there were great rejoicings at the birth of
both. The boys grew up and loved each other tenderly: they were never
happy unless together; together they went to daily school, together
bathed and played, and they would not eat except from off one plate.
One day, when Rama Rajah was fifteen years old, his mother, the Ranee,
said to Chandra Rajah: "Husband, our son associates too much with low
people; for instance, he is always at play with the Wuzeer's son,
Luxman, which is not befitting his rank. I wish you would endeavor to
put an end to their friendship, and find him better playmates."
[48] Moon-King.
Chandra Rajah replied, "I cannot do it: Luxman's father is my very
good friend and Wuzeer, as his father's father was to my father; let
the sons be the same." This answer annoyed the Ranee, but she said no
more to her husband; she sent, however, for all the wise people, and
seers, and conjurors in the land, and inquired of them whether there
existed no means of dissolving the children's affection for each
other; they answered they knew of none. At last one old Nautch[49]
woman came to the Ranee and said, "I can do this thing you wish, but
for it you must give me a great reward." Then the Ranee gave the old
woman an enormous bag full of gold mohurs,[50] and said, "This I give
you now, and if you succeed in the undertaking I will give you as much
again." So this wicked old woman disguised herself in a very rich
dress, and went to a garden-house which Chandra Rajah had built for
his son, and where Rama Rajah and Luxman, the young Wuzeer, used to
spend the greater part of their playtime. Outside the house was a
large well and a fine garden. When the old woman arrived, the two boys
were playing cards together in the garden close to the well. She drew
near, and began drawing water from it. Rama Rajah looking up, saw her,
and said to Luxman, "Go, see who that richly-dressed woman is, and
bring me word." The Wuzeer's son did as he was bidden, and asked the
woman what she wanted. She answered, "Nothing, oh nothing," and
nodding her head went away; then, returning to the Ranee, she said,
"I have done as you wished; give me the promised reward," and the
Ranee gave her the second bag of gold. On Luxman's return, the young
Rajah said to him, "What did the woman want?" Luxman answered, "She
told me she wanted nothing." "It is not true," replied the other,
angrily; "I feel certain she must have told you something. Why should
she come here for no purpose? It is some secret which you are
concealing from me; I insist on knowing it." Luxman vainly protesting
his innocence, they quarreled and then fought, and the young Rajah ran
home very angry to his father. "What is the matter, my son?" said he.
"Father," he answered, "I am angry with the Wuzeer's son. I hate that
boy; kill him, and let his eyes be brought to me in proof of his
death, or I will not eat my dinner." Chandra Rajah was very much
grieved at this, but the young Rajah would eat no dinner, and at last
his father said to the Wuzeer, "Take your son away and hide him, for
the boys have had a quarrel." Then he went out and shot a deer, and
showing its eyes to Rama, said to him, "See, my son, the good Wuzeer's
son has by your order been deprived of life," and Rama Rajah was
merry, and ate his dinner. But a while after he began to miss his kind
playmate; there was nobody he cared for to tell him stories and amuse
him. Then for four nights running he dreamed of a beautiful Glass
Palace, in which dwelt a Princess white as marble, and he sent for all
the wise people in the kingdom to interpret his dream, but none could
do it; and, thinking upon this fair princess and his lost friend, he
got more and more sad, and said to himself: "There is nobody to help
me in this matter. Ah! if my Wuzeer's son were here now, how quickly
would he interpret the dream! Oh, my friend, my friend, my dear lost
friend!" and when Chandra Rajah, his father, came in, he said to him:
"Show me the grave of Luxman, son of the Wuzeer, that I also may die
there." His father replied, "What a foolish boy you are! You first
begged that the Wuzeer's son might be killed, and now you want to die
on his grave. What is all this about?" Rama Rajah replied, "Oh, why
did you give the order for him to be put to death? In him I have lost
my friend and all my joy in life; show me now his grave, for thereon,
I swear, will I kill myself." When the Rajah saw that his son really
grieved for the loss of Luxman, he said to him, "You have to thank me
for not regarding your foolish wishes; your old playmate is living,
therefore be friends again, for what you thought were his eyes were
but the eyes of a deer." So the friendship of Rama and Luxman was
resumed on its former footing. Then Rama said to Luxman, "Four nights
ago I dreamed a strange dream. I thought that for miles and miles I
wandered through a dense jungle, after which I came upon a grove of
Cocoa-nut trees, passing through which I reached one compound entirely
of Guava trees, then one of Soparee[51] trees, and lastly one of Copal
trees: beyond this lay a garden of flowers, of which the Malee's wife
gave me a bunch; round the garden ran a large river, and on the other
side of this I saw a fair palace composed of transparent glass, and in
the centre of it sat the most lovely Princess I ever saw, white as
marble and covered with rich jewels; at the sight of her beauty I
fainted--and so awoke. This has happened now four times, and as yet I
have found no one capable of throwing any light on the vision."
Luxman answered, "I can tell you. There exists a Princess exactly like
her you saw in your dreams, and, if you like, you can go and marry
her." "How can I?" said Rama; "and what is your interpretation of the
dream?" The Wuzeer's son replied, "Listen to me, and I will tell you.
In a country very far away from this, in the centre of a great Rajah's
kingdom, there dwells his daughter, a most fair Princess; she lives in
a glass palace. Round this palace runs a large river, and round the
river is a garden of flowers. Round the garden are four thick groves
of trees--one of Copal trees, one of Soparee trees, one of Guava
trees, and one of Cocoa-nut trees. The Princess is twenty-four years
old, but she is not married, for she has determined only to marry
whoever can jump this river and greet her in her crystal palace, and
though many thousand kings have essayed to do so, they have all
perished miserably in the attempt, having either been drowned in the
river, or broken their necks by falling; thus all that you dreamed of
is perfectly true." "Can we go to this country?" asked the young
Rajah. "Oh, yes," his friend replied. "This is what you must do. Go
tell your father you wish to see the world. Ask him for neither
elephants nor attendants, but beg him to lend you for the journey his
old war-horse."
[49] The caste to which conjurors belong.
[50] Gold pieces, worth about $7.50.
[51] _Areca catechu_--the betel-nut palm.
Upon this Rama went to his father, and said, "Father, I pray you give
me leave to go and travel with the Wuzeer's son. I desire to see the
world." "What would you have for the journey, my son?" said Chandra
Rajah; "will you have elephants and how many?--attendants, how many?"
"Neither, father," he answered, "give me rather, I pray you, your old
war-horse, that I may ride him during the journey." "So be it, my
son," he answered, and with that Rama Rajah and Luxman set forth on
their travels. After going many, many thousands of miles, to their joy
one day they came upon a dense grove of Cocoa-nut trees, and beyond
that to a grove of Guava trees, then to one of Soparee trees, and
lastly to one of Copal trees; after which they entered a beautiful
garden, where the Malee's wife presented them with a large bunch of
flowers. Then they knew that they had nearly reached the place where
the fair Princess dwelt. Now it happened that, because many kings and
great people had been drowned in trying to jump over the river that
ran round the Glass Palace where the Princess lived, the Rajah, her
father, had made a law that, in future, no aspirants to her hand were
to attempt the jump, except at stated times and with his knowledge and
permission, and that any Rajahs or Princes found wandering there,
contrary to this law, were to be imprisoned. Of this the young Rajah
and the Wuzeer's son knew nothing, and having reached the centre of
the garden they found themselves on the banks of a large river,
exactly opposite the wondrous Glass Palace, and were just debating
what further steps to take, when they were seized by the Rajah's
guard, and hurried off to prison.
"This is a hard fate," said Luxman. "Yes," sighed Rama Rajah; "a
dismal end, in truth, to all our fine schemes. Would it be possible,
think you, to escape?" "I think so," answered Luxman; "at all events,
I will try." With that he turned to the sentry who was guarding them,
and said, "We are shut in here and can't get out: here is money for
you if you will only have the goodness to call out that the Malee's
Cow has strayed away." The sentry thought this a very easy way of
making a fortune; so he called out as he was bidden, and took the
money. The result answered Luxman's anticipations. The Malee's wife,
hearing the sentry calling out, thought to herself, "What, sentries
round the guard-room again! then there must be prisoners; doubtless
they are those two young Rajahs I met in the garden this morning; at
least, I will endeavor to release them." So she asked two old beggars
to accompany her, and taking with her offerings of flowers and
sweetmeats, started as if to go to a little temple which was built
within the quadrangle where the prisoners were kept. The sentries,
thinking she was only going with two old friends to visit the temple,
allowed her to pass without opposition. As soon as she got within the
quadrangle she unfastened the prison door, and told the two young men
(Rama Rajah and Luxman) to change clothes with the two old beggars,
which they instantly did. Then, leaving the beggars in the cell, she
conducted Rama and Luxman safely to her house. When they had reached
it she said to them, "Young Princes, you must know that you did very
wrong in going down to the river before having made a salaam to our
Rajah, and gained his consent; and so strict is the law on the subject
that had I not assisted your escape, you might have remained a long
time in prison; though, as I felt certain you only erred through
ignorance, I was the more willing to help you; but to-morrow morning
early you must go and pay your respects at court."
Next day the guards brought their two prisoners to the Rajah, saying,
"See, O King, here are two young Rajahs whom we caught last night
wandering near the river contrary to your law and commandment." But
when they came to look at the prisoners, lo and behold! they were only
two old beggars whom everybody knew and had often seen at the palace
gate.
Then the Rajah laughed and said, "You stupid fellows, you have been
over vigilant for once; see here your fine young Rajahs. Don't you yet
know the looks of these old beggars?" Whereupon the guards went away
much ashamed of themselves.
Having learnt discretion from the advice of the Malee's wife, Rama and
Luxman went betimes that morning to call at the Rajah's palace. The
Rajah received them very graciously, but when he heard the object of
the journey he shook his head, and said, "My pretty fellows, far be it
from me to thwart your intentions, if you are really determined to
strive to win my daughter, the Princess Bargaruttee;[52] but as a
friend I would counsel you to desist from the attempt. You can find a
hundred Princesses elsewhere willing to marry you; why, therefore,
come here, where already a thousand Princes as fair as you have lost
there lives? Cease to think of my daughter--she is a headstrong girl."
But Rama Rajah still declared himself anxious to try and jump the
dangerous river, whereupon the Rajah unwillingly consented to his
attempting to do so, and caused it to be solemnly proclaimed around
the town that another Prince was going to risk his life, begging all
good men and true to pray for his success. Then Rama, having dressed
gorgeously, and mounted his father's stout war-horse, put spurs to it
and galloped to the river. Up, up in the air, like a bird, jumped the
good war-horse, right across the river and into the very centre
courtyard of the Glass Palace of the Princess Bargaruttee; and, as if
ashamed of so poor an exploit, this feat he accomplished three times.
At this the heart of the Rajah was glad, and he ran and patted the
brave horse, and kissed Rama Rajah, and said, "Welcome, my
son-in-law." The wedding took place amid great rejoicings, with
feasts, illuminations and much giving of presents, and there Rama
Rajah and his wife, the Ranee Bargaruttee, lived happily for some
time. At last, one day Rama Rajah said to his father-in-law, "Sire, I
have been very happy here, but I have a great desire to see my father
and my mother, and my own land again." To which the Rajah replied, "My
son, you are free to go; but I have no son but you, nor daughter but
your wife: therefore, as it grieves me to lose sight of you, come back
now and then to see me and rejoice my heart. My doors are ever open to
you; you will be always welcome."
[52] A name of the Ganges.
Rama Rajah promised to return occasionally; and then, being given many
rich gifts by the old Rajah, and supplied with all things needful for
the journey, he, with his beautiful wife Bargaruttee, his friend the
young Wuzeer, and a great retinue, set out to return home. Before
going, Rama Rajah and Luxman richly rewarded the kind Malee's wife,
who had helped them so ably. On the first evening of their march the
travelers reached the borders of the Cocoa-nut grove, on the outskirts
of the jungle; here they determined to halt and rest for the night.
Rama Rajah and the Ranee Bargaruttee went to their tent; but Luxman
(whose tender love for them was so great that he usually watched all
night through at their door), was sitting under a large tree close by,
when two little owls flew over his head, and perching on one of the
highest branches, began chattering to each other.[53] The Wuzeer's
son, who was in many ways wiser than most men, could understand their
language. To his surprise he heard the little lady owl say to her
husband, "I wish you would tell me a story, my dear, it is such a long
time since I have heard one." To which her husband, the other little
owl, answered, "A story! what story can I tell you? Do you see these
people encamped under our tree? Would you like to hear their story?"
She assented; and he began: "See first this poor Wuzeer; he is a good
and faithful man, and has done much for this young Rajah, but neither
has that been to his advantage heretofore, nor will it be hereafter."
At this Luxman listened more attentively, and taking out his writing
tablets determined to note down all he heard. The little owl commenced
with the story of the birth of Rama and Luxman, of their friendship,
their quarrel, the young Rajah's dream, and their reconciliation, and
then told of their subsequent adventures in search of the Princess
Bargaruttee, down to that very day on which they were journeying home.
"And what more has Fate in store for this poor Wuzeer?" asked the lady
owl. "From this place," replied her husband, "he will journey on with
the young Rajah and Ranee, until they get very near Chandra Rajah's
dominions; there, as the whole cavalcade is about to pass under a
large Banyan tree, this Wuzeer Luxman will notice some of the topmost
branches swaying about in a dangerous manner; he will hurry the Rajah
and Ranee away from it, and the tree (which would otherwise have
inevitably killed them,) will fall to the ground with a tremendous
crash; but even his having thus saved the Rajah's life shall not
avert his fate." (All this the Wuzeer noted down.) "And what next?"
said the wife, "what next?" "Next," continued the wise little
story-teller, "next, just as the Rajah Rama and the Ranee Bargaruttee
and all their suite are passing under the palace door-way, the Wuzeer
will notice that the arch is insecure, and by dragging them quickly
through, prevent their being crushed in its fall." "And what will he
do after that, dear husband?" she asked. "After that," he went on,
"when the Rajah and Ranee are asleep, and the Wuzeer Luxman keeping
guard over them, he will perceive a large cobra slowly crawling down
the wall and drawing nearer and nearer to the Ranee. He will kill it
with his sword, but a drop of the cobra's blood shall fall on the
Ranee's white forehead. The Wuzeer will not dare to wipe the blood off
her forehead with his hand, but shall instead cover his face with a
cloth that he may lick it off with his tongue; but for this the Rajah
will be angry with him, and his reproaches will turn this poor Wuzeer
into stone."
[53] See Notes at the end.
"Will he always remain stone?" asked the lady owl. "Not for ever,"
answered the husband, "but for eight long years he will remain so."
"And what then?" demanded she. "Then," answered the other, "when the
young Rajah and Ranee have a baby, it shall come to pass that one day
the child shall be playing on the floor, and to help itself along
shall clasp hold of the stony figure, and at that baby's touch the
Wuzeer will come to life again. But I have told you enough for one
night; come, let's catch mice--tuwhit, tuwhoo, tuwhoo," and away flew
the owls. Luxman had written down all he heard, and it made him
heavy-hearted, but he thought, "Perhaps, after all, this may not be
true." So he said nothing about it to any living soul. Next day they
continued their journey, and as the owl had prophesied, so events fell
out. For, as the whole party were passing under a large Banyan tree,
the Wuzeer noticed that it looked unsafe. "The owl spake truly," he
thought to himself, and, seizing the Rajah and Ranee, he hurried them
from under it, just as a huge limb of the tree fell prone with a
fearful crash.
A little while after, having reached Chandra Rajah's dominions, they
were just going under the great arch of the palace courtyard, when the
Wuzeer noticed some of the stones tottering. "The owl was a true
prophet," thought he again, and catching hold of the hands of Rama
Rajah and Bargaruttee Ranee, he pulled them rapidly through, just in
time to save their lives. "Pardon me," he said to the Rajah, "that
unbidden I dared thus to touch your hand and that of the Ranee, but I
saw the danger imminent." So they reached home, where they were
joyfully welcomed by Chandra Rajah, the Ranee, the Wuzeer (Luxman's
father), and all the court.
A few nights afterward, when the Rajah and Ranee were asleep, and the
young Wuzeer keeping guard over them as he was wont, he saw a large
black cobra stealthily creeping down the wall just above the Ranee's
head. "Alas!" he thought, "then such is my fate, and so it must be;
nevertheless, I will do my duty," and, taking from the folds of his
dress the history of his and the young Rajah's life, from their
boyhood down to that very time (as he had written it from the owl's
narrative), he laid it beside the sleeping Rama, and drawing his
sword, killed the cobra. A few drops of the serpent's blood fell on
the Ranee's forehead: the Wuzeer did not dare to touch it with his
hand, but, that her sacred brow might not be defiled with the vile
cobra's blood, he reverently covered his face and mouth with a cloth
to lick the drops of blood away. At this moment the Rajah started up,
and seeing him, said: "O Wuzeer, Wuzeer, is this well done of you? O
Luxman, who have been to me as a brother, who have saved me from so
many difficulties, why do you treat me thus, to kiss her holy
forehead? If indeed you loved her (as who could help it?), could you
not have told me when we first saw her in that Glass Palace, and I
would have exiled myself that she might be your wife? O my brother, my
brother, why did you mock me thus?" The Rajah had buried his face in
his hands; he looked up, he turned to the Wuzeer, but from him came
neither answer nor reply. He had become a senseless stone. Then Rama
for the first time perceived the roll of paper which Luxman had laid
beside him, and when he read in it of what Luxman had been to him from
boyhood, and of the end, his bitter grief broke through all bounds;
and, falling at the feet of the statue, he clasped its stony knees and
wept aloud. When daylight dawned, Chandra Rajah and the Ranee found
Rama still weeping and hugging the stone, asking its forgiveness with
penitent cries and tears. Then they said to him, "What is this you
have done?" When he told them, the Rajah his father was very angry,
and said: "Was it not enough that you should have once before unjustly
desired the death of this good man, but that now by your rash
reproaches you should have turned him into stone? Go to; you do but
continually what is evil."
Now eight long years rolled by without the Wuzeer returning to his
original form, although every day Rama Rajah and Bargaruttee Ranee
would watch beside him, kissing his cold hands, and adjuring him by
all endearing names to forgive them and return to them again. When
eight years had expired, Rama and Bargaruttee had a child; and from
the time it was nine months old and first began to try and crawl
about, the father and mother would sit and watch beside it, placing it
near the Wuzeer's statue, in hopes that the baby would some day touch
it as the owl had foretold.
But for three months they watched in vain. At last, one day when the
child was a year old, and was trying to walk, it chanced to be close
to the statue, and tottering on its unsteady feet, stretched out its
tiny hands and caught hold of the foot of the statue. The Wuzeer
instantly came back to life, and stooping down seized the little baby
who had rescued him in his arms, and kissed it. It is impossible to
describe the delight of Rama Rajah and his wife at regaining their
long-lost friend. The old Rajah and Ranee rejoiced also, with the
Wuzeer (Luxman Wuzeer's father), and his mother.
Then Chandra Rajah said to the Wuzeer: "Here is my boy happy with his
wife and child, while your son has neither; go fetch him a wife, and
we will have a right merry wedding."
So the Wuzeer of the Rajah fetched for his son a kind and beautiful
wife, and Chandra Rajah and Rama Rajah caused the wedding of Luxman to
be grander than that of any great Rajah before or since, even as if
he had been a son of the royal house; and they all lived very happy
ever after, as all good fathers, and mothers, and husbands, and wives,
and children do.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
VI.
_LITTLE SURYA BAI._
A poor Milkwoman was once going into the town with cans full of milk
to sell. She took with her her little daughter (a baby of about a year
old), having no one in whose charge to leave her at home. Being tired,
she sat down by the road-side, placing the child and the cans full of
milk beside her; when, on a sudden, two large eagles flew overhead;
and one, swooping down, seized the child, and flew away with her out
of the mother's sight.
Very far, far away the eagles carried the little baby, even beyond the
borders of her native land, until they reached their home in a lofty
tree. There the old eagles had built a great nest; it was made of iron
and wood, and was as big as a little house; there was iron all round,
and to get in and out you had to go through seven iron doors.
In this stronghold they placed the little baby, and because she was
like a young eaglet they called her Surya Bai (the Sun Lady). The
eagles both loved the child; and daily they flew into distant
countries to bring her rich and precious things--clothes that had been
made for princesses, precious jewels, wonderful playthings, all that
was most costly and rare.
One day, when Surya Bai was twelve years old, the old husband Eagle
said to his wife, "Wife, our daughter has no diamond ring on her
little finger, such as princesses wear; let us go and fetch her one."
"Yes," said the other old Eagle; "but to fetch it we must go very
far." "True," rejoined he, "such a ring is not to be got nearer than
the Red Sea, and that is a twelvemonth's journey from here;
nevertheless we will go." So the Eagles started off, leaving Surya Bai
in the strong nest, with twelve months' provisions (that she might not
be hungry whilst they were away), and a little dog and cat to take
care of her.
Not long after they were gone, one day the naughty little cat stole
some food from the store, for doing which Surya Bai punished her. The
cat did not like being whipped, and she was still more annoyed at
having been caught stealing; so, in revenge, she ran to the fireplace
(they were obliged to keep a fire always burning in the Eagle's nest,
as Surya Bai never went down from the tree, and would not otherwise
have been able to cook her dinner), and put out the fire. When the
little girl saw this she was much vexed, for the cat had eaten their
last cooked provisions, and she did not know what they were to do for
food. For three whole days Surya Bai puzzled over the difficulty, and
for three whole days she and the dog and the cat had nothing to eat.
At last she thought she would climb to the edge of the nest, and see
if she could see any fire in the country below; and, if so, she would
go down and ask the people who lighted it to give her a little with
which to cook her dinner. So she climbed to the edge of the nest.
Then, very far away on the horizon, she saw a thin curl of blue smoke.
So she let herself down from the tree, and all day long she walked in
the direction whence the smoke came. Toward evening she reached the
place, and found it rose from a small hut in which sat an old woman
warming her hands over a fire. Now, though Surya Bai did not know it,
she had reached the Rakshas' country, and this old woman was none
other than a wicked old Rakshas, who lived with her son in the little
hut. The young Rakshas, however, had gone out for the day. When the
old Rakshas saw Surya Bai, she was much astonished, for the girl was
beautiful as the sun, and her rich dress was resplendent with jewels;
and she said to herself, "How lovely this child is; what a dainty
morsel she would be! Oh, if my son were only here we would kill her,
and boil her, and eat her. I will try and detain her till his return."
Then, turning to Surya Bai, she said, "Who are you, and what do you
want?" Surya Bai answered, "I am the daughter of the great Eagles, but
they have gone a far journey, to fetch me a diamond ring, and the fire
has died out in the nest. Give me, I pray you, a little from your
hearth." The Rakshas replied, "You shall certainly have some, only
first pound this rice for me, for I am old, and have no daughter to
help me." Then Surya Bai pounded the rice, but the young Rakshas had
not returned by the time she had finished; so the old Rakshas said to
her, "If you are kind, grind this corn for me, for it is hard work for
my old hands." Then she ground the corn, but still the young Rakshas
came not; and the old Rakshas said to her, "Sweep the house for me
first, and then I will give you the fire." So Surya Bai swept the
house; but still the young Rakshas did not come.
Then his mother said to Surya Bai, "Why should you be in such a hurry
to go home? fetch me some water from the well, and then you shall have
the fire." And she fetched the water. When she had done so, Surya Bai
said, "I have done all your bidding, now give me the fire, or I will
go elsewhere and seek it."
The old Rakshas was grieved because her son had not returned home; but
she saw she could detain Surya Bai no longer, so she said, "Take the
fire and go in peace; take also some parched corn, and scatter it
along the road as you go, so as to make a pretty little pathway from
our house to yours,"--and so saying, she gave Surya Bai several
handsful of parched corn. The girl took them, fearing no evil, and as
she went she scattered the grains on the road. Then she climbed back
into the nest and shut the seven iron doors, and lighted the fire, and
cooked the food, and gave the dog and the cat some dinner, and took
some herself, and went to sleep.
No sooner had Surya Bai left the Rakshas' hut, than the young Rakshas
returned, and his mother said to him, "Alas, alas, my son, why did not
you come sooner? Such a sweet little lamb has been here, and now we
have lost her." Then she told him all about Surya Bai. "Which way did
she go?" asked the young Rakshas; "only tell me that, and I'll have
her before morning."
His mother told him how she had given Surya Bai the parched corn to
scatter on the road; and when he heard that, he followed up the track,
and ran, and ran, and ran, till he came to the foot of the tree.
There, looking up, he saw the nest high in the branches above them.
Quick as thought, up he climbed, and reached the great outer door;
and he shook it, and shook it, but he could not get in, for Surya Bai
had bolted it. Then he said, "Let me in, my child, let me in; I'm the
great Eagle, and I have come from very far, and brought you many
beautiful jewels; and here is a splendid diamond ring to fit your
little finger." But Surya Bai did not hear him--she was fast asleep.
He next tried to force open the door again, but it was too strong for
him. In his efforts, however, he had broken off one of his finger
nails (now the nail of a Rakshas is most poisonous), which he left
sticking in the crack of the door when he went away.
Next morning Surya Bai opened all the doors, in order to look down on
the world below; but when she came to the seventh door a sharp thing,
which was sticking in it, ran into her hand, and immediately she fell
down dead.
At that same moment the two poor old Eagles returned from their long
twelvemonth's journey, bringing a beautiful diamond ring, which they
had fetched for their little favorite from the Red Sea.
There she lay on the threshold of the nest, beautiful as ever, but
cold and dead.
The Eagles could not bear the sight; so they placed the ring on her
finger, and then, with loud cries, flew off to return no more.
But a little while after there chanced to come by a great Rajah, who
was out on a hunting expedition. He came with hawks, and hounds, and
attendants, and horses, and pitched his camp under the tree in which
the Eagles' nest was built. Then looking up, he saw, amongst the
topmost branches, what appeared like a queer little house; and he sent
some of his attendants to see what it was. They soon returned, and
told the Rajah that up in the tree was a curious thing like a cage,
having seven iron doors, and that on the threshold of the first door
lay a fair maiden, richly dressed; that she was dead, and that beside
her stood a little dog and a little cat.
At this the Rajah commanded that they should be fetched down, and when
he saw Surya Bai he felt very sad to think that she was dead. And he
took her hand to feel if it were already stiff; but all her limbs were
supple, nor had she become cold, as the dead are cold; and, looking
again at her hand, the Rajah saw that a sharp thing, like a long
thorn, had run into the tender palm, almost far enough to pierce
through to the back of her hand.
He pulled it out, and no sooner had he done so than Surya Bai opened
her eyes, and stood up, crying, "Where am I? and who are you? Is it a
dream, or true?"
The Rajah answered, "It is all true, beautiful lady. I am the Rajah of
a neighboring land; pray tell me who are you?"
She replied, "I am the Eagles' child." But he laughed. "Nay," he said,
"that cannot be; you are some great Princess." "No," she answered, "I
am no royal lady; what I say is true. I have lived all my life in this
tree. I am only the Eagles' child."
Then the Rajah said, "If you are not a Princess born, I will make you
one, say only you will be my Queen."
Surya Bai consented, and the Rajah took her to his kingdom and made
her his Queen. But Surya Bai was not his only wife, and the first
Ranee, his other wife, was both envious and jealous of her.[54]
[54] See Notes at the end.
The Rajah gave Surya Bai many trustworthy attendants to guard her and
be with her; and one old woman loved Surya Bai more than all the rest,
and used to say to her, "Don't be too intimate with the first Ranee,
dear lady, for she wishes you no good, and she has power to do you
harm. Some day she may poison or otherwise injure you;" but Surya Bai
would answer her, "Nonsense! what is there to be alarmed about? Why
cannot we both live happily together like two sisters?" Then the old
woman would rejoin, "Ah, dear lady, may you never live to rue your
confidence! I pray my fears may prove folly." So Surya Bai went often
to see the first Ranee, and the first Ranee also came often to see
her.
One day they were standing in the palace courtyard, near a tank, where
the Rajah's people used to bathe, and the first Ranee said to Surya
Bai, "What pretty jewels you have, sister! let me try them on for a
minute, and see how I look in them."
The old woman was standing beside Surya Bai, and she whispered to her,
"Do not lend her your jewels." "Hush, you silly old woman," answered
she. "What harm will it do?" and she gave the Ranee her jewels. Then
the Ranee said, "How pretty all your things are! Do you not think they
look well even on me? Let us come down to the tank; it is as clear as
glass, and we can see ourselves reflected in it, and how these jewels
will shine in the clear water!"
The old woman, hearing this, was much alarmed, and begged Surya Bai
not to venture near the tank, but she said, "I bid you be silent; I
will not distrust my sister," and she went down to the tank. Then,
when no one was near, and they were both leaning over, looking at
their reflections in the water, the first Ranee pushed Surya Bai into
the tank, who, sinking under water, was drowned; and from the place
where her body fell there sprang up a bright golden sunflower.
The Rajah shortly afterward inquired where Surya Bai was, but nowhere
could she be found. Then, very angry, he came to the first Ranee and
said, "Tell me where the child is? You have made away with her." But
she answered, "You do me wrong; I know nothing of her. Doubtless that
old woman, whom you allowed to be always with her, has done her some
harm." So the Rajah ordered the poor old woman to be thrown into
prison.
He tried to forget Surya Bai and all her pretty ways, but it was no
good. Wherever he went he saw her face. Whatever he heard, he still
listened for her voice. Every day he grew more miserable; he would not
eat or drink; and as for the other Ranee, he could not bear to speak
to her. All his people said, "He will surely die."
When matters were in this state, the Rajah one day wandered to the
edge of the tank, and bending over the parapet, looked into the water.
Then he was surprised to see, growing out of the tank close beside
him, a stately golden flower; and as he watched it, the sunflower
gently bent its head and leaned down toward him. The Rajah's heart was
softened, and he kissed its leaves and murmured, "This flower reminds
me of my lost wife. I love it, it is fair and gentle as she used to
be." And every day he would go down to the tank; and sit and watch the
flower. When the Ranee heard this, she ordered her servants to go and
dig the sunflower up, and to take it far into the jungle and burn it.
Next time the Rajah went to the tank he found his flower gone, and he
was much grieved, but none dare say who had done it.
Then, in the jungle, from the place where the ashes of the sunflower
had been thrown, there sprang up a young mango tree, tall and
straight, that grew so quickly, and became such a beautiful tree, that
it was the wonder of all the country round. At last, on its topmost
bough, came one fair blossom; and the blossom fell, and the little
mango grew rosier and rosier, and larger and larger, till so wonderful
was it both for size and shape that people flocked from far and near
only to look at it.
But none ventured to gather it, for it was to be kept for the Rajah
himself.
Now one day, the poor Milkwoman, Surya Bai's mother, was returning
homeward after her day's work with the empty milk cans, and being very
tired with her long walk to the bazaar, she lay down under the mango
tree and fell asleep. Then, right into her largest milk can, fell the
wonderful mango! When the poor woman awoke and saw what had happened,
she was dreadfully frightened, and thought to herself, "If any one
sees me with this wonderful fruit, that all the Rajah's great people
have been watching for so many, many weeks, they will never believe
that I did not steal it, and I shall be put in prison. Yet it is no
good leaving it here; besides, it fell off of itself into my milk can.
I will therefore take it home as secretly as possible, and share it
with my children."
So the Milkwoman covered up the can in which the mango was, and took
it quickly to her home, where she placed it in the corner of the room,
and put over it a dozen other milk cans, piled one above another.
Then, as soon as it was dark, she called her husband and eldest son
(for she had six or seven children), and said to them, "What good
fortune do you think has befallen me to-day?"
"We cannot guess," they said. "Nothing less," she went on, "than the
wonderful, wonderful mango falling into one of my milk cans while I
slept! I have brought it home with me; it is in that lowest can. Go,
husband, call all the children to have a slice; and you, my son, take
down that pile of cans and fetch me the mango." "Mother," he said,
when he got to the lowest can, "you were joking, I suppose, when you
told us there was a mango here."
"No, not at all," she answered; "there is a mango there. I put it
there myself an hour ago."
"Well, there's something quite different now," replied the son. "Come
and see."
The Milkwoman ran to the place, and there, in the lowest can, she saw,
not the mango, but a little tiny wee lady, richly dressed in red and
gold, and no bigger than a mango! On her head shone a bright jewel
like a little sun.
"This is very odd," said the mother. "I never heard of such a thing in
my life! But since she has been sent to us, I will take care of her,
as if she were my own child."
Every day the little lady grew taller and taller, until she was the
size of an ordinary woman; she was gentle and lovable, but always sad
and quiet, and she said her name was "Surya Bai."
The children were all very curious to know her history, but the
Milkwoman and her husband would not let her be teased to tell who she
was, and said to the children, "Let us wait. By and by, when she knows
us better, she will most likely tell us her story of her own accord."
Now it came to pass that once, when Surya Bai was taking water from
the well for the old Milkwoman, the Rajah rode by, and as he saw her
walking along, he cried, "That is my wife," and rode after her as fast
as possible. Surya Bai hearing a great clatter of horses' hoofs, was
frightened, and ran home as fast as possible, and hid herself; and
when the Rajah reached the place there was only the old Milkwoman to
be seen standing at the door of her hut.
Then the Rajah said to her, "Give her up, old woman, you have no right
to keep her; she is mine, she is mine!" But the old woman answered,
"Are you mad? I don't know what you mean."
The Rajah replied, "Do not attempt to deceive me. I saw my wife go in
at your door; she must be in the house."
"Your wife?" screamed the old woman--"your wife? you mean my daughter,
who lately returned from the well! Do you think I am going to give my
child up at your command? You are Rajah in your palace, but I am Rajah
in my own house; and I won't give up my little daughter for any
bidding of yours. Be off with you, or I'll pull out your beard." And
so saying, she seized a long stick and attacked the Rajah, calling out
loudly to her husband and sons, who came running to her aid.
The Rajah, seeing matters were against him, and having outridden his
attendants (and not being quite certain moreover whether he had seen
Surya Bai, or whether she might not have been really the poor
Milkwoman's daughter), rode off and returned to his palace.
However, he determined to sift the matter. As a first step he went to
see Surya Bai's old attendant, who was still in prison. From her he
learnt enough to make him believe she was not only entirely innocent
of Surya Bai's death, but gravely to suspect the first Ranee of having
caused it. He therefore ordered the old woman to be set at liberty,
still keeping a watchful eye on her, and bade her prove her devotion
to her long-lost mistress by going to the Milkwoman's house, and
bringing him as much information as possible about the family, and
more particularly about the girl he had seen returning from the well.
So the attendant went to the Milkwoman's house, and made friends with
her, and bought some milk, and afterward she stayed and talked to her.
After a few days the Milkwoman ceased to be suspicious of her, and
became quite cordial.
Surya Bai's attendant then told how she had been the late Ranee's
waiting-woman, and how the Rajah had thrown her into prison on her
mistress's death; in return for which intelligence the old Milkwoman
imparted to her how the wonderful mango had tumbled into her can as
she slept under the tree, and how it had miraculously changed in the
course of an hour into a beautiful little lady. "I wonder why she
should have chosen my poor house to live in, instead of any one
else's," said the old woman.
Then Surya Bai's attendant said, "Have you ever asked her her history?
Perhaps she would not mind telling it to you now."
So the Mi
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